Tiffany Fallon had a strategy and it worked; she decided to be Playmate of the Year and she campaigned hard for the job. She mentioned it in every interview she did and she mentioned it every time she was with the publisher. Now here she was at the Viceroy Hotel in Santa Monica at a news conference to announce her video centerfold as 2005 Playmate of the Year.
She looked gorgeous dressed in a teal blue dress with a halter top that displayed her full firm round breasts. Her soft shoulders and most of her creamy chest were exposed. It gathered tightly at the waist to highlight her wide hips and plump derriere. Her lips were bright red and pouty but right now she was nervously nibbling at her bottom lip scanning the audience. She was looking for her ex-boyfriend Greg.
Greg was a good looking, well built guy, kind of shy actually; but once he got aroused he turned into a completely uncontrollable animal. And Tiffany Fallon always kept him aroused. But on their last date he assaulted her in the women's room of one of the most exclusive restaurants in Hollywood, she had a half dozen fantastic climaxes and a half dozen mammoth hickies and bruises all over her neck and shoulders. The next day Playboy demanded she dump him. She was living at the mansion now and had changed her cell number but somehow he managed to call her a few days ago.
A chill had gone down her spine when she heard his voice; she was definitely afraid to face his wrath but a familiar tingling started up between her legs and her nipples had immediately become erect. So she decided to meet him here at the conference; with a lot of handlers and security around she felt pretty safe, but even now as she sat on the stage during the conference and listened to the droning speeches all she could think about were his strong hands gripping her arms as she struggled and the explosion of his months of pent-up frustration.
As the event came to an end she scanned the room one more time. He wasn't there. Tiffany's brow furrowed sexily as her confused emotions overwhelmed her; on the one hand she was relieved; on the other hand, she still had this itch in her pussy that only he could scratch.
The reporters and audience were leaving the ballroom and the Playboy personnel were gathered in little circles talking and exchanging greetings. Tiffany was alone for a moment standing in front of a giant display of the cover of her video centerfold. Suddenly she felt a firm hand grip her shoulder and draw her behind the panel.
There he was. He had a hangdog expression on his face but his fingers were digging into the toned muscles of her shoulder.
"Hi, Greg," Tiffany managed to stutter nervously. She realized no one could see them here.
"Hi, Tif," he muttered, barely looking up from the floor. "You looked good out there."
"Um, Greg, I've got to get back to my friends. Maybe this is not a good time to talk." But even as she spoke she felt herself melting towards him.
"I thought we'd go for a ride." He still had not loosened his firm hold on her. Tiffany felt them moving slowly towards an exit. Already she moved as if in a trance. It barely registered when he pushed the bar on the exit door and pulled her along.
In a matter of seconds they were outside. Tiffany gasped and froze when she saw his van parked right there. She'd been in that van before she knew that she'd really be in for it if he got her in there now. She tried to twist her shoulder to turn away but he held tight.
"Greg, baby, it's really good to see you; why don't we go back inside for a drink?"
"You look nice," he said still gripping her arm. She watched his eyes as they stayed glued to her chest. She shivered under his gaze; his concentrated focus on her body always gave her pleasure and she could see the passion boiling inside his skull. He looked dangerous in a sexy way.
Without meaning to she felt her lips part and her tongue dart out. Her mouth found his and his tongue dove in, running franticly over her teeth and twirling almost to the back of her throat. He put his firm hands on her waist as they kissed and Tiffany almost swooned in his arms; she bent her head back, her black hair becoming undone as it slid down her shoulders . She followed his gaze as he looked down her dress at her firmly packed breasts.
A familiar stirring tickled her thighs and she could feel him getting aroused. Breaking the kiss and tossing away her reverie with a shake of her thick mane of black hair she tried to push his arms off her hips. "It's good to see you Greg; maybe I can introduce you to the magazine people?" Greg ignored her words and kept moving her towards the van. With each step forward he took she stepped back.
"Greg," she pleaded as he backed her towards his vehicle, "I need to get back. I can't go with you now; look, we'll talk later. I'm real busy right now. They're probably looking for me now."
But she heard the sharp metallic snap of the back door of the van opening; it sounded like the gates of doom. "I really missed you, Tif," he mumbled softly. She trembled as he squeezed her plump hips and effortlessly lifted her up and pushed her into the back of the van. Her legs fluttered with little kicks like a dancer in a ballet and she let out a tiny yelp of surprise.
By now her heart was pounding thinking about what she was in for. He only used the van for one thing and she knew that she was really going to get it now. Something deep and primal stirred inside her as images of the many times he ravaged her here already filled her brain.
Now fear and excitement crashed through her. She was trapped. She scrambled over the bare mattresses he had on the floor and stood in the corner with her arms protectively covering her breasts and thighs. Her eyes were dark pools glistening in the dim light of the van. Her black hair was already wild and disheveled. Little beads of anxious perspiration gleamed on her face and across her delicious chest.
Greg slowly climbed in and slammed the door behind him. The loud noise echoed in their ears as they looked at each other.
"Greg, please," Tiffany begged as he lumbered towards her.
"I really missed you, Tif; I missed balling with you," he said slowly opening and closing his massive hands.
"OK, listen -- Just let me get this dress off; don't rip the..." Suddenly he grabbed one strap of the halter and pulled it. Her right breast flew out but she used one hand to hold the fabric up as she ran to get away from him.
Now they circled around dim interior of the van, never taking their eyes off each other. Except for snatching out at the dress Greg's moves were all in slow motion. Tiffany watched him closely as she backed away, trying to keep out of reach of his arms. This was a dance they've done before. They both could hear Tiffany's heart pounding and her quick breathing; she took rapid, nervous steps, struggling to stay up on her spiked heels as they slipped on the metal floor. In contrast he was silent and deliberate, focused and patient; he moved around like a hulking predator. He had a slight smile on his face now enjoying the chase; he too could recall other encounters in this van with Tiffany, the way she kicked on the metal floor, the way her pleading screams reverberated in the small space. He could be patient now, knowing she wasn't going anywhere.
They both knew exactly where this was going; Tiffany licked her lips even as her eyes widened with panic. She could already imagine the silk being torn off her body and she quivered with anticipation. She was sweating heavily now and she could sense a familiar animal musk from him. She kept moving away as she saw his eyes seeming to gobble up her flesh as he got more aroused.
He feigned a leap to the left and she jumped back in response tripping over a mattress. He moved fast to catch her and bent with her to lower her onto the floor.
Tiffany kicked so hard that one shoe flew off bouncing on the roof and then dropping the floor. It hit the metal floor with a dull thud. Even though she knew she was caught her hands scratched out it him but he grabbed her wrists and held her arms over her head.