She got halfway out of the chair before losing her balance, making no more noise than a creaking board.
She fell back onto the seat heavily, trying to screech in pain. For some reason, the back of the seat hurt her left arm.
Lydia's head swam, but then she finally got her head far enough above the drug-induced fog to reclaim at least some of her equilibrium.
Lydia sat unbuckled, her legs free. But that was all that was free. A chest implant was in her mouth. Her lips were tightly sealed around it by a tight rectangle of plaster tape.
She tried to reach up to tear the gag off. Her arms jerked like pathetic broken wings.
Lydia nearly soiled herself in fear. Her arms ... her arms...!
Both had been tightly bent so that her wrists were opposite their same shoulders. They had been tightly and cruelly tied with thin rope so that now the limbs looked as if her forearms had been cut off at the elbow. Then, even more horribly, they had been tied again so that her left arm was high up her back and her right arm was over her head.
Lydia couldn't see it, but her left wrist was tied to her left shoulder and her left elbow was tied around her waist—keeping that limb in an incredibly stringent and painful position. Her right wrist was tied to her right shoulder, but in such a way that her hand was behind her head and her elbow was pointing at the ceiling.
It all took a second to sink in, but then Lydia immediately tried to wrench her head around, the fingers of her right hand fluttering to tear at the tape on her face. To her sickened dismay, she ... just ... couldn't ... reach...!
She bolted upright, twisting. She suddenly felt the air across her chest, her arms, and, worst of all, on her legs and up her now incredibly short skirt. She looked down in shock. Her legs stretched down, her stance wide to stay balanced. She found the tight hem just barely covering her thatch of soft, silky blond vaginal hair. As for her breasts, there was no way the cunning dress would be leaving them. Nothing to worry about there.... Now all she had to worry about was discover why she was bound, gagged, and alone in this room.
She heard a click behind her.
She turned quickly toward the door to discover that she was, in fact, no longer alone.
Her agent stood in the open doorway.
She knew exactly what was going on. There was no mistaking his expression. Every fear she ever had about Hollywood exploded in her head. Just as she felt sweat erupting from almost every pore, she catapulted herself directly at him, and the door beyond.
It was her only chance. There was no other door. And only a surprise attack had any chance of succeeding.
It didn't work. Despite her terror, anger, and slashing legs, he caught her halfway, driving her back. She screeched, screamed, and bawled, only to gasp, groan, and start to cry as he slammed her against the wall, sandwiching her between him and it.
She heard the door click shut, and then his hand was in her hair.
He wrenched her head back, his legs between hers, forcing them wide again. He stood on no other ceremony, his free hand already mauling her chest. "So now you know," he was saying in a hoarse whisper. "Ever since you walked into my office...I knew...I had seen you, you see, on the screen, and I knew...you were the one."
Lydia was sobbing in earnest by now, the pain in her arms, across her mouth, and on her scalp, making what he was doing to her left tit through the dress feel like a gentle caress.
"Actresses are a dime a dozen," he was gasping in her ear when he wasn't slobbering across her face and neck. "But you, you were special, you were different. I didn't want any of them...I wanted you."
He slammed his knees forward until they thudded against the wall, forcing her stance ever wider, and the hem of her dress into the sensual groove between the top of the leg and the bottom of the hip. He ground his pelvis against the tuft that was finally just curling over the lycra lip.
"Come on, bitch," he snarled. "Take it. Come on. Sooner or later, you're going to take it."
The final horror settled on the girl. There was nothing she could do. The silicon and saline sack kept her from swallowing her tongue. There was no window to jump out of. No letter opener to fall on. She couldn't kick or hit him. Even if Lydia knew then the extent of her predicament, it wouldn't have made any difference. The producer and her assistant made sure that her options were next to nil.
Lydia screeched again and somehow wrenched her body out from in front of him. He was instantly facing her again. She backed away, and he came forward. She looked wildly around her...just as Joyce and Madge came in. Lydia looked at them, wide-eyed, jerked in place as she realized that another charge toward the door would be useless, then just kept backing away.
Laughing, they leaped at her.
TO BE CONTINUED