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THE STARLET SLAVE 21
Joy Paine
Index words:  (none)


With one exception, the characters in this story have no intentional
resemblance to anyone living or dead. The one exception is that I like
to imagine myself in one of the roles. I'm not going to tell you which
one -- after all, your tastes may be different.

21. The Promised Land

OK (said the policeman) That brings you up to the fraternity party. So
what went on after you left with the Hollywood talent scout?

Well, (Ellen went on) there's not much to be said about that trip across
the country, except that Larry had more sexual stamina than any other man
I've ever known. He'd drive a few hours, and then we'd check into a 
motel,
where he would remind me that putting out for him was the price I was
paying for his influence in Hollywood. You can bet that I didn't need
much reminding -- especially after his performance the first few days. 
And
then, the third day out or so, he brought out a kit of "tools" much like
those that Old Nelly had introduced me to, 'way back there in high 
school.
Jesus Christ! This was turning out to be the same old nightmare all over
again. But at least I had only one customer to put out for, I consoled
myself, even if he is insatiable, and a sadist to boot.

Wrong!

Pretty soon he had me making office calls -- at least one a day -- on
people that lived along the way. People who were influential financially
in the movie trade, he said. And who was I to say he was wrong? Well, I
told myself, I had chosen this bed of roses, and after all, he had warned
me that I would have to sleep with a lot of people, if I was going to 
hope
for a successful career in the dog-eat-dog world of Hollywood. Or maybe
I should say "bitch-eat-dog". I was amazed at how many of Larry's 
"friends"
preferred oral sex. Luckily, there were very few "special rate" demands;
Larry seemed to have a near monopoly on that angle. Just my luck that the
one true sadist among my Johns was the one that I had to spend all day --
and all night -- with! And every damned night, at that.

So life was more or less of a nightmare until we arrived in the Promised
Land. Perhaps less than it had been with old Pecker, though, I must 
admit.

Larry's "palace" in Beverly Hills was the most sumptuous house I had ever
seen. ("This business is built on appearances", he said. "If you can't
impress the guy you're negotiating with, you might as well be dead.") I
soon found, however, that most of the estate was off limits for me--in
fact, most of my waking hours (except when I was "working", that is) 
would
be spent in the health spa. Constant working-out and careful dieting are
essentials for keeping that glorious figure that was my principal stock 
in
trade, Larry pointed out.

There was something curious about the forbidden areas, though. There was
an almost constant stream of visitors coming and going at all hours. The
few women among them all had a curiously determined air when they 
arrived,
and when they left, they looked as if the burdens of the world had been
lifted from their shoulders. I don't know why, but they reminded me in
some way of the women that used to be my "customers" in high school.

But for the moment, I was too busy with screen tests to worry much about
such things. And those tests bothered me, too. It looked as if I was
getting trapped into a world of porno pictures -- every one of the
scenarios called for me to fuck, or suck, or do something else that only
Dirty Old Men would want to watch. But Larry again pointed out that there
were lots of legitimate stars who made their entries into the profession
via the porno route; that these gigs were the easiest kind to get; and
that what I needed more than anything else at this stage, was widespread
exposure.

Well, exposure I did get, and most of it spread as wide as my muscles
would tolerate. I don't remember a single script that didn't require me
to take my clothes off. For openers.

And my co-stars were not what you'd expect -- most of them were tired old
men, who seemed to be there just for the chance to screw me. And when I
questioned him about it, Larry was quite open -- most of the men were
executives in the business. This was my chance not only to show them how
I could act, Larry pointed out, but also to ingratiate myself with them
so that they would remember me when they had to make a casting decision.

Well, I figured, maybe that's the way it's done in Hollywood.

The acting part was easy. In the rape skits, my partner was usually ugly
enough so I didn't have to pretend that I didn't like it; in the torture
routines, the screaming came naturally. In the few cases when I was
supposed to be consenting, the action required such bodily activity that
I doubt that anybody looked at my face; although I did have to swallow
my pride (and often other things) with some of the scenarios.

===========================================================


THE STARLET SLAVE 22
Index words:  (none)


With one exception, the characters in this story have no intentional
resemblance to anyone living or dead. The one exception is that I like
to imagine myself in one of the roles. I'm not going to tell you which
one -- after all, your tastes may be different.

22. The Verdict

And then (she went on) there were the house parties. Some of them were
real orgies, but a lot were intimate little affairs -- just me and one
or two men (or women) that Larry thought I should know. Yeah, "know"
just like they said David "knew" Bathsheba in the Bible. And he developed
a scenario, which he introduced me to, bit by bit.

We'd start the evening out watching a porno show, in which the "heroine"
(or often the victim) would be dressed just as I was. Then at the end of
the show, they'd all be in the mood to re-enact the show. And I'd know
damned well what was coming, so I could have the "fun" of dreading each
development. And still no offers of a starring role, or even a bit part,
in a legitimate film.

Well, I'm not usually this slow, but this time I was hypnotized by the
possibility of stardom, and, let's face it, taken in by Larry's glib
spiel. But bit by bit, it dawned on me that there were no movies in my
future; that Larry was using me -- that I was no more than his live-in
whore. But tonight was the last straw. There were three guys as my
"guests", and the girl in the movie (who was dressed just as I was) had
to submit to the most painful and degrading torture you can imagine,
after which they had a butt-fuck gang bang. And that's the one thing 
about
which I have a pathological fear. I began to puke, to their amusement --
after all, they joked, they hadn't planned on kissing me, anyway. But at
least it did make them let me run to the bathroom.

I considered it an act of God that there was a rose trellis beside the
bathroom window. Luckily, I could pry open the window far enough to 
squeeze
through, and climb down the trellis, although you see what a mess the
roses made of my clothes. Now, for God's sake, please take me someplace
where I can get away from those perverts for good!"

"You'll be safe here for the present," said the cop. "Just hold your
water while I mail this tape to a safe place."

Ellen had no choice, although she almost held her breath while he
put the cassette into a mailer envelope he took from the glove
compartment, addressed and stamped it, and dropped it into the nearby
mail box. "Now let's see what to do with you.

"I could take your story at face value, but I don't know where you
could go at this time of night in those clothes. Of course, I could go
whole hog on the Good Samaritan bit, and treat you to a new outfit and
a bus ticket, and feel real good while you go off thinking SUCKER! Or
I could let you share my bed for a while -- and then pass you around
among the guys down at the station. A girl with the past that you
claim probably wouldn't mind a few more lovers", he leered.

"But all this doesn't take into account one fact that you apparently
aren't aware of. You see, doll, your precious Larry is very well
connected with the Mob. In fact, he's their regional cuntmaster, and
obviously has long-range plans for you. And he'd be awfully disappointed
if a lowly cop like me were to upset them. No, I'm going to take you
back to him -- maybe I can turn the situation to my advantage."

Ellen shrieked in dismay, then fainted.

==================================================================



THE STARLET SLAVE 23
Index words:  (none)


With one exception, the characters in this story have no intentional
resemblance to anyone living or dead. The one exception is that I like
to imagine myself in one of the roles. I'm not going to tell you which
one -- after all, your tastes may be different.

23. A New Beginning

Ellen regained consciousness just as the squad car was approaching the
door of that dreadful house. She cowered in the back seat, helpless,
while the cop rang the doorbell, spoke to the man who answered. He
disappeared for a moment, then returned with Larry.

"I think I have a mental case that escaped from your custody," the cop
began. "I'd suggest that you be more careful with her in the future.
Oh, by the way, please don't think of rewarding my honesty by disposing
of me. I assure you that I mean you no harm. And I must further advise
you that I taped her whole life story, and have it all on tape, with
names, dates, places -- the whole schtick."

Larry's face lost all of its unctuous charm, leaving a mask of pure rage.
"Don't think you can scare me, punk," he growled. "I can fix any charge
that you punk cops can bring against me."

"Of course," grinned the cop. "You've proved that time and again. No, I
wasn't thinking of running this through channels. I've arranged for the
tape to go directly to your boss in the Mob, if anything happens to me."

"Why, you bastard," Larry blustered. "Try to blackmail me, will you?"

"Heaven forbid! I mean nothing of the sort. I know far better than that.
I'm holding the tape only for protection. I assure you that it is 
perfectly
safe, as long as you're willing to live and let live."

"So what's the deal? I know you want something, or you wouldn't be 
standing
here like this."

"Actually," said the cop, "I'd like to work for you."

"And what do you think that you can do for me? Don't you know that half
of the top brass in your department is on my payroll?"

"Yes, I'm not surprised", the cop replied. "But I can offer you two 
things
that you will find very useful. First, although you have connections at
the top, you may find it useful once in a while to have ears at the foot
soldier level. And then there's one other service you might find useful."

"Which is . . .?"

"One of my duties is to keep an eye on runaway girls who come in every 
day
on the interurban buses. Usually I turn them in to one of the various
shelters that are run by churches and other social agencies. But those
shelters are woefully overworked, and I'm sure that if you were to 
organize
a shelter for your own purposes . . . It'd be quite easy, really, to set
up a shelter that would satisfy me. Just a bit of paper work, that's 
all."

Larry's eyes lighted up. "Now that sounds like a proposition that might
do me some good. OK, so how much do you expect to be paid for looking
out for the girls' future so carefully?"

The cop grinned.  "Well, if I suddenly began earning an extra salary
of any sizable proportions, it would be pretty hard to account for the
money. How about letting me have free access to your Boss's stable of
girls -- with the extra proviso that I can play a leading part in the
training sessions of any girls I recruit or" (leering at Ellen) "in the
disciplining of any runaways that I bring back."

"And what sort of training routine do you have in mind?"

"Well, I have some ideas, of course, but I expect that I'll get even
better ones after I have a look at your facilities. As for little Ellen,
let's start out by viewing that film that made such an impression on her
earlier tonight. After all, she's already dressed for the part."

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