Her pussy! She'd forgotten to expose it properly by holding up her dress. Not wanting any further punishment added to what she might already receive she hastened to pull up the hem of the cheeky little number. Oh, god ... here it came, the cool, open-air on her swollen sex lips, the luscious crack visible for all these men to see. Julie had been told before by men that she had a lovely sex organ, full labia, sculpted, very pink, more than a little apparent when she put herself in position like this.
"Spread your legs,” Giovanni tore away the remaining scraps of her dignity.
Julie complied, fully revealing her sexual readiness.
"You will count the blows to ten,” he informed her.
A shiver passed down her spine. Ten seemed an especially large number, large indeed given her lack of experience. Really the one smack had seemed more than sufficient before with Grigori to make things happen sexually. She could scarcely imagine the effects of so many.
Grigori rubbed his hand on her to begin with and she moaned at once, shaking her tailbone in response. She felt humiliated because this made it seem like she was enjoying this kind of treatment, which of course she was not.
Was she?
Grigori removed the hand, creating a sudden void. Julie whimpered in need. She was answered with a heavy crack of his palm, dead center to her soft, round globes. Her pussy twitched in reply. She needed the man's cock. Hard and fast, right here in front of Giovanni and his minions. Let them all see what a lover the Dasklovian was. Let them see how he played her, bringing out her sweet, sexiness, making her scream like a whore and sigh like a kitten.
She was proud of him for this. And she was proud of how they were together, two, and of all the things they'd managed to learn of each other's bodies in just one afternoon's love making. He knew, for example, how sensitive her breasts were, and how important it was for a man to take the time to play with them. And she'd learned that it drove him wild when she rounded her tongue into a groove and ran it over the scars on his breast, the deep grooves from the angry bear.
She smiled, in spite of the pervasive stinging.
"You've not begun the count. We will start again,” declared the Maestro.
Oh, fuck. She'd just day dreamed her way into an extra spank.
"One,” she recited loud and clear as Grigori administered a fresh ass slap.
Grigori established himself a rhythm, delivering the next four in rapid succession. She rattled off the numbers, feeling herself drifting like it was someone else's ass, someone else feeling the hot burn, the sweet sting, each new impact pulling the cords inside her tighter, making her need penetration more and more. She wasn't above begging now, if it came to that.
At the halfway point Grigori stopped. The Director was telling him something. She braced herself for the worst.
"Julie, do you know what our Grigori did when he was attacked by that bear, the one that left its calling card? Come now, I know you are interested. You stare constantly at the wound."
"Yes...” she confessed her interest. “Tell me."
"He begged the authorities not to destroy the animal. Refusing medical treatment himself, he hugged the animal after the accident for over an hour, attempting to protect it."
Grigori's hand was back on her behind, caressing. She shook her head, not wanting to feel anymore tenderness for Grigori than she already did.
"It's true. Though I don't think you are surprised, are you?"
"Please,” she exclaimed. “Tell him not to..."
Too late-Grigori's finger had found its way to her pussy.
"I knew you would respond to him like this if I brought you together. One look,” Giovanni declared, “at you, at him ... it was child's play."
Julie called out in Dasklovian for the man to take her.
"Not bad,” the Director said. “You are indeed a quick study."
Grigori spanked her instead. The pleasure and pain were melding now, one into the other.
"I have changed my mind,” Giovanni announced. “I have decided I am going to make a film after all, one unlike any that has ever been done, Julie. You have Grigori to thank that I going to try to enact a very old vision ... the first I ever had, indeed, the only real one. Do you know the film Swept Away? It is one of the simplest, most profound ever completed. One man, one woman on an island. A blonde goddess, upper class, and a lower class seaman. Stranded on an island, by her carelessness. He takes command, finds his place as a male. In order to survive she must go to him, on his terms as a slave. They unlock primal passions. She cooks and cleans for him, she serves on her knees, she surrenders her body for his brute pleasures. Her sex entirely ruled by his cock. It works by the very accident of the thing, by their very anonymity. Of course it is all undone by their rescue. The spell is broken. They land ashore, their two worlds pull them apart. He seeks to get her back, but it cannot be. Wealth, you see, has the strongest bonds of all."
The Director called out to one of the servants. She could not follow the Italian. The meaning became clear enough, however, when the man returned with the devices, turning them over to Grigori.
"Ambrosiano, no..."
Grigori inserted the plug into her ass, splitting and filling and frustrating her.
"Damn it,” she exclaimed. “I'm not your love toy."
"But you will become such, my dear. As will Grigori.” The Director instructed the man to put the vibrator inside her clenching, spasming pussy.
Julie's nails dug into the tablecloth. Shamelessly, she fucked the edge of the table. Giovanni made a remark and she was smacked again on her throbbing red ass. What did the man mean-that they would both become love toys? Did he mean to dominate them both?
"No move,” said Grigori, employing two of the English words she'd taught him.
The vibrator hummed away, exercising its nasty little control over her impulses. Combined with the degrading butt plug, it made Julie feel very much like a love toy, an object for visual ... and tactile amusement.
Yes, she needed this. To be used by these men, to be reduced, all the way down to a level of sheer lust.
"Let me please you,” she heard herself say. “I want to be good ... I've learned ... my lesson.” Julie grit her teeth against the orgasm. It was a clitoral one, those tiny, devious ones, wasp stings of pleasure, followed by waves, itching roiling, buzzing wings, persisting.
"Were you given permission to come, Julie?” The Director administered a corrective spank through the hand of the Dasklovian.
Julie groaned, thrust headlong into another orgasm. “No,” she moaned. “S-sorry."
Giovanni gave more instructions. Grigori adjusted the device.... oh god, he was turning up the speed. And now he was ... leaving her. Returning to his seat.
"I hope you don't mind if we eat?” Giovanni asked. “We really don't want to keep the kitchen waiting too long."
"Bastard,” she managed to hiss. “Heartless bastard."
The Director raised his glass, oblivious. “A toast. Strovaya. To life and love."
"Strovaya,” repeated Grigori with robust conviction.
They commenced to eating, a slow, elaborate fair in the Italian style. Unlike an ordinary Italian meal, however, there was no conversation. The only sounds were the scraping of forks on the plate, the sucking of wine through lips of red and the whirring motor of the vibrator deep inside her tortured pussy. She couldn't help the orgasms, one after another, making her whimper and beg, nibbling at her own hand to stifle the outright screams. It felt like she'd leaked a river; she was so damned over-stimulated, puckered and pulsing with deep soul horniness. These little buzzing climaxes. She needed dick and she needed it now.
"Ambrosiano,” she called hoarsely, hardly recognizing the sound of her own voice.
"Signor Ambrosiano,” he corrected, reminding her of her status.
"Yes ... signor.” As in sir, or even Master. “Sir, I want...” The words caught in her throat. Though not a vain, stereotypical movie blonde, she was not used to being in this pos
ition. Julie Marie Summers had never had to seek out sex in her life, much less beg it. If anything, she'd spent her time fighting off men who wanted it from her, ignoring everything else inside her, including what was between her ears.
"Want what, my dear?"
"I want to make love,” she spared herself the more graphic term.
"There is no room for love in this room,” pronounced the Director. “Nor in this film."
"In that case I want to fuck,” she braced herself, another climax on the way, soon to rob of her speech once more. “I want to fuck ... both of you."
Oh, heavens, had she really said that out loud? Only once before had she been in on a threesome, her and another girl, in the bed of a sleazy producer hyped up on cocaine about a decade ago. It had left her cold, in more ways than one. But with these two men to share a bed with, how could she go wrong?
The new orgasm was like sharp tongues, whipping up and down her back. You naughty thing, they seemed to be chastising, nice females don't ask for such things.
"I see,” said Ambrosiano as the servants cleared the empty plates, as well as her full one. “That would be an interesting change ... in your role. It would involve, I think, a fresh audition."
Julie was in no position to arguing, no matter what perversions the man might have in mind. “Anything..."
He ordered a servant to turn off the vibrator and remove it. The touch of the stranger's hand made her come one more time. Degrading, wild and more overpowering than all the others combined. A hundred suns exploding, moons shattering. Looking across the table, she reached for the Dasklovian, who was sitting like a statue, so very stoic, that perpetually half sad look upon his face as though he could never really touch her.
But his eyes, ah, his eyes danced with sympathy.
"Get up now, Julie.” Ambrosiano gave her no time to recover. “You will remove your dress and your bra, but leave the shoes."
Nothing spelled wanton woman to Julie more than this: a female wearing only high heels. A woman like this was dressed to fuck and for no other purpose on earth. She was snagging men, inviting them, their hands and cocks to come and possess saucy flesh, highlighted by flashing patent leather covering pretty feet.
She let the dress fall to the floor, like a petal. The carpet absorbed it in sweet silence. Reaching behind her back to reach the clasp of the bra she put her hands temporarily in a position of helplessness. She was so exposed this way. If the men should tie her thus, she would be unable to prevent them doing as they wished to her hyper sensitive, swollen breasts peaked by agonized nipples.
The red silk cups dropped away, her last protection gone, flimsy as it had been.
"Hands down,” the Director said as the bra joined the dress, both fire red.
Julie had been trying to cover herself, using her own palms. They were sweaty and warm as she placed them, for wont of a better place, on her hips. The sound of her heart was almost overpowering to her own ears. As were the catches in her breath. Did the men not hear this? How could they bear it, the sound and sight of this pinned, trepidatious womanhood, so still on the outside, but internally squirming with desires barely imagined much less tapped?
"You never married,” the Director said, holding true to his reputation for taking sudden stabs into his actors’ souls. “Why not?"
A dozen lies raced for primacy at her lips. It was the truth, however, that fell out first. “I have never met a man I could trust ... with everything."
"That is because you have too much to give. You are not like other women. You do not know to hold back. You do not know to forget. You do not know to play the games, to wear the masks. This is why you will be great-from the moment I saw you I knew. You are incapable of acting."
"Thank you ... I think."
"Touch your breasts, Julie. “Caress them, as you would wish a man to do."
She closed her eyes, grabbing both globes eagerly, greedily. They could be Grigori's hands, or Giovanni's, or maybe one of each.
"Grigori conquers bears,” he observed, “but he has more trouble with you. After tonight you will be a bit more open."
"Is this what it takes to get you off?” She demanded boldly. “Seeing people humiliate themselves? Is that the only way you can get it up?"
His face was expressionless. “Pinch your nipples,” he said, not giving her insult the dignity of a direct reply.
She was powerless to disobey. She needed this too much, needed them too much. “It hurts,” she whined almost immediately.
"Harder,” he said cruelly.
Julie made no effort to cheat. In seconds she had brought tears to her eyes. But she did not want it to stop either. She wanted more pressure, more attention, more punishment.
Groaning she fell to her knees. Still she did not let go.
"You have a high tolerance for pain,” he noted. “You may let go now."
She did so, openly panting. “Thank you,” she gasped.
"I want you to crawl to us, Julie. Under the table. You will tend to our cocks while we consume the second course."
Julie had never felt so weak in her life. This went beyond being treated as a prostitute. This was something a slave would do. “Signor, Ambrosiano—"
Her feeble objections were cut off before she could properly begin them. “You have a choice, Julie, you can service the two of us or you can attend to the needs of every other man in this house."
Julie bit her lower lip, a mini-spike of pleasure skewering her helpless sex. The Director was prepared to give her body to others; in fact he would do exactly that if she refused to perform. She thought of all those cocks lined up ... her hot little mouth suctioned to organ after organ, each pulsing and throbbing, her head bobbing obediently, man after man grunting above her, grasping her head, feeding her his dick till at last he exploded, giving her hot mouthfuls, on and on till her stomach was overflowing with semen.
Was it an idle threat? Just part of his “movie"? It didn't matter now. She was too absorbed herself, too deeply into the submission implied. Giovanni Ambrosiano was right. She never had been a great actress. Just a person able to put her heart on her sleeve enough to fool some people some of the time. And not even the right ones at that.
"Do the servants have to watch?” She inquired.
"How else will they know how best to take advantage of you if they ever have the opportunity?"
There was an odd logic to this and every instinct in her head told her she best resist it unless she wanted to end up at this man's complete mercy, perhaps forever.
"What you are doing is wrong, you know that,” she declared, putting as much resolve in her voice as she could manage. “I have the law on my side."
The lines on the Director's face pulled tight. She could sense an impending mood shift, one of those emotional turnabouts the man was so famous for. “Perhaps you are right,” he said, his voice subtly cooled and detached. “I shall have my secretary bring you to the railway station at once. You are released from your contract."
She felt the world drop from underneath her. He had called her bluff. She did not want to be exploited, but the thought of leaving now, of abandoning this project, and Grigori was too much to bear. She had a stake in all this. She was irresistibly curious, too, filled with complex building desires that she knew instinctively could only be resolved here, in this situation.
Too, she could not endure this man's disapproval. Not in her current state, at least.
"I-I want to stay,” she summoned her courage.
The Director was silent.
"I want to stay,” she said more forcefully.
Still no answer as he sipped his wine.
Staving off panic, Julie sunk to her knees on the carpet and then down onto all fours. She did not want to go to any railway station. She did not want to be alone, ever again.
The new position, ass cheeks stretched taut, reminded her immediately of her spanking, and the stinging reminder left behind. And yet this seemed preferable in her mind right now-
being punished over being ignored.
"Mmm,” sniffed the Director, quite consumed by the silver platters being brought for the next course. “Fish with spinach Florentine. An excellent choice."
Julie saw now how tenuous her position had become. She must prove herself doubly, drawing back the man's attention and praise. Her pulse raced-craving his eyes on her again, his voice, his commands. How had he done this-put her willingly down on the rug on all fours while at the same time pulling a metaphorical rug out from underneath her, turning her world upside down?
Julie's hands sparked with electricity as she moved over the expensive carpet. Her knees slid with excruciating slowness, her belly quivering uncontrollably. There was no hiding this way, not with her ass shaking and her breasts hanging down, aching to be manhandled. Meekly she moved and humbly, but also full of keen, feline hunger. She wanted one thing and she did not intend to be stopped. Not till she'd had her fill of both men.
The Director, however, had other ideas in mind. He had no intention of letting her off so easily. “Why are you still here?” He asked as she approached the table.
She stopped, his cold voice like a slap to her cheek. It was a wakeup call. As to how the man intended to humiliate her before allowing her to proceed.
"I would like a chance to do ... as you instructed,” she chose her words carefully.
"And what is that?” He inquired coldly, still not giving her the courtesy of direct eye contact.
"To please you,” she lowered her head. “And Grigori."
He took a bite of his fish, steaming hot. “Yes?"
The bastard was going to make her spell it out. “I want to suck you,” she said, not loud enough for his liking.
"Kindly repeat yourself, for an old man,” he said, the moniker more than a little ironic in his case.
Julie decided to abase herself completely in one fell swoop. “I want to suck your cocks. Please, may I have a chance to suck you?"
Captured!--On Film Page 7