Simone Eden by candlelight

Simone Eden by candlelight

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Slim and lovely blonde stunner Simone Fleurice Eden was born on June 14, 1970 in Arcadia, California. Simone is the daughter of Carol Eden, who was the Playmate of the Month in the December, 1960 issue of "Playboy." Eden always aspired to become a Playmate herself after she saw her mother's pictorial in "Playboy." Simone's wish came true when she was chosen to be the Playmate of the Month in the February, 1989 issue of the famous men's magazine, thus making her the first Playmate who's the daughter of a previous Playmate. Her dreams come true, sometimes even her daydreams. Here she meets two tall strangers who make her regret being too silly in her Playmate application.

Summary

Slim and lovely blonde stunner Simone Fleurice Eden was born on June 14, 1970 in Arcadia, California. Simone is the daughter of Carol Eden, who was the Playmate of the Month in the December, 1960 issue of "Playboy." Eden always aspired to become a Playmate herself after she saw her mother's pictorial in "Playboy." Simone's wish came true when she was chosen to be the Playmate of the Month in the February, 1989 issue of the famous men's magazine, thus making her the first Playmate who's the daughter of a previous Playmate. Her dreams come true, sometimes even her daydreams. Here she meets two tall strangers who make her regret being too silly in her Playmate application.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Simone Eden by candlelight

Author Chapter Note

Slim and lovely blonde stunner Simone Fleurice Eden was born on June 14, 1970 in Arcadia, California. Simone is the daughter of Carol Eden, who was the Playmate of the Month in the December, 1960 issue of "Playboy." Eden always aspired to become a Playmate herself after she saw her mother's pictorial in "Playboy." Simone's wish came true when she was chosen to be the Playmate of the Month in the February, 1989 issue of the famous men's magazine, thus making her the first Playmate who's the daughter of a previous Playmate. Her dreams come true, sometimes even her daydreams. Here she meets two tall strangers who make her regret being too silly in her Playmate application.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 02, 2015

Reads: 1103

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Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 02, 2015

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Simone Eden was giddy with excitement; the Mansion parties always overwhelmed the young girl: the glittering collection of celebrities and wannabes and everybody on the make. She may have been a Playmate but she was shy and inexperienced too, too shy to really enjoy these big events. All too often she made a quick tour of the party so as to be seen by Mr. Hefner, then she’d slip up to her bedroom where she could escape the lustful gazes and groping hands. There’s a lot she liked about living at the Mansion but the parties were not on that list.

Until tonight. Tonight was a special event, a fund raiser for animal shelters in Los Angeles and the big promotion was a live Playmate jukebox. Donors could bid to have their favorite Playmates dance to current hit songs and the rich glitterati of LA were outdoing themselves in spending money to see luscious centerfold models gyrating to top forty hits. Simone loved to dance but what made her giddy tonight was just how often she was being called to the stage and asked to perform for the crowd.

The first time she was called to the stage surprised her; she thought all the other Playmates there were prettier and sexier and she had assumed she’d never be picked. The second time thrilled her but she was too shy to feel vain about it; pleased, hell yeah; she poured her sexy body into the song and, too guileless to realize it, she drove the crowd into a frenzy of lust and desire. But, holy cow, then she was called up for a third time. She squealed with delight and excitement and scrambled up the steps to the stage.

There, on a screen the size of the whole stage was a blow-up of the shot that was going to be her centerfold. And in front of the screen was Simone, in a short tight red dress, dancing to "Pour Some Sugar On Me," by Def Leppard. The room erupted in cheers, applause, joyous yelling. Everybody loved to watch Simone Eden dance. It was a knockout show: ferocious, expressive, vital, the colors of her gyrations hot, then cool, sounds and visuals making raucous rock and guileless beauty harmonize. Simone was dancing wildly; although she was shy, she had a wild streak that came out when she danced, or when she climaxed- she knew no difference.

Pour some sugar on me
Ooh, in the name of love
Pour some sugar on me
C'mon fire me up
Pour your sugar on me
Oh, I can't get enough

Simone popped her bodacious chest in and out, arms raised in fists. She looked like she was working toward something. She looked like she was dancing herself into an orgasm, a wild screaming every limb and every strand of hair in motion orgasm. She pursed her lips and looked provoked, sensual, exhausted, unwilling to quit.

Simone’s bodacious body was the perfect delivery system for "Pour Some Sugar On Me," a perfect ‘fuck-me’ song; that’s the song’s promise: a great fuck and that was the dance’s promise too. For Simone there was sexy music and there was other music, and any music she danced to was sexy; any music she danced to promised a great fuck. Throughout her sexy gyrations, the promise kept reasserting itself, in the music coming from the giant speakers to the left of the stage and in each writhing wriggling twist and hop of the nubile girl’s body. The song sounded energized, aggressive, and sexy; nobody seeing her dance could ever hear the song without wishing he was fucking her. (Even now.)

The music perfectly reflected her sensual power; she danced as if she could dance all night and her dancing declared, made it loud and clear, she could ball all night. She danced furiously through the whole song, for nearly five minutes, and seemed reluctant to stop when music was over; in the silence she gyrated, writhed, and wriggled, her nubile body dipping and swaying, the only sound her sexy panting and the groans of the entranced crowd. When she finished, shyly blushing because she hadn’t realized the music had ended, she could feel the roar of the crowd sweeping over her. Only then did she look down and see that her tight red dress, soaked with sweat was nearly transparent. She blushed a deeper red and tried to cover herself with her arms and this only made the crowd even more crazy with lust for her.

She nervously backed away from the the cheering mob but the projection behind her was changing to reveal the Breeshooten Twins in some of their Playmate photos and now the twins themselves were rushing to the front of the stage to entertain the audience with their gyrations to Wild Wild West.

The publisher himself was at the bottom of the stairs leading off the stage. He beamed at the shy girl; he looked like a proud poppa. The cool air of the A/C wrapped around Simone and in the sweat-damp red dress she began to shiver. The thin almost sheer fabric couldn’t hold back the arousal in her nipples; whether the nipples were hardening from the chill or the afterglow of her stimulating dance Simone couldn’t tell.

The music was loud and the tiny girl could barely hear what the publisher was saying. He had one arm around her waist and he was gesturing vaguely with his pipe. Two men stepped forward and the publisher was making introductions.

Little Simone felt almost trapped at that moment, still reeling from the momentum of her lust-inducing dance, but she was also overwhelmed by the presence the these two men. They were clearly wealthy, both dressed in casual but expensive clothes; they were tall, looming over both the publisher and the petite Playmate. And they were twins, so exactly alike that Simone could have believed that she was dizzy and seeing double. And they were devouring the sexy girl with their glowing eyes; Simone was too distracted and the music was too loud for her to hear any of the publisher’s words of introduction but both men smiled appreciatively at the young girl and each gave a slight bow and both, in turn, took her hand and squeezed it. When the first twin touched her hand Simone trembled; when the second twin took her hand she trembled even more.

The publisher was explaining something to her that she could barely hear and couldn't understand at all. She nodded once in awhile to be polite and she was unnerved to see that each of her nods delighted the publisher and delighted the twins even more. Simone, always eager to please even when doubtful, nodded some more since it gave the men such pleasure to see her pretty head bob up and down; the men, in their turn expressed more satisfaction so she kept up her nodding. For a few moments they were in an endless loop of grins and nods; Simone had no idea what they were talking about but it seemed easy enough to make them happy. She liked to make men happy.

She almost asked to have their names repeated but the publisher was nudging her along. “Why don’t you go up to your room and change; you’ve had quite a work out. Go freshen up so you’ll be ready for when the party starts.”

Simone wrinkled her cute little nose for a moment, wondering what he meant by that last remark; wasn’t this already a party? She shrugged and decided there must be a mixer afterwards to celebrate the money they raised for charity. She giggled as she remembered how much she had enjoyed dancing and she shoved away the last confusing remark and the menacing leers of those two twins so she could focus on what had delighted her so.

Simone wandered the halls of the Mansion, dawdling the way a school girl might dawdle in a museum; she rapped out a tattoo on the suit of armor at the bottom of the grand staircase and she lifted the beaver (she always giggled at that term) to see if a ghost was inside. Then she shashayed slowly up the stairs; she knew these halls very well and in a way she belonged there. She’d been coming to the Mansion since she was a little girl and she had always liked it, that is until the publisher had noticed that she had developed into a nubile and ripe nymphet. Up to now at least, she managed to avoid his advances; it was especially hard during her centerfold shoot, but still: she felt very at home here and very privileged; in fact, she was entitled.

Lissome and lovely blonde stunner Simone Fleurice Eden was born Simone H----- on June 14, 1970 in Arcadia, California. Simone was the daughter of Carol Eden, who was the Playmate of the Month in the December, 1960 issue of Playboy. Luscious Simone always aspired to becoming a Playmate herself after she saw her mother's pictorial in the forbidden magazine. Simone's wish came true when she was chosen to be the Playmate of the Month in the February, 1989 issue of the famous men's magazine, thus making her the first Playmate who's the daughter of a previous Playmate.

One of the perks of being the first second generation Playmate, Playboy royalty really, was she was living at the Mansion rent-free. She even had her own room.

The room was not at all what one would have expected for the Playboy Mansion. Just eighteen, Simone had been living at the mansion for a few months and it was like living in Disneyland; the publisher even allowed her to decorate the room just the way she liked it and she liked it fabulously frilly, a little girl’s room. The curtains at the windows were ruffled chintz. The walls were an alluringly pale lemon shade. The end tables were tightly packed with curlycues and inlaid patterns. The corners of the room contained knick-knack shelves, and the shelves were loaded with fragile glass figurines of dogs and cats and gnomes and one of Little Bo Peep holding a delicately blown, slender glass shepherd's crook.

Simone belonged in this room. This room had been designed for this sweet young thing, designed for femininity, and the Male Animal be damned.

Stepping into her fairly land she paused to turn the lock; on party nights she always felt more secure locking herself in. And then, like a princess she surveyed her domain.

She noticed right away that somebody had left a gift for her: a giant panda bear almost life size, it dominated the bed and it seemed to greet the sweet girl with its arms stretched out. A red ribbon was tied in a bow on one arm and dangling from the bow was a tag that the silly girl did not read; if she had read it she would have seen: ‘To the luscious Simone, soon to be a Playmate in the pages of Playboy but our Playmate now.’ The two signatures were illegible but Simone didn’t even notice them. Just then Simone was too giddy to notice; instead, she took up the panda and swirled around the room as if she were Ginger Rodgers dancing with Fred Astaire. Together they plopped down on the bed and the girl let out a delighted whoop. “Naughty, naughty, don’t you go grabbing my boobs,” she teased as she tapped the bear on its nose.

Thrilled by her new toy she glanced at the card as she tugged the ribbon off of the panda’s arm; she still didn’t fuss with reading it. Just another admirer she thought as she resolved to write a thank-you tomorrow. Simone was a silly girl who firmly believed in putting playtime ahead of chore-time.

An elaborate box labeled ‘Victoria’s Secret’ was next to the panda. By now Simone was accustomed to these gifts of lingerie from the publisher so she didn’t give this much attention at the moment because there was something else in the room and its presence caused some trepidation in the young girl.

At first it looked like a massage table, the kind that is brought to your room when you order a spa treatment at a ritzy hotel. Three feet wide, seven feet long, it stood on its thirty inch legs with an almost military bearings. Two layers of padding covered it: one layer dense thick foam like a mattress and over that a thin layer of soft foam upholstered in black vinyl. The surface was hinged in several places and if Simone had examined the table more closely she would have seen two padded bolsters that could be swung out to support a person’s arms spread out wide. The surface of the table was also slotted, eighteen slits distributed evenly over the padded top. There was an overhead light beaming down on the table and the light shown through the slots and made little patterns on the floor underneath. Simone didn’t notice the black canvas bag unobtrusively stowed in one corner, a bag filled with black leather straps along with a variety of other hardware that helped the table serve its function.
For a few brief seconds she pondered the new artifacts in her room but her girlish and pretty head did not want to do too much thinking. A shower was what she needed she decided and her angelic face flooded with excitement. Simone was not a vain girl but she couldn’t help but be thrilled very time she contemplated her made-for-a-centerfold body. Barely eighteen and she was going to be Miss February! Images of cute little cupids danced in her head as she stood before the mirror. The red dress was merely a tube of flimsy fabric stretched over her curvaceous 37-24-35 figure. And it was time to take it off.

Simone loved getting undressed. She tugged the hem and began to pull the garment up over her belly and chest; she paused for a moment with the dress pulled over one breast but snagged over the other. She remembered suddenly her centerfold pose. A jumble of emotions engulfed her: pride, bewilderment, arousal.
In Simone Eden's centerfold shot almost everything worked to display her emerging sexuality. She was posed lying face-up on copper colored satin sheets; she was dressed in black to offset the luminous glow of her skin and the glowing gleam of her golden hair; on her legs were black sheer stockings and she wore, at least theoretically wore since so much of her delectable flesh was on display, a long sleeved black leotard cut to barely cover her breasts. Next to her on the bed was a frilly feathery and impractical hat –let’s call it a chapeau-- and streaming from this useless hat black were fishnet scarves. The scarves draped over her naked hips like a skirt --an almost invisible skirt; around her elegant throat streamed a string of white pearls glowing against the deep black of the leotard. The pearls wrapped around her neck and across her arms suggesting --let’s face it-- bondage; and the hat lay on the bed, stripped off her head as though she was being offered as a sacrifice. The fishnet scarves were drawn over her creamy thighs proffering no protection for the soft skin and more enticing—the fishnet was split so that her helpless pussy was completely bare. Her figure was flattered by lying flat on her back with her right arm behind her head in a suggestive pin-up pose and giving her breasts a natural but voluptuous shape, as if these luscious mounds had been prepared as an offering. It’s delicious to see a pin-up in this position, quite intriguing to see her offered as a lover.
No woman lies down in a bed like this unless someone has told her to. Simone was posing as the obedient, submissive Playmate offered as a love slave. Each element – the careful symmetry in the pose of her arms, the long red nails and the hesitant way her left hand gestured to the soft curls of her sex, the angle of the pulled up top, the rope of pearls, the position of her legs, the spread of her golden hair around her head like a silken halo – spelled sex, pure and undiluted. To top it off, Simone looked like she's trying to figure out what sinful thing the photographer was going to ask her to do next; her look made it clear that she would do whatever she was commanded to. She was a fantasy woman in repose: ripe and submissive.  
She frowned now in the mirror as she remembered lying back on the satin sheets. The camera was above the bed and the photographer perched up on a scaffold above her. The publisher himself was standing close by and he was making her nervous with his gaze. The first shots were with the leotard covering both breasts, her belly bare and the fishnet scarves gathered over her hips so that they were opaque enough to hide the soft curls of her golden pussy. She tried a few variations on the pose until the photographer was satisfied. And then it was time to bare all.
“Hold the pose, perfect. Now pull the right side of the top up.”
Simone wondered for a moment how she could both hold the pose and pull on her garment. She understood that the photographer wanted her to pull the hem to stretch the fabric until it was sheer over her left breast and pulled up to bare her right breast at the same time; she started to move an arm. “No,” he instructed, “Don’t move your right hand. Keep it behind your head. Hef, could you push up the leotard?”
Simone wanted to gulp but she had to hold the pose. She held her breath as the publisher cupped her creamy mound and slowly lifted the fabric to reveal the breast and nipple in all its ripe glory. His palm lingered over the helpless nipple and she felt the sweet nub harden against the warmth of his hand. He slowly caressed down her belly and arranged the scarves himself; she saw him lick his lips as he bared her delicious honey-pot. She trembled; he clearly relished the task of stripping her for her centerfold shot and he was clearly expecting more; she kept her eyes on the lens and was relieved when he withdrew so the photographer could work but he was never far away. Simone focused all her attention on the massive camera and when the shoot was finally finished she scurried away before the publisher could approach.  Simone was not a virgin; but she was still shy about sex. She had a boyfriend, Greg, who drilled her brutally and it was in fact, Greg’s father who had popped her cherry not so long ago.  She loved sex, she loved giving her man pleasure but she still found it scary and the publisher she found very scary. She’d known him since she was a little girl. He was like a father figure in some way, at least until he started to fondle her breasts every opportunity he could find.
She shivered now remembering his lust, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of her gloriously almost naked body reflected in the mirror. With a fierce shake of her golden mane she pulled the damp dress over her head and tossed it away.
Except for the high heels she was now completely nude. Her satin skin still glowed and glistened with sweat. She examined the flawless tan, a soft warm sheen except for the triangle around the golden curls of her bush and the thin line of the g-string she so loved to wear. She looked at herself in the glass and noticed again the strange black table behind her; she shuddered but wasn’t sure why. But with a laugh she kicked off her shoes and her worries and skipped girlishly off to the shower.
It would have been too expensive to redecorate the bathroom but the girl was allowed an overly elaborate and flowery shower curtain that featured cute baby animals and she chose towels that were equally ornate and feminine. The small room was rich with the sensual aromas of scented soaps and creams and oils, the kind found in a concubine’s boudoir or in the bedroom of an elegant duchess.  Simone was no duchess though; in her heart she was as eager and daring as a cheerleader alone on the bus with the football team after they won the state championship. She did love her creams and oils certainly, especially the oils: a handsome masseur’s rough hands anointing her soft warm body with an oil imported from Persia-- his fingers working like steel bands over her naked shoulders and when he turns her over (she’s his slave of course and he manipulates her body anyway he wants) he gasps at the sight of her large creamy breasts with her nipples stretched out in offering. He slathers oil over each mound in turn and lovingly squeezes and kneads the flesh. She can’t help it; she reaches out to touch the bulge in his shorts and she can’t help sliding her hand into the shorts and pulling out the delicious cock. She wants to suck it but already he’s parting her thighs and in one brutal thrust he fucks into…Holy cow, she thought, and shook the dream from her pretty head. She let the shower steam up the room and then she stepped into the cascade of warm water, each drop seeming to kiss her tender skin.
For Simone Fleurice Eden every shower was an erotic adventure and her daydream carried on as she lathered herself with lavender soap and massaged delicious oils into her warm soft skin. On and on the water streamed and deeper and deeper her daydream fucked into her nubile body. She began to touch herself using both the nozzle and her tiny fingers to fondle her breasts and pleasure her wet and warm honeypot. Her moans drowned out the roar of the shower and only when she accidently turned the temperature to cold did she snap out of her revery. She leapt out of the shower giggling, her skin tingling.
She winked at the giant panda and let him watch her prance in the nude as she swirled around the bedroom once more. She averted her eyes away from the table, focusing instead on the Victoria’s Secret box. She opened with it with the greedy enthusiasm of a little girl at Christmas and she gasped when she lifted the gossamer fabric out of the tissue paper wrapping. The lingerie was in two pieces: a soft black leotard that would cover her arms up to her wrists and her legs down to her ankles, but was designed to be off the shoulders so her throat and cleavage would be displayed to maximum effect.  Holding it up it seemed to be more a wisp of a cloud than a garment and she knew that once stretched over her bodacious body it would be so sheer that it would seem more a soft breeze than a garment. But the second piece was a cape of the same color and the same gossamer sheen but wrapping this around herself she would be less revealed to lustful eyes.
She showed it to the panda and he seemed to widen his eyes in amazement. She nodded in agreement, “It’s too pretty just for lounging around now. But I do have another pretty negligee that I know you will like.”
In a short moment she was prancing before the panda in a powder blue teddy that was so short it barely covered her bottom. She giggled and leapt into bed and cuddled up with the giant toy and she hugged it lovingly, her long legs tucked under her, her feet bare. She was uncommonly big-busted, incredibly narrow-waisted. Her hip bones were wide, flesh-padded, a girl whose body had been designed for pleasure. He could visualize her as she would look in her centerfold spread her—in the role of a seductress. The powder blue teddy strengthened the concept. The frou-frou room left no doubt. This was a stage set for the future Miss February.

The negligee was not low-cut. It didn't have to be.

Nor was it particularly tight, and it didn't have to be that, either.

It was expensive, and it fitted her figure well. He had no doubt that anything she wore would fit her figure well. He had no doubt that even a potato sack would look remarkably interesting on the young girl who was hugging him.

"What do we do now?" Simone asked. "do you know what I want to do Mr. Panda?”

She looked at him wide-eyed. Her eyes were very bright, her hair was very blond, her complexion was fair and unmarred. She was a beautiful nymphet, fresh and lovely.

The room and Simone Eden.

The femaleness reached out to envelop him in a cloying, clinging embrace.

"You know what I want?" Simone said. "I want to make you happy."

She rose, displaying a long white segment of thigh as she got to her feet, displaying an almost indecent obliviousness to the way she handled her body. She had lived with it for a long time. She still marveled at its allure; she still drew a breath in wonderment when she caught sight of her bodacious curves in the mirror. She couldn’t believe it when men expressed lust for her but it had been going on for a long time. She accepted it, and lived with it, and others could marvel.

"Do you like me this?" she asked. She was standing at the bar across from him. She stood with the loose-hipped stance of a fashion model, incongruous because he always pictured fashion models as willowy and thin and flat-chested. Simone Eden was none of these.


She walked to him and handed him a drink. Their fingers touched for an instant. He looked up at her. Her face was completely guileless.

She walked to the mirror and looked at her body. "I want you to know you could do anything. Really, anything," she said.

Anything. The word was female somehow. He was reminded again of her centerfold, of the real portrait before him, standing by the mirror, of the femaleness everywhere around him on this island. He could not blame her, he knew that. She was only being herself, being Simone Eden, being Woman. She was only a pawn of fate, a girl who automatically embodied womanhood, a girl who . . . hell!

"What will you do with me?" she asked. She whirled from the window, went to a love seat and collapsed into it. The movement was not a gracious one. It was feline, however. She sprawled in the love seat like a big jungle cat, and then she tucked her legs under her again, and he would not have been surprised if she'd begun purring in that moment.

And again, like an interwoven thread of personality, a personality dictated by the demands of a body that could look nothing but blatantly inviting, Simone Eden had inadvertently lighted another fuse. He had the feeling that she would suddenly explode into a thousand flying fragments of breast and hip and thigh, splashed over the landscape like a Dali painting.

"I have a few ideas myself." Her eyes were glowing with desire, gently dangerous. Her breath was coming heavier now, and her breasts heaved disconcertingly.

"I'm hot," she said… She blinked and found herself on the love seat gazing at the blank face of the panda. Her hand was between her thighs. Another dream, she giggled silently.


Simone lay in the love seat near the open window. She stretched the pale blue teddy over her luscious breasts. She was barefoot, and her legs were propped up on the window sill, and the flimsy fabric rustled mildly with the faint breeze that came through the window. She had drawn her blond hair back to one side of her face. He went to her, and she lifted her face for his kiss, and he noticed the thin film of perspiration on her upper lip.

"Where's my drink?" he asked.

"I'll mix it," she said. She swung her feet off the window sill, and the negligee pulled back for an instant, her thigh winking at him. He watched her silently, wondering what it was about this girl that was so exciting, wondering how long he could wait before he raped her.

"Get that gleam out of your eyes," she said, reading his face.

"Why?"

"It's too damn hot."

"I know a fellow who claims the best way..."

"I know about that fellow."

"…Is in a locked room on the hottest day of the year with the windows closed under four blankets."

"Gin and tonic?"

"Good."

"I heard that vodka and tonic is better."

"We'll have to get some."

"Busy day at the mine?"

"Yes. You?"

"Sat around and worried about you," Simone said.

"And what are you worried about?"

"He belittles my concern," Simone said to the air. "Are you going to…?" she pleaded with him without daring to meet his eyes.

She handed him the drink, still without making eye contact. He sat on the edge of the bed. He sipped at the drink, and then leaned forward, the glass dangling at the ends of his long muscular arms.

"I'm hot," Simone said.

"So am I."

She began unbuttoning her teddy, and even before he looked up, she said, "Don't get ideas."

She opened the top the teddy and draped it over her soft shoulders. She owned large breasts, and they were crowded into a filmy white brassiere. The front slope of the cups was covered with a sheer nylon inset, and he could see the insistent rise of her nipples.

"What do you think you’re doing?" he asked.

"Nothing much."

"Are you scared?"

"Are you man enough to scare me?"

"Mmmm." He could not take his eyes from the brassiere. "You know what I’m going to do to you?"

"I know," she said flatly.

"I’m going to rape you."

"Drink your drink."

"I am going to rape you."

"Well, good," she said, and she smiled fleetingly. He studied the smile. It was gone almost instantly, and he had the peculiar feeling that it had been nothing more than an effort to hide her fear.

"Why?" she asked.

"Not yet," he said, watching her.

"If you think ..."

"What?"

"Nothing." Simone’s whole body softened into submission.

"I am going to rape you."

Simone sighed. "You can't escape this damn heat," she said. "No matter what you do, it's always with you." Her hand went to the last buttons of her teddy. She undid them, and then dropped her arms. The teddy slid to her feet, and she stepped out of it. She was wearing white nylon panties frilled with a gossamer web of puffed nylon at each leg. She walked to the window, and he watched her. Her legs were luscious.

"Come here," he said.

"No. I don't want to."

"All right," he said. “Have your way.”

She turned from the window. Her skin was very white against the white of her underwear. Her breasts bulged over the edges of the inadequate bra.

"Oh, goddamn this heat," she said, and she reached behind her to unclasp the bra. He watched her breasts spill free, watched as she tossed the bra across the room. She walked to mix herself a drink, and he could not take his eyes from her.

He rose swiftly, walking to where she stood. He put his arms around her, and his hands cupped her breasts.

"Don't," she said.

"Baby..."

"Don't." Her voice was firm, a tight, frighten edge to it.

"Why not?"

"Because I say so."

"Well, then why the hell are you parading around like . . ."

"Take your hands off me! Let me go."

"Aw, baby..."

She broke away from him. "Don’t touch me," she said. "Don’t you dare." There was something strange in her eyes, an almost malicious gleam.

Suddenly he let out a vicious snarl. He drew himself up into his power and towered over the girl. The gleam in her eyes turned to the glint of tears about to burst. “No,” she pleaded but he was already brutally tearing away the bra and panties. His mouth was a terror over her tender breasts. He finger fucked her as he fucked her ass with his thumb. He was a demon.

She struggled to get away but he threw her onto the bed like she was a toy. He was on top her her then his cock was in her and fucking her hard and fast.

Simone was lying flat on the bed, the teddy hitched up around her waist. The panda was between her thighs and she was furiously grinding into it. “No, no, no,” she kept pleading, her eyes tightly shut.

“No?” one of the twins said doubtfully.

“I was certain she had said yes,” the other added.

Simone sat up and shoved the panda to the floor. She instinctively crossed her arms over her breasts for protection. She hadn’t realized how much of her thighs were exposed by the hitched up teddy. “I thought I locked the door,” she said, struggling to find her voice.

One of the twins held up a bunny logo keychain; only one key dangled from it. “The master key,” he explained.

A gift from Mr. Hefner of course,” the other said.

“And of course we are the masters,” the first one continued, twirling the key jauntily.

The other slapped his palms together once like a mechanic about to set to work. “I see our gear has arrived.” He was looking at the table and the canvas bag.

Simone, looking radiant in the afterglow of her daydream, stood silently; even her anxiety made her alluring. The twins bantered back and forth and each exchange elevated the tension twisting inside her.

“And our Playmate is playing with the panda we sent her. She seems to enjoy pleasuring it.”

“We are all going to enjoy ourselves now. Plenty of toys.”

“And a lovely lass who will soon be a Playmate of the month.”

“But she’s our Playmate now.”

“Yes, she is.”

The last statement was cold and filled with menace. The twins were looking at her with a fierce intensity and she could see the evil gleaming in their eyes.

“You’re going to…” She shyly let the end of the sentence hang in the air. She held her breath; her breasts jutted out.

“We are,” one of the twins agreed. “Yes, we are,” concurred his brother.

“You,” she said breathlessly, hopelessly.

“We,” said one of the men.

“Me,” she said, despondently and hopefully.

“That’s right.”

A long pause. The helpless girl stood still; the men stood still and even without gesturing they were urging her, commanding to say what had to be said.

“You’re going to do me,” she said; her voice was barely audible. Her legs were weakening; she sat on the edge of the love seat.

“It’s not a question of doing you,” one of the twins explained. His brother added, “Of course we’re doing you.”

The first twin gestured to the table. “The question is: what will we do to you?”

“How far will we go?”

“How much can you bear?”
“Oh God,” she said.

Simone put her hand to her mouth. She averted her eyes to the floor and she then saw that the teddy was still gathered at her hips, revealing her moist sex. She quickly brushed it down.

“But I don’t know your names.” Even as she said it she knew that it was a silly objection.  Her knees weakened; she sat on the edge of the love seat. “I don’t know your names,” she repeated, this time in a softer, meeker tone. A slave asking permission.

“William,” they both said at once. One of the twins stepped back and began to examine the contents of the canvas bag. Simone heard metallic sounds.

Another long pause. Simone sat still, her hands in her lap, her fingers nervously wrapping around one another. Her eyes were on the twin standing in front of her but she was intently listening to the man rummaging in the bag; the metallic sounds became more and more frightening.
 
 “You’re both named William?”

“No, I’m Bill and he’s William.”

“How am I supposed to tell you apart?”

“We’ll show you.”

“You’ll show me?”

“Yes, stand up.”

“You want me to stand up?”

“Stop repeating everything we say as a question. Stand up.”

“You said ‘we’ but it’s only you.”

“Only me?”

“See you repeated what I said as a question. How come he doesn’t talk anymore?”

“I talk when I feel like it. Now stand up.” He put the bag down and joined his brother in front of the girl.

“You do talk. Are you Bill or William?”

“He’s Bill. Stand up.”

“You could ask nicely. I thought you were Bill.”

“I’m Bill. Please stand up.”

“You said he was Bill.”

“We’ll explain it to you, how to tell us apart. Now please stand up.”

Both men extended hands to her and she allowed them to lift her off the love seat. Bill, or maybe it was William, pushed the coffee table back to give them more room. Their motions were deliberate, calculated, men who knew exactly what they were doing, men in control.

One stood in front of her and the other behind. Simone stood between them; her body tensed. She was their quarry now and she knew it.

“Is this thing expensive?”  The one in front was lightly fingering the short sleeve.

“Is it expen….hey!!!”

The two men had moved as one; the man in the back gripped her arms and the other man ripped the negligee down the front in one quick sweep of his hands.

Her arms remained pinned behind her back. She stood on her toes and wriggled, twisting her head back and forth in the struggle. The man in front continued to rip apart the teddy until it was in tatters on the floor; he took a step back and watched the helpless girl struggle in his brother’s unrelenting grip. Her magnificent breasts jiggled delightfully and her disheveled hair made her look like a wild nymph.

“Why?” she finally pleaded, her body drooping in exhaustion and surrender.

Both men laughed. “Well, there’s the obvious answer,” said the one holding her arms. He now pinned her wrists together with one hand and used his other hand to fondle her naked breasts.

“And there’s this,” the other man said; he took a folded paper out of his pocket and held it close to her face. Simone recognized the survey form every Playmate filled out for the data sheet. “This line explains things in your own words.” He pointed to the paper. “Why don’t you read it?”

Simone shook her head furiously. The slap came like a viper strike; it stung more from the indignity of being slapped than from the blow itself. “I said read the line.”

Simone nodded; she learned quickly.

“I…” Her voice was unsteady and quivering. She took a breath and read what she herself had put on the page. “I don't like machismo, but I don't like guys who need instructions, either.” She gulped and then read the rest. “I like daring men. Men who know how to take charge.”
The man behind her continued to fondle her body; he squeezed her wrists more tightly together. He wanted her to know that he was taking charge. The man in front admired his brother’s handiwork and he appreciated Simone’s naked body. She writhed slowly, almost guiding the brother’s hands over the mosts sensitive places on her bare flesh.
Once more the paper was proffered to her. “See brother,” said the man holding the page, “I told you, she likes men who take charge. But there’s more, isn’t there Simone?” Once more he pointed to the paper. He held it as though it were an indictment of the poor girl.
She read the words silently and her face blushed to a deep scarlet. She leaned back into the man behind her; she was surrendering but she couldn’t read the words.
Instead of a slap to her face, the man in front sharply twisted one of her already swollen nipples. She screamed briefly but the man behind covered her mouth. She struggled, trying to release her pinioned arms, kicking out with her shapely legs.
Both men scoffed at her agitation and resistance. Once more the paper was held before her face. “Read it Simone,” he said firmly. “Please,” he added in a sarcastic tone.
It took her a long time to read the words on the page. She kept interrupting herself with gasps and moans; the man who had been fondling her was now focused entirely on her pussy. His fingers didn’t pierce those tender lips but he was enjoying teasing the soft curls and warm flesh. And the words she had written were too frightening to say out loud. She had put them down only when dared by some of the other Playmates; she never expected to see them again. She had been sitting in the living room of the Mansion when she was filling out the survey; the other Playmates teased her, urging her to write wild stories about herself, telling her nobody ever read the surveys and the editors made up what was put in the magazine. Now the words she had written as a dare were being used to taunt her: “I have a real romantic side. I love frilly and girly things. I’m kind of shy around men. But I have a secret too. If a man really wants me and takes me for his own then the sky’s the limit. I’ll do anything to please him. And I love a dare. I’d be really good for bondage. I wouldn’t need a safe word. I wouldn’t want one. What a turn on to know that I’d be completely at his mercy. And I wouldn’t want any mercy. For a take charge man I’d do anything. I’d love to be a sex slave and go crazy. Whips, chains, nothing’s out of bounds. I’d love for a man to take me prisoner and really go to town. I’m ready and willing. I’m fun, adventurous, daring, gently dangerous.”
Midway through her slow, breathless and anxious reading the man with the paper had her pause. He stepped over to retrieve the canvas bag and as she read he pulled out some handcuffs and a cherry red ball gag. When she finished reading he pulled her away from his brother and gave her a long brutal kiss. Simone writhed against him; her hands were released and she held his face and kissed him as though she were a condemned prisoner saying farewell to life. The other man pressed in too and she twisted her head to offer her mouth to him. Four hands roamed over the naked nymphet’s body. Her own hands were frenzied and desperate, searching their torsos, unbuttoning shirts, undoing buckles, but never daring to go below their waists. They turned her around so the man with the paper could grind into her bare behind; the kissing never stopped. Her sweet tongue was everywhere like a hummingbird in a garden of morning glories. Her hands were demons, ripping buttons, peeling off shirts, scratching and clawing. She was spinning and writhing between them, a prisoner reveling in her hopeless captivity. She leaned against one, grinding her juicy bottom into his crotch while he explored her mouth with his finger; she sucked eagerly previewing what she had for him later. The other sucked her nipples and she lifted herself on her toes so he could devour more and more of her naked flesh. Then they flipped her around and did it again.
Finally, almost bringing herself to climax with her own frenzy, she bit down on the earlobe of one of the twins; she had long ago forgotten which one was which and she knew both were going to have everything she had. “What are you going to do to me?” she whispered in his ear.
The men stepped away from her abruptly. She staggered for a moment and fell into a pair of strong arms. He steadied her a guided her towards the bed. “Why don’t you put on the gift we sent you.”
Simone walked slowly, letting them appreciate the roll of her plump bottom as she padded across the room.

She held up the black leotard and looked to the men for approval and permission. She gathered the top into a ring and stepped into it. She leaned on the edge of the bed; she looked with searching eyes to the panda. The panda looked at her but offered no protection or guidance so she slid one slender foot into the garment until her toes were snuggly in place. She delicately stretched the fabric over her leg until it was smooth and sheer, working with care and precision, aware of the eyes watching her with lust. She repeated the ritual for the second leg and then stood. She wriggled the tight garment over her hips turning around so they could watch her ass. She stretched and adjusted the fabric so that the seam spilt her bottom like a g-string and glorious ass was smooth and firm in the sheer and tight fit.
Still with her back to the twins, she dipped one delicate hand into a sleeve and repeated the process of tugging the snug fitting garment into place; she worked slowly so that the fit was flawless. When both arms were eventually done she tugged the rest up her belly and over her chest. This negligee was designed to reveal the maximum amount of her assets. She could see her reflection in a mirror on the other side of the bed and with a leisurely ease that belied her apprehension she used her fingers to arrange her hair. She spent a long time grooming herself. She looked at the panda every so often but he only looked back blankly.The twins waited patiently enjoying the sight of her ass under the sheer lingerie, the curves of her sexy figure and the soft slope of her bare shoulders.
When she finished with her hair she looked for more distractions, anything to keep from turning around and facing her doom. She lifted the cape that completed the lingerie outfit; it was designed to make the sheer garment less revealing but the panda’s blank face seemed to say “why bother.”

Finally she sighed and began to turn, moving in tiny steps so that they could spend a long time drinking in her nubile beauty. Eventually she had to face them and when she did she made one last futile gesture to hide herself by crossing her arms over her breasts.

The twins smiled at her, not gentle or warm smiles, but the smiles of hunters closing in for the kill. They stood and waited, making Simone come to them. She stood still but like a bird surrendering to a cobra she finally moved in miniscule hesitant steps.

“Here’s our little Playmate,” one of them chuckled. Each of them took one of her arms and in unison they snapped the handcuffs around each of her wrists. Their moves were perfectly synchronized; together they squatted and shackles went around her slender ankles. They rose together; one stepped behind her and lifted up her hair and the other displayed a length of chain. His face was close to hers and he could almost smell her fear as he locked the chain around her slender throat. Her hair fell around her shoulders again but he stood there in front of her and she could see the cruel pleasure in his eyes. Meanwhile The other twin fastened a length of chain to the shackles and passed the end to the man in front of her who, still watching her face, fastened the chain to the handcuffs. She was ready for the black table. They turned her slowly, admiring their Playmate in bondage. She tried, briefly to pull away but she was a lamb going to slaughter.

“Now doesn’t she look lovely, brother?”

“Very lovely. I almost feel guilty.”

“Guilty, brother?”

“Let’s face it; our little Playmate is in for it and we’re the perpetrators.”

“Don’t forget, she said herself that the sky is the limit. Isn’t that right Simone?”

Simone stood mute, looking ravishing and vulnerable; the men were in too good a mood to force a reply from her. Instead they studied her luscious body some more.

“Let me tell you, Simone, the sky is the limit for us too and we’ve made some big plans for you. We’re all going to enjoy ourselves now aren’t we. We’ll take our time. No rush.”

“We’re going to start simple and work up to the big stuff, the heavy gear.”
“My brother loves the hardware and gadgets.”

“Come on, Bill, you love them too.”

“I guess we both do.”

“How about you Simone? Do you love the toys?”

Simone looked into each face, still speechless. She had the sort of young angelic face that made a poem out of goggling her eyes and she did that now. Her eyes were wide saucers expressing panic.

“Simone, do you like our toys? Are you looking forward to the really wild gear?” This time he expected an answer. He jerked the chain between the cuffs and the shackles. She stumbled a bit and took a breath and righted herself. She shook her head.

“You don’’t like the toys?”

“I don’t know ,” she said desperately.

“Oh you’ll know soon enough. But how about we start with a simple spanking.” He was already positioning a wooden chair with arms in front of her. It was one of the chairs she picked for the room and it the cushion and arms were covered, upholstered with fabric displaying cute naked cherubs. The tiny figures seemed to be mocking her now.

“Do you want me to spank you Simone?”

“OK,” she said meekly.

He sat on the chair and the other twin guided her across his lap. The chains rattled like little chimes to warn her and because of the chains she had to lay with her arms over her belly which was quite uncomfortable.

But that discomfort faded when she felt his hand caress over her bottom; even through sheer leotard she could feel the heat of his palm and the strength of his fingers. He raised his hand and she trembled in anticipation of the first blow and when it finally came it came hard and sharp. Her head snapped back and her legs shot out and she kicked as much as she could with the shackles holding her.

The blows came fast and fierce and she began to yell and curse and for such a demure young girl she had a colorful and obscene repertoire of curses. She jerked and spasmed as she cursed and the twins’ laughter only infuriated her into more cursing and kicking. Her bottom under the tight black sheen of fabric began to glow red.

Continued in next chapter


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