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Collected by Djian

SCREAM
by unknown




O n e

Jennifer Hewett was one of Hollywood's most respected young actresses. That is to say, the body of her work was respected. Jennifer was a talented actress who took her work quite seriously. She had been acting since she was a child, and had rejected all roles which did not, in her opinion, help her "grow" as an actress, or which were not serious, or which were not in serious films. Jennifer acted only in critically acclaimed films and disdained anything which she feared would be demeaning to her as an actress. She avoided exploitive, big box office movies.

That, at any rate, had been the plan. It had been a good plan, and it had certainly brought her the critical acclaim and praise she had so long and so desperately sought. For Jennifer was a young woman fraught with fears and in constant need of reassurance about her worthiness as a person and actress. She had an enormous inferiority complex, and desperately worried about each poor review of her work.

But Jennifer, though now wealthy and famous, had only ever once come close to starring in a hit movie. That had been ten years earlier, when, as a sixteen year old, she had appeared in a comedy, very much against her own better judgement. Since then, her movies had been well received, but small. And she was up against a wall in her wistful desires for more.

Her measurements were a voluptuous Thirty Six-D, Twenty-One, Thirty-Three, and she was all of five feet tall. This naturally precluded her consideration for action roles. Her small stature and soft, vulnerable, little girl looks meant she was rarely even considered for roles as "the love interest". She absolutely refused to do nudity of any kind, feeling it would draw howls of denunciation for her "exploiting" her body, especially her breasts.
And she would not do comedy, feeling they were not "serious".

That did not leave very much room for her to expand outside her self imposed box of smallish, serious films. This caused her considerable consternation.

Of course, much caused Jennifer consternation. She had a very poor self image, and often felt terribly alone. Her private life was the polar opposite of her dignified career, for she had sought after (some said stalked) man after man, most of them rock stars and actors, and engaged in so many relationships even the slavering paparazzi of the Hollywood press had been unable to keep up with her romances.

She was, in fact, becoming something of a joke, with the press no longer asking who she was sleeping with, but who she hadn't. And the list was growing ever shorter.

Her reputation for jumping from bed to bed had caused ridicule enough among press and peers, but she was now trying to live down an even worse blow to her reputation and her forlorn desire to be respected and taken seriously. She had recently been arrested for stealing a necklace from the home of a producer during a party - a party she had not been invited to but had crashed.

Her mug shot, with Jennifer looking quite pitiful - though in an eye popping low cut dress - had appeared in all the papers and on TV, and there was much open speculation about her mental state and psychological condition.

So she was deeply unhappy when she returned home that evening from another party where she had been uninvited, where she had very anxiously tried to seduce a famous rock star - and failed. She slammed the door of her mansion and the sound echoed through the enormous front hall. Then she leaned back against the door, eyes filling with tears, feeling quite sorry for herself.

She sniffled softly as she walked through the dark hall and made her way up the winding staircase to the second floor. There, in her luxurious bedroom, she stripped off the thousand dollar gown she had been wearing, dumped her bra on the floor atop and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her lacy G-string, slipping it down and off.

Naked but for a diamond and emerald necklace, she padded into the large, adjoining bathroom and opened the big shower stall, then turned on the water before turning and padding back. She reached behind her neck as she walked, undoing the necklace, then dropped it into her jewellery box before turning again for the bathroom.

She had been drinking, but was not - quite - drunk. So she was surprised to see the bathroom door closed ahead of her. Frowning, she put her small hand to the knob and tried to turn it, surprised that she couldn't. She stared at the door in confusion, then turned to go back into the bedroom, halting, shocked.

There was a figure standing in front of her, a large figure. The room was dark, with the only light coming from the open hall door behind him, and so his face was dark and frightening.

"Wh-who are you!? She gasped, falling back against the closed door. "What do you want!? How did you get in here!?"

The man stared at her, and Jennifer tried to cover her breasts and groin with her hands, her lower lip beginning to quiver. "What do you want!?" she cried.

Yet the man only looked at her.

There were two walls hemming her in and a locked door behind. There was no where for Jennifer to go. She burst into tears, hiding her face, then her breasts, then turning and pressing herself against the door as she sobbed deeply.

She felt his presence behind her, and her sobs became deeper and choked with misery and fear. She felt his hands on her bare shoulders, and cringed, weeping, as his hands gently caressed her soft skin, then moved up to comb softly through her short dark hair.

"Please," she whimpered. "Please!"

"Shhh," he whispered.

He leaned in so she could feel his breath against her cheek, and she hid her face against the door, closing her eyes.
"I'm going to make you a star," he whispered.

Her arms were clenched before her and he took them gently but firmly, pulling them back and then around behind her. Jennifer did not resist, but only whimpered more strongly as she felt him pulling her arms back and pinning them together with one large hand. She felt something cold and metallic against the soft flesh of her arms, encircling first one arm and then, as they were pulled closer together, the other.

"Please!" she gasped. "Y-You're hurting me!"

Her arms were pulled back painfully far, her forearms, and then her elbows squeezed together by the cold metal. Then she felt similar metal bands around her slender wrists. She whimpered fearfully, gasping as she felt a pull on her short hair, a pull which forced her head up and back. She was breathing in short, desperate little pants now, almost light headed, in danger of hyperventilating.

She saw a metal band go over her head and pass before her eyes. It was thin, and about two inches or so in width. It pulled back together behind her throat and she heard a click as it was fastened somehow. Then She was pulled backwards, wailing in fear as she was walked back along the little hall which led from bathroom to bedroom, and then turned around.

There were two men there now, and her fear grew more pronounced, her wide eyes jerking from one shadowy figure to another.

"What do you want!?" she sobbed.

"We're going to make you a star," one of them said.

And then a bright light made her eyes squint.

"What do you mean? I don't understand!"

"Get on your knees."

"What? Why?"

"Because I told you to."

Sniffling fearfully, Jennifer slowly got to her knees, grunting awkwardly, her shoulders aching because of the way her arms were pinned back.

"You like to suck cock, don't you, Jenn?"

Her lips quivered as she stared up fearfully into the light.

"Answer the question," the voice snapped.

"I-I-I g-guess," she gulped.

"You have a reputation as an excellent cock sucker. Do you know how many cocks you've sucked?"

She shook her head numbly.

"Would you call yourself a whore, Jennifer?"

"N-No," she whimpered.

"Many others have. You sleep with a lot of men, after all."

"You fuck a lot of men," the other voice said less kindly.

One of the men stepped forward, still shadowed to her, the bright light behind him. "I want you to suck my cock, Jennifer."

"A-all right," she gulped. "Just don't hurt me."

The man unzipped his pants. The sound was loud in the quiet room. He took out a long, thick cock which under other circumstances would have impressed her, but now Jennifer only looked at it anxiously.

"Suck," he ordered, stepping forward.

Jennifer leaned forward, her arms pulling instinctively against the metal binding them back, then wrapped her lips around the thick head of the man's cock. He thrust forward and she gagged, almost choking as he pushed it deep into the back of her mouth, almost into her throat. She tried to twist away and he gripped her head in big hands, thrusting in and out, fucking her face as she gagged and choked and tried to beg him to stop.

He pulled back and she coughed and gasped deeply.

"Suck," he ordered.

She sucked, working her tongue frantically along the underside of the head, bobbing her lips up and down as he stood still, arms folded across his chest. He turned, and she shifted on her knees to stay with him, so the light was now to her left. She continued to suck, to ride the shaft up and down as he looked down at her, hoping to make him happy.

He reached down with his big hands again, stroking his fingers through her silken hair, then began to pump again, forcing the thing in and out of her straining lips, threatening to gag her as he pushed it deep again and again. Her body trembled and shook as she gurgled and gagged, and then he thrust especially hard and his cock pushed into her throat.

Her soft brown eyes bulged and she twisted and shook, but could do nothing to pull back as he forced the thick cock further and further down her slender throat, pulling her head forward, grinding her face against his groin as he buried the whole long length of his prick inside her.

He held her in place as she trembled and shook and thrashed, as the pounding in her head grew worse and her chest began to burn from lack of oxygen, then he slowly pulled back out. She almost vomited, but restrained herself, gasping and choking and coughing violently as his cock came out of her mouth.

"You're not that good a cock sucker," the voice said. "You'll have to learn to do better."

The cock plunged into her open mouth again and she had only an instant to gulp in air before it was rammed down her throat with painful force, blocking her scream an instant before it began. He held her head in his hands as he thrust in and out, fucking her, the cock sawing back and forth between her lips and over her tongue, pumping up and down inside her aching throat.

Her face was rammed into his belly again and again, and as she grew faint from lack of air her vision began to blur.

The cock was pulled free and again she coughed and gulped in air desperately, gagging and choking, and sobbing weakly "Please, please, please," she gasped breathlessly, her voice ragged.

"How many men have you sucked?" the voice asked.

She could barely talk, too busy gulping in air. She cried out as he twisted her hair back.

"I asked a question.

"I-I don't know!" she wailed.

"How many this year? Think!"

He shook her by the hair and she cried out in pain.

"How many!?"

"Twenty!? Maybe?!"

"Twenty. It's only February," the voice said in amusement. "And none of them complained about how lousy you were at sucking cocks?"

She shook her head dazedly.

"Answer aloud."

"N-No," she whimpered.

"Who were they? Give me their names."

Dazedly, she rhymed off a string of stars and rockers, still blinking into the bright spotlight beaming down at her. There was something about that spotlight - .

He pulled her mouth onto his cock again and once more forced his prick down into her throat, pumping cruelly in and out, jerking her face into his groin again and again until she was dazed and her eyes were blurry.

He pulled out and she almost fainted, but the harsh pull against her hair made her scream and brought her back to full consciousness.

"All those famous guys and none of them showed you how you should suck a cock," the voice said.

She was pulled to her feet. Even standing, her head was only at the level of the man's chest. He pulled her into the room, and now she realized as he moved aside, the the other man was holding not just a spotlight but a camera, a video camera. She gasped and tried to twist aside but got a sharp slap to her small, plump bottom that made her squeal in pain.

"You have nothing to hide from your fans, Jennifer," the voice said.

He was behind her now, pinning her against his body as the camera stared at her from only a few feet away. She stared back at it, terrified.

"Your fans want to see you," he said.

His hands came around her and up beneath her breasts, lifting and cupping them, squeezing them and pushing them together.

"They want to see your lovely tits. You show them to so many people, Jennifer, but not to your fans."
And then he had something in his hands, a chain. He squeezed her left breast and pinched her nipple, then squeezed at the flesh around her areola and held the end of the chain to her nipple. She realized that there was a little jaw, a clamp, on the end of the chain, and cried out in pain as it snapped closed on her nipple.

"Oww! Oww! Please! Oww! It hurts! It hurts! Take it off!" she cried, twisting and pulling against him, her eyes tearing.

"You have to be punished, Jennifer," the voice said.

He squeezed her other breast, and she cried out, begging him to stop, but it was no use, and she screamed anew, her bare feet pawing at the rug as the pain from her right nipple burned into her. Both nipples were on fire now, and her head shook from side to side as she tried to fight off the pain.
He released her, but held onto the chain, and pulled it away from her. It tore at her nipples, stretching them, and she screamed again, forced to rush forward, to loosen the pull. He led her across the room to a low, narrow table. The table was an antique, made of polished walnut, and he leaned her over it, pulling on the chain, raising it up and then sliding his hand between her thighs to cup her pussy and half lift her up.
He ignored her scream of pain as he slipped the chain over a hook which had been placed in her wall, then released her, standing back.
Jennifer was left on her toes, leaning forward to ease the strain on her nipples, gasping and whimpering and moaning in dazed confusion and incomprehension. They were hurting her. Men never hurt her. Never! All they ever wanted to do was feel her up and fuck her, not hurt her. She was bewildered and beginning to panic.
One of the men moved behind her, and her head whipped around desperately as she panted for breath.
"Wh-what are you doing?" she whimpered.
"I'm going to punish you, Jennifer," he said.
"But I did what you wanted," she said with a whimper.
"You still have to be punished. You're a whore, after all."
She blinked around at him, confused. "I'm sorry," she whined.
"You will be more sorry."
He had something in his hand, a long, thin switch of some kind. He swung his arm fast and it hissed as it cut through the air.
He stood behind her and to one side, and the man with the camera changed positions. Jennifer moaned and turned her head to the right, then the left, trying to see them both.
"Please," she whimpered.
The man swung, and the switch cut through the air, then cracked across her upraised bottom. Jennifer screamed in pain, jerking against the table, then screamed again as her movements pulled her nipples against the hook and her pinched nipples stretched painfully out.
"Please don't hurt me!" she cried, panicked.
The switch hissed again, and once more cracked across her bottom. She screamed a second time, then burst into tears. A scream from her sobs as the switch slashed across her bottom a third time, then a fourth, then a fifth.
Her bottom was small but quite pleasingly shaped. She worked out, and she was in excellent shape. Her bottom was raised and positioned perfectly to take the blows, and the switching continued as she sobbed miserably and trembled in fear and pain.
He stopped suddenly, and jerked her head back by the hair.
"Jennifer. Do you hear me, Jennifer? Do you want me to stop switching you?"
"Y-YYesss," she wailed.
"Then we'll have to do something else instead. He ran his hands lightly over her aching bottom, then fingered her small wrinkled anal opening.
"Have you ever been fucked in the ass, Jennifer?"
She whimpered and sobbed and he twisted her hair painfully.
"Have you?"
"Y-Y-Yesss," she sobbed.
"Of course you have," he said. "A whore like you. Would you like me to fuck you in the ass, Jennifer? Or would you rather I continue with your punishment?"
"F-F-Fu-fuck me," she sobbed.
"You have to say it out loud, Jennifer."
"Fu-fuck mee!" she moaned.
"No, Jennifer, you have to beg me to fuck you in the ass. And you have to make it sound like you mean it. Pretend you're making a movie, Jennifer. Beg me to fuck you in the ass, beg me like you really, really mean it. Otherwise, I'm going to resume your switching."
"P-Please fuck me in the ass!" she gasped. "Please fuck me in the ass!"
"Not good enough," he snapped. "I'll give you one more try. Take two. Make me think you really want my cock up in your asshole, Jennifer. Make me think you're desperate to feel my cock deep inside you!"
Jennifer did not pause to think things through. Dazed, still somewhat drunk, and desperate, she threw everything she had into the plea.
"Oh please fuck my ass!" she gasped. "I need your cock in my asshole! I want you to fuck my ass deep! I love being fucked in the ass! I really need a cock up my ass!! Oh please! Please!"
"Much better," he said, stroking her head.
He positioned his cock at her anal opening and pushed forward.
"Ungh," she gasped. "I-I have some...some lube... ow! Please I - Oww! You - you're hurting me!"
He thrust forward hard, and Jennifer cried out in pain as his thick cock forced its way into her rectum. She had indeed been sodomized many times before by jaded stars who demanded it of her, but she had never really liked it. And that was with lubrication and men who were being reasonably careful not to hurt her. Now as the man behind thrust his cock into her hard her insides began to burn with a terrible pain.
"Oww! Oww! Oh please! Not so fast! Please!"
He thrust in and she cried out again, his cock spearing her, thrusting its way through the tight folds of her anus, impaling her as he spiked it up painfully deep and mercilessly fast. She began to sob again, crying out in pain with each cruel thrust of the big cock into her tiny bottom.
Her legs grew rubbery. Her feet ached, for she had been almost on her toes since he had placed her against the table. She felt faint, but the pain was keeping her conscious, conscious and sobbing and crying out in pain as he rammed his cock deep into her slight young body and ground his pelvis against the soft flesh of her buttocks.
"Ahh, you have a nice, tight ass, Jennifer Hewett," he growled.
He yanked her head back and bit savagely at the side of her throat, then began to grind his pelvis against her bottom, twisting his big cock around inside her aching belly.
"You should have let your fans know how tight your ass hole was," he said. "Your fans deserve to know these things."
His cock felt enormous inside her, twisting and tearing at her vitals, and then he drew it back a little, and thrust deeply again so that cramps rippled through her belly. He drew back further, and thrust in hard, rocking the table against the wall.
He began to pump, forcing his cock up and down her tight, burning tube, battering away at her sphincter and ramming hard and fast until she was numbed and he could pound his cock without restraint. Now the table hammered against the wall with each thrust, and she grunted and gasped and moaned each time he drove his thick cock up into her rectum.
His movements were jerking her back and forth, pulling her nipples against the tight clamps so that she was being stung repeatedly, her nipples red, swollen and aching. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she endured the hard, brutal use, praying for it to soon be over, and trying not to think about the man with the camera recording it all, and what would be done with the video.
His hands came down the front of her belly and squeezed her pussy, then pried her thighs further apart. She whined in pain, forced onto the very tips of her toes now to keep the pressure on her nipples from growing unbearable. Each hard thrust sent his thick cock spearing up into her anus, where it punched into some part of her deep inside with bruising, cramping force.
She cried out as he gripped her hair and tore her head back, sobbing as her body shook and jerked and trembled to the force of his hard thrusting. Then, with no warning, he halted, gasping, and she knew from the feel of his rapidly softening cock that he had come inside her. She moaned in relief, panting for breath as he eased back, drawing her trembling legs back together to ease the pull on her nipples.
She was left like that for a moment, then the man reached out and removed the clips from her nipples. That hurt - a lot, and she yelped and moaned and sobbed and danced wildly as the pain spread through her aching breasts and then slowly began to fade.
The man released the metal bands from her arms and she groaned in relief as she was able to straighten her shoulders.
"Feel better now?"
"Yes" she sniffled.
"Blow your nose."
He handed her a tissue box and she took several and blew her nose.
"Now come into the bathroom and wipe your face."
He took her arm and led her to the bathroom door, kicking it open so that she squeaked in shock, then led her into her bathroom and over to the sink. He turned on the water and wet a small towel, then wiped her face as she stood blinking and sniffling.
"Feel better?"
"Yes, thank you," she said in a small voice.
Her arms were folded across her chest and he slapped them down.
"Don't try to hide the things your fans want to see," he ordered.
"I'm sorry," she said fearfully
"Now, before we leave, you're going to do a couple of scenes for us."
"Sure. Of course," she said nervously.
He took her hand led her back into the bedroom, then over to her big bed. He turned on the lights next to it and threw back the covers.
Jennifer looked at him anxiously.
"Jennifer, I'm sure a slutty little whore like you has some sex toys. Where do you keep them?"
She looked at him with large eyes.
"If I have to look at them I'll get very upset."
She blushed and pointed at her night table. He nodded and pulled open the top drawer, then drew out a large vibrator and an even larger dildo.
"So much for such a little girl," he said. "Okay, get in the bed."
She obeyed, sitting on the edge of the bed. He sat next to her and slid the two sex toys under her pillow.
"Now, Jennifer, the sooner we get this done the sooner we can leave."
"Wh-what do you want me to do?" she asked worriedly.
"You're going to lay in bed there and masturbate."
She blanched.
"You're going to run your hands slowly and seductively over your lovely young body, caress your breasts, arching your back, wriggling attractively. You know what I mean. Then you're going to start rubbing your clit, and pumping your fingers in and out of your pussy. When I hold up my hands you reach back for the dildo and start using it. I want you to push it deep and pump it in and out using long strokes. Then you stick it in and get the vibrator and start using that. When I put up my hand again, take the dildo out of your pussy and shove it up your buttery little ass, then pump the vibrator in your pussy. You got all that?"
She stared at him in disbelief.
"I asked you a question."
"I can't do that!"

His hand immediately came up and encircled her slender throat, squeezing hard. She gurgled, her small hands coming up and grasping weakly at his wrist.
"I think I heard you say no. I'm sure I was mistaken, however, because you wouldn't be stupid enough to refuse my orders. You know better than that, don't you? And you know we aren't leaving until this scene is done right. Don't you? Or do you want more pain/? I can hurt you in a lot of ways, little girl."
All the while he spoke his big hand was squeezing her throat and her face was turning red. Now it began to turn white, her eyes bulging as she writhed and shook.
"You're going to do as you're told, aren't you, little girl?"
She tried to nod her head, but only managed to jerk her chin a little. It was enough and he let go. She gasped for breath, holding her aching throat as he petted her head and pulled the hair back from her forehead.
"Now remember, I want you to look hot, to look aroused, to look incredibly horny. That shouldn't be hard for you since you're such a horny little slut."
With her breath recovered she lay back in the bed as he had ordered, and then, heard pounding, she began to run her hands slowly over her body.

"Just pretend it's a scene in a movie," he said. "You know how to act. Act."

It was good advice, even if it did come from him, and she braced herself and then began to act. She was a very good actress, and was soon writhing slowly in the bed, gasping, panting, moaning softly as she fingered her clit and squeezed her breasts. It was, she thought dazedly, like making a porno movie. She'd often dreamed about making a porno movie. They were so badly made, after all, with such terrible actresses and dialogue.
Eager for them to leave, she threw herself into the role, and was shocked to find herself growing aroused as she fingered her clit and pumped her fingers into her pussy. But the, she was often aroused at the most uncomfortable times. Still, it would be helpful now, and she used it to help make her performance that much more convincing.
He had to wave at her to get her attention when it was time and her stomach twisted anxiously as she reached back and took the big dildo from behind her pillow. She licked at it, caressed it with her tongue, then began to bob her lips up and down its length, moaning softly. She slid it down between her legs and pushed it into her body, just dipping it in at first, then pushing deeper and deeper, gasping in genuine arousal at the feel of the toy thrust into her sex.

Then came the vibrator. She played it over her clit, gasping at the intensity of the sensations, arching her back and grinding her hips. The orgasm arrived suddenly, rushing at her like a freight train. She didn't try to hide it. They would think it an act anyway. She arched her back violently, gasping, her legs spread, thighs straining, the air puffing out between her lips. Her head rolled slowly from side to side and she pumped the dildo desperately and deeply inside her as the orgasm rolled over her.
She sagged, then, slumped, panting for breath. Immediately she felt ashamed of herself, yet at the same time oddly pleased. It would be a great performance, very realistic, far better than those stupid sluts in the porn movies. She left the dildo inside her and gently caressed her body, fingering her erect nipples and kneading her breasts.
She eased the dildo out of her pussy and drew her knees up and back, then pressed it against her anus. She could smell the musky scent of her warm, moist pussy as she peered down between her thighs, working the dildo into her anus. She was sore there from the violent sodomy the man had performed on her, and fought to keep from wincing as she pushed the thing deeper and deeper. She knew without asking that they would demand a deep insertion, and rubbed at her clit to distract herself as she pumped it in and out.
Soon she had it all but buried in her rectum, and began to use the vibrator, teasing her clit, and pumping it in and out of her pussy.

She was surprised, but not very surprised to see the man coming towards her, to see that he was naked and had an erection. Playing with herself had begun to arouse her body again, and the sight of his erection gave her a little shiver of excitement even amidst the anxiety and fear gripping her. She gasped softly to see his face, for it was covered in a black mask which made him look quite menacing.
He moved to stand next to the bed, gesturing her, and she slid over towards him, then, the dildo still deep in her anus and thrusting the vibrator up into her pussy, she slid to the edge of the bed.

He gripped her arm and she gasped as he pulled her into a sitting position. The
dildo and vibrator were thrust even deeper inside her, and ached, but it was a hot, sensual ache, and she endured it as she reached for the man's cock and took it into her mouth. She immediately remembered the last man, and fear took her as she looked up at him, frightened he would thrust it down her throat.
But he merely stayed in place, letting her work on it, and to encourage him to continue she worked hard at pleasing him, mouthing and sucking his balls, kissing and mouthing the shaft, then taking it as deep into her mouth as she could without gagging, massing his balls with her hands while she sucked.
He pulled her away and gripped her arm, twisting her over. She understood and knelt on the edge of the bed, facing away from him, her knees on the very edge, legs spread, bottom raised. A tingle of excitement moved up her spine as she felt his hands move over her bottom, felt his finger trace a line down between her buttocks, probing lightly at the dildo in her anus, and then begin to pump the vibrator. He thrust it deep several times then pulled it free, and then entered her.

She sighed softly as he filled her, feeling, as she always did, the delicious sense of primal sexual hunger as she was mounted, as his hands dug into her flanks and began to pump back and forth through the taut lips of her sex. Her breasts swung lightly back and forth as she swayed to the movements of his strokes, and the heat inside her grew. She knew it was wrong, that she should be as cold as stone with the bastards who were abusing her, but her body had never been able to resist a stiff cock.
She saw the other man moving around with the camera, taking shots of her from different angles. Anxiety filled her, because she had no idea what he was going to do with the video, but at the same time she thought it was very hot. She had always wanted to do a nasty, dirty video, but had always been too afraid of it getting out, like those Pamela Anderson videos. Now she thought of people all over the world buying videos of her at porn shops and suddenly she felt a deep, ravenous hunger.
Her breathing grew rougher and she thrust herself back, rolling her bottom, gasping and grunting each time his hips smacked into her.
And then, suddenly, the other man was there, kneeling on the bed in front of her, and she took his cock into her mouth and felt a wave of excitement at doing two men at once, something she only rarely got a chance to experience due to the squeamishness of her dates. She sucked hungrily, moaning and gasping as the other man fucked her, not even gagging much when the man in front thrust his cock deep into her mouth.
He pushed hard and she jerked and shuddered as he went down her throat, but her blood was on fire with lust now and she took it without protest, her fingers digging into the sheets below as he pressed his balls against her chin and mashed her nose against his pelvis.
He pumped in and out, fucking her throat, and as uncomfortable as that was her body still burned with a nearly feverish sexual intensity at the thought of being taken by two men at once, one of them pushing himself right down her throat!

The man behind gasped and came, softening inside her, but picked up the vibrator and used it on her so that she ground and rolled and bucked her hips even more strongly.
The man in front pulled out suddenly and, holding his cock, sprayed himself over her face. That was a surprise to her. No one had ever done that to her before, and at first she was too startled to react. Then she felt wickedly hot and slutty and licked at it as she came on the vibrator behind her, grunting and gasping for breath and thrusting herself back desperately.
She came a second time, crying out softly, making soft, high pitched little animal noises, her eyes closed, jaw wide, grinding her bottom back onto the vibrator as the man there ground it across her clit.
Then the orgasm faded and she collapsed on the bed, gasping, as the men moved together and spoke. She hoped they would leave now, for as the sexual hunger dissipated she felt ashamed and embarrassed at degrading herself, and more and more fearful about what they intended to do with the video tape.
"One more thing before we go," one of them said.
She sighed unhappily.
"We want you to dance for us."
She stared at him in confusion. "Dance?"
"We want you to do a sexy strip tease."

She made a face, but they pulled her out of bed, had her dress in her sexiest lingerie, and a sexy, lacy dress, and then, to music they had brought, she had to strip, several times in fact, while they choreographed it. She thought the strip very clichéd, involving her swinging around a pole - in this case one of the tall bedposts, spreading her legs a lot, rolling her hips, and tossing her head. But at least it was over and they seemed satisfied.





T W O



"Okay," one said. "Time to go."

"Yup. Time to leave," the other agreed.

Jennifer pursed her lips, afraid to show the relief she felt.

"Come here, Jennifer."

She stepped forward warily and the man who had called turned her around, and to her surprise drew her arms back behind her and put the metal bands around her wrists again.

"You don't have to tie me up," she said in a quavering voice. "I won't tell anyone."

"I'm sure you won't," one of them said.

"Oooh," she moaned, as her arms were forced farther and farther back and the metal bands went around them just below the elbows. "That hurts!"

"We know."

"But... but I thought you were leaving!"

"We are leaving. All of us are leaving."

She gasped in understanding and one of them pushed something against her mouth.

"Open your mouth," he ordered.

She obeyed, her mind still trying to cope with the sudden shock of understanding that they were taking her with them, and he ordered her to open wider, and then wider still as he forced a thick rubber ball kind of thing into her mouth. The ball filled her mouth completely and squeezed her tongue down. It held her mouth and lips wide, sticking out a little way, and had a narrow leather cord which wound behind her head and fastened in place..

A moment later the chain with the clips was placed on her swollen, sensitive, still sore nipples, and tears filled her eyes as the pain burned into her body. She danced from foot to foot, moaning into the gag as the men gathered their things and turned for the door. One held the chain, pulling her along behind, and she moaned anxiously, scurrying after, out into the hall, down the hall, and then following them down the stairs to and through the house.

They opened the side door and she saw there was a van parked by her garage. She shivered as they led her out into the night and her bare feet danced on the cold concrete. She moaned and shook her head frantically but they ignored her, and the pull on her nipples would not allow her to resist their pull as they walked towards the van.

She looked around wildly, but the tall hedges around her house hid them from the view of her neighbours as they packed their things into the van and then lifted her in behind them. They laid her down on the dirty floor of the van, and one of the men returned to the house to lock up, then they drove out onto the quiet road, turned, and drove away.

Jennifer could not understand why they were taking her away. She had done everything they wanted. They had taken whatever they had wanted from her. What more could they want? What more did they want to do to her?! Were they going to kill her?!

They drove for what felt like almost an hour, and she lay on her arms moaning softly into the gag, anxious and frightened and wondering their plans.

They stopped, and she heard the sound of a garage door opening, then the van drove inside and the garage door closed behind them. The men got out and one opened the rear door and pulled her to the edge, where she was able to swing her legs out and stand up shakily. He took the chain and led her through a small garage and then into what, to her surprise, looked like an office of some sort, filled with desks, filing cabinets and photocopy machines.

They walked past all that and down a narrow back hall, turned, and walked down a narrow stone stair into a deep basement. They walked through it to the end, and opened a heavy steel door which hid another steep stone stairway. She whimpered in fear as they descended further underground, and emerged in a dark, mouldy stone corridor with actual prison cells on either side. She was placed in the closest cell and the gag was removed from her jaw.

"What are you doing?! Why did you bring me here?!" she whimpered. "I did everything you asked!"

"We just don't like to waste good pussy," the man in the mask said with a grin.

"P-Please, I have money!"

"We don't need your money."

"People will miss me! They'll come looking for me!"

"They sure won't find you here, baby."

"But-but why!?"

He led her into the centre of the cell and bright light suddenly flooded it as the other man showed up with the camera. She gasped and stared at the bright light, then at the first man as he lifted the chain clamped to her nipples, raising it up to force her onto the balls of her feet. There was a rope hanging overhead. He brought it down and slid it through the chain, then pulled it back up again to hold the tension taut against her nipples. He tied it off and then moved to stand next to the man with the camera.

She stared at them in confusion and pitiful helplessness. "Why are you doing this to me!?" she wailed.

They backed out the cell and the door slid closed with a clang. The man with the camera set it on a tripod there and then left, with Jennifer still bathed in bright light, the camera still running. She looked after them and sobbed, the tears beginning to fall heavier and heavier as she balanced on the balls of her toes and felt how alone she was.

Michael Hannigan sat back at his desk and yawned mightily. It had been a long morning. He'd dealt with two UFO reports, six sightings of various rock stars allegedly involved with people other than their known significant others, a misshapen baby, a two headed beagle, and a psychic's prediction that the statue of liberty would walk through the streets of Kansas issuing blessings to the farmers. Life was never boring here at the National Snoop.
His phone rang and he snatched it up with a "Yallo?"

"Hey, Mike, it's Bernie Bernstein."

"Hey, how ya doin', Bern?"

"Great. Listen, I just came across the weirdest damn thing on the internet."

"This isn't news."

"Yeah. It's a video interview with Jennifer Hewett."

"So?"

"So she's, like, stoned or something, and she's talking about the guys and women she's had sex with. She's not only naming names but positions."

"Huh?"

Michael sat up. "Has to be a fake."

"I'm telling you it's a video interview and it's definitely her and her voice."

"Where can I find it?"

He wrote down the web site address and hung up, promising Bernie a hundred if his tip panned out, then immediately called up the web site on his computer. It was an odd looking web site, very bare, with nothing on it but a file called "Jennifer speaks". He downloaded it to his computer, then clicked on it. His media player opened and he was looking at, without question, Jennifer Hewett. She was sitting in a nodescript gray chair against a blank wall. There was a little table next to her on which a plant had been placed. The interviewer, whoever he was, was off screen.

Hewett looked pretty, as usual, but her makeup wasn't very good. More to the point she was wearing a dress which was incredibly low cut, cupping her breasts from beneath and pushing them together from the sides. He leaned forward. Christ, he could see the tops of her nipples! Hewett often dressed sexy when out with numerous boyfriends but not for interviews.

"What a set of jugs," he said admiringly.

"So Jennifer," the interviewer said "You're becoming quite famous in Hollywood as a girl who likes to party."

"Yeah, I do," she replied, looking a little nervous.

"You've had a lot of boyfriends."

She nodded.

"Who's the latest?"

"Well, that would be Rod Miller," she said.

"He's married, isn't he?"

"Uhm, yeah."

Michael's eyebrows rose.

"Did you sleep with him?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Where?"

"Backstage after his last concert."

"Was there a bed there?"

"Uhm, no. I uhm, I went down on him in his dressing room, and then I uh, did a kind of lap dance thing."

"So you stripped naked for him?"

She nodded uncertainly.

"Shit," Michael said aloud.

"And then you kind of, straddled him I guess."

"Yeah."

"And rode the silver pole."

She blushed a bit and nodded.

"Was he well endowed?"

"Oh yeah, he was big."

"How many times did you guys do it?"

"That night, uhm, like three times I guess."
"In the chair?"

"No he uhm, he bent me over the makeup table."

"Did you like that?"

"Yeah."

"Did you come?"

She blushed and nodded, giving a self conscious smile.

"Jesus Christ," Michael said.

He was listening to the sound track carefully, trying to determine if her voice had been faked. He was also carefully watching her lips move to match the words to the picture.

"If he was big were you able to take the whole thing in your mouth when you blew him?"

"No?" she said, blushing deeply for some reason.

"You need to learn how to deep throat a guy."

"I know. I'm eager to learn how to deep throat."

"Eh?" Michael grunted.

"Who else have you been sleeping with lately, Jennifer?"

"Well, Peter Carmichael, Dennis Newman, Doug Jones, Bruce Huus, Don Novack, uhm, James Cole, Larry Provost, Jim Peterson - ."

"What about girls, Jennifer? You're rumoured to be bisexual. Who have you been sleeping with lately who has breasts?"

"Well, the last one was Patty James."

"Ooo, the throaty voiced rock singer Patty James. How is she in bed?"

"She's uhm, nice."

"Nice? How did you two get hooked up?"

"At a party. She kind of uhm, cornered me and we started to fool around."

"She cornered you? You mean she started groping you?"

"Uhm, yeah, and then we went into a bedroom and she took off my clothes."

"Did you like that?"

"Well, I was kind of hesitant but she, uhm, she insisted."

"So she groped you and you couldn't get away?"

"Yeah but, uhm, I kind of liked it, I mean, not at first, but after we got going."

"So she gives good head."

"Oh yeah." She nodded expressively. "She has an amazing tongue."

"I don't fucking believe this!" Michael exclaimed.

Hewett was a top tier star and had been for more than a dozen years. She wouldn't do an interview like this, even in joking. Or maybe she would. She was flighty enough to make a pretend interview with someone, a close friend, say, or lover, and a poor enough judge of character to do it with someone who'd then turn around and put the interview on the frigging internet.

But either way it was a great story. He flipped through his rolodex and grinned to himself as the interview went on,

Hewett speaking about how she and James had sixty nined, and then taken a soapy shower together where James had masturbated her to three climaxes.

The more he saw the more he was certain the stupid ditz had been hamming it up with one of her numerous boyfriends and the sadistic bastard had put the interview on the internet.

"Patty," he said cheerfully, "This is Michael Hannigan at the Snoop."

"Eat shit and die," the singer replied.

"That doesn't sound very nice, Patty, and here I'm giving you an opportunity for free publicity."

"Yeah right."

"Listen, Jennifer Hewett just outed you in a recent interview."

"Excuse me?"

"She's talking about how you two made love during a recent party."
"Bullshit!"

"Well, she says you went down on her in a closet, then took her into a bedroom where the two of you did the beast with two backs for hours. Then you played around in the shower afterwards."

"Bullshit. I don't believe she would say that!" she exclaimed, her voice shaken.

"I wouldn't have either, to tell you the truth, but I'm looking at her on my screen right now."

"She did an interview on television and talked about having sex with me!?"

"No, actually. I don't know where she did the interview. I'm just looking at the video now on my computer."

"Well whatever the little slut is saying is a lie!"

"So you deny having masturbated her to three orgasms in the shower?"

"She said that!?"

"She also said you had an amazing tongue."

"I have no comment!"

He chuckled as the phone slammed down, then tried to call Hewett's home. There was no answer. He called her agent and got the same disbelief he himself was feeling. He gave him the internet link and then began calling the people she had named as having slept with for comments.

It was times like this he was grateful he hadn't become an accountant.

Hewett was a hot little number. Pictures of her in that dress with a big headline like "Jennifer's Sex Confession!" would sell tons of papers.

Within hours news of the interview began getting out, and the web site was clogged with people trying to reach it. Soon copies began showing up on fan sites and sites devoted to the strange and kinky, to be downloaded by thousands, and then tens of thousands, and then hundreds of thousands of disbelieving gawkers and fans, all of whom speculated on what could have possessed her to give such an interview, and all coming to more or less the same conclusion as Michael had. All of them, of course, were wrong.

Jennifer had no idea of the sensation the interview had created, or that anyone had even seen it. She had spent the the night on the balls of her feet with her nipples pinned up and throbbing and her arms pinned back behind her. Within an hour she was sobbing pitiously, and within two nearly hysterical with the pain of cramped legs, aching ankles and feet, numbed, burning shoulders, and agonized nipples. The hysterics earned her nothing, however, and she settled down to a long sob before going quiet and merely moaning to herself for the rest of the night.

In the morning, exhausted, she had sank into the arms of one of the masked men who had come to release her nipples. The pain as they were unclipped set her into convulsions and more tears, but he ignored it and hefted her over his shoulders to carry her up the dirty, dimly lit stone corridor to a wider stone room.

There her arms were released, and again she sobbed in pain, gasping every time she moved her shoulders and arms even a little. The man had a hose there hooked into a faucet, and sprayed water over her. She sputtered as the stream struck her face, raising a hand to block it, turning her head away.

He slapped the side of her head and forced her to sit on her heels, knees spread wide, hands on her thighs, while he soaked her thoroughly, then to get on hands and knees while he soaped and lathered her up. He sprayed her with water again to rinse it off, then roughly towelled her off.

To her surprise and confusion he then ordered her to follow him down the hall, but when she started to stand he pushed her back down again.

"On your hands and knees," he ordered.

She wanted to be indignant, but she was too tired. Instead she was confused and only a little resentful. She obeyed him, though, crawling awkwardly along on hands and knees on the cold stone as he led her back up the little hall and into another room. The second man was there, hooded like the first. The camera was there, too, on a tripod, pointed at a chair set against a plywood background and a little table with a plastic plant on it.

"We brought a few things from your place," the other man said, pointing to some dresses and lingerie draped over a bar.

"I'm hungry," she said plaintifly.

"If you do good we'll feed you," the man replied.

"What do I have to do?" she asked worriedly.

There was a wooden table at one end of the room, and they had set a mirror on it. An electrical cord went out the door somewhere, and a hair dryer was attached to it. They let her sit in the chair and had her dry and brush her hair while they watched, then had her try on the dresses, selecting one which was extremely low cut. Not quite satisfied with it they tugged it down lower still, until the edges of her nipples were showing.
"Now, we're going to do an interview," one of the masked men said. "You will answer the questions or be beaten. And if you don't tell the truth, you'll be beaten even worse. Do you understand?"
She nodded fearfully.
They had an "interview" where they asked her all kinds of personal questions about who she had slept with. She was too frightened and confused and tired to lie.
At the end of it they praised her, and told her she was a good girl. She was pathetically relieved.
"Can I eat now?" she asked hopefully.
"Of course. We said you could. Come along."
She stood up but the second man stopped her. "Take off the dress first."
She felt strangely embarrassed about it, even though they had both seen her naked for hours. It felt quite dehumanizing to strip in front of them and be naked again, and she had to blink back tears of embarrassment as she slid the dress down her legs and stepped out of it. The man took it back and the second man beckoned her forward, then stopped her with an upraised hand. "On your hands and knees," he ordered.
Her lower lip trembled and she brushed back a tear. "Why do I have to crawl?" she asked in frustration.
"Because we say you do. Do you want to be beaten instead?"
"No," she said in a small voice, sinking to her knees.
"Now crawl, slut."
Whimpering softly, she crawled down the hall at his heels and into another small room. This one had a rudimentary kitchen in it, though a dirty one, and a stained, peeling linoleum floor. There was an old, rattling refrigerator, a stove, a microwave, and some cupboards at one end, and a small chipped table and chairs at the other.
"Sit," the man ordered.
She started to rise and he gestured her back.
"You don't sit on chairs, slut. Sit on your heels, spread your knees wide."
She pursed her lips and obeyed, her stomach growling. The man took a tin from a cupboard and opened it, then dumped the contents into a plastic bowl and put it into the microwave. While it cooked he stared at her, and she swallowed nervously, wanting to hide her nudity but too frightened to.
The microwave chimed and he opened the door, then took out the bowl and set it on the floor in front of Jennifer. She looked down at a thick, steaming mass of some unknown meat. "What is it?" she asked uncertainly.
He smiled and showed her the can.
"Dog food!?"
"That's it, slut."
"I can't eat dog food!"
"It's food. Poor people often have to eat dog food."
"I'm not poor!" she cried.
"Eat it or nothing."
"I can't eat dog food!"
He took it away and she gazed after it anxiously.
"Please, can't I have some real food? A sandwich even? Some cookies?"
"Nope."
"Please," she begged. "I-I'll have sex with you."
He laughed at the offer. "I'll fuck you whenever I feel like it, slut."
"But... but I'm hungry!" she wailed.
"Not hungry enough, or you'd eat. Now come on."
He gestured to the door and she fell forward onto her hands and crawled out into the corridor. He led her back into the "interview" room. The chair and table had been removed and a steel frame erected in its place. The frame consisted of thin steel bars about six feet square. Jennifer was forced to crawl to the frame, and then lifted to her feet.
One of the men produced leather restraints which he and the second man strapped to the increasingly nervous young woman's ankles and wrists. Metal chains were attached to rings set in the sides of the restraints and then Jennifer was placed firmly against one of the bars, a horizontal bar at the level of her lower belly. The two men then bent her over the bar and locked her wrists to her ankles.
The camera was turned on, and Jennifer quivered, knowing how lewd would be the view from behind her. A moment later she saw, upside down, past her legs, the image of one of the men carrying a thin stick, much like the switch they had used on her the previous night, only shorter and thicker. The man drew his arm back and swung, and she screamed in startled pain at the force of the blow.
The heavy but flexible stick - a bamboo cane - sliced deeply into the rounded flesh of her buttocks, and the pain clawed at the hapless young woman's mind, her shriek of pain rising as the pain ripped into her nervous system. The man let her scream, waited for her tears to reach their peak, for her writhing and shaking to begin to subside, then swung again.
Once again the cane slashed painfully across the soft meaty flesh, and Jennifer howled and writhed, her bottom, now covered by two angry red stripes, shaking and twisting attractively as the camera looked on. A third blow, and a fourth followed, as the girl sobbed miserably and screamed in pain. A fifty and sixth blow fell, the crack of sound echoing in the small stone room, as Jennifer begged them to stop, her pitious cries and appeals duly recorded by the camera.
Four more blows reduced the girl to sobbing misery before the cane was placed back on the nearby table. Then one of the men moved in, unlinking her restraints, lifting the sobbing, limp young woman into an upright position, and then stretching her arms up and out to lock her restraints to metal rings set higher along the vertical bars of the frame.
The man brought tissue for her to dry her eyes and wipe her nose, and then wiped her face with a damp towel and pushed the hair back from her forehead. The camera circled and closed in on her face as she stared dazedly into the lens, then pulled back again and went back behind her where the hooded man was now carrying a long slim whip.
Jennifer's sobs had now eased to sniffles and whimpering, her head hanging weakly as she regained her breath. She did not turn to stare into the bright light of the camera and did not see what the men were doing.
A second camera was set up on a tripod, then the man with the camera moved around in front of her, focusing on her head and shoulders.
The whip blow shocked her, throwing her violently forward, her head flung back as her mouth and eyes widened and a shocked scream of pain was torn from her lips. Her head twisted violently and she screamed again to see the man drawing his arm back. Her arms pulled frantically at the chains, and the loud rattling sound was a background symphony to the sudden whipcrack which announced the second blow to the middle of her back.
She shrieked again, tearing even more desperately at her bonds, eyes bulging.
"Don't! Please! Don't! No! It hurts! It hurts!" she screamed.
Another whipcrack hurled her body forward against the bonds, her head thrown back again. She screamed and writhed and thrashed in her bonds, like a maddened animal caught in a trap.
"Stop it!" she shrieked. "I'll do anything you want! Please! Please!"
Another whipcrack filled the room, throwing her forward in her bonds again, punctuated by another shriek of agony as her back erupted in new fiery pain.
The hooded man worked the whip methodically down her body from shoulders to hips, and then back up again, taking his time, laying an even layer of red welts across the previously unmarked white flesh.
The girl's thrashing grew weaker. She sobbed wildly and hysterically, interupted only by shrieks each time the whip landed on the soft skin of her back. The pitiless eyes of the cameras looked on as her struggles faded and she all but hung by her wrists, as her sobs and screams became weaker. The whipping continued, the steady "Crack! Crack! Crack!" now standing out even more loudly for the lack of competition from the bound girl.
Her jaw slack, her eyes mere slits, her body jerked to each new blow. Her head fell slowly forward until her chin hit her chest, and the camera man in front bend, dropping to his knees, turning the camera up to watch the dull grunts and gasps as the fresh blows struck her burning back.
Behind her, the camera watched her legs give way, her full weight now hanging by her wrists as the whip struck across a back which was now a dark red maze of pain and brutalized flesh.
And still the blows came down, until a hand reached into the frame of the camera's view and gripped her dark, matted hair, forcing her head up and back and the camera peered into glassy, senseless eyes.

THREE

Michael had gotten another tip from Bernie, this one more excited, and now he was watching, in disbelief, as a woman who was indisputably Jennifer Hewett, masturbated with a dildo in full, living colour on his monitor. No one had seen Hewett since the previous day, when the earlier video of her had surfaced on the internet. Everyone was assuming she was hiding out from the hordes of paparazzi camped out in front of her house and all the angry ex-lovers she had talked about.
But this would make everyone forget that. It was worse than the Pamela Anderson tape. This one was a far crisper, better lit picture, and taken from a better angle. Jesus, she was gorgeous, he thought, watching her writhe and groan as she thrust the dildo into her pussy. He watched what was an extremely lewd, graphic, but erotic video right up to the point where she climaxed and then went limp.
"Wow," he whispered, feeling the erection in his pants.
Now where had it come from? The same jerk who had done the phoney interview? Or maybe one of the lovers she had talked about in the "interview" had decided to get revenge by releasing another tape they had done together. The other one had been bad enough, but this would be disastrous to her reputation. The girl was in deep trouble. Her wild private life was finally coming out into the open and might absolutely trash her professional career.
He quickly sent the video to his editor, then wrote up a story, of the "appalled and shocked" variety to describe how her fans had reacted to the two videos. In fact, most of her male fans were probably delighted, for the second video was more than most had ever dreamed of being able to see of the voluptuous little actress.
He spent the morning talking to people who knew her and were willing to discuss the videos. All were shocked. Most were appalled, though a few, perhaps the jealous type, were delighted. Everyone made the obligatory sounds of sympathy for the invasion of privacy, and roundly condemned whoever had put the tape on the internet, but all were, he noted, eager to see it, if they hadn't already done so.
The internet was going wild with people flooding web sites where the video had been placed, trying to download the massive file. Her agent and lawyer were desperately trying to get injunctions to have the sites shut down or forced to remove the video, but having difficulty, especially since their client apparently wasn't available to sign any complaints.
So where was she hiding, he wondered. Or was she off drunk or drugged somewhere, completely unaware of what was going on? He hadn't heard much about Hewett and drugs, and she'd always seemed ditzy enough without them. But she had looked like she'd been on something during that interview tape.
He watched the masturbation tape again, and again got hard. God, she had such a fantastic body! And it was clearly real, not acting. The shuddering of her body and gurgling breaking voice as she came could have been faked by a good enough actress, and Jennifer Hewett was good enough, but the video had the look and feel of truth to it.

Jennifer groaned softly, miserably, hurting everywhere. She swung very softly on the end of several ropes which were bound tightly around her body.
Her ankles were lifted up and back and tied to her thighs. Her arms were drawn back behind her back, her hands lifted high behind a collar placed around her throat, her elbows tied together. A thin harness of ropes squeezed her torso The rope had been laid across her shoulders, across the back of her neck really, then the two sides drawn down the centre of her chest, up and out in either direction to circle her breasts twice, and tied tightly together just above and between them.
The two sides had then been drawn down the centre of her torso, splitting apart at her belly to circle her body and draw in tight, then dropped together once more to her groin where they crushed two dildos up into her pussy and anus before drawing up between the cheeks of her buttocks and tying tightly to the rope behind her back.
Ropes were then attached to this harness, the rope binding her elbows and arms, and the rope binding her ankles and thighs, holding her in mid-air several feet above the floor.
Her breasts were swollen out redly, and two thin wires had been tightly, painfully twisted around each nipple and hung with weights.
The camera watched her for a while, watched her shift and jerk and try to ease her discomfort, listening to her moans and whimpers and soft, hoarse voice begging for release.
Then one of the hooded men stepped forward, removing the weights from the wires twisted around her swollen nipples. He took the bare wires and fitted them to a black electrical box, and the camera watched as the dazed girl suddenly, for no explicable reason, yelped in pain, her head jerking up and back, her body swinging with her movements.
The yelp was followed by another, then another, her body twisting from side to side and back and forth. She was gasping for breath now, begging dazedly for it to stop, and then her body stiffened and began to vibrate like a tuning fork. Her hoarse voice began a warbling cry of continuous pain as she shook violently.
The cry cut off weakly and her head fell forward, her desperate, ragged breaths filling the room. The hooded man moved forward, gripped the dazed girl's hair and yanked her head up, then plunged an erection straight through her open mouth and down her throat., fucking casually in and out as she continued to shiver and tremble. After coming in the girl's face the hooded man moved away, picked up the box, and the girl began to shriek, twist and scream again.

"Oh man! I love this! I love it!"
Michael grinned broadly at the sight of Jennifer Hewett getting royally screwed. The hot, sexy little actress was really getting into it, thrusting her shapely rear back at whomever was doing her (the video showed them from waist down).
Michael watched her big breasts swinging below her, watched the look of excitement on her face, and his cock hardened at her ardent gasps of pleasure.
Then a second man entered the picture, also shown from waist down, and shoved his cock into the girl's mouth. She sucked hungrily, even taking it down the throat, and Michael shook his head in admiration.
Now there was a hot, sexy little slut! If only he could have a piece of that!
He grinned to himself. So few people realized just what bedhoppers these sexy actresses were. Even magazines like the Snoop didn't dare reveal the really sordid details of lives which were often filled with wild parties and experiments with kinky sex and drugs. Jennifer Hewett was throwing the windows open a little to a public which was both shocked and, depending on their sex and inclinations, thrilled or horrified.
His contacts confirmed that both the sex videos had been shot in Hewett's own bed at her home. There was a lot of speculation about who her two partners were, but no one was willing to admit to being part of the show.
Hewett had still not turned up, and he wondered how long she'd be able to hide, and how she'd ever show her face again after this performance. It sure wasn't going to get her any Oscar nominations!
Even the mainstream press was now at the feeding trough, and the National Snoop was digging into her romantic past for fertile stories - real or not - of her sexual history.

"Had a pleasant sleep?"
Jennifer moaned weakly, barely opening her eyes. She had spent the night on her side, hog tied, wrists and ankles bound together behind her, back bowed painfully. The man leaned and untied her, and she shuddered with relief as she slowly unfolded her arms and legs and stretched out on the stone floor.
"Eat," the voice commanded.
The food was placed before her, and the desperate hunger which had been digging at her vitals for so long roused her enough to roll over and push herself to all fours. She pushed her face into the steaming meat and began to eat, not thinking or caring what it was or what it tasted like, not even noticing the camera watching as she swallowed mouthfuls of the stuff, grunting and snuffling through her nose as it began to fill her belly.
She slurped from a plate of water after finishing the bowl, and then crawled after one of the hooded men into the "washing" room, where, kneeling weakly, she was washed. She was led back into the interview room and then dressed in a purple thong and lacy, see through bra beneath jeans and a navy blue, button up shirt. There was no chair for her this time, as she knelt, knees together, hands folded in her lap.
"Now, Jennifer, we're going to do a little act," one of the men said. "We have a script, and you're going to be our star. Won't that be fun?"
Jennifer jerked her head up and down fearfully, cringing away from the man.
"If you do this properly you won't be hurt. It will be nice not to be hurt, won't it, Jennifer? We'll untie you and leave you alone for a while. Would you like that?"
She looked up anxiously, wondering if the question was a trap. She nodded her head fearfully and he smiled, patting her.
"Here's the script," he said, handing her a few pieces of paper. "Memorize it and we'll do a trial run."
Jennifer read through the script several times. It was not as bad as she had feared. It didn't even involve anything really disgusting, and especially anything painful.
"Do you understand it?"
She nodded tremulously.
"Now let's see you steady your face. You're supposed to be very calm. Not really eager and happy, but not sad or fearful either. Straighten your shoulders, smooth your face. And read from the script.
Jennifer obeyed him, but did a poor job the first time around. After several more readings her experience and instincts began to come into play. Her voice became more realistic, her movements more natural. She was praised for her improvements, and clasped the praise desperately to heart, smiling hopefully at her captors.
One of the men held a camera. The other was on a tripod. Jennifer, without the script, began to go through her performance. The men were satisfied and the cameras rolled again.
"Why did you come to us, Jenn?" the hooded man asked.
She raised her eyes. "I'm lost," she said. "My life seems to have no purpose. My career is going nowhere fast. I've done what I can do, played the roles I could get. I have no one, and I feel a desperate urge."
"An urge?"
She looked down as if mildly embarassed, then looked up again. "I have had fantasies about slavery for years," she said, her voice low and breathy. "I have always dreamed about being tied up, being used, being - a slave. A sex slave."
"So you want to be a sex slave."
She nodded her head firmly. "I don't mean playing a game," she said. "I want the real thing. I want to be a real sex slave, beaten, whipped, broken, a sex toy for anyone's use. I want to be owned by a cruel master who will torture me and rape me and let other men rape me. I want to be kept naked and in chains. I think that would be so raw and wild and carnal and... and exciting!"
"A woman of today has too many inhibitions," the hooded man said. "To be a true sex slave, and not just a slut playing at it, you would have to be broken, to have your mind broken and remade."
She looked uncertain. "What do you mean by broken?"
"When we are done with you you will be a sex slave in reality. We will crush your will and twist your mind to the point where you won't want to be anything but a sex slave. We will make you into a submissive, a masochist whose only desire is the sexual pleasure of her masters. You will only be happy as a sexual plaything and slave. Nothing else will fulfill you."
Her eyes shone. "That sound so - hot," she said excitedly.
"You will not be able to turn aside once you set foot on this path."
"I don't want to," she said, straightening her shoulders.
"Take off your clothes then."
She appeared a little startled by the order, then, face flushed with excitement, she unbuttoned the top and slipped it off. She stood up, undoing her jeans, pushing them down her legs and off. She looked a little uncomfortably at the cameras, then undid her bra and slipped off her panties to stand naked under the lights.
The man produced a thick metal collar which he placed around her throat. A pair of heavy metal shackles, held together by a foot long chain, were tightly fitted to her wrists, and another to her ankles. A long chin ran from the centre of the chain binding her ankles, through a ring set in the middle of the chain binding her wrists, to the centre of her collar.
She straightened her back, breathing raggedly, clearly aroused.
"Do you still want to be a sex slave?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Oh yes!"
"You will be beaten, whipped. We will break you down and build you up again."
"Do it!"
"On your knees, slut."
Her legs folded beneath her and at a command she sat back on her heels and spread her knees wide apart.
The hooded man circled her and paused before her.
"Show me your devotion, slave."
She fell forward onto her manacled hands, then leaned in and began to lick at the man's boots, moaning in apparent pleasure as her tongue ran slowly up and down along the front and sides.
She raised her eyes, breathlessly. "Fuck me, master!" she whispered.
"Turn, slave."
She obeyed. She was not fearful at that moment. In fact, she was as close to peace as she had been since the men had appeared in her bedroom. Acting, rehearsing, playing a role, were all thoroughly familiar to her, and she was used to submerging herself in the role she was playing. Her nudity, and even her sexual use had become familiar the last few days. What was more she had been promised no pain, and promised she would be left alone for a while.
She groaned as the man entered her from behind, and it was not all feigned. She was finding this particular role, despite the circumstances, exciting. She had always been a girl of enormous sexual appetites, and was excited by the "story" she was playing. She was also aroused by the knowledge that she was being taped doing something so wicked and obscene.
The man was using her strongly, his big cock pumping deeply inside her as she knelt before him. She was breathing hard, gasping, thrusting back at him, her head jerking up and down to the strokes.
"Yes! Yes! Harder!" she gasped.
He slapped her bottom and she yelped.
"You must beg, not command, slave."
"Please, master! Please use me harder!" she begged.
And he did, pounding into her violently. He halted suddenly and flipped her onto her back, then lifted her knees up and forced them back. Overhead, he rammed straight down into her belly, and Jennifer cried out in a mixture of pleasure and pain as he impaled her on his thick lance.
Her legs were crushed back against her chest, her bottom raised high as the hooded man began to ram himself down into her again and again. Jennifer could only gasp and wheeze and moan as he used her.
He halted and flipped her onto all fours again. Relieved, gasping, she spread her knees and grunted as he thrust into her from behind once again, riding her violently. It felt wild and savage and raw, and she felt her juices flowing and her heat rising as the man rammed himself into her. A part of her realized she was being raped, but that hardly mattered to her now. The whole concept of rape was beginning to confuse her.
"Unnggh!" she cried as his finger began to stroke across her clit.
"Oh yes! Oh God! Oh! Oh! Oh!"
She came gloriously, thrusting her bottom back as the pleasure roared inside her skull, her head jerking wildly as the intensity of the ecstasy shattered her mind and turned her into a grunting, trembling animal.
When it was done she felt anxious and ashamed because of her weakness, and because of the video, but was relieved. The took all the chains off her as they had promised ,then led her out of the room. She followed the man, permitted to walk upright now, down the corridor to stop before a small steel door. The man opened it, and she gazed inside in confusion.
It was a small closet with mirrored walls and a mirrored door. On either wall were what looked like miniature ladders, each no more than a foot wide, made of slim pegs. In the middle was a thick rusty pipe. Atop the pipe, or perhaps fitted around the top, was a dildo, or, she thought, a hollow dildo. In any event, the top foot or so of the pipe consisted of a penis shaped rubber tube.
"Get in."
"I don't understand," she gulped.
"Put your right foot on the first rung there," he said, pointing at the right ladder, "and your left on the first rung there," he added, pointing at the left ladder.
"But you said - ."
"Do you want to be whipped?" he demanded.
"No, sir!" she cried meekly.
"Do it!"
She moved into the small room awkwardly, then climbed onto the two ladders as ordered, pressing her abdomen against the rubber cock.
"Higher, slut."
She raised her feet up one rung on both sides, grasping the higher rungs with her hands. The man guided her forward so her pussy was over the rubber cock.
"Now down."
She whimpered, but obeyed. Her pussy was moist but the rubber cock was very thick, and ground against her soft flesh painfully.
"It-it's too big," she panted.
"You want me to see if I can get it in there?"
She moaned and pushed harder, enduring the pain, feeling her sex slowly forced open to admit the rounded rubber cockhead. She gasped in pain as it slipped into her and the shaft followed, her pussy spread wide around it as she lowered herself.
"Further. Down onto the next rung."
She moaned, taking one foot off the second run, toes reaching for the lower one. She reached it, groaning as the pipe slid deeper, slowly grating through her taut pussy opening, forcing aside the soft pink flesh within her, stretching it out as it pushed upwards. Then she lowered her other foot, sliding slowly down the thick, hard cock.
"Now to the floor."
"Oh God!"
"Now, slut."
As before she took one foot off the rung, lowering it, reaching for the floor with her toes. She had to sink lower to find it, and then, still gripping the rungs on either side for support, she took her foot off the other ladder.
She was still too high, and was forced to half hang there, gripping the rungs on either side, her legs pressed against the pipe as she slowly, carefully lowered herself until her toes reached the floor. When she sank to the balls of her feet the hooded man pushed her hand down and took out the rightmost ladder, then the leftmost. He slammed the door behind her and she heard a bolt being thrown.
She stared at herself in the mirrors, moaning at the fulness in her belly. She looked at her pussy in the mirror before her, stared at how thick the rubber thing was, at how wide her opening had been forced.
Her hands and legs were free, but she was deeply impaled on the thing and could not get off it, not without the ladders to pull herself off.
"Oh!" she gasped, as she sank a little and the tip of the long cock pushed deep into her belly.
She could not sink any lower. She tried, wanting to get her feet flat on the floor, but the pain was too great. She was trapped.

The video of Jennifer Hewett dedicating herself to sexual slavery caused even more of a sensation than the others had. Many thought it deliciously kinky and arousing. But some doubted her willingness. Many of those who knew her well claimed she had been acting, and probably under duress. Complaints were filed with the police and FBI claiming she had been kidnapped. Though most did not seem to believe it.
Tens of millions viewed her videos, some secretly hoping it was a ruse, that she was being held against her will, for that made the scenes they were viewing even more exciting. Most, however, still thought her dedication real, if kinky, while others merely dismissed her as a bimbo airhead gone crazy.
Sharon Donnelly had seen the videos, of course. Who hadn't? She'd met Hewett a time or two in passing, and admired her body, if not her work, for some time. But they did not really run in the same circles. A party animal herself, Sharon was into dancing and wild times out more than seducing rock stars and bringing a parade of men into her bed.
Not that she hadn't had her share of men - and women. But she wasn't the desperate for affection type, and chose her romantic parties with more care, keeping them for longer periods of time. She was a confident (many said arrogant) young woman, proud of her beautiful face, body and hair, proud of her talent (though many others questioned it).
She was not a movie actress like Jennifer Hewett (or Everyone Do her, as some sneeringly dismissed her). She was a television actress, though a successful one. She had been in prime roles since her early teens. But she had a reputation as someone who was extremely hard to work with, as a bitch. She had been fired off of two successful shows for her troublesome ways. She was termed a prima donna, and was a favourite of the tabloid press.
She was, at the moment, unemployed, although that would soon change. She had finally persuaded a powerful producer to cast her in the role of a police detective on a new series which would soon begin shooting. It hadn't been easy, for like Jennifer Hewett she was a short, slim woman, just over five feet one. All the other actors and actresses would have to be arranged accordingly so as to not make her seem ridiculous when she arrested men whose shoulders were well above her head.
Convincing the producer had taken a lot of talk, but it had been the work spent on her knees which had finally won him over. The man was addicted to power and had been delighted at having a big name television actress like Sharon get down on her knees in front of his chair and blow him.
That didn't particularly bother her. It wasn't the first time she'd used her voluptuous body to win a role, and probably wouldn't be the last time. Sharon was a determined young woman. She knew what she wanted, and she didn't care what she had to do to get it, who she had to blow, or who she had to stab in the back.
She had seen the videos of Jennifer Hewett, watching with considerable amusement at first, and then no small arousal. She had been involved in bondage games before with both men and women, and found it quite hot and sensual. She was bisexual, as well, and while she played the sub to men she liked to play dominant to women.
She didn't know if Hewett had really given herself willingly to become a sex slave, but the idea was totally hot, and she had masturbated to watching the woman being done so nicely on all fours.
It did not really strike her how similar she and Hewett were. Both were twenty six, both short and slim with large breasts which were often discussed by fans. Hewett had larger breasts, but Sharon had made much more use of hers, and would again in the upcoming series, appearing often in tight halters and tank tops to help draw interest to her shows and TV movies.
Both had brown eyes. Both were brunettes. Sharon's hair was much longer, however, because while Jennifer was something of an ingenue Sharon was under no illusions about what drew attention to her. Men liked long hair, so she wore her hair long, or at least, past her shoulders. Men liked her breasts so she showed them off often.
And it had paid off. She might be trash to the tabloids (the coverage of a bar fight she'd been involved in had lasted forever) but the TV viewers seemed to like her, and she had a fat bank account and a bankable name despite mediocre talents.
She was thinking about how best to persuade her favorite fashion designer to gift her upcoming show with a wardrobe in exchange for credits when she pulled into her driveway. She casually pressed the button on the dash which turned off the alarms and sent her garage door clanking upwards and let the Mercedes slide to a gentle halt as she fumbled with her seat belt. Behind her, the garage door clanked down, and the bright sunlight faded, leaving the garage in dim gloom.
She stepped out of the car and slipped her dark glasses off, then walked around the big black SUV she often drove and unlocked the door into the house.
She didn't notice, as she concentrated on sliding the key into the small lock in the dim light, the two figures moving up behind her, figures which had slipped into the big garage after her Mercedes, figures in black, wearing hoods.
She felt their presence, however, as she turned the knob, and half turned her head. She let out a yell of surprise, lurching forward as she felt the nearest one's touch, and kicked out instinctively as she ran. Her legs ran out from under her as a hand gripped her long hair, and she cried out in pain and shock as she wound up flat on her back on the floor. She twisted at once, trying to get to her feet, but the two men caught her from behind, yanking her up and holding her between them.
"Let me go!" she screamed, trying to kick at them.
She was slammed into the wall, temporarily stunning her, then dragged further into the hall and pushed, belly down across a table. Hands gripped her flailing arms and forced them back behind her, then twisted her slim wrists up high behind her neck until she cried out in pain. At the same time hands gripped the catch and zipper at the front of her tight leather pants and then tugged the pants down over her bottom to reveal a slim black silk G-string.
"Fuck! Let me go! Fucking cocksucking assholes!" she screamed in rage.
An open handed blow the side of the head calmed her not at all, and she tried again to kick out at the men holding her. But her leather pants were down past her knees now and her movements accomplished little.
"Be quiet, slut," one of the men ordered.
"Fuck you, asshole!" she screamed.
Another slap to the head drew another curse.
The leather pants were jerked off and her legs were momentarily free. She lashed out with one, connecting with one of them, who cursed in response. But then her ankle was caught and held with her legs apart, and a moment later a knee was rammed up into her pussy with such force she was lifted off her feet. Her eyes bulged and she let out a choked gasp of agony as she collapsed.
Her G-string was ripped free, revealing an already shaved pussy. A moment later the halter top she had been wearing was torn from her body and, naked, she was yanked back and thrown to the floor, where one of the men slammed a foot into her pussy to add to her pain and nausea.
She was then thrown onto her belly with a knee jammed against the back of her head and another into her spine to keep her in place. Her arms were pulled back behind her and each was slipped into a narrow leather sleeve which ended in a kind of thumbless mitten with a strap attached to it. The sleeves were tightly strapped and then her hands were again lifted up behind her back. She cried out weakly as her hands were shifted higher, and then still higher, the straps going over her shoulders and then fastening together at the top of her chest.
One of the men then gripped her elbows, forcing them mor tightly together, and a heavy strap was slipped around her arms and buckled tightly in place. Her hips were then lifted upwards, her legs spread, and one of the men, the one she had succeded in kicking, calmlly raped her, forcing himself deep into her sex as she moaned and gasped in pain, and pounding his hips violently into her body until climaxing within her.
A complete hood was forced over her head, then, blinding and almost deafening her, for it had padding over the ears and no eye holes. A ball gag was thrust into her mouth and strapped behind her, and her ankles strapped up against her thighs. She was then carried back to the garage and thrown casually into the back of her own SUV.
The men went through the house carefully, then, gathering clothes and other objects, and searching out the videos she was rumoured to possess, rumours of herself and former boyfriends. They found them in the back of her bedroom closet and returned to drive the SUV off.
No one living nearby noted a thing as the angry, frightened young actress was driven off. A few saw her SUV, but the tinted windows kept them from seeing into the car, and an hour later Sharon Donnelly was being knelt on a stone floor in a stone room where no one could hear her screams - except, of course, the video cameras.





F O U R


"What in hell is going on?"
Hannigan could only shake his head, a stupid grin on his face, as he watched the latest videos to hit the internet. These two featured Sharon Donnelly, the snotty little TV star, giving head to ex-boyfriend Jason Miller, and then being done with her ankles around her ears by ex-love interest Tyler Jones, squealing like a banshee and demanding he fuck her harder.
It was as if someone had been inspired by the Jennifer Hewett videos and needed to compete.
Like Hewett, Donnelly had now disappeared, which didn't surprise him. The girl was unlikely to show her face for some time after videos like that surfaced.
Not that she was alone. Hollywood was a very permissive environment, and its young and single and beautiful stars and starlets had adventurous sexual lifestyles. And since all craved the eye of the cameras and were used to performing in front of them well, video taping sex was a natural. Most of them had done it, and many of them kept tapes securely locked away for personal viewing and souvenirs. Only those of Pamela Anderson and Judd Nelson had ever made it into the public domain before this.
He sat back and grinned, wondering how many actors and actresses were now frantically erasing old videos.
"Dirty little girl," he said admiringly, watching her boyfriend pound his meat down into the lovely young actress's shaved pussy.
Jennifer Hewett's video clips had already been transferred to video tape and were being flocked everywhere by enterprising porn merchants. No doubt Donnelly's would join them. They weren't quite as good quality in terms of lighting and picture, but they made up for it in her sheer enthusiasm for the pricks she was sucking and being ridden by.

Mike Foster stroked his chin as he looked at the check on his desk. It was for a considerable sum of money.
"You guarantee discretion, of course."
He nodded. "You don't have to worry about me opening my mouth, Mr. Greenberg."
"Find out where she is. If she's doing this willingly she had to have made contact with these people somewhere, through someone she trusts. If she's not doing it willingly..."
"You can't tell?"
Greenberg scowled. "In my opinion Jennifer is being held against her will and being sexually abused. The FBI isn't so sure, but they don't know her like I do. Jennifer is a serious actress and takes her work and herself seriously. She's also, at heart, quite shy about certain things."
"Not about her body, apparently."
Greenberg leaned forward in the chair. "She is an enthusiastic young women in terms of sexuality. More importantly she is naive about men, lacks confidence in herself, and is lonely. She's easy to be seduced, in other words, by pretty men who flatter her and pretend an interest in more than her body. That doesn't make her a bad person."
"Didn't say it did."
"She has resisted nudity or even partial nudity in all her films despite my advice. I cannot see her voluntarily exhibiting herself like this in such an obscene manner."
"Did she know Sharon Donnelly?"
Greenberg snorted and shook his head. "That cheap TV tart? No. Donnelly wasn't even in her class. She didn't have the talent Jennifer had, and only excelled in showing off her body."
"Still, you have to wonder at the coincidence. They're similar in terms of age and body shape, and suddenly videos start turning up on them on the internet."
"But Donnelly's videos, as I understand it, were clearly made with ex-lovers."
Foster nodded. "Yeah. But where is she and how did they get onto the internet?"
"That's not my concern. Jennifer Hewett is my client, not Sharon Donnelly."
"I understand, but it isn't out of the realm of possibilities that there might be a link between them."

She was so tired.
She couldn't remember the last time she slept, the last time she wasn't in pain or discomfort.
Her wrists were aching, now, along with her shoulders and arms. She was hanging by her wrists, which were chained apart to a yard long bar hanging from the ceiling. Her toes were a few inches above the stone floor below, unable to support any of her weight.
She was not alone, however. Much to her surprise she had found another girl in the room when they had dragged her in here.
She shuddered a little, her pussy still sore from the long, long hours she had spent straddling the long bar in the mirrored closet. Hour had followed hour with no sound but her own breaths, no sight but that of her own impaled body, nothing to do but try to adapt and ease her discomfort.
It had been natural to feel around the edges of her tight pussy, to marvel at where her soft flesh was squeezed tightly around the hard tube thrust into her. It had been almost accidental, at first, her finger brushing across the top of her slit, feeling the strange sense of firm resistance behind the skin, rubbing tentatively at the area around her clitoris to feel the hardness beneath.
Then she had felt the soft, warm thrill as her finger had stroked across her clitoris, and she had been shocked at how pleasant it had been. And in the midst of her misery that pleasure had been attractive enough to slowly tempt her. And so, in the presumed privacy of the closet, she had let her hands gently caress her body, stroking and rubbing at her clit, squeezing and kneading her breasts until she climaxed.
The orgasm had been powerful, and distracting from her plight, and so she had masturbated again, and then again, and again. The thickness of the thing thrust into her had produced a powerful psychological boost. The firmness of it pushing against the top of her pussy had helped, as well. But there was also something obscenely arousing about being held a sexual captor, and being used in so cold, raw and rough a fashion.
For hours she had pleased herself with her fingers, until the pain of her position had gotten too great to ignore. For she had been left on the balls of her feet, with no way to ease the pressure other than taking even more of the thick, hard post into her body. Yet the top was already grinding against her cervix, and she was not a big woman.
Hour after hour the pain had gotten worse, and no amount of tears or begging the mirrored walls had served to ease that pain. When they had finally come for her and lifted her gently off the post she had been pathetically grateful.
And then, after pleasing the two men with her mouth had been hung here by her wrists with this other girl.
She had no idea who the girl was, for she was fully hooded. She was hanging from the same yard long bar, her body, a firm, full-breasted body, pressing against Jennifer's, their breasts pillowed out together against one another.
The men had inserted a rubber, double headed dildo into her, and then bent it in the middle and forced the other half up into the other girl. Now the dildo was a small, thick half donut driven up into their bodies, the ends twisting deep into their bellies. Jennifer wondered who the other girl was, if she was another actress, or just an ordinary girl.
She moaned as she saw one of the men pick up a whip. This one was a flog, made up of a half dozen or more thin leather strips. It looked like it would sting quite a bit, and so she whimpered anxiously, knowing by now that her pleas would be ignored.
The man moved into place behind the other girl and then sent the whip flying through the air. Jennifer heard the crack of sound as it struck the girl's back, but even before that she felt the blow through the girl's naked body, felt the girl driven into her, felt the violent jerk a the girl reacted, as her body twisted and writhed against her. She saw the girl's head jerk back and heard the muffled cry of pain.
She felt a wave of sympathy for the girl, but it was dim, for she knew she would soon be whipped as well, and was glad it was the other girl getting it for now.
Another blow, and another, and another fell across the hooded girl's shoulders, and the girl twisted and thrashed, her legs kicking wildly, her breasts grinding heavily into Jennifer, the movements of her lower body twisting and jerking at the dildo buried inside both of them.
Another dozen blows, and the girl's movements began to ease, but then the man moved around to stand behind Jennifer, who was breathless with anxiety and anticipation, trying to brace herself for the pain she knew was to follow.
The whip cracked across her back and she screamed, jerking against the other girl's body as the sharp, stinging pain swept over her skin.

Sharon sobbed weakly. She had no idea how long it had been since she had been captured. She had been hooded and gagged at the time and had remained so. They had forced her to kneel on a stone floor over something thick and hard, forced her pussy down over it and then bound her wrists and thighs together so she could not rise. She had knelt so for hours and hours, her shoulders on fire to the point she gave in to frustration and began shrieking and thrashing wildly, insanely, stopping only when exhaustion forced it.
For hour after hour she knelt in silence, moaning softly into the gag, the anxiety of wondering and waiting almost worse than the physical discomfort.
They had finally come for her, lifting her off the thick, hard thing she had been straddling. They had sodomized her, then let her legs straighten, only to hang her upside down by her ankles and then whip her pussy to the point she went mad again, shrieking, cursing and twisting, tears spilling from her eyes as she danced to the pain tearing at her groin. Then her pussy and anus had been forced wide and she had heard the sound of a match being struck.
Shortly afterwards she felt a sting at the soft skin of her groin, then another, and another. The stings were familiar, yet puzzling, at first. She smelled the candles, then, and knew - the knowledge shocking her - that the thick things pushed into her pussy and rectum were candles, and that the stinging she was feeling was wax dribbling down the sides.
Hours more had passed, as the blood rushed to her head and caused it to throb with agony. The candles continued to melt, hot wax trickling down over her pussy and groin, then dribbling down her abdomen and between the cheeks of her buttocks. Nothing was said to her. Nothing was asked of her. There was no opportunity to bargain, to beg, to try to affect her situation.
Finally, after an eternity, dazed and half conscious, she felt the straps binding the gag loosen, felt the gag pulled free. Her jaw was so sore by that point she could only sob in pain as they slowly began to close.
Yet they were not permitted to close far. A metal frame was thrust between her teeth. It was thin but strong enough to hold her teeth and lips up and open.
She felt her head lifted up and back, arching her back. She was still upside down, but now her head was almost rightside up. And then, through the open ring, she felt something soft sliding into her mouth. It took little time to recognize it as a cock, and little more to realize she could do absolutely nothing to resist it.
But she didn't try to. She was desperate to communicate her willingness to do as they wanted, desperate to be released, or at least, to be let down. The only way she could hope to communicate that was to work on the cock inside her. And so she did, trying to suck, licking at the head and shaft as it slid back and forth inside her, hoping they would understand her new spirit of cooperation and submissiveness.
Strong hands held her head up and back as the cock pumped in and out of her mouth. She began to gag as the cock pushed deeper, the fat tip tickling the entrance to her throat. She could do nothing to resist, though she tried to push against the cockhead each time it pushed forward. That brought no respite, however. The thick cock pushed aside her tongue and slid uncomfortably deep into her mouth with each thrust.
And then her eyes bulged behind the mask as it popped into her throat.
She choked and gagged violently as the cock pushed forward, her body twisting and thrashing weakly. Yet she could do little to resist as her head was tightly held and her body tightly bound. The thick cock slid deeper and deeper into her throat with each stroke, pumping steadily in and out, grinding over her tongue all the way down and scraping against her throat.
She could not breath, and her head throbbed even more painfully as her chest began to burn. Her stomach twisted violently, but being empty could do little but threaten.
The cock pulled free and she coughed and choked and gagged as she gulped in sweet, desperate air. She tried to talk through the ring holding her mouth wide, but had little time, for barely had she caught her breath when the cock slid through, over her tongue, and down her throat once again.
It pumped steadily and slowly in and out, the cockhead sliding from the back of her mouth to deep in her throat and back again in slow, determined thrusts. Sharon's dazed brain pounded and her chest burned and she began to feel faint, sparkles of light appearing behind her eyes.
The cock slid out and she was able to draw long, desperate breaths through the tube.
On and on it went, with the cock slowly and almost casually raping her throat, pausing only long enough to allow her to draw in shuddering breaths of air. She did not know if it was one cock or many cocks. She did not know if there were a line of men waiting to plunge their cocks down her throat. She had no chance to think, occupied with the desperate need to breath and hold her breath through each steady raping.
After enduring that to the point of barely maintaining consciousness she had been flipped over, and now hung by her wrists, the gag reinserted. She had been positioned so that only the balls of her feet supported her weight, and left in place for hours, then, finally, lifted higher, her toes twitching and her legs jerking desperately, and allowed to hang freely for a while. Then she had felt the soft touch of skin against hers, obviously female.
The whipping had been agony, but now she heard the other girl's cries, felt the blows striking the other girl's body and knew a pathetic, desperate desire that the whipping of the other girl continue.
Her back was on fire!
She felt the gag pried from her mouth at last, and gasped in pain, her jaw stiff and aching. She heard the other girl sobs and moans suddenly become muffled and knew the gag had been pushed into her mouth instead.
She heard a voice through her hood.
"Should we whip her or you?"
"Her! Her!" she cried dazedly.
And so they had, and she had felt the blows grow stronger through the other girl's body as she heard the woman's muffled sobs and cries of pain.
Yet she knew only a little guilt. Her mind was grasping frantically at the ability to affect her situation at long last, to avoid pain. Finally!
And as if in reward she was pulled down, and then the hood was peeled back from her face and she saw...
A room, stark, stone, lit with bare bulbs. Two hooded men were there, both nude, and a blindfolded, gagged nude girl hanging by her wrists. One of the men looked down at her, then gripped her long, sweat matted hair and twisted it roughly, forcing her head back and drawing a cry of pain as he brought his face closer.
"Will you cooperate?" he growled.
She nodded desperately.
"Disobey even once and you go back up there," he said in a menacing voice.
They put thin metal shackles around her wrists, locking them together in front of her with a short chain, but there was no discomfort other than being able to see the men who now looked upon her naked and chained.
The girl was still being whipped. The man moved in front of her and began to whip her large breasts, and Sharon suddenly realized who the girl was. She looked around for cameras and gasped to see one trained on her, averting her eyes. But it was too late, she knew, as the man twisted savagely on her hair, forcing it back, forcing her back to arch.
"Suck," he ordered.
He pushed his cock into her mouth and she moaned, trying to avoid it, then, suddenly terrified of being put back up with Jennifer Hewett, she closed her lips and began to suck, using her considerable experience and skill to please the man.
"All the way, whore," he growled.
She knew what he meant, and shied away from it, yet she knew she had no choice, and the long, constant throat raping had at least accustomed her to the feel of a cock deep in her throat. It still hurt. Her throat felt bruised and sore. Yet she forced her lips deeper, gagging only a little now as she took him down her throat, sliding her full red lips all the way down his shaft until they were pressed against the base of his groin.
She sobbed at the thought of the videos of her performance going out over the internet, but the fear of pain was far, far stronger. What would happen when (if?) she were released was far less important than what would happen to her now at the hands of these cruel men.
She performed as best she could, raising her chained hands to massage his balls, bobbing her lips up and down the full length of the shaft. He pulled out suddenly, and she blinked in surprise as he held his cock before her face, squeezing it. Then he came, and she gasped as he spurted his white semen into her face, the white droplets spattering her cheeks and nose and lips.
He released her hair and she sank back down onto her heels, turning away from the camera to see Jennifer Hewett's red striped breasts jiggling and bouncing as they were whipped. The girl's body was thrashing and twisting from the pain, but her movements were clearly getting weaker.
"Come. We'll let you clean yourself," the man said.
He pulled her to her feet and led her from the room down a dark, narrow stone corridor. Her eyes darted from side to side, seeking a way out, but nothing appeared.
She was led into another stone room, where a lone faucet protruded from the wall. The man turned on the water and pushed her forward.
Sharon moaned in relief as the warm water poured over her aching body. Filthy and sweaty, she turned her head from side to side, reaching up to slide her fingers through it as the water soaked her. There was a small shelf on the wall and she took soap from it, running it over her body, despite the stings that brought, then cleaning her hair.
The man watched her, but she didn't care - much. She was deeply relieved to not be feeling pain, not be feeling discomfort, to get clean again, and have some small control over what was to happen. All she could think about was keeping them happy, keeping them from putting her back up there and hurting her the way they were hurting Hewett.
She had been involved in bondage games before but they had never involved more than mild spanking, and this was no game.
She turned to look at the hooded man, then dropped her eyes submissively.
"Come," he ordered.
She stepped out from under the water, and took a towel from him, then dried and brushed her hair out.
"Hungry? Thirsty?"
"Oh God yes!" she exclaimed.
Her stomach rumbled painfully.
"You're going to cooperate with us then."
"Yes! I will!"
He nodded.
They heard noises and turned to the open doorway. Sharon's eyes widened as she saw Jennifer being led, crawling, down the hallway, and heard the girl's sobs issuing from under the gag.
"Come. You'll see what happens to you if you refuse even one order," he said.
Terrified, Sharon was led after the pair and into another windowless stone room.
She watched the girl flung onto the floor, watched as her ankles were pinned back against the sides of her thighs and strapped tightly in place. Her hands were drawn up and back behind her throat and tied together, the rope circling her throat. She was then lifted up onto her knees and held precariously in place while a rope with a noose was placed around her throat and pulled tight. The men released her and she swayed and choked, fighting desperately to maintain her balance on her knees.
"She'll be in here the rest of the night, enjoying herself," one of the men said into her ear. "Meanwhile, we'll see how cooperative you feel."
She swallowed fearfully and then followed the two men out of the room, turning for one last look at the buxom young woman trembling and swaying on her knees before the lights were snapped off and the steel door slammed shut.
They led her into another room and had her dress, then do a strip tease for them. She knew the images would be sent to the internet, and it galled and shamed her, yet she had no choice, and the slightest reluctance in her movements or expression drew threats that she would join Hewett again.
When they felt she had mastered the dance they wanted they had her do a lap dance, but not the kind of lap dance common in most strip clubs. For after caressing the seated, hooded man with her breasts and hair she had to endure his big hands coming up and fondling her body, squeezing her breasts and bottom and pulling her more tightly into his lap.
She continued to writhe and roll her hips as he began to suck and chew her nipples and then rose, undoing his pants, pushing herself back and, legs straight and spread, bending forward at the waist to take him into her mouth and down her throat.
Then she straddled him and rode him, gasping in feigned pleasure, moaning in supposed delight, begging for more as she rode up and down on his stiff cock.
She did the same with the second man, except that while she was riding him she had to suck the cock of the first man who stood next to the chair. They moved to a narrow cot, then and she rode the first man's cock while the second forced his prick into her rectum. And still she writhed and moaned in pleasure, or at least, pretended pleasure.
In return for her good behaviour they let her lick bits of food from their fingers and palms, petted her, praised her, and did not beat her.
"Put this on," one of them ordered as the two men fixed their pants.
Sharon examined what they had thrown to her and blushed. It consisted of a thick, twenty inch dildo attached to a series of straps. One end of the dildo was smooth and had a small, soft branch leading off the main body at a steep angle. This was the end which she must thrust up into her pussy. The other half was thicker, covered in sharp little studs, and ended in an ugly, bulbous head.
Sharon knew which end she preferred to have inside her, and hurriedly began to slide the thing into her pussy as the men stared at her.
With the thing driven fully into her sex the little angled branch pressed up gently against her clitoris. The straps and buckles kept the thing firmly in place as she was led from the room and back into the room where Jennifer was kneeling.
Two cameras were focussed on the trembling, moaning, blindfolded girl and the men motioned Sharon forward.
"Do the whore up the asshole," one instructed. "And don't be gentle or you'll take her place. Got it, slut?"
"I won't! I won't!!" Sharon exclaimed fearfully.
The man gripped her hair and his eyes bored into her. "I want enthusiasm. I want to see you use this bitch like she was made for it. I want to see those tits squeezed and that ass bouncing while you ram into it. You got me?"
She nodded shakily.
She moved up behind the girl and sank to her knees behind her trembling, shaking body. She took some comfort from Jennifer being blindfolded and not knowing who was, but she had barely begun to work the thick, bulbous head of the ugly dildo into the girl's puckered anal opening when one of the men removed the girl's blindfold, then undid her gag and pulled that free, as well.
The girl choked and sobbed, gasping weakly and raggedly.
"Please!" she gasped, her voice hoarse. "Please!"
Sharon forced the dildo in, flinching a little as Jennifer sobbed brokenly and cried out in pain. Frightened herself, she threw her hips forward, ramming the dildo up into the girl's anus, jerking it in and out as her arms went around her and her hands began to roughly squeeze and knead the girl's big breasts.
She began to hammer her hips into Jennifer's bottom, ripping the thick dildo up and down the girl's rectal tube, frantic to make the men happy and keep from being punished again. Despite their hoods she could sense they were pleased with her, and felt almost deliriously relieved. She continued to pump into Jennifer, ignoring the girl's sobs and despairing cries of pain.
She bent forward, licking and kissing and biting at the side of the bound girl's throat just below where the rope was digging into the soft flesh, squeezing her own breasts into the girl's back as she roughly sodomized her.
She was a little light headed with the energy, and wondered dizzily how long it had been since she had slept. Yet she never stopped her hips moving, and oddly, began to feel a little heat between her legs as the dildo inside her twisted, and the little sliver rubbed across her clit. The girl's back felt soft and warm against her breasts, and felt a strange stirring at the power she felt over her.
Jennifer Hewett was one of those women she had often felt terribly jealous of. Unlike her she was a genuine film star, one who had won academy awards and much critical praise. No one sneered at her skills or looked at her as a cheap, tawdry actress who exploited her body. Yet she was also intensely beautiful in a soft, wide-eyed, innocent looking way, and Sharon had often admired her full busted body and wished to make love to her.
Now she was, after a fashion, with the slut completely under her control.
She felt a hot, bubbling surge of power between her legs, power and sexual hunger. The video might cripple or end her career, but that seemed unimportant now. All that counted was the hear and now, with coping with and surviving these brutal men.
"All right. You can move her if you want, change her, do whatever you want to her. Just make sure it's hot. Take her over to the mat in the corner and use some of those toys on the table near it."
Sharon was momentarily confused by the words, not knowing how to react or what to do, then seized on the one command. She drew the thick dildo slowly out of the depths of the girl's anus and then tugged the noose wide enough to slip it over her head.
"Thank you! Thank you!" the girl whimpered, her voice hoarse and teary.
Without the noose she sank back against Sharon, moaning and weeping as the pressure finally came off her knees.
Sharon unbuckled the straps holding her ankles to her thighs and once again the girl sobbed in pain and relief. Sharon held her, stroking her sympathetically, but then, remembering the men looking on, began to fondle her breasts again.
"Move over into the corner," she ordered.
But the girl could not move, or at least, would not, and Sharon grew suddenly frightened the men would grow impatient and beat her. She pulled on Jennifer's hair until the girl cried out in pain.
"Move!" she ordered, throwing her forward onto her belly.
She stood up, the ugly dildo still jutting obscenely from between her legs. There was a thin riding crop on the table the man had pointed out, and she stepped to it and picked it up, then turend and, after a moment of anxious hesitation, brought the crop whistling down across Jennifer's bottom.
"Move!" she cried as the girl yelped in pain.

There was something darkly exciting by the girl's unwilling response, her desperate lurch forward. Sharon brought the crop down on her bottom again and Jennifer cried out once again, twisting on the floor, trying to writhe forward on her belly, legs still white, knees dark angry red, hands bound behind her neck.
She whipped her again and again, forcing the sobbing, moaning girl to wriggle forward on her belly. When she got to the mat she lifted her hips up and slapped her bottom, then thrust the ugly, bulbous head into her shaven pussy and began to rape her, thrusting hard and fast as the men and cameras looked on.
She slapped the girl's bottom as she raped her, and pulled on her hair. She felt powerful and at the same time knew a strange, tingling sexual heat at the forbidden nature of what she was doing, at the brazenness of raping a girl in front of cameras, in front of witnesses, raping Jennifer Hewett, the pretentious little slut.
And what crime was it, really? Hadn't the slut spread her legs for half the men in Hollywood? And wasn't Sharon only trying to keep from being hurt? What court would find her guilty of anything?
She reached down the girl's body and slapped at her big breasts, then squeezed at them and twisted, drawing cries of pain from the shuddering young woman. The cries made Sharon feel powerful and hot.
When she stopped, she gathered up two more big, studded dildos, forcing each into the girl's pussy and anus to the hilt. Then she removed the strap-on and lay back, guiding Jennifer's mouth in against her sex.
"Do me," she ordered, her voice shaky, filled with anxiety that the men would disapprove, and a dark, twisted sexual hunger. "Come on, slut. Do me," she ordered.
And Jennifer began to, pushing her trembling tongue out to lap ineffectually at Sharon's bald pussy. Sharon twisted her hair and she redoubled her efforts, licking more passionately, more desperately, sliding her lips up over the other actress's clit and sucking rythmically.


F I V E


A flurry of new video clips had been released over the first few days of Foster's investigation. The early ones had shown Donnelly stripping and lap dancing with two hooded men, then fucking them. The men looked suspiciously like the ones Hewett had been doing in one of her clips, and a close examination had proved they were, indeed, the same two guys.
Then had come a clip of Hewett, apparently taken through one way glass, straddling a long, thick pole and masturbating to repeated climaxes.
Since they were two of Hollywood's most lusted after young actresses the clips were a huge draw.
But then had come other clips, clips of the girls being whipped and tortured, clips where they begged and sobbed in misery and screamed in pain. The consensus now was that they were both being held against their will, beaten, tortured, and raped. The FBI now had a full blown task force investigating, and Foster had been warned off.
The videos clips began to disappear as respectable web site operators took them down, and the authorities began to warn that those showing them would be charged. Yet that seemed to only excite people's interests more. People were, if anything, even more fascinated at the knowledge the girls were being raped and abused.
Where before the videos had only been embarrassing sex tapes they were now the inexorable draw of a messy car crash. Men and woman who had shown little interest in them before were now drawn to them, watching in morbid fascination as the two girls were tortured and raped before their very eyes, feeling guilt and arousal at the same time.
Every time a new clip was posted to an unknowing web site and news filtered out floods of people overloaded the servers to get at it, downloading and watching them in darkened rooms, the excitement of the forbidden clutching at their chests as they watched the beautiful young actresses being throat raped or whipped.
By the time the authorities closed down a web site it was far too late, and copies were being traded and posted all across the internet, on servers in Russia and Spain and Thailand. Those who would keep people from seeing them fought a losing battle as more and more of the world turned to the clips in helpless fascination.
And they were fascinating. Foster admitted it to himself, if not to anyone else. Something about them caught at his mind, at the darkness there, at the animal inside him which wanted to throw beautiful women down onto all fours and plunge his cock into them.
And then the two began appearing together, causing a new sensation. Donnelly was a real bitch, people would say to each other, awe in their voices. Yet there was admiration, too, for the way the girl forced the meek, submissive Hewett to perform for her and on her, for the beauty of her young body as she arched her back in pleasure, coming against Hewett's tongue, or rolled her hips in sadistic heat while she pounded thick, strap-ons into Hewett's trembling body.
Even in Hollywood, among the set who knew both girls, there was a morbid fascination with the video clips, and excited whispers and discussions among actors and actresses trying desperately to condemn what they had watched and show no sign of how hot the videos had made them feel.
There was fear, too, however, as even actresses which found the videos thrilling hired extra security to make sure they weren't the next to star in them. Short actresses were especially careful, and short busty actresses even moreso.
And none were more fearful than Jessica Lynn Howard.
Her career had begun in much the same way as Sharon's, though in more quality television shows. Lately she had begun to do movies. No one was going to be nominating her for academy awards but she was still getting rich on them. The movies were exploitive and showed more of her considerable cleavage than her acting talents, but they were still, she consoled herself, movies. And she would eventually get better roles.
She was short, like Sharon and Jennifer, and at least appeared busty due to her slim figure. In fact, her bust was discussed more than anything else about her, far more than her long brown hair and pretty face. There were entire web sites devoted to her breasts, and showing pictures of them at the best angles.
She had never done nudity, however, or even partial nudity. Nor did she intend to, in Hollywood films or for the sickos who had kidnapped Jennifer and Sharon. And so she had hired three large, beefy bodyguards to travel with her at all times and stay at her house guarding her while she slept.
There was much speculation about who would be the next actress to join Jennifer and Sharon, and many had noted the her physical similarity to them, especially her breasts. Foster agreed with many that she was the most likely next target. Of course the kidnappers could be scared off, knowing how obvious a move it was, and go for some tall, blonde somewhere. But Foster didn't think so. These guys were incredibly cocky and daring. They would take what they wanted and flaunt it.
He didn't think they would have much trouble with the beefy bodyguards, and decided to watch over her himself, discretely, at a distance. His hope was to follow her after she was grabbed and find out where Hewett was, freeing her and Donnelly and collecting the considerable reward now being offered by various studios and agencies for their release.
Not that there weren't other offers being made.
The internet was filled with people posting their suggestions about what the kidnappers should do to the two, or force them to do. And numerous people claiming to be the kidnappers and discussing what they should do next had been tracked down, only to be exposed as frauds. There were a lot of people offering money to see "special" clips, to be filmed for them, or to take part in their rape and abuse.
And there was some sign the kidnappers were watching certain web sites and groups and reading the requests. New clips were turning up with the two kidnapped girls following the wishes of those groups almost exactly - which only led to more excitement and more suggestions from the hundreds of thousands avidly following the drama.
The feeling that Sharon was a cowardly bitch to cooperate with the men to the degree she was, and the suspicion she wasn't entirely acting when she climaxed made her target of a lot of violent suggestions, foremost among them that the tables be turned and Jennifer got the chance to punish her for a change. When that was done and the video released there were excited scrambles to get at it and view it, and then thousands filled the internet with their satisfaction.


"B-but I did everything you wanted," Sharon whimpered.
"Suck," the man ordered.
Sharon was on her toes, her legs spread wide, bound to opposite poles, her belly bent over a thin, horizontal bar.
The camera watched as Jennifer fastened a thin strap tightly around her waist to hold her in place, then took her hands, one at a time and pulled them straight out to either side of her body, wrapping a narrow wire around her thumbs and then tying them in place.
The hesitant young woman then combed Sharon's thick dark hair, bound it into a single tail springing from the top of her head, and pulled it up to tie to a cord above her and hold her head in place.
Wearing the same thick dildo Sharon had first used on her she had then, under the close eye of the cameras, wound two more wires, these much thinner, around Sharon's nipples and pulled them down sharply to tie to rings set in the floor.
Jennifer had taken a riding crop, then a paddle, then a cane to Sharon's rounded bottom, and then fucked the sobbing girl hard with the dildo before pulling back and ramming it down her anus.
She showed far more hesitation and remorse at Sharon's screams of pain than Sharon ever had, but she obeyed their captors regardless, slapping her pelvis into Sharon's bottom and pounding the dildo up and down her rectal tunnel.
She had then been given a small cattle prod. It had a long metal tube jutting from the handle, and she began to reluctantly torture the bound girl with it.
At first she merely brushed it against the wires digging into Sharon's nipples, and drew back, startled, at the girl's violent response. But soon she got used to it, and under the direction of their captors began to apply it more freely, letting the sizzling, crackling metal bar glide over Sharon's dangling breasts, along her ribs, and along her spine.
Sharon's warbling shrieks of agony unnerved her, but she dared not disobey, letting the metal stroke along the violently trembling girl's pussy before slowly sheathing it, forcing it deep, and then pressing the button.
She held it there, staring anxiously at one of her captors who held his hand up, waiting for him to signal she was free to pull the thing out. She was horrified at Sharon's screams, for while she had grown to dislike the girl, grown to think poorly of her, she had always known Sharon was merely a tool and toy for their captors.
Now she was holding the thing metal pipe deep in Sharon's pussy as the girl thrashed violently in front of her, her voice a gurgling wail of agony as the electricity continued to tear through her vitals. Yet Sharon's screams of agony went on and on - and on, as the man held his hand aloft.
Finally he dropped his hand and she released the button, sliding the stainless steel tube up out of the girl's pussy. The man gestured with his finger, and she flinched, but obeyed, moving around in front of Sharon. Her upper body was hanging by the hair now, her eyes glazed, her jaw slack. She was drooling.
The man forced her in front of Sharon, then bent her forward and unzipped, pushing his erection up into her rectum. He pumped her several times, then whispered into her ear.
Jennifer moaned, but could hardly imagine disobeying. She pushed the prod forward, sliding the gleaming steel into Jennifer's open mouth, sliding it along her limp tongue. The tube was ten inches or so long, and she pushed it forward, forcing the end down the girl's throat. Then pressed the button.
Sharon's glazed eyes bulged white, and Jennifer gasped as the girl began to shriek, her teeth and lips tearing at the metal, her head trying to twist free, her bottom bucking violently. She howled and howled, and then her eyes seemed to loose focus, to loose awareness. She continued to give out choked, gagging shrieks, but her eyes seemed to loose all consciousness, all sense of humanity, to become those of a mindless, maddened beast.
Meanwhile, the man behind her began to roll and thrust, pumping his cock in her rectum.

Hannigan waited nervously. The tip had been from a man he considered a usually reliable pervert, but there had been such an uproar about the girls that it had driven some of his kookier contacts even more off balance.
He gasped as the cell phone rang, then flipped it open.
"Hannigan."
"All right, Hannigan," a voice growled. "Listen carefully. Follow my instructions exactly of we'll drop you."
"I'll do what you want," he said.
"We've been watching you for the last half hour. We're watching you now."
He looked around nervously.
"Are you ready for your first order?"
"Yes," he said.
"Throw this cell phone into the lake, then reach under the bench beside you and pick up the cell phone there. We'll call you."
The man hung up and he stared at the phone, then reached beneath the bench and felt the other taped to it. He threw the first into the dark lake and pulled the other free as it rang.
"Good," the voice said. "Now strip."
"Excuse me?"
"You shy, Hannigan? That's not what we heard about you."
"I just don't want to be made a fool of."
The voice chuckled throatily. "That's the risk you take. Strip. We want to see you aren't wired. Strip and then walk around the lake to your right."
The man hung up, and after a long moment of indecision Hannigan obeyed, stripping naked and then, holding the cell phone, walked uneasily around the lake. It was dark and they were in an isolated location, but the thought of coming upon strangers was still unnerving.
When he was halfway around the phone rang. He stopped.
"Yes?"
"Turn right, walk for about two hundred yards."
He obeyed, his heart beating faster.
The phone rang again and he answered it.
"Turn left. Walk for one hundred yards."
Again he obeyed, again getting another phone call.
"Go to the bushes to your right. You'll find a small canoe. There is a mask inside. Put it on, then get in and paddle across the lake to where you see a small camp fire."
He obeyed and paddled awkwardly across the lake. There were people around the campfire waiting for him, and he felt suddenly shy, putting his legs together as he came closer. There were other boats there, as well, and he realized the half dozen men there were, like him, naked.
Were they other reporters, he wondered angrily, people he knew, competitors? He couldn't tell for, like him, they were all masked.
He climbed out of the canoe and stood uneasily before them. His cell phone rang and he raised it to his ears.
"Turn right. Walk three hundred yards," the voice said. "Tell the others."
He heard a click and looked at the other masked men.
"Uhm, we're to go three hundred yards that way," he said, pointing.
Feeling ridiculous, surrounded by naked men, he made his way through tall grasses and into the trees, then along a narrow path to the edge of a road where a truck waited. The rear of the truck was open and a voice called out to them.
"Get into the back of the truck."
They obeyed, and then a hooded man showed up and slammed the rear down. The truck lurched forward, and the clung to the sides, sitting anxiously.
"All right," a voice said over a small speaker. "You're all here for the same reason, to fuck those two sluts. One of you is a reporter. One of you is a politician. One of you is a well known producer. The other four had the most imaginative entries in our internet contest. You will soon get to see the lovely stars of our series. You will soon get to feel their lovely lips wrapped around your cocks. Be aware that we are armed, and that any attempt to stray from the program, any attempt by one of you to act like some kind of hero, will serve only to get him killed."
"And don't think you are going to get out of here without dropping a few loads in these ladies. If you think you can just watch and not do anything to incriminate yourself we're going to show you differently. No one is leaving without knowingly raping these two girls. If you want to talk about that afterwards," the voice chuckled, "That's up to you."
Hannigan blinked in the darkness. He had had no intention of incriminating himself, of touching the girls. He just wanted an exclusive story from the inside, perhaps even an interview with the two beautiful young sex slaves. It would make him famous around the world.
But not if he actually took part in their rape.
A small, squirming part of his mind exulted at the thought of running his hands over the two lovely girl's sweet bodies, of plunging his cock into their tight young bodies. But he tried to reject it. How could he write a story if he did that? What would happen to him if it became known? He'd lose his job, or go to prison!
"Wait a minute. I changed my mind," he said.
"Too late, asshole," one of the other men said with a sneer.
"Shut the fuck up, faggot," another snarled. "We're gonna fuck those bitch's brains out! You don't want to do that!?"
"Do you know how lucky you are?!" another demanded.
"No talking," a voice called over the speaker.
The truck turned onto a highway, the ride going much smoother, and picked up the pace. The men sat waiting in the back, and Hannigan could almost smell their eagerness to get their hands on the tortured actresses.
The truck stopped, and his pulse began to race. The back was thrown open and a masked man carrying a gun backed away. "Everyone out."
The men tumbled from the truck and then, following the man's instructions, moved down a narrow corridor, then down a flight of stairs.
And there they were, and hearts and cocks both rose as the men, mouths open, shuffled slowly into the room to where two of the world's most famous actresses knelt waiting for them.
Jennifer and Sharon knelt side by side, knees spread wide to reveal bare pussies. They wore thin metal collars and gold shackles around their ankles and wrists. Their wrists were clipped together, but they were not otherwise bound.
They were young and beautiful, and all of the men gazed at them in lust, admiration, and no small awe to be in their presence. For years the two had been among those held up by the media, by TV, Hollywood, magazines, newspapers to be the pinnacle of feminine beauty and desirability, the stuff of hopeless fantasies and adolescent wet dreams. To even be in the same room as one of the famous young goddesses would have awed them. To meet them would be to have a tail to tell forever.
One of the hooded men stepped behind them and laid a hand on each girl's head.
"Which one wants to be the first to rape one of these fucking whores?" he asked.
Both girls flinched a little, but looked up steadily at the group of naked men before them.
"Me," one of the men said a little shakily.
"What was the name you used?"
The man cleared his throat. "Frank."
The man turned to Jennifer. "You wanted a table, and some materials," the man said. "It's there. "Position her as you described."
For fucking the two was not the only thing they were there for. They were taking part in the videos, and video cameras watched them intently.
The man who had called himself Frank stepped forward hesitantly, trembling a little, and reached for Jennifer, stroking his fingers through her soft hair. He gripped it and pulled her tentatively to her feet, and then, moaning weakly, his cock fully erect, ran his hands hungrily over her nude body, repeatedly squeezing and kneading her breasts, bringing his head down to lick and suck and chew on her nipples.
"We don't have all day, Frank," the man said.
Frank gasped and raised his head, then pulled Jennifer towards the corner. He lifted the slim girl onto the table and had her lay back along it. The rope was coiled next to the table. He laid it across her forehead, then down to the rings set on the table, pinning her head down.
The next two loops went over her neck, again pinning her upper body to the table. He picked up a thick candle an pressed his fingers against the sides of the girl's jaw.
"Open your mouth, Jennifer," he ordered, his voice quivering with excitement.
She obeyed, and he thrust the candle against her mouth.
"Wider," he demanded.
She opened her mouth wider, then still wider, and her teeeth scraped over the wax as the candle was jammed slowly down into her.
Frank then lifted the girl's legs up and folded them back against her chest. He raised her bottom up off the table, lifting it higher and higher, folding it back above her until knees were pressed against the table on either side of her head. He bound them in place there with the girl looking up at her pussy, then took a hollow metal sphere and thrust it into Jennifer's pussy. The metal protruded out over the candle, and when he lit the candle the flame danced up around it.
The cameras watched as the candle burned, watched as the wax began to trickle down its sides and over the girl's lips. Meanwhile the metal tube was heating, and Jennifer began to moan and wriggle as the heat grew more intense.
Frank grinned bashfully, but proudly at the cameras, then picked up a studded dildo and began to work it into the trembling girl's anus, pumping it sharply in and out as her muffled cries grew louder. The wax trickled down over her chin and cheeks now, and he reached down carefully to break away wax building up in front of her nostrils.
"Phil, you're next," the hooded man said.
Another of the men moved forward, this one grabbing Sharon by the hair and yanking her violently to her feet. She cried out in pain and he slapped her face roughly, then, as Frank had done, began to excitedly fondle her breasts and pussy and bottom.
"There is the frame you described," the hooded man said, pointing.
Phil nodded and yanked the whimpering girl over to it.
The frame was of two by fours. He stared at it excitedly, for while he had imagiend it he was now seeing it for the first time in reality.
A two by four on its edge sloped up from the floor to join the body of the frame, and he had Sharon straddled the board and move forard until her belly was pressed against a flat board. He bent her over, thrusting her head between another pair of two by fours. The boards were attached by thick metal braces and he began to turn the wheels to push them more tightly together, squeezing her head between them.
He halted and then turned to another pair of two by fours, these ones laid on their edge below Sharon's chest. Her breasts were hanging between them and as he began to tighten the cranks the boards began to squeeze the soft flesh tightly.
He hurried around to the front of the frame and picked up a thick wooden tube. With hardly a word he gripped Sharon's hair, forcing her mouth open. As with Jennifer, however, her mouth did not open quite wide enough, and he twisted her hair to force it wider, then pulled even more savagely, worried he had sent in the wrong numbers, or whoever had produced the frame had measured wrong. The girl screamed and her mouth inched slightly wider, wide enough to thrust the wooden tube through her teeth.
He grinned in relief, then pushed the tube deeper, and still deeper. The tube was two feet long, and he pushed it down through the girl's throat, down into her stomach. There were small holes in the sides, and the tube was hollow. She would thus be able to breath.
With only the last few inches protruding from the wide eyed girl's lips he picked up the wooden plate which the pole fit into, then hammered it into place against the frame. There were two thinner pieces of wood which were protruding from the plate, and which pinned the girl's nose between them. Working carefully, he took the thin, sharp metal screw he had ordered and slipped it into the hole in one of the wooden braces, then pushed harder.
The girl's eyes bulged and she screamed, tears filling her eyes and begining to spill down her cheeks. The needle sharp screw pierced her nose at the bottom, just between the two nostrils, then exited to slide into the opposite brace and there be screwed into place.
Giggling, Phil moved behind her and picked up a small nail, leaning forward and placing it against the inside of her right earlobe then pushing it against the frame pinning her head. He picked up a small, heavy hammer, and began to hammer, as her screams rose. It took little effort. The nail pierced her earlobe and he hammered it into the board, then did the same to her other earlobe.
Backing up a little, he picked up another thin nail. Sharon's sex was grinding against the sloping two by four which she straddled. He delicately spread the lips of her sex, searching for her clitoris, pressed down on the soft flesh around it to pin it to the board, then pressed the thin nail to the soft, pink bud and brought the nail down hard.
One hammer smashed through the flesh and pinned it to the board, and her choked screams filled the room as he hammered again and again to pound the head of the nail down harder.
He danced with glee, moving back to the side of the frame, turning the cranks to squeeze the two by fours in harder against the girl's breasts. Her nipples were squeezed down against a lower board, and another pair of nails were driven into the nipples, the heads hammered until they crushed the pink buttons to the wood.
Two wooden tubes, each as wide as the one in her mouth, were rammed into the girl's rectum and pussy, and then attached to baseboards hammered against the frame.
Jennifer's face was now almost a mask of wax now, and her bottom was writhing and twisting as she screamed in pain, the metal burning her pussy. One of the hooded men congratulated Frank, who blew out the candle, then began to pull the hot metal out of her pussy and tear the wax away from her beautiful face. He untied her, except for her hands, and then climbed atop the table between the sobbing young woman's legs and thrust his erection into her aching sex.
This was his reward for his cleverness, and the others watched him enviously, watched as his hands squeezed and hungrily mashed the soft flesh of Jennifer's breasts, and his fat, hairy bottom rose and fell furiously, his cock pumping wildly inside her.
Phil then began to disassemble his frame, though at first only enough to remove the thick wooden posts from Sharon's pussy and anus. Thereafter he stood behind her, thrusting his erection into her pussy, then, after a dozen strokes, her anus, then back into her pussy, shifting eagerly back and forth.

Hannigan watched with a mixture of excitement and fear. His pervert contact had come up with the punishment he had designed for Sharon, but now he was going to be the one who had to go through with it. These men were obviously nuts, and any deviation threatened to get him killed.
At least his punishment wasn't complicated, like the fucking carpenter over there, and as a consolation, he'd get to fuck the little bitch afterwards.
He had met Donnelly on a few occasions, while covering stories, and seen her on many more. He'd always thought of her as a snotty, arrogant little bitch. That didn't mean he wasn't attracted to her on a physical level however, and, he admitted to himself, he'd thought on many occasions of how good it would feel to put the little brat over his lap and tan her ass.
Now he would get the chance, he thought, a trifle dazedly.






SIX



They took her just about where Foster had thought they would.
There was something about these guys that just smelled of arrogance, so where else to take Jessica Howard but in the studio where she and her bodyguards would feel safest. He knew it was a gamble staking her out there. The other girls had been taken quietly, probably at their own homes. But that was before the kidnappers had announced themselves.
Now he was gambling on a splash, on something outrageous. And he wasn't disappointed. He was, however, caught off guard to the point he almost missed it. He had followed Howard's car to the set that morning, hanging back, watching alertly for trouble. By the time they got to the studio he was more or less relaxed and convinced that the girl was safe.
The car turned into the studio and stopped at the guard's shack. The drivers window opened as two uniformed security flacks leaned in and then, suddenly, one of them was yanking the rear door open and lifting the slight young actress out, hefting her on his shoulder, and turning to follow the other guard who had trotted to a nearby parked car.
There was no sign of any reaction from her bodyguards, and Foster stared in astonishment as they tossed the girl into the car and screeched out of the studio. He'd been prepared for it for the last two days and almost missed his chance, turning at the last minute and snatching up the rifle, thrusting it out the open window and taking aim with the scope.
He fired, and then held his breath as the car screeched around a nearby corner and disappeared. He turned quickly and turned on the radio set linked to the bug he'd fired and got a strong single moving away.
He took off after them, hurrying. No one else seemed to have even noticed anything happening, as the limo remained in the studio's driveway and the guard shack remained empty. He turned the corner, accelerating, watching the signal, turning, and then turning again. He was sure he was going to lose them. The bug he'd fired into the car would be useless once they switched cars, which they most certainly would.
He slowed at the signal strengthened, head swivelling from side to side, eyes flicking expertly around the side streets and alleys. He almost missed them. He picked up the sight of the blue Chevy as he passed the small parking lot. It was empty. The place next to it was empty, too, the only empty spot in the lot, and an SUV was just pulling out onto the street.
He halted and brought up the rifle. He had time now, and took careful aim at the rear door to the SUV, then fired and quickly dropped the rifle.
They would hear the sound of its impact. It would sound like a rock hitting the door. But hopefully they would see nothing and suspect less.
It was a very special bug, one developed by the FBI. It was much like a soft, oversized bullet, designed to penetrate the soft, aluminum skin of a car, then collapse, except for its small hard interior, down into the inside of the frame. If the kidnappers checked their door when they got wherever they were going they would note the hole and likely think someone had fired at them. But the odds against them suspecting a bug was sitting in the middle of their hollow door between the inner and outer shells were pretty high.
Still, it was a risky move, one brought on only by the need to follow them to their final destination, and the impossibility of doing so all by himself when they were surely watching for any sign of pursuit. If it worked he could follow them at his leisure, out of their sight.

Right up to the moment he did it he had thought he wouldn't, that somehow he could avoid it. But then it was his turn, and their eyes were all turned to him, and despite himself he had an erection, had gotten hugely excited watching a fat guy named "Tom", pounding his beefy prick down into little Jennifer Hewett's pussy, almost breaking her back in half as he rode her with a frenzied excitement that had grins on the other male faces.
The frame they'd built to "his" specifications consisted of two upright two by fours connected by another overhead. Very basic stuff. There were simple rails mounted on the vertical two by fours, and a pair of rings set on wheels inside the tracks.
Sharon Donnelly was trembling a little, more than a little worse for wear. They had placed rings in her newly pierced ears, nipples, clitoris and nose but smelling salts and icy water in the face had pretty much woken her out of her daze.
Now she was sat between the two frames, her knees drawn up against her chest and then pulled slowly aside and restrains at ankle and knee latched to the wheels inside the rails. She had hissed and gasped and whimpered when her legs were spread as wide as they were, but compared to what she'd already gone through it was certainly bearable.
They lifted her up, her legs sliding up along the rail, and there was a small notch set into the floor just below where she had sat. He was nervous as he took the thing out of its corner and let everyone see it, and then tried to avoid Sharon's eyes as he bent before her and fed the screw at the base of a stainless steel tube into the notch to lock it firmly in place.
The mirrored metal tube was rounded at the top, but as thick as a can of beer, and it only got thicker the further down it went. By the middle it was as wide as a champaign bottle.
The men chuckled as Sharon was lowered again, her pussy pressing against the round top. She moaned and whimpered in pain as they slowly let more and more of her weight down and the pressure on her well-used opening mounted.
Of course the device was well-oiled, and within seconds so was she. She had already been raped several times by large objects and her pussy muscles a little numbed. Still, she cried out as the thing managed to grind its way through her opening, clenching her teeth and closing her eyes.
The men holding her pulled her arms apart, and set her hands on handles set into the sides of the frame, then let her go. She immediately tried to raise herself up, but the wheels gripping her ankles and knees would only go in one direction. That left her with few options but to hold herself up, and her muscles were simply not up to the task.
The grinning men watched and waited as she began to sweat and pant and her arms began to tremble and shake. Soon her skin was glistening and her body was easing slowly down farther on the thick pipe.
She cried out as her body inched lower, as the thick metal widened and forced her aching pussy opening further apart.
The minutes ticked by. Sharon was streaming with sweat now, desperately sobbing and gasping for breath, whimpering as her shaky arms weakened and she eased lower and still lower on the pipe. Each incremental drop caused a sobbing gasp of pain and a shudder as her pussy lips were stretched that much wider. Even four inches had her pussy dilated widely, but six had her crying tears of pain, her tight pussy lips gaping.
And still she slid lower, sobbing and crying out in pain as her weight forced inch after inch of the fat tube up into her body.
Her arms simply gave up and she slid down several inches. Her head flung back and she shuddered, her jaw opening and closing in agony. Her trembling, shaking hands moved down to her groin, fingers fluttering, as if to clasp the metal and hold herself up, yet she was too weak.
Yet the fit was now so tight that her body did not sink further, at least, not immediately. Yet that was one of the reasons the tube was so well oiled. And so, as the eager, excited men watched, including, to his shame, Hannigan, she began to slide down. The movement was slow and even and almost gentle as the champaign sized pipe pushed up into her slender body and her eyes widened and bulged.
She let out a long, gurgling moan as she sank fully down on the pipe, and then halted with her buttocks inches from the floor and the thick tip of the pipe jammed up against the bottom of her pussy. More pain came now, as the pressure of her weight forced the rounded head to grind up against her cervix. Yet it was wide enough not to cause permanent injury as her weight rested upon it.
She trembled and sobbed weakly, and Hannigan stepped forward, gripping her thick hair and yanking her head back.
He was feeling a little dazed himself. This was, after all, the exalted person of Sharon Donnelly, and here he was a dumb, nobody schmuck of a writer for a third rate paper.
He grinned and thrust his cock into her open mouth, not hesitating at all as he rammed himself down into her throat.
Snotty bitch doesn't look so snotty now, he thought with a mental sneer.
He gripped the back of her head, marvelling at how soft and thick and rich her hair was, grinding his pelvis forward, mashing her face into his groin, feeling the tightness of her throat around his thick, pulsing cock. He bucked wildly, tearing his cock up and down in her throat, grunting with excitement and effort as he used her without restraint.
What a rush, he thought. I'm throat fucking Sharon Donnelly!
Unbelievable!
He pulled back, ripping his cock free, fisting it, and stared into the dazed girl's eyes as he came in her face.
Later, he would find a way to meet her again, assuming she had a career left, and smirk to himself knowing what he'd done, and that she had no clue who he was.
Through the night the seven men used and abused the two bound actresses. Hannigan got to rape Jennifer Hewett, and then took Sharon again, sodomizing her while she knelt on all fours. It grew late, and then early, but no one seemed tired except the girls. The hooded men disappeared after a while, but no one missed them, enjoying the freedom of being able to do anything they wanted to the lovely young girls.
There was food in a room up the hall, and they ate, and drank, wondering where their hosts were. There were no windows, and the only way out was threw a steel door which was locked from the other side. No one was too worried, however, that they'd been forgotten. They were too busy enjoying themselves on the bodies of two of Hollywood's most lovely actresses.
And then the hooded men were back, and as one the seven naked men turned to stare as they led someone new into the room.
It was a girl. That much was obvious. She was short and had generous breasts. She was also clothed, wearing a blue silk blouse and tight blank pants with high heeled black boots. Her arms were bound behind her back and she was wearing a hood.
Everyone stared, shocked, appalled, delighted. The hooded men had captured someone new. For this reason most of the men felt a little uneasy. They had watched what had been done to Hewett and Donnelly for days, and somehow, in their minds, the two were sufficiently violated that further attacks did not seem all that bad. But this was someone new, right off the street, and suddenly, to shame in some cases, excitement in others, they realized this was a young girl who they ought to be protecting rather than attacking.
The hooded men undid the wriggling girl's pants and shoved them down, and the watching men licked their lips and shuffled nervously, looking away, but unable to look away long. The girl was wearing thin purple panties, a tiny triangle of fabric over her groin with a pair of slim threads easing up over wide hips.
Her blouse was torn open and a lacy purple bra showed, and the creamy skin of her cleavage. One of the men yanked her boots off, then her pants, and they held her, presenting her to the oggling men.
"What do you think, guys?" one of the hooded men said with a leer. "One world famous actress in the flesh."
The second man tore her blouse completely off and then ripped her bra open so that her breasts jiggled. He leered and squeezed one, then tore her bra off. Her breasts were beautiful, and the man holding her tilted her head back, grinning. The other man cupped her breasts and squeezed them up and together, then let them go. They were so firm they fairly sprang back into place the instant his hands slid off them.
He yanked her panties off and she was naked before them, a lush, beautiful body without a face, without a voice to beg for help or eyes to plead for mercy. They shuffled forward at the hooded men's urging and began to run their hands over her soft, clean flesh, squeezing and kneading and pinching. One man slapped at one breast and the girl made a muffled cry of pain.
They bent her over, and one of the hooded men moved behind her, forced her legs apart, and mounted her, thrusting his thick erection into her tight, furry opening. He rode her for a long minute before reaching forward and casually undoing the straps of her hood. He yanked it off, and there was a collective gasp of excitement as the thick rich hair was revealed, and Jessica Howard stared around her in horror.
They whispered her name aloud, and cocks began to rise with excitement. One man rushed forward, and the hooded men did nothing to restrain him. He gripped Jessica's hair and tore at her breasts with his hands, digging his eager finger into the soft flesh. Another tore at her gag, yanking it free, and she cried out in pain.
"Suck it! Suck it, Jessica!" he gasped excitedly, thrusting himself into her mouth.
And then they were surrounding her, hands fighting for possession of every inch of her body, stroking and fondling and pinching and pulling, slapping and caressing and groping her as the hooded man continued his firm, deep strokes and the man immediately before her began to excitedly pump his cock into her mouth, grinning down in delight at her wide, terrified eyes.
They feasted on her like starving dogs on a haunch of lamb, growling and grunting as they tore at her flesh with teeth and hands. The hooded man finished his rape and another man forced his way behind her, burying himself to the hilt before her aching sex could even close. After him came another man and then, shocking himself, Hannigan was there. Jessica Howard! He couldn't resist! He drove himself into her to the balls, pounding away at her upraised ass, grunting like an animal.

Her body jerked under the force of his blow, and shuddered as the man in front of her rammed his cock down her throat. Hannigan grinned at the man across the length of Jessica's body and the two leered at each other, hammering at the girl between them, pounding their organs into her soft, vulnerable flesh.

The man pulled out and spewed into her face, and another rushed in to take his place. Hannigan finished with a groan, and was quickly shouldered aside, another man ramming himself into her while driving a thick finger down into her wrinkled anal opening. He pumped for a minute, then drew his cock back and forced it into her rectum as her moans and writhing struggles grew suddenly more frantic.

They tore her off the table and lifted her into the air by her legs. The men on either side forced themselves into her pussy and rectum while another crouched at her head, ripped at her hair to force it back, and pounded himself into her throat.

Only after draining themselves in the sobbing, dazed actress did they ease back and relax, watching a little shamefaced as the two hooded men dragged the sobbing girl by across the floor by the hair.

There was a frame there none of them had taken much notice of. It consisted of a narrow triangle of wood laid across two pipes. It was no more than two inches wide at the bottom, and, of course, considerably less so at the top. A horizontal pipe protruded out to either side from behind the wooden triangle, and a metal post rose a couple of feet higher, a ring set in its top.
The two hooded men lifted the weeping girl up onto the narrow triangle of wood and settled her naked sex against its hard surface. Her body was then bent backwards, her hands lifted up and back above her head until they were locked firmly against the pipe at the back of the wood. Her hair was pulled down and roughly braided, then bound to a ring behind her, and then her ankles were lifted up and locked to either side of the pipe protruding out from the rear of the triangle.
All of Jessica Howard's weight now fell on her sex, on that narrow wedge of wood jammed up between the swollen, well raped lips of her pussy.
The watching men stared with awe at her taut, round breasts thrust out from her tightly bent chest. They stared at her chest rising and falling and the pink nipples swollen by their ardent licking, tonguing and sucking. Teeth marks could be seen on the pale ivory flesh as the pressure against her sex began to tell and she began to groan with real pain.
"It is time for you all to leave," one of the hooded men said. "We must train our new actress and ready the script for her future performances."

The other man drew out a long, thin whip and moved into place in front of Jessica Howard, then sliced the whip across her proud, beautiful breasts. She shrieked in pain, writhing on her narrow wedge, sobbing in agony as the wedge was driven up harder against her aching, burning mons.
The whip sliced across her breasts again, and again, and again, and the men watched, spellbound, entranced.
"Out. Now," the other man said in irritation. "You have been lucky to get Howard as well as the others. Now move."
Hannigan and the others shuffled out, all except one who had apparently impressed the hooded men with his eagerness and the size of his cock. He was permitted to stay as the rest got back into the truck and were driven away.
Hannigan felt ashamed of himself as he sat hugging his knees. Yet he tried to console himself with the belief he could have done nothing to affect the fates of those three girls. Had he objected, refused to take part, he would have been beaten, perhaps even killed. No, he thought, comfortingly, he could have done nothing.
I fucked Jessica Lynn Howard!
He shook his head, still slightly in awe. He had fucked her in every hole, yes, and gotten that little twat Sharon Donnelly too. He felt a little sorry about Jennifer Hewett, who was so sweet, but still trembled with excited remembrance as he recalled how tight her pussy had been.
He couldn't write about it, except anonymously, but he would remember it the rest of his life.
He made his way back to the lake, found his clothes, thankfully still in place, and drove back home. He felt relieved, almost giddy, that he had gotten away with it, and still amazed at himself for what he had done. When the phone rang he jerked, startled, suddenly fearful. Would it be them, demanding money, threatening to expose him?
He picked the receiver up nervously.
"Hannigan? Where the fuck have you been?" his editor demanded.
"Uhm, looking into the video kidnappings," he said.
"You seen the latest clips? You know they've gone live?"
"What? Which clips? Live?"
"Clips of Hewett and Donnelly being tortured and raped by a bunch of guys, and now Jessica Howard live on some kind of sawhorse thing."
Hannigan sat down and rubbed his chin. "Live?"
"Yeah. Somehow they're transmitting a live picture of Howard riding some kind of narrow piece of wood, complete with sound, over the internet."
"How the hell can they do that without the authorities catching them?"
"Damned if I know. I guess they've gone to some effort to disguise where they're sending it from, but it's a live feed, just like those hamster cams and the zoo cams."
"Where is it?"
"All over the fucking internet."
He quickly turned on his computer and searched out the pictures of Howard. It was easy to find, but less easy to see. Word was getting around. Floods of people were trying to sign on to the web sites where the video was being shown. Even the video clips of Sharon Donnelly being nailed to boards seemed to pale to insignificance next to a live feed showing Howard being tortured now.
And there it was, and he sighed in appreciation of the girl's lovely body, so perfectly positioned, her back arched so sharply with those gorgeous breasts thrusting out. God she was hot! The camera was positioned on her left and forward a little. He could see how the narrow triangle of wood had driven up between her pubic lips, could see the red lines across her chest and breasts from the whipping, could see her body glistening with sweat, and then he snapped on his speakers and heard her soft moans, whimpers and gasps, and his cock grew erect once more.

Jessica sobbed pitiously as the pain burned into her body from all sides. The worst was the narrow slat of wood she was straddling, wood which was jammed up into her soft sex with agonizing force by her own weight. The posts holding her feet up and back forced all her weight forward onto the soft flesh of her pussy, rather than allowing her to sit back on her tailbone.
Her back was violently arched, her hair pulled back sharply so that her scalp stung painfully. Her spine was cramping and throbbing with pain which seemed to grow worse with every passing minute. Her breasts throbbed hotly with every beat of her heart, and she was still in a state of shock that the men had actually whipped her breasts.
Her nipples were even hotter, stinging, for two clips had been snapped around the fat little buttons and they were being pulled forward somehow. She could not see how or why for her eyes were trained upwards at the ceiling, her head pulled back too far for her to see her own body.
She had thought nothing could be worse than the gang rape she had been subjected to, a gang rape done before video cameras and which she knew would soon be transmitted over the internet to millions of people. But now she discovered what Jennifer Hewett and Sharon Donnelly had already learned, that humiliation and rape were infinitely preferable to pain.
And yet, she was experiencing both, because the hooded man had taken great delight in directing her attention to the video camera, and in informing her that, unlike the clips taken of the other girls this would be a live show, and that hundreds and thousands, perhaps millions of people would be watching her live. And they would not be feeling sorry for her, he said. Instead they would be getting hot and aroused watching her beautiful body being displayed before them, watching her pain, hearing her cries.
Jessica was younger than Jennifer and Sharon, and considerably more innocent, but she had been in Hollywood long enough to know he was telling her the truth. She knew full well that there would be many people aroused at the sight of her this way, and it gnawed at her even as she whimpered at each new biting pain.
Yet it was almost an afterthought. The pain was what focussed her trembling mind, what flayed at her senses. It felt as if the wooden thing were being driven up into her abdomen, as if it were cutting through her sex and would soon split her in half. It was terrible, and relentless. There was no escaping it, no way to ease it and she sobbed pitifully as she begged them, if they were even still there, to let her down, promised to do anything they wanted.
It didn't matter that people were watching her on-line. It didn't matter that people would see, would hear. All she cared about was getting off the awful thing.
"Please!" she sobbed brokenly. "Oh please! I'll do anything! Let me fuck you! Let me suck your cocks! Please! Please!"
After an eternity someone appeared. She could not move her head to see his face, but could sense him beside her.
"Please!" she gasped. "I'll do anything!"
He knelt beside her and she felt his hand on her leg, then felt a strap going around both her legs just below the knees. After a moment the strap began to pull her downwards, forcing her sex down even harder against the wooden slat.
"Please!" she screamed! 'No!"
She howled with pain as the man rose, as the strap pulled her down harder.
"Only twenty more pounds," the man said. "You'll really whine when it gets up to a hundred."
He chuckled and walked away.

Foster muttered angrily. He knew they were in this area somewhere. He had followed as closely as he dared, but by the time he had come upon the SUV it had been in a parking lot in an industrial area, and there was no sign which of the nearby buildings Jessica had been taken to. The most likely was the on it was parked against, but it had been locked tight. He'd called for the police, and the police had called for a warrant. By the time they got in they had found nothing. Had Jessica even been in there? He wasn't sure.
He broke into several nearby buildings, but there was still no sign of the kidnappers. But damn it, they had to be around here somewhere! He went to city hall and looked up the blueprints for the buildings in that area, looking for something which would match what had been visible on the videos. He discounted anything which would be too public, anything where there would be too many workers around to see, and after a few hours found what he considered a likely prospect.
It was a security company, of all things. It had an office in a decrepit two story structure only a half block from where the SUV was parked. There was no parking at the office, however, which would explain why the SUV was parked somewhere else. More importantly, the plans showed that there was a substantial basement below the security building, with numerous rooms. They had once been used for storage before the security company had taken over the building, but were now empty.
He hurried back to the area, intent on checking the basement out.






SEVEN



Jennifer smiled hopefully at the man, but he ignored it, and pulled the heavy hood over her head, tugging it down to cover her face, then buckling it around her throat and beneath her chin. There were eye holes and a mouth hole in the hood, but that mattered little. A heavy black blindfold was quickly strapped over her eyes, and a thick ball gag attached to another heavy black strap was forced into her mouth.
Her arms were pulled back tightly behind her back and forced into thick leather sleeves which, when tightened, forced her arms together all they way up past the elbows. Two thick dildos were forced into her pussy and anus, and the strap attached to the bottom of the sleeve went down between her buttocks and up over her sex, jamming in hard against the base of the dildos before fastening to a belt around her waist.
Then her legs were strapped together and forced into another thick leather sleeve which covered them to her thighs. The sleeve was then strapped together to tighten it and her feet were pulled up and back and strapped to her waist even as another strap went around the sleeve to pin them in place.
She had seen Sharon bound the same way, and then watched as the teary eyed Jessica Howard was released from the thing she had been sitting on, deep throated the two hooded men and the new one, and was then also strapped and bound in heavy leather.
Now, like they had been, she felt herself lifted and placed into a small wooden crate. More straps went over her body to bind her into place. Moments later she heard the hammering sound of nails driven into the top as the crate was closed. She lay still for a long period, whimpering softly. Then she felt the crate moved, lifted, carried, and finally dropped roughly so that she jerked and gasped.
They were in a vehicle of some sort, and they drove for hours before the vehicle stopped. The crate was lifted out and carried somewhere, and then opened once more. She was unstrapped and lifted out, and then dropped onto a floor where she was further unstrapped and the leather sleeves removed.
The three girls were unhooded and ungagged and stared at each other, and at their surroundings in fear. Yet the latter was at least an improvement. In place of the cold, dark stone were bright tiles. They were in a bathroom, the kind of luxurious bathroom they were used to, and a large, sunken tube was filled with water.
"Get in, sluts," one of the hooded men ordered.
The young actresses, all hot and sweaty and filthy, did not hesitate, but crept forward slowly, nervously, and slid their bodies into the hot water with groans of relief and gasps as welts and cuts stung.
They were allowed to wash and clean themselves, to dry and brush their hair out nicely. The older girls were instructed to shave Jessica's sex, a duty they obediently carried out despite her whimpering half protests. They were then given glistening golden metal collars and shackles to wear. Their wrists were bound together behind their backs, and they were marched up a broad, marble corridor and then into a luxuriously appointed living room with a giant fireplace and antique furniture.
A man was there, a tall, thin man in a suit who wore a half mask. He smiled as they were settled on their knees before him, their legs spread wide.
"Lovely," he said. "The camera doesn't do you justice."
The hooded man left and they were alone with the man in the mask.
"Do you like my home?" he asked. "I wasn't going to bring you here but your videos were so attractive I couldn't resist."
He walked closer and stopped next to Jessica Howard, then stroked her hair.
"Do you know how many people were watching your little performance, honey?" he asked. "I think it broke all internet records."
Jessica's face flushed.
"All of you stand up," he ordered.
The three girls rose anxiously and he smiled again, running his hands over their breasts, lifting and kneading the soft flesh.
"Lovely," he said.
"I hate phoney breasts and phoney hair. I've always loved pretty young girls with shining brown hair."
He fingered their nipples and then bent and, one by one, sucked and chewed at each girl's breasts for a few seconds each before rising again, obviously hard.
"You girls need to show your tits on camera more," he said. "Sharon is the only one who's showed her bare tits, and that was far too brief a view given how lovely they are."
He walked over to a corner of the room.
"Come here girls," he said.
The three young brunettes walked over to him and he took Sharon and turned her around, then lifted her shackled wrists up high, forcing her to bend at the waist. There were three chains hanging from the ceiling, and he fastened one to her wrist shackles, then turned the other two girls around and did the same, positioning them all side by side, hip to hip.
"Lovely," he said.
He took out his cock and thrust it at Sharon's mouth. She opened and he pushed it into her, sucking immediately.
"Lovely," he sighed. "So many men needed to see how lovely you were, Sharon, needed to see how hot and sexy you were."
He pumped his cock in and out of her mouth, then thrust it down her throat, grinding his pelvis into her face.
"But you were bad," he chided her. "You refused to show it, and had to be punished.
He pulled out and she gasped weakly as he shifted aside and pushed his cock into Jessica's mouth.
"Cock teases. That's what you are," he said, pumping in and out, gripping a fistful of her thick hair. "You wear tight tops that show off these lovely titties, but won't let anyone see the real thing."
He thrust himself down Jessica's throat and the girl twisted weakly, less used ot the sensation than the other two.
"So I've taught you a lesson in what kind of lust you provoke."
He pumped up and down in Jessica's throat, then drew back. She coughed and gagged as he shifted sideways and plunged into Jennifer's mouth, then down her throat.
"And why shouldn't I indulge my wishes and fantasies?" he asked. "I've got more money than a hundred men can spend in a dozen lifetimes. Why shouldn't I do whatever I want?"
He pulled free of her throat and walked around behind the three, then thrust himself into Jennifer's pussy.
"We're going to make a movie," he said, pumping in and out. "A movie featuring three hot, sexy girls in low cut tops and short skirts. But unlike the Hollywood movies, these girls are going to show us what we want to see."
He drew back and plunged into Jessica.
"Sharon and Jennifer will be sisters dedicated to Satan worship," he said, his voice eager as he pumped in and out. "Jessica will be their little sister just back from college who they seduce and give to demons to turn her into one of them. There'll be lots of special effects," he said, "Most done by computer, of course."

He pulled out and thrust himself into Sharon.
"B-but when are you going to let us go?" Jessica moaned.
The other two gasped at her temerity. She had been less well-trained than they had, and they waited for her to be punished. But the man only chuckled. "I don't know," he said. "Originally I only planned to have a little fun. But now, well, don't you think a rich man like me should have beautiful females at his disposal? And it isn't like you're doing anything important. Why shouldn't I just keep you as my sex slaves for a year, or two, or five?"
His voice grew harsher as he thrust faster, and his fingers dug into Sharon's hips as he gasped and then came inside her. He sighed and stepped back, smiling and reaching for a riding crop.
"Of course, if you're naughty," he said smugly, "you'll have to be punished."


Well, this was the place. Foster had little doubt about it. There was no sign of the girls, and the frames had been broken apart, laying around as simple two by fours, but this was where they had been held. The question was, where were they now? He was bitter about how close they had come to them. They were no more than half a block away while Jessica Howard was being raped and tortured and been unable to help her.
He had the police on their way. They would take fingerprints and vaccum up hairs and do all their other scientific evidence gathering, but as far as he was concerned the area to look into was who owned the security company and the building, and who could have provided access to the basement without raising suspicions?
Every person who worked there, from the janitors to the office managers would have to be gone over with a fine tooth comb to find anything in their history which might lead to suspicion they were involved. Eventually they would find someone. Eventually. But would they find the girls?

The hooded men operated the cameras. The masked man was the director.
Sharon wore a skin tight black lace dress with a low cut front. Jennifer wore a tight black halter which was almost see-through, and a tight, short mini. They stood next to a bubbling pot and chanted to Satan as the cameras looked on.
Then they finished and Sharon turned to Jennifer with a cruel smile.
"Our little virgin sister will soon regret not giving in to temptation," she said.
Jennifer smiled back. "Mother wouldn't have approved."
"Fuck mother.'
Jennifer grinned. "I did. Didn't you?"
They chuckled evilly.
"Speaking of fucking," Sharon said, moving closer and cupping Jennifer's breasts. "Why should our little sister get all the fun tonight?"
"Slut," Jennifer sneered.
Sharon tore her top open and squeezed her big breasts.
"Am I going to have to chain you down again and get my whip?"
"Promises, promises," Jennifer said with a throaty growl.
They kissed passionately, their hands sliding over each other's bodies. Jennifer undid Sharon's gown, which slipped down her body to pool at her ankles, then dug her fingers into the other woman's bottom.
The cameras watched as they made rough, passionate sex, gasping and cursing and grinding together through orgasms, then the masked man moved forward and thrust his cock into Sharon's bottom and sodomised her.
"We'll edit that out," he panted after coming.

"Are you nuts?"
Foster folded his arms across his chest.
"You want us to accuse one of the world's richest men of kidnapping and torturing three actresses?"
"It makes sense."
"Bullshit it makes sense! Where's your evidence?"
Foster grunted. There wasn't any and they both knew it, just coincidence.
Gilbert Brenowski was an internet geek who had started a software company twenty years earlier, while still in high school. He had then gotten into the internet dot com business, making a fortune on suckers and then selling out before the market collapsed. Afterwards he had been quoted as saying the only money to be made on the internet was in porn, and everyone was kidding themselves to think otherwise. He had bought into land, holding companies and several of L.A'.s production houses. He was a zealous fan of movies, TV and the whole Hollywood environment.
He had also bought into a big porn video distribution company which was suspected of making underground videos featuring bondage and S&M which were considered too obscene to be sold legally.
Among his holdings had been the building housing the Security Company, and that had been what tipped Foster to him. Of course, that was precious little evidence to go on and he knew it. But whoever had done this was more than just a pervert, he was a pervert with money, and a pervert with a very intimate familiarity with the internet. Gilbert Brenowski fit beautifully.
But there was no actual evidence. Not even enough evidence to justify more than a cursory investigation of his activities by the FBI, as agent Parker was making amply clear.
Foster, of course, didn't need justification. He wondered where Brenwoski was that moment and what he was doing.

Jessica whimpered, not needing to hide her fear since that was precisely what was called for in the script.
She hung horizontally in mid-air, arms and legs stretched wide, breasts hanging down. The cameras watched as two thin green tendrils slid down from above and crept along her body and beneath to her breasts. They were drawn over razor thin wires the cameras would not see, wires which had been plunged directly into the centre of her nipples. Now the green tendrils appeared to slide along her breasts and then the little heads which looked like tiny mouths were drawn up over her nipples.
A far thicker tendril, more like a tentacle, a knobby green, slimy tentacle slid out of the wall, dipping this way and that before pressing against her shaven sex. She whimpered softly and then screamed in pain as it thrust violently forward, driven by hydraulics which could not be resisted by mere flesh. It filled her in an instant and her head thrashed at the pain even as it began to pump in and out.
A second thick tentacle was cranked forward and into place, then thrust forward into her rectum, again causing her to scream and writhe and shake as it began to plunge up and down her anal tube. No acting was required here either as the pain tore at her mind.
Then a third tentacle slid forward from the opposite wall, and she sobbed as it came closer. She knew she had to obey her orders, however much she wanted to turn her head away and close her eyes. She stared at it fearfully, still needing no acting to show her fright, then opening her mouth as it pushed forward. It moved more slowly than the others, with the masked man explaining how they would speed up the film when it was shown.
The thing was thick and filled her mouth as it pumped in and out, then plunged down her throat. A foot, then a second foot slid over her lips and down her throat. She could actually feel the thing in her stomach, grunting and gasping as it twisted around in her belly, her eyes wide as she stared down the length of its slimy body to the machine at the far end.
All of the "tentacles" were hollow, and as the one in her pussy withdrew one of the hooded men pushed a button. It spewed out a thick wall of dark, ugly, slimy liquid which spurted out of her pussy on all sides just as the cock like head pulled free of her. The black liquid spewed over her sex and up over her bottom as the "tentacle" sagged limply. Another thrust into her and began to pump wildly in and out as the one in her rectum pulled back, spewing more slimy black liquid over her body. It too was replaced.
And now she had to get control of herself, had to act, or else be beaten. She began to moan and eased her eyes closed, tried to form her face into a mask of pleasure, tried to roll her hips as if she were becoming wildly aroused.
Sharon and Jennifer moved into the picture, both nearly nude, smirking and leering at their "sister" as the tentacles used her.
"That looks like such fun, little sister," Sharon cooed, reaching under to squeeze one of her breasts.
The tentacle in her belly slid slowly up through her throat, and she gagged as the head came out of her throat and drew back. It spewed and her mouth was instantly filled with a gushing black wall of slimly liquid. The tentacle continued to withdraw, spewing more black liquid over her face and head as it sagged away.
"You're making them so happy, little sister," Jennifer said, on her other side, cupping her other breast.
Jessica coughed and gasped and gulped in air just before another tentacle - the same one, actually, hard once again - thrust back into her mouth and down her throat.
Sharon climbed onto her body then, and Jessica groaned in pain at the added weight pulling on her wrists and ankles. She felt Sharon's bare bottom as the girl rubbed back and forth over her now slimy back.
Sharon grasped one of the tentacles and drew it into her mouth, clutching it tightly as she pretended to suck lovingly. She pulled it out and let it spew over her breasts, letting the phoney semen flood down her belly and onto Jessica's back. She leaned far forward to grab at another one and take it into her mouth as if unaware of the one sliding up along Jessica's back. When it plunged up into her pussy her eyes widened in shock and then she moaned in bliss, sitting back on it as she took the new tentacle into her mouth.
And then Jennifer, as naked as Sharon, was climbing onto Jessica's back, adding yet more weight to the groaning girl's body so that Jessica felt as if her limbs would be torn off by the pressure.
Jennifer and Sharon faced each other, leaning forward both sucking on tentacles as tentacles pumped into them from behind.
And the masked man watched in delight and satisfaction.

It was, the masked man said, their world premier. The three actresses were dressed in glittering gowns, all of which were tight and sheer enough to see their pierced nipples, wearing diamond necklaces, earings, and nipple rings. They knelt at his feet as the movie started, heads turned upwards as the credits rolled. They had enough self awareness to think the masked man was insane, but not enough to really be embarrassed as they began to watch themselves in their first ever porn movie.
The special effects, on the other hand, were something else. The tentacles looked far more real now, and her lust and heat looked real, as well. Sharon and Jennifer were beautiful and sexy, and their sex scenes together were quite hot, she admitted to herself.
She was very good too, she thought calmly. It was a good performance. She wondered what the critics would think. Then she shook her head a little dazed. Critics? Was she insane? Was her mind going completely?
How long since she had been taken? How long since she had even worn clothes? Weeks? Months? They were not always bound now, but were always locked in somewhere, usually together. What had they become, she wondered. For even when not forced into sexual games the three spent much of their time enjoying each others' bodies. Jennifer was low girl on the totem pole, forced to please the other two on command, and Sharon was on top, often binding the other two actresses and making them lick her front and rear while she came again and again.
She didn't know if any of their private scenes were being recorded. She supposed it didn't really matter given what had already gone out. They were finished. None would ever star in a movie or TV show or even a commercial again. None would be able to show her face publicly again. If they were ever released they would have to find a plastic surgeon and then go and live in South America or something.
She turned her eyes back to the screen to see herself being whipped now, with both her "sister's flogging her naked, slime covered body. No special effects there of course, and she winced a little in remembered pain.

Foster clipped the wire and slid through the window. The estate had very good security, but he was an old hand at defeating security systems and patience won out in the end. He padded quietly from room to room, searching the upper floors of the mansion, looking for signs of any of the three actresses, alert for guards or more alarm systems.
He crept down the stairs and began to go through the rooms on the first floor. The place was empty and quiet until he reached a wide hallway and heard sounds ahead. He slid forward as silently as a burglar and saw a closed door ahead. Sound came from behind the door, the sound of female voices - familiar female voices. Excited, he eased up to the door and gently cracked it open.
He was looking into a theatre, and there in the seats before him were the back of the heads of four men, and before them, the shadowy figures of people kneeling on the floor. Then the screen caught his attention and he gaped at a huge image of Jessica Lynn Howard being raped by - by big slimy tentacle things.
He drew back at once and called the police.

S E V E N



Jessica slid her body slowly over Jennifer, their soft flesh grinding gently together as their lips met and their tongues pushed out. Their hands stroked gently across their bodies as they made love, their voices rising in soft, excited whispers and pants of pleasure.
There were a dozen people surrounding the bed, cameramen, sound men, technicians, and other actors waiting for their scenes.
The trio had been at loose ends for almost a year after their rescue. They had become recluses, afraid to go out in public for fear of pointing fingers and whispering comments. They had naturally moved in together and their lovemaking had continued. They had pooled their money and bought an isolated estate deep in the California woods where they would be free of staring eyes.
Each had launched lawsuits against Gilbert Brenowski. Unfortunately, the nerdy little man had been released on parole and fled the country to live in Peru. All his assets were funnelled through a dozen holding companies and it would probably take accountants years to find them.
While they had been well off by ordinary standards none was particularly rich. They had sold their three houses to pay for their new estate and had enough money left over to live with reasonable comfort so long as they were careful.
But they were bored. Their notoriety showed no sign of fading and there was no chance for any of them to get back into the business they knew and loved. The only roles offered them were porn movies and none were, at first, willing to even consider them. True, they were far less inhibited than they had once been, but they did have their standards, after all.
It was Sharon, typically, who suggested they make their own movie. She pointed out that they would have an enormous advantage due to their fame, good looks, and ability to actually act. Few porn actresses could claim the latter.
And so Sharon and Jennifer wrote a script and then searched through what actors were available to support the three and made a quality X-rated film (none was willing to call it porn) with Sharon directing. There were actual characters in the movie, and real dialogue, and the cameras did not always zoom in tight to show someone's cock plunging into one of the girl's pussies. There was good lighting, soft, restrained music, and tasteful, graphic sex scenes.
The video they released sold like hot cakes, sold in the millions and they had a new career.
It wasn't the career they had one had, or the ones they had dreamed of, but it had its own satisfactions.
The two girls gasped and slid aside, staring up as Sharon stalked to the edge of the bed, body encased in tight leather, a riding crop slapping softly against her hand. "So, you little bitches couldn't wait, huh?" she growled. "Well you'll just have to be punished, won't you?"
"Yes, mistress," the said meekly, turning, bending, and raising their bottoms high.
After all was said and done, they were still actresses, and still stars.

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