Eventually they heard the distant sound of bed springs ... for three hours. By then Rebecca was secured in the guest bedroom, her wrists tied to opposite ends of the headboard, her hands filled with thick, long, black cocks—the kitchen knives at her throat making clear her instructions to make them spurt ... or else.
Their two free hands were in her hair, holding her head up as the agent used her ripe melons to aim his engorged dick at her pried-open, ring-gagged mouth.
Madge was between Rebecca's spread-eagled legs, her tongue hard at work.
Joyce Buchler smiled and shook her head at her team's antics. She turned to go and collect what was left of Lydia 's dress before heading back to the office. Behind her she heard a start and a gurgle. She turned around just in time to see all the men‘s cocks erupt at practically the same moment.
Sweatpants hit Rebecca in her left ear with a long spurt of cum. It deafened her and made her head jerk. By then the knives had been pulled back, so all her action did was ensure that Coveralls' jism drenched her already sweat-soaked hair, and slapped her across the right cheek.
Joyce smiled pleasantly at Rebecca's bad luck and the kismet of the three-prick salute. Because she jerked her head, the agent's tit-fucked ejaculation leaped directly into the opening of the ring-gag and splashed sickeningly onto her quivering tongue.
Rebecca shook her head wildly—making hysterical, choking noises—as the men just laughed, pulling their penises from her mauled breasts and aching hands. Hardly missing a beat, they moved around and over the bed: the agent walking on his knees toward her face, and Sweatpants pushing Madge away and crawling up between Rebecca's vibrating legs.
The agent filled his left hand with her hair and pushed his dick in her pried-open mouth, just as Sweatpants stretched her already abused vaginal muscles as he shoved his much grander staff all the way inside her.
Madge tumbled off the bed, just as Coveralls forced himself under the spread-eagled beauty—only unbalancing the agent and Sweatpants for a moment. Then his hands were gripping Rebecca's breasts like footballs and his cock unerringly found her anus.
With a shove and a grunt, all three were installed as Rebecca gurgled and tried to scream around the obstructions. Instead she found herself rolling on a sea of rape, her fingers open in supplication. She momentarily had a vision of herself as she had been—beautiful, shapely, elegant, serene, and rich—before she saw in her mind's eye what she was now: naked, sweat-drenched, sodden, trembling, shuddering, molested, abused, assaulted, stretched, bound, gagged, and invaded.
The men thudded into her as Joyce left the room.
Before she left the apartment, however, she snuck a peek into their clients’ boudoir. There Lydiawas, on the floor, on her knees.
The only reason her face wasn't on the floor was that her torso was being kept parallel to the carpet by her arms—which were behind her, wrapped (by binds at her crossed wrists) around her rapist's body.
For his part, he was kneeling behind her, his cock all the way up her blonde tuft of golden beaver, his hands filled with her tits. Her dress had been pulled down so her breasts hung free, and her hem had been yanked up so her wonderful ass was revealed. But her sweat made the dayglo pinkish-yellow fabric cling to her like an eighth layer of skin.
Her pink high heels scrapped across the carpet like clawing fingernails and her hands alternately stretched in desperation and clenched into tiny rocks. Joyce saw that liquid was coursing from her face onto the floor like a leaky faucet. Just then Lydia 's head raised slightly and Joyce saw how that was possible.
Perspiration drooled down her forehead, mingling with her tears. Sweat dripped off her nose. Mucous drooled out of her nostrils. In her mouth was the biggest red ball gag Joyce had ever seen, which had been forced so far into Lydia 's mouth and behind her teeth, that her lovely soft pink lips almost sunk into it, letting pints of drool slobber toward the floor.
The blonde's beautiful blue-green eyes were unseeing, their lids drooping over the smoky orbs. She made a sound: part grown, part moan, part pleading.
Then the head fell again and liquid darkened the carpet.More dotted the rug as their client thrust forward once more. Lydia jerked like a reined pony—which was little more than what she now was—then shuddered as she came.
Suddenly images danced in Joyce’s head. Instead of Rebecca tied to the other room's bed, she saw the star of that sitcom where they sat in a coffee shop talking about their love lives all the time. You know, that one on the cover of this year’s Fifty Most Beautiful People issue. And, instead of Lydia, Joyce saw strapped to a client the girl on that lame sitcom—the one the studio was promoting so heavily on that new network—the one who always wore the tight turtlenecks, flouncing micro-miniskirts, and thigh-high socks....
Yes, Joyce thought, feeling an electric shock of excitement going through her. This could be the start of something. There were more clients where this one came from, and many more starlets.
There were more arriving every day...fresh, sexy, bouncy brunettes to play the new tool time girl...simple, pretty, shapely young women to play doctors on all the new medical shows...sultry, sensual wide-eyed actresses struggling for exposure now that their quirky drama series had been cancelled....
Joyce Buchler hurriedly left the apartment, visions of bound and gagged ingenues dancing in her head.
She'd come back later to see how Rebecca and Lydia were faring, but, for now, she had a lot of work to do. It seemed as if every shapely young actress’ best parts were still to come...and come...and come again...!