Dianne Chandler and the Spaghetti Western

Dianne Chandler and the Spaghetti Western

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Dianne Chandler (born December 31, 1946 in Berwyn, Illinois) was an American model who served as both a Playboy Playmate of the Month and as a Playboy Bunny. She was Miss September 1966; her centerfold displayed her 37-24-37 figure to perfection and has become an icon of American beauty. In this short story she has an adventure with another American icon.

Summary

Dianne Chandler (born December 31, 1946 in Berwyn, Illinois) was an American model who served as both a Playboy Playmate of the Month and as a Playboy Bunny. She was Miss September 1966; her centerfold displayed her 37-24-37 figure to perfection and has become an icon of American beauty. In this short story she has an adventure with another American icon.

Chapter1 (v.1)

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: March 08, 2014

Reads: 774

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: March 08, 2014

A A A

A A A

Dianne Chandler pouted which made things worse; she had entered the posh hotel and her pert little nose had immediately begun to twitch with curiosity and the unbearable cuteness of this situation, cursed as she was with a nasal affectation used to make a TV witch endearing, instantly called forth a glow of rosy pink under her multitude of painfully adorable freckles. The pout just added to the aura of adorability that exuded from this bodacious and vivacious girl. And that made her pout even more and look even more cute in the curvy and animated manner she had for presenting herself to the world. And that made the young girl mad! She'd posed for Playboy, darn it! And she was on the cover too! She wanted every pair of eyes in the lobby of this hotel, all the nerve centers connected to libidos, that's to say everybody-- she wanted everybody, when they looked at her, to think sexy first, second, and third. She didn't mind being thought of as perky and effervescent and fun but she was nineteen now and a playmate to boot. Sexy, now was the time to think sexy!

She sashayed through the lobby and let her tight round rear rhumba to a seductive tune in her head. She wriggled onto the elevator and gave the operator a peek at the moistly sexy pink of her glistening tongue as she breathlessly announced her floor. And maybe she was a little wicked to be enjoying his mild discomfort at being so close to such a sexy girl but his reaction did please her enormously.  As the doors opened to her floor she risked a broad and lusty smile, revealing her bright teeth, irregular and passionate.

Exiting the elevator she strutted down the hall, exhibiting the confidence of a prom queen mounting the dais for her crown; she playfully ran her fingers over the three dimensional numbers on the doors as she counted down to her destination. Dianne entered the suite and a studio factotum showed her to the head of the conference table. Arrayed in the other chairs --well now all standing in European deference to the appearance of a lady—were several men: two writers, an Italian director who looked slightly mad behind his thick beard, and a tall and stately Hollywood actor whom the young girl had admired her whole life; in her youthful imagination and memory he was the young Abraham Lincoln, the bold Tom Joad, and noble Mister Roberts all at once.
Reminding herself to project sexy, sexy, sexy, she paused for a moment, letting the jiggle of her buxom chest entice them a bit while she busied herself, subtlety moistening her lips as she smiled slightly. Aware of the calculus and physics of her nubile and curvy body she took her time wriggling herself to the seat offered to her. With a self-satisfied glint in her eye she nodded with some bemusement while the studio factotum stumbled through some introductions; the long Italian names of the writers and the director seemed like too much pasta in this Mid-Western boy’s mouth.  ‘Leone’ was easy enough to say but Dianne knew enough to know that Bertoeluky and Argintoo were not real names.
With a sexy sigh Dianne finally settled into her seat like a sex kitten on the lap of a millionaire. She noted the scripts and design sketches spread over the table and once more a thrill surged up her spine as she thought about being part of a Hollywood production. "Sexy, now is the time to think sexy!" she reminded herself. Take charge, let them know who's boss. She unconsciously thrust out her full, firm, youthful breasts.

"I'm not an actress, you know?" Dianne Chandler's eyes fluttered as she spoke, the only sign that perhaps she was not as confident as she was pretending to be. Her open face, radiant and fresh as a sun kissed breeze, turned to meet each of the other faces around the table. She seemed to pause, to meet each gaze, giving each enough time to drink in her youthful beauty. She sat quietly seductive, attending to her eyeblink rate, as the men looked at her with yearning.

The scrutiny of each man was dedicated and intense; each pair of eyes was studying her look, seeming to be counting the freckles on her lively face and certainly pondering the luscious curves of her nubile body. All of the men had of course been able to admire her Playmate centerfold spread, that exquisite photo of her gloriously nude, and Dianne could tell from the glint in each man's eyes that each man was picturing that centerfold even as he drank in the reality that she was now sitting like a queen before him and each was realizing that even fully clothed she exuded the delightful sexiness of her naked Playmate shot. Each was reverently contemplating that gloriously nude photo. And you now can, and should --you must-- contemplate the beauty of that centerfold.

Like so many other centerfolds of that time, the sensual geometry of this particular photograph was a celebration of the nubile girl's sexual promise. Dianne was propped up on a pillow, raising her head and torso, her breasts offered up in a symphony of creamy curves. Her left leg was raised, forming a right angle with her torso and seemingly trembling in an eagerness to wrap around a man. Her right leg was straight, in repose and surrender.

Through color and light comingled with the allure of his young model the artist had created tension in the design and drawn your eye to his subject. As if you needed any help being persuaded to notice Dianne! The story presented in this photograph continued the story presented in the earlier pages of the Playmate feature. Dianne was introduced as a young student at the University of Illinois. You met her on campus, and now find her reposing in either her room or yours.
Most important to the success of this centerfold was the eager nymphet herself; she defined the term ‘co-ed.’ Dianne beamed with a fresh, guileless, youthful radiance in this and all her Playmate shots. (As everyone who was sitting at that conference table in that hotel suite could attest, she beamed like a delighted goddess!)

Dianne's centerfold was perfect – You couldn’t think of any other that could possibly be more flattering. Elevating and slanting her torso gave an outstanding shape to her breasts and highlighted their youthful, natural form and their caressability. Raising her left leg provided the requisite fig leaf, while at the same time giving her leg a delightful and sexy shape. And every inch of skin glowed as only a nineteen-year-old's skin could.

And her smile! The artist had managed by some measure of skill or (more likely) magic to capture a smile that at the same time spoke of naïve delight, innocent desire and guileless youth. This was not a young woman who had any intention of breaking your heart or stringing you along on some endless mind game, and this made her all the more dear. It was also the smile of a young girl who had not yet had her heart broken - and woe, woe to you if you were the first! All sorts of carnal thoughts rushed, rushed through your brain as you contemplated this beauty and those thoughts were thick and heavy in that suite as Dianne beamed her sexual delight onto those men.

"I'm not an actress," she repeated as if in challenge.

One of the writers ahemmed and gestured to the script in front of him. "It's not the acting we're worried about." His voice was tinged with an Italian accent. "Hank," he said, gesturing now to the tall actor at the other end of the table, "he doesn't believe the scene will work...a man his age and a girl..."

The actor turned to the writer, his motion sharp and direct. “I'm... I'm older than her father.  Can you believe that? I'm going to be in a love scene with a girl and I’m older than her father.  That's the first time that’s ever occurred in my life.”

"You don't think a girl my age would want to make it with you?" Dianne almost giggled as she looked directly at the tall actor. She had a vivid, all but lucid, image pop up in her pretty head in which they were not exactly fucking, but fucking around, definitely fucking around. And she liked it a lot.

He gazed back and suddenly the young girl felt overwhelmed by his piercing blue eyes. “You’re a student right?” The young girl nodded meekly. “I’ll be shooting a love scene with a girl who does homework,” he scoffed, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

“College,” she said softly.

“What’s that?”

“College,” she said again, “University of Illinois. And Playboy. I posed for Playboy.” Her lip trembled and her eyes grew misty. Somebody opened the September issue of the magazine and slid it across the table to the actor. The actor’s eyes couldn’t resist giving the nude photos some study.

The writer spoke up, pressing his point. “Don’t forget, Hank, the character you play- Frank, he is a very bad man. Frank murders in cold blood. He shoots that boy. When he takes Jill…” He paused as if to emphasize the point; somehow his Italian accent made the concept of a girl being taken more vivid, more sensual. “When he takes her, he is cruel and merciless. For the test she will be playing Jill.” He gestured to Dianne and every man in the room imagined the pleasures of taking this nubile and eager girl. “When he takes this young girl…it is strong. It is power.” Dianne couldn’t help shuddering as the image flooded her mind.

Never one to hold back, the nubile young girl spoke up, addressing the writer but looking at the actor, “You mean he rapes me.” Her eyes locked on his and she took command, “I want you to take me, rape me, have me everyway you want,” her gaze spoke wordlessly.

He gulped and his eyes broke away in deperation. One more glance at her centerfold and the actor’s demeanor changed. Her appeal was getting to him. “Well,” he said in that slow drawl that made him iconic as Tom Joad and Mr. Roberts, “It is rape, and it is for the character. This oughta change my image in Hollywood for good. I guess we should see how it plays.”

The director said something in a jumble of Italian and English. Dianne heard the words 'screen test' and 'camera' and 'costume' but she was now slowly drawing the actor into her orbit. Sexy, now was the time to think sexy! And she was having no trouble at all thinking sexy thoughts and projecting her carnal desires across the table.

"Did you learn the lines," the writer asked quietly. Dianne nodded; her brain was focused on only one thing now: proving that a young and nubile girl would happily writhe naked in bed and offer herself to an older man like the one gazing at her now.

"Are you nervous," the director asked in thickly accented English. She nodded again.

The writer nodded too. "That's fine. We can use that in the scene. Do you want to do a take?"

She nodded a third time, almost as in a sinful ritual. She rose slowly and floated to the other room. A rack held the costume she'd wear for the scene. The bed was done up to look like an ornate bed from the American west in the 19th century. But there was a small movie camera too, ready to capture her surrender to the story. She slipped into the bathroom to change.

 


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