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 8x10 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.