Marianne Gravatte, Too Shy to Pose

Marianne Gravatte, Too Shy to Pose

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Marianne Gravatte, Miss October 1982 and Playmate of the Year 1983, is too shy to pose for her centerfold


Marianne Gravatte, Miss October 1982 and Playmate of the Year 1983, is too shy to pose for her centerfold


Submitted: May 09, 2013

A A A | A A A


Submitted: May 09, 2013



Miss October’s shoot was not going well and everybody was giving Peter dirty looks. The model was stiff, almost frozen with fear, and panicky and nervous at the same time. Sure she was stunning, tall and lithe and curvy with wavy blonde hair and hypnotic almond eyes. But as soon as she was asked to strip for the camera or give a sexy pose she began to tremble and hesitate. The shoot was expensive and the crew was losing patience. Something needed to happen so everybody turned to Peter; after all, he discovered her.


Marianne Gravatte would be a perfect playmate; Peter had been convinced of that from the moment he laid eyes on her many weeks earlier. He couldn’t remember now why he was at that fateful lingerie shoot in the first place; it was for some small designer he had backed as an investment. Usually he kept away from direct involvement in ventures he sank money in, but something made him show up at this particular shoot. Maybe it was fate, or karma, but for sure he found a playmate, even the next Playmate of the Year he was certain.


Even among a dozen scantily clad models Marianne had stood out; she was tall and shapely and the transparent bra and panties displayed her fine assets nicely, but it wasn’t her voluptuous body that drew him in, nor her picture perfect face with the flawless bone structure and the lush gash of a mouth under hot red lipstick. It wasn’t even the exotic come-hither gaze of her almond eyes crystal clear and sparkling. No, it was her vulnerability. Her painful shyness was alluring and seductive, the more she retreated the more a man had to have her.


At that lingerie shoot she had smoldered with sexual promise even though she looked shyly at the floor and the photographer had to coax her gently to raise her chin. She looked at the camera with dread but a soft smile flashed for a brief second and that was enough; the photographer caught the elusive image and she was so shockingly beautiful that it was worth the struggle and the coaxing to get the one usable shot of her glamorous beauty. The camera snapped and the flash exploded and Marianne quickly looked at the floor embarrassed. Her high cheekbones flushed a sexy rosy blush.


Peter gestured to the designer subtly; he was never one to be ostentatious or imperious and he let his quietly commanding elegance speak for his power and influence. But the designer knew immediately what Peter wanted. She came over and silently led him to the tall and impossibly shy model; Marianne was still standing on her mark as the crew began to readjust of the next shot. She watched as Peter approached her and her rosy blush flooded into a scarlet glow. With fluttering hands she protectively crossed her arms over the transparent bra but not before Peter took note of the arousal of her nipples.


Peter was close to her now and could feel the soft heat of her body and he felt the slight tremble of her posture as he looked at her. Her gazed fixed onto a spot on the floor in front of him, but Peter watched her study the fine cut of his subdued but carefully tailored clothes, simple slacks, an oxford shirt, and a classic blue blazer. The tip of her tongue darted out for an all too brief tenth of a second, a precious pink gleam that looked better than delicious.


The designer was used to Marianne’s painful shyness by now and she made the introductions while watching the girl’s reactions closely. “Marianne, this is Peter. It’s his investment that got my line off the ground. Peter, Marianne here could become one of our top models if…” she realized that she had said too much. A dew drop of a tear appeared in the corner of Marianne’s eye.


Peter silently waved the designer away. His attention was all on the luscious Marianne. “I think you have great deal of talent as a model.” His voice was calm and reassuring as if he were approaching a restless and wary colt. She continued to blush deeply as she stared at the floor, scrunching her arms around her chest protectively. A soft heat radiated from her body; her flesh looked so delectable.


“I think we should talk about an exclusive contract.” Marianne was so alluring that he couldn’t help himself. He gently reached under her chin to lift up her face, but the skittish girl panicked and took a step back. “Marianne, this could be very good for your career,” he said calmly, not reacting to her nervousness.


Her head snapped up. Her eyes blazed with a fire that Peter was pleased to see. “I know who you are,” she hissed in a sensual whisper.


“Yes, we were just introduced.”


“You own Playboy. You make the Playmates.”


Peter chuckled. “No, I don’t own Playboy, but I do help with the selection of Playmates.”


Marianne looked at him, a long silence between them. She was tense with the skittish energy of a filly watching the cowboy about to break her. She cocked her head in curiosity. Her beautiful eyes sparkled, the dew drop gathering into a genuine tear sliding down her perfect cheek.


“Would you like to be a playmate?” he asked and he saw her belly tighten. “Would you like to talk about it?”


She raised her head, a little more confident now, and forced a brave smile as her eyes glistened with soft tears. An arm raised, while she still carefully kept the other crossed over her almost bare breasts, and a delicate finger demurely hooked into her luscious mouth. She nodded once shyly.


She shivered as he put his arm around her and escorted her to the dressing room. He drew her close and became intoxicated with the sweetness of her. Peter loved to ball beautiful women but he knew he was in for something special with this ravishingly exotic beauty. He knew he was going to be making love to a goddess and he could hardly wait. Even though she was so skittish she walked erect with head held high; her luscious body swayed beside him and he couldn’t resist, despite her nervous shyness, gliding his hand across her shoulder to the base of her neck. She tensed but kept walking slowly towards the dressing room. He traced a line down her spine, stopping at the tiny hook for the flimsy bra. She stopped walking, frozen in fear. Without looking at him she pleaded sweetly, “Later.” It was a promise of sweet sexual perfection. He let his hand continue down her spine and slip into the panties, cupping the fine round orbs of her ass as she walked. Her ass was flawless as it rolled under her hand, tight and smooth; he would have it he decided.


As if reading his mind, she purred softly, turning the knob to the dressing room door. “Later.” She licked her lips, her pink tongue glistening like a jewel, then she added, “I’ll let you do anything you want.” She paused, the gleam in her eyes showed that she meant anything and everything was possible.  “Later though, OK?” Her plea was heartbreakingly sensual. He withdrew his hand and followed her into the dressing room. He was hooked.


Watching a girl get undressed could be a treat, but watching Marianne Gravatte get dressed was an erotic poem. She pulled a baggy argyle sweater over her head and gracefully slipped her hands under her hair and dropped the cornsilk soft locks over her shoulders. She smiled at him shyly and turned her back to him; when she bent to pick up her jeans her excellent behind was thrust into the air, the sexy tan lines visible through the sheer fabric. He couldn’t resist touching those orbs, his palms caressing lovingly through the panties.


“Silly,” she admonished sweetly, brushing his hands away, “Later.” The word became more erotic every time it blew breathlessly through her lips.


She stood and still with her back to him began to wriggle into the tight jeans. Of course, he could watch her lovely face in the mirror as she writhed like a belly dancer pulling the pants up over her juicy hips and ass.  A simple pair of flats slipped onto her feet and she delicately slipped her arm into his and let him lead her to his limousine.


She fell into a ponderous silence, staring out the window as if the slow moving LA traffic could foretell her fate. He wanted to ravish her right there, rape her, possess her, make her cry for mercy, but she was so tantalizing and soft, so beautiful he wanted to savor every moment. He took her to an exclusive Beverley Hills café and they sat at the best table; cars driving by stopped to ogle her impossible beauty and every eye in the restaurant was fixed on her every gesture and sigh. She silently pushed the salad on her plate from one side to the other, delicately nibbling the tiniest of bites as she listened to Peter explain his plans to make her a playmate. Her only response was to nod faintly every once in awhile.


Peter spoke almost out of nervousness himself; her beauty was so ethereal he wanted to ball her right on the table, fuck her in front of everyone on Rodeo Drive. Instead he regaled her with promises of a luxurious life as a playmate.


Finally, she rested her fork on her plate with a tender clink of silver against porcelain. She finally lifted her face and willingly met his eyes. “When you take me please be gentle.”


She rose slowly and began to walk out of the restaurant. Peter got up quickly, tossing a pile of money on the table and following that fine ass back to the limo. Every customer, man and woman, looked at him with fierce envy.


He had a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel and the ride was quick but the girl maintained her cryptic silence and her steady stare out the window, her only concession to her fate was that she allowed him to hold her hand during the ride.  Her fingers were willowy and light, her touch so delicate that they seemed to hover like a breeze over his palm; when his hand closed over them her hand trembled slightly then glowed with a warm moist fervor. As they drew closer to their destination she began to squeeze more frantically but her eyes remained liquid and placid as they gazed out the window.


Once at the hotel she walked calmly, still holding his hands and the white knuckled grip revealing her edginess. She smelled wonderful, floating along side him on the path to the bungalow. Her eyes were watching her feet and with her head bent down her hair shimmered in the late afternoon California sun.


He knew better than to try retrieve his hand from her grip but he managed to pull out the key and unlock the door and swing it open. He gallantly gestured an invitation into his lair but she held back, breathlessly tense. He stepped in and pulled her along.


Inside the bungalow was dim after a bright California afternoon outside but Marianne Gravatte seemed to glow with a deep yearning, her skin almost translucent with desire. She stepped in close to him without bothering to notice the expensive appointments of the suite. Her face nuzzled into his ear and her moist mouth whispered, “This is nice.” Her lips brushed over his then her hands came around his neck and she bent back expectantly, expecting to be kissed.


Few men could resist those soft red lips as they parted and of course Peter couldn’t either. The kiss was poetic, starting gently; light busses pressing for warmth, delicate explorations on the tips of tongues. Slowly the girl, even with her body tense and her eyes demurely closed, gave into her own desires. The kiss grew in intensity. Her sweetness flooded his mouth and she moaned with pleasure; her tongue was a dancing fairy, twirling over his and licking over his face.


She took his hand and slipped it under the argyle sweater; his hand brushed along bare skin, soft and warm then found the breast round and firm under the flimsy bra. He squeezed like a school boy amazed to make it to first base. Marianne was a woman who appreciated being fondled. She purred softly and kissed her appreciation into his mouth. Butterflies, hummingbirds, angels; something magical and electric was on her tongue as it fluttered between his lips. The breast heaved and stiffened, the nipple a sharp jewel jabbing gratefully into his palm.


His hand moved to the other breast and paused, mesmerized.  She broke the kiss and it was heart wrenching to release her sweet tongue but then she nuzzled her face against his shoulder and neck, tickling with her hair and licking his ear with her tongue.


Her body swayed slightly, just enough to rub her nipple into his hand and brush her crotch against his. “This is nice,” she whispered, her voice overwhelming soft and sincere. She swayed some more, her soft head resting on his shoulder. “Here,” she whispered finally and stepped back, pushing his hand away.


‘Here.’ The one syllable was laden with sexual promise. It said: I want you; it said: Take me; it said: Let me undress for you. She crossed her arms in front of her waist and in a magnificent and delicate sweep of her arms began to lift the sweater in slow motion. First her belly, flat and smooth, then the bottom of her breasts, her flesh pushing out of the flimsy tight transparent bra, the soft moist valley of cream where the breasts pressed together, her throat so graceful in its elegant lines; her hair swept up as her arms and the sweater rose over her head, her perfect face disappearing for a moment and reappearing in a cascade of lustrous locks of hair tumbling out of the sweater as it dropped on the floor behind her.


She crossed her arms over her breasts, smiling shyly. With dainty steps she turned around. Her ass looked magnificent in the tight jeans. Her fingers fumbled nervously over the hook of the bra behind her; then with a sigh the elastic released. The straps of the bra slid down her soft shoulders then the flimsy garment disappeared to the floor.


She glanced back over her shoulder looking for his approval. His eyes were devouring the tantalizing expanse of flesh between her shoulders and the elegant line of her spine and the sweet curves of her graceful figure and that ass, that perfect ass.


From the slight shift of her hips it was apparent she was undoing the buttons of the tight jeans. Each closure required her to yank the fly tight then release, so the jeans seemed to caress her delicious ass. At last the final gentle release and with thumbs hooked in the waist band she wriggled with the allure of a belly dancer and the jeans slowly glided off her body.


Her ass was completely visible under the sheer fabric and her legs were supple and firm even as she nervously shifted her weight from foot to foot. She turned slowly almost afraid to face him and she stepped close, covering her breasts until she was close enough to press them against his chest.


Nuzzling into his shoulder again she slipped his hands over her ass. Her own fingers set to the delicate task of undressing him. Each button of his shirt was worshipped by her willowy fingers; her hands caressed lovingly over his chest as she slowly spread the shirt open. She tugged the tails out of the waistband and caressing his shoulders and arms with her palms she pushed the shirt off him. She stood close enough that her breasts kept lightly pressing over his skin, brushing over him in allusive touches.


Nobody ever took the care and concern over a belt buckle that she took now. Her finger tips rubbed over the gilt edges and gently used pressure enough to slide the end of the belt out of the loop and tug it enough to release the pin. Tugging the buckle she drew the belt around his waist in a long arch of her lissome arm and let it slip to the floor in a tantalizing jingle of metal.  Her ministrations over his fly were even more careful and loving. The sound of the zipper opening was a hushed reverent whisper. Her lithe and lovely hand slipped into his boxers for a long lingering moment and her hand caressed gently over his cock. “This is nice,” she sighed and kissed him gently and shyly, slowly rubbing his shaft the entire time.


‘This is nice.’ Like ‘Here,’ meant so much; she wasn’t talking about his cock it was clear she was expressing her yearning for him and her desire to surrender to him, to please him, to be his playmate. Still kissing him, her hands slid around to his and she gripped it tight and pulled him towards her. She sank to her knees, taking his slacks along with her. Like a geisha she slipped off each shoe and carefully removed the slacks. She pressed her warm cheek against his boxers and looked up at him. “Be nice,” she pleaded. Be nice: Take me, love me, fuck me.


With his fingers under her chin he raised her to her feet. Now he had a perfect view of her flawless breasts, so large, succulent, round and soft. She followed his eyes and looked down at herself, almost surprised that she was nearly nude. She looked up at him with her shy and submissive gaze, her eyes asking solemnly if he liked what he saw. He did; she could tell by the erection pushing out under the boxer shorts and she could tell by the look of lust in his eyes. She smiled shyly, grateful that she pleased him.


She took both his hands in hers and walked backwards; she had never been here before but she knew exactly where to take him. This bungalow at the Beverley Hills Hotel had an iron spiral staircase leading to the loft bedroom. She gracefully floated along, her eyes fixed on his and her head cocked to one side shyly. Her breasts swayed slightly as she moved, first across the floor, then slowly winding her way up the spiral stairs, facing him and holding his hands tight as she led him to the bedroom.


She moved with the regal grace of an empress and the bed, covered in ivory satin was her throne. She daintily lowered herself to the edge and sat him next to her. He couldn’t help himself and he reached over for one of those luscious breasts, but she gently pushed his hand away. “Go slow.” Her voice was hushed and mild, but she put a hand behind his head and parted her lips as she lifted her face to his. This kiss was tender, but playful too; she murmured softly over his lips before offering her mouth to him. She teased and tangled with her tongue and teeth and this time went he lightly brushed over her bare breasts with his palms she didn’t resist. She sighed warmly at the touch.


He kissed her hard and he kissed her soft and he fondled her perfect breasts with the zeal of a school boy petting on his first date. Marianne responded with sighs and kisses, shifting her body to guide his hands over her chest and throat and belly. Her hands held his head gently as if she were afraid he would leave her.


She leaned back on the satin sheets bringing him with her. Her hair spread over the shimmering white and her body settled lovingly into the soothing cool of the fabric. She rolled over, lifting her legs onto the bed; her hair danced. She rolled again so she was on her back and she held her arms out, drawing him over her.


Lying there still and shy she sucked the tip of a finger and her eyes told him everything. She glanced down at her breasts, heaving and jiggling and his mouth kissed her throat then down between the two mounds. First he licked over the tan lines, tracing the outline of her skimpy bikini. Next he slathered the paler skin around the nipples with wet greedy kisses. She sighed with each lustful touch of his mouth. Finally, he turned his attention to one breast, preparing to devour it. His tongue spiraled over the succulent flesh and his lips parted to draw the rock candy nipple into his mouth. She mewed once in surprise as he nibbled then she held his head, encouraging him to gorge on her breasts, to suck them greedily, to bite and kiss and pinch with lust.


He lifted his head and looked into her shy loving eyes; she mewed and shifted her body just enough to jiggle her breasts in an enticing invitation. He accepted and started the delightful task of devouring the other mound.


She began to writhe slowly and her hands wandered over his back, scratching softly with her nails. Her fingers slipped under the waistband of his boxers and she squeezed his ass. The touch was electric and he bit down on her nipple in reply which brought out a tender sob from the meek and lovely girl.


Again he raised himself over her and gazed on the splendor of her beauty. “I need to fuck you,” he pleaded.


“Yes.” Her voice was breathless and shy but she squirmed out from under him and guided his body down onto the sheets. She tenderly tugged the boxers down off his waist. The cock sprang out and she smiled. She gently pulled fabric over his feet and with affectionate care folded the shorts neatly and rested them on the bed stand.


She lay on her back next to him and pushed her gossamer panties away. She looked for his approval when her dark bush came into view, then she lifted her rear and slid the panties off in a delicate push. She turned to him and kissed him, pressing her naked body against his; the kiss was soulful and pleading, almost desperate and certainly urgent.


Everything moved languidly; each motion executed with the care of great kabuki artists. The urgency came from her desperate desire to please him and grew as his pleasure grew. She lay still but her body was vibrant and alive with sexual allure. He shifted slowly, parting her legs and caressing her body. Her hands fluttered tentatively and she allowed him to have his way with her.


The kiss continued even as he prepared for his assault on her tender depths. Air from his lips made her vibrate and she was a shimmering cloud; desire rippled through her while sighing and sobbing meekly she murmured joy and soothing pleas, calming her own erratic pulse and calming his hungry lust. Air from a breeze slipped over her flesh and raised goose bumps and thrust her forward in search of his power; kissing, sobbing she soared above all earthy frenzy and she was serene in her desire. She was the stuff of life and lust, of sex and love, her eyes clinging, pleading to be possessed. Her legs trembled in desire to wrap themselves around him, to bring him to her.


She broke the kiss and sighed as she reached out to touch his cock. “Let me help,” she murmured sweetly.


His cock sank unhurriedly into her deliciously tight honey-pot, She sobbed but held still, only vibrating with life and desire. She took him in, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. She squeezed him into her body.


She was a conflagration, burning silently but deeply, Fire, fire gleamed in her eyes, dizzy and hot, hot, hot. She burned in a slow sensual dizzying fire, hot as a filament, sexy hot, dizzy hot. Everything was in this conjoining, the entire universe of lust, all his eyes could see was life and love and the stars and the sun and the moon and the earth, all in her shy quiet gaze as he fucked her. He pulsed inside her, her beauty searing into his eyes; he fucked her slow and steady into blackness that burned bright. He fucked her deep for a long time and she murmured loving appreciation of each stroke. She burned bright in her dizzying stillness; she was perfection in her rhythmic swaying, in her surrender to the heat of his cock. She glowed bright, dizzying bright in the endless night of fire.


He came. He came in a flawless arch, the stream of him flooding deep into her, fire and more fire. He came and he filled her in a steady pulse of fire. She took it all sobbing with gratitude, her eyes brimming. Then she came. An explosion, the fire finally lighting the fuse of her passion; as he filled her she thrust up and began to thrash and buck, fighting fiercely, kicking and scratching and biting. The bed was a war zone as she rolled over the sheets, keeping his body close, plunging him deeper as she wrestled him in a violent chaos of lust. She came in a flood of liquid fire that wouldn’t end until finally, astride his hips she plunged down on his cock, setting off the dynamite of another orgasm; he blasted into her and she flooded again as she sobbed and writhed. Slowly bringing herself to vibrant electric stillness as she came more and more, she leaned down and in slow motion brushed her hair over his face and she fell into the sheets. Lying next to him she gave him a shy smile, sucking her little finger as her eyes sought his approval.


He approved, rolling her onto her back and fucking her again. She would be a perfect playmate, Playmate of the Year for certain.


That was then. Now, a few weeks later disaster had struck and she couldn’t overcome enough of her shyness to allow even one shot for her centerfold shoot. The crew was frantic and anxious and the model was almost ready for a breakdown.  Peter had had enough; “Clear the set,” he growled, and while he had no official business here everybody obeyed.


Marianne, sweet and vulnerable Marianne, remained behind standing on her mark for her centerfold shot.


In Marianne Gravatte's centerfold picture she would be leaning against a post in a hunting lodge. Usually Peter would be amused by the all the fakery and suggestive imagery. The ‘hunting lodge’ consisted of a background screen, a leather chair and a rough hewn totem pole. The art directors always included poles and shafts with the playmates when possible, always making Peter chuckle over the obvious implications. The little Marianne wore suggested an Amazon huntress waiting for her man to take her. One hunt over, the other was about to begin.


She was posed to look expectant and available; the bush jacket opened wide to reveal her delectable body, the thigh high leg warmers and tall leather boots highlighting the graceful lines of her lithe legs. One hand on her hip, the other behind her head delicately resting on the totem pole and all the colors warm and soft to accent the warm soft glow of her skin, the picture would be perfect, like Marianne herself.


But it was two little details that were most suggestive: the open leather belt hovering from her hips and pointing directly at the succulent dark patch of her pussy, and the leather wrist band at the totem pole, a little gesture towards an illusion that Marianne was helpless before him. Then there was the soft expression on her flawless face. Not sultry, not pouty, but yet full of sexual heat and invitation. She was offering a gift, not becoming a tramp. He would have to work hard to keep up with her. It would be an effort well rewarded.


Her eyes told the whole story; soft and pleading even as she held the pose at his approach. “Sorry,” she sighed; the sigh really saying, you can do anything you want to me right now. I need so desperately to be loved by you, to be taken by you. I surrender to you even if I can’t surrender to the camera.


She sighed again as he caressed her thighs and waist and belly, then cupped those succulent breasts. She bent back for the kiss she was longing for and he gave her that and more, tenderly probing her warm moist mouth and claiming her nectar for his own. Her tongue fluttered, a nervous bird, anxious to please.


“I need to fuck you, Marianne.”


“Yes,” she gasped. Yes, the gasp said: you will, but first I’m going to kiss your cock, worship you; then I will blow your mind with fucking.


Her passion was a quiet dawn leisurely unfolding, delicate but definitely and steadily waxing into fiery heat; her eager but subtle submission left little doubt in his mind that this sexual encounter with Marianne would be very pleasant.


Her mouth faded from this kiss with a soft murmur, “Let me,” she purred and she bent onto her knees, floating blithely like an angel descending to earth. Her hands danced unhurriedly over the zipper; it was almost reverently silent as she tugged it down. Her finger floated into his trousers, unhurried but certain of their mission. Gently guiding his cock out of the trousers she looked at him for approval and softly kissed the head, then licked down the shaft. She nuzzled against his crotch and licked some more, constantly watching his eyes, gauging her performance with each flash of reaction on his face. The cock throbbed, a wild stallion in her hands and her mouth engulfed it, her head moving in athletic grace. Her lips enfolded themselves over him and her tongue began to move over the cock, welcoming it and savoring the heat of it inside her mouth. She sucked dreamily-- this was not sex; this was worship. When he was fully stoked she rose, offering her entire body to him. She dropped her shoulders just enough for the bush jacket to slide easily off her arms and fall delicately to the floor.  She turned her back to him and in a languid pose she leaned forward, resting her hands on the pole, all the anxiety already forgotten. He followed leaning over her and spreading her legs. “I’m going to fuck you now Marianne.”


She nodded slowly. A low moan pushed out of her as he entered her, standing behind her legs and her perfect bottom; she shifted so that her left leg lifted and bent back until it was draped over his left hip, the leather of her boot catching over his belt. The move agile and graceful, her body arched with the nimble suppleness of a yoga connoisseur.  He pushed into her; she rose on her right foot to meet him.


Marianne always loved the first thrust, the thrill of feeling him fill her with his power. Her sheath received him with a sigh then tightened, fitting over his throbbing cock like a mink glove. Her hands held tightly to the totem pole, the white knuckled grip of anticipation and trepidation of the brutal assault she loved so much. His hands gripped her hips and he rammed into her once, and she sighed, he rammed again and she sobbed, and each thrust was more delicious than the last-- tighter, sharper, hotter. Her left foot dropped to the floor and she stomped the ground like a mare in heat. The heel of the boot thudded loudly on the hardwood floor punctuating each plunge into her eager body.


He thrust again and her head dropped in surrender; again he thrust and her head snapped up in surprise at the force of his pounding. Her golden hair flew around her meek angelic face. He rammed in again and her grip on the totem pole slipped she reached back to hold his wrists and he rammed in again; she gasped with pain and pleasure. She didn’t notice the camera crew surrounding them, snapping pictures of her bliss. She was completely lost in the glory of his cock inside her; she was exultant in her surrender.


Her hands stroked up and down his arms with a delicate touch, as though they were stroking the cock buried deep inside her sweetness. Her hips thrust back to meet him; she fucked him eagerly with her sheath gloriously hot and wet. Her eyes were closed, concentrating on the pleasure inside her and the effort of giving him pleasure. She drew his hands up to cup her heaving breasts, the touch so warm and soft; she sighed meekly and squeezed his hands over the mounds as her nipples stabbed into his palms. He rammed into her and she sobbed, helpless and loving. She reached back and held his waist, drawing him deeper inside her treasure.


The fucking was a tantalizing tango, a dance of give and take. Her hands, flat and straight, caressed over his hips then over her own ass, the sensation of touching her own skin giving her tingles. She held his wrists again, his hands still over her breasts and with shameless gusto she thrust back onto his cock.  He bent forward and nuzzled into her neck, breathing the sweat in her golden hair. He fucked her hard now pistoning in and out with vigor. She sobbed with each brutal blow. Her hand guided his down to her pussy wet and warm; she wanted what she wanted.


With a cry of ecstasy her head snapped up; her body arched back. He rammed into her harder. Her chin was in the air, her hair cascading down her back. She writhed over his cock and twisted her head to see the shaft drilling into her. She giggled frantically as he fucked her even harder. Her hands held his hips as his toyed with her clit. She wound tight like a clock ready to strike. In and out he drilled; her head bent further back, her hair over his chest and shoulder. She howled and the photographer caught the bliss with his camera. She didn’t care; she howled again.


She writhed and bucked now, struggling to stay erect. He held her tight around her belly with his arm wrapped around her waist. His cock throbbed fiercely, begging for release. Her head dropped and her body bent forward; she was dying and rising with each thrust; she howled her glory. Her hair flew in circles as she twisted and wriggled and thrashed.


Once more her head snapped back and her spine formed a perfect arc; she was on the verge of coming. She sensed in a primal way that he too was about to come, to ejaculate his power deep into her trembling body. She wanted desperately for him to come in her. She screamed her plea and stood on her toes and dropped down and thrust her ass back; she silently demanded with each motion that he fuck her harder and harder.


She came in a rain cloud, complete with thunder and lightning; she came gushing delicate tears of gratitude. She came with pleas that he take her totally. She came completely. He came in an explosion; her insides were a blank and expectant universe that he filled with stars. The heat gushed into her and she could feel every single burst, the thousands of little bursts inside her; she could measure the lust and power in each one and she received it all with a sob.


She trembled, a mare broken and subdued by her master and he came into her again, filling her with his lust; she sighed meekly.


She stumbled forward as with a grunt of pleasure he pulled out. Gripping the pole she allowed the make-up girls to rush forward and pamper her, to brush her hair and finesse her make-up. She breathed like a wild animal, tense and feral. Peter stood close, his eyes glowing cruelly. He patted her belly and she could still feel his seed spreading like hot lava deep in her. “Remember this,” he demanded. “Every flash of the camera is me fucking you.”


“Yes,” she murmured obediently and let the wardrobe girl slip the bush jacket on. She transformed into Marianne Gravatte, Miss October, 1982; with each passing second she became more calm and placid and pleased to be seen by the camera. She drifted into the pose for her centerfold with an eagerness to please and seduce. Peter strutted off the set and out of the studio. He didn’t look back; he knew the centerfold would be perfect.


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