THE LIBRARY: The Audition Part 5

{This story originally appeared on BDSMARTWORK and features some amazing art by SteveWe thank them for letting us share it with you here}

Lydia could now only gasp in her gag as the man's face got redder and redder, then purple. His eyes closed, he hunched, but he never stopped slamming into her, and he never loosened his grip on her hips. And, of course, the women never lost their sense of timing, repeatedly yanking her onto his pulsating cock.

The agent started to growl as he thrust, then screech, then moan with increasing intensity.

"Oooo," said Joyce for him. "So tight, so wet, so sweet...!"

Lydia screamed at them, her body coming off the desk, but as her waist curled, her agent suddenly slammed his palms onto her breasts.

She was slammed back and down, choking and crying, as he arched his body over her and drove his cock home—to the very hilt inside her.

The women yanked her legs as one, with the same incredible strength, and at the same perfect angle, as Lydia's head went all the way back and she screamed with every fiber of her being.

But her agent's shout was louder. It was a bellow of released triumph as he splurged an incredibly rich runnel of semen deep inside her being.

Lydia shook her hanging head feebly, tears and sweat streaming down her nose and onto her thighs.

Joyce tended to the limp girl who slumped in the audition chair. The producer pleasantly dabbed the drops of cum on her face, in her cleavage and over her beaver with Lydia's own hair and dress hems. Even after her agent's initial delivery, they found there was enough left over so they he could play a little game of target practice.

"There," said Joyce with satisfaction. "Now all anyone will think is that you're wearing some lotion or gloss. What a lovely sheen jism gives you, my dear."

Lydia groaned, her head lolling back, her unfocused eyes blinking.

"Now, now, dear," Buchler told her subtly pleading face. "No need to look so imploringly. You know you were asking for this. The delicious irony of it all is that had you only taken on your proper role of sex kitten, rather than trying to work only in challenging roles, you would be too visible to disappear. But, no," she continued, caressing Lydia's sticky cheek, "you had to disappear for months at a time, seeking out reputable parts..."

..."Now,' she finished, her tone becoming childishly mocking, "your best parts from now on will be these!"

And then she suddenly attacked Lydia's tits, shooting her fingers beneath the actress' neckline and pinioning the pink nipples between her deadly red fingernails.

Lydia screamed and jerked in place, her still free but weak legs  desperately seeking purchase on the carpet.

Both women froze as the door opened and Madge stuck her head in. "He's brought the van around."

"Excellent," Joyce chirped as if nothing had happened. "Help me get our new superstar ready, will you, dear?"

The agent waited impatiently behind the building, tapping his foot, and looking in every direction every few seconds. Suddenly the back door opened out and his eyes flashed. He was not disappointed by what he saw.

Lydia stood unsteadily between the two other women, wearing a long , thin, polyester raincoat, her hands in the pockets. The collar was up, obscuring the flesh-colored plaster tape still tightly adhering her lips. Her hair was mussed, much of it further obscuring her face.

"Here, dear," Buchler said to Madge, drawing Lydia over behind a dumpster until her back was against the building wall. "Please see to it that our new leading lady is well occupied while I prepare her ... limousine," she said to the agent.

The agent was more than happy to put his hands on Lydia's belted waist and hold her there in the narrow shadow between the dumpster and the back door. "She looks great," he breathed. "How did you secure her arms like that?"

"Oh, they're not secured," Joyce said casually as she moved away. "They are just asleep, I suppose. For some reason the blood was completely cut off for minutes."

The agent looked down in surprise, looking at the hands in the coat's pockets with renewed respect. "And her legs?" he asked Madge quietly.

"Supportive," the wiry girl replied. "Just barely." He looked at her. "Well, she was so tense after her ... audition ... that we thought it best to let her smell a little something that would ... calm her down."

The agent looked deep into Lydia's eyes. The blues were now smoky and the lids drooping.

The two captors grinned at each other as Madge's hand snaked between the coat's buttons and the agent quickly lifted the coat's hem. He curled his fingers under the skirt's lycra lip and pulled it up until the golden tuft appeared again.

Lydia vaguely felt the cool air caress her privates. Suddenly, warmth spread across her chest and she felt an intrusion poking at her vaginal lips.

Then she was impelled against the building wall and a shaft slid into her.

Lydia's legs trembled, but she could not draw them in. She needed to maintain her stance just to keep upright. She implored her arms to defend her but they could only shiver inside the sleeves and lay heavily in the pockets. She tried to tell him to stop or cry for help, but all her throat would do was moan.

The agent carefully kept raping her, being careful not to get so carried away that any errant neighbor would notice movement behind the dumpster. All he did this time was sandwich her against the wall and thrust his hips like a veteran rap master.

Meanwhile, Madge kept a careful watch as her hand did a number on Lydia's breasts, careful to give little or no sign outside the coat top. She kneaded them, rolled them, and bunched them like a master baker, never pausing for a second, never allowing the sensations to stop washing over the overwhelmed little blond.

Lydia felt increasing alarm as her agent's fetid dick went back and forth deep inside her. And, to her dismay, she felt her drugged body responding. She felt her muscles tightening on the intrusion. She felt moisture ooze down to protect her vaginal walls. She felt the fire growing from between her shaking legs. They teetered on the high heels as he continued to pound up, faster and faster.

It took longer this time, but Joyce Buchler waited patiently, smoking a cigarette, as she watched through the shaded windows of the big grey van. She waited as the two figures kept moving their arms and hips furtively, rapidly, insistently, incessantly. She waited until the blonde's jerking hands popped out of her coat's pockets, fell to her sides and started to dance in place.