This material is not intended to be read by those under the age
of consent in the jurisdiction in which they are accessing the
Internet. If you are too young to be reading this, DON'T READ
IT! If you are an adult with children and are reading this,
please consider where you store it, and whether or not your
children can and should be accessing it. This is a work of
fiction. Like all works of fiction it has some basis in fact and
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
re-transmit beyond the intitial access, the right to store on a
remote server; and the right to re-print or distribute, are
expressly reserved to the copyright holder and may not be
exercised without permission of the author. Personal and
non-commercial use is not restricted.
Hollywood Hostage
by
Doc Masterson
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
My balls still hurt but somehow I had managed to sleep
through the night. The chastity belt was definitely the worst
device they had put on me. The unfortunate part seemed to be
that they considered it a permanent part of my anatomy. I could
not fuck or go to the bathroom without their permission.
The slop they put on the morning food tray was as bad as
ever. I tried to find something I could eat, but it was
hopeless. As I pushed the tray back through the cell door I made
an interesting discovery. The cell door was ajar.
My first thought was that this was some kind of trick. The
torment twins had to be just outside waiting for me to take the
bait. I had to be very careful. If they had made a mistake, I
needed to take full advantage. If this was just another way of
sucking me into their torture chamber, I didn't need it.
I pushed open the door hard. If they were hiding behind the
door, they were going to feel the pain. Nothing. I looked both
ways down the hall. Again nothing. I called out the names of my
captors. "Breta, Trixi, I ready to serve." Nothing.
It was, as they say, decision time. I had to either wait
for them to figure I was free or make my escape. The choices
weren't even close. I took off, I was soon out of the cell at a
run. I took a quick look at the open field outside and made a
run for the trees. I was so scared I covered the distance in a
flash. I was free, I couldn't believe it!
I ran almost a mile before I stopped to think what I needed
to do next. I knew it was some distance to the nearest house. I
wasn't too happy about walking up to a door and introducing
myself as a slave in a chastity belt. My sense of manhood seemed
somehow at stake. Maybe I could steal some clothes off a clothes
line or something to make my escape. I would keep running.
What was that? Suddenly there was pain. I hadn't really
gotten used to the crushing pain of my chastity belt, but this
was new. It hurt more. It was of a greater intensity, but it
had come and gone. I stopped, but then continued on. Oh, god
there is the pain again. Man, this time it wouldn't quit.
It was definitely an electrical type pain being zapped to my
cock, balls and asshole from my chastity belt. It seemed to come
on stronger as I got further away from the training center. At
first, it wasn't constant so I could try to work myself as far
away from the torture chamber as possible.
I had made it maybe another mile before the electrical
shocking did became constant. I tried hard to get the belt off,
but it was hopeless. They knew how tight it had to be, and my
belt was there to stay. I tried to keep going, but it was no
use. Finally the pain was so intense I could only roll up in a
ball and scream when the most intense cycles hit me.
I would have to move back closer to the training center. My
balls and cock were going to be zapped off if I didn't. Again it
was decision time. How much pain was I willing to accept to make
it to freedom. If I really had another two miles or so to go for
my freedom, my balls might be burned off. If I went back I would
be punished like never before.
I would make a run for it and try to ignore the pain for as
long as I could. It seemed reasonable that if I started running,
I would somehow be able to resist the disabling effects of it. I
had to give it a try. I wished I knew which direction would be
the best one to take, but I didn't.
I ran and I ran. The pain increased exponentially. I
didn't know how much longer I could hold it together. I was
having trouble lifting my feet. It was becoming harder and
harder to run. I wanted to grab my balls and scream. I
resisted. Suddenly I fell. It was all over.
The natural slope of the hill carried me almost a hundred
yards further. I stopped against a tree stump and I finally
could grab my groin in sympathy with the pain. When I stopped
running, the pain did increase. I was now totally disabled by
the pain. I could not even think of getting to my feet and
running away. I couldn't even return with my tail between my
legs to the training center.
It seemed like the time passed more slowly than normal. I
tried to keep my eyes open to see if any help might accidentally
pass within range, but it was not possible. I had to keep my
eyes closed and mouth shut to keep from screaming with the pain.
A scream would only offer the trackers, I knew must be on my
trail, a new clue to use in their recapture efforts.
"Look, what we have here," I finally heard Trixi say over
the din of my personal pain.
"Looks like all of his electronics check out Okay," Breta
said. "I'd say he was in full ball zap."
"And the tracking system worked. We knew where he was as
soon as he left the cell."
"Oh, please mistress, turn it off," I finally pleaded.
"It doesn't have a control to turn it off," Breta said.
"When we get back to the house, the transmitter will
automatically stop the juice."
"Yeah, we got the economy version. We didn't see any reason
to make the slave more comfortable," Trixi said.
"Let's get him back to his training," Breta said. "We still
have that deadline to meet."
The pair opened a pack sack they were carrying and started
to get me ready for my return walk to the camp. I was first
cuffed just below my biceps with my elbows behind my back. Next
my wrists were handcuffed across my stomach. I could not move my
arms forward or back. The collar and leash they put on my neck
almost cut off the breathing. Finally my legs were put in ankle
irons.
"Get up and lets start walking back to camp," Breta said.
They tugged on my collar with the leash to force me to my
feet. I hurt in my groin, but somehow I manage to get to a fully
erect position. While my dick had never gotten fully soft from
the electric shock pain, the new emotion of being recaptured
made me hard as a rock. My body seemed to like the pressure of
being a slave to two dominatricies. It was strange!
I could not grab at my groin in the trussed up position they
had given my body, so I had to allow the sensations of the
electric shocks build. It seemed that there was a slow decrease
in voltage being applied as we walked slowly back to Breta's
torture compound. The unit must have worked on some sort of
signal strength indicator from a radio signal at the camp. If
they could adjust the tolerances to their liking, it could be
used as a sort of electronic cell block.
As we reached the last mile or so to the camp, the shocking
pain became intermittent. It was obviously designed to act as a
warning shot across the bow of any slave who wanted to pull away
from the slave owner's boat docks. I really wished I had not
allow myself the luxury of masturbating. Since the unit had to
be welded to my body, I had to accept the reality that it would
never be removed.
A lot had transpired since I left the football training
camp. I once thought that I had my life within my control. All
I had to do was perform on the field and I would be able to
demand a big salary and rich lifestyle. The rich lifestyle and
all I had planned for myself went out the door in Atlanta. The
riches and glitter I subconsciously longed for in
Hollywood were also gone. I was trapped in a world I had not
even known existed a few months earlier.
In the dreams I had always had for myself, I could never
have imagined my current shame. I was being lead by a collar and
leash like a young stud puppy dog. I was trussed up with cuffs
and chains that made any hope of fighting back pure fiction. The
chastity belt that I was wearing had a rather permanent air
about it. It was welded tightly to my body and it contained its
own system to keep me under my owner's control. I was a sex
slave for life.
All I could think about on the long journey back to camp was
what would lay ahead for me. I was to serve as a sex slave.
Accepted. I was never to enjoy sex again. Hard to accept. The sex
that would totally dominate my life would never give me pleasure.
I would not be thought of as having a mind or any other non-physical
quality. My life would center around my dick and
asshole. I was to give satisfaction or man or woman as ordered
by my owner. I was to be sold from owner to owner based on how I
performed.
"You know, of course, that this means punishment," Breta
said as we got within view of the main buildings of her property.
"Yes, mistress," I said with the resolute voice of a slave
who knew each failure would result in pain, suffering and
punishment.
"We had to know if you would run when given the
opportunity," Trixi said.
"Yes, mistress."
"And we had to know if our latest purchase would work as the
manufacturer advertised," Breta said obviously commenting on my
chastity belt.
"Yes, mistress."
"There isn't exactly a "Consumer's Report" magazine
available on sex slave devices, you know," Trixi said with her
usual love of the ridiculous.
"Yes, mistress."
"You're going to get a lot more training over the next three
weeks," Breta said. "We had a contract due to deliver you to
your new owner then."
"Yes, mistress."
"If you make us miss that delivery date there is a financial
penalty," she continued.
"Yes, Mistress"
"And any penalty we have to pay we'll take out on your
body," Trixi inserted.
"Yes, mistress."
"In spades."
"Yes, mistress," I said directly to Trixi, hoping she would
get off my case.
"You are going to be the slave of Greta Gabou," Breta said.
"And she has waited a long time to finally be able to have a
personal sex slave."
"Yes, mistress," I said fully understanding that it was the
actress I was being prepared for.
"First you know, she was married to that producer that did
so much to make her a star. And he would never have allowed
anyone else to serve her needs."
"Yes, mistress."
"And she they tried those three young actors after the
director died in the auto accident."
"Yes, mistress," I said making a mental note that she was
going to be one hard woman to sexually satisfy.
"But they didn't give her the amount and type sex she
apparently wanted."
"Yes, mistress," I said wanting to ask about her 'types' of
sex.
"She approached us almost a year ago to find her a slave.
We got her the pictures of the candidates and she would say 'yes
or no'."
"Yes, mistress."
"You were the first she really liked and she demanded we do
a rush job to get you trained for her needs."
"And we, of course, got a higher than normal fee for the
effort," Trixi interjected.
"Yes, mistress."
"Now you understand what we are doing and to what lengths we
will go to get the job done," Breta stared me straight in my face
as she concluded.
"Yes, mistress," I said as my heart sunk into total despair.
The author of this work does custom fiction starting at $,1000. The author's E-mail address is
an53888@anon.penet.fi. The author's only authorized archive site for this work is The Backdrop.
Visit their World Wide Web Page at http://www.fantasies.com or contact its administrator Robin
Roberts by E-mail (robin@backdrop.com or file.request@backdrop.com) or mail (Post Office
Box 390486 -- Mountain View California -- 94039-0486). Their Phone lines are: Voice
415-965-4499, Fax 415-964-3879, or BBS 415-964-3100.