Confessions Of A Centerfold
by Leones
Part 4
When John finished with me he had my channel, or maybe I should say his channel
spic and span clean, this made me think his intention was to use me again, to
fuck me, if you will and didn't want to dip his wick into a messy hole. I was
also thinking about my future, if I had one or not, John and I both knew that I
could easily identify him and that didn't bode well in my favor.
John removed my gag and blindfold and the first thing I did was beg for my life,
told him that I didn't want to die, I would have offered him my body, but then
he already had it. I had nothing to bargain with, the only assets I had in the
world were my face and my body, they had always worked for me in the past and
now they meant nothing, had no value at all, My body couldn't have had any less
influence if I had been a fat, over the hill street walker begging for her life,
John was the one in power and ultimately it would be his decision as to whether
I would live or die. His decision at the moment however was to squeeze my wired
up tits and I screamed long and hard for him because that's what he wanted me to
do, the wire at their base had cut into the tender flesh of my surgical scars,
blood trickled down, splotching both sides of my rib cage, my once prized
possessions now a sickening, bluish color. John fiendishly toyed with me, being
just about able to play a tune with my groans by using strategically spaced
squeezes to my tortured titties.
Finally he became bored with the game, something I had never imagined possible,
a man becoming bored with my hooters. I felt uneasy as John began to mull
around, he placed his tripod right near the bed, quite clearly the lens pointed
at my face. I begged for my life again as he wrapped a cord around my throat, my
words turning to silent mouthing when the cord tightened, biting viciously into
my flesh, I heard the click of the camera recording my death just as John let
the cord go lax but leaving it in place around my throat, I tried to speak, to
beg for mercy but my voice was gone.
For the second time John tightened the cord, I was helpless, unable to move,
with cold and uncaring eyes, John stared into mine as he deprived me of life
needed oxygen, I saw flashing lights, was near blacking out when John again
loosened the cord. My faced tingled as if asleep as much needed blood rushed to
my brain, I felt something enter my slit, at least I thought I did, then John's
finger was inside my mouth wiping a sticky substance on my tongue, John repeated
this several times, force feeding me an abundant amount of my own orgasm
produced cum.
When John tightened the cord this time I was fully resigned to the fact that I
was going to die, in fact I was near death when I heard someone shout.
"Hey, get the hell away from that girl."
Shortly thereafter I heard a loud popping noise, seems that the old prospector
who owns the cabin came by for an inspection, when he saw the truck out front he
came in armed with his trusty rifle, Old Betsy, John made one too many decisions
and charged the old man who then shot and killed him.
It was difficult, I tried putting my life back in order. John had done severe
damage to my tits, the surgeons having a field day with them, opening and
reopening them, they just couldn't get them right though, It hurt me that my
pride and joys were no longer perfect, I was self conscious about them and
avoided shoots that required much cleavage which did adversely affect my
marketability. Of course I was still gorgeous and men flocked to me like moths
to a candle, I was being catered to and treated like a queen once again, but
life was not good, for one thing I had not enjoyed or even had an orgasm since
the day John was killed. A close friend suggested that I see a psychiatrist
which I thought not to be a bad idea, what could it hurt? Through some reliable
referrals, I ended up with Dr. Alfred Timmins, I judged him to be in his middle
to late forties, hair thinning out and slightly overweight, paunchy around the
waist.
As with most psychiatrist, he listened while I spilled my guts, Dr. Simmons did
seem genuinely concerned with my problems, but the sessions didn't seem to be
helping me cope any better with my life. I planned to terminate our sessions in
person rather than over the phone, which I thought was the proper thing to do. I
was in the middle of my goodbye speech, trying to make it sound like I did truly
appreciate his efforts when he suddenly stood up behind his desk and walked over
to the couch where I was sitting. He spoke to me, his voice demanding, filled
with authority.
"Stand up Gia and remove your blouse."
I didn't why, well, yes maybe I did know why, anyway I stood up, my hands
trembling as I unbuttoned my blouse and slipped it off.
He went on with his demands."Now remove your bra Gia, I want to see your big
tits."
I hesitated as if I was going to refuse but I knew better, Dr. Timmins was in
control of me and I knew my place. I moved my hands to the back of my bra, my
nervous fingers fumbling with the snaps, finally it fell to the floor and my
tits were exposed to Dr. Timmins for the first time, I could feel the blood
rushing to my face, coloring it a light pink. He wasted no time, leisurely
lifting and testing my knockers as if they were hanging melons on a vine. He
ordered me to remove my panties, without hesitation I reached under my pleated
skirt, pulled my panties down my legs and stepped out of them. He held his hand
out and I gave him my panties which he placed in his pocket and told me that I
would be going home without them. He then ordered me to sit down and to spread
my legs, which I did, he then knelt down in front of me, reached in through my
skirt and penetrated me with his finger, he withdrew his finger and held it in
front of my face, it was wet and shiny, coated with the residue of my orgasm.
I'm Mrs.Timmins now, we have two kids, Michael and Angela and life couldn't be
better. All of the young studs envy my husband and wonder how a balding,
overweight, fifty year old man can get a Playboy centerfold to marry him. If
they only knew, I'm the beautiful aristocrat in our social life but in the
bedroom my fat, old husband is living a fantasy come true, his centerfold model
is his slave, his toy, he forces her to perform each and every vile act his
devilish mind can dream up and believe me he has a special and unique talent for
making her fully understand that her only mission in life is to service his
every whim, and that her sexual needs are not even a consideration. There was
this one time that he made me take this.....maybe some other time?
The End
