A Day In The Life Of Cindy Crawford


A DAY IN THE LIFE OF CINDY CRAWFORD, SUPERMODEL
MIND CONTROLLER

Hi. My name is Cindy Crawford. That’s
right–THAT Cindy Crawford. If you

don’t know who I am, you must be from the planet
Mongo or something. A lot
of times when I write to people they don’t

believe it’s really me, or they
think I’m kidding or something. As if. But no,
this is actually me, sitting
at the Power book PowerPC my Administrative
Assistant Molly got for me and
showed me how to use (I know, it’s so easy, even
a supermodel can do it!)
I’m naked, of course, with a big double dildo
stuffed up my cunt and asshole even as I write
this. The dildo in my ass is a little smaller
than
I really like, but it gives me a nice tingly
feeling down there. Besides,
if I want a bigger dick, I just have to look
over there across the living
room of my Central Park penthouse apartment,
where my Molly has got an enormous black dick
jammed up her ass at this very moment. He’s some
big

black stud we picked up at the basketball court
in my limousine on the way
back from my offices at MTV. He’s got muscles on
muscles on muscles (oooh!), and right now I can
see the little rivulets of sweat rolling down
his washboard stomach into the crack of Molly’s
delicious asscheeks. If I
had my way, I’d put down my Diet Shake and walk
over there, lean my big tits across his sweaty
black face and then get down on my knees and
lick

all the sweat off of Molly’s beautiful ass while
he pumps her sweet asshole
in and out, over and over, with that huge black
cock.

But I’ve got this story to write–all about how
I learned the secrets of

mind control. Besides, there are two other cocks
over there–two other cute
basketball players, one good-sized white dick in
her cute little puffy blonde pussy, and another
big black buck pumping his rod down her throat,
so I can see she’s a little busy. I can hear her
sucking all the way from
here, and I can see those sweaty ebony balls
bouncing against her pretty

little chin, and there’s a long trail of drool
leaking down out of her mouth down to the ten
thousand dollar Persian rug. What a mess! I’ll
have
her lick it up when she’s finished, which could
be hours. Because you see,
Molly (and these boy-toys, too, now that I think
of it) are under my total
mind control, and they’ll do whatever I tell
them to do, whenever I tell

them to do it. Sometimes I don’t even have to
say it it–I just have to think it!

It’s true! Now I haven’t always had mind
control, mind you. It
just…developed. It sure would have made the
start of my career a lot easier if I had always
had mind control. Instead, I had to make due
with

whatever was available. You know–my long silky
hair, my pouting, succulent
lips, a very nice sets of tits if I do say so
myself (see–there! I just

reached down and squeezed my nipples, really
hard, twisted them
actually,
to make them stand out. Boy, that feels good.
And I shifted the
double-dildo a little further up my cunt and my
ass, just to keep things

interesting… Now, where was I? Oh yes) my
mouth-watering ass (at least

that’s what R. G. told me, back when he was
still liked my ass…)

But it wasn’t always easy back in the old days,
getting those first few modeling contracts. I
think I lost track of the number of rejections I
got,
the stupid small talk and the unreturned phone
calls. Finally, when I realized what it really
took to make it in this business, and just let
my
natural instincts take over, I started losing
track of all the pussies I

licked and the cocks I swallowed. It became like
a dream–one long, wonderful dream.

I’d go out on an audition, give the talent
coordinator my head sheet (that’s modelese for a
sample 8×10 of me in different outfits and
hairstyles) , and politely ask them to think it
over, while I dropped to my
knees and unzipped their designer trousers. "You
think about it," I’d sweetly mumble, but soon my
voice was hard to hear, because I was driving
my tongue up as far as I could inside their hot,
spicy assholes, pumping

their thick cocks with one slender manicured
hand as I lodged my face in

the crack of their ass. Then, when their tender
buttholes starting throbbing and their cocks
swelled up like rockets and my picture had long
since fallen to the floor, I’d start pumping my
tongue and fist
simultaneously, till long streams of thick salty
jizz flew out of their bloated cockheads down
onto the cold varnished wood floors. But it
wouldn’t
stop there. No sir, I was just getting started.
Because when they were spent, and I’d pumped as
much hot seed as I could, when their assholes
were
so shiny and sparkling clean you could
practically eat off of them (and believe me, I
did, many times!), I’d do what any girl who
really wants to
get ahead would do. I’d let go of their
softening peters, pry my soft lips
from their slick assholes, and slowly crawl on
all fours across the office
floor, while they watched and groaned, and I
took my sweet slut time, languorously lapped up
every drop of salty jizz I could find, licking
the
floor, the carpet, my fingers… Then I’d come
and come and come. It was

quite a show! Sometimes I’d reach into my purse
for my favorite dildo, lift
up my skirt, and guide their hand as they
stretched my little butthole while my favorite
plastic toy, waving my perfect ass in the air as
I nourished myself on my own special come diet.
Oh, they remembered me then.

Pretty soon I had the jobs I could handle!
Revlon, Cover Girl, Breck Shampoo. I never get
that treatment any more, though. Too bad! Now
that I
have mind control, sometimes, just for old
time’s sake, I find a cute grip
or lighting boy and have him pull his pud right
out there in front of the
whole cast and crew, while I throw a mental
block on the set. Everyone on
the shoot just goes about their business,
loading cameras, checking scripts, talking on
the telephone, while I sit there in the middle
of all
of them with my skirt up, my sleek tanned slut
legs as far apart as I can
spread them, three or four fingers crammed into
my sopping wet pussy and

another two in my ass as I mentally instruct my
new toy-boy to pound his

pud as fast as his calloused hands can go, until
I watch the pretty purple
cockhead swell up and get ready for that
baptismal spray. Thick ropes of

juicy come splatter all over my perfect Cover
Girl face and mouth, into my
eyes and carefully coiffed hair and makeup. I
come so hard I scream, and

some of the salty hot jizz drizzles down my
throat, but no one hears me,

they just set up the next shot or eat their
coffee and donuts while I trash
around in 7th heaven. I tell you, it’s something
else! When I’m finally coming down, I send out a
signal and Molly or one of the other
assistants
comes over and licks all the come off my face
and neck while I give myself
one or two little small comes just for good
measure. Finally, Molly cleans
up the boy-toy and stuffs him back in his pants,
and then it’s back to work! (One weekend I was
so horny we came in days behind schedule, but no
one could figure out why–except for me and my
very sore pussy and asshole,
and poor little Molly, whose tongue had swollen
up to the size of a salami
after cleaning so many dirty crotches. Her belly
was so full of come I don’t think she ate for a
week! And the wardrobe girl just couldn’t figure
out while all my clothes were so stained and
soiled!).

Sometimes, when I’m feeling really dirty, I
wonder what it would be like if
I was on the cover of the next Vogue or Women’s
Day, only instead of the

Pretend Me everyone thinks they see, it would be
the real me, all made up
and beautiful, only my hand-made Christian Dior
gown would be covered from
top to bottom with hot sticky jizz. I’d have a
big thick swollen black dick
up my cunt and another one up my pretty ass,
squeezing my hot slut tits for
all the people to see, and licking come from my
perfectly applied no-smear
lipstick lips. Now that would get America
talking… But I think I’m getting my story off
track!

Wow. I just came right then. Nothing big, just a
little come, centered around this big plastic
dick in my ass. Did I mentioned it’s numbed?
It’s
true–it’s covered with little plastic nubs so
it just drives you crazy. I
had Molly help me pick it out several months
ago. I had the limousine driver stop at an adult
book store and we went inside for a little fun.
I
put a mental block on the customers, so I
wouldn’t have to read about myself in the
scandal rags, and had the owner show us all his
best plastic
appliances–and there were a lot of them!. I had
Molly lift up her skirt

and bend over with her big soft breasts pressed
against the top of the glass display case, while
I tried each and every fake dick they had in the
store, sliding them up her pretty pussy and
tender pink asshole, inch by

beautiful inch. She loved them all and must have
come about a dozen times,
so I bought all her favorites, one set for her
and one set for me. As a bonus to the clientele
for being so patient with us, I had Molly kneel
down
and let each and every customer in the store
come of her pretty upturned

22-year-old face and big soft tits, spattering
gallons of thick gooey jizz
while she smiled and laughed, and I fucked my
perfect super-model cunt silly with one of the
new dildos. Then I had her clean up the floor
and each of the porno stalls with her tongue.
(And my sticky dildo, of course!)
All in a day’s work for a good Administrative
Assistant!

It’s not easy to make your way in this business.
I did my share of dirty

work, and now it’s Molly’s turn. I think of that
every morning when she comes in the limo to pick
me up and, without saying a word, get down on
her
hands and knees, lifts my skirt, takes down my
panties (though I hardly wear them anymore) and
starts licking and sucking my hot little assbud.
It’s so cute! When I ask her about my day’s
schedule, she sighs, and slips
her tongue out of my tender butthole, wipes her
swollen lips on the soft

curves on my buttcheeks, and recites our
schedule for the day–a haircut

here, a nail appointment there, a press
conference over here, all the time
breathing her hot little breath on my swollen
pussy and asshole. Did I mention she wears
glasses? They get all steamed up and wet with my
juices,
but it’s so adorable to see her in them I can’t
bear to give her the signal
to take them off. (We’ve ruined more pairs that
way!) Finally, when she’s
done with the appointments, she goes right back
to work, licking my asshole
and sucking my hot little clit, until I’ve come
at least twice. She drinks
my juices like they’re the nectar of the Gods.
(And I don’t blame her, because they are!) She
is a model for all the other supermodel
assistants!


Anyway, how’d I get on this topic? My Diet Shake
is almost gone, and I haven’t even started to
talk about how I discovered my mind control
powers!
The three basketball boytoys are taking turns
practically choking Molly with their thick
dongs, and her designer eye wear is smeared with
saliva,
sweat, and pre-cum. But only pre-cum. No real
juicy come, not yet. None of
them can come yet. Not unless I let them. And I
have no intentions of doing
that until I finish my story!

I first discovered I had super mental powers to
go with my super model powers while R.G. was on
location shooting that famous movie with Julia
you-know-who. There was going to be a special
banquet that night to honor
the most holy Dalai Lama, who was visiting from
Tibet to raise money for

the Buddhist cause. Believe me, I knew more than
I ever thought there was
to know about the Lama from R.G., who was just
nuts for him! It was Dalai
Lama this, Dalai Lama that… I know, I know,
anything for love.

But I married R.G. for true love. True love of
his huge, thick, 12" super-dong, I mean. After
our first date, when he threw me across the hood
of his Porsche up in the Hollywood Hills, tore
off my tiny thong panties

and rammed that monster cock up my slick shaven
supermodel pussy, then pulled out with a juicy
pop, made me kneel down in front of him and came

hot buckets of salty goo all over the front of
my one-of-a-kind Versace evening gown and then
made me lick it up while he slapped the hot
round globes of my succulent ass until I begged
him to stop, I knew R.G. was the
boy-toy for me!

Ever since I had gone from the ranks of the
merely famous to my
supermodel
status, boy-toys were afraid to even touch me or
make an untoward remark.
It was the beginning of people not seeing the
real me anymore, only the super-me they
envisioned in their minds. I was no longer the
cock-hungry

fuck slut hungry for fresh come I knew in my
heart that I was, but the sexy
untouchable
girl-next-store-you-could-never-have. (But I
shouldn’t knock

success–it’s given me this penthouse, and
million-dollar endorsements, and
this nice thick dildo filling up my pretty pussy
right now) R.G. was the

first boy-toy to really get me where I lived, if
you know what I mean. Everyone else just circled
around me like drones around a queen. But at
least bees get a teaspoon of honey! I had to beg
for my daily dose of come
or even a simple decent ass-fuck.

Anyway, I had come to the set early to surprise
R.G. before the big banquet. They were setting
up for an outdoor scene, so I quietly walked
over to his big, roped-off superstar trailer. No
one saw me, or if they did
see me, they were too in awe to say Hello or
even wave. Which is OK with

me, I suppose–I was getting used to building my
own mental field then I

carried with me for protection. Because being a
famous supermodel isn’t really that far from
being invisible.

I opened the door to the trailer and walked in.
And I must have been invisible, because what I
saw just blew my supermodel mind. There was
R.G.,
my own husband, his carefully tailored Armani
pants down around his ankles,
the tightly muscled cheeks of his ass pressing
hard into the expensive leather couch, his hairy
thighs splayed open. And there was my own true
love, the super-dong of my dreams, all 12 inches
of it and at least 4 inches around. I could
barely get my lips around the head, which was at
least the size of a plum, and usually had to
make do with licking up and

down the sides like the world’s biggest (and
most delicious!) lollipop. Only this time the
dong wasn’t smearing my Revlon lipstick. It
wasn’t slapping against my face or sliding
between my butt cheeks. Those succulent
hairy balls, almost the size of oranges, weren’t
choking me till tears came
out of my eyes. Instead, incredibly, those same
balls I worshipped and adored and begged to
spray sweet salty cock-nectar on my outstretched
tongue and supermodel titties were nestled,
quite serenely, on the chin of
a certain very Pretty Woman, whose slut-mouth
must be the size of the Grand
Canyon, because every swollen throbbing inch of
R.G.’s superhuman fuck-tube
was crammed between her crimson-red lips and
obscenely distorted mouth. I
could make out the swollen head halfway down her
throat, and heard her quick intake of breath as
she gasped around my R.G.’s fuck tool. She was

fully dressed, in the spring frock she’d be
wearing in the next scene, complete with a
quaint little white straw hat (I still see her
wearing this
sometimes when I’m flipping channels, and I get
so mad I have to turn off
the TV and have a Diet Drink), acting as if it
was the most natural thing
in the world to inhale my R.G.’s pud during a
quick snack break. Some snack!

I was so angry I could just spit. I stood framed
in the doorway and watched
as she slurped and smacked her away around his
monster tool, while R.G. just smiled , sipped a
Beer and watched television (he did love the
Lakers). I stared right at him, and at her, but
it was like I was invisible, like I wasn’t even
there. I wished I could ruin everything for
both of them. I wish I could give that Pretty
Woman a time she wouldn’t forget. She’d learn
her lesson not to mess with my R.G., or, more
specifically, my Super-Dong.

As if by magic, R.G. suddenly looked away from
the TV. He grunted, and tried to motion to
Pretty Woman, who was lost in her own leisurely
suck world, her pretty manicured hands caressing
his sweaty balls. I watched as
his thick, muscular thighs contracted, and the
hard muscles of his ass flexed. He was coming!
Pretty Women made a sudden, startled sound, and
her
eyes opened up very very wide. I watched as the
bloated blue veins at the
bottom of his ball sac swelled, and her throat
swelled obscenely as spurt
after spurt of R.G.’s delicious salty sweet come
rocketed down her throat.
But there was nowhere for the come to go! Her
throat was blocked with his
massive cock tube! Suddenly, white goo shot out
her nose and seeped between
her massively stretched lips, as she vainly
tried to pull the super-hose

out of her mouth in time. Finally, after several
agonizing seconds, she managed to pull her mouth
off his slick purple cockhead with a wet popping
sound. But he was still coming! Hot seed flew
everywhere–into her eyes,

her mouth, slapping in white ropes across her
face, and in her hair. All

across the movie sun-dress were hot pools of
slick sticky come. R.G. was

groaning wildly. The seed would just not stop!

I couldn’t help but smile as I watched little
Miss Up-and-Comer actually

try to put up with all that come! My pussy was
wet and my little asshole

twitched. How I would have loved to be under
that waterfall of juice, how
I’d relish every moment, how I’d lick up every
single drop, even if it took
hours, or days. But our Pretty Woman was
obviously not prepared for her baptism of fire.
She screeched and jumped up, rubbing her sticky
cum-coated
hands across the front of her dress. "Look at
what you’ve done! You promised not to come! You
promised to tell me! It’s everywhere." She tore
at her clothes, and tipped over R.G.’s beer,
which spilled onto the leather
couch, seeping to the crack of his
tightly-coiled ass. Suddenly, the door
to the trailer flew open behind me, and the
casting director walked right
past me, carrying a clipboard and wearing a
headset. "Is everything OK in
here–Oh, Jesus Christ!" It was chaos. Other
crew members ran by to the trailer, surprised to
see the number one box office sensation stark
naked
and his new leading lady whimpering, covered
from head to toe with dripping
seed.

But no one saw me! I willed myself to not be
there, and I was not. I really
was invisible, and though no one could see me, I
could effect the events in
the world around me! Another script girl ran
into the trailer and brushed
past me. I could see her look at R.G. super-size
prick, and I saw her eyes
widen as she realized all the rumours about his
dong were true (it certainly wasn’t his acting
ability that got him all that work!), and slowly
lick her lips. It was more than I could take. I
knew I should leave.
But before I left, I couldn’t help slipping
between Pretty Woman and reaching over past
R.G.’s washboard stomach, sliding my hand down
his slick
love shaft one last time. I could barely get my
hand around it! When I finished stroking it,
there was a yummy blob of come stuck to my hand
and I
brought it to my mouth. It was heavenly–salty,
sweet, like tangy mushrooms. I frowned. I sure
was going to miss that dick.


Later that night I showed up at the set like
nothing had happened. They had
already cleaned everything off. I’m sure they
had a new dress for the Pretty Woman, and they
probably hosed her down in the trailer to get
all

that come off (which is why I keep my Molly
around–who needs hot showers
when a pretty Vassar graduate is more than
willing to lick every inch of

your body for hours on end!). No one said a
word, though when went into the
trailer after the last shot of the day, I
couldn’t help but ask "What’s that smell?" R.G.
said he had fallen over and spilled some beer.
But I didn’t contradict him, because after all,
as far as I was concerned, we were through.

We got dressed for the benefit, and R.G. was
very nervous and excited about
meeting the Dalai Lama again. It’s all he could
talk about, even as I unzipped his tuxedo pants
and starting absently stroking his bloated
super-cock. (What can I say? I’m a weak-willed
supermodel, and as long as
the Super Dong is here, you might as well use
it!) He was still
prattling
on when I lifted my Donna Karen skirt over my
incredible ass (I’ve seen it
in pictures, I’ve watched Molly lick it for
hours, I’ve seen myself on video, and — let’s
face it–it is an incredible ass) and crammed
his thick
spongy cockhead right up my tight little
butthole. Normally at that point
R.G. would do all the things he knows I
love–spanking me, pulling my hair,
twisting my long pink nipples till I think
they’re going to come off, but
he was barely paying attention as I pushed
pretty tan asscheeks down around
his monster tool. It was just Tibet this, Tibet
that, oh those awful Chinese dictators… To
think of all the boys and men in America who
would
pay ten thousand dollars just to watch me put on
lipstick on and play with
a single strand of silky-smooth hair while they
pounded their johnsons till
the cream was running down around their fingers;
to think of all the women
who envied and emulated me, all the sweet dykes
who would suck off a battalion of marines just
to get close enough to smell my sweet
supermodel
pussy, and here was R.G., treating me like I was
invisible even when I wasn’t invisible. I knew
then it really was over, and I sobbed a little
inside as I pistoned his super-dork in and out
of my obscenely stretched

sphincter. Normally I would have gotten off,
climbed off, and milked his

pud into the little doggy dish he bought me that
said "Cindy," and then I
would have gotten down on all fours and lapped
every drop out of my dish

while he drank a beer and flipped channels on
cable. But not that day. After one good come, I
pulled his half-soft foot-long out of my rectum
with
an audible "pop," tucked it back in his
trousers, and off we went, still

talking about the Holy One.

PART 2

There was a receiving line to meet the great
Dalai Lama. There was the cast
and crew of the movie (including Pretty Woman,
who still smelled of mushrooms), important
studio heads, and a news crew from Entertainment
Tonight. We waited,and waited, and finally a
white limousine pulled up, a
door opened, and out came the Spiritual Leader
of Tibet himself, walking

through the line, with no assistance from
anyone. Flashbulbs were popping
and the crowd was applauding. The ET camera
lights shown on his beatific

face. He was wearing his traditional orange
robes, sandals, and a pair of
wire rim spectacles. He smiled, and slowly
worked his way through the line
of admirers and contributors. I was pretty bored
by the whole occasion (my
Donna Karen outfit looked great in this light),
but R.G. was like a schoolboy, tapping his foot,
checking his hair, licking his lips. Finally
the Holy Leader made his way down to us.

Close-up he was a very pleasant man, maybe the
most pleasant man you would
ever meet in the history of the world. He seemed
happy, and he sent off very happy vibes, and
that in turn made you feel happy, maybe happier
than
you’d ever been. Everyone was smiling. He was
smiling, and I was smiling.
R.G. was smiling. I had forgotten all about
losing R.G.’s monster prick, or
the Pretty Woman futilely trying to escape her
come-bath, and my disappointing ass-fuck. I was
just…happy.

The Spiritual Leader passed by me and nodded,
then moved onto R.G. R.G. was
beaming, and reached out to shake his hand. I’d
never seen him this happy,
not even when I spent all day last Valentine’s
Day licking his spicy asshole and playing with
his monster balls. Suddenly, the Dalai Lama head
flinched, as if someone or something invisible
had slapped him. Then it happened again. R.G.
look confused. The Dalai Lama look
startled…and then…turned to look at me. I
smiled as best I could. Suddenly, the Lama
et go of R.G.’s hand, and turned and walked back
to me. He bent close to

me, his lips near my ear.

"You have the power. I can feel it."

I was shocked. I moved back away from him. I
smiled at the crowd, and at

the E.T. cameras filming all this, everyone
wondering–what could the exiled spiritual
leader of Tibet have to say to a gorgeous
supermodel? "I…I think you must be mistaken."

The Dalai Lama smiled. "I am not mistaken. The
power is very strong within
you. In your mind."

I smiled weakly. What could I say to this man?
R.G. was looking at me, his
eyes seething with jealousy.

"Use this power. Enjoy it. It comes to so few."

"Uh…O.K." I smiled, and felt a strange,
tingling sensation covering my

whole body, starting from my brain and working
its way down between my toes. "I will sir, I
will use it."

"Good day then." He said, and turned, and moved
down the line, avoiding R.G. entirely. The ET
lights went off, and R.G. moved to my side.

"What did he say? What did he say?"

"Nothing really. He said…he said he liked my
dress."

"Your dress!" R.G. yelled. He was furious.
People turned to look at us. He
lowered his voice. "I raise over three million
dollars for the people of

Tibet, and he talks to you… about dresses? He
stomped off.

So that’s it! That’s when I learned for certain
I had mental powers far beyond that of most
supermodels (that I know of, anyway). I
suspected something when I had my cloak of
invisibility, and when the come started

smacking across Julia’s pretty young face, but
when the Dalai Lama had confirmed it… Well,
that had to be for sure. I vowed then and there
this
would be the start of a whole new life for me.

Later that month I asked R.G. for a divorce. He
was upset, and said he wouldn’t allow it, and
that his agent said it would be bad for his
career.
So we made a little agreement. We would each
stay in our own separate apartments, with our
own separate lives, but meet each other for
public appearances and that sort of thing. My
only condition: I wanted that big

dick of his up my ass, in my mouth, and spraying
my itchy little pussy with
seed at least once a month, with no distractions
and no complaints. R.G.

agreed, and to seal the deal I got on my knees
in my designer dress in front of the trailer
where everyone could see us, but a mental block
on the
crowd, and had him pump his hot juicy salty
spray all over my slut supermodel face.
Afterwards he beat my ass with his belt until it
raised

welts, fucked my tits and my ass, and then had
me spend the next hour cleaning his meat,
covered with come and sweat and my ass juices,
right there in front of everyone (if only they
could see us!). I almost cried.

What can I say? I’m a sentimental supermodel
superslut.


When I first got little Molly, I was just
learning to really use my mental
powers. I was shooting my second season of House
Of Style for MTV, and I

told my agent it was about time they gave me an
assistant–someone to help
me with the little things, like making
appointments, setting up lunches,

picking up my dry cleaning. (And licking up any
spare come that might fly
at my beautiful face, though I didn’t tell them
that).

The next day they sent Molly over. She looked
pretty much like she looks

right now (well, I don’t mean right now, because
when I first met her she
wasn’t on all fours , using her pretty hands to
pry apart some black basketball players slick,
sweaty ass cheeks while she reamed his rectum
with her hungry tongue and anxiously stroked his
12 inch cockshaft, all the
while two other bad boys took turns slapping her
big bouncy ass till it was
covered with red welts… But I digress). No, my
Molly was a cute blonde

girl of 21, medium height, with expensive
wire-rim designer eyeglasses over
her big brown eyes that gave her a very
intelligent look. And rightfully

so, because, according to her resume, she went
to one of the finest all-girl prepatory schools
in the country, then majored in entertainment

law at Vassar, where she graduated 3rd in her
class with a 4.0 grade point
average. She could have started with the some of
the most prestigous law

firms in the country. Instead, she chose Viacom
Industries and MTV. And me,
little Cindy Crawford.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Crawford."
she said. "I’m a big fan of
the show." That show was HOUSE OF STYLE, my
weekly entertainment show on

MTV, where I got to do puff piece interviews
with minor celebrities while
wearing the usual collection of mini skirts and
tight tops while all the

pimply-faced toy-boys in America pulled their
pubescent puds and spurt jizz
all over the TV screen. Imagine explaining that
to your parents. Sometime
watching the show at home with R.G. as he lapped
away at my pussy, I could
just imagine all those stiff dicks standing at
attention just for me, all
those hands stroking away like a big round of
applause, and all that precious pearl jam flying
through the air towards my TV tits, my big TV
ass
barely in enough material to cover it, my sweet
little girl-next-store face, all that yummy cock
nectar just going to waste. It’s enough to make
a
girl come and come. Which I did, of course, and
my sweet fragrant juices

ran down my outstretched thighs and made a pool
on the leather sofa. (R.G.
always thought it was his astonishing oral
technique. Trust me–and sorry
girls–this was not the case).

The Dali Lama had assured me my mental powers
were very, very strong, and I
thought now was the time to put them to the
test. I sent a mental field across the office so
everyone would ignore us, and turned off the
inhibition switch in Molly’s pretty little
brain. I looked down at her resume. "It says
here you graduated with honors from Vassar. Does
that mean
you sucked a lot of cock?"

I saw Molly’s big brown eyes open wide in shock
for a second, and adjusted
the mind field. I could see her smooth shoulders
tense and then relax. She
was wearing a cute little yellow sundress with a
flower pattern. I noticed
her breasts were pretty good-sized, at least
38B, and I watched as the nipples started to
make a hard indent against the top of the dress.
One of
the straps shifted and fell off her shoulder,
but she made no move to adjust it. "I did." She
said, and bit her lower lip. "I did suck a lot
of
cock, Miss Crawford."

Everyone kept walking by the office door. No one
interrupted us. The mind
field was working. This was so cool! Molly kept
staring straight ahead, though I could see her
shifting from one leg to another, like she had
to go
the bathroom, or something else. Most likely
something else. I smiled at my
little Molly, my little plaything. "When the
last time you sucked a big hard cock, Molly?"

Molly laughed, and blushed. She brought a hand
to her mouth. "I sucked a

big hard cock this morning, Miss Crawford." I
could see her nipples getting
harder and harder. She really some some very
beautiful breasts. And those
nipples looked good enough to eat, and suck, and
twist… "Tell me about

it…"

She brushed back her blonde bangs and shifted in
the doorway. I could see
the light through the skirt of her dress. She
wasn’t wearing a slip, and

her legs looked very long and slender. I
remember laughing to myself and

thinking, this is my kind of honor student. "I
sucked my boyfriend’s cock
this morning before I came to work. I sucked his
cock and licked his balls.
Oh, and his asshole. I stuck my tongue up his
asshole as far as I could."
She smiled. She was still blushing.

I remember thinking was it hot in here, or was
it just me? I guess the Dalai Lama was right–I
was chosen for great things. Everyone at MTV
just
walked on by, busy with their day. No one
noticed I was in my private office, talking to
my new Vassar-educated administrative assistant
about

blowing big thick cocks. I shifted in my chair,
and unbuttoned the bottom
three buttons on my Versace skirt. "Did you
drink his come?"

"I drank all his come, Miss Crawford. I drink
his come every morning." She
giggled again, and one of her arms passed slowly
across her chest. "We call
it part of my special diet."

"And you like drinking his come?" My own
fantastic tits were starting to

ache a little bit, and I could feel my pussy and
asshole getting very moist.

"I love drinking come. As I said, I sucked a lot
of cocks in college. And I
always drank their come." Molly starting licking
her lips. She paid no attention to the office
workers as their strolled past my office.
Without
any mental prodding from me, she reached up and
squeezed her nipples through the thin cotton sun
dress.

"Do you eat pussy? And ass? You say you sucked
your boyfriend’s ass. Have
you sucked a girl’s pussy and ass?" The answers
to the really important questions were never on
the resume. I reached down to my cunt and
started
stroking my clit. I was sopping.

"I sucked Julie Brown’s cunt the day before
yesterday. She said it was part
of the job." She laughed. "And Martha Quinn… "
She looked up at my shyly.
"Martha likes it when I spank her."

"So you wouldn’t mind sucking my pussy right
now?" Molly’s eyes opened up
very large.

"No, Miss Crawford. I’d love to suck your pussy.
You’re the most beautiful
supermodel in the whole world." She was almost
whimpering.

"And if I wanted you to suck my husband’s big
cock? Or take it up the ass?"

Molly’s knees buckled. I could see a stain of
wetness spreading out from

the crotch of her dress. She tried to maintain
her composure, and cleared
her throat. "It would be ahem It would be an
honor to suck and clean your
husband’s cock, Miss Crawford, and to take any
cock you say right up my hot
ass. I would be honored."

"Well then," I said. By now I had three fingers
up my hot cunt, and my pussy lips were wide open
and slick with hot juice. "How soon can you
start?"

Molly whimpered again, and didn’t say a word.
Her knees slowly buckled and
she sank to the floor. In a matter of moments
she was scampering on all fours across the room
and over to my desk. I turned my chair towards
her

and lifted my legs up around my shoulders,
giving her complete access to my
warm pussy and tender ass-bud. Molly let out a
small cry, and dove into my
sweet supermodel pussy like she hadn’t eaten in
days, her nose jammed up my
cunt tunnel and her sweet sucking lips nursing
on my clit. She little librarian glasses were
all askew and covered with supermodel cunt
juice.

Just for fun, I pulled her face out of my crotch
by her pretty blonde hair.
She gasped in pain.

"Molly, What did you say your grade point was
again?"

Molly smiled. Her face was slick with my juices,
and a clear drop of girl-juice dripped off her
chin. "4.0, Miss Crawford. Third in my class"

"OK," I said, and let go of her hair. "You’re
hired."

"Oh, thank you, Miss Crawford," she said, and
then her voice was muffled as
she went back to sucking my clit. "And don’t
forget my asshole." Molly looked up. "Oh no,
Miss Crawford. No Ma’am," and she snaked a slick
finger
up my ass tunnel until I groaned, all the while
suckling my clit.

That’s when I knew this mind control thing was
going to work out just fine.


Well, that’s my story! There really isn’t that
much more to say. I’ve had
my mind control powers for some time now, and
they’re working out great.

I’ve been doing some studying, and I’m pretty
sure they have something to
do with all that love and envy and adoration
heaped on my by the collection
unconsciousness, combined with my own incredible
charisma (as well as my

incredible tits and ass)!. The Dalai Lama calls
every year or so to see how
I’m doing, so I suppose the cosmic forces are in
alignment for now.

R.G. and I finally divorced after he became so
obsessed with his spiritual
enlightenment that he couldn’t get his big
soldier to inflate any more, even when I begged
him and groveled and let him whip my pretty tits
for an
hour. I figured that was it–even I couldn’t get
one huge dick, I’d just

have to make due with three or four every day
for the rest of my life. And
off I went!

Well, my Diet Shake is empty, and my straw is
brushing the bottom of the

glass. Molly is mewing contentedly with two big
black dicks stretching her
pussy apart simultaneously, and that white boy’s
dick is rock hard as he

whips her puffy Ivy-League tits raw with my
favorite belt. It’s about time
for my Diet pick-me-up, so I’m going to close
out my true confessions, and
have Molly guide those three big boners right up
my ass. Then, when I get
my fill (which could be some time!), I’ll do
what I always do: have her take those same big
beautiful cock-rods out of my curvy ass, go get
my Diet
Shake mug, and then pump all that delicious hot
seed right in there where
it belongs. (A girl has to keep her figure!)
Then she can clean those filthy cocks, I can
call the limo driver to take these boys back to
court
they came from, and Molly can start cleaning my
Persian rug with her tongue. (I hardly have to
use any mental suggestion with Molly anymore.
She’s happy to do whatever I say! She really is
a great assistant!)

So the next time you see me in your mind’s eye,
the supermarket, or on TV,
or running across your movie screen,
remember–I’m thinking of you, too.

Bye for now!

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END