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Part 1

Darrel Zanook’s trip down to the Bahamas in his private Gulfstream V had been uneventful. The medium sized business jet of his never ran into problems with customs, as it was well known that he was an honorary member of the President’s private war on drugs in America. An entrepreneur now for the last ten years he’d made a killing in computer hardware, and having invested wisely found that he wouldn’t have to worry about money for the rest of his life. Of course having nothing to do would probably have killed him, and so he bought himself a hobby, and with it came a whole group of film studios, and other hobbies. Like the women he garnered to star in his, shall we say, slightly distasteful movie kingdom. Beautiful to be sure, like Trish there in the forward lounge area sleeping fitfully on the forward couch.

The former Patricia Holecroft of upper class Bostonian Society. A former debutant daughter of a wealthy local politician who’d married a local brain surgeon, Trish was Darrel’s latest trophy-married-white-slut turned porno queen. Not that she’d wanted to take up a career other than the one she had as wife, spouse, and future mother of a dying dynasty, but she’d been given no choice in the matter once Darrel had spied her sitting with her husband at an off Broadway play. He’d just made her an offer that she couldn’t hardly afford to refuse. By first kidnapping the natural honey blond from the suite they were staying in, and taking her to his studio where he, and seven other black men brought her to one screaming orgasm after another on film. Trish had willingly made 50 different porn films for Darrel since that day. Her latest fuck filled film also staring a rather mangy looking large Heinz 57 stray dog by the incredibly simple name, Rover. Making Trish the lowest of the low as far as her status in the world was concerned if anyone of importance to her ever found out.

But that no longer mattered to Darrel, nor would it matter to Trish once he delivered her to Sheik Abu. Even tainted Trish had sold for a quarter of a million US, and once her family and friends got a copy of her latest film they wouldn’t care if she never showed up in Boston again. But it did create a small hole in Darrel’s stable of starlets that needed to be filled, and as quickly as possible as far as Darrel was concerned.

A concern that quickly disintegrated the moment he set eyes on Maranda and her husband in the Club International, the hottest dinner, and dance club in the Caribbean. This was were all the honeymooners, and beautiful vacationing couples went to for a night of wine, a bit of song, and a clear romantic star filled sky out on the veranda, and nearby beach. The club’s nickname as Lover’s Cove didn’t hurt its profit margin much either.

Sitting alone at his reserved table, dressed in one of his tailored tuxedos, and sipping lightly at his Glenlevet, Darrel had just finished dinner when the normal murmuring in the room edged down the decibel scale by 50. (An oddity that never failed to happen when a real looker entered the cavernous room, alerting him instantly to the possibility of a promising new starlet.) With his usual table located at an advantageous spot for his perusal of the landscape, he waited two ticks for the murmuring to increase in volume then casually turned his head to see what had gulped up all the noise a moment earlier.

It was like two separate yet magnetic radar programs homed in on each other as his eyes went right to hers, and hers to him. He felt an instant connection, and let his eyes caress what his hands could not. The light white with a flowery pattern dress on the blond highlighted dark blond goddess provoked Darrel’s mind instantly as her high heels clickety clacked as she sauntered by.

Damn! Look at those nipples sticking out like little thumbs, he thought. She can’t be wearing a bra. Those breasts can’t have ever fed a baby being that firm. I wonder if she’s wearing bikini thong panties? Hell, is she wearing panties at all? I wonder if she’s marred her flesh with a tattoo as is the latest fashion? No, not this one, if anything, probably one of those navel rings with some expensive jewel, or stone that no one can see unless she’s undressed for her preferred lover, or showing her stuff at the beach, I’ll bet. Yeah, it would be a shame to blemish such perfection with anything other than fine gold, and jewels, wouldn’t it.

He could also tell by her bearing that she was every bit a lady used to getting her own way with either a pout, or a smile, and little else. Two things that showed on woman, no matter what, was innocence, and class. Not so innocent, as she was obviously married to the geek on her sleeve, but classy as she was what innocence was there glowed like a beacon at every male within a 100 mi. radius. A glance back upward caught her appraising him as well, and the smile before her head turned back towards her husband sealed her doom in Darrel’s eyes forever.

A nod in Milo’s direction then set Darrel’s plan in motion. And as he sipped his drink, never taking his eyes off of the couple after that, Milo, his personal secretary, began his investigation. Two hours later Milo returned, and whispered in his ear that everything was set.


“What’s the matter dear?” Maranda asked joining her husband Erick at the front desk.

“As I’ve been trying to tell your husband here,” interrupted the manager of the Regency Hotel where they were staying, “there seems we have a plumbing disaster on your level, and we have moved all of your things to one of our suites for the rest of the duration of your stay here. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but these new accommodations should more than make up for it, and at no additional cost on your parts at all.”

“And you moved everything?” Maranda inquired.

“Yes, well, everything but the bed sheets, and other linen of the room, but all of your belongings to be sure. Feel free to inventory your things, and we will replace anything that you can confirm you had with you when you checked in.”

“We certainly will,” Maranda all but grinned at this fortunate turn of luck.

She’d wanted a suite in the first place, but had been voted down by Erik’s wallet size for this trip. A concession she’d made to get the rest of what she’d wanted out of this mini vacation/second honeymoon trip. And the smile she awarded him at this turn of fortune told of vast pleasures yet unknown, but soon to be reached once they got past the threshold of this latest bit of good fortune. Something Maranda quickly proved the moment they arrived in suite Ten Oh Six.


“Looks like luxury turns this bitch on,” Milo said standing next to where Darrel sat in front of the wall of two way mirrors that looked into suite 1006, “she jumped his bones the moment they entered, eh.”

“Tsk, tsk Milo. After all this is their first wedding anniversary. Did you acquire the cameras, and cameramen we need?”

“Yes sir, they’ll be here.” Milo chuckled. “It took some doing, but when I told them the pay they stopped complaining about it being too early in the morning.”

“What about the others?”

“Our own people are already in route, and will arrive around three in the morning. Oh… and Abu’s private jet took off an hour ago for parts unknown. Trish doesn’t look half bad in a veil, and covered from head to toe in silk.”

“You tell him she’s knocked up?”

“He already knew, but it didn’t seem to bother him in the least. Your Swiss account is heavier by a quarter of a million.”

“Excellent Milo. You have done your usual best, and will be rewarded appropriately in your bonus package, and 401K.”

“You are too kind, sir.”

“Yes. Just remember that,” Darrel replied, in effect dismissing his personal secretary for the moment to go and find his own amusement, or sleep.

“Just one question, if you don’t mind, sir.”

“Yes?” Darrel even turned to answer his only real friend on the planet.


Darrel knew the layers upon layers of what that one word question of Milo’s meant. And he could have answered with a simple; “Because I can,” but he felt this must have been important in some way to Milo that was beyond their personal friendship.

“Ever see that movie where Robert Redford offers Woody Harrelson a million dollars to borrow his wife Demi Moore for a weekend?” Milo’s nod allowed him to continue. “Well as you know the women we approach aren’t nearly as in need of, or willing because of their own status, and money to be traded off as some playboy’s plaything. Yet, if they truly had a choice for a casual fling that nobody would find out about, including their family and friends, they’d jump at the chance. And as to answer for the follow up “Why,” as in: Why do I make them pay for it after the fact? Let’s just say that they’ve earned it in one way or another for maliciously teasing men’s minds all their petty lives, and leave it at that, shall we.”


Lying in a puddle of sheets as naked as the day she’d entered life, Maranda loved the comfort of wallowing in the wet pool of their honeymoon nest after a night of catch up passion. Well nearly caught up, she reprimanded her thoughts. She probably shouldn’t have sucked Erick off first. It had taken another hour for him to recuperate, and even then after too much teasing he’d cum in her before she was able to get off herself. Still, Erick had always been good at cuddling afterwards, and falling asleep together spoon fashion was her favorite way to doze off.

“You know I hate this,” Erick said slipping into his golf shoes as he looked down at her with a slight ember of desire still sparking behind those eyes just from gazing at her enchanting vision, “but your father insisted that I talk to Judge Freeman while down here, and he’d only agree if I joined him for 19 holes today.”

“Just leave the money on the dresser,” Maranda said rising up on her right elbow, trying to look appropriately used, as any prostitute might under similar circumstances. Then with a pout added, “after all, a lonely woman needs money to shop.”

With a grin forming on his face her husband reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and opening it said: “I believe the agreed upon price was “$200.00 for one night,” and he then placed two crisp hundreds on the night stand next to the bed before bending over and giving her a kiss that suggested further fun upon his return. Then without further discussion grabbed his golf bag, and headed out the door saying, “oh, and by the way, I ordered you some breakfast with room service.”

Maranda allowed her body to collapse back down onto the rumpled sheets in total frustration. Why was it always business that got in the way of their love life? Even here in the most romantic islands on the face of the planet her father’s business had wheedled its way into their life. And just when she was getting a nice frothy hate built up, there was that insistent knocking of “Room Service,” out in the foyer.

“Well hell,” Maranda grouched out loud, “maybe I can turn room service on with a little tease,” and she quickly put on her favorite blouse, and skirt over a matching bra and panties.

“Come…” Maranda never got the chance to say anything more as a hood fell over her head, and the antiseptic stench of chloroform permeated her senses before the world faded out.

“I certainly will,” the sound of a strange male baritone voice following her into the black abyss.


The acrid smell of an arid stimulant slapped Maranda awake instantly. Though still a bit groggy she knew immediately that her wrists, and ankles were bound because she could barely move on the hard flat surface under her. And for some reason her vision was a complete blur making it impossible to see more than three out of focus feet away into the darkness all around her with that blinding spot light overhead focused on her. And even as the grogginess faded her vision didn’t clear up, and Maranda became acutely aware that she was helpless, and that there was someone, or more in the vicinity staring at her.

“She’s waking up now,” said a male voice from the outer blackness.

“Good.” Stated another male voice, only more of a baritone this time. “Get the cameras running. Well edit this later, and cut out what doesn’t work.”

It was only then that the real fear of her situation began to seep into Maranda’s mind as she realized the hem of her skirt was now bunched up around her crotch, and that the top two buttons of her blouse were no longer buttoned. Whoever these men where they were certainly strangers to her, and had no business seeing her this exposed, and if it weren’t for the ball gage in her mouth she’d have given them all a real piece of her mind.

“Okay Cheryl, get in there, and warm the bitch up,” said the baritone gruffly.

The next thing Maranda knew was there was someone standing next to her, and from the perfume obviously a woman. She jerked in her bonds as a hand touched her right ankle, then slid caressing upward along Maranda’s inner thigh towards her most private of privates. Maranda’s voice catching in her throat behind the ball gag as thrill after thrill shivered through her body uncontrollably under the other woman’s gentle finger tips.

“Look at that slut’s nipples! They’re starting to poke out through that flimsy bra, and silk blouse of hers now,” announced the first male voice, causing Maranda to blush in gasping shame, “oh she loves it alright. She’ll make an excellent addition to your porn stable, sir.”

“Of course,” replied the baritone. Obviously the man in charge here, and her new, and greatest enemy.

"Oh God!...please stop!" Her mind screamed.

It was then that those dancing fingers reached Maranda’s silky sheer black nylon pantied vulva, and her hips lifted up of their own volition, and a groan escaped from around the seal of her lips with the ball gag.

“Nuh… ooooooooooooooooooo!”

(THIS, was the part that was so unbelievable for Maranda… and freaking her out to feel her most and ONLY private gifts to a man… exposed… for their own disgustingly perverted, voyeuristic pleasure..., and that these vile people would have this mental picture of her for the rest of their lives... knowing what she looked like… NAKED.)

“If she likes that, Cheryl, just think how much she’ll love your tongue there,” commented the baritone, then, “open her blouse, and cut off her bra if you have too.”

Hands fumbled shakily at her chest, and down along her torso as Maranda felt her blouse being unbuttoned by Cheryl, and then the front snap of her bra was released, and the cups peeled away to expose her natural, and before now secreted, beauty before these strangers. Maranda’s heart beat in her chest like a trip-hammer, and it took her complete concentration just to keep herself breathing in and out as she actually felt eyes from the outer darkness slither over her naked bosom like the silk gloves worn by her doorman at home.

“No scars, so they must be either natural, or made by the best plastic surgeon in the universe, eh.” This comment too was made by that first male voice.

“I told you she was real, Milo,” replied the baritone.

“You certainly did, Darrel. And you were right about something else as well. Look at her panties, their soaking wet.”

“And not just from her husbands sparse offering of last night either, I think,” Darrel chuckled. “She’s enjoying the hell out of this.”

(The thought of someone doing this to her like this... feeling used... sent shivers thru Maranda. The thought of fighting the idea of what was happening to her, and the FEAR of her body responding to them... fighting to make sure her nipples didn't harden... fighting the desire to breath harder... the FEAR of her pussy getting wet... and them knowing it... the feeling of being ashamed as they realized they were in control... her body violated... touched, rubbed, licked, kissed... ENTERED... the shock and feeling of defeat if she were to let them make her cum was a fast invading nightmare into this reality.)

“She’ll need all the lubing her body can make if she’s gonna take that big black dick of yours, Darrel,” Milo chuckled.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!” Maranda groaned through the ball gag. No! Please No! her mind reeled with the terror of this impossible situation. Fear the panic in her heart drum rolling blood through her veins. All of her life she’d made the choices, she’d been the one in control in every relationship. And yet, already these perverts could see what their obscene manipulations of her flesh were doing to her. Making her…, but she dared not think in that direction, or all would be lost for sure. Better to just lay still, and let them rape her, as they surely would, than give… NO! No! No! No! Don’t think! Don’t move! Or surely your will, will be……there will. Her mind shouted.

“Now remove the whore’s panties, Cheryl,” Darrel commanded lightly, “nice and slow. That’s it. Let her feel herself being exposed to use. I’m sure she loves to tease men. Isn’t that so…. Maranda?”

“Oh, oh nooooooooo!” Miranda managed to squeak out around the gag as she felt Cheryl’s finger slip under her skirt then, and take hold of the elastic waistband of her sheer black panties, and begin to slowly peel them down along her silky smooth flesh. Down over her flared hips. Ever downward past Maranda’s vulva first exposing her scant bikini trimmed pubic thatch. Past her engorged clitoris, and down beyond the slick slim lips of her vagina, just sticking for a moment before releasing their reluctant grip on her last vestige of modesty. The thong slipping from Maranda’s ass crack making her feel even more degraded than she ever could have imagined.

“Told you she liked thongs,” Milo crowed to nobody unparticular.

“Okay Cut!” Cried out Darrel. “Make-up! Lose the pubic thatch! Oh, and while we’re at it, get the wig. Let’s make her a real blond, blond!”

Part Two:

“Okay everybody,” Darrel shouted, “let’s take it from where Cheryl starts to peel down her panties again.”

Maranda heard more than felt the air-conditioning unit kick in before the cool air brushed along her now perspiring flesh. She hadn’t realized that she’d begun to perspire under the heat of the spotlights, and the tension stirred up by her being so openly exposed while forced to under go a close shave of her entire pubic region. Not that there was much left to shave the way she keep herself trimmed. The strong hands that had held her from kicking out at the blurred person shaving her crotch bare was almost more humiliation than Maranda had been able to stand, and still keep her sanity.


It was like a de’jevu nightmare, or a horrible video replay at the very least, as Cheryl once again reached under Maranda’s skirt to peel her silky sheer black nylon panties slowly down over her hips, and ever downward. Once again Maranda’s blush encompassed her whole body as she struggled vainly to thwart the inevitable. The struggling actually aiding Cheryl in lower her panties from under her butt. And Cheryl took every opportunity to caress, and fondle Maranda’s smooth exposed flesh too, eliciting little cooing strangled moans that oozed out around Maranda’s gag further embarrassing her.

“Oh look,” Milo commented, “you can see she’s dripping with excitement!”

Maranda’s earlier plan to lay immobile had switched to one of struggle. Her reasoning being that at least with the struggling the cameras couldn’t be fooled into thinking this was anything other than a case of rape against her will. So if nothing else her body motions would ruin their attempts at making this look as if she was a willing accomplice.

“Okay fellas, close in now,” Darrel directed, “camera one you get her face, camera two I want a slow tantalizing pan from her chest on down, then zoom in on her moist dripping pussy. Yeah, that’s it. Oh, and Cheryl take the gag out. We’ll edit the sounds in later. I just want them to capture her face as you eat her pussy out.”
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