SLAVES OF HOLLYWOOD 2

by Declan Brand

  “That’s good—the principal will be pleased.”

  “Hey, Andy,” Mike turned away from the screen to look his superior in the eye. “I gotta ask—is this bitch really an FBI agent?”

  “Yeah.” Andy’s nod was quite positive. “Fairly senior, too.”

  “That’s hard to believe.”

  “How so?” Andy went to the pot, took some coffee of his own.

  “She’s a creampuff.” Mike shrugged toward the screen. “Oh, she’s in pretty good shape—got some muscles under that nice smooth skin—but she’s got no guts—she gave up as soon as I hit her the first time—she just took a while to realize it.”

  Andy nodded. “Yeah, I’ve come across bitches like that before. They think they’re tough—but once you press them a bit…”

  “Exactly!”

  Andy shrugged. “Creampuff or not, she’s the real deal—and our principal wants the info as soon as possible—then we can move on to the second part of the assignment.” Andy smiled at Mike. “When you’re sure she’s ready, of course.”

  “Yeah.” Mike took a drink of his coffee. “When I’m sure.” He leaned back in the chair, fixed his eyes on the screen. “I’ll let you know.”

  Andy stood up, patted him on the back. “You do that.” He turned to leave the room—looked back at Mike when he opened the door. “And when you get the information we want, give me a call.”

  “Later today,” Mike glanced back at his boss. “I promise you.”

  “Good enough.” He let the door slide closed behind him.

  “Damn right it’s good enough!” Mike repeated to himself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Megan Kelly swam in a lake of deep, dark water. She found herself filled with calm—no questions plagued her, no worries filled her mind. She floated, relaxed, slept until…

  Incredible pain flashed through her, biting in her most intimate areas, hurting more then she had ever been hurt before. She screamed hoarsely, her agony coming out in a long-pent-up exclamation of hurt and loss.

  Mike smiled at the scream that came out of her ungagged mouth. He had picked up the wired gag when he walked into the room and was now holding it at an angle he knew was enough to activate the electrical prod that was still fixed inside the girl’s cunt. He watched as her body shook in its bonds, watched muscles clench and unclench, watched her stomach ripple with the effort she was making to break her bonds.

  I think that’s enough. He leveled the gag, letting the mercury drop inside settle back into its neutral position—then touched the little switch that deactivated it. She should be ready now…

  “Quiet, slave.” He spat the words out from where he stood, directly in front of her. “I have not given you permission to speak!”

  Mike smiled when Megan immediately stopped screaming—then waited while she panted and moaned and fought to get her trembling body under control.

  “That’s enough!” He slapped her across the stomach, waiting to see if she would scream or complain—and smiled again when she held the scream in. “Now, you made me several promises not so long ago…” He stroked her cheek with his hand. “Are you ready to keep them now?” He waited to see what she would do—and was gratified when she choked back any sound and whined instead, pleading for him to tell her what to do.

  “I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten the rules.” He ruffled her sweat-soaked hair. “I give you permission to speak.”

  “I…I…what do you want me to do?” The words were spoken very, very quietly. She was clearly frightened of another punishment.

  “You will call me ‘master’ when you speak to me.”

  Megan swallowed, took a deep breath, and breathed the words: “Yes, ma…master.”

  “Now, before we move on to your final promise,” Mike smiled as he saw her trying to remember what that had been. “Tell me this.”

  He leaned forward, saw her lip tremble and shivers run through her body as she sensed his nearness.

  “Where did you get the DVD of the movie?”

  “The movie…?” she stuttered for a moment, then continued: “Master?”

  “The movie that you came here to investigate. Who gave it to you?” Mike waited, watched her body as it continued to shiver in fear and remembered pain. “Or do I have to put the gag back—and turn it on?”

  “NO!” Her answer was quick and much louder. “No, master!” She quickly corrected herself in a lower voice. “I’ll tell you what you want to know…” She licked her lips. “I got the film from Michael Ballard.”

  The name meant nothing to Mike. “Michael who?”

  “Michael Ballard.” Words poured out now—in a rush to try to avoid any more pain. “He was my gymnastics coach when I was younger. He’s a computer geek, hacks into feeds to get movies and TV shows and whatever he can find…” Breath whistled through her teeth as she tried to fill her lungs. “He called me--said he stumbled across this awful film in some protected feed and recognized one of the girls as someone he had seen at a gymnastics meet in the Mid-west. He didn’t think she was into porno, so he called me and asked me to look into it…”

  Mike nodded. It sounded right—but Andy would have to make the final decision. As he thought about it, the girl continued to talk, still frantic to tell him everything—anything—as long as he didn’t start hurting her again.

  “I took the film to my boss. She didn’t want me to follow it up at first, but I convinced her that we should look into it—that’s why I came here. That’s the truth! I swear! The truth!” She started to cry. “Please…please master! Don’t hurt me again!”

  Mike smiled and patted her cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you—at least not now.” He took a step closer. “But I am going to make sure you keep your promise…”

  Her head moved toward him, mouth still partly open as she gulped for air.

  He laughed as he started to undo the straps that held her ankles in place. “You’re going to spread your legs…” He freed her ankles and started on her waist. “And then you’re going to beg me to fuck you!”

  His laugh grew louder as she moaned softly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE- TWO DAYS TO CAPTURE

  The trip to Harry Winston’s offices was, as Fanelli had expected, a complete waste of time. The secretary/receptionist behind the front desk, who was good-looking enough to have done films on her own, greeted the two agents cordially enough—and quickly guided them to an office that had been set aside for their use. Once inside, she offered refreshments and contacted an accountant who, in company with a bookkeeper, entered with a huge a pile of papers and books which they placed on the table in front of Agent Kelly.

  Fanelli was not an accountant—he had no interest in that side of the investigation—so as his ‘partner’ pushed papers and snarled questions, he took the opportunity to leave the little office and spend a little time chatting with the receptionist who, as it turned out, was unmarried and not averse to a little flirting with an FBI man.

  He had almost arranged a dinner date when the conversation in the office he and Kelly had been given started to rise in volume.

  Fanelli excused himself and went back inside, shutting the door as he saw Kelly leaning over the table and waggling a finger at an entry in one of the books placed there.

  “I’m going to ask you one more time!” Fanelli had heard her quite clearly outside the room—inside, her volume was enough to cause him to wince. “Who made this charge—right here? Which of your employees signed off on it?”

  “As we’ve been trying to tell you, Agent Kelly.” The accountant was a mousy man, perhaps five foot eight and one hundred pounds--when soaking wet. He was deferential, but Fanelli knew that the suit the man was wearing cost more than either Agent made in a month. “This charge was made without authorization from any of our executives.” He pushed another paper toward her. “As you can plainly see, we contested the charge as soon as it came in! The credit card company is still investigating but they’re satisfied that it didn’t c
ome from any of us—do you have any reason to believe otherwise?”

  “It’s too damned convenient!” Kelly snarled the words as she snatched up the proffered bit of paper. “Two credit card charges—each key to my investigation—both from this office!” She glared at the accountant. “And you tell me that both are fraudulent—don’t you find that the least bit unusual?”

  “Agent Kelly,” the little man was sweating now, stains beginning to show under the arms of his expensive suit jacket. “The two in question are far from the only fraudulent charges made against this account--if you’ll just take a moment to examine the rest of the records here, you will find that there were scores of phoney charges made within two-weeks of the days you are looking into! All were made on this one account—all were made by telephone—and not one of those calls came from inside this office!”

  He leaned back for a moment, took a second to adjust his eyeglasses--then shook his head. “The evidence clearly shows that those charges were made fraudulently—whether you like it or not!” He started to pull his papers together. “Now, I’ve gone out of my way to show you everything that you wanted to see solely because Mr. Winston himself requested I do so.” He fixed his eye on Kelly, who was still looking at the last paper he had pushed toward her. “But, frankly, if it had been up to me, you would have needed a court order to see any of this!” He ripped the paper out of her hand. “And I’ll be damned if I’ll give any help to someone as bull-headed and un-cooperative as you! If you want to speak to me or any of my people again, you will need that court order!” He picked up his books and motioned for his silent companion to join him. “For now, though—good day!”

  The two men stalked through the office door, a smattering of displaced paperwork marking their track.

  “Satisfied?” Fanelli shook his head as he looked down at the still frozen-in-place Kelly. “They’ll never talk to us again—and I wouldn’t be surprised if that little bugger weren’t already complaining to my boss—my boss—not yours!”

  Kelly glared at him; her face a mask of anger and contempt. “I don’t care who they complain to! Those charges came from here—from Harry Winston! I’m sure of it!”

  “And your proof?”

  “I don’t have any--YET.” Kelly stood up and headed for the door. “But I will.” She pushed past Fanelli. “As God is my judge, I will!”

  Fanelli was already fuming as he followed her past the now-frowning receptionist and out to the car. His chances of a dinner date were clearly gone—and he knew that Ellis was going to give him a going over when he got back to the office. Shit! He slammed the door of the car behind him. Why did it have to be me? He glanced over at the glaring face of Megan Kelly. Why couldn’t Ellis have dumped her on Fitzpatrick or Albergo! He started the car, threw it into drive. I don’t deserve this. He pulled into the traffic that was just building on Sunset. Nobody does!

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  It only took Mike a few moments to undo the straps holding Kelly’s ankles in place. Once they were free, he reached up and removed the prod from her dripping cunt, laughing at the noises she made while he did so. This thing made quite an impression on her, he told himself. I’ll keep that in mind for future situations…

  With the prod out, he untied the bonds that held her waist and pulled the lower half of her body away from the pole.

  “Don’t move!” She was now stretched out, her knees bent as far as they would go and far forward of her waist. She was held in place solely by the leather cuffs that secured her wrists to the back of the pole.

  Mike stepped to the rear of the pole and released those wrists—but before she could do more than groan at the sudden reawakening of circulation, he had pulled a set of metal cuffs out of a pocket and snapped them into place, re-tethering her hands behind her. With that done, he stepped back to the front of the pole and regarded the girl still kneeling before him.

  That nipple is still bleeding a little, he noted as he looked toward the FBI badge still pinned to the girl’s breast. I hope it’s not getting infected… He rubbed his chin, thinking about the best way to handle the potential problem. The principal won’t want her to get sick—and if that thing does get infected and suppurates or abscesses…

  Mike sighed. It’s really too bad—I like the way this looks—but…

  He reached out and grabbed the top of the badge: “Not a sound!” He ordered as he heard the girl’s moan of distress. “You do not have permission to speak—or to scream!”

  He got a good grip on the badge and, with one motion, pulled it up and free of the girl’s nipple. Kelly gasped, whining with the pain—but she did not scream. Good, he examined the pin on the badge, noted the coating of blood—and the total lack of any pus. Very good. He smiled, wiped the blood off with his fingers, and put the badge back into his pocket. I’ll hold this for later—for now…

  “All right, slave! On your feet!” He watched as Kelly folded her body forward until her breasts almost touched her knees—clearly, her training in gymnastics gave her a suppleness he didn’t often see. He was surprised when she was then able to push herself up and rise without the use of her bound hands.

  She stood there, still blindfolded, wobbling as circulation slowly resumed in her legs and feet. He could see that she was stifling a cry of pain from the pins and needles he knew were flooding through her. She’s learning… He took a half-step forward, grabbed a fistful of her hair and forced her head to the level of his waist. “Come with me, slave—heel!”

  She stumbled alongside him as he went out the door, unable to anticipate his moves without the use of her eyes she was forced to wholly rely on the guidance of his closed fist—a fist that pulled at her scalp, causing continual pain that rose when he yanked her to one side, turning down the corridor that led to the toilet. Better I let her relieve herself now, Mike told himself. Before I give her a bath…

  Kelly moaned in pleasure when he gave her permission to empty her bladder—an order she was quick to obey, proving that it had been a good idea to stop here. The bath chamber was next. Mike took her into the bare concrete room with the sloping floor and told her to stop in the center. Time to see just how much she’s really learned…

  At his command, she spread her legs wide—and she said nothing when he attached cuffs to her ankles and, a moment later, anchored those cuffs to chains that were attached to the walls of the bathing chamber, pulling her legs far enough apart that he could see her muscles trembling as she fought to hold herself in place.

  Her wrists were next. “Don’t move now.” He stepped behind her, removed the cuffs he had fastened only a few moments before. In their place, he attached individual leather cuffs—which he then attached to more chains coming from the walls—pulling her arms up and away from her body. Mike than stepped to a winch and with a few turns finished the job—leaving the girl suspended and spread-eagled in the middle of the room. She was moaning softly by the time he finished—but she did not cry out, did not make any demands or ask any questions. She is learning!

  Mike took the nozzle of the pressure hose from its rack on the wall and aimed it at the helpless girl’s bush. Let’s see what she does now!

  She groaned and briefly cried out when the freezing cold water struck her—then quickly realized what was happening and bit her lips to prevent any more noise from escaping. Mike smiled at her reaction and continued to watch her actions as he carefully ran the stream of water over her entire body. It was immediately clear to him that the pressure of the water—not to mention its near-freezing temperature -- was causing her a great deal of discomfort—the goose bumps that were popping out all over her body proved that. But she was clearly determined not to cry out or do anything that might open her to more punishment. As if that would help her! Still, Mike was impressed by her self-control. Maybe she wasn’t quite the creampuff he had earlier believed. I’ll find out, he told himself. One way or another, I’ll soon know what she’s really capable of!

  When he was sure he had washed
her thoroughly, he used the air jets to dry her off—then stepped to her side and ran his hand over her now-familiar flesh, smiling as he felt her recoil at his touch. “I thought you promised to beg for my touch.” He watched her mouth move as she tried to think of something to say, then stepped around behind her, running his hands across her belly and breasts as he did so. “You were going to spread your legs and beg—remember?”

  He saw her lick her lips as she prepared to say something—anything.

  “I told you then that I thought you were lying.” He smiled, grabbed her ass cheeks, spread them apart. “I see that you were—pity.”

  “Ma…master…” He could barely hear her as she forced the words out of her mouth. “Master, would you please fuck me…”

  Mike smiled—and unbuckled his pants. “Do you really, honestly, want me to fuck you?”

  He watched her mouth and jaw work as he stepped out of his pants and underwear. “Do you?”

  “Yes…” She licked her lips. “Yes master, I do.” She licked her lips again and spoke quietly. “Please master—please fuck me.”

  “Good.” Mike spread her ass cheeks again—and thrust himself inside. “Then I will!”

  This time, Megan did cry out: “Not there! You can’t do it there!”

  But Mike could—and Mike did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE – TWO DAYS TO CAPTURE

  Agent Kelly was still fuming by the time Fanelli dropped her at the hotel. The new room a carefully obsequious manager led her to didn’t make her feel any better—even when he showed her the huge new bed with a soft, un-used feather-top mattress that he had reserved just for her.

  She dismissed him without a word and, as soon as the door closed behind him, pulled out her notes, ready to start a last-ditch search for anything she might have missed.

  The Hollywood Reporter ad was a bust—as was the hall rental. What was left? What could she use to track down the men who had made that terrible film?