Part Two: Tanisha is left alone in the movie trailer with a mob thug whose style gives new meaning to the term “mindfucking.” 
Editor's Note: Includes images of extreme sadism.

“Goddamit, where is that woman?”

The set was chaos, and the director had already asked that question twice.   People were running around like mad trying to keep the street secure.  They only had it for three more hours, the small street in Cambridge, Massachusetts, site of one of the film’s pivotal moments.   This was to be the main stalker scene of In Hell’s Furnace, the big budget horror flick scheduled for release right before Halloween.  Naturally, they were over budget and behind schedule.  And that prima donna of a leading actress was MIA again.

The lighting crew had long since carefully adjusted the lights, making sure that the many twin 1200 watt fixtures were equipped with barndoors and plastic blue filters, so the actors could be seen without losing the nighttime feel.   They had also set up various softboxes, for diffused lighting to create a high-tech eerie atmosphere and spooky shadows.  Other specialty lights were hidden on buildings and around corners, assuring that the ultimate in scare tactics could be filmed effectively.  It was a delicate balance achieved with expensive equipment and a huge number of lighting experts, all of whom were on the clock, just cooling their heels.  They needed to get this scene done before the lighting needs changed in the pre-dawn, shortly after which the city was taking back the street anyway.  The other hundred or so people on the night crew, professionals all, were also twiddling their thumbs at this point, and getting paid to do it.

Darby Kanyon was livid.  He would have loved to fire Ms. Angley, but Tanisha Angley was the star of the movie, the box office draw, and he wasn’t authorized to throw her out on her ass, unless of course, she violated her contract egregiously.  Given her drinking and drug habits, that was a distinct possibility right about now. 

Kanyon stormed over to one of the ten huge movie trailers that lined the streets.  He barked over his shoulder, “Get her in here as soon as she surfaces.”  His assistant, a waify little thing with glasses and hair pulled back in a pony tail, ran after him, moving her relatively shorter legs quickly so she could stay within hearing distance.  Kanyon didn’t repeat himself often, and she tried not to miss a word.

The trailer was littered with files and paperwork, rolls of film, two viewing screens, still shots and at least twelve different versions of the script.  Kanyon sat down, lit a cigarette and started reviewing the budget numbers again.  His mood only worsened as the truth became more apparent.  The movie was bleeding cash, and every minute that bitch delayed them was digging them deeper and deeper into the hole. 

By the time she came breezing in, Kanyon had gone through four of his five stages of fury.  First was annoyance with hope, hope that the delay would be minimal.  Then, mounting anger at the audacity of beautiful egocentric starlets who thought they were God’s gift to moviegoers.  Third was gall busting frustration, the kind that set off his ulcer and started him screaming at anything that moved on two legs and got into his line of sight.  After that, it was revenge fantasy time, where he mentally dismembered the offending person, and in the case of Tanisha, the dismemberment was preceded by vile degrading sexual assaults.  Once he passed through that stage, the real trouble began.  He was as calm and collected as could be.  He didn’t scream; he hardly spoke at all.  No one quite knew what was going on in his head, but if you got within four feet of him, you could feel an ice cold chill solid as a glacier.  That was the danger zone.

Tanisha had no idea that Darby was furious.  She couldn’t feel the chill because she was extremely buzzed.  A little ecstasy, a few lines of coke, a scotch chaser.  Then, for good measure, she had cut open her prescription fentanyl patches and sucked out the drug.  Her little cocktail was a dangerous game of Russian roulette, one she was sure to lose eventually.  And Kanyon sure as hell didn’t want her to lose the game on his dime, on his watch.  He decided – this is where it ended. 

As soon as he saw her, he knew the shoot was a no-go.  She wasn’t in costume and her speech was slurred.  She sure looked hot though, in her sheer black skin tight shirt and a white denim disco army skirt that hardly covered her ass.  Her legs were bare and her footwear was slutty.  Her highlighted blond hair was piled up high on her head, with little tendrils falling into her face haphazardly, like she had just been fucked upside down.  The flush on her high cheekbones was sexy, even if it was drug induced.   And her green eyes, glassy and glazed, said more than “come hither;” her eyes said “I’m stoned out of my mind and my pussy is dripping for anything with a dick.”  If Kanyon hadn’t been lost in the frozen tundra of his soul, he would have ravished her on the spot.  As it was, he filed his lust away, like it was a digital dream to be downloaded later, and got down to business. 

After he ordered his assistant to send the crew packing, he had her return as a witness and camcorder operator.  While she filmed, using a date and time stamp, he had Tanisha pee in a jar.  The actress was too wasted to argue with him. The whole thing was caught on tape; her staggering to the bathroom, cursing, dropping her panties, squatting, aiming for the jar Kanyon held under her, missing and hitting his hand with her hot stream of urine before enough of it was in the jar to take a accurate reading  – all of it was duly recorded by Kanyon’s assistant.  He marked the jar with Tanisha’s name and the date and had her hold it so her prints were on it.  Then, he wrapped the whole thing in plastic and put it in a zip lock bag.  He stashed it in his desk, grabbed Tanisha by the hand and started the death march.

At least it felt like that to her.  He pulled her through the streets of Cambridge, down Massachusetts Avenue, through the Cambridge Commons, into Harvard Square, onto Church Street and past the very movie theater that was scheduled to show In Hell’s Furnace on Halloween at midnight.  They made their way down Brattle Street and then all the way over to the Charles River, where joggers would be congregating shortly.   Ignoring the homeless men and woman sleeping huddled against bridges or hidden in foliage, Kanyon drove Tanisha relentlessly down the small sidewalk that hugged the river’s edge.   He dragged her practically into Boston, then turned around and dragged her back the way they came.  She was breathing heavily and trying to keep up with him in her high-heeled ankle length boots.  He marched her up and down the streets for two hours, until he could see the sun starting to come up.  Then he guided her back to his trailer and let her sleep it off.

***

Tanisha woke up with a splitting headache.  The noon sun was high overhead and she could hear the sounds of Canterbridgians hustling wherever it was such people hustled to.  Since Tanisha had never held a real job in her life, she had no idea what working people did with their time.  She was Daddy’s girl all the way, attending posh private schools then being supported by Daddy while she wasted time at NYU, allegedly studying acting.  In reality, she was partying and screwing, opening her legs up and down the streets of Greenwich Village, hooking up in Washington Square Park and taxicabbing into the Meatpacking District for some late night clubbing.  Daddy arranged for her first Hollywood audition, and the producer owed him a favor, so Tanisha got the part.  With a little bit of couch casting antics and more favors from Daddy, her stunning good looks finally paid off.  Now, Kanyon was stuck with the spoiled brat.

Tanisah blinked in the harsh light of the trailer.  Kanyon was sitting at his desk, looking over recent script changes.  She was lying on the only couch in the room, a futon on a wooden frame.  When she moved to get up, she found she couldn’t – her hand was cuffed to one of the wooden rails.  She could just get herself upright, feet on the floor, but her hand was held fast behind her. 

“Good afternoon Tanisha.  So glad you could join us here on planet earth.”

“What the fuck, Darby, unlock this thing.  What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m protecting my investment, that’s what I’m doing.  Now shut the hell up while I finish the script changes, or so help me, I’ll gag you, after I spank your little butt.”

Tanisha scrunched up her face and glared at him.  That was a look that often got results, her lips a little pouty and her green eyes glowing, but Kanyon was impervious.   Tanisha gave up and lay back down on the couch, closing her eyes and doing her deep breathing exercises.  Her head was a throbbing mass of grey matter, and she hoped the extra oxygen would help.

When Kanyon was done, he reached for the camcorder and walked over to the couch.  He shoved Tanisha’s legs onto the floor, and she had to sit up or become a pretzel.  She sat; he sat next to her, and together they watched the opening premiere of Tanisha Tries to Pee in a Jar.  It would not get rave reviews.

She was fuming….and confused.  Try as she might, she just couldn’t remember doing any of the things Kanyon was forcing her to watch.  She grappled with the mental fog, vaguely remembering coming onto the set, being escorted to Kanyon’s trailer, but not really much else.  Before she could protest however, Kanyon started explaining the new reality.

“Tanisha, since we started filming, I’m going estimate, and I’m being generous here, but I’m going to say that you cost my production about $1,000,000 in delays, retakes and cancelled shoots.  You’re in violation of your contract.  I have all the evidence I need in this little jar, and the fiasco we filmed would be great fodder for the tabloids.  Under your contract, you’d have to repay us the $2,000,000 you already got and forfeit the remaining $4,000,000.  We’ll also sue for damages, because we’re out of pocket here almost our entire budget, and I’m going guess that once a judge sees this film, you’ll be paying up.  Your agent has had it with you, you’ll be thirty years old in two years and the public needs some fresher younger tits to admire – so overall, I’d say you just blew your career out of the water.”

“Yeah, well fuck you, Darby.  You’re a nobody compared to me, and right now, you’re a nobody who’s holding me prisoner against my will.  So fuck you up your uptight ass.  I’ll fix this with the money people, who I’m sure don’t want me off the film.  Unlock this thing now and maybe I won’t press charges.”

That discussion didn’t go quite how Kanyon had hoped, but he wasn’t beaten yet.

“Have you given any thought to your sister and her greedy headline grabbing doctor of a husband?  How about your two darling kids, and your nieces and nephews?  Are you prepared to take them all down with you?  Because that’s where everyone is heading, everyone in your power hungry family.  I already checked with Legal, and if your brother-in-law has been your supplier, and we both know he has, he’s getting sued for the whole thing, everything we spent on the production he helped topple.  Tortious interference with contract and gross negligence for starters – and that doesn’t include the criminal charges.  Plus, who else do you think he’s supplying?  I’d say probably half of Hollywood.  Think it over sweetie.  I’ll be back after lunch.  Carlo is outside the door, but if I were you, I wouldn’t give him any cause to check on you.”

By the time Darby got back, two hours later, Tanisha was a changed woman.  First of all, she had wet her pants.  She knew Carlo, a shady mob-connected character who was on the security team for the film, and truthfully, she would have rather shit her pants than invite him into the trailer to help her to the bathroom.  But, it was embarrassing nevertheless, and uncomfortable, and she had been sitting in and smelling her own urine for about an hour before Darby returned.  She had also been thinking about her family, the huge amount of money she already owed on properties throughout the world, the cost of private schools for her kids, the lifestyle she had become accustomed to, and most importantly, the legal implications of all of this for her and her family.  She had reached the same conclusion that Darby had; basically, she was screwed.

The only questions in her mind were, what did Darby want from her and was she a good enough actress to bluff her way out of it?  Her assessment, however, was a bit optimistic.  She never could have guessed what a living hell her life was about to become.

When Darby came in, he was dragging a big box with him and a long cardboard poster tube.  The first thing he did was pull a long rolled up piece of paper out of the tube.  As he unfurled the roll, Tanisha saw that it was actually two picture posters, of her.  Darby hung them up on one of the trailer walls – two poster size pictures of Tanisha in various stages of undress.

The first was of Tanisha raising her skirt in the bathroom, getting ready to pee.  Her panties were showing, and her face looked like she had been run over by a steam roller – dark circles, make-up smeared, cheeks flushed with the drug rush.  Her eyes were as glassy and unfocused as a heroin addict on the job.  The second picture was taken a few minutes later, and all of Tanisha’s secrets were revealed for the camera – her pubic hair, her pussy, her fingers down there with pee dripping off of them.  If the first picture was PG-13, this one was rated M for mostly perverted audiences.  Tanisha was too shocked to speak, so Darby spoke for both of them.

“Pretty disgusting, huh?”

She didn’t reply; what could she say?  Darby continued, staring her down as he spelled things out.

“The first one is for the papers when we break the story of how Tanisha Angley’s drug habit killed the most anticipated horror film of this year.  The second is for the Internet, a venue I’m sure your children frequent daily.  The whole peeing debacle will find its way onto You Tube.  This will be your legacy Tanisha, and you will never live it down.  You won’t be able to hold your head up in public until it’s covered in grey hairs, and your so-called career will fade away as if it never was.”

Tanisha was beaten and she knew it.  The time for coy looks and brazen threats had passed.  She bowed her head, looking at her lap, and said the first sincere words that had come out of her mouth in years.

“Please Darby, don’t do this to me.  Give me another chance.  I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

Kanyon was satisfied that the dam had finally broken.  Not that he believed that Tanisha could actually change on her own.  She was a druggy and a brat through and through, to the core.  But now, he knew he could probably finish his movie, and teach Tanisha a thing or two in the process.  He began to turn the screws.

“Tanisha, if you want a chance, that’s what you’ll get.  One chance, and we’re going to do this my way.  You’re not leaving my sight until we’re done with the film.  I know your kids won’t get home from boarding school until after we’re  in post production, so if you don’t fuck with my schedule anymore, it should be fine for you to stay with me.  But you’re not my guest Tanisha; you’re going to be my slave.  This is not a negotiable point.”

Her face drained of blood, leaving her looking like one of the ghost masks sitting in the props trailer.  Kanyon realized that she’d need a lot of help from the make-up wizards before tonight’s shoot.  He kept the pressure up, pounding her with the rules of her new life. 

“Here’s how it’s going to be.  Carlo is your keeper, whenever I’m on the set or busy.  If he’s not with you, I’ll be there to make sure you stay clean.  You’ll do whatever I say whenever I say to do it, without question.  You can be sure that I’ll punish you for any disobedience, Tanisha, and punish you soundly.  And you’re going to apologize to every member of this crew for fucking up their lives too.   By apologize, I mean on your knees sucking their dicks.  Don’t look so shocked; everyone here knows how much dick you’ve sucked to get ahead, so don’t play the lady all of a sudden.  If you don’t satisfy every man, to the last, I’m going tie you down and let them get off in your tight little asshole.  And by the way, there are twenty women in the crew, and you’ll be sucking them off, too.   You’re going to make amends sweetheart, starting now.”

Tanisha looked like she was going into shock.  She hadn’t eaten, the drugs had trashed her system, she was tied to a couch, and nothing her director was saying was making any sense to her.  For a moment, she thought she was in a strange movie, a horror movie of another sort, and then it hit her suddenly – it was her life that had become the horror movie, and it was about to take a turn for the worse.  She groaned audibly when she saw Kanyon invite Carlo into the trailer.  The two men were talking softly, and looking through the big box that Kanyon had brought in earlier.  Then, Kanyon left, and Tanisha found herself alone with Carlo.

He didn’t speak right away, but his body language spoke volumes. Carlo weighed close to three hundred pounds, all muscle except for the obvious beer gut spilling up over his belt.  He was more than six feet tall and hairy all over.  His face was lined and his eyes were cruel; almost empty in fact, as if he needed some serious external stimulation to even begin to fill them.  When he wasn’t “protecting” film sets, he was an enforcer for the mob.  Everyone was terrified of him, and right now, he was looking at Tanisha like she was a piece of meat waiting to be tenderized. 

He released her wrist from the couch rail.  She could smell him as he leaned down – tobacco, beer, sweat and something else even less pleasant.  Her eyes darted towards the door.  All she could focus on was a burning desire to put a lot of distance between her and this animal.

He laughed; well, it wasn’t really a laugh, more like a snarl, but that was as close as he ever got to that particular form of human expression.

“No way sweetheart.  Gary’s standing right outside, and you’re not going anywhere for awhile.  Mr. Kanyon gave you to me for the afternoon, and we’re going to have some fun together before you have to get back to work.  Strip.”

He said it so quickly, Tanisha didn’t quite catch it.  She said “Excuse me?”, and got her face smacked in response.   There was no real punishment in the smack, just a point – the point being that Carlo wasn’t interested in having a discussion with her.

It seems she had missed her chance for a demure unveiling.  The next thing she saw was his knife, and the next thing she felt was her flimsy shirt being ripped apart.  She wanted to scream and to recoil, but her body froze, which was best under the circumstances.

Her $300 designer shirt lay in tatters at her feet.  Carlo said, “Strip bitch, now, unless you want to see all your pretty clothes in shreds.”

She unzipped her short skirt and wriggled it down her body.  Carlo admired the smooth curves of her waist and hips and the dance like moves involved in getting that tight skirt off.  She took off her bra and dropped it onto the couch. 

“Leave the undies for now; I’ll get to them later.”  His voice was detached, as if he was a physician watching a patient being prepared for surgery.   In fact, Carlo had some of the same skills as surgeons.  He was adept at organ and limb removal, without the benefit of morphine.  As a result, he tended to look at human bodies like a butcher might, measuring the spaces between bone, cartilage and flesh, places where his knife could ease into with a minimum of resistance.  His eyes no longer looked empty.  Now, they were filled with the possibilities that Tanisha’s body presented.

After Tanisha had stripped down to her panties, Carlo grabbed her bag and pulled out her lipstick.  Then, inexplicably, he began drawing lines across her body.   First, he drew a long line over her bust, right below the top of her cleavage, almost from armpit to armpit.  Then he drew a parallel line under her bust.  He did the same thing right over her tiny panties – a line right over the top of the panties, and a parallel one below, right at the bottom of her groin (this looked like two lines across the very top of her thighs separated by her well coiffed pubic hair).

He dragged her over to the full length mirror that was installed on the trailer side of the bathroom door.  She looked confused as she took in the four lines on her body.  As she watched, Carlo slowly pulled her urine soaked panties down, and her face became infused with a deep rosy blush.  Instinctively, she covered her pubic region, but Carlo smacked her hands away until they hung awkwardly at her sides.  When he kicked her ankles, she stepped out of the panties.

She looked very small and vulnerable with Carlo’s husky body framing her in the mirror.  She was drop dead gorgeous, her waist tiny, her hips swelling in a classic hourglass shape and her breasts firm and high with small hard nipples standing at attention.  Her rear end was round and pert, and she hadn’t even had any surgery yet.  The high-heeled boots she still wore emphasized her calf, thigh and butt muscles in a very erotic way.  In spite of being twenty-eight years old, she could be mistaken for a minor.  Carlo admired her for a few moments, enjoying her embarrassment.  He was just twisted enough to fantasize how he might mutilate the perfect flesh standing before him, how he might bruise and batter the smooth pink skin and twist the bones underneath until they cracked.  Some guys liked sex; Carlo liked inflicting pain and causing permanent damage. 

He turned her around so her ass was facing the mirror, then he drew two parallel lines again, one on the top of her ass across her lower back and one under her cheeks across her thighs.  He told her to look around, so she turned her head to see the lewd looking marks scrawled on her backside.   With her head turned towards the mirror, Carlo grabbed her ass in his fists, twisting and pulling hard enough to leave bruises.  Tanisha squealed and her face twisted up in pain. 

“Everything between the lines is mine for the afternoon; everything else is Kanyon’s.  Now for the quiz.”

Carlo got out a crop.  He pulled Tanisha to the center of the room, facing the mirror again.  From the box, he took a spreader and some rope.  With some quick maneuvering, he had her hands tied over her head and attached to a hook in the ceiling and her legs spread wide by the spreader.   She was appalled at the sight of herself spread eagle and bound.  But she didn’t have time to think much about it.  Carlo thrashed her rear end, right between the two lipstick lines, and asked her, “Who does that belong to?”

Her body lurched forward and she gasped in pain.

“You” – she spit the word out, almost with venom.  It wasn’t the response he had in mind.

“Are you just stupid or too spoiled to figure out what’s going on?  Your days as a holy terror are over.  You’re just a slave slut now, and at the moment, you’re my slave slut.  I think you owe me a little respect, don’t you?”

Before she could answer, he was whaling on her behind again and her body was dancing back and forth with the strokes.  She was crying and her body was starting to sag on the ropes.  Carlo stopped hitting her, laid the crop gently across her ass and asked again, “Who does this belong to?”

Sobbing, Tanisha said, “You, sir, it belongs to you.” 

Carlo didn’t even bother to reply, except with his crop.  He moved to the next area corralled by lipstick – her breasts, and started striking them in clipped measured strokes, in between the lines.  Tanisha’s wails were pitiful to hear, echoing into the trailer like a cat fight at midnight.  Carlo rested his crop against her nipples and asked the same question.

Tanisha was crying too hard to answer right away, but she was trying, which he could tell by the way she kept saying “ya, ya” in between heaving sobs.  Because of that, Carlo waited, and finally Tanisha said, “You, sir, it belongs to you.”

After that, she got light little swats outside of the lines; Kanyon had been clear – no marks where the camera might catch them.  With each little swat, Carlo asked who the spot belonged to, and Tanisha answered quickly, “To Mr. Kanyon, sir.”  My god, the girl is teachable, thought Carlo.

When Tanisha had magically morphed into the first submissive state she had ever experienced, Carlo upped the stakes.  Getting a leather tawse from the box, he positioned himself slightly to the side of Tanisha, grabbed her shoulder with his left hand and started swinging the tawse up between her legs, hitting her clitoris, the lips surrounding it and the tender skin between her ass and pussy.  He started softly, just barely stimulating the area.  When she was moaning quietly and swaying her hips, he started sending sharp swift strokes in her direction.  Pretty soon, he was delivering brutal painful blows, covering her private parts and sending her into a wild frenzy of pain and pleasure.

He was surprised at her reaction, especially when he saw her cream coating the leather.  Not just teachable; born to it, was what he thought, and he stopped before she could bring on a climax.  Her head swung down and she was clenching her muscles, trying to bring her spread legs together.  She thrust her hips forward, with her pussy dripping and her hole looking for something to fill it.  She looked like a real pain slut. 

Carlo was pleased – he was planning to introduce her to his special brand of pain; the kind that grabs the mind and soul and holds them hostage.  He was sure that within the hour, he’d take Tanisha to a place she’d never been before, and that before they were done, she’d never be quite the same person again.

Part Two: In Hell’s Furnace, Part Two
Editor's Note: Includes images of extreme sadism.

Carlo had stepped out of the trailer to have a smoke.  Tanisha was inside, her hands over her head tied with rope to a hook in the ceiling.  He had removed the spreader, and placed a large bin of ice and water under her, where he had put a few of his bottled beers, in some kind of macabre imitation of a frat party bar.  He left her with both feet in the cold bath, but she had been picking one foot up at a time for the past ten minutes.  Her feet were in agony, and if she could have pulled them both up together and just hung from the ropes, she would have.  As it was, she just did a little jig, alternating feet as frequently as she could without wearing herself out completely.

She had a pretty good view of herself in the mirror, complete with welts and bruises from Carlo’s crop.  He left most of her skin clear, just as the director, Darby Kanyon, had required.  There would be no evidence of her beating once she was dressed in her costume and the cameras started rolling.  Even beaten and bruised and doing a little dance to keep her feet from getting frostbite, Tanisha had the wherewithal to realize that her situation was likely to get worse before it got better. 

That thought, more than the pain she was in, was causing her blood to race with fear-laced adrenalin.  Carlo was a grade A bastard, a mob enforcer, a complete and dangerous sadist.  She was thinking how shocked she had been when the director told her that she would belong to him, be Kanyon’s slave, for the duration of film shoot, but right now she wanted nothing more than to go home and serve him.  She would do anything he asked of her, if only he would rescue her from the monster waiting outside. 

Any hopes she had of rescue were dashed when she heard the trailer door open and smelled, even before she saw, Carlo’s brutish body.  Her eyes filled with panic, and she considered begging him to release her, promising him sex or anything else that might appeal to him.  But in the little time that she had known Carlo – known him intimately on the receiving end of his cruelty – she had figured out that begging would only bring out the worst in him.  What was the point of begging a man who loved inflicting pain as much as Carlo did?  She kept quiet.

As Carlo looked over his borrowed piece of property, he was kind of hoping that she would be begging; sobbing, begging, whimpering, all the sounds that made his dick hard and his twisted brain even more creative.  In fact, he had expected her to be reduced to a sobbing mess by now, and he sure as hell wasn’t leaving today until he heard Tanisha making some of that music.  He had no doubt that she would, and soon.

“OK, you spoiled little bitch, time to get your feet out of the water.  Your boss says you’ll be doing a lot of walking in tonight’s shoot, escaping your stalker and all, so we can’t have you hobbling about now, can we?”

No answer was expected; none was given.  Tanisha couldn’t keep the fear out of her eyes as she watched Carlo move the bin of ice water to the side and grab a beer.  The look of fear quickly changed to a silent plea as she saw him grab a blindfold and come her way.  He put the blindfold on her, and small urgent sounds started coming out of her mouth.  Her perfect smooth skin was shivering, muscles tensing involuntarily, and she was stamping her feet to get the blood flowing again.  Carlo thought it was a lovely sight, his bruised and terrified little victim trying to imagine what was coming next.  This was one of Carlo’s favorite moments, the moment when his victims’ fear became paramount and evident, causing them to lose control of their physical reactions.  It turned him on, and spurred him to greater depths of depravity.

He finished his beer, then put the empty bottle back into the ice water.  It was a prop he’d need later.  Then, he went over to Kanyon’s makeshift trailer kitchen and plugged in the little hot pot, filled with water that could be boiled for tea.  But of course, there wouldn’t be any teatime that afternoon.  There were lots of lovely things that could be done with boiling water that had nothing to do with cream and crumpets.  Then, he put his baseball bat near Kanyon’s desk, where Tanisha could see it once her blindfold was removed.  He thought, now the real fun can begin.

Carlo began by exploring Tanisha’s naked body, an inch at a time.  He ran his calloused fingers down her back and over her belly, thinking that her skin was like silk, and how, just like the fabric, it would shred easily if manhandled.  His dark thoughts were like a viscous fog enveloping Tanisha; she could feel his depraved yearnings eating into her pores.  In short order, she was shivering and struggling for air.  He stood right behind her, front to back, and pulled her further into him by grabbing a tit in each hand and flattening it.  She gasped with the sensation.  It was as if he was trying to absorb her into his own body, feel through her the things he could never feel otherwise.  It was an odd sensation of defilement for her, as she tried to stay within her boundaries and Carlo simply obliterated them. 

He continued to maul and probe her body all over, in every hole, over every surface, until he exhausted her, physically, emotionally and psychologically.  When he thrust his fingers into her pussy and made her lick her own juices off of his hand, something inside of her just broke down.  Her mind stopped fighting him; her body became limp against him.  She was his thing, to do what he wanted with, and that’s exactly how she felt.

Now, reveling in Tanisha’s new state of vulnerability, Carlo picked up the empty bottle of beer he had left on ice.  He put several of the melting ice cubes inside of it, to keep the glass cold.  He shook the bottle around Tanisha’s head and touched her neck with it.  She recoiled with a little gasp.

Then, Carlo unbound her arms, which were still raised over her head.  He dragged her over to the sofa, leaned her up against a large pillow in front of the sofa and bound her arms behind her, attached by the wrists behind the pillow.   With his hands, he positioned her knees up and apart, so her pussy was accessible.  Carlo stood in the gap made by her spread knees and placed his leather-clad foot over her pussy and started tapping.

“Tell me again, you little slut, who does this belong to for the afternoon?”

He started tapping harder, then took the toe of his shoe and shoved it up her hole, just a little, but enough to make a point.

Tanisha was moaning softly, but she answered him “To you, sir.” 

“Good girl.  Now I’m going to tell you a little story, a story about what happened to one little slut who forgot who she belonged to.”

Carlo sat down next to Tanisha, on the floor, and put his hands on her tits, caressing her nipples to keep them hard.  This story included some demonstrations.

“I had a lady friend last year, a juicy little exotic dancer.   When she came off of the floor at Poco Chocha, I’d meet her, and we’d have our own little show in the back rooms.  She was my own little puta, and she knew the rules, but somehow, she fucked up.  One night, I was early, and what do you know, the little cunt was down on all fours in her dressing room with some guy’s dick taking aim.  Luckily for him, the mission was aborted, and he got out of there with minimal damage.  She was another story though.  I think you’ll really like this little yarn.”

All through this introduction, Carlo was stimulating Tanisha’s breasts, gently then harshly, tweaking her nipples, causing pain, then pleasure, and watching her blindfolded face carefully to gauge her reactions.  Her neck and cheeks were flushed and her breathing had sped up a bit.

“First, I tied her up, on the floor, kind of like you are now.  Then we played a little, like this.”

Carlo was running a large, sharp and cold knife up and down Tanisha’s thigh.  She started shaking, and felt sweat forming in her armpits, dripping a little.  She wanted to close her legs, but she didn’t dare move an inch for fear of being cut.

Carlo stopped his story so he could enjoy the real life drama in front of him.  He moved the knife slowly, up one thigh, softly across her pussy and down the other thigh.

“How does that feel, Chiquita?”

He laughed when Tanisha just moaned in response.

“That’s the question I asked my little Spanish slut.  Her answer wasn’t much better than yours, but at least she shed a few tears.  You see, she knew me better than you do.  But we can fix that, honey.  Now where was I?”

Carlo moved the knife slowly up Tanisha’s belly, twirling the sharp end in her belly button for a moment.  Tanisha felt panic setting in.  She was sure he was planning to make her bleed, and she was trying not to let her stomach or chest move while the knife was playing against her tender skin.  To keep still, she had to breathe very slowly, not deeply, and it was making her light-headed.

Carlo moved his head towards Tanisha’s ear.  He licked it, slobbering deliberately right into her ear canal.  She could feel the sticky moisture congealing there as he continued to tell his story, speaking softly in his best imitation of a seductive whisper.  Anxiety coursed through Tanisha’s body; she could hear her own pulse pounding like waves battering the shore before a storm.

With the knife held flat against one of Tanisha’s hard nipples, Carlo said “My little cockwhore used to love a good pinch on her nipples.  She was so sensitive there.  So, the first thing I did was sever those nerve endings, a little at a time.”

Carlo moved the point of the knife under Tanisha’s nipple, exerting enough pressure to make her gasp.

“Just a little jab here and there in a circle right under the nipple.  She was screaming in agony and begging me to stop.  Little rivers of blood were flowing  down her breasts.  Her breasts looked like peppermint candy, striped red and white.  I left her nipples on, hanging from the bits of skin that I didn’t cut.  I wanted her to have them.  Once they were all sewn up and reattached, she’d never feel anything through them again.  I wanted her to have that to remember me by for the rest of her life.”

Throughout this horror story, Carlo was jabbing Tanisha gently with the knife, all around her nipples.  Though he never even broke the skin, the effect was devastating.  Tanisha thought she was that other girl; she lived every minute of the torture vicariously through the low menacing sounds of Carlos’ voice.

Tanisha started moving her head back and forth, as if she could shake the images he had forced inside of her brain to be washed away.  With his knife and his words, he was violating Tanisha in every sense of that word, in places deeply hidden and truly vulnerable.   He was raping her mind, impaling it with his visions of pain and degradation, inserting his words carefully into her psyche, where they would remain forever, echoing his presence.  There was no subspace to go to handle this assault; the wound was not one that would heal over time.  As surely as if he held a hot brand in his hands, Carlo was marking Tanisha for life.

She knew the devastating effects of what he was doing.  On a much smaller scale, this had happened to her before.  At college, at a big booze and drug fest, she remembered hanging out with a group, sharing lines and passing some hash around in a pipe.  The boy next to her started to lapse into the subject of the Holocaust.  He was complaining that the “fucking professors” left all the good stuff out, obsessing only about battles and timelines.  Then he proceeded to regale the stoned audience with stories of Holocaust tortures.  Mostly, Tanisha had tried to tune him out, chatting quietly with others in an effort to avoid his words.  But his audience quickly became rapt, the drugs heightening their sensations as they listened.   Finally he described a Nazi pastime that caused Tanisha to freeze where she sat, fascinated and horrified, as if she was at a Roman arena watching a gladiator being mauled to death. 

She could still hear his voice, telling a gruesome tale: They’d take a prisoner, some Jew or gypsy girl, and tie her spread eagle on the floor, wrists and legs bound on either side of her in the shape of an X.  They’d bring the temperature of the room down, making it cold. They’d leave her alone with a big snake in the room.  Snakes can’t control their own body temperature; they need to look for shelter from the cold.  The only warm spot would be right between the girl’s legs.  As she lay there helplessly, the snake would slowly push itself inside of her.  Her screams had no effect on its progress as it shredded her tender skin squeezing into her tight warm pussy cave.  Then, the Nazis’ would raise the temperature of the room, making it warm and inviting for the snake, and leaving it a little tidbit of food on the floor as bait.  Sure enough, the snake would exit its cave.  One problem though - snakes can’t move backwards.  It was rare that a victim made it through the experience of the snake turning around inside of her to escape her violated cunt, and those that did, wished they hadn’t.

That story had haunted Tanisha in her dreams year after year.  She had no idea if it was even true; that was irrelevant really.  She always regretted having gone to that party.  She couldn’t hide from the images that boy had evoked; she could hear the victim’s screams and see the snake’s head peeking out from between her thighs after it had mutilated her pussy.   She wished fervently that she had never heard that story, but knew also that she would never forget it, no matter how much she wanted to.

That’s why Tanisha knew the power that Carlo was exercising – the power to plant his voice into her brain permanently; to be with her in her sleep and in her waking hours, to leave his mark indelibly within her.  As Carlo’s voice droned on, Tanisha whimpered, but nothing she could do would drown him out or prevent him from claiming some small part of her forever.

Tanisha woke up from her reverie as she felt her legs being pulled further apart, rope around her knees and the ropes tied off to the wooden sofa legs.  She could feel the strain in her thighs and the pressure on her knees where the ropes were taut and digging into her flesh.

Carlo was holding the flat of the cold knife against her clitoris, and she sucked her breath in, her stomach muscles tightening.  Instinctively, she pulled at the ropes, willing her legs to come together to protect her most vulnerable tissues.  Carlo laughed that snarly sound he seemed to enjoy so much while others suffered.

“Yes, you know what happened next to my Chiquita, don’t you?”  he asked in a hoarse whisper.  “But you would guess wrong, little one.  My knife did a little dance with her clit, and my little slut provided the music – sweet begging sounds—because she knew me so well and sang what my heart demanded.  She begged me not to slice through this little piece of juicy flesh, she begged and cried until the tears coursed down her face and blended with the blood pooled on her breasts. It was a lovely sight, blood and tears, and yes, sweat too; her whole body oozed its fluids which merged on my artist’s palette, her sweet young flesh.  She held onto her consciousness fiercely, not daring to black out; she knew she’d not be intact upon awaking if she did anything that stupid.”

Tanisha was frozen during this speech, her skin clammy and all of her thoughts focused on the knife and her own clitoris, bound together through Carlo’s cruel whim.  Her thighs started shaking and Carlo rubbed his rough hands over them, lapping up the quivering flesh as if he were stilling a brewing tornado, as if he were god and she the frail earth.  Then he did what Tanisha would have bet couldn’t be done.  In spite of her terror, her mind gripped in perpetual horror, her body paralyzed except for involuntary convulsions, Carlo made her climax.

In some foul parody of sex, he caressed her pussy and her thighs and her belly, running his thumb up and down all of her.  He moved the knife away and massaged her clitoris; the relative warmth of his hands contrasting with the cold steel that had held her in sway.  So great was her relief when the metal disappeared, her body suddenly relaxed and Carlo’s fingers made their way into her sex.  She threw her head back on the pillow that supported her and bucked her hips up against his hands.  Suddenly it seemed to her that the only way to purge herself of the awful images coursing through her brain was through a sexual climax, a momentous one that would leave nothing in its wake.  Her body worked with Carlo’s hands, not against them, rising and falling with his fluid motions.  Her tight pussy muscles clamped onto his fingers, her hips reached to suck him in, his thumb lightly moved her moisture through her swollen lips and quivering clitoris.  The intensity of the past half hour weighed in too, adding adrenalin, fear and longing, so that when she finally did cum, it was as she hoped it would be – total raging release, leaving behind any conscious thoughts as her body convulsed repeatedly and she called out words without meaning.

For awhile, Tanisha heard and felt nothing other than the waves of sexual energy seeping through her and soon out of her.  Then she became aware of her breathing, then of Carlo’s breathing, and it all came crashing down – why she was there, who was there with her, and who had just orchestrated this, the most intense orgasm she had ever had.  That realization struck her as if a rubber mallet had just smashed her in the stomach; her gut congealed and her brain protested in fiery spurts – screaming No, my body couldn’t have betrayed me that way, couldn’t have rode me to ecstasy on the back of that disgusting monster and his stories of violent perversion.

But it did, and in a final awful insult to her sanity, Tanisha knew that Carlo had taken all there was to take from her; he had entered her brain, entered her sex and manipulated both organs without mercy until he made them his toys and forced them to do his bidding.  Tanisha felt fouled, inside and out, and permanently.

And unbelievably, Carlo wasn’t done.  He ripped the blindfold from Tanisha and she blinked into the room, aware for the first time that she had been crying, soaking the blindfold with her tears. 

He stood in front of her, imposing and almost gleeful in his conquest, but also like a man with yet another secret to share, one he knew Tanisha would very much regret hearing.

“Have you ever heard of a glass pussy my love?” he asked her, not expecting an answer.  She just stared at him, fear gathering again in her beautiful green eyes.

“Well, my little Chiquita has one, a glass pussy, one I made special for her.  I left her little clit intact because she begged so long and so sweetly, but it won’t do her no good anyway.  Here’s how my story ended that day in her dressing room.”

Carlo had taken all of his props and let them lie clearly in Tanisha’s line of sight.  A bottle, still filled with little ice cubes, a pot of boiling water that had been sitting in a holding pattern on the little hot pad and his big wooden bat, still leaning against the desk.

In one smooth motion, he shoved the icy bottle up Tanisha’s wet pussy until only the flat bottom end was sticking out a bit between her legs.  Tanisha’s eyes flew open wide; she gasped several times as the cold permeated her insides.  Carlo tapped at the end of the bottle with his shoe, moving it around inside of her and a pushing it further into her a bit at a time.

“As my little whore watched, I shoved a cold bottle inside of her and turned a pot of boiling water upside down over her pussy, dripping on her hairy mound and all over the bottle.  She screamed so loud, it almost made me cum.  The sudden temperature change caused the bottle to crack - little cracks forming in its structure, enough to let me finish her off my way.  I grabbed my bat and went at her, smashing the cracked glass into her with enough force to shatter it completely, sending shards of sharp glass into her pussy channel, deep into the flesh inside.  Then I shoved the handle of the bat deep into her and turned it in a circle, driving the glass further into her soft little cunt.”

Carlo was dripping little bits of boiling water on Tanisha’s pussy as he spoke, not a full flow but just enough so she could feel the intense heat of the fluid and react in terror as it made its way through her mound.  She stared at the little bit of glass sticking out from between her legs and prayed that no cracks would surface.  Then she recoiled as Carlo picked up his bat and approached her.  He was holding the bat high, aiming it at the bottle.

“A glass pussy, get it little whore?  Her inside was lined with glass, and shards were pushed way inside her flesh where they would stay for years.  Glass that gets embedded deep into flesh will slowly work its way out, often for years, until it finally breaches the outer layer of skin and can be removed.  Did you know that?  So, even after extensive surgery, my little slut has an inside full of glass, traveling from deep inside back to the surface of her scarred pussy so she can pull the little shards out one at a time and think of me.”

With this, Carlo raised his bat and took aim.  Tanisha screamed so loud, her voice pierced several surrounding trailers.  Suddenly she was silent, passed out against the pillow, and Carlo was looking at her with lust and satisfaction.  He had just put down the bat when Kanyon raced into the room.

“Carlo, what the fuck are you doing to her?”

“Boss man, I followed all your little rules.  She’s not marked where the cameras can see it.  I didn’t rape her either, well, not literally anyway.  You can have your little slave back now Kanyon.  I think you’ll find that she has a new devotion to her master, something you can thank me for later.”

With that, Carlo left, looking back briefly, almost wistfully, as he watched Kanyon tend to Tanisha.

Kanyon was holding a glass of water to her lips, talking softly to her as she slowly regained consciousness.  He had already removed the bottle from between her legs, shaking his head in disgust.

He untied her, but her body was still shaky and she couldn’t speak coherently.

When she was free, she threw her arms around Kanyon, holding him in a death grip, sobbing onto his shoulders.

He held her tightly, petting her hair and letting her melt into his strong body.  He didn’t say anything, except for an occasional “shhhhh honey, it’s over.”

They stayed like that for half an hour, and finally Tanisha fell asleep, her head resting on Kanyon.  He picked her up and laid her on the couch, and covered her with a blanket.

Then he pulled up a chair, and sat down facing her, concern in his eyes.  For the first time in their acquaintance, Kanyon realized that the concern he felt was for her, for Tanisha, his beautiful vulnerable little star, not just for the state of the film that had brought them together.

As she slept, he took her hand in his, and they stayed like that for hours, Kanyon and his little slave, one asleep and one on guard duty, bound first by fate and circumstance, and now by some other feeling brewing deep inside of them both.   Kanyon felt his heart fill with tenderness.   He vowed to save this little thing, his pet, his employee, his little brat; he would save her from herself, and yes, she would save him too.  From the fires of hell would come redemption, for both of them.