Donna Edmondson: Greensboro, Greensboro, Greensboro

Donna Edmondson: Greensboro, Greensboro, Greensboro

Status: In Progress

Genre: Erotica


Status: In Progress

Genre: Erotica


Donna Edmondson, a proud native of Greensboro, North Carolina, was chosen as Playboy's Playmate of the Month for November 1986 and Playmate of the Year for 1987. It was noted that she was a Southern Baptist and a virgin at the time of her appearances; her bodacious body and soft sweetness and charm made her one of the most popular playmates in Playboy history. She always vowed that she would return to her hometown.


Donna Edmondson, a proud native of Greensboro, North Carolina, was chosen as Playboy's Playmate of the Month for November 1986 and Playmate of the Year for 1987. It was noted that she was a Southern Baptist and a virgin at the time of her appearances; her bodacious body and soft sweetness and charm made her one of the most popular playmates in Playboy history. She always vowed that she would return to her hometown.


Submitted: January 10, 2018

A A A | A A A


Submitted: January 10, 2018



Donna Edmondson was apprehensive for the entire flight from Los Angeles to Greensboro. Flying was never her favorite thing, but when she became Playboy’s Miss November1986 she had to fly a lot, and then when she was named Playmate of the Year she felt like she was on planes more than she was in cars.  This flight was different because she was going home to Greensboro; oh, she’d been home many times since first posing for her centerfold but this was different because this time she was going to Greensboro to do a publicity tour. Instead of the safety and shelter of her parents home she was going to stay in a fancy hotel and give interviews to the local papers and TV and she was going to do autographs of the magazine with her Playmate of the Year pictures. Boys were going to buy the magazine and look at pictures of her naked, boys she went to high school with, goodness gracious. She had left Greensboro a virgin and the magazine had built that up, to her embarrassment: the Virgin Playmate. All the talk shows immediately wanted to book the virgin Playmate. from the Bible Belt. Joan Rivers made a huge deal out of her virginity on her show, but Donna, in simple, gentle terms, just explained that you don’t have to have sex to be sexy. On Larry King’s show, one caller accused her of not being religious because she let men see her body. She defended herself by saying that God made us nude. We were born that way!  And she knew the people of Greensboro saw those shows and remembered her as a Greensboro girl who went off to Sin City and now she was coming home a Playmate. She looked out the window of the plane and thought about her hometown and worried about gossip.

LA to Atlanta was easy; they flew her first class and she was nice and cozy, but from Atlanta to the Piedmont Airport it was a smaller plane that bounced around in the turbulence and seemed to struggle to get over the mountains. Donna could see her hometown as plane approached the airport and her nerves started to twist tightly.

Her Playboy chaperon took care of the bags when they finally landed and Donna looked around to find the driver who was supposed to take them to the hotel. She dreaded the signs the drivers held because sometimes they would use “Miss November” which made everybody at the airport gawk at her. But this driver was nice; he used “Edmondson” so she relaxed just a bit. She noticed that he wasn’t dressed as a driver at all; he was in a sailor’s white dress uniform. An officer. And he was tall, and handsome, with piercing blue eyes and blonde wavy hair. Golly.

He smiled slightly when he saw her and she knew instantly that he had seen her pictures, her centerfold, pictures of her naked; she blushed a bit, thinking she should be used to this by now, but she noticed his smile was kindly, not lewd, and she relaxed a bit more. The chaperon came up, pushing a luggage trolley and he took charge after handshakes all around. He guided them to the parking lot. “We’re in the VIP section of course.” Donna smiled and relaxed a bit more.

He introduced himself as Robert Lee Jones.

“Like the general,” Donna giggled sweetly.

“That’s right,” he agreed, “Like the Confederate general.”

He was a lieutenant on an aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf; he actually was a flyer. He explained that the local Veterans club had organized a contest to raise money and he won the prize of escorting a visiting celebrity to her hotel. She liked that he said “celebrity” instead of “playmate” even though she didn’t think she was a celebrity; she relaxed a bit more. In the Cadillac they all chatted amiably, Donna and Robert Lee Jones taking turns pointing out local landmarks to the chaperon. At the hotel the chaperon took charge again and sent Donna and the sailor to the bar while she checked them in.

Donna ordered a Coke and he ordered water with lemon. “Need to keep sharp up in the air,” he said, but it wasn’t a boast. They chatted quietly playing “Do you know…” a traditional game whenever hometown folk get together. He was five years older but he knew several of her friends and they had had some of the same teachers in high school.

They giggled over stories about a hapless math teacher they both had. “I have to confess I still feel guilty,” Robert Lee said.

“Why is that?” She was trying not to stare at him so she kept her eyes fixed on the bubbles in her Coke.

Well, me and some buddies made a zip gun in shop.”

“Oh no!”

“Oh yes, and on a dare, I took a shot. Hit him right in the butt when he was turned around.”

“Oh no! But you must be a good shot. He was so skinny; he didn’t have much of a butt.”

“Oh, I’m a real straight shooter.”

“Really, I could use a real straight shooter.”

“Any time.”

Donna suddenly felt wicked and she blushed. Just then the chaperon arrived with keys and some faxes. “What are you two talking about? She noted the young girl’s blush.

“Oh, high school and stuff.”

“Hmmm.” The chaperon sat down and spread out the faxes. “There’s a change in the itinerary. The thing with the camera club has been moved up to tomorrow.”

“Camera club?”

“Remember? It’s to raise money for the local Boy Scouts. You’re going to model for them. All the Playmates do this kind of stuff.”

“My dad’s in that club,” Robert Lee added. “He says they raised a lot of money already.”

The two women had to go over the rest of the schedule and he listened patiently. He finally drained his glass, as if it were hard liquor and he stood, looking at his watch. “Well, I have to go now. I think I’m your driver again later in the week.”

“Oh, OK,” Donna said; her voice was hesitant but she didn’t know why. “Maybe we’ll bump into each other around town.” She gestured at the faxes. “You know the schedule.”

“Hope so,” he said. They all shook hands and he was gone.

The chaperon looked at Donna who was blushing again. “I just have to ask, girl to girl, you know? Were you really a virgin when you left town to be a Playmate last year?

Donna’s blush rose scarlet and deep from her ears to down her chest. That was enough of an answer. “You’re a sweet girl, Donna; I never met somebody so, well, sweet and pure. You seem like a virgin even now.” They both knew that after becoming a Playmate she had been…deflowered.

Donna wandered among a thousand conflicting thoughts; this was why she’d been apprehensive about this tour. Growing up in Greensboro she had always been a popular girl, especially after her curvaceous body took shape; her high school yearbook even predicted she was “Most Likely to Become a Bunny. But she was always a ‘good girl,’ not stuck up or anything, just good, nearly angelic as the chaperon said, a virtuous Southern Belle, sweet and decorous. Even when her breast became the magnificent feast for eyes they now were, she endured men’s catcalls and stares with a shy gracious modesty. When she miraculously found herself in LA and posing for Playboy she still managed to retain her innocence and her virginity right up until she a going to be named Playmate of the Year just about six months ago. And then, wow! The Virgin Playmate was no more! She blushed now, just thinking about it.

The chaperon watched Donna fret and reflect and thought again how amazing that this sexy girl could still be so guileless. She decided to give her a reprieve. “Look, Donna, it’s been a long day. Why not go to your room and order some room service. Watch TV. They have HBO here. You have long day tomorrow.”

The sweet girl nodded and scurried away.

Donna always had trouble getting up in the morning and when the front desk rang, she had to rush around to get ready. Today was casual; she was a hometown girl for the camera club: tight jeans, ankle high fawn colored boots, and a black plaid flannel shirt. Of course, the jeans were skin tight, and certainly the country shirt was button so that a bit of cleavage showed and tailored to accent the magical curves of her breasts, and finally the boots were high heeled so her shapely legs and ass were displayed to their best advantage. She rushed through the breakfast buffet, just had time to brush her teeth and still make it to the desk to meet her driver.

It wasn’t Robert Lee Jones, but Donna was too ladylike, and too kindly, to show disappointment.

“Hi, I’m Tommy,” he said agreeably. He shook her hand in a friendly way and he seemed like any other nice boy from Greensboro. She relaxed a bit, took in a breath, and got ready to start the tour.

“Well, hello Tommy, I’m pleased to meet you.”

“It’s my honor ma’am. The guys at the camera club all feel honored to a Pl…a professional model to work with today.”

Her anxiety turned up a notch. “Let me take that for you,” he said and picked up the small day bag she carried with a change of clothes in case the camera club wanted more glamour.

He led her to another Cadillac and they were off. Donna rode in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of her hometown. “Greensboro, Greensboro, Greensboro,” she murmured sweetly while watching familiar sights roll by. Soon they were on Wendover Avenue and Donna smiled. She recognized this stretch of road and she must have driven over it thousands of times; for a while in high school her school bus took this route. There was the Greensboro Arboretum where she picnicked many times. There was Lindley Park where she watched many little league games on the two baseball diamonds. This is where the car turned in and parked.

The huge long-haul truck looked out of place parked on the outfield of the baseball diamond.  A lot of the club members were gathered near the truck; some were setting their cameras on tripods and the rest were showing off their equipment to each other. But as Donna’s car pulled into the park all heads turned at once and all eyes followed the car as it drove past the spanking new truck and into the parking lot beyond. The lot was full, almost to capacity, just like for little league games.

Donna’s driver hopped out and opened her door for her and he helped her out; Donna graciously took his hand and stretched her shapely legs to the pavement; when she stood her long and wavy chestnut hair shimmered in the bright light. She beamed a radiant smile to the camera club by the truck; most of the men were already frantically shooting. “Shall we get started, Miss Edmondson,” her driver said and gallantly offered his arm and she sweetly slipped her arm under his and let him escort her to the truck.

“We’re going to shoot here to get a real home town feel for Greensboro,” he said.

“But why the truck?” Donna asked as the sound of camera shutters clicking frantically got louder and louder.

“Oh, you know how big trucking is here and we just wanted to get that good ol’ boy thing going. We’ll use the pines and all too; don’t worry.”

Now they were among the cameras and the clicking stopped long enough for the club members to give Donna a welcoming round of applause. The sweet girl blushed and curtsied, then gave a little spin, as if to display what the boys were getting. The applause grew louder. “Golly, you boys are sweet,” she said shyly. “I just hope I can be a good model for you all.”

There were murmurs of approval and then a tall man stepped forward, an expensive camera dangling around his neck. “Miss Edmondson, I’m Edmund, and I’m going to be photo director, at least for the first part, and I want to say what an honor it is to have a genuine Playmate, dangit, a Playmate of the Year, be our model today.”

At the mention of Playmate, Donna furrowed her brow for a nano-second, one more level of anxiety darkening the back of her mind, but she wanted to please these boys and she smiled when he said his name; how cute: Miss Edmondson meets Edmund, then she bows graciously at the compliments. “Well, I guess we better get started if you all want to get a lot of pictures.”

Everybody quickly moved into position; Donna posed next to the truck; at first the poses were just simple down home kinds of shots: a pretty girl with her hands on her hips and a big smile on her face as she stood next to a big truck. Soon, though, Donna began to feel the eager admiration of the photographers and she genuinely wanted to satisfy them. She tried smoldering looks while tousling her hair; she bent down, revealing the black lacy bra under the black plaid flannel shirt, she blew kisses, she turned and jiggled her bottom fetchingly; the camera shutters applauded over and over.

Finally Edmund held up his hand and the shooting halted. The whole club applauded their dazzling model; somebody handed Donna a water bottle and she gulped water down eagerly. Modeling was hard work but she was pleased to be pleasing these fine gentlemen.

“OK, Donna, let’s open the pants a little bit.” He said it casually and calmly but it hit the whole crowd like a lightning bold. Donna froze in panic.

“What!” her brain screamed. Her voice, meek and shy, was a whisper. “Isn’t the chaperone from Playboy supposed to be here?”

“Oh, I forgot,” Edmund was nodding; all the men were nodding. “She left this message for you at the hotel. You had driven off with Tommy so I picked it up.” He held out a pink message slip from the hotel desk.

“Dear Donna,” she read out loud, “Sorry but I had to rush back to LA for a family emergency. Mr. H feels so bad about the company leaving you to handle the rest of the publicity tour yourself that he wants to match all the money you raise for the Boy Scouts up to $25,000.” She gulped and looked at the eager crowd. “Golly,” she said softly.

“Donna,” Edmund said smoothly, “You’re gonna raise at least $50,000 for the Greensboro Scouts. That’s awesome.” The entire club nodded in unison, showing their admiration for Donna’s generosity.

“I don’t know,” Donna murmured but already she was fingering the button on the tight jeans. She leaned back against the door of the cab and breathed in deeply. These were Greensboro boys. Her fingers fretted over the button, twisting it in her unease. Unconsciously, she was already working it open. She sighed as the cinching of the waistband relaxed; the cameras were already shooting in a rapid fire staccato and she blinked in alarm and then put on a sly smile. She could feel the familiar beams of Carolina sun kissing her skin, like the sun no place else in the world; the air was autumn crisp and cool but the sun’s caress glowed, reassuring and warm. She breathed in the fragrant perfume of mountain pines and felt she was home. Everything was natural and pure. She felt the gaze of the men in the camera club, their desire natural too; she wanted to please them.

The zipper came down slowly; her soft white flesh eased teasingly into view. One dark curl suddenly sprang out and she stopped, letting the fabric fall away to reveal a sweet triangle of pale white flesh and a few glistening curls, putting her hands behind her head and lifting her lustrous hair as if to distract from the peekaboo view below her waist. The cameras were almost buzzing in their fervor to capture every second. Her hair, in dancing cascades, dropped down her shoulders; she repeated the motion, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, a starlet on the red carpet. Donna turned towards the truck and with one palm on the door she looked over her shoulder; she jiggled her bottom fetchingly and gave a naughty wink, then tugged the jeans down just enough to let the top upper curves of her juicy derriere slip into view. The fervor of the shutters suddenly became a fevered cacophony; Donna moistened her lips and, from over her shoulder, gave the lenses a smoldering gaze. Then she turned to the truck, seeing her face in the gleam of the paint on the door; bending her knees, her luscious bottom jutted out slightly and this delicate shift bared more skin; she dropped her head back, closed her eyes in ecstasy, and pushed her jeans down another few inches. With both palms on the truck door, she held the pose for what seemed an eternity and the sharp clicks of the shutters seemed to type erotic notions into her brain; she imagined the men, still working their camera, but crowding into her now, fondling her, nibbling at her flesh; Robert Lee Jones was behind her, holding her tight, grinding his cock over her bottom, she twisted her head around to kiss him but only saw the camera club, ten feet away and still aiming their cameras at her but the shutters were silent, awed by the young girl’s erotic reverie. Donna smiled sheepishly; then abruptly turned her face back to the truck door and franticly pulled up her jeans, buttoned them up, the whole time murmuring to herself, “Goodness gracious, goodness gracious,” but thinking to herself that goodness had nothing to do with what she did. She took several deep breaths to compose herself and fluttered and fanned her delicate hands in front of her face. When she gathered enough courage, she turned back to the crowd. “I guess we’re ready for the next location now,” she said, a sweet blush warming her cheeks.

“Oh, we’re gonna shoot right here, but the guys have to set up some things; so why don’t you take a break?” Edmund gestured out to the fields and the copses of trees surrounding them.

Donna’s legs felt a little wobbly as she walked away from the crowd, still stunned by her own behavior near the truck. She felt herself blush yet again, and even thought of her bottom blushing as if she were just spanked. “Greensboro, Greensboro, Greensboro,” she said softly in a lilting sing-song voice.

Her feet moved on their own as the fresh crisp air, redolent of pine and sun, invigorated her. She was home; if she looked one way, there was the sports complex where the high school played basketball and she remembered that on a dare while she was sitting way up in the bleachers watching a Grimsley High basketball game she let Philip Weaver tug the bottom of her sweater so he could get a peek at the edge of her white bra; she had felt naughty and sinful all the way home but Philip never told anybody about it. And down the road was the university where just after graduation (gee, that wasn’t so long ago) she let a college boy take her back up to his dorm room and all her girlfriends had told her that if she dated a college boy she had to let him get to second base and they explained all the bases to her and she had blushed all the way up to her ears when they told her but she let him sit real close to her on the couch because she wouldn’t go into his bedroom and she let him open her blouse and it kind of felt nice watching his hands open the buttons and he put his hands over her bra and then he put his fingers under her bra and her nipples were so hard they hurt and she blurted out “Heavens to Betsy, I have to get home, it’s so late and all” and she fumbled out of the room buttoning her blouse and feeling embarrassed waiting for a cab in the security office because the boy wouldn’t give her a ride home but even in the cab taking her home her nipples stayed hard; beyond that Greensboro didn’t get any more bases or anything like that from sweet and guileless Donna Edmondson but then she got swept up by amazing circumstances and went to LA and, heavens to Betsy, became a Playmate.  

Now she was home and the pine trees stood bold and strong, solid and thick, the pine filling her; she trembled, as if aroused. She felt clay under her feet. She was on the little league diamond so she strolled slowly towards home plate; without thinking about it, she gyrated her glorious derriere as her long legs strutted down the base line, cross-over legs, dainty and seductive steps.
Her mind was wandering, memories of home town bleeding into the exotic and erotic adventures out in LA; the faces of boys she knew in high school melded with the faces of men who had…even in her mind she couldn’t say the words but she saw herself nude on satin sheets, a man between his legs pumping into her, she felt herself writhing, and she gasped. She looked up at the man doing her; he was bracing himself on his arms, holding them straight so he was above her and watching her large luscious breasts bounce in rhythm with his deep penetrating thrusts; she wished he would look at her eyes instead. Donna gasped with each thrust but she pouted, trying to recognize the face; she squinted to sharpen her focus and saw that actor the publisher had introduced to her, but then it was Philip from the basketball game, then it was that college boy, then it was Robert Lee Jones. The cock inside her exploded in a joyous fury and she exploded too.

Suddenly she stumbled, her feet tripping over home plate; she had been walking with her eyes closed and her body was trembling.

She blinked and looked out beyond the pitcher’s mound. The truck was just outside her field of vision but she could hear the men working; then there was the sound of traffic on Wendover Avenue, but then all that noise faded as she watched the birds soaring and calling above the treetops. The sun was low enough now to cast her shadow onto the field and she watched her outline gyrate in soft circles as if stirred by the sun and pines. The birds urged her on.

The naughty thoughts still weaved through her mind like a mist and she found herself floating down the line towards first base and with each step she became more confident, more secure in her sexual allure; the boys of Greensboro liked her and thought she was pretty. She began to slink like she was on a modeling runway, using her hips to sashay down the baseline in her heels with exaggerated arm movements to ensure all eyes were on her.

Her feet touched first base and she giggled wickedly; how many Greensboro boys never even made it to first base with her. But now…!  If she bumped into Philip Weaver, boy, would he be surprised! But not that college boy though; he wasn’t even from Greensboro. And Robert Lee Jones, he was from Greensboro, and a soldier; well, a sailor, wait a pilot on an aircraft carrier! Well he was bravely serving our country. She’d let him get to first base…maybe. She started towards second base, her strut, the perfect level of Playmate sophistication and laissez-faire air. Then she was there: second base, hands below the belt, that was what was allowed on second base. Her own hand brushed over her zipper, just briefly but she gasped in wonderment at her own arousal and the sun and pine swirled around her. She moistened her lips: third base. Her strut now was all hips and attitude, a little girl channeling Marilyn Monroe; her jiggling curves roused a round of applause from the imaginary crowd cheering for the Playmate of the Year, her mouth a perfect O as if wrapped around a man’s…She staggered as her toes tripped over third base: mouths below the belt her girl friends had told her but she had never done that in Greensboro, but in LA…she could still remember the taste of the first one in her mouth, and standing on third base in Greensboro she swallowed as if savoring the hot white lava flooding down her throat. She shuddered and saw home plate inviting her, calling her to sin.

The little league diamond in Lindley Park had never seen anything like this, her gait was the most alluring and slinkiest she could conjure up. The saunter transformed this all-American beauty into a vamp. The final takeaway? If walks could kill, Donna’s come-hither stride would have knocked us dead. And they were all there waiting for her, all the boys from Greensboro who had wanted her but never had her. She saw the man from the hardware store who always grinned at her when she walked by, and there was Philip Weaver walking along side her now with one hand under her bra and another down her pants, and there was Robert Lee Jones waiting for her at home base. And then he was inside her and she was kissing his face tenderly and loving him sweetly and sobbing as she came.

At home plate Donna was breathless and misty-eyed, slightly sweating, her mind drifting as if just after a mind-blowing orgasm from the deepest thrust of a cock inside her.


Donna froze, snapped back into reality. The voice had come out of nowhere and she spun around in panic. There he was sitting in the stands, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. “Wow!” he said again.

Donna’s face flashed: embarrassment that he saw her private reverie, annoyance that he saw her misbehaving even if it was just in her head, then pleasure because she recognized Robert Lee Jones, the sailor who had picked her up at the airport but then she remember the naughty thoughts she’d just had about him and blushed. “How long have you been there,” she said quickly; she chattered on nervously, “I was just playing, you know, modeling can be so boring, you have to wait around and all, and then you have to do those silly walks and stuff and I was play acting like…”

“I know; I saw,” he said as he stood up. He came down from the stands and met her near the dugout. “That was some walking.” He was dressed casually today, the navy whites traded for down home denim and flannel.

Donna blushed again, but her body tingled, still in a post-orgasm state. “I was just being silly, you know?”

Robert Lee just nodded, a kind smile warming her. He glanced towards the truck. “I think they need me over there,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

“Oh, I hope so,” she said and then she gulped, trying to swallow the words back. Golly, she didn’t want to seem too forward. She bit her lip and another erotic shudder tickled her. He just nodded, not wanting to add any more words.

“Remember, you’re my straight shooter,” she giggled. Then she blushed, seeing a look in his eyes, some ideas about what a straight shooter might do to her. He didn’t say anything, just nodded, as if storing away some ideas, then he turned away.

She sat in the dugout to escape the sun and watched him stroll casually towards the truck. She could see that they had set a scaffold up next to it and she wondered why; she saw that they were carefully lifting off the windshield. She watched Robert Lee Jones’ ass and thought naughty things as she placed her elbows on her knees and her face on her palms and narrowed her eyes into the Carolina sun, her head filling with very naughty thoughts and Robert Lee Jones at first base with sexy kisses and his hands on her breasts, and second base with his hand down her pants, and third base with her mouth filled with him, and home plate with her body throbbing as he thrust deeper and deeper…the sun-kissed pines warmed her insides.

She giggled; she was still on the bench, her elbows still on her knees and chin still in her palms, but her hips had been gyrating in circles and she wondered if she was going to get a splinter in her bottom from the bench. She stood and shook herself; somebody grabbed her from behind and threw her onto the bench and she was already naked and Mr. Hefner was slathering her warm skin with baby oil; the acrid smell mingled with the scent of pine and Mr. Hefner demanded that she squeeze her breast together and she did and his cock was between them and he was fingering her bare pussy and she was bucking and thrashing and she tasted his cock in her mouth and it exploded and Philip Weaver pulled Mr. Hefner away and Philip fucked her hard as she sobbed and the man from the hardware store pulled her head back over the end of the bench and plunged his cock deep down her throat and the pine smelled so fragrant and Robert Lee Jones held her tight and loved her slowly, sweetly, murmuring tenderly into her ear and she moaned “Greensboro, Greensboro, Greensboro.”

“Miss Edmondson?” Donna blinked herself out of her dream; her chin was still in her palms and she was fully clothed, thank goodness!

“Miss Edmondson?” he said again; it was one of the photographers from the club and he looked bewildered. “Are you OK? You were shaking.”

“Oh yes,” she said sweetly, hoping her blushes didn’t betray her naughty dreams. “I’m just glad to be back home and all.”

“We’re all set up and ready.” He extended an arm to help her up and out of the dugout. They walked in silence and Donna saw the crowd of photographers waiting eagerly. She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders, determined to be professional and give the nice men fine pictures.

The truck now looked like a film set, like the kind she’d seen in LA. One side of the cab was almost completely covered by a scaffold and there was another on wheels, built to be able to roll over the hood. Some photographers were standing on the first platform at the side of the cab and others were waiting to push the other scaffold into place.

The passenger side was open and for a radius of about fifteen feet the ground was clear and everything looked normal, but beyond that circle was a third scaffold ready to be wheeled to that side of the cab.

And there was Robert Lee Jones waiting by the open door. Donna was silent and trying to suppress her smile; of course, the cameras were already clattering and clattered continuously as the curvaceous Playmate approached the cab. Robert Lee Jones crouched and Donna understood that he would be helping her into the truck. He indicated that she use his hip for leverage and she gripped the guide rail and beamed a warm smile at him as he held her calf and boosted her up.

Cameras filled the driver’s window, open so the long lenses could protrude into the cab. Donna squirmed into the passenger seat, the door snapping closed behind her. The interior was pristine; the truck was obviously brand new and the only remarkable feature was the windshield had been taken out and the curious girl soon found out why as a scaffold was pushed over the hood and a gaggle of photographers began to shoot into the cab. The last scaffold came to the passenger side so the cab was enveloped on three sides by eager photographers with easy access to the interior.

It was certainly spacious; the steering wheel had been pushed up to allow plenty of room and the stick shift too had been removed so she could move her legs easily; the mirrors were gone so the cameras had the clearest possible sightlines. Behind her was a large living space, on the wall behind the driver’s seat a TV screen and on the opposite wall a stereo console. The rear wall was completely covered with a Confederate flag and beneath it all, the entire platform was a spacious daybed with pillows on both ends and another Confederate flag for a cover.

“Greensboro, Greensboro, Greensboro,” Donna sighed and turned her attention to the cameras, posing and vamping as best she could in the confined space, giving generous attention to the groups on each side of her.

And then, suddenly the shooting stopped. Edmund stuck his head in from the driver’s window. “Donna, we’re going to have somebody pose with you; you know, get the country boy vibe.” Before the startled girl could say anything, Robert Lee Jones was squirming in through the gap where the windshield had been removed. He wriggled over the steering wheel and settled into the driver’s seat.

“Miss Edmondson,” he said calmly.

“Mr. Robert Lee Jones,” she said, her voice trembling with awe.

“Actually it’s lieutenant, but my friends call me Robert Lee,” he said smiling.

“Are we going to be friends?” she asked with a nervous smile, uncertain what was happening.

“I think so,” he said. “Remember I’m a real straight shooter.”

He was about to say more but Edmund interrupted, all business. “Robert Lee, put your arm around her shoulders.” The sailor quickly complied and Donna was too tongue tied with confusion. “Now bend her back and kiss her.”

Her mouth opened; she wasn’t sure if she had intended to object but “Heavens to Betsy,” would have burst from her luscious lips except Robert Lee was already pressing his mouth over hers. Donna melted into the kiss, wriggling first with defiance, then writhing with ardor and caressing his face and hair with her fluttering fingers.

Robert Lee squeezed her close, either by accident or on purpose making sure that her body was visible to the lenses. Of course the cameras captured every moment from every angle possible. Robert Lee kissed her greedily but tenderly; she swooned into his gentle ministrations and he didn’t paw her chest like men usually did, but instead his arm held her close, like in her daydreams and her luscious breasts heaved in excitement, her exhilaration caught by the lusty lenses. His other hand gently stroked the denim over her thighs; she squirmed in resistance and arousal.

The kiss broke slowly, with Donna mewing sweetly; she pulled away from his arm and leaned back against the passenger door, desperate to catch her breath.

“Wow,” she breathed huskily and brought her hand to her mouth and coyly hooked a finger on her lip.

“We want you to take off his shirt.”

Donna gulped; her eyes were wide but she leaned forward. “This is…I don’t know…” Her eyes darted warily from face to face, an eager lust in every man’s gaze, except Robert Lee, who looked calm and patient. “I guess it’s OK.”

“It’s for the pictures, Donna.”

“OK,” she breathed and slowly worked open each button on his flannel shirt. She murmured a wordless apology as she tugged the tails out of his waistband, then she slid the shirt down his arms and dropped it to the floor with one hand, the nails of the other hand scratching the cotton of his tight tee shirt.

“Wow” she breathed.

“Everything, Donna.”

She glanced nervously at the cameras, bit her lower lip and looked at Robert Lee. He nodded patiently.

She shifted her torso and pulled her legs up onto the seat and, kneeling, leaned in closer, her face close to his, so close she felt his moist breaths rustling her hair. Her fingers trembled as they worked the white cotton shirt out of his blue jeans; when his belly was bare she slowly rolled the shirt up, her fingers caressing over his skin as she, with excruciating deliberation, moved the fabric up his muscled torso. He raised his arms and she tugged it over his head, gasping as she dropped the shirt to the floor.

She sank back, her face scarlet, but her blazing eyes studying his muscular body.

“OK, Robert Lee, now you do hers.”

“What…wait…I don’t….”

“Shhh, Donna,” Edmund hissed. Then more calm and smooth “You can do this for us Donna; you look so pretty.”

The pretty Playmate squirmed with hesitation but Robert Lee was nodding calmly and already leaning forward. Her legs stretched out from under her and into his lap. She was leaning against the door and raised her arms to grip the window frame behind her. Robert Lee smoothed her hair and whispered “Shhh,” and Donna realized she had been whimpering. She nodded softly and held her breath.

He caressed her blushing cheeks, brushed his fingertips over her mouth, and then traced a quiet line down her throat and chest until he came to the first button.

“No,” she moaned, her eyes closed. But she kept her grip on the window frame behind her and pulled her shoulders back as if offering her chest to his hands. “Shh,” he whispered again, “So pretty, we want to see you so pretty.”

He tenderly worked the button open and lovingly spread the fabric. Already the lacy black bra and plenty of lush cleavage was presented to the cameras.

Donna held her breath, her legs quivering, while he worked the second button open; now the lacy cups of the bra, overflowing with her creamy flesh, were completely exposed.

He worked slowly and carefully, giving the cameras plenty of time to capture the girl’s beauty. She still held her breath for the third one, even the fourth; but the fifth button, when opened, offered her bare belly and navel and she let out a long sigh and began panting, her luscious chest heaving up and down.

The shirt whispered sinfully as he tugged it out of the tight jeans; she was quaking now and his fingers made short work of the last two buttons. He tugged her forward and had to gently pry her fingers off the window frame. She sobbed as he slid the shirt off her arms but then she immediately embraced him and kissed him with a dozen frantic kisses, wet and soft; her hands caressed over his hair, his shoulders, his back and her lace covered breasts pressed against his naked torso.  Just as abruptly, she broke the kiss, dropped her legs to floor and pushed him away as she squirmed into the corner of the passenger side. Her hand was over her heart as she panted frantically, her bare belly fluttering with each breath. Her eyes blazed with desire intermingled with defiance. She was a Greensboro girl defending her virtue; she was Playmate of the Year glowing with sexual craving.

The shutters clattered for another minute; Robert Lee stayed in his corner, watching the luscious girl, like a boxer assessing his opponent after a brutal round. Slowly the sound of cameras faded and everybody was lost in thought, everybody thinking the same thing.

Edmund spoke firmly. “We’ve never had such a fine shoot, Donna; you’re the best model we’ve every had.” Donna was silent, blushing, but radiating sexual energy; her eyes never left Robert Lee. Edmund continued, still firm and direct, “Donna, you’ll take his pants off now.”

A long minute ticked by; then with a deep breath, Donna slinked forward; she reached down and raised his legs one at time and in slow motion unlaced his boots and slipped them off. She couldn’t help giggling slightly as she tugged off his socks. She was gentle as she lowered each leg to the floor and she was graceful as she knelt closer to him and leaned in even closer and took hold of his belt buckle.

Now her eyes were locked on his. The jangle of the belt blended with the metallic clicks of the cameras; the zipper came open only with several tugs, as if savoring the touch of Donna’s slender fingers. Her thumbs dug into his waistband and she slowly pushed the jeans down as he raised his rear to ease her work. She careful pushed the fabric down each leg and her eyes dropped, just for a second glancing at his black briefs and the bulge they could barely contain. She fixed her eyes to a spot on the floor and shoved the slacks to the floor. The heavy metal belt buckle made a dull thud that seemed to punctuate the moment, signaling a point of no return.

Still kneeling on the seat, Donna leaned back, her knees barely touching his bare thigh; she primly placed her own palms on her own knees and waited for what was inevitable.

“Robert Lee, you know what to do.” Edmund’s voice filled the cab even though he nearly whispered the command.

The sailor nodded to himself then looked at Donna, reading her face. Her gaze was soft and sensual, submissive, anxious, but steady. The tip of her tongue glistened pink and moist for a brief moment, her breasts rose and fell in her apprehensive breathing. He waited for a sign from her but her stillness was the only sign coming. He leaned back in the driver’s seat, putting a few more inches between them and she remained still, not like a statue but like a trembling fawn cornered by a lion. He nodded once more, but she didn’t respond except to let her tongue delicately slide over her lips once more; it glided graceful, seductively, and disappeared. He leaned further into his seat and rested his left arm on the window frame; he slowly extended his right arm towards her.

His palm pressed her bare belly. She gasped. “Shh,” he soothed. His fingers traced a line over the waistband of her tight jeans. She held her breath. The button closing the jeans was held firm by the tightness of the waistband. She murmured a little “Oh” as his strong fingers and thumb worried the brass button and the hole restraining it. His other hand gripped tightly to the window frame. She looked down and watched the fingers deliberately and determinedly work the brass through the denim slot. It took a long time. The button resisted his fingers and then suddenly, almost furtively slipped loose. The waistband loosened. Donna trembled. His thumb slipped into the space abandoned by the button and his fingers searched for the zipper tab and worked it up to the pad of his thumb. He squeezed the metal firmly but didn’t move.

He held the pause; Donna remained still, her glowing eyes fixed on the zipper tab. She waited. She trembled. His fingers held steady, motionless. She trembled some more, her eyes almost willing his hand to move. His arm was straight out; she could feel the pulse from his wrist resting on her bare belly. She trembled; she watched his motionless hand. A soft zzzh sound, his arm moving in an arc like the irrevocable hand of a clock, the zzzh sound flowed in one unceasing chord harmonizing with the delicate moan blowing over her trembling lips. The zipper slid down, his fingers brushing over her skin, then the soft curls of her sex, then- it stopped. His hand withdrew; Donna stayed kneeling, looking at her wide open jeans and pale flesh and the glistening curls naked to the cameras.

He turned towards her and reached out, placing one arm around her bare shoulders to steady her and using his other hand to guide her legs out from under her. He shifted again, guiding her into a supine position over the seat. Donna moaned, whispered, “No, no,” yet lifted her left leg and unhurriedly unzipped the boot herself. She delicately placed in on the floor. She placed her bare foot onto his bare thigh and the warmth of skin on skin sent a chill up her spine. She raised her right leg and the unzipping was even slower and the placing on the floor more refined and ladylike. She positioned her bare foot as though she were reading braille with her sole. For the first time since he started the process of de-pantsing her she looked at him, then she rolled over and rested her face on her arms.

He leaned over her prostrate body and dug his fingers into the waistband once last time and gradually pulled the pants down off of her juicy derriere, down her legs, off her feet. She sighed as the denim fluttered into a pile on the floor. There were no instructions now; she held her breath as he undid the hooks on the lacy bra and her arms floated gracefully as he slipped off the shoulder straps and the gossamer lingerie fluttered away. He bent down and, with his cheek, nudged her hair away from her neck and shoulders and he kissed the skin gently. He kissed down her naked spine, leaving tiny moist spots as he savored her flesh. He licked back up her spine, then kissed across her shoulders; she trembled and he ran his fingers through her lustrous hair dropped in waves down over her bare skin. He slipped his arms under her shoulders and steadily guided her torso up; she resisted by being limp and motionless but twisted her head back to kiss him. She was inert; her muscles and nerves had no will, no power, and she glowed with sensual allure. He had to lift each limb and each luscious part of her to get her upright on his lap and in his arms, kissing her the entire time.

“Let’s get her on the bed,” Edmund said.

Still limp and heavy with surrender, Donna felt Robert Lee shift himself around and use his arms and legs to raise her up the short distance to the platform bed. Once on the spread she sprang to life and scrambled into a far corner, gathering a pillow to hold over her chest as she kneeled and looked at the men. Several of the photographers from scaffolds were scrambling into the cab including Edmund.

“What are go going to do to me?” she pleaded in her lilting voice. “Are you…?” Her voice was even a little hopeful as she gazed at them with wide, panicked eyes. Her words faded away as she saw Robert Lee wriggling out of his briefs.

“No!” she gasped, squeezing the pillow tighter.

Edmund replied. “Yes, Donna, first Robert Lee, then…” His hand gestured vaguely to the other four men in the cab. They all nodded.

“No,” she whispered, not believing, but surrendering.

“Shh, Donna,” Robert Lee said, “I told you I’m a real straight shooter and you said that’s what you wanted.” He was on the bed, kneeling, but kneeling like he was about to pounce. He was different now; this was the warrior Robert Lee Jones, the conqueror, the straight shooter. She tried to make her body even smaller, to disappear behind the pillow; she pulled her legs up, her knees in the air, her heels under her bottom. “You knew since yesterday I was a straight shooter; you know what I’m gonna do now.”

Donna moaned, trying to will her body to disappear but her body trembled with desire. She closed her eyes. His fingers wrapped around her left ankle and he pulled her leg flat; he took the other ankle and straightened that limb. She immediately crossed her legs in a futile search for protection. He spoke the whole time, slowly maneuvering her body to display for the cameras and for his own pleasure. “You’re so fine, Donna, Playmate of the Year.” He pulled her legs closer to him, her back slid down the Confederate flag and soon she was lying on her back. “You’re going to be a good girl for me. I’m gonna be your straight shooter.” He held her ankles and shifted her body so she was stretched over the length of the bed but she remained determined to keep herself close to the back wall and under the Confederate flag as though Dixie would protect Southern femininity. But the Boy from Greensboro had other plans. “You’re my special girl, I’m gonna be inside you and you’re gonna be my pretty sexy playmate.” He tugged gently on the pillow but she refused to release it. “It’s Ok, Donna, I’m your straight shooter and we can take our time, but the boys want pictures too, pictures of your pretty body, pictures of your straight shooter loving you up.”  As he spoke now he was edging himself between her and the Confederate flag, nudging her closer to the front of the bed. He stretched his body along side hers and flattened his palm on her belly. Her navel fluttered nervously. “You’re so pretty, Donna, I want to have you so bad.” His hand was making an ever-expanding spiral over her bare skin. “You want your straight shooter inside, don’t you girl.” He teasingly tried to pry her thighs apart. “Show us your pretty body.” His fingers tapped over her legs and then up her hips and around her belly. He suddenly pulled at the pillow but her grip was too tight. She couldn’t see the flash of anger on his face but he held his voice smooth, “Come on, Donna, you want to show us; you posed for Playboy so you can pose for Greensboro.”

“Greensboro, Greensboro, Greensboro,” she murmured in her magical chant. The grip on the pillow eased slightly; her legs relaxed and she bent her right leg up, just a bit, just enough for a little peek.

“Good girl, my little playmate is so good.” His fingers spread over her belly and he nuzzled into her hair. “You’re gonna let me do you, aren’t you, pretty girl?”

Donna moaned again but her grip on the pillow covering her breasts continued to ease. A hint of her scrumptious areolas peeked out over the satin sheen. “I bet you’re a feel fine lover, so sweet, so pretty, so sexy.” His voice was a solemn, relentless growly into her ear. The curvaceous playmate trembled as her resistance melted away. “I’m your straight shooter, baby.”

“You’re my straight shooter,” she breathed, still trembling.

“Say yes, baby.” His growl was firm, insistent, commanding.

“Yes.” Her voice was tremulous, hesitant, submissive.

As she turned her head to kiss him he nudged her body up, slowly moving her onto her left side and facing the cameras. She kissed in a deep frenzied probing torrent; one hand released the pillow to caress over his face, her slender throat stretched up toward him. His hand moved from her belly to her knee and he slowly raised her right leg into an arch to show the moist glory of her pussy. Reaching under her left shoulder he soothingly aided the pillow’s fall from her luscious breasts. Both hands free, she gripped his head and ravished his mouth with hungry kisses. With his left arm under her to steady her, he used his right hand to wander over her naked body. Donna writhed, her breasts swaying and heaving, her legs trembled; he fondled her chest, teasing and taunting her bullet hard nipples. She wriggled and bucked, grinding her bare bottom against his throbbing erection; her tongue swirled in his mouth.

She snapped, desire flooding her; she thrashed and undulated in a passionate frenzy, then her head snapped back. She held his head and stared into his eyes, her body still trembling. “I want you inside me,” she breathed in gasping surrender.

Oh yeah! That was the silent shout from all the men. Oh yeah! That was the greedy groan from Robert Lee. He wrapped his left arm around her shoulders and raised her as he sat up. “Good girl, so fine,” he was growling, busily tugging her body into position. She mewed meekly, sweetly. He raised her left leg and pivoted her body so she was facing him and he pulled her into his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. “I’m gonna ball you so good, my little playmate,” he purred. He bent her back and his mouth engulfed her right nipple and she swooned. His left hand held her steady as his right slid down to finger her moist pussy. He sucked and slurped greedily; he probed and taunted delicately. Their bodies rocked together in unheard sensual music. In the middle of the bed, they made faint, dreamy movements, as if beating a drum. But from time to time Robert Lee drew her to him, put a hand possessively on the back of her neck, and she would follow him with closed eyes, her face flushed, head thrown back, hair hanging free, vertically. Then Donna grabbed his hair and slowly pulled him closer to her lips. His cock throbbed against her bare belly; he lovingly, gently, fingered lightly inside her pussy. Still rocking together, Donna pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him deeply; at the same time her right hand found his cock and she softly stroked it in worship. She leaned her head back, eyes moist, almost crying. But she smiled. “Good girl, you’re so good, so sweet,” he crooned while maneuvering the trembling girl onto her knees, her calves parallel to his hips as she straddled him, her toes pointing straight out behind her. “I’m gonna do you so good.” He slipped his hand over hers as she stroked his cock. He nudged her hand but she wrapped her fingers passively around the shaft. Or maybe it was protectively, knowing that if she let it go it would be a weapon to assault her body. “It’s OK, Donna. Let me just get it set. Shhh, it’s OK. I’m gonna give you a wild ride, pretty girl,” he growled and the cock slipped from her hand. She raised both hands to her head, gripping her own skull as if expecting it to explode. She looked down and watched him position the hard head of his shaft against the soft lips of her sex. “Almost there, sweetheart. You’re gonna feel so good. I’m gonna fuck you real nice.” He pushed her torso back, at the same time sliding her hips forward. “Easy now, that’s my girl. Let it in, nice and sweet.” Her head dropped back; her mouth opened wide with wonder. His cock entered her steadily, a solid, throbbing mass filling her with sweet agony, oh yeah. She reached out her arms to hold his shoulders but Robert Lee sank back and as he sank his cock sank deeper into the upright girl straddling his hips. Oh yeah, she was tight and fine. Her arms spread wide as if trying to balance herself on the thick solid pole deep inside her. His fingers dug into her hips and he thrust up into her. Her lush breasts bounced and she and he were off, undulating and gyrating in a long, deep, drilling for bliss. Donna’s sex, sweet and warm, tight and soft, throbbing with desire, it caressed, squeezed, and rippled over the thrusting shaft lunging up into her. Donna didn’t ball with just her pussy, she balled with her groin too. And her hips, and her belly, and her breasts, and her arms, and her throat, and her eyes; she balled with her entirety. The problem was not to stop the fucking before she was swallowed by the abyss at the bottom of her ever expanding ecstasy, or to ram into her like a barbarian smashing her gates. The problem was to make her ecstasy stay up where the lighted stars were more numerous and had her ecstasy bouncing from one to another, wandering, confused, delirious, but still a free spirit, a spiraling comet. And you achieved this not by jolting your cock but by transmitting vibrations to her core, rocking into her, but gently, so the sex machine of her body wouldn’t catch on and say Tilt. You could only do it by following her writhing and thrashing with a play of the hips that made your groin not so much bump, as slither, keeping her on this side of an orgasm. And if your hips moved according to nature, it was the buttocks that supplied the forward thrust, but gracefully, so that when the thrust reached the pelvic area, it is softened, as in a magic spell, where the more you stir the cauldron, the more magically effective and potent the spell is. Thus from the groin an infinitesimal pulse is transmitted to her pussy, and the sex machine obeys, the bliss moves against nature, against inertia, against gravity, against the law of dynamics, and against the gods, who want her submissive. The girl is intoxicated with the music of the spheres, irrevocable motion, undulating and writhing for memorable and immemorial lengths of time. But her soul is required, melting into the very essence of fucking, and there must be no thought, only skin, nerves, a throbbing cock sheathed in a velvet tight pussy, and a sublimated erotic fury, a sly cold-heartedness, a disinterested adaptability to her madness, a taste for arousing desire without morals or scruples: the sex goddess must be driven by the frenzy and savor the thought that she will then abandon it. Donna Edmondson, with a cock pumping into her, is the center of the universe; she keeps the planets in her in her gravitational pull; she fucks and creates the cosmos from the chaos of her ecstasy.

Sobs, screams, tight and warm, oh yeah, flying hair, breasts bouncing in rhythm, coming, coming, she’s so tight, so sweet, her face blissful and angelic. Fuck her harder, deeper, harder, oh yeah, make her scream, more and more. The cock pulsates, gushes, the girl quakes and mountains fall as she murmurs wordless prayers into her orgasm. The cock surges, explodes, oh yeah; Donna screams her bliss and then cries gently, falling against your face and kissing you with infinite, profound gratitude.

Donna Edmondson, Playmate of the Year, collapsed against his chest, her legs still bent and her toes pointing straight behind her, muscles straining, her body hot and flushed, soaked with sweat; her breasts crushed against him were still heaving from the exertions of her magnificent sex dance and her entire body throbbed with blissful aftershocks. Her hair, damp and disheveled, brushed delicately over his skin and her fingers affectionately stroked behind his ear. With her cheek resting on his chest, she gazed at the cameras still shooting her post-balling bliss and she smiled a misty, rapturous smile. She quaked once more with a momentous reverberation of her earthshaking orgasm. Her body tensed, her thighs squeezed him, his cock inside her felt the thunderclap and released one last fiery bolt of white deep into her sweetness. “Oh,” she purred appreciatively, too exhausted to scream, “Oh, oh, oh.” Her eyes, even through narrow slits, glowed with blissful worship. Her shapely hips gyrated slowly, drawing the last of his load into her deep, profound ecstasy. “Ooooooo,” she purred until her voice faded into peaceful harmony with his growls of pleasure.

Minutes went by; the couple on the bed was still and the cameras were momentarily silent. Slowly, dreamily Donna’s breathing calmed, her heart stopped racing. Her body radiated sweet heat and more than anything Robert Lee wanted to fuck her again, but there was Edmund now stripped down and ready. Slowly the sailor rolled Donna’s limp body off of him; she whimpered melodiously and purred, “You really are a straight shooter.” Her eyes were steamy and her smile lazy; she stretched her nude body over the Confederate flag bed spread and then curled into a ball like a lazy sex kitten. Robert Lee lay next to her for a while but he didn’t touch her. Through half closed eyes she watched the camera club mount lights in the cab to make up for the light lost from the setting sun. Part of her wondered how long she had been here, marveled at the long, deep, endless fucking Robert Lee had given her; she quaked with an echo of orgasm just from the memory. Edmund’s words suddenly echoed alongside the orgasm,  “First Robert Lee, then…” Then Edmund she knew, then another and another. All Greensboro boys.

The lights snapped on and Donna blinked; most of the camera club was fussing with light meters and gear but Edmund was climbing onto the bed, a bottle of baby oil in his hand.

Donna rolled onto her back and raised her arms to receive him. He straddled her waist and raised the bottle above her chest. “You’re such a good girl, Donna.” The oil dripped down, rivulets spiraling over her rock hard nipples and making her creamy flesh gleam lusciously in the bright lights. His cock was already nestled between the perfect curves of the two heavenly mounds. Her moist lips parted and “Greensboro, Greensboro, Greensboro,” she murmured softly then bent her head and licked the tip of his cock. She was home.



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