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 FIFTEEN
"The day has come," Breta announced about three weeks later.
The time had passed very slowly. While I had accepted my
role as a slave, I didn't always get my service to the mistress
correct. I was punished almost daily for failing to meet some
real or imagined requirement for worthiness. I was not a very
virtuous slave.
I had managed to satisfy Thor, Trixi and Breta almost daily
and I had learned to use my dick on Thor without shooting the
black hole. The punishment seemed to also come daily. There had
been a recent change however. The tools of their torture had
turned to rubber coated whips and rubber hoses to save my skin
and body from cuts and bruises. The day of my acceptance by my
new mistress had come.
As they lead me from my cell by a studded collar and chain
leash, I couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead. When we got
outside, I saw the long stretch limousine parked in the shade of
the large Elm tree. I was led to the right hand door which stood
ajar in the morning sun.
"Let me see his complete body," came the mysterious, but
recognizable voice of the actress Greta Gabou from inside the
rear passenger section.
"Turn around for your new owner," Breta said in the
businesslike voice of a slave trader.
"Yes, mistress," I said clinically.
"Quite nice," came the still invisible response from the
vehicle.
"Very good, Miss Gabou." Breta said.
"My driver James has the briefcase with the remuneration we
discussed."
"It is nice to do business with you. Would you like him in
the front or back with you."
"Oh, in the back, of course. I want to feast my eyes on his
beautiful body before I take him to my new dungeon.
As I got ready to step forward into the car I realized how
exposed I really was. They had only given me the chastity belt
and collar to wear for the occasion. It seemed difficult to
imagine leaving the compound with only these items on my body. I
hoped that the dark glass of the limousine would block any view
from the outside.
"Here is the control case. It has the transmitter that
controls his chastity belt. It is set to a radius of a quarter
mile, so he can't leave your estate without going into severe
pain. The key inside opens his front and back pleasure ports.
He has been trained to all the requirements we agreed upon,"
Breta said.
"I'm sure he will work out fine," Greta said gesturing me
inside.
"If you need any other slaves please keep us in mind," Breta
concluded.
"You keep sending over the photo's you have of any new meat
you find. I'll look it over. I may just wear this young man out
with my demands."
As I stepped inside the vehicle, I was surprised how
beautiful Greta Gabou was. I had, of course, seen her in movies,
but that had been a long time ago. I some how expected some sort
of cross breed of the fictional Norma Desmond and that movie star
who ran all the Beverly Hills speed traps. Ms. Gabou was still a
knockout. She had either kept a local dermatologist busy or she
just never aged.
We seemed to enjoy a quiet visual conversation with each
other as we left the compound and started toward the city. She
obviously liked my muscular body and I felt honored to be a sex
slave to such a perpetual beauty. I immediately felt at home in
my new setting. I was the sex slave of one of the biggest
Hollywood stars ever to grace the silver screen.
"She says you are a new slave," Greta said initiating the
first conversation.
"If you mean, you are my first owner, that is correct,
mistress," I said trying to understand what she was saying.
"I have never had a slave of my own, so it will be a first
for me as well."
"I hope I will make you happy."
"Oh, I am sure you will. I have a friend that has had
several and I know the ropes pretty well."
"That's good, my mistress."
"I am really quite alone these days, so I will have plenty
of time to keep you to your training schedule."
"Yes, mistress."
"I always believe that a sex slave has never learned it all.
Don't you think?"
"Oh, yes, my mistress," I said not really wanting to give
her a reason for punishment at this early time in our
relationship.
"I have tried to get the best of everything," she said. "So
you will continue to grow into the task you have been ordained to
achieve."
"Yes, my mistress."
"Breta and Trixi are the best trainers in all of the West.
They get rave reviews from many happy owners. I did cut their
training time a little short, but I wanted to deal with the rough
edges myself."
"Yes, my mistress."
"I think you will like your facility at Montimount, too."
"Montimount, mistress?" I ask as the name caught me by
surprise.
"That's what they call that huge castle of a house I live in
in the Hollywood Hills. Its completely fenced and full of
Rottweilers who want to eat your leg."
"I see, my mistress."
"You're going to have a complete building to yourself. It's
almost five-thousand square feet of building. It was once a
hunting lodge when this area was all rural. I think you will see
we have thought of everything.
"Thank you, my mistress," I said not really sure what I
should say.
The conversation seemed to die for the remaining ten miles
to Montimount. I noticed the tall brick walls were topped with
prison razor wire. The driver used some sort of sophisticated
electronics to open the large steel swinging gate. The dogs met
the vehicle, as promised, but after they realized it was Greta's
limo they settled down and went back to sleep. The vehicle
slowly climbed the winding road to the top of the hill some half
mile from the gate.
"Take us down to the Wolf's Den," she directed the driver
over the car's intercom. "That's what they have always called
your new home."
"Yes, my mistress."
"I'll be installing your master control transmitter
somewhere on the grounds. I think you already know that you can
not escape with that chastity unit on your loins. Should you try
I'll have it set to the high setting. Breta and Trixi didn't
want to injure the merchandise, but I just want to be very sure
you're here when I want you."
"Yes, my mistress. I understand," I said trying to muster a
smile.
"Let's go inside so I can show you what I have bought for us
to use on your body."
"Yes, my mistress," I said without any real enthusiasm for
the project.
"As you can see, we have one large room with a small fully
barred cell in the middle. I want you to always be able to look
out at the equipment I have available should you fail to do a
slave's job."
"Yes, my mistress," I said seriously studying the array of
torture equipment.
"Over here you can see that I have a complete selections of
whips. Most, I'm afraid, will really rip your flesh off. I have
too much money to be really worried about your resale value. I
think you should be able to understand that."
"Yes, my mistress."
Here I have a complete selection of ball crushing devices.
We can make it hurt for a short time or for months. It is, as
you know, all up to the way you perform."
"Yes, my mistress," I said finishing my mental inventory of
the dungeon.
My heart sank as she took me through a detailed tour of all
the devices she had ready for my body. I got the distinct
impression that I would soon know every one from actual
experience. She had planned my presence at her estate for months
and she would be a severe trainer. My dick was hard. I was
ready to continue my training with Greta.
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.