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personal experience.  Copyright: This story is copyright 1995 by
the author, Doc Masterson, under the U.S. Copyright Convention
and the Bourne Conventions.  All rights, including: the right to
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Hollywood Hostage
by
Doc Masterson

CHAPTER THREE
     I panicked, when I woke up.  I could not see and I could not
speak.  There was something on my head from my neck to the top of
my hair.  It smelled like musty leather and it fit very tightly
around all parts of my head.  I batted my eyes to be sure they
were open, but it was no use.  I could not see out of the mask
that had been put on my head.
     There was a hard rubber tasting gag in my mouth.  It felt
like a long fat penis and it extended to the back of my mouth.  I
tried pushing it out of my mouth with my tongue, but the outer
mask kept it firmly in place.  The gag forced my mouth into the
fully open position.  It felt like I was sucking the penis gag
like a tit.
     The mask seemed like it had been custom tailored for my
head.  I tried to open my jaws but the leather was too
restrictive.  I tried swallowing and it took the greatest effort
to manage even this task.  I could easily draw a single breath
but I wasn't sure the air supply was fresh or plentiful.  Each
lung full of air seemed warm and musty like it had been there in
my mask for days.  Would I need more air for what was ahead? 
Would the restrictive mask allow me to have it?
     I could feel the sweat beads all over my face.  The sweat
was rolling into the corners of my eyes.  It stung but still
there was no vision.  The thick leather obviously had been on my
face for a long time and my body heat was building inside.  I
wanted out of this hood with a passion.
     The pressure against my ears was tremendous.  It seemed like
there was some sort of special belt around my head pushing the
mask tightly against my ears.  It cased an eerie feeling.  On top
of it all, my ears felt like they had been stuffed with cotton
wadding.  The silence seemed more than just the absence of sound
near me.
     I wanted to take my hands and pull the mask off my head.  It
seemed like there was some kind of locking band around my neck
that I wanted to release.  My hands, however, were otherwise
occupied.  My captors had put some sort of leather-feeling gloves
over my hands.  They were locked firmly to my wrists and had, in
turn, been tied to the roof or some overhead beam.  The result
was that I was swinging with my feet off the floor suspended by
my arms.  It hurt like hell.
     My balls were still tightly bound in the chrome ring that
had been mine since I entered slavery.  The punishment, however,
seemed to have brought on a new level of pain here.  The five
pound weights I had had to wear during my cleaning and oral sex
training yesterday had been replaced with heavier weighs.  My
guess was ten pounds, but that is just a guess.
     The pains from the weights were intensified by a new ring
that had been added to my sex organs.  Around the base of my cock
and balls they had installed another wide band.  It was tight and
seemed to pinch my skin as I made the slightest movements.  They
seemed intent on making me pay for suggesting I get to fuck one
of them yesterday.
     As had become the usual, my sex meat was hard and resilient. 
It felt like it arched out into the cool air of my cell for a
dozen feet or more.  It was hot with passion and I could feel the
need to shoot my wad deep in my ball sack.  Why was this torture
making me so horny?  Was there something here I did not
understand?  Was I really getting to like the pain and suffering
that seemed to be my new lot?
     "You're struggling, so you must be awake," came Breta's
voice through what must have been ear speakers implanted in my
ear canal.
     I jerked my body in reaction to the surprisingly loud sound
and they must have understood that I could not answer them with
the required 'yes, mistress'.  
     "Since you have forced us to punish you for breaking our
rules," Breta said, "we will read you the rules, one by one, as
we have your attention at its highest point."
     I had not the slightest idea of what she was speaking about,
but I was sure I would soon find out.  I was equally certain that
whatever was to be the new facts, I would not like them.
     "First your purpose in life is to serve women," Breta said
coolly.
     I suddenly felt Trixi's bull whip across my shoulders and
back.  My whole body convulsed with the pain.  I thought my right
arm had come out of the shoulder socket, but, alas, it was just
massive joint pain.  My heart pumped as I knew there was ripped
skin and blood on my once smooth back.  My feet instinctively
tried to find footing that would relieve me of the body stress I
was feeling, but my legs were too far off the ground.
     I tried to scream.  I tried to plead.  I tried to pray.  The
damn gag was deeply down my throat and all that came out were
muffled sounds that likely were silenced by the thick leather
mask itself.  I felt like I would bite the gag in two, but I
suddenly realized the rubber was very hard.  I suspect there was
also a steel core that would have prevented my severing and
expelling it.
     The force of the whip and my body's attempt at a defense
sent my body into a jarring swing that made my legs swing in
alternating circles.  The weights that were attached to my balls
started their own orbs.  The rings seemed bent on capturing
little folds of ball skin in between them.  The pain seemed to
flash like a thousand lightening storms.
     A second whip stroke caught me completely by surprise. 
Unconsciously I had expected some sort of warning through a
statement sent to me through my ear plugs.  The stroke seemed to
be from Breta's whip across my buttocks and upper legs.  It
seemed timed to catch me on a swing that would make my own body's
force part of the punishment.  By body was again alive with pain.
     "Slaves are to give sexual satisfaction as commanded by
their mistress," came the rule that was to match the last blow.
     There was a brief silence and respite from the pain before
they both came simultaneously.  At least they were so close
together in time that my pain racked and sexually wired body
could not tell which came first.
     "Slaves are not to receive sexual satisfaction," Breta said
loudly, "and that is the rule you asked us to violate last
night."
     The pair seemed to have an unending set of rules for me to
accept and comprehend.  I was not to masturbate.  I was not to
ejaculate during sex with anyone else.  I was to have sex with
men or women as I was directed by my mistress.  I was to be sold
to a mistress who would own me until she decided to sell me to
someone else.  The list seemed to go on forever and my body could
not stand the pain long enough to reach its end.  I passed out.
     "Wake up.  You are not to pass out during punishment.  You
must suffer through it all," Breta said as she pored some cold
water over my body to revive it.  I fought being revived, but
they knew the tricks.  Soon I could smell ammonia under my nose. 
I would have to remain conscious for another round of rules and
whippings.
     My body seemed to drift into a hot pool of pain.  There was
no relief, but since the intensity was constant it seemed all
right.  I could never tell when the next blow might hit my body
and I could not predict which area of my totally bruised skin
they would hit next.  I did find myself slipping off into
dreamland occasionally but the ammonia and cold water always
brought me back to hell.
     The pain seemed to add to the horny feeling I had felt since
the beginning.  It seemed that each stroke was like a stroke deep
into Breta's or Trixi's cunt.  I was being drawn closer and
closer to climax.  The road to satisfaction had never been this
long.  I could always count on obtaining satisfaction.  Things
were definitely different.
     The stream of cum was ready.  It was near the surface.  It
was under pressure, such pressure.  It needed an outlet. The
pain, oh, the pain, was it to be that outlet?  I kept feeling the
climax start then the pungent odor of ammonia would be present. 
Instead of a bath of warm cum, I would feel a bucket of cold
water being dashed against my body.  Being Breta's slave was both
hell and heaven.

*****

     The sudden reality of failure hit me.  I had somehow lost
the battle for consciousness and the fight to shoot my heavy load
of cum.  I could feel the cold concrete floor of my cell under my
shoulder.  I had been released from the rack or ropes that had
held my body poised for the whip.  The agony of the lash was over
because my mind refused to accept any more pain.  I had passed
out and was only now returning to my life of pain.
     I could feel the damp morning air that I had learned was
common along the beaches of California this time of year.  They
were probably resting, I reasoned, comfortably knowing I would
soon awaken to the remaining pain my body could not shake.  I
would not be able to sleep the pain of the many whip blows was
simply too much.
     I tried to get to my feet where I realized that my
discomfort was partly due to the mask they had not removed from
my head.  I had, for the first time in days, the full use of my
hands.  I felt the outside of the tight leather device that was
torturing my head.  I found that there were three leather buckles
and a zipper that held the device over my face.
     I started eagerly at the task of removing it from my head. 
As soon as I started, I knew it was going to be hard.  Each
buckle included a hasp and lock to keep the buckle from being
opened.  I would have to rip the leather apart to get it off my
head.  As I gripped the edges I realized this would be impossible
too.  The mask was made of thick saddle leather.
     "You didn't think we were finished with you did you," came
Breta's voice from out of the blue.
     My answer was an immediate trembling of my body.  I was
scared.  I could not take much more of their punishment.  I
wanted only to tell her that I would obey whatever she asked.  I
could not speak, however, the deep penis gag in my mouth
prevented any communication.  I tried to mumble 'yes, mistress',
but Trixi's whip hit me before the words could have reached
outside my mask.
     My right side burned with anew fire.  I instinctively moved
to the left with the sort of shuffle step we had practiced in
football defensive drills.  I had no idea where I was in the
room, but I had to get away from my attacker.  I hit the wall.  I
tried a step backward and I felt the whip Breta seemed to favor.
     "You can't get away from us," Trixi said.
     "You have a lot to learn before we can sell you to the 
Hollywood set," Breta added
     I moved forward but I seemed to be trapped in a pincer
action.  They moved around me like the whirling winds of a
thermal using their whips at will against my pain racked body.  I
tried again to pull up the mask that was making me blind to their
blows but it was no use.  They could attack and I could only hope
to dance out of a direct blow.
     The defense was only partly successful.  Sometimes I would
actually move in a direction that made the whip blow a little
less severe when it hit my pain controlled body.  In other cases,
I would move directly into the path of a moving whip only to
increase its force against my body.
     Suddenly I heard the ear plugs in my ears open to the sounds
around me.  The new tool could help or hurt me.  I heard both
whips start in motion toward my body.  I had to make a decision.
Right or left?  Forward or back?  Take a card, spin the wheel,
take a chance.  Faced with all the new input of information I
froze.
     Trixi's whip caught me at the calves pulling my legs back. 
Breta's whip caught me on the back to spin me around.  I was
going down.  The floor was coming up to meet me but I could not
see it.  Where was it?  I needed to know or I could not brace
myself for the fall.  I moved my hands to meet the floor.  Air. 
Only air.  I landed on my head and I was gone.

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