Celebs Meet CSSA #29 – Cindy Crawford

Having tackled Mariah Carey and Laetitia Casta, it was

inevitable that sooner or later I’d get to a tale

about my own all-time favourite, Miss Cynthia Ann

Crawford (although this is, admittedly, in the first

person). Cindy’s real, and I’m real, but this is not

an actual representation of either of us. No

under-18s, and no complaining about the ending. Praise

or complaints to the message boards or to

cindylover1969@yahoo.co.uk

* * * * * * * * * *

Friday night. A night for guys everywhere to go out,

right? It’s the end of the working week, the start of

the weekend, a good
time to unwind. Unless you’re me;

I wasn’t in the mood for going out tonight. Or most

nights, come to that; after slaving at the junk mail

(“direct marketing,” if you please) place I work at, I

just wanted to come home and vegetate before going to

bed to dream about whoever I wanted to wank to this

evening.

My regular Sunday paper once ran a piece on Britney

Spears which said “She intends to wed the universe,

having already coupled, if only in their imaginations,

with a goodly proportion of the men in it.” No shame

in admitting that this 34-year-old eternally single

man is one of that proportion. Nor is little Britney

the only lady I’ve bedded in my head; Gwyneth Paltrow,

Gwen Stefani, Monica Bellucci, Lucy Pinder, Jessica

Alba, Hilary Duff, Halle Berry, Laetitia Casta,

Jennifer Garner, even Madonna if I hate myself

particularly strongly… my list of fantasy conquests

is long and growing. But right at the top of the list

is the woman who I’ve loved from afar for Lord knows

how many years. The woman who, more than any other,

can persuade me to buy or see stuff I normally

wouldn’t, just for her. The woman who I’ve sent little

gifts to circa February 20th for years (I never got a

reply, but I wasn’t in it for the response – she

couldn’t be expected to reply to everything she gets).

And the woman who’s been the star of a lot of the

stories I write.

My name’s Victor, and I’m a devotee of Cindy Crawford.

Cindy Crawford. Say it loud and there’s music playing;

say it soft and it seems like praying. I know that

she’s getting on a bit at 38, that she’s a happily

married mother of two, and that she no longer works as

much as she used to, but the ladies around nowadays

just aren’t the same. That’s one reason why I call

myself Cindylover1969 around the internet; I’m not

ashamed to advertise my love, no matter what a couple

of my workmates think, and I’m not fickle the way The

Greyhound And His Current Fantasy Object is – I dream

about other ladies, yes, but none of them will ever

take her place. And I’ll never star any of them in

their own series the way I have with Cindy; I cast her

as a celebrity prostitute, but she’s her own boss. She

doesn’t work for anybody, they work for her. I’ve been

writing the Cindy Inc. stories for quite a few years

now, and the one I’m working on now has her in company

with the blonde porn star of that name –

But this isn’t about me, this is about the brunette

beauty with the distinctive mole. And how I got to

meet her; and yes, it was actually through the site I

write stories for.

My first hint that something was up was when I had

come back from the Post Office; I’d gotten a package

and had to go and collect it (at least they didn’t

leave it outside the door again!). Waiting for me in

my computerized inbox was a link to a news story from

my good friend Jim-Bob, one of several Cindy fans I’ve

met online;

“MADAME CIN-DY? Cindy Crawford’s publicist Annette

Wolf denied claims that the supermodel is the head of

a Hollywood brothel…”

I read the whole thing several times in amazement.

Someone was spreading rumours that Cindy was spending

her retirement from modelling as a madame… then I

felt my head swell a bit. The only way this could have

started was if my stories had been seen online by

someone. Unintentionally, this was all my fault. I was

shocked… and proud. Proud that the series that

SteyrAUG, Jim and myself had thrashed out on the

boards of Cindy’s website a few years back had

actually gotten noticed; but shocked that I had

somehow caused Cindy to be embarrassed. Though if she

had ever seen some of the other stories on CSSA, she’d

have been appalled, partly because of how badly some

of them were written, and partly because of what

happened in some of them.

I hoped she was upset by some of them. I knew I was.

* * * * * * * * * *

One good thing about being single and not having many

real-world friends is that the phone usually leaves

you alone; people call either for my sister or for

someone who isn’t here. That Thursday night neither

was the case; I was having my usual ritual for the

evening, one that involved Alyssa Milano, Rose McGowan

and Holly Marie Combs – as usual, I was following the

plot for that evening’s episode and waiting for one of

the three sisters to face away from the camera,

swearing that tonight would be the night that I

determined whether or not Rose or Holly had the nicer

ass.

For once, timing was perfect – the phone rang just as

the first commercial break began. I picked it up on

the first ring (I hate endless rings, on either side).

“Hi, is that Victor?” said an American voice on the

other end. An American female voice. An American

soft-edged female voice. Off to a good start.

“Yes,” I replied. “How can I help you?”

“Ah,” the voice said with a little laugh, “I just need

to ask you a couple of questions.”

“Like?”

“Like why do you keep writing those stories about me?”

My heart jumped for a moment, and I found my knees

buckling, before I caught myself. It wasn’t who I

thought it was. It couldn’t be. “Ummm… stories about

you doing what?”

“About me saving your soul from the Devil. And you

making a plaster cast from my ass. And me eating out

Britney Spears on video. And going to bed with

Laetitia Casta for Christmas. And being fucked by

Naomi Campbell on a cruise ship. And… look, I could

go on, but I think we need to talk.”

Okay okay okay… this was either a very good

practical joke or… or… no. No, it couldn’t be her.

“Errrr… where?” I managed to say, figuring I might

as well play along.

“Tomorrow. Brent Cross Shopping Centre. Around 6pm

outside the Ernest Jones shop. And don’t be late…

bye.” And with a click, my life was about to change.

Starting with my being unable to appreciate Rose

McGowan’s backside for the first night in ages.

* * * * * * * * * *

Brent Cross, early evening. Busy as per usual, and I

was standing by the watch shop, having gotten there

straight after work, glad that the bus hadn’t chosen

today to be late… not today of all days. In fact,

today had been a pretty good day all round, which

meant that something would happen soon enough to ruin

it. It was a few minutes before the magic hour; I

didn’t want to be scanning people coming into the mall

(it didn’t use that name, but let’s face it – Brent

Cross is a mall), so I started to look at the window

displays of Ernest Jones.

Watches, watches everywhere… as usual, my gaze spent

a bit longer on the Omega lineup. The main picture, to

my delight, was the one of Cindy Crawford in a car,

her hair swept back as she sat there. In the back of

my mind had been a story of Cindy with fellow Omega

spokeswoman Anna Kournikova – Anna was signed up to

Jennifer Lopez’s books in my stories, but maybe I

could have worked something out… maybe one about how

Cindy lost her? I looked again at the gorgeous

American brunette with the only truly attractive mole

in the world and turned around.

And found myself face to face with a gorgeous American

brunette with the only truly attractive mole in the

world.

Cindy was what we in the UK call “getting on a bit,”

especially for the kind of people who can’t fancy

anyone older than, say, 23. But at 38 she was still

stunningly beautiful – a lot of celebrities don’t look

as good in real life, but the law of averages means

that some of them have to live up to expectations. The

woman standing in front of me was one of them, bet on

it. The soft skin looking like you could stroke it for

years; the perfectly-placed mole up by the left side

of her face; the big kind brown eyes; the long, lean,

strong body with definite non-model-standard breasts

and fantastic legs; and the bewitching smile.

“Victor?” Cindy asked cheerfully.

“Ah…” I squeaked, feeling the ground go to water

under me. “You’re…”

“Late, I’m sorry. Traffic.”

“Oh… my…” And that was the last thing I said

before I didn’t know anything for the next few hours.

* * * * * * * * * *

I don’t know how long I was out, but I woke up to find

myself in my own bed. The heater was on and my room

was toasty warm; I was dressed in my pyjamas, and I

had to lie there for a moment before I remembered. I

had met Cindy Crawford in Brent Cross, and then I was

here… damn, that had been the nicest dream I had

since the time I dreamt about Liv Tyler. Definitely

something to get me through the day, I thought as I

turned over in bed and saw Cindy Crawford standing

there smiling down at me.

“Are you okay?”

She could have peeled the top of her head back and

sneered “You’ve got the body, and I’ve got the brain”

and I couldn’t have yelled more loudly. I jerked back

out of the bed and almost fell on the floor.

“WHA-WHA-WHA…”

“Take it easy, Victor!” Cindy urged, coming over to me

and helping me up. “It’s not a dream, I really am

here… I just wanted to meet you.”

“Meet me? Why? And…” I suddenly realised. “What am I

doing in my pyjamas? Did you…?”

Cindy blushed a little. “You did? And you…”

“Yes, I did. If it’s any consolation, you haven’t got

anything to be ashamed of.” A little smile played

around her face – she had to be remembering. “Trust

me.”

“You…”

“Plus it’s only fair.” She tapped one of the pile of

magazines on the shelves, the one with her second

“Playboy” on top. I could see her point – I’d seen her

naked, so it was only fair that I return the favour.

“You’re not exactly Tyson Beckford, but at least

you’re not Fred Berry or somebody. And I’ll level with

you – I’ve seen less attractive guys than you get

their clothes off and expect to get paid for it.”

I looked at her, pleased and embarrassed. At least

Cindy hadn’t tried to tell me something I wanted to

hear (I wanted to hear I was incredibly sexy and hot

as much as the next person, but at the same time, as

Dirty Harry said, a man’s gotta know his limitations).

Now she was looking around my room – scrapbooks,

magazines, tapes with her name/picture on the spine…

Cindy let out a low whistle. “I saw your video

collection out there… you’ve even got ‘Bodyguards’

on tape,” she said in an impressed tone. “Not many

people outside Italy know about that one.”

“I can’t blame them,” I said ruefully. “Oh frig –

sorry Cindy…”

“It’s okay. I never talk about it myself.”

“Yeah, I noticed. You were still the best thing about

it.”

Cindy blushed again, as I went over to my chest of

drawers and took out a small package. “I was going to

post this later this month, but I might as well give

this to you now. Makes a change from your people

putting all the other ones in their files or

something.”

“What, you mean like this bracelet?” And as she took

the box, Cindy held up her right wrist, from which

dangled a lovely golden object. I looked at it – it

was the very item I had sent her four years ago. So

she HAD gotten it… “And I got all the others as

well. They were lovely; I never got a chance to write

to you to say thanks. I wanted to, but you never left

a return address. Just your name.”

“I didn’t want anything from you,” I admitted. “I just

wanted to say… to say thank you.”

“For what?”

This was going to sound a bit corny, but… “For

making me happy all these years. That’s why I call

myself Cindylover online – in your honour. And that’s

why I… but I have to ask you something before I go

on.”

“Ask away,” said the unflappable one.

“How come you haven’t run off screaming or something

by now? I mean, I’m like this great big fan of yours,

I’ve been called a damn stalker in newsgroups, even my

own family’s been on at me sometimes… and you’re

still here.”

Cindy nodded. “Well, it’s because you’re a fan that

I’m here, and it’s because of how you look that I’m

still here. I know a lot of my fans got into me

because of my looks, I expect that, and I’m sure you

did too. Nothing wrong with admitting it – when was

the last time a guy who looked like Meat Loaf was on

the cover of ’16’ or something? The point is, I’ve got

a favour that I think you can help me with.”

This was sounding good. I’d do anything for Cindy

Crawford.

“You’ll need to be able to fly pretty soon. Over to

California.”

This was sounding even better – in addition to being a

Crawfordologist, I was also a full-on Yancophile (I

was counting down the days until the despicable Bush

made such a thing positive again by getting the fuck

out of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue; among his many sins,

he had besmirched the name of Crawford thanks to the

Texas town where his ranch was situated).

“It’s…” Cindy hesitated and waved her hands around a

little. “Oh, there’s no easy way of saying this – you

know the stories about me?”

“Mine?”

“No, the OTHER stories. They’re true.”

Visions of all the fantasies I and others had

concocted through the years danced through my head.

Cindy munching on Elle Macpherson… Cindy sleeping

with Laetitia… Cindy…

“Sorry, but I haven’t been bedding Kathy Ireland or

eating out Julia Roberts in a hot tub or doing

fourways with Elle, Tyra and Rebecca. And I definitely

haven’t slept with Jules Asner or Brooke Burke. Not

that I wouldn’t like to,” she added. “The women I’ve

been with aren’t famous. But they ARE discreet. Just

like the men Rande’s been with.”

She wasn’t asking me to…?

“Rande likes them young, about your age,” Cindy

continued. “And he’s a lot pickier than I am – he

doesn’t like to sleep with white guys for some reason.

He likes black guys.”

I had to sit down… this was all a bit too much to

take in at once. Firsthand news that the rumours were

true, and the genesis to start another one; the woman

of my dreams was picking up men for her bisexual

husband, and it sounded like she did it on a regular

basis. Who would have thought that gentle Cindy

Crawford had that kind of mind? That she was…

pimping… for her husband? It was like hearing the

Pope swearing.

And on top of that, she was asking ME to be next. She

was practically fulfilling a fantasy many fans had

about their favourite celebs – that their favourite

would turn up on their doorstep and invite them to

have sex – and she was asking me to do it with her…

husband. Not her sisters, not her mother (bless), not

her, but her husband. If it had been Melissa Etheridge

seeking out men to poke her wife it would have been

one thing (Tammy Lynn Michaels wasn’t as nice as most

of her “Popular” cast mates, but hey…), but this was

something else again. I’d never gone to bed with a man

before – hell, I’d never gone to bed with a WOMAN

before – and now…

But then again, this was Cindy Crawford who was asking

me. That little fact settled it.

“You can say no,” Cindy added, seeing the doubt in my

eyes. “I’ve heard it before. You can even ask to be

paid off to keep quiet – that’s happened before as

well.”

“You’re kidding,” I said slowly.

“I’m not kidding; cash on the line – ”

“No; I mean you’re kidding that some men actually said

no to you.” I got up, my mind made up, and faced

Cindy. This was a chance to get out of the country for

a bit; and more importantly, this was a chance to

actually do something for her. Plus I thought what the

hell, I’ll try anything once. “I don’t call myself

Cindylover for nothing.”

Like I told you, I’d do anything for Cindy Crawford.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Me and Gwen Stefani in a wrestling match,” Cindy said

in disbelief as the plane approached LAX. “Where’d you

get that idea?”

“From an extreme wrestling celebrity story,” I

explained. “Where the writer had Gwen beating you up –

it was years before I could forgive Gwen for that.”

“Forgive the WRITER, Victor,” Cindy told me. “So this

was sort of your sequel – why not post that on a

group?”

“Because wrestling fans are freaks,” I told her.

“Anyway, I put it behind me and I like Gwen again. But

I still like you better.”

“Awwww,” Cindy replied, patting my hand as the plane

began its final approach.

An hour later, Cindy having separated from me when we

got off the plane (she didn’t want people to start

wondering who the tall, dark man with her was), I

emerged from the airport with my luggage. Even though

I had been brought to the Caribbean at the age of 6

and lived there for years, a decade back in England

had made me acclimatized to the cold all over again;

coming out into the California sunshine made me break

out into the kind of sweat I normally got from

imagining something like Laetitia Casta, Jessica Alba,

Monica Bellucci and Paige from “Knots Landing”

stripping naked and rubbing oil onto each other. I

wasn’t looking forward to getting transport to

wherever I was going to be staying – Cindy had told me

it was all arranged, but…

Just like in the movies, a man in a chauffeur’s

uniform was holding up a sign saying “Victor.” That

was my cue.

“So this is Brentwood,” I said to myself as the

limousine stopped outside her house two hours later

(traffc…), and I tipped the driver. I had brought a

camera with me, but I was too busy looking at Los

Angeles as the driver took me along to actually take

any pictures. Not that it would have pleased Rogers;

little USA-bashing Cindy-hating prick…

My bags out of the car, I looked at the front door and

waved. I nearly said “Hi honey, I’m home!” to the

waiting Cindy and her family, but thought better of

it. They were all standing in the doorway to greet me;

Cindy was holding little Kaia, who waved and laughed

at me in “Hi!” mode. Presley stood there, less open to

me, but then he couldn’t have known who this stranger

was coming to see his mother; I nodded and smiled at

him. Rande gave me the kind of grin male models in

Gillette ads tend to give out; I almost expected him

to add a thumbs-up for that extra flourish.

And Cindy. Ah, Cindy. The mistress of her domain. (And

not in the “Seinfeld” sense at that time.) The reason

we were all here. She was standing there, proud and

open and friendly; she was dressed down being at home

and all, but she was still a sight to see. Even

without makeup Cindy was a beauty; I knew I wouldn’t

regret a moment of what was to come.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Hope it didn’t hurt going down,” Cindy commented that

evening – with dinner over and settling in our

stomachs and the children tucked up asleep, the night

was getting started.

“It didn’t,” I told her appreciatively. I was glad

that Cindy didn’t have a problem with eating proper

food; the lamb chops, chips, vegetables and wine were

blending wonderfully inside me. “Does Rande ever

cook?”

“We take turns when we’re at home,” Cindy said,

finishing her drink. “He’ll be back in about ten

minutes; and then…” She let the sentence hang in the

air, but we both knew what she meant. Even at this

stage, when it was practically a done deal, I thought

I had no misgivings. And yet, part of me still

wondered… was this really such a good idea?

“You’re having second thoughts, aren’t you?” Cindy

asked.

Did I say that out loud? Or was it that obvious from

my face?

“Well… I don’t want to go back on my word, and you

did pay to bring me here. And I don’t want to let you

down…”

“But you’ve never slept with a man before,” Cindy said

gently. “If it helps, try and imagine you’re with me.”

“That might be hard,” I said. “Unless he’s facing away

from me…”

“Don’t worry about that – he will,” Cindy assured me.

My nerves started to melt. So I was going to… I got

myself under control, mentally telling myself to think

of Cindy. Think of Cindy. Think… of…. Cindy. It

was all for Cindy. And she wasn’t asking me to kill

somebody; just to give her husband, in Buffy-speak, a

happy.

And that is how I found myself inside the Crawfords’s

master bedroom ten minutes later, lying on their bed,

on top of the sheets and stark naked. I had noticed

the way Rande had been looking at me when we were

eating; I had hoped Cindy had not noticed the way I

looked at his denim-covered butt when he got up. He

was almost as sexy as his wife. But only almost.

The door opened, and I was afraid for a moment that it

was one of the children wanting some water – kids do

not need to know what a big black guy is doing lying

naked in their parents’ bedroom. I sighed in relief

when I saw it was Rande, casually dressed as usual,

and surprised to be greeted by this sight.

“Well?” I asked, seeing Rande’s eyes go all over me.

“Oh my,” the former model replied, smiling widely as

he closed the door behind him, while I rearranged

myself on the bed and watched him undress. He had

himself just as fine and hard a body as in all those

paparazzi pictures; I’ll admit I felt a little smug

about his cock being smaller than mine. Then I

remembered that he was the one who was rich,

successful and got to sleep with Cindy Crawford on a

regular basis, and the smugness vanished like an ice

cream in a sauna. Naked, Rande climbed onto the bed

and rested his hands on my shoulders, kissing me

without any more chat. I was nervous as I touched him;

this was my first time with a real man, whereas he had

slept with more than his share of guys (and girls).

But feeling his strong form, my unease gradually

dissipated. And the important thing was that my cock

was still stiff and ready – as Rande was discovering,

his right hand having clutched it.

“This is beautiful,” he murmured, as he kissed my

chest. I wondered if he said that to all the guys as

he moved his head down, closed his mouth around my

cock and began to swallow the shaft. Rande’s head

flowed back and forth along my prick, his right hand

pulling along the meat and his left hand dandling my

balls; the room was silent apart from his grunting as

he sucked me. This was the only thing Cindy couldn’t

give him, and he was getting it from me. And he was so

good at it too…

Rande’s tongue flicked over the top of my cock,

prodding slightly into the hole at the tip as he

stroked me. I was tempted to pinch myself to see if

this was all a dream – but then, his hands spread onto

my ass and pinched for themselves. I started as he

rubbed the cheeks appreciatively. Nope, not a dream. I

began to breathe faster as Rande kept swallowing me,

feeling my throbbing cock take on a life of its own

inside his mouth. It was aching, dripping come down

into his throat, and the worry was all gone now; I

knew that I wanted to pull it out of his mouth, force

this beautiful man onto his knees and fuck him right

there and then.

But I was the guest… I felt Rande’s mouth speeding

up as he started to suck all the come out. Yes…

yes… yesyesyesyesyesyesyesYESSSSSSSS!!!!! If I had

to flood a man’s mouth with my come, at least it was a

good man…

“FUUUUUUCCCKKKK!!!” I shouted to the ceiling as I

fired into his mouth on and on until it was all gone.

I hadn’t dare look down there until now; I saw Rande’s

head closed around my upraised rod, pulling back

slowly as if he didn’t want to let it out of his

mouth. Rande licked it one last time as he let it go,

smiling up at me as he fondled my legs.

“Not bad,” I managed to say, surprised at who had

given me my first ever blowjob.

“Oh, I bet you’ll be better,” Rande said casually as

he took me in his arms, his prick against mine. “You

know you want to. I can tell.”

He was right; I did want to. Biting into his tanned

flesh, I moved down his body, hoping that I’d be able

to be as good to him as he was to me; though there

wasn’t a single male celeb who I wanted to fuck, in my

time I’d jacked off to more than a few guys in the

likes of “In Touch” and “Freshmen.” But I’d never had

the opportunity to suck a real cock until now. And now

here it was, right in front of me. I was determined to

be good but not THAT good; it would break my heart if

Rande said I was better than his wife.

As my mouth closed around his stiff organ, I felt his

strong hands on my head, pushing it closer. Or was he

holding me to keep me from escaping? No need for that;

I wasn’t used to having a penis in my mouth, but it

felt… it felt kind of good, actually. I slid my

tongue underneath his shaft and sucked away, enjoying

how clean and cut it was. It sounded as if Rande was

enjoying it too, and loving feeling my hands stroking

his body. And the way his hands were stroking my back

and my backside, with his lips kissing them…

Then I realised that we had a third party. And a

really sweet-smelling third party at that. My heart

leapt when I felt Cindy Crawford’s lips kissing the

cleft of my ass, and I began to suck Rande harder. As

lovely as his length felt in my mouth, he suddenly

found himself taking a back seat. I could smell the

woman I loved; her cologne was still lingering in the

air. It was fragrant and sweet, just like her. And the

way her mouth felt down there, her hands spreading all

over me, taking the cock that her husband had just

sucked and caressing it while she moved her tongue

around my ring, with low murmurs of satisfaction as

she did…

“Uggghhh…. urrrr….aaahhhhhHHHH….” Rande was

sweating and groaning with my sucking, and I moved my

head back – not soon enough; his cock splattered the

load into my mouth, filling it with his white come. I

wanted to spit it out, but he had taken mine – so I

took his. Like a man. But by that time I was feeling

Cindy Crawford’s tongue moving up my back passage, and

I could see Rande looking down at me fondly and

happily as I felt his wife moving behind me. “She

really knows how to please a man,” he said, seeing the

look on my face as Cindy began to move her fingers

along my cock and nipped my buttcheeks lightly. “So do

I…”

Then I felt my neck being kissed. Cindy had moved up

my back, still fondling my rod. “You’re the guest

here, so you get to choose,” she said softly. “Him or

me?”

I answered by not waiting a second longer, and kissing

Cindy full on the lips, finally feeling her warm naked

form next to mine. She was wonderful – not as

well-endowed or as fresh as some other favourites, but

I didn’t want her as she was when she was 22; I wanted

her as she was now, older but still divine. And she

wanted me, or at least wanted to have sex with me;

either way it was fine with me. She wrapped her arms

around me as I stroked her, running my fingers along

her silky skin, enjoying all of her curves.

Cindy kissed my front while Rande settled on my back;

I could feel his stiffy rubbing against me. “Is he

going to…?” I asked my baby.

“That’s all he wanted to do ever since he saw you,”

Cindy replied. “But don’t worry, you’ll get your

chance.” And she gently disengaged herself as Rande

got up, and I assumed the position, my eyes on the

tall brunette all the while. I couldn’t take my eyes

off her nude body; Cindy’s lovely smile as she lazily

played with her pussy was the finishing touch. She

knew I was checking her out; all these years and she

was used to it. And she liked it, but she didn’t act

as if she expected you to worship her. She was

watching us as if we were all in this together instead

of as her subjects.

“Do you know the MuffinMan?” she asked me as I felt

Rande’s mouth down there this time, lubing me up with

his tongue.

“The MuffinMan?” I asked, pretending not to know.

“The MuffinMan,” Cindy repeated. “Do you know the

MuffinMan – ”

“Who lives on Drury Lane?” I finished, grinning. “Yes,

we’re good e-friends. He’s written about the two of

you as well.”

“I know. I saw the ones he did about you and him with

Nicole Kidman and Charlize Theron,” Cindy said. “Good

taste; Charlize has a great ass… so does Nicole.”

“So do you,” Rande and I couldn’t resist saying, and

Cindy curtseyed, if you can curtsey when stark naked.

“I might have to look him up as well,” Rande said

heartily, his mouth having done its work as he spread

me open. “Does he look like you?”

“He’s white,” I pointed out, watching Cindy’s fingers

lying on her crotch, the tips inside the slot and

moving around inside as she watched Rande’s prick

pressing onto my butthole.

“Oh well, you can’t have everything,” Rande said

resignedly. “Does he know you’re here?”

“I didn’t tell anyone; Cindy said not to.”

“But you’ll probably write about this afterwards,

right?” Cindy asked, her eyes half-closed as her

fingers kept probing – half-closed because she was

watching Rande rubbing me as he started to thrust his

prick up me, and watching me as my face changed.

Fuck… fuck… fuck… Rande was taking it slow, but

it was aching… I couldn’t say anything; all I could

do was nod.

“I… I can’t… blame….youuuu….” Cindy groaned as

she began to rub herself faster, her hand half up her

muff as she watched her husband fuck me. I kept my

eyes on Cindy’s hot, unquestionably dripping cunt as

she fondled herself, rubbing her button between her

fingers and thrusting deep inside herself. Cindy was

shaking as she played herself; was she getting turned

on by the two of us or was she thinking of something

else? Then all I could think of was Rande’s cock

jamming way up me, his experienced grinding deep into

my ass, the way he thrust faster and harder as I began

to grind myself, and I began to wonder if I was

actually more into it for him than her…

Then I felt something furry along my mouth, and I

became even stiffer. I took a deep smell, and looked

up to see that She had come closer, to give me a

closeup of her masturbation… she was a porn mag come

to life. Seeing Cindy’s fingers sinking inside her and

listening to her moans of self-pleasure, coupled with

Rande’s fingers around my prick and thrusting for

me… I screamed into Cindy Crawford’s soaking snatch

as Rande pumped his hardest yet. “OHGODYESSS!!!!!” I

screamed as I clutched Cindy’s juicy buns, pulled my

dream woman even closer and plunged my tongue into her

incredibly sweet and beautiful cunt. I had often

imagined what Cindy would taste like, but nothing

could have prepared me for what I found. She was warm

below; moist and tender, and her cunt muscles were

tighter than I thought a woman who’d had two children

might have. The kegel exercises had paid off. I

greedily flicked my tongue inside her, trying to get

all around her muff at once. And as for how her velvet

ass felt… oh help me, fingering that tight behind

and trying to get my fingers inside the crack and up

her anus… I was in heaven.

I felt a whole load of dampness inside me, and I heard

Rande’s howls as he came and came, but I was feeling

myself coming as well. Not from him, but from Cindy’s

hot cunt on my mouth. I felt my cock shooting onto the

sheets as I licked deep inside Cindy; Rande was good

and hard, but Cindy was the final touch… this hot

woman was world-famous, and she was mine. All mine.

Except for her husband. Feeling Rande’s iron sliding

out of me, I rested my head against Cindy’s dark

jungle and looked up at her, licking my lips. Fuck

milk – THIS was what did a body good. I kissed Cindy’s

tummy, and then kept kissing up her, ignoring the pain

in my ass and Rande’s hands on it, until I finally got

to Cindy’s gentle face. “I’ve been waiting for this

for years…” I told her, and kissed her hard again,

taking her in my arms and holding her tight. Cindy

tasted her own pussy juices on my mouth, and kissed me

harder; tasting herself obviously turned her on. Not

that I could blame her.

“Are you expecting me to go down on you?” she asked

me, while Rande kept rubbing the two of us. I was

wondering what it would be like, when she shook her

head. “At times like this I only suck off my husband,”

she added as she fondled my stiffening pole, while I

circled her tits with my hands. “But this is fair

game…” she finished, winking, and thrust herself

forward, still holding my cock. Cindy and I both cried

out as her cunt was thrust onto the organ, the inches

rapidly sinking inside; Rande, I could see from the

corner of my eye, was on the bed this time, his stiffy

long and tall and being thrust on as he watched this

big dark 34-year-old fan fucking his wife.

“Isn’t…he…joining…in?” I grunted between

thrusts, shoving myself deeper up into Cindy and

kissing her neck and shoulder.

“He…likes…to…watch…” Cindy panted, clawing me

madly as I thrust against her, my hands moving all

over her body, my balls dying to let their load go. I

nipped on Cindy’s breasts, enjoying the tiny nipples

she had, while she rested her fingers on my butt, now

recovered from Rande. Cindy’s long fingers fondled me,

massaging me as I clutched her tighter and pumped

harder, our cries weaving together as the two of us

enjoyed each other’s bodies, me wondering who her

husband was more jealous of.

“WHHHOOOOOO!!!” Cindy screamed as she slammed against

me. “YEAH DAMMIT DO IT NOW!!!NOW GODDAMMIT NOW!!!!” By

this time my cock was swollen with so much come and I

wanted to give it to her so damned badly that I bucked

against her one last time before finally achieving the

desire of a lifetime, and shooting deep inside her

cunt. Cindy and I screamed in delight as I pumped my

cream into her, thrusting and thrashing until it was

all done. If this was the sort of things her

neighbours heard, no wonder they were complaining…

* * * * * * * * * *

Cindy whistled slowly as she came towards me the

following morning. She, myself and Rande were secluded

from prying eyes, and she was wielding a video camera.

My body was covered in sweat as I stood there wearing

nothing but shorts, and soaked-through shorts at that,

bending over for them.

“That’s a great job you’re doing on the car,” Cindy

said approvingly, as I took the cloth from the bucket

and continued to wipe it clean, suspecting that the

camera crew were focusing on my legs. Me, the star of

a homoerotic home movie shot by Cindy and her husband.

But hey, I’d do anything for Cindy Crawford. (Though

if she could read my thoughts, she might not have been

surprised at which one of the couple was bending over

in tiny shorts. Here’s a hint: Not the one with the

penis.)

Cindy edged closer as I stretched over the bonnet,

looked up and gave the camera a smile. Cindy’s

direction consisted of her bending forward with the

camera in my face, allowing me to look down the top of

her shirt and get a clear view of her boobs, bobbing

invitingly. The smile was very real.

“You and me, later on,” Cindy mouthed.

The smile got even wider as I stretched further out,

letting Rande’s camera survey my ass.

* * * * * * * * * *

Cindy hummed to herself in the shower that evening;

she had joked that ever since that commercial with

Little Richard she was terrified of singing if there

was anyone else around, but humming was A-OK. Rande

and I could hear her as she lathered and hummed a

happy little tune.

We could also see her; Cindy was standing pink and wet

and sudsy, and Rande’s video camera moved up and down

her form. The water streaming down her legs; the suds

being sluiced off her boobs; the great ass with

droplets on it; it was a late night movie shower scene

come to life, and it was all for my benefit, captured

on tape.

And the best thing was, Cindy knew we were watching

her, I thought as I watched the tape again in my room.

It was crystal clear, and everything was there; I was

going frame-by-frame through the shower so I could

relive every moment. The very first story I ever wrote

about Cindy was one where the two of us had sex in the

shower; this was as close as I’d come to making it

come true. Click by click, the frames moved forward,

panning up Cindy as she twisted under the shower jets.

I froze it when her buttocks came on full, and

couldn’t resist peering closer – could I see her

fuzzbox there?

“Enjoying yourself?” Cindy asked cheerily behind me,

breaking my spell.

“What do you think?” I beamed, facing my host, all

cleaned and in a nightgown. “Great weekend…”

“All good things…” Cindy said, sitting down on the

bed. “Rande’s busy with your tape.”

“How does he rank me?”

“Well, let’s just say he’s not sorry you came,” she

laughed. “He was playing with himself to your butt.

Looks like a running theme tonight…”

Despite everything, I couldn’t keep from being

embarrassed. Cindy could see it; “Don’t worry, I’m

used to it. In fact, I came here to… give you a

closer look at the real thing. It’s your last night

here, and the two of us…”

I switched the screen off and faced my Cindy as she

played with the strap of her nightgown. “Do you want

to open it, or are you going to lie there and let me

do it?”

I put out a still-trembling hand towards the

nightgown. I suppose if I had been with her for years

rather than a few days, I’d have been used to it. But

then, who wants to be used to feeling as great as

this? By Monday I’d be back in London trying to tap

out a few K a day of stories from my sex-starved mind,

and this experience would only be a memory – a

one-of-a-kind type thing. And that was as it should

be; then Cindy would remain special in my mind.

“Why do you do this?” I asked Cindy as her nude body

escaped the gown.

“You mean pick up guys like you? It helps keep him in

line and at home; he’s got a roving eye. Always did. I

figure if I keep feeding him at home he won’t try and

get takeout… shitty analogy, I know,” Cindy said

ruefully.

“Well, I wouldn’t cheat on you,” I said quietly.

“Yes, you have,” Cindy said as she started to undress

me. “At least in your mind. Otherwise you wouldn’t

have written ‘Jessica Love Hewitt.'” And she kissed my

chest. “Or ‘For The Honour Of Her Country.'” Kissed my

right shoulder. “Or ‘Gwen’s Release.'” Kissed my

stomach. “Or the story with that Butch guy who keeps

changing his name.” Kissed my left thigh. “Or ‘The

Untitled Jessica Alba Project.'” Kissed my

still-covered groin. “Or even ‘…Make Me Feel So

Damned Unpretty.’ Why’d you call it that, by the way?

You a big TLC fan? I thought you liked music from TV

and movies.”

“I do,” I managed to say, “but you can’t call

something ‘The Great Work Begins (End Title)’ or ‘The

Final Confrontation’ or ‘Weepy Donuts.’ And it was

because the new girls in the story were so hot they

made Kirsten and Jessica and Jennifer and so on look

like Janet Reno. Almost.”

“Ah,” Cindy said. “The point is, men like to cover a

lot of ground with women; if it’s not physically, it’s

in their head.”

“And if it’s not women, it’s men.”

“Right on the nose. You couldn’t keep your stuff to

just me, that’s why you write about fucking all those

other women. You’re no more faithful to me than Rande

could be… but it’s not like I don’t look at guys and

think ‘Damn, I want some of that.'”

And there wasn’t anything Rande could do about it,

especially as he didn’t bring around any of the

waitresses at his clubs for Cindy to play with. I had

a feeling I wasn’t the first of Rande’s one-weekend

stands who Cindy had sampled, and nor would I be the

last… I was being used. And loving it.

“I wasn’t lying about the other night,” Cindy

continued as she lowered my underwear. “When I’m in a

threesome I only suck Rande – but in this

situation…”

“No, wait a moment,” I said. “I want to…”

Cindy didn’t need to hear anything else; she was on

top of me in a few seconds, with her mouth doing some

“talking” between my legs, and saying more than words

ever could. I, meanwhile, was dabbing my tongue around

her open box again as I felt Cindy’s soft lips busy

taking me to places that I had previously only dreamed

about. In “The Devil and Cindy Crawford” I wrote that

Cindy disproved the theory that really beautiful women

were crap in bed; I was so glad to find that I had

been right… this woman was taking her time with her

blowjob, working each inch like it was her first, and

little breaths on the tip made it even better. And the

little kisses on the balls!

I spread apart Cindy’s asscheeks, to finally get to

see her back door; there it was, winking and teasing

me. A perfect little starfish, just a few inches away

from me… my tongue left her cunt, still tasty in my

mouth, and began to roll around her asshole.

“Ummmm…. so good… so sweet…” I murmured as I

rubbed Cindy’s bum while rimming. Soft and clean,

Cindy’s chute must have been entered by Rande or Val

(though probably not Richard) at some time… tight

and perfect, I lapped away at the opening while

feeling Cindy’s continued sucking. Oh boy; I never

wanted to take my head out of Cindy Crawford’s ass,

but I did want to touch the rest of her. My hands

travelled up her strong, sexy back, giving her a

rubdown while I ate her ass.

“Aaaahhhhh…” Cindy groaned as she kept licking the

staff, stroking as much of me as she could touch. She

wanted me inside her again; I wanted to be in her

again; I needed to be in her…but it meant I couldn’t

come in her mouth, because I knew if it happened it

would be ages before I’d get over it and be ready for

another go. But Cindy’s hot, hungry mouth was eager

for all that I could give her… I tried to hold back,

but by that time I had my tongue deeper inside my

lady’s asshole, and all I could think of was how

heavenly it was… “Oh no Cindy… please please

please PLEASECINDYOHYESSSS!!!!!” and my speech crashed

into a load of incoherent screaming as I felt myself

give in to Cindy’s lips, feeling my sperm rushing out

into her mouth as Cindy still kept sucking.

I clutched her long, toned thighs in joy as she

swallowed my juice and yelled “THANK YOU, CINDY!!!!”

And instantly regretted it; it wasn’t like she was

doing me a favour. But she didn’t seem to mind; I

heard her say “No, thank you… Rande doesn’t like to

do what you’re doing… I haven’t had it like that

since the last time I was with…”

Cindy checked herself, and never told me who it was.

Not that I would have pursued the matter; the mere

fact that I was pleasing her in a way her husband

hadn’t was enough for me. “Take it all the way,

Victor,” she said, breathing heavily as she moved away

from me.

“But first…” and this time I checked myself as I

took hold of Cindy’s legs, caressing them. It wasn’t

unheard of for short women to have fantastic legs

(otherwise known as Paula Abdul Syndrome), but the

longer the limb the better, and Cindy’s long legs had

been the subject of many a fantasy. Cindy studied me

as I fondled her feet; they were wonderful to hold and

to lick. I tenderly sucked each toe, listening to her

little squeals of delight. “Can you still do that…?

“You bet,” Cindy smiled, and with her big toe in my

mouth, she wiggled it without moving the other toes on

that foot. Unlike the time she did it for David

Letterman, the audience actually could see up to her

crotch, but as far as I was concerned it was just an

excellent bonus to the main event; I sucked the toe

again and kissed it afterwards. That was amazing; I

don’t know how she did it. I’ve tried, and I can’t…

My hands moved over Cindy’s legs, enjoying the cool

flesh and the way she moved them as I stroked upwards.

I kissed the calves, the knees, and particularly the

thighs, sucking the main meat and kissing it as it

left my mouth, and then stroking her legs again with

my prick. Cindy was sighing deeply as she felt herself

and felt me on her; she still had the greatest legs in

modeldom. Not good for short skirts my foot (as it

were). I started to rub my inches along Cindy’s

thighs; warm and tender, they were begging to be

wanked between. But Cindy, her hands never off me, was

wanting it somewhere else.

“Not up there…” Cindy whispered, seeing my eyes

lingering on the down of her pussy. “I’m not looking

for a third kid yet… plus it would be very ‘Cindy

Takes A Today Show Vacation.'”

I didn’t want to leave Cindy a gift like that either,

and she was right about the story too – unless Cindy

did a Loretta Young and claimed she had adopted a

newborn black baby, there would have been a lot of

awkward questions asked. But fortunately something

else had happened in that story – turning Cindy over,

I took her by her legs and lifted her as if she was a

wheelbarrow, her super ass again in my face, still

lubed up by my own mouth. My cock was at its hardest

and I was trying not to freak out by what I was about

to do.

Cindy actually managed to get off the bed with her

arms, while I was still holding her in the wheelbarrow

position, and balanced on the floor she crooked her

head around and nodded; she was ready. Still holding

her legs, I separated them like scissors, her snatch

gaping along with her asshole, and began to thrust

inside. It was a tight fit, and I was afraid I would

lose my grip… “Okay… here I am going in…

oooohhhhh I don’t believe this… oh shit I’m in….”

I forged ahead very, very slowly and nervously,

feeling my cock stuffing Cindy’s watertight back door

as I heard Cindy going “Ahh… uhhh… urrrghhhh….

oh yeah that’s it… keep going…”

I don’t know what was better; seeing my own dark shaft

coring Cindy’s incredibly great ass, or coring Cindy’s

incredibly great ass. I wanted to give those cheeks a

slap, but then I’d have lost my grip on my girl; I

gasped as I thrust harder, and two more inches sank

into the supermodel, producing a cry from Cindy.

“AAAHHHHHH!!!” she yelled as I pushed further inside,

beginning to slide to and fro as I got into the swing

of it. Oh, if only I could feel my balls slapping

against her…

“OH FUCK YES! KEEP THAT THING UP ME!!! FILL MY ASS UP

DAMMIT!!!” the Midwesterner screamed, as I pumped at

her rump ever harder. Tight and pink and perfect, all

I could think of was draining myself into her… I

ground harder, all the years I’d seen her, written

about her, dreamed about her, collected stuff on her,

lived my life for her coming into focus at this

moment. I’d mentally had this moment for years, but I

had never dreamed that I would actually… ohhhh

fuck… that I would… be… emptying… my balls…

into… Cynthia… Ann… CRAWFORD!!!!

“I LOVE YOU, CINDY!!!!! OH GOD I LOVE YOU LOVE YOU

LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!!” I screamed out loud as I jammed

it deeper inside once more before I felt my prick

bursting inside her sweet asshole, bucking her again

and again as I came and came and came, rubbing her

thighs as I held them, and listening to Cindy’s

screams as she felt me filling her. The only thing

that could have made this better was if I didn’t have

to leave Cindy’s ass.

Alas…

* * * * * * * * * *

As the car pulled away, Cindy and I waved to Rande,

Presley and Kaia as they stood by the front door; she

would be taking me to the airport while dawn broke

(why my flight had to be so early I don’t know).

“You woke up Presley last night,” Cindy confided as

soon as the Brentwood house was out of sight.

“Did he say anything?”

“Well, he did ask if it was robbers again – the last

time I told him we scared off some intruders. He was

boasting about having a Supermommy for days

afterwards,” Cindy laughed. “But that’s what happens

when you get two screamers…”

“I didn’t know I was a screamer until then,” I

admitted.

“What, that really was your first?”

I nodded. “It’ll all be downhill from here…”

“Don’t think that way,” Cindy told me. “It’s

flattering, but if you ever get together with someone

else you’ll be comparing all the time. It won’t be

fair to her.”

“Oh believe me,” I told her, “I was never planning on

getting with anyone even before this. I’m not family

material.”

“You’d be surprised… listen, I have something for

you.”

“I can’t take anything else from you.”

“It’s your tape,” Cindy continued, handing it to me.

“Rande enjoys it, but after last night I know I’m not

going to be able to watch it with him without thinking

about you. I’ve slept with some of his weekend buddies

– like you probably guessed – but none of them were

hardcore fans. And it wouldn’t be right to have one of

them as a sex toy.”

I shook my head. “Keep it. It was my pleasure to serve

the two of you.” (I still can’t believe I actually

said that.) “Plus I was used as a sex toy by Cindy

Crawford and her husband; that’s an honour.”

“Are you sure? Because he does have friends who he

shares these tapes with…”

“You’re my lady, Cindy. It’s not a problem. In

fact…” and I opened my hand luggage, and took out

another tape. “This is the one we made of you

showering.”

Cindy took it after a moment. “You guys filmed me

bathing?”

“Yeah. Letting us watch was fun, but Rande said I

could have a memento… then I figured you didn’t

know, so I thought…” I got no further because Cindy

had pressed her lips onto mine, kissing me in the

traffic jam.

“Thank you,” she told me softly. “You’re a good one.”

And so was she, I said to myself as I returned the

kiss before the jam broke.

* * * * * * * * * *

I had no tape of Cindy bathing naked, and I would

never see her again, but I had the knowledge that

there were people reading my stuff. And that one of

the subjects knew, and wasn’t about to sue. And the

happy memories of what had happened three weeks ago

now. And I would never tell a soul about the sex lives

of the greatest supermodel of them all and her

husband, no matter how many gossip sites speculated.

Even though I knew I should keep off those damn

newsgroups, I couldn’t resist; some mean stuff about

her had been posted, and it was festering in my mind

on the way to work. But I consoled myself with what

had happened last night, as I clocked into work, first

person there as usual. Rogers usually arrived at

around five to nine, but he wouldn’t be here this

morning.

He wouldn’t be here for about three weeks, as I found

out after visiting his flat last night. Four broken

ribs, a broken arm and a concussion will do that to

you; someone had broken into his flat and beaten him

brutally, helping himself to a lovely glass sculpture

on the way out, and actually calling 999 for the

hapless Rogers before leaving, jamming the phone

handle next to his head so he could talk. Rogers had

been blindfolded before it happened, so he had no idea

who it was.

I had the glass sculpture in my bag, all padded and

wrapped ready to be sent to Cindy, the same way the

necklace from that whiny old cow down the road had

been sent. The same way those rings from the Dell

sisters had been sent. The same way Mr. Anderson’s

Chicago Bulls cap had been sent. The same way all the

other gifts over the years had been sent. And all

following the same rules: Never go after someone who

only insults Cindy once and never again, keep the

effort for repeat offenders; Only take ONE item, no

more; Never kill them, just punish them – it would

freak Cindy out if she knew some sicko in London was

going around killing people in her name. It would make

me feel better, but it wouldn’t assure Cindy; better

to have scattered incidents with no real connection.

But what would I do if someone tried to harm her?

I told you, I’d do anything for Cindy Crawford.

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