Not surprisingly, the Hollywood PAWN (post adolescent White Slavery Network) DFF (Division For Females) was a particularly busy one. With young beauties arriving every day to “become a star,” all they had to do was wait until what seemed like the majority fell through the cracks. But sometimes they got their most profitable product from other sources.
“Every production is a lifetime,” is an oft-quoted phrase in tinseltown – reflecting the high emotions that come with sensitive, insecure, beauties thinking they’ve found true love after working on a romantic comedy or whatever – only to find that their prince charmings are actually as self-obsessed as they are. Hence the higher-than-normal marriage and divorce rates in the area. Also, hence the higher-than-usual passion that can result.
Even worse, when a man is made to feel weak, he can respond with lust, rage, and a seemingly overwhelming desire for dominance. The result is a particularly theatrical brand of hatred, desire for revenge and control. “Hollywood,” Orson Welles once supposedly said, “is not about money. It’s about ego.”
On this particular Hollywood night, that ego was manifested in a non-descript van that drove down a Burbank street toward Dodger Stadium. It didn't go too fast or too slow. On the busy mid-evening highways, it was just one of thousands.
Only in the back of this one, a stunningly beautiful young woman was bound with her crossed wrists beneath her, her mouth filled and covered with swaths of tape (the kind baseball players used on their wrists), while grunting and screeching agonizingly as she was raped.
It had all happened so fast...so impossibly fast. One moment she had been bending over to put the key in the lock of her little blue sports car; the next she heard the door of the van parked next to her sliding open.
The next, muscular arms were around her waist and head and something smooth and hard and plastic and rubber was forcing open her jaw, sliding between her perfect white teeth, and rapidly filling her vocal orifice.
And the next, her dainty feet—tight in the ankle and instep-strapped stiletto heels—were off the asphalt and she was flying backwards, her arms flailing.
She hit the padded floor of the van as the door slid quickly behind her. Her car keys dropped out of her clawing fingers and just as they hit the padded van side, she heard and felt the audible click as her teeth snapped over the rounded bottom of the thing forced into her mouth.
It was like a huge gumdrop, only there would be no chewing this polymer thing—a thing which even now was being entombed inside her mouth with a strap that buckled tightly at the back of her head.
"Damn this haircut," came an errant thought—the fashionable short cut not obstructing the gag in any way...in fact helping it lock deep inside the orifice, essentially cutting off all sound. Then came the realization that it was her publicist who suggested the hair style...and that the self-same publicist was nowhere in sight...she had "disappeared" as soon as the talk show was over.
But then there was no more time for errant thoughts. Her hands—most recently flying about, trying to keep her balance as her mind screamed at the limbs to fight—were plucked from the air and wrenched behind her back. She heard two more clicks and suddenly they were locked there.
Within ten seconds Holly Barrie went from being one of tinseltown's most beautiful actresses and models to a bound and gagged young woman blinking up at her attackers, her deep dark eyes wide, her jaw distended, her nostrils flaring, and her chest heaving.
And what a chest—encased in the super-sexy minidress she had just worn on the top-rated nighttime talk show; practically backless, with the deep U-neck which displayed at least 45% of her wonderful breasts, and a body which molded her shapely form, while showcasing her long, slim, shapely legs beneath a clinging hem which ended just below her silken snatch.
Those long legs were bent now, keeping her balance as her firm, small, round rump (the rump she worked so hard to maintain) and her splayed fingers beneath slim, tightly cuffed wrists, rested on the van's padded floor.
In the dim light coming through the tinted van windows she vaguely recognized one of the two men standing leeringly over her, and then her eyes bulged.
It was her ex-husband.
Then they had fallen on her.
Now her muffled screams of rage were long since gone, swallowed up by the padded van's structure as she was slammed down on her back, her bodice torn and pulled open, her firm yet squishy mounds mauled, and her skirt wrenched up. The matching thong-panty was torn off without ceremony and her kicking legs were quickly taped to the metal base at the back of the passenger's seat.
Then, without a word, one of the abductor's—a big, blond, dumb-looking white guy with a huge neck—gathered up her slim, smooth, tanned, hips in his big rough hands, jammed himself between her thighs, and unceremoniously rammed his knobby, thick, engorged cock into her sweet superstar pussy.
Holly screamed and started to surge up until her ex-husband suddenly planted his sneakered foot between her jiggling breasts and tendoned neck. She went back down, her cry cut off. And then he was there, his fingers in her hair and his grinning mouth by one cool, well-shaped, ear.
As her body was crushed by her rapist—her eyes squeezed shut in pain and disbelief—her ex-husband poured his bile into her brain. "And where do you think you're going, doll? You think you wouldn't get fucked? Oh no, darling. O.J. has shown me the way!"
Holly's eyes grew huge in horror, then her eyes rolled up into her head as the cock continued to slam into her vaginal canal.
"Oh no, baby," her ex hissed. "You ain't going nowhere. We've had plenty of time to plan for this....plenty of time to answer the questions as to why I left your sweet fucking ass. 'You want her?' I finally said, 'Well, then you can have her!'"
He smiled down at her assault, consummately enjoying her helplessness as she was violently invaded by a teammate. "Finally," he continued with triumph. "Sex without your fucking demands. That's one thing you won't be using your fuckin' mouth for again!" He did a vicious impersonation of her. "Be faithful to me, Stevie...don't screw around on the road Stevie...ignore the groupies, Stevie...!" He shook her head brutally. "You may not be a virgin, but you're sexy enough to get fucked and no jury in the world will condemn me!"
Holly tried to scream. She tried to drown out his horrid words. Tried to force the sensations of rape from her overwhelmed mind. She was not successful.
Her ex reached down, filling one hand with her superfine right breast, feeling as if for the first time, as he held her hair even tighter in the other fist. "Oh, yeah," he breathed in her ear. "With your mouth full, you're really sexy, baby. No talking...just the right sounds...the sweet sounds of your brains being fucked out."
TO BE CONTINUED