SLAVES OF HOLLYWOOD 2 (6 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Mike went to the security room, curious to see just how long it would take for his little
persuader
to go off for the first time. The room was empty and Mike sighed as he lowered himself into the soft chair in front of the central monitor, dialing up the feed from his training room.

He wanted to be watching when the first jolt hit her.

She’s been awake for nearly three full days now
, Mike told himself as he watched the still form on the screen.
And it hasn’t been an easy three days for her
. He shook his head as he saw her head start to wobble.
Maybe I should have taken the blindfold off
; he smiled and shook his head.
Nah, that would have made it too easy for her to tell which way was up! This way, in the dark, she can’t tell level from slanted…
He watched as her head a bit more slightly.
It’s only a matter of time…

He almost missed it when it finally happened. Kelly’s head fell slightly to one side, then…

CRACK!

Mike saw her jerk back to awareness as pain flared through her cunt. Her whole body went rigid and Mike could see the fine musculature of her thighs and stomach as they stood out through the skin.

That was the first one; Mike nodded and touched a switch on the control panel.
I’d better get some sleep myself or I’ll be in worse shape than her
—he set a command prompt on the computer in the middle of the console and stood up.
That should do it;
he headed for the door and toward his own room.
The computer will let me know if she gets up to a six. She’ll be safe enough until then
. He chuckled.
Safe—but not at all comfortable!

He was in bed and nearly asleep when Kelly’s head fell again—and the punishment resumed.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Megan Kelly tried her best to keep her head level when the man left the room. It was hard—the blindfold kept her in unending darkness, making it difficult for her to know for certain which way was up, which way down.

I can do this,
she told herself.
I can keep myself awake and upright. I can!

But she was far too tired to be sure of that—in fact, she was very nearly exhausted—and her body began to sag far sooner than she dreamed.

I’ve got to keep myself awake! I’ve got to…

CRACK!

The shock within her sex jerked her head back up—the pain continued until she was level once more. By then she was sweating—and her cunt felt like it was on fire!

I can’t let that happen again! I’ve got to stay awake!

She held herself as firmly as she could, head upright, muscles clenched as hard as she could make them.
I can do this—I can…

CRACK!

She whined into the gag.
This isn’t fair! I can’t see and the pain…

Megan Kelly began to cry, hope slipping away as she held her head rigid, afraid the pain would come again. She would have begged, pleaded, promised anything to rid herself of the threat of more of this awful agony.

But there was no one to hear her—and no way to be heard through the gag that kept her quiet and terrified.

Hours crept slowly by. Despite her best efforts, Megan nodded off several times—each time she was jolted back to full awareness by terrible pain shooting through her—pain that grew worse with each iteration. She tried to break free, tried to work the gag out of her mouth.

But it was no use. She was caught—caught and held in terrible bondage that brought more pain with each passing second.

Kelly’s moans grew louder, more hopeless and despairing.

And the night dragged on endlessly.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Mike returned to the training room in the morning. He’d had a quiet night’s sleep, uninterrupted by as much as a single dream or interruption of any kind. He’d decided to take the time for have a hearty breakfast of coffee, eggs, and bacon, before seeing how his Federal Agent had spent
her
night.

She was, of course, exactly where he had left her. Mike looked her over, saw the sheen of sweat the covered her, noted the strain and fatigue obvious in every line of her body. She was still awake, of course, holding herself rigid just as the gag forced her to do.

She never got to a six
, Mike told himself as he moved to stand directly in front of her.
Only got nine hits from the prod
—he grinned and shook his head admiringly.
Not bad under the circumstances.

“So, slave.” He saw her head move just a millimeter in response to his voice. “Are you ready to obey? Ready to talk?”

He could almost see her brain try to decide what to do. If she tried to nod in agreement, the gag would set the prod off. If she did nothing, he might well leave her here with the prod still primed to go off.

Slowly, carefully, she nodded her head—by this time she knew exactly how much movement it took to trigger the prod—and she was careful not to exceed the limits.

“Was that a nod?” He smiled. “I can’t tell. Maybe I should just leave for a few more hours…”

Kelly moaned and whined through the gag—and nodded again—still keeping her movement shallow enough not to trigger the switch.

“Not good enough. I can’t tell if you’re nodding ‘yes’ or shaking your head ‘no’.”

She tried to say YES but the gag muffled and garbled the word so it meant nothing.

“I’ll say this one more time—are you ready to obey me, slave? Nod deeply enough that I can see it.”

Megan Kelly swallowed and whined into the gag. She knew what the man wanted—and she was terrified at the cost—but she had no real choice. She nodded her head once—as quickly as she could.

CRACK!

Mike watched as her whole body jerked around the pain. He heard her muffled scream, watched as she tried to get her head back upright, fought it into rigidity.

“That was better, slave.” Mike watched her closely. “But I want to be absolutely certain. Nod again.”

Megan Kelly sobbed into her gag. She knew that the pain would be terrible—but it would be worse if she didn’t obey. She steeled herself, pulled in what breath she could—and nodded once again.

CRACK!

Her body jerked once more—more violently this time. Sweat poured over her, soaking her hair, her breasts, her legs--she screamed her agony into the gag--then jerked her head back and forth until she finally got herself under control and was able to hold her head upright and rigid.

“So you will obey me?” Mike smiled as he saw the Goosebumps appear on her body—then chuckled as…

CRACK!

She nodded and went into a veritable dance of pain, her whole body reacting, her cries becoming louder, more desperate. Close, he told himself. One more time…

“No matter what I ask of you?” He watched her trembling muscles, heard her breath come in gasps. “Even if I tell you to spread your legs for me--beg me to give you a good fuck?”

CRACK!

Her dance of pain was longer and more intense this time.
That was a seven!
--Mike realized, watching. Her head slumped, her shoulders jerked back and forth—and then, finally, she bit down hard on the gag and pulled her head upright--holding it in place with what tattered bits of willpower she had left.

“I don’t believe you.” His grin grew as he saw her shoulder slump in despair. “But I can see that you’ve have made some progress.” He stepped behind her, unbuckled the strap holding the gag in place. “No noise now,” he pulled at the edges of the ball gag, watched her open her mouth as wide as she possibly could.

The gag popped out and Mike put in on the floor alongside her feet, letting it sit upright—safe for the moment. “Think about what you have learned about yourself.” He stepped away, leaving her strapped to the post. “I’ll be back to see if you really will do what you say.”

He strode toward the door while Kelly wept in relief. She was still tied and still on her knees, but the terrible pain inside her was gone—for the moment. She was amazed to find herself grateful toward the man who had freed her of that pain—even though he was the one who had originally caused it.

She fell asleep within minutes, her body hanging limply in its bonds.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – TWO DAYS TO CAPTURE

Agent Kelly’s morning was no more pleasant than her night had been. Her phone was blinking by the time she finally gave up trying to sleep. She ignored it while she showered and dressed, then called the desk and found that a parcel had been delivered for her. Upon having it brought to her room, she found it to be a FedEx box with a few bits of data she had requested from the Washington office—and a note from the Deputy Director. The note informed Kelly in rather harsh terms that the Director’s office had received a number of complaints concerning Kelly’s work ethics and overall attitude. Some of those had come from the LA Office—others from civilians including, but not limited to, Mr. Winston. The Director, the note continued, didn’t want to order her to shut down her investigation—not yet--but she
was
going to impose a deadline. Kelly had three days to find proof of something probative that the Bureau could work on.

If she found nothing, she was ordered to report back to Washington and forget about the damned film.

Kelly realized that this note proved that Fanelli was right—Winston did have friends in high places—and a complaint to them had resulted in pressure being put on Ms. Blanchette resulting in this new, far too short, deadline. The agent paced in her room for a while; trying to think of what she could do in the time she had been given. She thought about calling the Deputy Director to argue the point—but another read-through convinced her that would be a bad idea.
I have to find something solid
, she told herself.
Something that will prove that this damn film is real and real girls are at risk!

But as of now, she had nothing that a lawyer could use to get a warrant or convene a Grand Jury.

There’s got to be something I can do!

Agent Kelly finally got tired of pacing and left her room to walk off her anger—she got as far as the front desk before a chance greeting from the clerk set her off. Her ensuing tirade about the too-hard bed and demands for a better room—punctuated by a waving FBI badge--ensured that she would get the softer bed she demanded—and, almost certainly, another complaint lodged with the local FBI Office.

Kelly had worked herself into a truly foul mood by the time Fanelli pulled up in the Hotel’s breezeway, ready for the day’s follow-up—and that mood grew even blacker when Fanelli informed her that his boss, Agent Ellis, had ordered the two of them to stay away from Harry Winston unless they found something more incriminating than the credit card charge.

“Fine,” Kelly responded, fuming. “Let’s go and find something that your boss would agree is worth investigating.” She pulled out the issue of Hollywood Reporter, pointed to the circled ad, showing him the address printed there. “We’ll start here…”

Ten minutes later, the two agents were opening the door of the small and rather shabby rehearsal hall at the indicated address. The place looked like a dump from the outside, but Fanelli had discovered that the little suite of offices and rooms was popular with many of the nearby film production companies. It was cheap and convenient to Universal, Disney, and the Burbank Studio with enough available space for meetings, interviews, and, from time to time, cattle calls.

The manager had just returned from his lunch by the time they arrived. When shown the ad, he quickly remembered the rental in question—it had stuck in his mind because it was rented by Harry Winston’s company—they were usually too big and important to use a place like his.

Still, he assured them, money was money and with the new taxes that the state and city were imposing, he would need every dime he could find—and Winston had paid a premium to rent the whole building—something that really helped his bottom line that month!

When pressed, he reluctantly dug through his rather haphazard files to find the receipt from that particular transaction. The booking and payment had not been done in person; rather, the entire deal had been arranged on the telephone—then paid for with a credit card number that both Kelly and Fanelli recognized as belonging to the Harry Winston agency.

Agent Kelly smiled grimly at the news, showing the receipt to Fanelli before using the office’s Xerox machine to make herself a copy of the paperwork. She then turned and walked to the door—without a word to the manager--and motioned Fanelli to join her.

The local agent took a moment to thank the building manager for his time and trouble before joining her outside.

“This
proves
that Winston was involved!” She slapped the credit card receipt on the roof of the car, pointing to the company name. “Let’s go back and
really
question that son of a bitch!”

“You’re wrong, Agent-in-charge Kelly.” Fanelli’s retort was flat, his face expressionless. “If the Reporter ad was paid for by credit card and this was paid for with the same credit card…” He shook his head, his face sour. “It only proves that someone with access to that account was involved—and we have no idea who that someone could be—it certainly does nothing to prove Winston had any idea of what was going on.”

“He knew!” Kelly’s eyes were burning. “He had to know!”

“Why?” Fanelli met her stare with his own questioning eyes. “Why are you so sure that Winston is involved?”

“I….” She tugged open the car door. “I just
feel
it—like a hunch—only stronger.”

Fanelli sighed. “Hunches won’t be enough to allow us to go after Winston—you already know that. We need some real, solid, proof.”

“Okay,” Kelly buckled her seat belt, crossed her arms. “Let’s go get some—there’s got to be something in Winston’s office—right?”

Fanelli got in, started up the car. “Maybe,” he put it into gear, pulled away from the rehearsal hall. “It certainly won’t hurt to find out what his people have to say.” He turned down the Hollywood way, headed for the Pass. “And if they try to stonewall us …”

Kelly finished his statement. “Then we talk to the Federal Attorney and see if we can get a warrant.”

“With what we have now?”

“Yeah.” Kelly watched the Burbank Studio flash by. “With what we have now.”

Fanelli snorted, ran the yellow light at Forest Lawn. “We don’t have anything!”

Kelly smiled grimly. “We will.” Her eyes glittered. “I promise you, we will.”