SLAVES OF HOLLYWOOD 2 (4 page)

CHAPTER TEN

Mike took his time finishing his morning coffee, keeping his eyes glued to the form on the monitor screen in front of him. He had visited the Fed twice more during the night—both times when he thought he saw her beginning to fall asleep.
I want her to be sleep-deprived
, he told himself.
It’ll make her easier to manipulate.

The two visits had not been lengthy ones. Each time he had just slipped into the room and given her a reminder of where she was—the first time with a quick couple of swats with a riding crop on her red and sore belly, the second with a cane on her upraised feet. Each visit had left her sobbing into her gag—each had left her hurting a little more—and even more frightened --than the time before.

It’s almost time to feed her
, Mike realized.
I don’t want her to lose too much of her strength.
He smiled.
That would be cheating!

He waited until he had finished his coffee and Danish, then, nodding to his assistant, stepped into the training room.

“Good morning, Slave.” He saw that her head wasn’t quite as upright as it had been—but that it quickly came up to snap toward his voice. “I hope you had a relaxing night.”

He strode into the room, stopping just in front of her. “I see that all the clips are still in place.” He touched her red belly, smiling more widely as she sucked in her breath at the touch. “If you had shaken any off, I would have added more.” He flicked a fingertip onto the clip on her right nipple, waited for the moan that quickly came out of her gagged mouth—then flicked the one on her left nipple. “I think we’ll keep these for a while.” He stepped around her. “They’re rather decorative.” He touched the buckle holding her gag in place—saw her stiffen as she felt his presence behind her. “Don’t move—and do not speak without permission!”

He loosened the buckle and pulled the straps forward until the ball gag popped free of her mouth. He watched as a stream of drool ran over her chest and breast before dripping toward the floor below. “You’ll clean that up later.” He stepped back in front of her. “For now…”

His assistant put the large jar of milk and protein additives and its attendant machinery on the floor and handed Mike the rest of the equipment they had brought, than stepped behind the still-bound woman. “I think it’s time we gave you something to eat.” He held his prepared feeding tool up in front of her. “Open wide.”

Slowly, grudgingly, she opened her mouth. He quickly pushed the thick dildo he was holding inside—pushing the straps that would hold it in place to his assistant.

The Fed gagged as the dildo touched the back of her throat. For a moment, Mike thought she might start to spew—but she caught herself in time and dug her teeth into the sides of the rubber device to gain some kind of control.

“Figured I’d let you practice some of the things you still have to learn while you’re eating.” He leaned over and flicked a switch on the machine standing alongside the big jar. “Drink up now—if you waste any, I
will
punish you.”

He watched as the girl quickly began gulping down the liquid that was being forced through the dildo. The milk and additives would hydrate her and keep her strength up—the carefully chosen method of feeding would add to her humiliation. For Mike, it was a win/win. “You’re doing very well—perhaps you’ve done this before?”

He laughed to himself as she stiffened at the suggestion.
This one is really stuck up!
Mike made a note to himself to use a ring gag sometime soon. Forcing her to give him or his assistant a blow-job would break her pride down even more.
And every little bit counts!

Megan was horrified when the owner of the voice shoved the rubber dildo into her mouth. The one in her private places was bad enough—but putting one right into her mouth…

Then it started to spurt something wet—and she was forced to swallow or choke. The humiliation was almost as bad as the continuing pain of the clips and bonds.
I can’t give up
, she told herself over and over.
I have to stay strong. Have to give the others time to find me!

Finally the liquid stopped flowing into her mouth and she had a moment to think about what was happening to her.
He’s trying to break me!
The realization bit like his whip on her stomach.
He’s going to hurt me and humiliate me and…
The final thought was truly horrible.
Rape me until I give up.
She tried to steel herself to whatever was coming next—and managed not to choke as the dildo was pulled out of her mouth, leaving her free to gulp in a few breathes—and give him another warning.

“I…” She was surprised at the roughness in her own voice.
Am I that weak already?
“I am an agent of the FBI! I demand that you…”

She never finished the sentence. His fist ripped into her now-tender belly, forcing all the air out of her lungs. She fought to breathe as he stood before her—speaking very softly.

“Stupid.” He shook his head. “I didn’t give you permission to speak—and yet you insist upon doing so! How can I make it clear to you…?” Mike smiled. “Wait! I think I know just the way!”

He reached into his pocket and brought out the FBI badge he had taken from her when she had been stripped. “It seems that you want to keep reminding us that you’re an FBI agent. Let me assure you that we are fully aware of the fact—although it means nothing at all.” He leaned toward her, touched the clip on her right breast. “Still, if you’re that anxious that we think of you as an agent…” He removed the clip on her right nipple, watched the intake of breath as the pain of returning circulation began to run through her. “I think I can do that.” He took the enlarged nipple between thumb and forefinger, and drove the pin from her FBI badge directly through it. Kelly screamed at the unexpectedly sharp pain while Mike carefully pushed the pin all the way through, leaving the badge hanging from her nipple, the shield portion facing out. “Now you can keep your badge on all the time—and you don’t have to keep telling us!” He stepped back as the screaming continued—and waited as his assistant to put the ball gag back into place.

“Now that you’re quiet again,” he tapped the badge with a finger, smiling at the moan of pain its movement produced. “I guess we can continue.” He held out a hand and took the riding crop his assistant placed there. “I’m growing tired of the clips on your breasts.” He raised the crop—and smashed it down and through the clip on her left nipple, knocking it free.

He smiled as her head thrashed from side to side in new pain.

“So I think I’ll take them off.” The crop came down again, knocking one of those on her right breast free. “In my own way, of course.”

Mike was quiet expert with the crop. He slashed at the Fed’s breast time after time, dislodging a clip with each blow. For the woman, the pain was excruciating—each blow caused tremendous pain in her sensitive breasts and, at the same time, caused the badge pinned to her right nipple to move and shake, increasing the pain that radiated from that tender bit of flesh.

Megan was screaming constantly now, begging and pleading for him to stop—every sound soaked up by the huge gag that filled her mouth. Her pain grew and grew until finally, when the last of the clips was whipped from her agonized breast, she fell into unconsciousness.

She had only a second in that blessedly peaceful state—just the amount of time it took for a freezing bucket of water to be thrown across her aching breasts and belly.

She was shocked back to full consciousness just as Mike began to whip the last clip off—this one was on the lip of her cunt—and it was tightly secured.

It took four strokes to get it off—and Megan screamed and cried through each one.

Her day was just beginning.

CHAPTER ELEVEN – THREE DAYS TO CAPTURE

Agent Ellis agreed that it was necessary to talk to Harry Winston. He also agreed that it would be wise to do so only after making an appointment. A call to the Winston Agency Office produced an agreement to meet early the next evening--after work. They settled on sometime around eight. Fanelli and Agent Kelly spent the early part of the day going through Missing Persons reports—searching for the now-nearly-memorized faces of the other girls in the film.

They found nothing. Either the girls hadn’t come from this area, or there was no one to report them as missing.

Winston’s house was on top of one of the Hollywood Hills, up on the outer reaches of Mulholland Drive. The driveway—actually a private roadway—was guarded and Fanelli was asked to show his ID at two checkpoints before being allowed to pull his car onto the gravel driveway in front of the main house.

He was impressed. Hollywood and Beverly Hills were full of oversized mansions—some of them dating back to the 1920’s and the old-time silent screen stars. This one, as far as he could see, outdid them all.
Gotta be, what, thirty, maybe forty thousand square feet!
He stepped out of the Federal Issue Escalade and regarded the building spread out before him.
I thought the Spelling Mansion was the biggest residence in Los Angeles County
, he ran his eyes over the windows in front of him.
This looks bigger.

Before he had even finished his initial look, Kelly had slammed her own door and marched up to the mansion’s main door. She was ringing the bell a second time when Fanelli swung up onto the lighted portico alongside her.

“Big place.”

She took a cursory glance around and sniffed. “Overblown. You could house ten families on the footprint of this pile.” She shook her head. “And people wonder why the price of a movie ticket is so high!”

Fanelli shook his head at her attitude—but then, he hadn’t actually paid to see a movie in years—the studios always sent screening tickets to the boys at the Bureau, but still… “Hey, this guy earns his money—he can spend it any way he sees fit.”

“He’s a bloodsucker.” Kelly’s face was hard as she waited under the portico’s harsh lighting. “He takes money from people who have real talent. I knew someone like him when I was in the New York office, he …” She cut herself off as the door swung silently inward.

Harry Winston was a tall, slightly soft-looking man of middle age. He was wearing a beautifully tailored pair of pants—and a cheap studio-issue T-Shirt publicizing an upcoming Summer Season epic. He smiled as he saw the two agents—his eye running over Kelly with unabashed interest—then he invited them in.

“What can I do to help the Bureau?” Winston guided them through a marble-floored entrance hall and into a sitting room done in Louis XIV furniture and Renaissance wall hangings. “Please, sit down.” He indicated a setting of spindly-legged chairs and couches. “Can I get you a drink of some kind—I have fruit juice if you’re still on duty.”

“I’m afraid we are,” Fanelli lowered his body into one of the chairs, terrified that it would collapse under his weight.
This thing would cost ten years of my salary!

“Don’t worry about the furniture.” Winston smiled at the expression on Fanelli’s face. “It looks old but it’s reproduction—the real stuff is in a storage vault out in the desert.”

Fanelli nodded and sat. “Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem.” Winston moved into the room and sat on a couch facing the two agents. His eyes remained fixed on Kelly—and Fanelli could see that she was not enjoying the attention. “Now, what can I do for you?”

Kelly pulled a copy of the Hollywood Reporter out of her bag, placed it on the table in front of Winston. It was opened to the full-page ad advertising the cattle call they had become interested in.

“We’re told that you placed this advertisement,” Kelly’s finger lightly touched the paper, indicating the ad. “We’d like to know more about the film and the company making it.”

Winston picked up a pair of reading glasses from a side table, put them on, than took the paper, zeroing in on the indicated page. He glanced at the ad, “a slasher film. Hmmm.” He turned the newspaper over, folded it back to check the date. “Almost four months ago…” He placed the paper back on the desk and looked up at the two agents. “I have to tell you, in all honestly, that I don’t have any memory of any film like this.” He put the glasses down, rubbed thumb and forefinger across the top of his nose. “I seldom work with horror films of any kind—and slasher films…” He shook his head. “No, I don’t think I would deal with anything that had that low a budget—there’s no way they could afford my services!”

“The clerk at the newspaper assured me that the advertisement was placed and paid for by your office.”

“Did she?” He leaned back into the thin cushioning of the fragile-looking couch and crossed his hands behind his head. “Did she see me do it in person? Or was it just a phone order?”

“A phone order.” Fanelli had noticed the flare of anger that appeared in Kelly’s eyes and hurried to cut her off.

“But she was certain that the call came from your office.” Once started, Agent Kelly was not to be stopped. “And the receipt shows that it was, in fact, one of your credit card accounts that was used to pay.”

“Okay.” Winston shrugged again. “If you’re sure, I guess it was my office.” He leaned toward the two agents and put a hand on the ad. “But even if that’s the case, I can assure you that I had nothing to do with it—this is not my type of project.” He shook his head. “My office employs a large number of agents--several of the newer ones specialize in low-budget things like this. It’s likely that one of them ordered and paid for this ad using a company account.”

“Can you prove that?” Kelly was leaning forward, eyes fixed on the agent. “Would there be any kind of record?”

“I’m sure there would be.” Winston gestured around him. “But those records are in my office—not my home.” He stood up, signaling that the interview was over. “If you want me to check on that, I’ll be glad to do so. Call my office tomorrow, or, better still, the day after and I’ll get my accountant searching for the information on this…” He indicated the paper, “…project—when he digs out the data, I’ll have it copied and held by my secretary—when you call, she’ll be happy to give it to you—or, better still, when you come I’ll have my accountant talk to you himself.”

“Are you sure…”

“My dear, “Winston’s smile was wide and innocent. “I am absolutely sure that I had nothing to do with some cheap ‘Slasher’ film at any time in the past ten years.” He gestured toward the hallway. “And now, if there’s nothing else I can do for you—I do have dinner plans.”

Fanelli nodded and surreptitiously closed his hand around the back of Kelly’s elbow, pushing her forward--they were clearly being dismissed and he was anxious to get the other agent out before she became too abrasive. “Of course, sir.” He maneuvered the two of them through the entrance hall and onto the marble flooring, making all the speed he could toward the door. “We do appreciate any help you can give us on this.”

“I’m always ready to help law enforcement in any way I can.” He opened the big front door, which silently pivoted on perfectly balanced hinges. “Perhaps you two would like to see one of the new films the studios are working on? I have screening tickets for several rather good ones…”

“No thank you, Mr. Winston.” Kelly’s tone was cold enough to freeze the door in mid-pivot. “We still have more work to do before we can relax.” She gave him a searching look. “Women’s lives are at stake.”

“Then you have important work, indeed.” He held the door open. “I hope you find what you are looking for Agent…”

“Kelly.” She stepped through the door without another glance. “Megan Kelly.”

“I’ll remember that.” Winston gave Fanelli a friendly nod. “I will definitely remember that.”

The door closed behind them.

“That was stupid.” Fanelli kicked gravel out of his way as he moved toward the car. “Why antagonize him? He’s our only lead!”

“He knows something.” Kelly looked back at the house, eyes narrow. “I’m sure he was lying to us.”

“So you go out of your way to make him angry? One of the most important men in Hollywood?” Fanelli pulled the car door open, slid into the driver’s seat. “That’s just great! And when you leave and go back to good old Washington, who’s going to be left holding the bag?” He turned the key savagely. “Me! Me and the boys at the LA office.”

“There’s not going to be a bag.” She slid in beside him. “We’re going to find out what really happened—and I’ll bet you anything that your Mr. Harry Winston is involved up to his neck!”

“Sure, you’ll bet anything.” Fanelli threw the car into gear—gravel exploded behind him as he pulled away. “Like something’s gonna happen to you if you’re wrong!”

Winston watched the car speed down the driveway.
Agent Kelly
, he told himself.
An interesting woman
. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit a combination, thinking hard as the phone on the other end rang.
Very interesting indeed—and far
too
interested in me.
He smiled as he heard the receiver on the other end picked up
. I think I’ll have to do something about that…