Model Prisoner #1
by Geoff Merrick. All rights reserved.
Illustrations by AGNES
Michelle Mureau hurried to the mailbox at the front of her family’s property. She hurried because all she was wearing was underwear and a filmy pink negligee … not to mention the very sexy shoes. To any one else this would be a ridiculous get-up for that time of day, but for Michelle, it was just business as usual. After all, according to general consensus, she was one of the most beautiful models in the world. She had been discovered on a French beach when she was fifteen. All legs and eyes then, by the time she was sixteen, breasts and body had been added to the heady equation. By the time she was eighteen, she was declared a supermodel. But now, it was just after she got up, and she hoped that, with all the parents out to work and all the children in school, there would be no one to see her incredibly sexy self in such a revealing outfit.
She was wrong.
Two pairs of eyes watched her, as they had been watching her for weeks.
And these eyes watched her expertly, judging everything she did.
Michelle, they saw, was tall, of course, but not too tall.
Incredibly long legs, but shapely…not like the sticks most of her peers walked on. No, she wasn’t like her peers.
She had a body; hourglass shaped, with a soft, curved, firmness that was making him hard even then.
What a rack, The Procurer thought from behind the wheel of the bakery truck.
He could see them bobbing in the clingy bra: real jugs that were strong yet malleable. Butterballs, a media wag had labeled them. The Best Breasts in the World, another writer had declared.
And her face. That was the truly amazing thing about Michelle Mureau and what set her apart from the others –a set of features that had no right coming together, but somehow did to create an impression that was unforgettable and truly goddess-like, yet still sweetly and invitingly human. A thick, heavy, silken mane of honey hair, parted roughly in the middle to swoop down to those incredible jugs. Sleepy blue-green honeyed eyes set above a straight, soft nose. And lips…lips like the juiciest worms, practically screaming out for crushing. Amazingly, her one so-called flaw actually heightened her allure: her two front teeth were slightly bent outwards, creating an overbite that kept her lips always slightly parted… yearningly.
The Procurer’s partner – a “lovely” woman with the apt codename of “The Bitch,” waited until Michelle opened the mailbox on the stone wall by the village lane before stepping out.
It was before seven, so the road was still empty, the wind cool, and the air a trifle misty.
“S’il vous plait?” the Bitch said in perfect French.
Michelle turned quickly, surprised, but without a hint of fear on her face — seemingly completely unselfconscious about the way her big breasts hung free just under a filmy piece of material and the way her long legs stretched naked from beneath her skirt.
The woman immediately held up a writing pad in one gloved hand with the name and address of someone nearby, and asked innocently for directions. As soon as the totally oblivious and accepting Michelle looked in the direction of that person’s house, opened her mouth, and started to point, the woman pressed the zapper against her back, then thumbed the switch.
There was a muffled pop. Michelle jerked in place — her eyes widening a split second before they began to close. The woman pressed up against her, sandwiching Michelle’s ripe body between hers and the wall as The Procurer soundlessly brought the bakery truck alongside.
Cupping Michelle’s smooth chin and pressing the leather of her glove against the model’s warm, slack mouth, the Bitch wrapped her other arm around Michelle’s tiny waist, then turned — practically vaulting her into the rear of the truck. She stepped in behind her, slid close the door, and it was done.
The Procurer drove calmly, fighting the nearly overwhelming urge to leap back, tear Michelle’s clothes off, and rape her savagely then and there. But they were in a small town, where anything unusual was noticed, kidnapping an internationally famous 19 year-old supermodel who lived a quiet life with her unassuming family.
Someone would quickly realize that Michelle had not returned with the mail. Someone would call the village square. The authorities would quickly realize that no one had seen her. Michelle was not someone the butcher, pharmacist, or cafe owner wouldn’t miss. So first they had to get out of town…then they could see to Michelle’s extracurricular activities.
In the back of the truck, in the narrow space between the racks of bread, the Bitch slid the specially made ball between Michelle’s slack lips. As they had devised, it pushed open her jaw, pressed down her tongue, and filled her cheeks. But then the extra added surprise clicked into place — a recessed pyramid, like those tire piercers designed to keep people from rolling back into a parking lot, snapped up between her two top front teeth, locking the ball in place.
Then out came the surgical glue…the kind surgeons used to seal a wound instead of stitches, which could leave a scar.
The woman pressed the girl’s lips together and dappled the right and left sides of her rich, soft lips with drops of clear adhesive. When she released the girl’s face, the effect was uncanny. It looked like Michelle was essentially at repose, her lips slightly parted only above and under her overbite. There was virtually no hint her mouth was plugged and her lips sealed.
The woman was tempted to use the glue on Michelle’s wrists and ankles, but thought better of it. If the girl somehow got out of control, she might tear open a vein. So, instead, the woman crossed Michelle’s arms behind her and affixed them with a clear plastic pull-tie. Then she did the same for her elbows, ankles, and knees.
Her throat was affixed the same way to the front bottom of the shelving on the van’s left side, and her ankles to the back bottom of the shelves on the right.
Then came the piece de resistance. From a small bottle of clear liquid, the woman took two porous nose plugs.
They were soaking in a surgical sedative. Then, dotting the sides with the surgical adhesive, the woman popped them up Michelle’s nose until they couldn’t be seen unless you stared directly up the girl’s nostrils.
Then, with every breath Michelle took, she was tranquilized — her subjugation invisible to any eye.
It wouldn’t knock her out…just make her very sleepy.
She was also recovering from the initial electrocution, her eyelids fluttering, her limbs trembling.
The woman surveyed her…looking like a goddess supermodel as well as an extremely beautiful teenage girl laid out on a bakery van floor, her mounds round and high on her chest.
The woman kneeled beside her and placed her lips directly against Michelle’s ear.
“Bonjour,” the woman whispered and then continued in fluent, accentless French. “You are ours now. We are taking you away from this village where you will exist only to serve us. There is nothing you can do, so don’t even try. No one can help you now….”
Smiling at the way Michelle’s young brow started to furrow and her lips started working…
… the woman stood and leaned against the partition between the rear storage area and the driver’s seat.
“All set?” The Procurer grunted.
“All set,” she replied softly. “She will try her utmost to escape, insuring her near total sedation with every breath.”
“I still think we should’ve glued her arms,” he growled.
“They’ll be time for that,” The Bitch promised. “Once she’s redressed….”
The local gendarmes stopped him just as he hustled the Bitch into the back of their sedan. It was parked a few miles out of town, in a gravel commuter’s lot. The officials had the van and car encircled in seconds, their guns at the ready.
“Please do not move,” said the lead man, a tall, broad-shouldered, thin detective with a mustache, who held up his identification. “We are investigating a disappearance.”
“A disappearance?” the man echoed. “I’m just driving my sister to an appointment. We were coming back to get the truck afterwards….”
“Really?” replied the man as the others held their positions. “Are you sure you were not going to take move something from the van to the car…or someone?”
The man just stared at him as the mustached policeman signaled for them to search the van. They pulled the doors open.
It was empty.
The policeman turned to stare at the other man, blinking. “But…we saw you drive in….” Then he became curtly professional again. “Please open your car trunk, monsieur….”
It, too, was empty.
The policeman flushed, the expression on his face saying that he had made a terrible mistake that, even now, might be costing a young girl’s life. “Pardon, monsieur,’ he said tightly. “Madame….” The woman in the car nodded to him.
Then all the cops drove away in a cloud of dust, dirt, and gravel. The man waited until the sounds of their cars was gone before entering the car, opening his “sister’s” coat, slipping his hand beneath the dress there and squeezing Michelle Mureau’s right jug like a cow’s udder.
That was wonderful,” the Bitch said from the floor of the back seat, her clothing and makeup expertly blending in to the dark seat and carpet there. “So simple, yet so perfect!”
“Yes,” he grunted, watching in hardening appreciation as Michelle’s heavily made up face reacted to his molesting even under the Hollywood special effect latex and heavy sedation. “There was a reason we did all the research, all this planning….”
“Watching her try to wake up…try to talk…even after I wrapped the strap around her neck…delicious!”
The man looked carefully. It was still there, around Michelle’s throat, holding her to the seat back.
All The Bitch had to do was push her head with a gloved hand to make her appear to nod through the thick, tinted window….
“Come on,” he growled, starting the car. “Get that shit off her. I want her to look like her when I nail her.”
Michelle’s eyes were filled with sky. Her cunt was filled with his cock.
They lay in a field outside of town, naked, hidden in the tall grass. He had pulled off the coat and torn away her dress as if they were made of tissue paper.
His hand was over her filled mouth and glued lips…
…her arms were still tied behind her with clear tape and plastic pull-ties. They had wrapped her ankles…
…with plastic pull-ties and staked them into the ground with plastic tent spikes, so her widened legs couldn’t kick, revealing their location.
And he was raping her with violent abandon, unable to wait until they left the country.
“I’m inside now, see?” he whispered harshly, plunging powerfully again and again. “Now, even if, by some miracle, we’re stopped, you’re still fucked. You hear me, missy, you’re fucked!”
Michelle’s body jerked as he rammed again, her brain trying to make sense of what was happening. She couldn’t resist, couldn’t scream, could hardly think, yet she felt every sensation as his cock scraped deep inside her warm, wet walls — her biology belying her revulsion.
She couldn’t understand what drove this man to abuse her. Desire her, yes. But to her culture, sex was natural, as was beauty and nudity. It did not drive them to attack, imprison, and defile….
Yet here she was, in the middle of a field, hundreds of people searching for her, silenced, stilled, being violated.
His other hand clamped her full, buoyant, left butterball — feeling its rich creaminess, its round, cafe au lait aureole and nub nipple — clawing it spasmodically as he thrust. Drool and saliva poured out of his mouth, splattering her face and chest, each drop making her cringe and gasp, each breath dizzying her.
Her eyes rolled as he came, her body stretching and shuddering as if in death. Quickly emerging from her, he slid up to her stomach, plopping his still wet erection between her creamy mounds, and gave himself a surging tit-fuck. Just as Michelle was becoming aware of this further fouling, his cum spurted into her nose and eyes.
As she shook in shock, he undid her ankles, retied them with a pull-tie handle between her ankles, and dragged her back to the car. Practically hurling her inside, he returned to the driver’s seat as The Bitch, up until then serving as lookout, gathered Michelle up onto her lap and muffled her lips even more by tying her torn dress over her working, cum-smeared lips.
“Sorry about the clothes,” he grunted, the car moving back onto the road.
“No problem,” the Bitch said, reaching into a cloth sack and coming out gripping wet-look black nylon/lycra spandex cire. “I went shopping in her catalog…!”
“Anything to declare?” asked the customs official.
“No, sir,” the woman in the car at the border station said sweetly.
The Procurer watched through the binoculars as she and the car was thoroughly searched. All auto, train, and airline stations along the border had been alerted to be on the lookout for a missing girl…though the urgent, top-secret, top priority report did not say exactly who.
“Wouldn’t they like to know?” he growled, looking down at Michelle Mureau, who kneeled unwillingly at his feet against a tree.
Her arms and legs, from the knees down, were pulled around the two-foot circumference of the tree trunk, her ankles strapped together, and her wrists strapped to her ankles. A pull-tie practically disappeared into her tiny waist, holding her torso to the tree, and another plastic strap was tight under her deep, square jaw, holding her head up, though not threatening her windpipe.
She wore a black, cire, wet-look, seamless, wonderbra with moulded underwire cups, and a high cut, v- panel, bikini thong bottom. On her dainty feet were black strap sandals with four inch spike heels.
Her lolling head and heaving chest were smeared with his cum — which spurt from his revealed cock every few minutes — even without his manual stimulation.
“There’s our ride,” he murmured, returning his eyes to the field glasses as his dick seemed to aim itself at Michelle’s exhausted, dripping face.
They had dragged her out of the car again some distance from the border. As the woman drove away, he had raped her again, in a ditch this time, as others cars passed just a few yards from her, hurrying to get in line at the border crossing. As she moaned and mewed in disbelief, trapped beneath him, he came in her again, her clawing fingers and curling toes unable to rise high enough to be seen from the road.
Then, waiting for a break in the traffic, he dragged her into a thicket, redressed her, then carried her semi-conscious form up a heavily-wooded hill, taking a position on a well-foliaged bluff overlooking the border station. There he affixed her to the tree and started to douse her anew with his semen.
By the time the moon had risen, the plugs in her nose had dried, but the effects of the attacks had all but replaced the sedative’s effect. She was all but unaware of his careful cleaning of her face and chest, removing what cum wasn’t massaged into her skin.
It wasn’t until she heard the sound of something approaching that she regained full consciousness, straightening as well as she could, with her big blue-green eyes widening in hope and wonder.
Then, through the bushes and brambles, came three men from the border patrol, complete with uniforms and pistols. Michelle started to call to them in agitation and relief as they neared. But she stilled, her breath caught in her throat, as they simply approached with measured paces.
“That’s her,” one breathed. “It is her….”
“I told you so,” her rapist said evenly. “I don’t lie.”
“Why doesn’t she scream?” asked another.
“She can’t,” her rapist replied. “We plugged her mouth. Glued her lips.”
“Really?” said the third, obvious from his expression and epaulets the ranking officer of the trio. He kneeled down to face the shocked supermodel, checking her lips as if examining a reluctant pony.
“Yeah, she can’t open‘em all right. What did you use?”
“Surgical adhesive,” the man answered. “You going to talk all night or accept the bribe?”
The commander stood, looking meaningfully at the others in the darkness. Then he started to undo his belt and pull down his zipper.
Finally Michelle tried to really scream, but her rapist kneeled calmly behind her with surgical glue thinner in one hand and a huge ring gag in the other. Her strong, sexy jaw was so weak from the ball that replacing it with the ring gag was no problem. Her eyes bulged as he tightened the strap behind her head, jamming her mouth open at its widest possible aperture.
Then the plastic pull ties snapped open, but she couldn’t control her weakened limbs. The captor and the border patrol trio made quick work of restrapping her wrists to her ankles. Then they carefully laid her on her back in the moonlight and tore off her underwear.
Each man took turns at her cunt, tits, and ring-gagged lips as her captor casually leaned against the tree — tossing the ball that had been in her mouth up and down into his hand. With just a chorus of grunts and animal yowls they furiously raped, tit-fucked, and mouth-spurt her, reveling in her cringing, contorting defilement.
Then, rolling her onto her stomach, each man took turns at her anus, as another lowered her face onto his erection, and the third plopped his cock into one of her hands. Making her blow them by raising and lowering her head with her hair, while another rubbed his cock between her fingers (or her affixed wrist and ankle), they cannoned more cum inside and across her. Finally, each man having come thrice in her, they masturbated on her trembling, burbling form.
“You need any help?” another border patrol officer asked hopefully.
“Nope,” said the man, cinching her ankles side by side with a length between to use as a handle. “Got it all arranged.”
They dragged her into the boat in full view of the border guards at 2am — the ball back in her mouth, her lips taped shut. Dropping her onto the bunk below decks, he crawled between her bound legs, mashed her tits in his hands, and fucked her on English “soil” — as the Bitch unerringly piloted the craft toward their destination.
Afterwards, he carried her quivering form to a car which was waiting at the end of the private pier, where The Bitch dressed her in a rich, white satin, demi-bra with exquisite lace trim, matching high cut thong, and four-inch high heels — further affixing her already cinched mouth, wrists, and ankles with white tape — before returning to the driver’s seat.
A short, slim, red-headed casino waitress named Denise — with deep brown eyes and buoyant breasts — finished her shift, changing from the miniskirted toga into her street clothes: a silk miniskirt, dark stockings, heels, u-necked blouse, and open, long-sleeved sweater.
She went to her car, put the key in the lock, and heard the door of a van parked alongside open behind her.
A thick pad sealed her mouth and nose. An arm circled her waist.
She was dragged, thrown, and lifted backwards, slamming onto the padded van’s floor with all the certainty of a guillotine. The door slid and locked shut behind her. Her arms and legs went up, but were caught in mid-air, her ankles and knees wrapped with tape.
As the pad was shoved into her mouth, another pad, this one drug-soaked, was clamped over her nose and both were taped in place.
She was spun over onto her front, her arms were wrenched behind her, then her wrists were taped and her elbows strapped.
Her blouse and bra were ripped down, and bull-clips were clamped onto her nipples while her skirt was tossed up and a thin tight rope was anchored onto her hip bones and wedged deeply through her pantied sex.
Only then was she unceremoniously dropped…left to breathe in the cunning sedative and suffer the lightning at her breasts and cunt.
The van drove away slowly — the girl’s keys still in her car door….
A short, curvy college student named Kerrie, with short black hair and big brown eyes, went to the ladies room of a local luncheonette wearing a short-sleeved, u-necked top, shorts, and sandals. As she left the loo, the broom closet door opened behind her.
A thick cloth clamped onto her lower face, a clawing hand gripped one tit and she was wrenched back, the broom closet door sealing her in darkness.
She was punched sharply in the stomach, taking her breath away and doubling her over.
She was hit on the back of the head, knocking her unconscious. The pad never left her mouth. It was stuffed in and taped over quickly as her hands were tied and taped. Her shirt and bra were pulled down, her nipples wired tightly toward each other.
Her ankles were tied to her thighs, her knees cinched around her neck, and she was dumped into a big plastic garbage can on wheels.
With refuse dumped atop her, she was wheeled out the back to the small garbage truck.
They drove away with her lying amid the trash in the back, a sexy little female ball, her breasts wedged against her thighs.
Her ice tea and salad remained uneaten.
A cute, long-legged, pert-breasted, blue-eyed blonde named Stacy went to visit her new apartment one last time before reporting to her new job in this new city.
Standing amid the boxes in the early morning sunlight, wearing a new blue silk miniskirted suit and high heels, she only had time to open her mouth and widen her eyes before the three figures in ski-masks and sweatsuits leaped out of hiding to hit her with three zappers at the same time: on her neck, chest, and thigh.
Dropping like a felled tree, the girl jerked uncontrollably as two men grabbed her spasming wrists and ankles while the third tossed up her skirt, tore off her panties, ripped open her shirt, and wrenched down her lace bra.
The three took turns fucking her, only pausing to stuff her panties in her mouth when she could begin to make sounds again.
They didn’t even pause when the phone rang, letting the answering machine do its work as she writhed below them, her wrists and ankles twisting in their grip — her face mashed down by a gagging hand clamped over her mouth.
“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t late on your first day,” said an associate. “But obviously you’re on your way….”
Stacy screamed in muffled agony as the message clicked off and the man came in her.
Trading off a final time, the sweet blonde below them twisting in anguish, the third man brutally fucked her, then all three zapped her again — at the neck, tit, and cunt. Within seconds, her skirt was pulled down, her shirt closed, and clear tape was wrapping her mouth, shins, and wrists behind her.
Dropping her into a box they had already emptied without her knowledge, the three “movers” brought her down to the front door, across the rush hour sidewalk, loaded her into their moving van, and drove away.
Michelle lost consciousness after the man had slowly lowered her onto his lap’s erection, gripped both her tits with one hand, and clamped her head back on his shoulder by her mouth.
She dreamed an alien creature from outer space had trapped her in the cellar of her home, ramming a thick,slimy tentacle deep into her mouth to keep her from crying out to her family for help, then spewing noxious glue to lock her arms to her side.
Then two more tentacles tore open her school uniform shirt, pulled down her simple white bra, and suctioned onto her breasts, needles sinking into her nipples. Then, finally, a pulsating tentacle snaked under her pleated, plaid skirt and into her plain white panties….
Then all the tentacles began to throb, oozing thick liquid into her, and sucking her essence from her. The mouth tentacle pushed down her throat. The suction at her breasts distended her tits while the needles in her nipples sank deeper, sucking out her milk.
And the knobbed tentacle in her panties pushed deeper inside her, scraping her clitoris, stimulating her vagina, sucking up her juices.
The tentacles and needle pushed, stabbed, and thrust until they all met in her exploding heart….
She woke up slowly to find her mind still wrapped in gauze from the sedative soaking the nose plugs. Even so, she was amazed by what she saw. This was not a mansion in the countryside, miles away from any neighbor. They were pulling across the sidewalk to a garage of a townhouse in the middle of a city.
The garage door rose automatically and Michelle had just a moment to see the activity of pedestrians and other vehicles before the garage door sealed her in a simple, deep, cement garage, empty save for their single sedan.
“Come along, my dear,” she heard someone say. Almost unable to resist, Michelle stepped out of the car, amazed by the dainty, silver strapped, high heel stiletto that balanced on the cold concrete floor.
Then, as she was guided and straightened, she both felt and saw how her breasts were gathered, balled, squeezed and presented by the seamless, deep v, plunging, hot ruby-pink, contoured lycra spandex lace bra, and her loins just barely covered by the high-cut thong brief which held onto her hip bones for dear life.
Her elbows and wrists were cinched behind her with matching straps, and the daintiest of silver ankle bracelets hobbled her legs with a tinkling, two-foot length of chain. In her mouth was the ball, and once again the sides of her lips were glued.
They only took a moment to pull her head back with her hair, moisten her inner nostrils with a surgical thinner on a q-tip, then remove the nose plugs with a pair of tweezers. Still slaving under the sedative’s influence, they left the drying plugs on the garage floor and drew Michelle to a single door to the side.
Opening it, Michelle was led into a small, plain chamber. Opening the next door, she was led into a simple, square waiting room. Bringing her to one of the three doors behind the single, empty desk there, she was standing in yet another closet-sized vestibule.
But behind that door was a padded red leather door, and behind that, another world…
It was opulent, well-appointed with velvet walls, and well furnished with heavy, deeply padded chairs and sofas. Whilethere were large windows, they were heavily curtained and shaded. The lighting from green-glass shaded Tiffany lamps added even more drama, as did the dozen or so male and female occupants, all handsomely dressed in expensive suits.
Even in her stunned sedation, Michelle gasped. She recognized some of them. A female rival model agency owner….
A movie producer…. An international business tycoon…. A silicon valley maverick….
Michelle snapped to full consciousness when she noticed the other girls.
All were wearing whale-boned, cupless, merry widow corsets, thigh high black lace stockings, and shining, ankle-strap, four-inch high heels. All had their arms twisted up her back by thin ropes, and all their mouths were pried open by huge ring gags strapped tightly around their heads.
One was kneeling before a chair, her mane of red hair held like a leash by the tycoon as her head raised and lowered on his saliva-slickened shaft.
The dark-haired girl was flat on her back, the silicon valley CEO on her stomach, giving himself a tit-fuck while holding up her head so she could receive his ejaculation full in her ring-gagged mouth.
And the blonde was held onto the lap of some Asian by her hips, drool pouring from her pried-open mouth, making noises only the raped could make.
As soon as they noticed Michelle, however, the movement changed. The tycoon pushed the red-haired girl off him. Denise fell, cringing, onto her back. The Asian did the same, Stacy falling to her face, her body wracked by sobs. Only the computer company man redoubled his efforts, spurting into Kerrie’s weeping face and mouth before he stood, his still throbbing member in his hand.
“Ah,” said a spiky-haired young man who appeared from the kitchen. “Enough of the appetizers. I see our main course has arrived.” He turned to the others, rubbing his hands. “Appraisal will commence on procurers’ orders. Bidding will start promptly at three.”
For whatever it was worth, Michelle went into a shock just short of insanity as they encircled her. The dehumanizing, lustful looks on their faces did it, if not the culminating crash of what she had already suffered. But bound and gagged as she was, it made no difference to her captors.
Outside, an entire city carried on, unaware. Inside the very building, just one wall away, neighbors watched television, slept, net-surfed, or ate. But inside this room, three innocent girls had been kidnapped and despoiled in preparation for the arrival of an internationally famous super model, who now stood, stilled and silenced, just inches from them.
They bid for the right to be first. The unctuous businessman who had been mouth-fucking Denise won the honor with an outrageous bid, paid in cash on the spot. The brother and sister had little doubt that this is what he came for, and had no intention of actually buying her. His was strictly rental action.
And he took her there, right on the floor, pulling down her panties and unclipping her bra unceremoniously. Then, with the lingerie around her waist and ankles…
he dragged her to the carpet, wedged himself between her legs, and started fucking her, his mouth at her throat, his hands bulging with her breasts.
The others watched casually…
to be continued
…Denise gathered up by the rival model agency owner by her tits, Kerrie’s mouth crammed back onto the computer whiz’s crank, and Stacy forced across the knee of a British government official, her firm ass paddled.
When the tycoon finished, he immediately sat on Michelle’s stomach and gave himself a tit fuck.
Cooing, he finally spurted again, letting the cum drool achingly down to her slightly parted lips, then slip inside. Michelle screwed her eyes shut and shuddered, unable to even spit.
“Delicious,” the tycoon breathed.
Then it was the rival model agency owner’s turn. The brother and sister knew that she, too, was not into owning…she was into punishing…for not signing with her agency. So out came the battery-run butt plug and the strap-on crusted dildo as Denise was quickly dragged aside by a sports star. “Who’s a naughty girl then?” the woman hissed, jamming herself between Michelle’s legs.
The group had rarely seen a more sadistic, stylish performance — repeatedly driving Michelle to the edge of orgasm, then denying it with a pinch or slash or slap of pain to the clit, tit, or face. Finally she pulled out, jammed a vibrator into Michelle’s aching cunt, and held it there while forcing her onto her face and burying the entire dildo up the model’s ass.
Michelle screamed, her glued lips stretching, the ball clicking against her teeth before the woman unstrapped the dildo, leaving it in her, dropped her pants, and rammed her own pantyless cunt into the girl’s face, rubbing Michelle’s lips against her drooling beaver.
Michelle moaned in agony and revulsion, her entire body spasming, the dildo and vibrator sticking out of her like spears. Her fingers reached achingly for them, but either the brother or sister pulled them aside just before they touched the impaling poles.
Finally the woman pissed on her, streaming her urine into her face and onto her breasts. Even the jaded crowd on hand had to cry out “whoa!” as if they had just witnessed an amazing move in a basketball game. “Okay!” the rival model agency woman declared, straddling the gasping girl. “Who wants her next?!”
The spiky-haired host, in the company of a blonde and brunette, was there almost at once with cleansers and towels. “Let us move into the playroom, shall we?” the dark haired man suggested, letting the brother and sister gather up the comatose model and half carry, half drag her down a wide hall to another door.
Even in her condition, Michelle couldn’t help but shudder at what she perceived there….
…A brass bed bolted to the floor. An impaling pole. A wood block. Shackles in the wall, floor, and ceiling. A wooden “X.” A steel cross. Straight back chairs with steel, wooden, rubber, and plastic penis-shaped prods attached. A hospital gurney with hospital restraints and electroshock equipment. Lace, leather, rubber, and spandex clothes strewn everywhere. Straps, cuffs, tape, and cloth everywhere else.
Outside the room, the blonde and brunette assistants unclipped Denise, Kerrie, and Stacy from their corsets, but what they replaced them with was worse. A rubber coated wire crushed their breasts. Twelve-inch dildos were jammed up their cunts and secured by belts between their thighs to belts crushing their waists. Then their knees and elbows were cinched, and their wrists shackled and hung behind them from the ceiling — so they were bent over, cringing and crying, their high heels scraping the carpet like harnessed ponies.
“Shut up, bitch,” the host’s assistants said as they forced penis-prod gags into each of the abducted girls’ ring-gagged mouths, locking them into place with a groove at the base of the prods. “Just be glad you’re not in there, with super cunt….”
The jockeying for the next slot was lively, since they all knew Michelle had to be close to explosion from the vengeful model agency woman’s machinations. The less-endowed Asian won in a fever of bidding, knowing that this was his best possibility of satisfaction.
Her hair cleansed, her body washed, Michelle was hurled onto the bed, her wrists tied behind her to her waist, her ankles still hobbled. The Asian snaked between her legs, jammed himself inside and set to rutting as she writhed and shook — trying desperately to gain release both internally and externally. Both were denied her as the Asian’s pathetic attempts couldn’t ignite the model agency rival’s fuse.
Sobbing in shame, contorting, her muscles spasming, Michelle was torn at by the frustrated little man, his hands finally clamping around her throat. The others watched, fascinated, as Michelle’s body stiffened and her face grew dark, then a sickly gray.
Then a deep voice said, “That’s enough,” and her kidnapper stepped up, swatted the Asian’s hands aside like gnats and plucked him off the strangling girl like a marionette. His tiny dick popped out of her as she coughed and shook.
The little man coughed and shook as well until the spiky-haired host took him aside with a profuse thank you. “It’s perfect,” he assured him. “Couldn’t be better. You’ll see.” Then he placed a gold whistle to his lips and blew it soundlessly.
To the gathered crowd’s amazement three small white dogs appeared, racing into the room like fast moving clouds. Leaping up to the bed in a strictly and obviously trained formation, one went to each of Michelle’s breasts and the other dug it’s head deep between her legs. Squealing, Michelle jerked back to full life, rolling and twisting, trying to get away from their nipping teeth and rough wet tongues.
The crowd watched, astonished, for a few seconds at the roiling figures before the spiky-haired host said; “Well? Who wants her feet?”
The men raced forward, grabbing her ankles and pulling them wide along the baseboard railing. The kidnapper moved casually forward, wrapped an armful of Michelle’s honeyed hair in his fist and forced her head down to the pillow.
“Okay,” said their host. “Watch closely. Brandy, Scotch, Vodka? Now come.”
That was their code word. The little dogs went at her breasts and cunt like hyper machines. The one between her legs inserted her snout, nipping teeth, and darting tongue almost all the way inside the struggling girl.
The others watched, enraptured, as Michelle’s nipples hardened and seemed to inflate, her skin shone then grew deeply red, her thighs slickened, and she began to moan and cry, her head all the way back and her eyes screwed shut.
When she came, she almost exploded out of all their grips, nearly scalping herself. But somehow, through all her shrieks and writhing they held on…and the dogs didn’t even slow.
“Okay,” said the host calmly. “Now let go.” Then he barked “Titan, Trigger, Tango. Fetch.”
Through the door came two pit bulls and a rottweiler. The tiny white dogs immediately leaped off the bed and raced out while one pit bull went to Michelle’s throat, expertly placing her neck in its mouth, it’s teeth clamping on without breaking the skin.
Michelle’s eyes popped open.
The other pit bull wedged itself under her ear, forcing up her hips.
Michelle’s blue-green honeyed eyes grew wider in amazement and dread.
The rottweiler placed its paws on either side of her tiny waist and jammed its haunches against her beaver.
Michelle screamed as the host’s assistants nimbly and tightly strapped her ankles wide to the baseboard posts. Then she was forced to watch herself be raped by the dog.
Outside the tycoon abused the student, the model agency owner fondled the waitress, and the Asian slobbered on the breasts of the cringing blonde, but inside the others watched as the “World’s Most Beautiful Girl” was fucked by a well-trained, surprisingly endowed rottweiler — her throat held down by one pit bull, and her haunches raised by another.
Then her kidnapper slowly lowered his hand to rest on one of her ample, strong breasts. As the dog continued to rut madly, he carefully squeezed, then began to twist. Then The Bitch lowered her hand onto Michelle’s other breast, and started to maul that as well. The dog with her elegant neck in its mouth didn’t move, save for one eye, which followed their hands’ molestations.
The show was spectacular as each of Michelle’s bones and muscles seemed to shift, and the expressions of horror on her defiled face changed by the second. First incomprehension, then confusion, then dawning awareness, then unacceptance, then total realization, torment, humiliation, and, finally, repugnance — as the others, seemingly on a silent signal, began to unzip themselves and masturbate all around her.
Smiling, his dark eyes beaming, the host raised his hand. He didn’t even have to say anything. Everyone knew what the lowering of his hand would mean….
For a few moments, the only sound of the room was flesh on flesh; hands on cocks, hands kneading her breasts, the dog’s penis thrusting inside her….and then the host’s quiet voice. “Tango…?”
His hand dropped. “…Come.” The dog ejaculated inside her. Almost everyone spurted; on her face, chest, stomach, hips, and legs. Michelle screamed in agonized frustration, bucking and writhing. But they all just laughed and fell on her, the dogs scrambling aside.
The rest of the examination period was a blur, to everyone. Michelle was hung from the ceiling horizontally, back to the floor, her arms and legs spread-eagled in mid-air, her waist held up by a strap. There everyone got an opportunity to maul her breasts and come in her warm, wet, still tight, spasming cunt.
Seated on the wooden block, her hands shackled at the sides (causing her to lean over slightly), everyone got the chance to squeeze her tits some more and come in her soft ruby mouth (which was pried open by a dental device) while holding onto her lovely head and silken hair.
Finally it was over, and the host’s assistants dragged Michelle away, her face and body dotted, splattered, and coated with gobs of jism. While she was emptied, cleaned, and dressed, there was even some spirited bidding for the specially made ball that had only been recently wedged in her mouth.
Then they all retired to the bidding area back in the living room where Denise, Kerrie, and Stacy lay, bound and gagged in viciously sexy satires of their street clothing.
The redhead was in a black vinyl cocktail waitress micromini, with a deep u bodice complete with white frilly lace,
fishnet stockings, and vicious, six inch, ankle strap high heels. Her arms were tied behind her back with black wire, her ankles crossed and likewise tied. In her mouth was a black leather prod gag.
The blonde was in a black micromini skirt, starched, open white shirt, bulging black bra, flesh thigh highs,
and severe six inch, ankle-strap high heels. She was tied and gagged with silver duct tape.
The black haired student was in a deep v-necked cheerleader’s uniform,
bandage wrapping a ball gag in her pried-open mouth, with more bandage around her crossed ankles and crossed wrists behind her.
But even they were forgotten when Michelle reappeared at exactly three in a half-cup black lace bustier, most of her butterballs thrust out, her aureoles in plain sight and her nipples stimulated.
The matching thong barely covered her tuft, but did an excellent job of keeping the whirring dildo and thrusting butt-plug deep in her orifices.
Even these hardened perverts couldn’t help but marvel at how she remained upright on black strap high heels that were little more than a point shoe platform and a six inch needle — painful wire-thin straps holding down her toes, instep, and heels.
If anything, her face was more beautiful than ever, especially with the thin cleave gag so deep in her mouth that her lips were stretched to their widest possible length.
Her body was seemed even firmer and fuller, since her arms wrenched painfully behind with wires at her thumbs and elbows.
The blonde and brunette assistants were on either side of her as the host stood to the side and said softly…
“Bidding will start at ten million ? ”
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