by Declan Brand
SLAVES OF HOLLYWOOD 2:
BREAKING THE AGENT
By
Declan Brand
© Copyright Declan Brand
The right of Declan Brand to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This electronic book published by Fiction4All
Imprint: FetishWorld
www.a1adultebooks.com
CHAPTER ONE
Mike smiled as he stepped into the larger of the complex’s two training rooms. He knew he’d come to a very important moment in the life he’d chosen. For the past two years he’d had some fun and made a bit of money acting as assistant to Andy and the big guy in their business of breaking girls and turning them into sex slaves. It was a good job. To be sure, sometimes he was asked to work long hours-- but Mike enjoyed the physical aspects of the work, and the Guys provided him with a comfortable place to live and access to enough girls to keep him happy.
There was only one thing missing from his world--responsibility—the ability to do things his own way.
And now he had an opportunity to do just that. A few minutes earlier, Andy had called him into the office and given him an assignment as head trainer for a new girl who had just arrived—something of a special case, he was told. Mike, of course, had instantly agreed—after all, he’d been requesting this kind of opportunity for some time.
The burly man shook his hand, grinned and handed him the background folder on his first training assignment—then told him which training room to use and gave him an assistant of his very own!
Now, Mike stood in that assigned room eyeing the box that had been carefully placed in the very center of the cement floor. The box was wooden and about the size of a military foot locker—at first glance, it didn’t seem big enough to hold anything aside from clothing and toiletries--but Mike knew that the subject was inside. He smiled as he remembered Andy’s complaints about the use of the box: He kept trying to impress on me that this was a very poor way of transporting decent slave meat. Mike walked around the box, checking for damage of any kind. He told me that using a box like this was far too big a risk—it’s fragile—it could open in the wrong place-- or get dropped and damage the merchandise inside...
Fortunately, Mike’s inspection showed that neither had happened—the box was here and safe. Mike couldn’t wait to open it and see what was inside.
I hope she’s good-looking. Mike knew there was no guarantee of that. The guys took prospective slaves from all sorts of clients—some of the ones Mike had assisted with had been far less attractive then he would have preferred—and the folder, which he had only glanced at, did not contain a photo. Why worry about it? Let’s just take a look and find out!
Mike’s master key fit the lock that held the foot locker shut. He turned it once, flicked back the catches and pulled the box open.
***
The girl inside did seem to come up to his hopes and expectations—she might even exceed them. Let’s pull her out and see what’s what! With a nod of his head, Mike summoned his new assistant over and, together, they lifted the limp form out of the footlocker and laid her out, full-length, on the floor. Mike stepped back to give her a quick and expert appraisal: Tall, maybe five foot nine or ten. He looked a bit more closely at her face. A bit older than our usual pick-ups. He shrugged. Around thirty or so. Nice red hair, though—he reached down and pulled her pants and panties down far enough to check out her bush. Real, tool! That’s a bonus! He turned his attention to her chest, ripping her blouse open for a quick look. Good tits—big and firm—and genuine-- no enhancements! Mike smiled. This one is gonna be fun to play with!
As Mike and his assistant began the job of stripping the unconscious woman, Mike mentally ran over the briefing he had gotten from Andy. He wants me to break her quick—but doesn’t care what kind of training I give her. Mike knew that Andy and the big guy were a little concerned about this one. Don’t know why. Mike undid her belt buckle and pulled the faux leather strap through the belt loops on her tailored black pants. He smiled when the gun and badge threaded onto the belt dropped loose. Just because she’s from the FBI doesn’t mean she’s anything special. He took the badge and stuck it in his pocket. Best I teach her that right away. It’ll save us both a lot of time and trouble!
As his assistant pulled away the remnants of the woman’s bra, Mike regarded the now-naked figure at his feet. Good muscle tone, he touched her mid-section, noting the lack of fat there. Notes say she was a gymnast in high school—until she got a growth spurt and got too tall. He smiled. It’s obvious that her breasts got too big as well. He ran a hand across those mounds, felt their firmness. She must spend a lot of time working out.
He smiled at the thought. She doesn’t know what a real workout is like—not yet, anyway!
Mike turned to his assistant: “She’ll be out for at least a few more minutes—let’s get her in place before she comes to.”
The two men each grabbed a shoulder and pulled the girl to one side of the big room. “I think we’ll use that,” Mike lowered a shoulder to indicate a device near the corner. “Yeah, that should be just fine for this one!”
A few minutes later, Mike stood back to admire their work. The shapely body of the FBI agent was now fixed to a kind of thick and adjustable metal stake with two crossbars. Her shoulders had been pulled across the top cross bar, then he had pulled her wrists down the back of the stake until he could lock them into shackles attached at about waist level. Her feet were then pulled up, the knees bent over the lower crossbar and her ankles shackled just under her wrists. Pegs in the corners of the bottom crossbar held her knees out and away from her body, effectively spread-eagling her lower body while all her weight dangled from her shoulders.
Mike pushed a padded brace under her hips—it would force her belly and cunt forward—displaying them to her captors and adding to her vulnerability. The padding would prevent damage to her spine or kidneys.
Mike wanted to add a nice ball gag—blue will go well with her coloring, I think—but knew he didn’t dare do that until she was fully awake—there was too big a chance that she’d vomit upon regaining consciousness—always a threat when you use chemicals to knock ‘em out. For the moment, he left her with her mouth unblocked—might be fun to see what she says when she wakes up! His last task was to carefully blindfold her with a pair of leather blinders.
He ran a hand across the stretched front of her body—and smiled--she felt good, nice soft skin with very firm muscles beneath. Mike had come to enjoy the feel of a girl’s bare belly—especially when she was tightly tied with the skin so taut and smooth…
His grin widened as he heard a faint moan escape her lips. She’s coming to! It won’t be long now! He took a step back, settled into the seat his assistant had put into place and leafed through the file, taking a moment to consider what his first act would be.
An FBI agent. He snorted. Who cares? He watched her lush body begin to stir and looked into the file. What’s her name?
CHAPTER TWO - SIX DAYS TO CAPTURE
“…Special Agent in Charge Megan Kelly,” the redheaded woman held her ID card at face-level, making sure everyone in the office saw it. “I’m here to run a new missing-persons task force.”
“Why does Washington think we need a special unit?” Blake Evans was the Agent in Charge of the Los Angeles FBI office, one of the biggest and most important in the country. He wasn’t happy about being bypassed on this job—and by someone from Washington, at that!
“This town is full of runaways and movie-star wannabes who end up on the streets—but our missing person numbers aren’t any higher than those in New York, Philly…” He glared at the female agent. “Or the District of fucking Columbia for that matter! Why are you messing with us?”
“Thank you for asking so politely, Agent Evans,” Kelly tucked her ID wallet back into the pocket of her tailored black jacket. “Perhaps we should discuss this in private?”
Bob Fanelli watched the storm clouds gather over Evan’s forehead as the senior agent led the redheaded woman into his office. Fanelli knew that Blake hated working with hotshots from the District—and this one looked like even more of a ball-buster then most. He’s gonna dump her on me, Fanelli realized suddenly. Just to get her off his case and outta his office. Fanelli looked at the pile of papers on his desk. Which might not be a bad thing considerin’ that I’m gettin’ nowhere on most of this stuff. He sat back in his chair to watch the moving shadows in Evan’s office—and consider what kind of trouble was coming his way.
“Ever see this girl, Agent Evans?” Kelly slapped a 4x6 color photo down onto Evan’s desk—ignoring the fact that the breeze she created in doing so knocked some papers off the worn leather surface.
Evans leaned forward, his annoyance obvious by his expression. He looked at the photo--the girl was young—maybe twenty or so—with brown hair and a very pretty face.
“Any reason I should recognize her?” He sat back in his chair, glaring into the redheaded agents face. “She’s pretty enough—but then, Hollywood is right up the road--and there are only a couple hundred thousand pretty girls around there!”
“Her name is Heather Jaynes.” Kelly spat out the words in a terse monotone. “She lived here for just over a year.” She tapped the photo with a carefully manicured nail. “She was working at a fast-food place on Sunset until about a month ago.” She looked at Ellis. “Her boss contacted us—said that she wasn’t the kind to just walk away without a word—said he was worried about her.”
“Why did he go to you guys? Why not the local cops—or us?”
“He says that he doesn’t trust local law enforcement.” She pulled up the single hard chair Evans kept in his office for visitors. “Not the LAPD, not this office.” She smiled wryly. “I gather he’s had some bad experiences with both.”
“Guy’s probably an illegal.” Evans leaned back in his chair. “Doesn’t want a local cop taking too close a look at his ID and licenses.” He shrugged. “Even if he’s right, and this Heather girl has gone missing, why go to the trouble of starting a special task force? He snorted. “She’s probably just another movie-star wannabe who couldn’t make it--we get thousands like that! They move here, look for acting work, can’t find any, and go home—or, if they’re embarrassed by their failure, they just move on and start a new life somewhere else.”
“That’s all very well—but I have reason to believe that a lot of them never move on—they stay here—after they disappear.” Kelly laid down another photo, this one, unlike the shot of Heather Jaynes, rather fuzzy—as if it were enlarged from a smaller image. “As this girl did.” Another photo. “And this one.” She leveled her gaze at Evans. “Ever see either of them?”
Evans shook his head after a cursory glance. “Did their bosses tell you that they’ve gone missing too?”
Kelly reached into her bag, pulled out a DVD. “Can you play this?” She leaned forward onto the desk. “I think it’ll make my presence and mission here much easier to understand.”
Twenty minutes later, Kelly hit the stop button on the DVD player and turned toward Evans. “Have you seen enough yet?”
“You’re sure this is real?” Evans face was sober now, the things he had just seen forcing him to be far more serious. “You know they can do amazing things with special effects and make-up work these days.”
“The Deputy Director and I have been assured that every frame of this movie is authentic—every whip lash, every scream, every instant of agony was real—those girls were suffering the torments of the damned—and each of them disappeared from this area.”
Evans nodded slowly. “They’d all have to be singletons—girls who have no family, no close friends. Lots of the wannabes are like that…”
“I’ll need office space and at least one more agent to start with.”
Evans leaned back and fixed his eyes on the ceiling as he thought things over. “I’ve got just the man for you.”
CHAPTER THREE
Mike watched as his redheaded subject slowly return to consciousness. He knew she was awake when her head jerked suddenly upright and the muscles in her arms and hands tightened. Time to go to work!
“Save your strength—bitch!” He was on his feet now, smiling as her whole body tensed at the sound of his voice. “There’s no way for you to break free.”
Her tongue ran over dry lips. “I’m…” She swallowed once. “I’m special agent Megan Kelly of the FBI. Release me… Release me immediately or face the consequences.”
Mike was beside her now—he ran the flat of his hand over her cheek, smiling a predator’s smile when she tried to pull away. “You’re nobody—nothing. Just meat…” He slapped her hard, rocking her head back. “And you speak only when given permission to do so.”
He could see that she was shocked by the blow. Good! Her head darted from side to side as she heard him move--trying to determine where he was so she could face him squarely.
“Do you know what will happen to you when my superiors…”
Mike punched her in the very pit of her stomach with an open hand—hard.
All the breath whooshed out of Kelly’s mouth. She had been unprepared for the blow, unwilling to believe anyone would hit her like that. She fought for breath as her body tried to fold around her mistreated stomach.
Her bonds held her precisely in place.
“Are you going to try to speak again?” Mike kept moving, eyes fixed on her as she panted. “Are you that stupid?”
“I’m…” Mike watched her work her mouth as she tried to get enough air to speak. “I’m special agent…”
He punched her again—in precisely the same spot.
This blow was even more unexpected then the previous one. Kelly gasped, mouth agape, lungs working hard—she was finding it almost impossible to get her breath back. Acid flooded her stomach and throat--then spewed out of her mouth.
Mike smiled. It’ll be safe to gag her now—but first…
He waited patiently while she got herself under control, stood at her side as she spat out the last of the vomit and filled her lungs one more time...
Then he moved, slapping her across the face once—then again …
Kelly shrieked and made a titanic effort to break free--hands balling into fists as she yanked at the bonds that held her so securely.
Her struggles had no effect whatsoever. She was tightly and inescapably bound—professionally so--and she would remain that way until Mike decided otherwise.
“That’s enough, slave bitch!” Mike spit the words right into her ear, his hand went to her chin, gripping it tightly, immobilizing her mouth. “You don’t get to speak until I give you permission—the next time you disobey, the punishment will be far more severe.” He released her chin. “Do you understand?”
“I…” She started to answer, caught herself—then set her chin hard and spoke again: “I’m not a slave! I’m an FBI agent and I’m going to…”
Mike slapped her again—then grabbed her chin again, motioning for his assistant
to bring the gag he had chosen. “That was stupid.” He clamped down on the sides of her jaw, forcing her mouth open. “And you’re going to pay for it.” He nodded for the assistant to push the blue ball into Kelly’s open mouth, watching to make sure it went all the way in and was buckled tight before he released his grip. He smiled as she tried to complain, tried to curse him—the gag held it all in, releasing only a muffled ngngngnnnnthh.
“You’re still trying to talk.” He stepped to one side and retrieved the nine-tailed flogger from its place on the pegboard paneling on the wall. “Well, let’s see how you scream!”
The flogger struck her across her already-sore belly. He watched as she threw her head back—and smiled when she suppressed the scream he knew had been about to come out.
“Now you keep quiet!” He struck again, a third time. “You really are dumb, aren’t you?” Another blow. “I can keep this up all day.” He stepped to one side, struck her again, careful to keep the lashes across her reddening belly. “Can you?” He lashed her again—watched as a new red line joined the ones already crossing her belly. “Let’s see…” He set his feet and began to whip her in earnest, carefully timing the blows so she was always in pain, knowing that she would be unable to faint if he did this properly.
Five strokes. Ten. On the twelfth stroke, Megan Kelly began to scream, the muffled sound barely coming through the tightly-fixed gag. Mike smiled as he heard the sounds that emerged. Good! Now to make sure she remembers this lesson.
“I see you’ve found your voice.” The whip came down again. “Have you also learned your lesson?” Another lash. “Will you try to speak without permission?” Another. “Will you?”
His smile widened as she shook her head from side to side—not quickly—but very clearly
