Alexandra Tyler at her shoot

Alexandra Tyler at her shoot

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Luscious Alexandra Tyler is a model and the Playboy Playmate of the Month for April 2015. Encouraged by her mother, Tyler attended an open casting call in Los Angeles while still in high school. After signing with a modeling agency, Tyler wished to pursue modeling full-time. She then accelerated her studies and finished high school a year early. After moving to Los Angeles, she landed campaigns with L’Oréal and Volcom. While in high school, Tyler was a cheerleader and aspired to one day become a special-ed teacher. Page Summary: Luscious Alexandra Tyler is a model and the Playboy Playmate of the Month for April 2015. Encouraged by her mother, Tyler attended an open casting call in Los Angeles while still in high school. After signing with a modeling agency, Tyler wished to pursue modeling full-time. She then accelerated her studies and finished high school a year early. After moving to Los Angeles, she landed campaigns with L’Oréal and Volcom. While in high school, Tyler was a cheerleader and aspired to one day become a special-ed teacher.


Luscious Alexandra Tyler is a model and the Playboy Playmate of the Month for April 2015. Encouraged by her mother, Tyler attended an open casting call in Los Angeles while still in high school. After signing with a modeling agency, Tyler wished to pursue modeling full-time. She then accelerated her studies and finished high school a year early. After moving to Los Angeles, she landed campaigns with L’Oréal and Volcom. While in high school, Tyler was a cheerleader and aspired to one day become a special-ed teacher.
Page Summary: Luscious Alexandra Tyler is a model and the Playboy Playmate of the Month for April 2015. Encouraged by her mother, Tyler attended an open casting call in Los Angeles while still in high school. After signing with a modeling agency, Tyler wished to pursue modeling full-time. She then accelerated her studies and finished high school a year early. After moving to Los Angeles, she landed campaigns with L’Oréal and Volcom. While in high school, Tyler was a cheerleader and aspired to one day become a special-ed teacher.


Submitted: July 23, 2015

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Submitted: July 23, 2015



The crew moved in a convoy of vans. The Santa Monica Freeway loomed ahead of them and Alexandra Tyler could see traffic already backed up. Putting her feet up on the dash she took another sip from her frothy Starbucks drink. She was supposed to start her Playmate shoot today so the traffic delays would give her more time to get nervous. Glancing in the mirror at all the gear behind her she gulped down more Starbucks; the sugary caffeine was not helping her nerves. Two aluminum equipment cases screeched together, chalk on a blackboard; the noise made Alexandra wince and she pictured all the trunks in the several vans following. All that gear so Alexandra could strip off her clothes in front of the camera, all those photos soon flying all around the world.

Posing wasn’t the problem. Alexandra had been a model since middle school, after four years landing campaigns with big names like L’Oréal and Volcom; she’d even been nude in front of crews before, but that was for small arty kinds of shoots or discreet tasteful advertisements where she appeared anonymously and the shots sold shoes, skirts and perfumes. After this shoot her name was going to be forever associated with Playboy Magazine, Playmates, sex; she gulped again and took another sip of Starbucks. Sex, she was used to being used as a sex symbol; that’s what all those ads were going for really wasn’t it? But this was going to be about her, her personality, her voluptuous 5’9” body, all 130 pounds, her 32C-24-35 figure. She giggled with embarrassment at those thoughts; Playboy seemed to recite those figures every time she was at a meeting and now they were stuck in her head. She was going to be a sex symbol, a Playmate.

Posing was catharsis for Alexandra; she could play at being sexy, the opposite of her real life. She’d been a cheerleader, captain of her squad, squeaky-clean in sneakers with a ponytail, straight-A grades. Playboy would change everything, assuming the van got through the traffic. Marcus, the production assistant driving, fumbled for his cell phone; Alexandra glanced at him; momentarily forgetting her own worries she smiled warmly, shrugging as if to say no worries. She was too guileless to realize she just made another conquest. All natural, with chocolate-brown hair and blue eyes, she was always sweet and rarely sour and the crews on her shoots always loved her. She winked at Marcus as he finally got the phone in his hand.

“Hey,” he mumbled into the phone. “Ramp’s backed up. But listen, I know some short cuts; follow me.” He dropped the phone, checked the mirror, then grinned at Alexandra. “We’ll get you there little lady; don’t want to miss your big day.”

Alexandra smiled back then gripped the dashboard, almost spilling her Starbucks as Marcus gunned the engine east towards the river and as they progressed through the streets the neighborhood got more and more sketchy but Marcus gestured up ahead to the green neon sign glowing over the warehouse where they were shooting. “The Poodle Parlor.” Alexandra gulped, realizing that her destiny was getting closer.

The Poodle Parlor was a huge vintage warehouse now retrofitted for shooting music videos and holding special events.  The exterior looked worn and rugged; inside it was all exposed beams and pipes. Not very glamorous but her shoot was happening here and they only had a day to finish. The van pulled up to the loading dock and Alexandra, without giving much thought, noticed the motorbikes parked at one end of the lot. She didn’t notice Marcus frowning as he parked, nor did she hear him mumble, “Uh oh.” She was too busy getting up her courage for the shoot.

The night before those same motorbikes were parked at the Playboy Mansion.  Alexandra preoccupied with getting ready for her Playmate shoot, didn’t notice them and she had been rushed upstairs early for a good night’s sleep since she was posing for her centerfold in the morning. Brittany Brousseau, who was to be Miss May after Alexandra’s Miss April, had not been as lucky. Those bikers were at the Mansion to celebrate their leader’s sixty-fifth birthday; poor Brittany was featured in the celebration. The Mansion had a spiral staircase leading to a wine cellar and the cellar had been outfitted years ago to look like a medieval torture chamber. In rooms dedicated to bondage the bikers had dedicated themselves to using everything available on the future Miss May: whips, shackles, clamps. It had been a long night.

In the morning Alexandra, blissfully oblivious to the riotous party the night before, rushed out before anybody else was awake and the van picked her up on the way to the shoot. Now things were busy again as Marcus parked and several other vans immediately followed behind him.

Suddenly a circus surrounded her, or at least the bustle of a circus setting up. Clothes racks wheeled off of the vans; light stands, prop boxes, make-up tables, monitors, audio speakers, carpets for sets, and all the hardware and gear needed for video and still photography soon filled the space. Marcus grinned at Alexandra, handing her off to a crew of make-up artists who began brushing her hair even as they walked her into the cavernous room where they were shooting. The lovely girl was too distracted to notice Marcus gesturing to the production manager, getting his attention and pointing to the motorbikes at the other end of the lot. The roadie raised his eyebrows, silently asking, “Where are they?” The manager shrugged then pointed to a bar across the street. Both men got busy with their work.

With one day to shoot, they were determined to get everything done on schedule. From the moment she stepped on set, they kept the girl so busy that she barely had time to eat. It didn’t matter though because she was doggedly focused on getting perfect pictures. She smiled at everybody, listened carefully to all instructions, never pouted as she was hustled about and constantly fussed over by make-girls and constantly rushed in and out of the sexy outfits selected for her shoot. She was cooperative, gracious and the crew loved her.

The chaos of the shoot organized itself into a logical progression for the girl. She’d spent most of her life as a goodie two-shoes but she was a 100% girlie girl too. The roots of sensuality were deep and those roots were far more familiar to the girl than she might have thought. Her body was as close to the pleasure and power of sex as any young girl’s ever was.  Her dark thoughts may have seemed far away but they were just over in a corner waiting to be summoned, the transporting power, the intoxicant, the hypnotic drumbeat of the art of seduction.

A beat-up leather couch had been lugged in and Alexandra posed wearing nothing but a long white feather boa; she was too busy to worry about the nudity. When her breasts were exposed the cameras clicked away, then on to the next set-up. Two huge speaker towers pumped out raucous music to keep her in the mood. She posed in a black leather jacket and sheer black panties, Miss April as a rock n’ roll starlet—big hair and black leather were the order of the day, and she stepped into her role with ease. Miss Tyler was only too happy to play the role of rocker chick and as she posed she created a persona for herself, narrating her character in her head, something she cobbled together, not from experience, but from the books she was always reading. “Alex is a nineteen-year old smoke-dark mystery of a girl. She was born wild… She believes in magic…. black and white. She believes in people…mostly men. When she plays with the band they go all night. She digs the music but loves the words too; when she says you’ll have a ball with her she means exactly that. Bring lots of condoms; she’s gonna rock your world.  She loves her body and wants to share it. Her libido burns white-hot and her body’s all warm, muscled curves that you can knead with your fingers. You can administer pain too, providing you do it slowly and lovingly, and watch the ache glow…back beyond the yes, beyond the limen of her dark sexuality. To Alex, sex is turning on every pore in the body. A million gasping, heat seeking mouths. And you can do it baby, because you're Alex's man. You and nobody else.”

Yeah, she was into it now; the camera scrutinized her and she looked back in sultry defiance. The vast emptiness of the room, all rough and unfinished, inspired her; the rock music echoed like in a dark dusky club where dark deeds happened in the shadows. She was posing now against a brick wall, letting the rock hard surface turn her on. She turned to the wall, slapped both palms against it and jutted her fine ass out behind her.

She spun around and there was the camera in front of her. Alexandra’s gaze said I would do you right now, right here and the camera said I know and her gaze said I know that you know. She was unprepared for the intensity of the heat escaping from her soul as if she’d unsheathed the sun. She’d never let loose like this before the camera; the secret was that she was a good little girl, always prim and proper and always home studying for the SATs while the other girls were out partying. Well, who was the bad girl now!

Dozens of set-ups, thousands of flashes from camera lights, and hours flew by. She was more and more delightful to watch. The girl moved with contradictory economy and fluidity, slender ankle flowing into shapely calf and knee, hip grinding, flat simplicity of belly, firm rounded thrust of breast, sweeping curve of throat and jaw, aristocratic tilt of nose. She seemed absolutely at home within the specified confines of her body. It was a distinct pleasure to watch her as she created Miss April for the camera.

Alexandra was too into posing now to let it stop. She didn’t notice when a gofer showed up and handed the production manager a large envelope. She didn’t notice his frown when he read the instructions inside and she didn’t notice the leather cuffs he pulled out of the envelope. She barely noticed when he barked instructions to the crew, telling them to strike the sets and load up the gear even as the shoot continued.

Alexandra was dressed now in a shredded tee-shirt, ripped up jeans and the now ubiquitous leather jacket. Music blasted out of the speakers and she was gyrating sexily, anticipating the command to strip. She couldn’t wait. The spacious room was almost empty now, just the one photographer, the production manager, and the stack of speakers. Still Alexandra couldn’t be happier. She bumped and grinded and fingered the zipper to the jeans, getting ready to open her pants for the camera.

Suddenly the music stopped; the throbbing silence hit hard. She stopped dancing; already a stagehand was pushing the speakers onto a hand-truck to roll them out to the van. He tossed the iPod to the PM. who caught it with one hand; in his other hand he was holding the leather cuffs.

Alexandra cocked her head with the trust of a curious bird while watching the PM. approach her. The photographer hung back, fussing with his gear. “Just one more thing,” the production manager said; his voice was almost rueful. He had pocketed the iPod and he held out the leather cuffs.

“Whoa! Kinky!” Alexandra laughed and held her wrists to be bound. He strapped on the cuffs while avoiding eye contact with the eager girl but she was too giddy to notice. The cuffs were connected with a short chain; he tugged it, leading the bound girl to a wall-mounted peg above her head.

“Raise your arms please,” he said and his voice was even more apologetic. She obeyed eagerly and giggled as a metallic snap told her that she was now chained to the wall like a prisoner. With her arms above her head her chest jutted out in magnificent glory.

The production manager backed away, nodding to the photographer. Both headed for the door, moving quickly, like guilty schoolboys. Last out, the photographer hit some switches so just a few dim lights on the other side of the vast room were all that lit the girl’s trapped body.

Alexandra was a smart girl, always on the honor roll at school; but, light-headed from the liberating experience of vamping for Playboy’s camera, the girl was slow coming to reality now.

She waited in the darkened room for a couple of minutes, using the time to catch her breath. She felt rebelliously exhilarated about feeling her arms bound above her head. She peered around the dim room, expecting some of the crew to be around, maybe setting up cameras, but the vast chamber was empty. Even through the leather jacket the bricks behind her started to feel cold and hard.

“Hello?” she called out finally and the word bounced off the distant walls. She waited until the echo subsided and tried again. “Hey,” she said tentatively. She giggled nervously, “Where’d everybody go?” The last word came out in a low whine echoing in a hollow drone around her. She let the room go silent again. She could hear her own breathing; she imagined she was hearing her heartbeat. She shifted and her spiked heels scrapped the cement floor. She resolved not to be afraid. She was afraid.

She was still silent when a door on the far end of the room opened slowly. A rectangle of light glided out, stretching over the cement floor, almost touching her toes. She giggled nervously, pretending herself calm and bravery. “I’m so glad you’re back,” she gushed frantically but nobody replied.

After a moment, as her eyes adjusted to the additional light in the room, a silhouette appeared in the doorway. “Hello,” she said meekly. Her senses all tingled, warning of a three-alarm fire, code red, danger. The figure stepped into the room; his shadow elongated over the floor. He was tall; she could see that and under one arm he was hauling a mattress. He casually tossed it down and the thud slapped her ears.

He kicked the door closed behind him and she let out a sharp panicky scream, just one wordless syllable but immediately regretted. When the door shut out the light the man disappeared with it and she strained to see him in the shadows and gloom. Her arms strained against the bonds; her entire body stiffened into a defensive pose. She heard his footfall, heavy boots on the concrete and then she could make out his mass, a large dark shadow against the dull grey of the room. Her over active brain careened over fragments of thoughts: if darkness is merely the absence of light, then what is the opposite of light?
Then a scrapping noise; a chair dragged towards her.

He set the chair before her and a dim outline of his features came into view: broad shoulders, thick and powerful arms, a narrow waist, a gleaming bald head. A sharp hiss, a brief burst of light, his face was illuminated for a split second as he lit a cigar. She thought his eyes flashed on her, cold hard eyes, but then he was gone into the shadows again. Alexandra listened to his movement, but kept her eyes on the chair set about five feet in front of her. Cigar smoke wafted over her, its acerbic bite making her cringe.

Next a metallic sound; Alexandra recognized it as the clatter of a lighting tripod unfolding. The bright light slapped her face as he carried the tripod forward. He set it next to the chair and she could see him sit, but the glare of the light made it impossible to make out his features. The cigar smoke drifted around him forming menacing shapes in the beam of light. She saw how tall he was, how strong; she saw the gleam of his bald head like an evil glare. She gulped. She knew who it was. She had heard the stories among the girls at the Mansion.

She knew his name but she asked anyway, trying to add some insolence to her voice. “Who are you?” she said but then she gulped and her insolence faded.

“I know who you are,” he said flatly. His voice was ice and the girl, sweating with panic, shivered. She could tell that he was unfolding eyeglasses and perching them on his nose. He slowly unfurled a paper and read, “’Alexandra Tyler, Miss April 2015. Almost Famous.’ What the fuck is that?” he snarled.

“The title of my Playmate article.” The words shot out of their own volition; the girl was so anxious to please.

He snorted. “Sure, why not?” He continued to read, “’Birthday, May 9th, 1994. Birthplace, Sacramento California USA.’ A California girl,” he said with approval in his voice. “’Height, five feet and nine inches. Weight, one hundred and thirty pounds.’ You’ve got some meat on you, good. Measurements…” Once again the girl couldn’t help herself; she recited the numbers with him. “32C-24-35.”

He laughed, “That’s right.” He started to fold the paper. “Let’s skip the turn-ons and turn-offs, shall we? It’s bullshit anyway.” The chair scrapped the floor as he stood but he didn’t move forward. “Fact is I’ve balled maybe a hundred, hell two hundred playmates in my time and there’s only one turn-on that counts.”

Alexandra blinked into the bright light; she tried to look brave. “Yes, that’s true.”

He guffawed at her forwardness. “Now don’t get ahead of yourself little girl. I know things that ain’t on that fucking piece of paper. I know you.”

Now they were at an impasse. Alexandra was silent and still, her mind working furiously. She could feel his gaze bathing her with his lust. He stood and waited patiently.

“It’s your birthday,” she said finally.

She sensed his nod in the glaring light. “That right,” he said. “I’m fucking sixty-five. I could collect Social Security if I bothered to. What else?”

She smiled slyly and her body relaxed, giving into the inevitable. He knew her secret; he was going to take her secret away. “It’s like the minotaur.”

He laughed, pleased with her, pleased with himself. “That’s right.” He waited for her to go on.

She closed her eyes and imagined it. “The savage beast that takes the sacrificial virgin.” She felt a tingling through her body and felt her maidenhead tighten as though preparing for doomsday.

“Well, let’s not get carried away.” He was enjoying himself. He watched her chest heaving under the leather jacket, his mouth beginning to water. “It’s my fucking birthday and I get a fucking gift. And the gift is fucking you. And you’re…”

“I’m a virgin.” She said it in a desperate gasp.

“That’s right. That’s the icing on the cake. And how did a sexy thing like you manage to hold out so long?” He was really jovial now.

“I was waiting for you,” she breathed huskily.

“Damn straight,” he growled. He glanced at the cigar in his hand and seemed almost surprised to see it. “I’m supposed to quit,” he shrugged. He dropped it to the floor and carelessly crushed it with his foot and that single gesture opened the floodgates of fear in Alexandra’s imagination.  While she had remained untouched she had taken full pleasure in the attentions of men and she knew the effect she had upon their desires; seductive in her guileless sensuality yet never seduced, she remained a virgin.  And now this.

“Wait,” she blurted out and immediately regretted it when she saw his face. “Wait,” she repeated anyway her voice a trembling plea now.

He pulled off his tee-shirt as he strode forward. “Wait, go, whatever,” he taunted.

“The Playboy Mansion, they’re expecting…” she said; her eyes were irrational. “Mr. H wants…I…no…please.”

“Look, I'm not gonna bullshit you, okay? I don't really give a good fuck who you know or don't know...How you think you might be able to get out of this. I'm gonna ball you anyway...regardless.”

He stood before her and he seemed massive, threatening, a mean cold stare.

“And I gotta tell you; I’m gonna hurt you. You're gonna suffer baby. Not just when I pop your cherry. I mean the whole deal. You are in for it so you may as well start screaming now.” She heard that narration she had teased herself with earlier; it echoed now in cruel irony. “Her libido burns white hot and her body’s all warm, muscled curves that you can knead with your fingers. You can administer pain too, providing you do it slowly and lovingly, and watch the ache glow…back beyond the yes, beyond the limen of her dark sexuality.”

The light blazed behind him and made him seem even larger and more menacing as his figure darkened to silhouette. She screamed; she couldn’t help it and her legs kicked out in a despairing and futile attempt to defend her purity.

He was bare-chested now and his arms were long and strong and the flat of his palm was sharp and cruel against her cheek; just one slap but the anger behind it was palpable. She screamed again and he stood over her, her legs between his. She didn’t dare kick again but she writhed and wriggled against him, turning her head away as if she could hide from the beast.

Here they were at the first stage of the seduction, or perhaps it was a rape with Alexandra popping perkily out of her ripped tee-shirt and leather jacket and Reggie looking mean and moody.  You'd think he would look happier when presented with such a pleasing treat but perhaps he was acting in order to intimidate her.  The tableau was classic, the embrace of lust and resistance:
She with her arms raised over her head and bound at the wrists, her eyes fixed to the floor in a demure effort to hide, her chest heaving against him and her crotch grinding against his; he with legs pressed on her, bare-chested, towering over her, his face nuzzling into her hair as his hands slid up and down the curves of her body. Her head dropped back and she moaned her submission.

Holding her waist tightly and pulling her close to him he used his free hand to pull up the ripped tee-shirt. Her breast sprang out eager and bright and his mouth swooped down. The pleasure of kissing, fondling, sucking was not to be denied; but lately, as he grew older, the act of suckling the nubile flesh of a writhing nymphet was becoming profound for him. He lost himself in the rock hard nub and the soft desirable flesh around it. The wet heat of her filled his mouth and soothed his rage.

As she moaned a great mass of frenzied poetry and hard words, all snarled up without sense or meaning swelled inside her; she was angel and devil, that smoke-dark mystery of a girl she played in front of Playboy’s camera and the goodie-two shoes and cheerleader, that good girl who always did her homework. The frank regard of his lust brought out both sides of her nature. To have survived adolescence is to wish for a do-over, the chance to take another crack at some fundamental, inescapable decision made for forgotten reasons the first time around.

And suddenly it all fit. Words poured out of her mouth with a giggling glee. “I sing the body electric,” she gushed. His teeth bit down on her nipple and she gasped but started again, speaking urgently through the anxiety and the pain. “I sing the body electric, the armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them, they will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, and discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.”

He raised his head; his eyes glowed with something fierce. “What the fuck?” he snarled.

“I sing the body electric,” she breathed huskily. Her naked breast gleamed from the wet of his mouth.

“Yeah, I get it,” he snapped. “Walt Whitman.” He took a step back to esteem his captive and puzzle out her mysteries. Then he answered her, “Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?”

He knew! She almost loved him at that moment; she wanted him to fuck her, that was for sure. He knew her; he understood.  She continued reciting, every nerve of her body tingled. “And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?”

His eyes grew dark as coals; he slapped her hard.

The sting of his blow only emboldened her to go on, “And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul?

 He pounced on her, rushing towards her with a force that knocked her breathless for a moment. His mouth was on those luscious nipples, biting hard, sucking deep and long. His hands were fondling her flesh, splitting the shirt to tatters that fell away from her body. Each rip burst over her skin like a white-hot blow. The shirt gone, his finger kneaded deep into her flesh; his hands greedily scrambled over her belly, then his fingers were opening her pants. Her mouth, once she caught her breath, burst out again in serene confidence.  “And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?”

The button on the fly of her jeans popped off and hit the concrete. The zipper snarled loudly. He stopped sucking her breasts long enough to look down and tug her jeans down off her hips. She wore no panties.

She watched him strip her; she narrated her rape. “That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.”

He took a step back in order to get a firm grip on the waistband of the jeans. With a fierce yank he pulled them further down. Alexandra’s pliant body cooperated and she slipped out of her shoes; her legs flew up so the jeans could fly off her, then her feet dropped down and slid into the shoes again, the spiked heels making a sharp harsh snick over the concrete. She was naked now except for those shoes and the leather jacket.

She looked on him with defiance; she was fragile and helpless but ready to fight. Her too agile brain was wandering in the poem. “The embrace of love and resistance,” she whispered, longing for his brutal touch.

She winced when the back of his hand touched her cheek, but this time it was a gentle caress. He nudged up her chin with the back of his fingers and covered her mouth with his. Alexandra had never really kissed a man and was unprepared for the flood of heat and passion flowing between them. Her too educated tongue found new occupation dancing and flirting with his tongue. She writhed sweetly and moaned. Her brain whispered to her, “The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curved neck and the counting; such-like I love – I loosen myself, pass freely…” She ground her bare pussy over the bulge in his leather pants.

Her mouth was bursting with excitement, giving her tongue to him, exploring deep in his mouth, then letting his tongue cruelly rape her mouth. She tried everything. twisting, twirling, swirling; then she made a drastic mistake, she playfully bit down on his lower lip.

Retribution was swift and harsh. He pulled her hair back and slapped her twice, back and forth with an open hand, his face a punishing snarl. Then he flipped her around and slammed against her so her chest pressed to the wall. He buried his face in her hair and clamped his teeth on her shoulder, slowly pressing through the jacket so the pain grew, grueling and harsh. One hand cupped over her baby soft pussy, he held her tightly, slowly increasing the pressure in increments that built the agony to an unbearable pitch.  The agony expanded slowly and precisely, the throbbing radiated like heat in a slow burn through her body. Her feet stomped on the cement floor; she began to howl. The more she screamed the more intently he hurt her. Finally she snapped, bucking and writhing with a fury that pushed him back, forcing him to release his grip. But he wasn’t done yet. He unclipped her from the peg and swept her up into his arms.

She kicked and thrashed, fighting like a banshee but she was trapped; he carried her across the room, heading for the mattress. Her kicking almost propelled her body from his arms; her foot smacked the chair and the chair hit the lights, throwing the room into a dim, grim gloom again as the tripod smashed down and some bulbs exploded with a metallic crash.

He unceremoniously dropped her on the mattress and dropped on top of her as if capturing her in a wrestling hold. Breathless, paralyzed with fear, she lay on her side with one of his arms around her waist. Their legs intertwined; his head rested on one elbow and he watched her two glorious breasts poking out of the leather jacket.

Slowly her beauty swayed him; he was gentle as he undid the leather cuffs. She remained on her side; her hands finally at liberty, she rested her head on one arm and softly stroked his arm with her free hand. Her face was dreamy as she kept her eyes focused on the effect her nails had caressing over his muscled forearm.

She imagined having the courage to speak to him, “I guess you can do anything you want with me now.” She gulped, afraid to speak out loud but hearing her words in her head. “You’re going to hurt me I know. Not just when you…when you take me. Take my virginity I mean.” She looked at his cold eyes briefly, and then looked away, her hand still stroking his arm, her chest heaving seductively.  “You’re going to do things to make me scream.” She almost spoke aloud; she was creating reality with her words. “You’re going to slap me, and rape me and…make me submit. When you do me,” she squeezed his wrist and said with her eyes, “When you take me the first time go real slow, make me suffer. I know I’m going to cry. Make me cry for a long time.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and imagined his steel shaft lunging into her softness.

Finally three words escaped her lips. “I want this,” she said with conviction while rolling onto her back, one arm still crooked behind her head, the other arm wrapping around his shoulder and pulling him onto her breasts. She closed her eyes and fed him her rock hard nipples.

He was on top of her, his legs between hers, his hips thrusting over her sex, but it was the work of his mouth on her naked breasts that made her swoon. His tongue, his lips, his teeth, they worked with the synchronized precision of a jazz combo and the assault on her flesh was punishing and thorough.  Yes, he sucked that delicious virgin flesh deep into his mouth, but he bit and gnawed with his teeth to cause maximum  pain; the same time his tongue licked and stroked lovingly over her warm moist skin, teasing her nipples almost to bursting.

His steel hard fingers tormented her other breast. She writhed, eyes closed, her hand behind her head in a tight fist to control her agony and her other hand caressing his neck and shoulders as she murmured to his unhearing ears, “Yes baby, oh yes, this is my dream. You’re my dream lover.” She was imaging the rape, seeing it as a painting by Goya, hearing it as grand opera.

Nothing in her overly-educated imagination prepared her for what came next; his head moved down and he began licking and kissing down her torso.

Anticipation kept her still; she raised her head slightly to watch his slow progress down her body as his teeth and tongue labored carefully to study her ribs. When he came to her navel she giggled, not only because his tongue tickled as it twirled and licked over and inside the sweet crevice but also because she found herself giving a prayer of thanks to the doctor who delivered her and created a nice deep place on her belly for Reggie’s mouth to devour and tease. His tongue slithered its way to her bellybutton. The way his rough skin felt on her belly was nice. It grazed her lightly, feather-like. The anticipation made her heart pound. His tongue wiggled beyond the folds and popped into its depth reaching the base. He massaged his swirling, pulsating tongue inside of her. Alexandra relaxed under his sensual touch. Breathing anxiously she began rocking her body to the rhythm of his teasing. She wanted more from him, she wanted him to put pressure into her bellybutton, she wanted the intense feeling.

He worked her navel for a long time, holding her waist firmly with his hands to control her squirming. When he lifted his head his eyes met hers.

"You want more?" he asked.

The sweet nymphet looked at him and nodded.


He slapped his hand across her abdomen. The young girl gasped. His fingers formed into a dagger; his arm thrust quickly, a mysterious Hindu trick involving pressure points and a cruel knowledge of human anatomy and frailty. A sudden pressure into her navel shot intense pleasure and pain through her body. Withdrawing his fingers he watched his captive's face. It was almost too much for her. She thought his fingers would pierce right through her. He had given her what she wanted ultimately but he took it too far. She was frightened.

She looked at his face and found him studying her reaction. She didn’t dare watch his hand but she sensed it was coiling to strike once more. She shook her head fiercely but the pain came anyway, a sharp almost electric shock bursting through her navel, hammering into her skull, flooding through her breasts too and her soft sex; it was magnificent. She trembled with erotic energy. He did it again, what ever it was; she howled in fury.

"Good girl, scream it out," the man said.

He slithered his tongue across her belly and into her navel once more,  teasing the folds, stretching her bellybutton. The hot wet tongue twirled and swirled delightfully. But then he rose and positioned himself to strike again. He drew his arm back as if nocking an arrow; the hand shot forward and she screamed. Like a shooting arrow, the pain crashed inside her every time he struck. His hand struck deeper into her every time he thrust it. He wasn’t hitting her; his hand barely touched her and there would be no bruises, nothing physical. Instead, using an ancient technique few had ever heard of he was exploiting pressure points that converged at her navel and were rooted in the depths of her being. Alexandra was under his control, helpless against his torture. His finger mercilessly stabbed into her bellybutton, an almost rhythmic barrage. He would lick and kiss slowly and calmly then the next minute he would strike quick and hard.

"Why?" she cried helplessly.

The man stopped and looked at her. He raised his finger a few inches from her navel.

"Because it’s my birthday," he replied. His finger dove into Alexandra's bellybutton. He looked at her face and as he did so and he twisted his finger roughly. Alexandra gasped. When her chest heaved the man slapped her across the face.

She glared at him, refusing to cry; instead reciting, “Something fierce and terrible in me eligible to burst forth…”

He nodded; they understood each other.

Alexandra had an active imagination and a well-read mind but all that did not prepare for the sensations rushing through her as he bent down again and licked over her thighs, nudging them apart, licking and kissing over the soft sweet virginal flesh around her naked sex.  Oh, she had heard the other cheerleaders talk, boasting about how their boyfriends used their mouths for pleasure; she even read some racy novels.

She had two small birthmarks just above her hips; she always thought of them as a tiny constellation on her celestial body.

Now, as steady as the stars marking the North Pole, they became signposts for her doom; Reggie, playing with her like a cat playing with its victim, attended to the first birthmark, kissing it gently then giving it a light nibble with his teeth. He licked around it and Alexandra had never realized how sensitive it was.  She would have giggled but her fear was too intense; she would have writhed in pleasure but her body was tensed for the next blow. Each time he bit around the birthmark she anticipated cruel torture but instead a feeling of exhilaration gushed through her. The tip of his tongue tapped over her skin, then licked some more.

He gave that birthmark a loving farewell kiss then licked down to the next one and repeated the erotic teasing. The moist line he drew on her skin was an arrow pointing straight to her sweetest spot. He teased back and forth between the two birthmarks, each time edging closer and closer to the soft folds of her naked sex.

Then like a viper he struck; the tip of his tongue flicked rapidly over the soft slit and lapped up little dewdrops of her sweet nectar. This sensation shot through her and drew out an appreciative moan. With his tongue, Reggie traced the contours of her form, lodging at last within the salted recesses of her body. She’d never before felt the glory of pressure there and she let its warmth fill her up. His writhing tongue caressed every nerve ending; his lips sucked up her sweetness. Her body tightened and shivered in the heat of her arousal; her hands gripped the edges of the mattress and her thighs squeezed over his head.  Alexandra was having an orgasm; the whole universe would have to begin again. But even as the warm lush wet flow of her climax filled her she could sense the cold punishing snarl of his cruelty rising in him. These teeth knew a secret place and ripped into her softest spots. She howled and screamed as the tsunami of her bliss crashed into the earthquake of his torture. He gripped her hips as she thrashed and bucked over the mattress; his mouth did evil things inside her sex.

Even the end of the world couldn’t last forever and as Alexandra’s orgasm ebbed and flowed, slowly swirling into a calm submission he lifted himself up on his arms and began to lick and kiss up her body. Her hands stroked and caressed the muscles of his arms and her eyes gazed at the top of his head as his tongue writhed over her skin. She froze as his mouth came over her belly button again; again he reprised the pleasure and the torture inside the deep sweet crevice but after the thunderous climax and pain inside her sex this pain was just an echoing aftershock.  Allowing to her moan out this agony, he sat up while holding her arms to raise her to a sitting position too.

Black hair framed a tranquil face gazing with deep-set blue eyes. She had a calmness on her face and around the edges of her mouth. He saw haughty pride in the way the girl held her head, in the way she kept her shoulders pulled back, one hand clutched daintily, protectively, to the neck of the leather jacket, holding it closed over the thrust of her breasts. He saw fear in her eyes, as if she dreaded what was coming next, what her own imagination might unleash.

She panted out her exhilaration and with each breath a little more reality seeped into her psyche. He looked at her, his eyes cold and his intentions clear. She couldn’t meet his gaze but she knew what was coming. Startled with the touch of his hand on her bare knee, she watched his palm caress over her skin until it reached her ankles. He gently began unstrapping the shoe, like a prince in a fairy tale, except his eyes were glowing with lust. As he stripped her he murmured, his voice dark and rasping.

“You’re in the big leagues now, little girl. You know what’s coming.” His fingers finessed the shoe-buckle and she felt the release of the strap. “You’re such a pretty girl, so sexy. Let’s get you more comfortable.”

The touch of his fingers on her shoe made her tremble; the gesture of slipping it off her foot was surprisingly intimate and with her feet now bared she felt even more vulnerable.  

He shifted himself on the mattress until he was kneeling behind her. Her body stiffened as he tugged the leather jacket down her back. She held the cuffs with her fingers like a little girl resisting getting undressed for bed. “Easy girl,” he growled, “Let it happen.” She whimpered slightly as he prevailed; he pulled the jacket off and away, revealing the glory of her completely nude body.

Still kneeling behind her he gently touched her bare shoulders and softly kissed the nape of her throat. “So sexy, so good,” he murmured. Her head turned as if magnetically charged and she offered her soft lips. He cupped her naked breasts as he kissed her. She fed him her sweet innocence, exchanging it for the hard rough taste of his masculinity. She kissed eagerly, holding his head, refusing to let their mouths separate. She kissed into his mouth as if seeking sanctuary.

There was no sanctuary from his lust though. Even as he raped her mouth with his tongue he maneuvered her body until she was supine over the mattress. He broke the kiss as he stretched his legs over hers and lifted his body over hers until they were face to face.

Her hands dropped to her sides and her head turned away from his. His huge hand covered her naked breast. “I told you I was going to hurt you,” he gloated. To emphasize his point he tightened his grip over her nipple. Her eyes flashed on him; “You bastard,” she snarled but she rolled towards him unable to resist.

He leaned over her, his hand on her bare back; her left hand wrapped around his neck to draw him in but with her other hand she pressed his chest as if to resist. Her mouth found his and her tongue was a tornado; she rolled into him jamming her delicious breasts against him.

His left arm slipped around her shoulders, his right encircled her waist. Her hands fluttered nervously over his shoulders and arms. She bent her head back and he licked the luscious bare breast.

He held her head, his body angled over hers, his legs stretched out behind him. She crooked one leg and stretched out the other, making it easy for him to slide his hand between her thighs and reach around to caress her plush bottom as his wrist pressed into her bare sex. With his other hand he held her head to the mattress.

She shifted her legs, straightening one while bending the other, the flats of her feet sliding over the mattress. She sank back as his hand came up and cupped her pussy. He tugged her hair sharply with one hand as he finger fucked her with the other.

The finger slipped in quickly, a crime of opportunity. Alexandra gasped into his mouth; the sensation inside her was a geyser of panic and arousal. Her hips gyrated over the hand, guiding the probing finger to the most sensitive of her secrets. The young girl swooned, kissing more passionately and urgently. The firm strong intruder inside her depths took complete command; each twist and flicker of his finger drove the girl to another height only to drop her to the darkest most frenzied profundities. She loved this hard cruel thing inside her; she writhed over it lovingly, pressing her eager body against him.

The finger stroked in and out and all around and filled her with bliss but her over-active mind couldn’t stop racing. She moaned prayers of gratitude for this man; she luxuriated over the sweet agony of the finger piercing her but her imagination leapt to what was coming.  Her mind’s eye saw his cock, ten times, twenty times bigger than the finger; she imagined the massive shaft lunging into her and she screamed.

Reggie, knowing what was panicking his playmate, worked quickly. His hand leaving her pussy, he lifted himself long enough to straddle himself over her waist. His hulking mass over her now, she stiffened and looked up to watch his face. His sneer told her everything and she began to shriek wordless protest and she scratched and kicked as best she could. He reached behind and his hand did evil over her pussy and she howled to the ceiling.

Now began a long excruciating session of pain and pleasure for the girl. He finger-fucked her expertly, bringing her to pinnacles of bliss, then he used the same cruel finger to press a secret spot inside her that let loose untold suffering; pain and pleasure were two serpents writhing over the girl, twisting around each other and becoming one.

Now Alexandra was silent; she focused on keeping her struggling body as still as possible, her face easy-to-read as she gazed up at her captor. Of course, while she kept her mouth clamped closed, her nostrils flared in rage, and her eyes burned, telegraphing her reaction to every touch of his finger. Her hands were on his hips as he straddled over her; her fingers dug deep into the leather pants. Her legs, stretched behind him, trembled in rhythm with his gyrating and pumping finger. When it was pleasure her eyes blazed fury and delight that she wanted to hide from him but couldn’t; her mouth strained to hold in the moans. The bliss was a swirl of color, heat, and harmony; every cell in her body hummed with erotic tension and release. When he induced pain he could watch Alexandra’s eyes glisten with the tears she fought to hold back against the onslaught of red and orange bursting behind her eyes as she twisted her head against the clarions exploding in her ears.

Alexandra’s naked skin was smooth and moist, shimmering with sexsweat; her breasts heaved up and down with each stroke of his hand inside her. Her eyes grew more defiant as her bliss spiraled through her. He gazed down on her; fascinated by her vibrant energy and beauty he determined to make her crack, make her beg for mercy. His sneer grew more evil. It was time.

“Open my pants!” He barked the command, accidentally revealing his own eagerness to be fucking her. She grimly shook her head but the refusal was cut short by a quick slap from his free hand. He reached for more pain inside her sex and she screamed, the tears flowing freely now. “You bastard,” she shrieked and he slapped her again while using his finger to bring up another climax.  She kicked and thrashed and he fucked her with one hand while slapping her face with the other. She screamed resistance and fought furiously but slowly in the frenzied chaos her fingers were undoing the buttons of his leather pants.

He was poised over her, solid as a rock, his face implacable except for the cruel sneer; his arm swung back and forth slapping her and his finger fucked in and out. Even though Alexandra was thrashing and bucking riotously he managed to channel her desperate energy into a stillness and his rage glowed from inside him. The nubile girl was manic in her struggles, a blind and hopeless passion; every time she climaxed under his hand he shot another bolt of pain inside her or he slapped her. Her nails were scratching and clawing over the skin of his belly; and yes, slowly, but irrevocably she was opening his pants to unleash the monster that would finally break her. Her body was a helix of hellish fury; slippery with sweat he had to squeeze his thighs over her to hold her in place but still she managed to tug the leather pants down enough to allow his cock to spring forward. Still she tussled and grappled over the mattress.  

The cock was rock hard and massive; when she saw it she screamed but she was screaming constantly now. He stopped slapping her long enough to grab her hair and pull her head back; using his weight he shifted onto one leg and used the other leg to nudge her thighs further apart. His knees were then between hers and he thrust forward while holding her hip down with the hand that had been fucking her. His cockhead, hot like a molten iron bar sprang into action and kissed the soft pedals of her sex.

And then he fucked her; one sharp deep harsh thrust and the entire mass of his cock slammed into her virginity.  Her brain burst into a kaleidoscope of agony and pleasure: red to orange to yellow and back to red; cosmic bliss burst inside her. His cock pumped, working
working confidently and relentlessly into the prostrate girl; undulating into him, willing and yielding herself, she lost herself in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-fleshed drilling of the massive throbbing shaft inside her.

Merciless, his cock was the delivery mechanism for his rage and he poured sixty-five years of his brutal life into every stroke into her sex. He fucked her and fed off of her youth and vitality. He fucked her cruelly and it would have been criminal, murderous perhaps but the sweet nymphet kept whispering reverently, “Yes, yes, baby, yes.” She purred into his ear, grasping him close to her as his hips thrust in and out.  She writhed and gyrated and found, in the agonized chaos of her ecstasy, the rhythm in his limbs and joints and in the thrusts of his hips and the grip of his hands on her shoulders and throat. His muscles flexed, the veins of his neck throbbed, the flex of his waist as he pushed into her from his knees all drove his power into her. The resilient sweet quality she surrendered to him burst through his rage.

Floating over the explosions of color and lust as he fucked her Alexandra could see herself, could see him on her and fucking into her; her fingers lingered over his back and the back of his neck and shoulders and marveled at the sprawl and fullness of his power. She was a swimmer naked in the stream, seeing herself as she swam through the transparent red glow of rage and ecstasy, and she lay with her face up and rolled silently to and from the heave of the thrusts inside her, the ramming forward and backward of his cock inside her, the wrestle of wrestlers, two bodies in motion, lusty, all inhibitions thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance, the upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes, the thrust of the massive cock deep inside her, the play of masculine muscle through her soft moist body, the slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the alert, the natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curved neck and the counting; to be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough, to feel his lust or touch his fury, or rest her arm ever so lightly round his neck for a moment, what is this then? She dared not ask any more delight, she swam in it as in a sea. There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well. All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.

This is the female form, a divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot, it attracts with fierce undeniable attraction, he was drawn by its breath as if he were no more than a helpless vapor, all fell aside but herself and it and he fucked her in a hard and violent wrath.

Each thrust of his shaft made struck off another year; fucking her made him young and powerful again. His cock strained to fill with his seed and to create the pressure for blasting his load into her. In and out he fucked, desperate, panting, drilling for his life. She clutched his head and kissed the top of it as he licked over her breasts as he fucked her. His grunting was rasping and fierce. She murmured softly, urging him on, “Yes, baby, yes. You can do it baby, because you're my man. You and nobody else. You’re the only one.” Tears poured out of her, she laughed like a crazy person, and she imagined it was Walt Whitman fucking her; the words crashed into her bliss and she began to come. “I sing the body electric,” she sang out as she came but then he came too and the burst of white fire gushing into her blasted her consciousness into another dimension.

When she came to she was in the cab of another van and rolling down another Los Angeles freeway. It was late at night and the traffic glittered like stars. She was nude and tied up, ropes lashed over her wrists and ankles. Reggie was driving and he was talking into a cellphone in speaker mode. “Yeah,” he snarled, “I’m bringing her back to the Mansion.”

She recognized the publisher’s voice in the speaker,” Good, I want to…”

“Forget it.” Reggie’s voice was fierce and cold. “She’s mine.”


“She’s mine.”

Alexandra let a shy smile shape her luscious mouth.

Reggie continued to bark orders into the phone. “Look, there’s a change of plans. I want to use your wine cellar again, just me and the girl.”

“I’ll make sure it’s ready.” The publisher rang off.

Alexandra gazed at the oncoming headlights. She thought about the Poodle Parlor and that mattress on the floor and how millions of men would soon be lusting over her centerfold picture but it was Reggie who took her first. She was his. And she thought about the wine cellar; she knew about the whips and chains down there. Her libido burned white hot and Reggie would administer pain too, slowly and lovingly, and she could already feel the ache glow…back beyond the yes, beyond the limen of her dark sexuality. She leaned her head against his shoulder, “You can do it baby, because you're my man. You and nobody else.”  She leaned against him, moving as much as her bonds allowed and rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re my man,” she thought to herself and she smiled.


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