36DD Tanya Danielle's Fantasies


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Harley Raine vs. Tanya Danielle

Last week 38DD Harley Raine showed up at my apartment and wondered aloud why I had painted my walls bright blue. Of course I informed her that the lovely shade was mixed especially for me at Home Depot to replicate the official Royal Blue of my favorite soccer team, Everton. I had worn my Everton jersey into the store so they could match the color exactly. The guy behind the counter had asked me to hand him my jersey so that he could have it right next to the paint he was mixing. I stood by him in my jeans and bra as he labored to do the task perfectly. He even got on the store's public address system to call some other employees to come assist him. They take their jobs very seriously at Home Depot and it is quite inspiring. I was impressed enough to give them each an extra five dollars after I paid for my paint. Harley listened to my story and I couldn't help but notice a malevolent gleam creep into her eye. I just wanted to bask in the glow of my blue wall, but all of a sudden Harley was telling me I was a "dumb hooker" who wasn't smart enough to charge men to stare at my 36DD tits when I took my clothes off in public! Who knows what she was talking about, but anyone speaking the words "dumb hooker" inside my house is looking for a nasty brawl.

  • Size: 4 MB
  • Format: zip
  • Category: CAT FIGHTING
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Anastasia Pierce, Jewell Marceau, and Tanya Danielle in Latex

Fetish models Anastasia Pierce, Jewell Marceau, and Tanya Danielle, cavort and pose in amazing latex apparel for your pleasure. Then they introduce the glass dildos into this most erotic of scenes..

  • Size: 20 MB
  • Format: zip
  • Category: LATEX
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Chef Jewell Ties Up Tanya in the Kitchen

Sexy chef Jewell Marceau ties up her reluctant assistant Tanya Danielle on a countertop in the kitchen. Jewell relishes ladelling out the abuse and Tanya's suffering starts to make her incredibly horny!

  • Size: 8 MB
  • Format: zip
  • Category: BONDAGE
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Power Girl Captured and Bound!

Tanya Danielle is Power Girl. Nefarious forces are holding her captive. See Power Girl's futile attempts to escape her cuffs, chains, and sadistic tormentors!

  • Size: 5 MB
  • Format: zip
  • Category: SUPERHEROINES
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Jewell Marceau vs. Tanya Danielle - lingerie catfight!

Why can't roommates Jewell and Tanya get along? Why ask why? Just enjoy the smothering, breast-clawing, hairpulling, and contorted wrestling holds that ensue as soon as thes two wildcats start fighting!

  • Size: 4 MB
  • Format: zip
  • Category: CAT FIGHTING
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Stacy Burke vs. Tanya - pantyhose catfight!!

Stacy Burke battles Tanya in a nasty example of an apartment brawl. These two pantyhose-clad beauties are vicious wildcats!!

  • Size: 5 MB
  • Format: zip
  • Category: CAT FIGHTING
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Jewell Marceau vs. Tanya - boxing brawl!

I like to observe people who interest me. My friend Tyson calls it "stalking", but generally he is willing to accompany me on my sightseeing expeditions. A few weekends ago we pulled into the parking lot of The Siren in Hermosa Beach so we could spy on one of my favorite subjects, Large Dog Larry. Large Dog Larry has lived in that beach area for decades. His skintight jeans, diamond rings, and long, feathered hair harken back to the cocaine-fueled era of the 1980s. In my mind the theme from Scarface is playing whenever the Large Dog strides into a room. Of course I've never seen him anywhere other than The Siren and a lot of stuff happens in my mind that has no connection with reality. Still, other people seem to take a shine to the Large Dog too. The Siren is right on the beach and one time, during a ninety-degree summer afternoon, a little kid inside the place pointed to Larry and said with wonder: "Mom, that man is wearing cowboy boots." Tyson almost choked on his sandwich when he heard the comment and I slid my gaze downward to see Larry's snazzy snakeskin boots protruding from beneath his tight jeans. The boots even had little spurs on the back and metal decorations on the pointed toes. The boy's mother glanced at Larry but did not respond to her son's observation. Larry was leaning against a piano/table at the far side of the room with a big-boobed blonde who was wearing a T-shirt with text across her breasts that read: "They really are hypnotizing, aren't they?" That kid was certainly not the first young man to take notice of Larry. Tyson's friend Vaughn grew up next door to Larry and idolized him for years. Vaughn claims that Larry's pimp-style diamond rings were all gifts from past girlfriends. All the women were wealthy and all were married. Supposedly one rich husband walked into his own house in ritzy Palos Verdes, CA only to discover Larry pumping his wife in the ass with his giant rod. That housewife was the source of one of the rings. Larry also dated young models because, according to local gossip, he was a Penthouse photograher in the 1980s. Vaughn remembers lots of hot babes coming over to Larry's house at all hours of the day and night. He'd also see Larry out on the boardwalk with a girl on each arm. Sometimes they would have coordinating outfits, like the time one was a cowgirl and the other was an Indian. Stories about Larry abound in Hermosa Beach. Perhaps my fascination with him arises from the fact that he's almost a caricature of a person. He could be a cartoon. He belongs on a billboard with Angelyne. It's really amusing to see how people react to him. In any case, Tyson and I were at The Siren to hang out by the ocean and observe Larry. On our way in Tyson yelled to the lot attendant: "Where's Large Dog Larry? We're here to see Large Dog Larry!" I couldn't believe it. It's impossible to spy on someone if that person gets wind of the fact that you are spying on them. The glare I fixed on Tyson made him realize his mistake. It was too late. The lot attendant smiled a big smile and came up to us: "Larry's not here yet. He's probably out drinking a champale somewhere, but he'll be in later." Champale? Champail? Champagle? Shampale? My mind got stuck on the word. That always happens when I don't know how to spell something. The part of the sentence in which it was used replays itself over and over and over in my brain, kind of like when an old record player hits a scratch on a vinyl record. I managed to shake my mind out of the groove and then Tyson and I left before Larry could arrive and find out from the parking lot guy that two people were asking about him. We decided to go back a different time and we both wondered aloud what "champale" was. A pail of champagne? Sparkling Wine? Boone's Farm with bubbles? Of course I told Jewell the whole story the next day when we met at the gym for our boxercise class. Jewell has met the Large Dog before. "Oh, what's your problem?" she said breezily after I finished. "He wouldn't care who you were even if the parking guy did tell him you were asking about him. He'd probably just think you were one of those blonde, big-titted models he shot back in the eighties." I looked at her closely for a moment. Yeah, she knew I hadn't been modelling in the eighties and she knew it was an insult..

  • Size: 15 MB
  • Format: zip
  • Category: BELLY PUNCHING
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Alexis Taylor teaches Tanya a lesson

At some point in 2004 I had driven for an hour behind a car with a bumper sticker bearing the text: "What if the hokey-pokey really is what it's all about?" The sticker tormented me. It still does. The hokey-pokey has become a recurrent theme in my life. In June, 2006 my friend Tyson and I went to Hooter's Restaurant in West Covina, CA where, inexplicably, our waitress had tried to coerce us into performing the hokey-pokey dance for the other patrons in the establishment. We declined to do so and later in the day had ended up driving to our friend Raul's office where we mentioned the whole episode. He listened to our story without comment and then asked: "You mean the hokey-pokey dance?" "Yeah. Do you believe that?" I said with an incredulous smile. "I don't know how to do the hokey-pokey, but nevermind that. Why would she even ask us?" Raul shrugged without appropriate puzzlement and said: "Hayden Frye used to make the Iowa football team dance the hokey-pokey before each game." "He was the coach of the team?" Tyson asked. Raul nodded his head and went on to haphazardly elaborate on the subject as he punched information into his computer regarding whatever he was doing. Evidently the University of Iowa used to have a Division 1 football team who were perennial non-contenders until Hayden Frye became the head coach. He turned the program around and achieved legendary status for his coaching prowess while also raising some eyebrows with the peculiar pyschological tactics he used to rally his team. According to Raul the whole team danced the hokey-pokey in their locker room before each game. So that was that.Our conversation turned and I was left to ponder the hokey-pokey conundrum yet again. I tried to shake it off but I couldn't. Five months later I asked Raul to repeat what details he knew about Hayden Frye and the hokey-pokey. Raul had no patience for the subject and told me to look it up on the Internet. I did so. As it turned out Hayden Fry spells his name without an "e" at the end of it. Additionally, he only had the Iowa football team perform the hokey pokey after a huge victory. They did not perform the dance/song before each game as Raul had mistakenly lead Tyson and me to believe. Beyond all that Fry had presided at the helm of Iowa football while he was cultivating such future coaching talents as: Barry Alvarez - former head coach of the Wisconsin football team Bob Stoops - now head coach of the University of Oklahoma football team Mike Stoops- now head coach of the University of Arizona football team Mark Stoops- now defensive coordinator of the University of Arizona football team Kurt Ferentz - now the head coach of the Iowa football team Bob Snyder - now head coach of the Kansas State football team I have not yet figured out the significance of the hokey-pokey. It may torment me for the rest of my life. Still, I know a thing or two about weird coaches. Coach Alexis Taylor is using some unorthodox techniques on me as she puts me through drills on the black and gold University of Iowa wrestling mats above. What would legendary Iowa wrestling coach Dan Gable think of this flagrant desecration of university property?

  • Size: 11 MB
  • Format: zip
  • Category: BONDAGE
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Lift & Carry Catfight Punishment

I live in an old building that has lots of deferred maintenance. Recently a plumbing problem in the bathroom of one unit caused the ceiling of the unit below it to cave in. Now I am hampered by thoughts that one day I'll be using the toilet only to go crashing through the floor and land in the apartment beneath me with my underwear around my ankles. My roommates both think my fears are funny. One of them laughed aloud about the subject and said: "Sure takes the fun out of shitting and reading the newspaper, doesn't it?" His girlfriend and I looked at him with disgust as he collapsed in gales of laughter. Eventually she started laughing right along with him. No one seems to understand how this absurd notion is keeping me up at night. It really is costing me sleep. The other day I was so tired that I threw a sheet over Mike Raffone's signature teal couch and fell fast asleep during a shoot. Shannan Leigh was the other model and she attempted to wake me up. I felt someone pulling on my arm and didn't know where I was for a moment. At first I thought the plumbing nightmare was really happpening and I was descending through the air into the apartment below mine! Too late I realized that it was Shannan lifting me off the couch with her superhuman strength so I would continue with the shoot. She was imperious, angry and already gaining the upper hand in what would prove to be a really nasty catfight..

  • Size: 6 MB
  • Format: zip
  • Category: LIFT & CARRY
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Tanya's Present

Tanya received a beautiful new pair of red fishnet hose for Christmas and she literally breaks them in for you in this gorgeous photoset!

  • Size: 14 MB
  • Format: zip
  • Category: PANTYHOSE/STOCKINGS
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Nicole in Red

I used to dance at a club where rumors abounded that the owner, a heroin addict, had injected lethal doses of heroin into numerous women while he had sex with them. All had danced at the club and nobody ever saw any of these ladies again. Were the stories true? Quite possibly, I thought. No one looked very hard for the women who disappeared. In fact, no one looked at all. No one even knew whether or not they were missing. The owner of the club, or anyone else, could easily have killed these women and gotten away with it. The disposal of their bodies would have provided the biggest challenge. My memories of the vanished women revolve around my impression that they all had very similar personalities: all of them projected a quality of disconnectedness. They seemed to have very few attachments to other people and did not relate particularly well to men or to women. All had sweet personalities, perhaps too sweet. They just seemed too eager to please. Most of them probably had heroin habits. Contrary to popular opinion heroin users often conceal their addictions very well. You can't always spot the nuances of heroin use unless you know just what to look for. Heroin takes the pain away. Young people from tortured backgrounds often gravitate to it. It just takes their pain away. These women had pain. I could just see it in their eyes, their posture, and some type of haunted fear that emanated from the obsequious words that they spoke. They wanted to please everybody and had trouble standing up for themselves. The owner of that club used to pick his playmates from among the dancers who worked there. He had lots of money and had no problem attracting many of them just on the basis of his wealth. Others tried to fend off his advances. He would sometimes become very overbearing and aggressive towards them until they either gave in or quit. A manager named Roger had worked at the club for a long time. One night Roger and I were standing behind the club staring into the night sky around 1AM. I was taking a break and Roger had come outside to smoke a cigarette. We sat in silence for about five minutes. Then Roger began speaking to me in a low voice with his back to me. "Sassi is gone. You know that, right?" he said quietly. I did not know what to say. Roger seemed to be leading up to something rather than asking a question. I felt my body stiffen and the hairs on my arms stood up. "He'll leave you alone. You don't have to worry. He likes pussy, but he likes money even more than pussy. You make a lot of money for him." I sat in silence. Roger still had his back to me. My heart was beating a little faster and I was glad he was not looking at me. "The only way he'd ever mess with you is if you approached him. Just keep your distance." Roger's words hung in the cool night air. I had not spoken a syllable. Roger finished his cigarette and tossed it onto the gravel. He strode back into the club without ever checking to see my reaction. I stared at his cigarette as it slowly burnt out on the ground. The owner of that club never did hassle me. Nobody there did. All in all four dancers disappeared during the time that I worked there. They each had a quiet desperation that lurked beneath their pretty exteriors. I could feel it because I had the same quality. They had no families. I just knew that because I had no family. I can always tell. They all lived alone. I lived alone. A common thread ran amongst all of us. It takes one to know one. Yet I did not use heroin and I suspected that all of them did. Years later I'm sitting here writing this. All of them may still be alive too. Rationally I know that they may have just left that club to go dance someplace else. Or maybe they quit dancing. Or maybe they got married. Or went back to wherever they had grown up. My rational side tells me that because no evidence ever surfaced to suggest that anything bad had happened to any of them. But somehow I don't think that any of them ever left that club. Somebody cleaned out their lockers. The respective landlords who owned their homes eventually must have disposed of their belongings and vaguely wondered what had become of these women. But no one really looked for them because no one was really sure that they were gone. Their faces still come to me at night. Around that time Nicole Simmons (see above pic) was appearing in lots of adult magazines: Penthouse, Cheri, Club, etc. I had begun harboring an interest in doing some modelling and I saw her beautiful pictorials all the time. One by one dancers were disappeating from the club and I decided to take up a career as a nude model. I can't look at Nicole without thinking of those other women, the missing dancers.

  • Size: 12 MB
  • Format: zip
  • Category: PANTYHOSE/STOCKINGS
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Dazzling Nicole Simmons at the Beach

Penthouse Pet Nicole Simmons will dazzle you as she poses in her pink swimsuit at the beach. Darkness is beginning to fall in this gorgeous gallery as Nicole slowly disrobes for your pleasure..

  • Size: 7 MB
  • Format: zip
  • Category: GLAMOUR NUDE
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Francesca Le vs. Tanya - Catfight!

There's a bar called Monty's on West Seventh Street in downtown L.A. It has no windows and you can't see the interior when you are standing on the sidewalk even though the door is always open. The signage outside advertises cocktails, sports TV, and pool. Monty's is in kind of a rough area and it was hard to guess exactly who might be in the place. It could be workers from the numerous construction sites in the vicinity or it could be Mexican gangbangers. Maybe it's an array of people strung out on heroin they purchased across the street or it's a bunch of cops who get together after work. It could also be Crips, Bloods, or grandmothers knitting. The only way to find out is by walking in there. The place was calling me. Why does that always happen? Little dingy bars with wood-panelling have a way of doing that. There was no way I could know that it had a wood-panelled interior, but yet I was certain that it did. Finally I proved myself right by going in there last Friday afternoon. About eight people were inside the wood-panelled room which happened to be bigger than I would have expected. There was a jukebox against one wall and five pool tables lined up on the concrete floor. A few of the patrons were playing pool and the rest were seated at the bar. Most of the conversation in the room was in Spanish. The bartender sized me up from a distance and maneuvered towards me in a somewhat laborious manner. At first I thought she was pregnant, but then it appeared that her gait was the result of some type of injury. I asked for a Stoli on the rocks and she asked me for my ID. My Stoli cost $4.50. I sipped it and stared at the TV while the other customers tried to figure out what I was doing there. Something about their manner indicated that they were not accustomed to seeing many strangers in the place. Or maybe they just weren't accustomed to seeing many unescorted white women in the place. A large Hispanic woman in tight clothes came near me to retrieve her bottle of beer. She looked me squarely in the face and gave me a disdainful smirk before returning to her pool game. Her apparent assessment of me reminded me of one made by a similar large Hispanic woman a number of years ago. I had been leaving a bachelor party at which I'd been dancing when a woman had arrived at the residence. She kept looking me up and down and saying, "Oh, there's the little ho you had for the party" in a loud, derisive manner. I had been wearing a skintight, hot pink dress with 5" spiked heels. Today at Monty's I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and workout pants. I returned the woman's look with a polite smile. Another customer in Monty's played some music from the sixties on the jukebox. He was moving in rhythm to the songs in between his shots at the pool table. A different customer bought me a drink. He was not a leering pervert and seemed to have no interest in speaking to me other than to acknowledge my thanks. Normally I dislike it when strangers buy me drinks because I never want to engage in the conversation they are expecting. Maybe this gentleman was highly intuitive. I wasn't really sure why he'd bought me the drink, but he left shortly thereafter. The place was pretty mellow- at least on a Friday afternoon. The patrons ranged in age from their thirties up to a few who were probably in their sixties. Most of them were Hispanic and I think all of them understood Spanish because I'd heard almost no English since I walked in. Of course I didn't really blend in but no one seemed to care enough to try and make me feel uncomfortable. Even the fat woman refrained from giving me another dose of scorn. Altogether I had three vodkas before departing. That wasn't very smart because I was scheduled to do a bikini wrestling match with Francesca Le in less than an hour. When I arrived at the gym I mentioned that I'd been to Monty's. Francesca rolled her eyes and said: "Oh, great. Now you're going to screw up even more than usual during the shoot." I ignored the fact that she was right, threw a pair of boxing gloves in her face, and challenged her to bring her bad attitude into the ring..

  • Size: 5 MB
  • Format: zip
  • Category: FEMALE WRESTLING
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Shannan Leigh vs. Tanya - CATFIGHT!

If you come to my place you will see a stain in the ceiling of my livingroom. It is a bloodstain that dripped through the floorboards of the apartment above when the former occupant was killed at home. Rumor has it he was with the Russian Mafia. Is there such a thing as a Russian Mafia? "Mafia" has to be one of the most overused words in the English language. Every wanna-be bad guy claims to be a part of some type of "mafia." I have no idea what precipitated the death of my neighbor upstairs nor do I know whether he was really with some clandestine group of criminals or not. In any case, the blood pooling inside my ceiling did prompt me to cover my teal green couch with a slipcover. I certainly would not want any bloodstains on that classic piece of furniture. Shannan Leigh came over and snottily commented that I must be really broke if I was recycling bedsheets to cover up my shabby home decor. Yep, that's what she said. I was determined to show Miss High-and-Mighty a thing or two after her unwelcome remark. It was not an easy fight. Check out the gallery below to see the final outcome of this emotionally-charged debacle...

  • Size: 5 MB
  • Format: zip
  • Category: CAT FIGHTING
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Jewell Marceau makes Tanya her slave

Tanya's Viewpoint: In July, 2001 the owner of www.SuperheroineCentral.com hired me to work at his booth at the San Diego Comic Convention. He booked a room for me at the Wyndham Emerald Plaza in the downtown area so I could stay near the convention center and also so he could use the hotel room for filming some videos. We arranged a shoot with Jewell on one of those days. At some point during the shoot the website owner and his assistant were discussing how they could get an extra hotel room. Virtually every hotel in the downtown area was booked to capacity because the Comic Convention draws huge crowds from around the world each year. The assistant pointed out the window at a huge white building with faded red lettering that spelled out “Hotel San Diego.” “Look at that place,” he said with a smirk. “I bet you could get a room there. What a dump. Look at those old air conditioners sticking out of the windows.” Everyone in the room laughed at the dilapidated old building and I felt sad. I had already circled the perimeter of the structure numerous times and tried to climb underneath a fence to get closer to it. My friend Raul, who was also attending the convention, had been with me. He could not understand my fascination with the place. I kept insisting that it was an amazing work of art and guessed that it had been built around the turn of the last century. He loitered nearby as I went up to every possible window and tried to peer inside. Sometimes it seems like I spend half my life with my nose pressed against dirty window panes. Raul trailed behind me reluctantly for over an hour because he thought the neighborhood was unsafe. Finally I found a hole in the chain link fence surrounding the property. A bedraggled homeless man lunged at me and began yelling incoherent threats when I started to approach it. Raul grabbed my arm and shepherded me down the sidewalk. I hate it when people steer me around but I could tell he had done it out of concern. That episode concluded my perusal of the building for the afternoon. Raul went to go hang out with some friends and I went to the lobby bar at the Wyndham and started asking people questions about the Hotel San Diego. Most of them knew nothing about it even though the few with whom I spoke actually lived in San Diego. After my third drink a man with information happened to sit next to me. He said the old hotel was slated for demolition and that for a time it had been used by the Mitchell Brothers of San Francisco fame as a venue for live sex shows. For the rest of my stay I stared at the Hotel San Diego through my hotel window. One window on an upper floor of the grand old place was always open and some old, tattered Venetian blinds would flutter through the window frame if the wind blew. The property had been completely fenced off – it did indeed look like it was slated for demolition - but someone was in there. My instincts told me that person had a specific purpose and I wondered obsessively about what they were doing there. After returning home I did countless searches on the Internet for “Hotel San Diego” and they all yielded nothing other than endless listings of hotels in San Diego. I looked for “Mitchell Brothers San Diego”, “historic hotels San Diego”, "haunted hotels San Diego" and a hundred other combinations of terms that might give me some information about that captivating building. Nothing of substance turned up in any of my searches. A few weeks later I was watching TV with Raul, Jewell Marceau, and a few other people. Some movie was on and all of a sudden Wesley Snipes was walking out of the Hotel San Diego. I recognized the red lettering on its once-glorious entrance. “That’s the Hotel San Diego!” I almost shouted. Raul and Jewell exchanged glances and then both rolled their eyes. They both knew about my fixation with the place and were equally perplexed by my interest in it. Jewell in particular had grown weary of hearing about the hotel and warned me that she was going to be especially brutal during our bondage shoot the following day if I started talking about “that dumpy place” again. Of course I could not stop talking about it..

  • Size: 18 MB
  • Format: zip
  • Category: BONDAGE
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