Amnesiac Playboy Centrefold
While travelling in America, I stopped overnight in some backwater motel on Route 66. There was a minor crash that night and I was the only one to rush to the driver's aid.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered her to be a blonde with a stupendous body. She was unconscious. I carried her - apparently unhurt - to my room and undressed her before bathing her brow with a moistened towel until she came round. Naked, she was the masturbatory fantasy of every man: large, perfect breasts, flared hips, smooth abdomen, long legs and a full Brazilian wax.

She remembered nothing - even to the extent of not knowing which country she was in. Indeed, she had reverted to a childlike innocence. Her clothes had been ripped in the crash and so I'd thrown them out. What would she wear?

I would have to make clothes for her.

Taking advantage of her amnesiac state, I managed to persuade her that it was common to wear only the skimpiest attire. I made her a micro skirt from a sheet, and a rudimentary bra from a broad belt. Underwear, I informed her, did not exist. Needless to say, she was barely covered by the clothes I made her, with every gesture revealing swathes of taboo flesh.

She said she'd like to travel with me and so we moved from motel to motel, her sitting beside me in the convertible I'd rented and wearing only the flimsiest clothing I'd fashioned for her. Sometimes the wind would carry away her 'bra', or her 'skirt'would ride up to reveal her unclothed womanhood.

For weeks we moved anonymously across towards the west. The only thing she recalled from before the crash was an ungovernable lust for hot sex of every variety. Often, we'd stop the car and rut madly in the back seat, or she'd blow me as I drove happily along. It was a period of bliss.

It all ended when we pulled up for petrol and I saw her face and body on a copy of Playboy magazine. She'd been Playmate of the Month just recently. On seeing the picture, her memories flooded back and she said she'd have to return to that life.

She wasn't bitter or resentful. In fact, she treated me to one more night of bestial passion during which we engaged in every conceivable permutation of human sexuality. Not an orifice was left unpenetrated.

I still have one of her 'skirts' and use it for my own pleasure.
(frankspencer, Fri 25 Aug 2006, 12:21, Reply)