SLAVES OF HOLLYWOOD 2

by Declan Brand

  Mike headed back to the office—he wanted another cup of coffee—and perhaps a little pie. There’s a little time to kill.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Megan Kelly struggled to keep herself from total panic. She had always been confident of her courage and ability to control herself under any circumstances.

  No, she had come face-to-face with her weaknesses. Somehow, some way, she had ended up here, pinned like a bug in absolute darkness, a huge something vibrating in her most private area, causing her to feel things she had never felt before…

  Megan had been frightened when she found herself tied and helpless—but her fright had turned to horror when the man’s voice first spoke to her—and when he beat her so horribly.

  She had gone through her courage after only a very few blows—and had to keep telling herself that she had to hold out—had to stay strong until help could reach her.

  Help.

  She knew that the other agents in the LA office didn’t care for her or her method of investigation. They’ll still come after me, she told herself as firmly as she could. They have to—they can’t leave me—not like this!

  She was sure these were the same people she had seen working in that damned movie. She knew that they were perfectly capable of torturing her in all kinds of ways—and that what she had already endured was nothing at all in the greater scheme of things.

  I can take it! She kept repeating the words to herself. I can hold on!

  Then the man’s voice came again—and the terrible bite of something metallic tore into her nipple—and she screamed into the gag that kept all the sound tightly inside her.

  She screamed—and screamed again—over and over as the endless night wore on.

  CHAPTER NINE – FOUR DAYS TO CAPTURE

  “So you did advertise a cattle call that week.” Agent Kelly was pointing at a full-page advertisement clearly visible in the microfiche copy of the Hollywood Reporter that Fanelli had been able to find. “Who paid for this?”

  The rather hefty female clerk had been happy to co-operate once Kelly flashed her badge. Fanelli knew immediately that there was more than obedience to the law in that co-operation. That one’s a dyke—and she’s measuring Kelly up as a potential partner. He shook his head silently. I don’t think she’s got a chance in hell—Kelly doesn’t like girls. He raised an eyebrow at the thought. Come to think of it, I’m not entirely convinced she likes men either. He watched the agent from Washington pick up the fiche cartridges. In fact, I’m not sure she really likes anyone—except herself. Fanelli took the cartridge and fed it into the machine in front of him. I hope I’m wrong. He turned it on. But somehow, I don’t think I am. He turned to study the pages that came up on the screen. Pity.

  It had taken less than thirty minutes for Fanelli to find the ad they were looking for—Kelly spent those minutes chatting with the clerk—she was obviously too important to do any of the dirty work in this place. Still, if they found what they wanted...

  “I remember that particular cattle call,” the clerk pulled out a ledger, flipped through some pages. “It was someone famous—someone everybody in Hollywood knows. His office called and…” She stopped, pointed at a page. “Here it is—the call came from Harry Winston.”

  Fanelli whistled. “Harry Winston!” He leaned forward, trying to read the upside-down page of the ledger. “Are you sure?”

  The clerk nodded. “Yeah, his office sets these up all the time—usually for mid-budget action films or the like.” She bent over to take a better look at the ledger. “This was supposed to be a slasher film—they wanted a lot of young women to play victims.”

  “And you’re absolutely sure it was Winston?”

  “That’s what it says.” The clerk put a thick finger on the page. “I never saw him—he didn’t came to the office—he never does—but it was his office, I’m completely positive about that.”

  “Crap.” Fanelli pulled out his notebook, wrote down the date and issue number of the Reporter in question, then copied the info from the ledger—best to have it all in writing—in case this blows up in our faces. “Thank you for your help, Ma’am—perhaps we can get a couple of copies of the issue in question?”

  “No problem—I’ll pull them right away.” The clerk turned away from Fanelli, gave all her attention to Kelly. “Will that be all, Agent Kelly?”

  Kelly nodded her head slowly. “For the moment—but the Government appreciates your help in this matter.” She waited while the young woman pulled the copies Fanelli had requested, then turned toward the door and the staircase beyond when they arrived. “We would appreciate it if you refrained from discussing this with anyone else for the moment.”

  “Right.” The clerk tried a simpering smile and leaned on the counter, displaying yards of cleavage. “I’ll just keep it between me and…” The smile widened. “You.”

  Kelly was both unimpressed and, as far as Fanelli could tell, unaware of the clerk’s interest. “We’ll let you know if we need anything else.” She waited for Fanelli to open the door, then stepped quickly through, motioning the other agent to follow. “Thanks again for your help.”

  Fanelli shrugged at the clerk whose smile had frozen in place and went down the stairs in the other Agent’s wake.

  Kelly stopped right outside the door and turned to Fanelli. “Who is this Harry Winston she mentioned?”

  Fanelli shook his head in frustration. “Damn, you are clueless, aren’t you?” He pushed past Kelly and headed for the car, briefing her as he went. “Winston is the premier agent in this town. His agency represents some of the biggest stars in the world. I don’t know what he’d be doing working on a small-time slasher film, but I do know that I’m not looking forward to asking him about it.”

  “Why not?”

  Fanelli stopped and turned toward the woman, forcing her to stop in her tracks. “Harry Winston has more friends in this town--and is owed more favors by more bigshots than anyone I know. If he wants us off your little investigation, we’ll be off. If he wants us out of the Bureau, we’ll be out!”

  “The Deputy Director…”

  “Your Deputy Director is about two steps down the food chain from Winston’s friends.” He looked her in the eye. “Now, you tell me, do you want to interrogate him about this? Are you willing to take the risk?”

  Kelly frowned a bit, as if the question had no meaning to her. “Of course we have to question him.” She stepped past Fanelli, heading for the car. “It’s our duty.”

  “Duty be damned.” He stepped out into the street, headed for the driver’s side of the car. “We’re going back to the office—if Evans agrees with you, we’re gonna make an appointment to see Mr. Winston.”

  “An appointment!” Agent Kelly frowned. “But that will take time…”

  Fanelli shrugged. “We got nothin’ but time—there’s no real rush on any of this.”

  “Those girls…”

  “Have already gone through Hell—and we can’t turn back the clock and avoid that—but we can make sure we don’t screw up and lose any chance of finding them.” Fanelli pulled the car into traffic, headed for the freeway to go downtown. “First we…I cover my ass, then we see about talking to Winston.”

  Kelly turned toward the window, too angry to argue the issue any further.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Mike took his time finishing his morning coffee, keeping his eyes glued to the form on the monitor screen in front of him. He had visited the Fed twice more during the night—both times when he thought he saw her beginning to fall asleep. I want her to be sleep-deprived, he told himself. It’ll make her easier to manipulate.

  The two visits had not been lengthy ones. Each time he had just slipped into the room and given her a reminder of where she was—the first time with a quick couple of swats with a riding crop on her red and sore belly, the second with a cane on her upraised feet. Each visit had left her sobbing into her gag—each had left her hurting a little more—and even more frightened --than the
time before.

  It’s almost time to feed her, Mike realized. I don’t want her to lose too much of her strength. He smiled. That would be cheating!

  He waited until he had finished his coffee and Danish, then, nodding to his assistant, stepped into the training room.

  “Good morning, Slave.” He saw that her head wasn’t quite as upright as it had been—but that it quickly came up to snap toward his voice. “I hope you had a relaxing night.”

  He strode into the room, stopping just in front of her. “I see that all the clips are still in place.” He touched her red belly, smiling more widely as she sucked in her breath at the touch. “If you had shaken any off, I would have added more.” He flicked a fingertip onto the clip on her right nipple, waited for the moan that quickly came out of her gagged mouth—then flicked the one on her left nipple. “I think we’ll keep these for a while.” He stepped around her. “They’re rather decorative.” He touched the buckle holding her gag in place—saw her stiffen as she felt his presence behind her. “Don’t move—and do not speak without permission!”

  He loosened the buckle and pulled the straps forward until the ball gag popped free of her mouth. He watched as a stream of drool ran over her chest and breast before dripping toward the floor below. “You’ll clean that up later.” He stepped back in front of her. “For now…”

  His assistant put the large jar of milk and protein additives and its attendant machinery on the floor and handed Mike the rest of the equipment they had brought, than stepped behind the still-bound woman. “I think it’s time we gave you something to eat.” He held his prepared feeding tool up in front of her. “Open wide.”

  Slowly, grudgingly, she opened her mouth. He quickly pushed the thick dildo he was holding inside—pushing the straps that would hold it in place to his assistant.

  The Fed gagged as the dildo touched the back of her throat. For a moment, Mike thought she might start to spew—but she caught herself in time and dug her teeth into the sides of the rubber device to gain some kind of control.

  “Figured I’d let you practice some of the things you still have to learn while you’re eating.” He leaned over and flicked a switch on the machine standing alongside the big jar. “Drink up now—if you waste any, I will punish you.”

  He watched as the girl quickly began gulping down the liquid that was being forced through the dildo. The milk and additives would hydrate her and keep her strength up—the carefully chosen method of feeding would add to her humiliation. For Mike, it was a win/win. “You’re doing very well—perhaps you’ve done this before?”

  He laughed to himself as she stiffened at the suggestion. This one is really stuck up! Mike made a note to himself to use a ring gag sometime soon. Forcing her to give him or his assistant a blow-job would break her pride down even more. And every little bit counts!

  Megan was horrified when the owner of the voice shoved the rubber dildo into her mouth. The one in her private places was bad enough—but putting one right into her mouth…

  Then it started to spurt something wet—and she was forced to swallow or choke. The humiliation was almost as bad as the continuing pain of the clips and bonds. I can’t give up, she told herself over and over. I have to stay strong. Have to give the others time to find me!

  Finally the liquid stopped flowing into her mouth and she had a moment to think about what was happening to her. He’s trying to break me! The realization bit like his whip on her stomach. He’s going to hurt me and humiliate me and… The final thought was truly horrible. Rape me until I give up. She tried to steel herself to whatever was coming next—and managed not to choke as the dildo was pulled out of her mouth, leaving her free to gulp in a few breathes—and give him another warning.

  “I…” She was surprised at the roughness in her own voice. Am I that weak already? “I am an agent of the FBI! I demand that you…”

  She never finished the sentence. His fist ripped into her now-tender belly, forcing all the air out of her lungs. She fought to breathe as he stood before her—speaking very softly.

  “Stupid.” He shook his head. “I didn’t give you permission to speak—and yet you insist upon doing so! How can I make it clear to you…?” Mike smiled. “Wait! I think I know just the way!”

  He reached into his pocket and brought out the FBI badge he had taken from her when she had been stripped. “It seems that you want to keep reminding us that you’re an FBI agent. Let me assure you that we are fully aware of the fact—although it means nothing at all.” He leaned toward her, touched the clip on her right breast. “Still, if you’re that anxious that we think of you as an agent…” He removed the clip on her right nipple, watched the intake of breath as the pain of returning circulation began to run through her. “I think I can do that.” He took the enlarged nipple between thumb and forefinger, and drove the pin from her FBI badge directly through it. Kelly screamed at the unexpectedly sharp pain while Mike carefully pushed the pin all the way through, leaving the badge hanging from her nipple, the shield portion facing out. “Now you can keep your badge on all the time—and you don’t have to keep telling us!” He stepped back as the screaming continued—and waited as his assistant to put the ball gag back into place.

  “Now that you’re quiet again,” he tapped the badge with a finger, smiling at the moan of pain its movement produced. “I guess we can continue.” He held out a hand and took the riding crop his assistant placed there. “I’m growing tired of the clips on your breasts.” He raised the crop—and smashed it down and through the clip on her left nipple, knocking it free.

  He smiled as her head thrashed from side to side in new pain.

  “So I think I’ll take them off.” The crop came down again, knocking one of those on her right breast free. “In my own way, of course.”

  Mike was quiet expert with the crop. He slashed at the Fed’s breast time after time, dislodging a clip with each blow. For the woman, the pain was excruciating—each blow caused tremendous pain in her sensitive breasts and, at the same time, caused the badge pinned to her right nipple to move and shake, increasing the pain that radiated from that tender bit of flesh.

  Megan was screaming constantly now, begging and pleading for him to stop—every sound soaked up by the huge gag that filled her mouth. Her pain grew and grew until finally, when the last of the clips was whipped from her agonized breast, she fell into unconsciousness.

  She had only a second in that blessedly peaceful state—just the amount of time it took for a freezing bucket of water to be thrown across her aching breasts and belly.

  She was shocked back to full consciousness just as Mike began to whip the last clip off—this one was on the lip of her cunt—and it was tightly secured.

  It took four strokes to get it off—and Megan screamed and cried through each one.

  Her day was just beginning.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN – THREE DAYS TO CAPTURE

  Agent Ellis agreed that it was necessary to talk to Harry Winston. He also agreed that it would be wise to do so only after making an appointment. A call to the Winston Agency Office produced an agreement to meet early the next evening--after work. They settled on sometime around eight. Fanelli and Agent Kelly spent the early part of the day going through Missing Persons reports—searching for the now-nearly-memorized faces of the other girls in the film.

  They found nothing. Either the girls hadn’t come from this area, or there was no one to report them as missing.

  Winston’s house was on top of one of the Hollywood Hills, up on the outer reaches of Mulholland Drive. The driveway—actually a private roadway—was guarded and Fanelli was asked to show his ID at two checkpoints before being allowed to pull his car onto the gravel driveway in front of the main house.

  He was impressed. Hollywood and Beverly Hills were full of oversized mansions—some of them dating back to the 1920’s and the old-time silent screen stars. This one, as far as he could see, outdid them all. Gotta be, what, thirty, maybe forty thousand square
feet! He stepped out of the Federal Issue Escalade and regarded the building spread out before him. I thought the Spelling Mansion was the biggest residence in Los Angeles County, he ran his eyes over the windows in front of him. This looks bigger.

  Before he had even finished his initial look, Kelly had slammed her own door and marched up to the mansion’s main door. She was ringing the bell a second time when Fanelli swung up onto the lighted portico alongside her.

  “Big place.”

  She took a cursory glance around and sniffed. “Overblown. You could house ten families on the footprint of this pile.” She shook her head. “And people wonder why the price of a movie ticket is so high!”

  Fanelli shook his head at her attitude—but then, he hadn’t actually paid to see a movie in years—the studios always sent screening tickets to the boys at the Bureau, but still… “Hey, this guy earns his money—he can spend it any way he sees fit.”

  “He’s a bloodsucker.” Kelly’s face was hard as she waited under the portico’s harsh lighting. “He takes money from people who have real talent. I knew someone like him when I was in the New York office, he …” She cut herself off as the door swung silently inward.

  Harry Winston was a tall, slightly soft-looking man of middle age. He was wearing a beautifully tailored pair of pants—and a cheap studio-issue T-Shirt publicizing an upcoming Summer Season epic. He smiled as he saw the two agents—his eye running over Kelly with unabashed interest—then he invited them in.

  “What can I do to help the Bureau?” Winston guided them through a marble-floored entrance hall and into a sitting room done in Louis XIV furniture and Renaissance wall hangings. “Please, sit down.” He indicated a setting of spindly-legged chairs and couches. “Can I get you a drink of some kind—I have fruit juice if you’re still on duty.”