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personal experience.  Copyright: This story is copyright 1995 by
the author, Doc Masterson, under the U.S. Copyright Convention
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Hollywood Hostage
by
Doc Masterson

CHAPTER ONE
     My balls hurt but, that is, perhaps, getting a little ahead
of the story.  How I came to be wearing a cock restraint with
hand cuffs attached is a long story.  I guess it all started that
faithful day in football training camp.  I had spent almost four
weeks training with the Atlanta Falcons.  It seemed likely that
they would pick up my contract and I would get to start my first
season in professional football.  That was before they took James
back.
     They were quite nice about it but, they told me I didn't
have a place for me on the team.  They had apparently put out
feelers with the other teams but no one needed someone with my
skills.  I was out of work and the dream I had counted on for the
last two years was out the door.  The agent I had found all too
eager to help me when I was drafted, was almost too busy now to
take my calls.  The next round of training camps for arena
football was months away.
     I had majored in TV journalism in college.  It seemed like a
fun and easy major when I started it.  I didn't always have an
easy go at it, however, but I did manage to make it with the
chair of the department.  She liked me and we would often go to
her house to 'study'.  I found out that she was really a sex
starved divorcee.  I was a student who needed a powerful friend
in my major department.  It was a good match.
     Before the football part of my life seemed to loom big, she
often advised me to go to the Los Angeles area and try for a TV
journalism post there.  She was quite blunt.  They hired the
'pretty boys' ahead of the journalistic prize winners.  I would
find the many competitive stations they had there the perfect
opportunity to find a good job.  I didn't really want to think of
myself as one of those big handsome male bodies. When the
newspapers, however, wrote about my football exploits, they
always started the story with something like 'ruggedly handsome'.
     Even though I had only been a defensive back I seemed to
have the best selection of women to date.  The quarterback who
was picked in the first round by the Raiders even asked me to
'fix him up' with women.  I was photogenic, as my parents would
put it, and I thought that the L.A. area might be a place I could
use my talents to make some bucks.  I wouldn't have called it
that way in the beginning but, I was hoping to become a star in 
Hollywood.
     The team hadn't exactly been paying me a great salary, but I
had been in training camp.  They had been indirectly paying a lot
of my living costs.  I had almost ten grand stashed away and
figured this would tide me over until I could get set in L.A.  I
knew I could always put my tail between my legs and ask mom to
wire me some money to come home.
     I still had the two-year-old sports car the college team's
fan club had given me 'the lifetime use of' so I packed it for a
trip across the country.  I took my time and saw part of country
on the way out.  I had stopped along the way to see a couple of
friends and they had given me the names of some local bars where
I could safely meet people.
     It was at one of these bars called the Rustic on Wilshire
Boulevard that I met Breta.  She seemed alone as I saw her at the
small table in the corner.  Thinking back, she probably wanted to
give me just that impression.  I walked over slowly trying to see
if she would look up from her drink.  I would have to make the
first contact.
     She was a real California beauty.  She was tan and thin from
what I assumed was the active lifestyle.  She had a pretty ass
and ample breasts.  The guys back at training camp would have
called her a real dick-puller.  She put out all the right
advertising signs but they seemed to have been designed with more
taste that sexual desire.
     "Are you waiting for someone?" I asked trying to make the
standard line take as much mileage as possible.
      "No," was her simple reply as she slowly raised her eyes to
meet mine.
     "Would you mind if I..."
     "Not at all. My name is Breta.  What's yours?"
     "My name is Rick."
     "Where you from?"
     "Do I look like I from somewhere other than L.A.?"
     "Everyone's from somewhere else in L.A."
     "I just got her from Atlanta.  I was released from the
Falcons last week."
     "That's football, not a Prison in Georgia, right?" she asked
     "Yeah, I played at Tennessee and was drafted by the Falcons. 
I'm originally from St. Louis."
     "What did you come to L.A. for?"
     "I majored in TV journalism and I was told this is an active
job market for TV journalists right now."
     "Well with your body you should be able to do better than
some TV correspondent's job or off network daytime anchor
position."
     "Well, I have sometime to think about it."
     "I see.  That's different."
     "Different?"
     "Yeah.  Most people who come here for a 
Hollywood job, any 
Hollywood job, are in a hurry."
     "Well I got a good signing bonus and I managed to save most
of it.  I'm going to spend a little time looking around before I
try for a specific job."
     "Have you thought about fashion modeling?"
     "What?"
     "Fashion modeling?"
     "That's mostly for women... "
     "Not really.  The male models who are hot, make a bundle."
     "You sure?"
     "That's my business.  I'm a photographer."
     "But I'm... "
     "No, you're exactly what's selling right now."
     "What do you mean selling?"
     "You are what the ad agencies all want to use on their
shoots these days."
     "Really?"
     "Well, you would have to take some promos and get them
circulated to the big ad agencies but, I'm sure."
     "What's this all going to cost me?"
     "That's what I expected.  You think this is just a come on
to get you to let me charge you for some photos, don't you?"
     "I'm sorry.  I guess I just heard so many people tell me to
watch my wallet in L.A. that I thought... "
     "If you want to pay for them fine, if not fine.  Maybe you
will remember me when you become a big male model."
     "Look I'd rather not fight about this.  If you really think
there is a chance, I would like to give it a try."
     "I'm on a shoot in the valley tomorrow but I'll be back
Wednesday."
     "Wednesday is fine."
     "Great.  You don't need to bring any special cloths I will
have the complete summer Jansu swimsuit and Kahi gym lines from
the valley shoot."
     Breta was quite a looker.  That was, of course, why I had
made the initial contact, but there was more to her beauty than
met the eye.  She seemed to have some sort of captivating quality
that made me want to see her again.  I think I would have agreed
to whatever she suggested just to have another date with her.
     Although I had never done a photo shoot, it seemed to all go
quite professionally.  She told me which outfits to model and
helped me learn some basic posing stuff.  She took what seemed
like hundreds of shots to get the few she would present to the
agencies.  I knew the hard workouts I had had in training camp
were at least giving me a new job choice.
     "How long does it take for the agencies to make a decision?"
I asked.
     "Well it's not really the agencies that make the decision."
     "What? I don't understand."
     "It's the clients."  Breta said trying to make it all sound
scientific.
     "I see.  How long does that take."
     "It might be a week or it might take two months.  That's all
I can tell you."
     "Will you call me?"  I asked.
     "I will.  In the mean time take these photos I've done and
take them around to some agents.  I've made a list."
     "I'm not really into agents.  I've had a bad experience with
sports agents and... "
     "Do what you want, but you stand a better chance if we are
both working on it," she said with the finality that almost
convinced me to give up my misgivings and simply follow orders.
     Breta was taking our relationship almost too as a purely
business arrangement.  I had approached her at a bar and really
wanted to find a friend.  She had become a link to a professional
career but I wanted the original relationship as well.  Her voice
seemed to vend off any intention I might have to again raise the
issue of a personal relationship.  She was all business.
     I did go to three of the agents offices she had suggested,
but I only reached the receptionist's desk.  Each one said the
agency had a hard and fast rule that I was to leave my photo's
and they would be back in touch.  I was not to return for four
weeks asking about their progress in reviewing my portfolio.  I
declined each offer without a thought.
     "Hi, you interested in some good news?" was the first thing
she said on the phone when she called yesterday afternoon.
     "Yes, of course.  I'm always interesting in good news. 
Especially when you are part of the good news." I said.
     "I have a lead on a great permanent assignment for you.  Are
you still interested?"
     "Yes, I am.  I would be even more interested if you were
part of the deal."
     "Well you just might have your wish."
     "Really."
     "Yeah,  I have a position for you and they want me to do
what is necessary to make sure you present the way they want."
     "So we'll be working together?"
     "Sort of.  Why don't you come by my house tonight so I can
explain it all?"
     "Great."
     I had been out to her studio when the initial pictures were
taken.  It was on some acreage in a canyon near the Malabu
colony.  At the time she had been very specific to tell me that
her studio was her business office and the rest of the property
was her private residence.  The invitation was to the private
residence and I could not have been happier.
     "I'm glad you invited me," I said when I had finally taken
the long drive to her rural estate.
     "Well, I must confess I am glad to see you too.  I only wish
that I didn't have to start everything with an apology."
     "An apology, what for?"
     "Would you like a drink?  I think I'd like to have one
before I have to make my little statement."
     "Sure, scotch rocks," I said hoping she was really harboring
some kind of deep longing I had not found in a long time.
     "Well, you see I wasn't completely honest about to whom I
would circulate your picture."
     "What do you mean?"
     "Well I told you I would get copies to all the top L.A.
agencies."
     "And you didn't?"
     "Oh no, I did that all right, but I also send some copies to
some very dear friends."
     "Friends?" I asked with a notion that the scotch had really
gotten to my head a little too fast.
     "And they are interested in having you take an assignment."
     "That's great," I said without really realizing what was
going on.
     "Can I tell them you'll take it?"
     "Sure but I am afraid I don't really feel too good.  Can I
lay down on the couch for a minute."
     I can only assume that Breta had given me some kind of drug. 
I don't even remember putting my head on the couch and I have no
idea how long I was out.  The drug completely wiped out any
memory of how she got me to her torture chamber but she had
obviously done it with slaves before.  The horrible thing about
such drug induced sleeps is that you loose all track of time.  I
don't know if I was out hours or days.
     When I woke up, I found she had me in my current state.  My
balls hurt and that was the most significant feeling I had when I
awoke.  The pain, however, was all over my body.  I had a massive
headache and most of my muscles seemed to have been through a
heavy workout.  The light in the cell was dim, but it was enough
to scare the hell out of me.
     I was wearing a wide metal chrome band affair around the
sack of my balls.  It is so wide that by balls seemed compressed
to half their former size.  To the sides of the ball press were
two handcuffs.  They were locked tightly to my wrists.  I had no
other form of cover for my body as it I sat on the cold concrete
floor.  It was more than an hour before I could shake off the
drug hangover enough to get unsteadily to my feet.
     The cell had a single steel door with a small barred window
at the top.  Near the floor there was a slot to be used for a
meal tray.  The room did not have a cot or any other furniture. 
I wanted to see if the door would open but I was sure it would
not.  Since the only real source of light for the cell was the
holes in the door, I had to see what was outside my new life's
perimeter.
     "So you finally woke up," she said as I looked out the
barred door window.
     Breta had completely changed from her former appearance. 
She had always worn very feminine outfits.  She was a fox.  That
was, of course, what had attracted her to me.  Today she was
totally clad in leather.  She had a tight fitting pair of leather
pants really showed off her pretty ass and legs.  The leather
blouse accented her ample breasts and the soft texture allowed
her nipple tips to show below the surface of the outfit.
     I had seen the kind of outfit she wore in one of those
college x-rated videos someone was always renting.  She was now a
full fledged dominatrix right out of your latest whips and chains
classic.  I wasn't sure whether I should comment on the change or
keep my thoughts to my self.  The way my wrists were bound to my
balls gave me all the answers I needed.
     "What am I doing here?"
     "I was trying to tell you when you passed out.  I have some
wealthy Beverly Hills friends who want you as their slave."
     "Slave?"
     "Oh, you'll learn about that in good time."
     "But what if I don't want... "
     "I'm afraid it's too late for that.  You are here to be
trained and I have accepted the contract to get you ready for
your new mistress."
     "I thought you were a photographer?"
     "Oh, I am but this pays more when I can get an assignment. 
Besides I have a lot of fun training my slaves."
     "Look, I want these cuffs and this thing on my balls off. 
I'm not going to stand for this kind of treatment."
     "Oh, you will stand for it too.  You just lay down there and
sleep it off.  We'll start your training in the morning," she
said closing the door to the cell window and ending the
conversation on her terms.

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