Chapter 1

I recently did something I didn’t want to do. I did it out of desperation. It turned out to be a life altering experience. Unfortunately it isn’t altering my life for the better. I was at the end of my financial rope and let a friend talk me into taking part in the making of a single scene from an X-rated movie.

Like most of the women I know, that’s something of which I never even thought myself capable. I don’t even enjoy watching dirty movies! The more discrete sex scenes in R-rated movies embarrass the hell out of me; even when I’m all alone in the room when they come on! But as I said, I was desperate. The scene turned out to be a rape scene, just a small part of a much longer movie. It was an awful experience. I felt so dirty during the entire session. From the time I entered the well disguised studio I found the entire process humiliating and dehumanizing.

Almost as bad as the disturbing day I spent allowing them to use my body for the entertainment of god only knows how many dirty old men is the fact that I don’t seem to be able to put the things I did that day out of my mind. I’m constantly looking back, reliving every second of that day in my mind. And each time it happens I’m humiliated all over again as the vivid memories of what I did that day flash through my mind. Undressing in front of all those people and the cameras ... well, I didn’t so much undress as have my clothing torn away. The end result was the same. And then being forced to perform one sex act after another while every detail was filmed from every angle. It turns my stomach every time I think about what I did that day.

They didn’t use my name in the credits, of course. They gave me some silly made up name. I doubt if anyone I know will ever find out I was in a movie like that. God! I hope not!

There’s a problem, though. It’s been nearly a month since that one day of total humiliation. I should have let it go by now. It’s such a distasteful part of my life that I should have done everything possible to put it behind me. Instead, I can’t stop thinking about it, especially when I’m lying in bed at night. I can’t stop my mind from reliving the experience. But what really terrifies me is that as I lie there in the dark teasing my pussy I find myself wondering what it would be like to be raped for real. The more turned on I become the more my mind starts to wander. I’ve begun putting together schemes by which I might put myself in a position to suffer just that fate.

I’ve considered returning to make another movie. They offered to put me in another one if I’m willing to do it. It was a vague, halfhearted offer but it was an offer. God knows I could use the money. But the state of my finances isn’t the real reason I’m considering it. That particular studio specializes in bondage, S&M and rape movies. I heard somewhere that it’s no longer legal to produce the kinds of movies they make so I imagine they aren’t available in your local video store. I haven’t given it a lot of thought, though. How they make their money doesn’t really concern me.

While it begins to look more and more like I shall probably end up back at that studio trying to satisfy my newborn perverse craving to be raped there’s a drawback to going that route. This is going to sound really crazy. It sounds crazy to me and it’s coming from me! The problem I have is that no matter how rough those movies are I know that one thing will be missing if I go that route. I’ll be humiliated. I know from the filming of my one previous movie scene I’ll experience some pain. And those things are fine. But I know I’ll be safe. At the end of the day everyone puts their clothes on and goes home. I don’t want to be harmed. But for some reason the fear of being a helpless rape victim comingled with the deep, mysterious need to experience just that is quickly becoming an obsession

I don’t know how it came about. I know I never had these insane thoughts before I took part in the making of that one movie. But while I have begun to crave another humiliating experience such as I was subjected to in the making of that movie I want more than that. I want to feel the fear. I find myself fantasizing about being totally helpless and taken; taken and used by a man, a cruel, selfish, abusive man; or better yet, multiple men.

As difficult as it may be to believe for anyone learning about my crazy fantasies, I don’t want to be harmed. And while a little pain might ... no, a little pain would be okay, I don’t want to be harmed and I certainly don’t want to be killed. I may be a little crazy but I’m not THAT crazy!

Various scenarios by which I might possibly place myself in a situation containing those elements have begun to play through my head constantly. I’m becoming obsessed. I’m intelligent. I’m smart enough that I’m scared by the direction my fantasy life has taken and by my growing compulsion to bring those fantasies to life. I’m starting to think I need professional help. And that may be true. But I know myself well enough to know I could never say these things to a mental health professional.

I need to find some way to put myself in a situation that meets the parameters of my fantasy and somehow fool myself into thinking it’s out of control. I know. That makes no sense. That’s why I’m sitting here holding my phone in one hand and the phone number for the studio in the other.

Several long minutes passed before I dredged up the nerve to place the call. The very bored sounding woman who answered the phone put me on hold after I identified myself and asked to speak to Mr. Voss.

I was on hold for so long that I almost hung up the phone. But finally Mr. Voss came on and asked me what I want. His deep, gravelly voice sounded just as bored as his secretary.

I reminded him that I was one of the victims in one of his movies a few weeks ago and that he offered to give me another part in one of his movies if I was interested.

I think he finally remembered me then. He didn’t sound as happy to hear from me as I thought he might. I heard the “don’t waste my time” note in his voice when he said, “I thought you said something about never wanting to do anything like that again.”

I sighed and said, “I know. But I really need the money. I’m ... I’m in a bind.”

That isn’t entirely true. I can certainly use the money but I’m not really in a bind, not yet. I can probably get by the way things are for the next couple of months if I’m careful. I’ll be starting my junior year of college this fall and even though I’m attending a relatively inexpensive state school on a partial scholarship the financial burden I’m accruing is beginning to look daunting.

I’m on my own. My mother passed away years ago and I haven’t spoken to my father in more than a year. He wouldn’t give me any money even if he had it to give. I’ll get no help from my family. I’m renting a small room from a creepy family because it’s the cheapest accommodations I can find. I’m eating just enough to keep me alive and healthy. Some weeks it seems like I get by on not much more than air. I tell myself it’s great for my figure but I sometimes sit around and daydream about real food. There are times I think I’d kill for a lobster tail or a really good steak.

I have a part time job at a truck stop out by the interstate but that used to be my second job. My primary job was working at a store in the mall but they went out of business months ago. I could probably get by without the money from making another movie if I had to, at least for a little while, but the money isn’t the real reason I’m calling the sleazy guy who makes the nastiest kind of pornographic movies for a living.

Mr. Voss hesitated for long enough that I began to think he was going to say thanks but no thanks. But finally he said, “Before I agree to use you again we need to talk. I’ve got an opening at three. Can you make it to my office by then?”

A violent shudder ran through me at the words “use you again” but I replied, “Yes, sir. If I leave now I can just make it.”

“Then get your ass in gear.”

He hung up without waiting for a response. I sat there for a moment, thinking back to the first movie, the movie in which I made my acting debut; if you can call what happened to me acting. I don’t even know what the stupid movie was called. I only experienced the single scene I was in. I showed up at the appointed time and was taken to a small room where a woman was putting body makeup on a naked man. I stood there blushing like crazy while they ignored me until just before she finished with him. Without even looking in my direction she ordered me to strip. They continued to ignore me while I stood there in a room suddenly devoid of oxygen and removed my clothing.

She finished with the man before I’d managed to finish undressing and he went through a door marked wardrobe, hardly giving me a second glance. Sounding just a bit impatient when she turned to me, pointed out a bunch of small lockers against one wall of the small room and told me to find an empty one and put my things in it. I went to the bank of lockers and after a brief examination I figured out that the lockers already in use had a red flag showing. I opened an empty locker and put my purse and my clothes inside. While I was stowing my things she said, “I wouldn’t recommend storing your life’s savings in there. But as far as I know, no one has ever lost any valuables from those lockers. Your purse should be safe.”

She was half through applying a light coat of makeup to my body when three men came in and undressed while they watched us. I couldn’t hide my embarrassment and that only made the entire experience all the more embarrassing. One of the men smiled and asked, “First time?”

Without looking him in the eyes I nodded. I think he was trying to reassure me when he said, “It could be worse. I was so embarrassed my first time it took me forever to get a hard on. That poor girl had to keep fluffing me all through my scene ‘cause I couldn’t keep it up to save my life.”

I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. I only knew that three men were staring at me and I was naked! And then it got worse! The woman squatted down and ordered me to spread my legs. I looked down at her in shock but for some reason I obeyed. She examined my mound and my little V of neatly trimmed pubic hair and after considering for a moment she said, “I think that’ll be okay. What do you guys think?”

The three men took a closer look at my exposed sex and one of them said, “Yeah. I think you should leave it. There’s just enough of it to prove she’s a natural blonde.”

The makeup woman nodded and stood back up. She finally sent me through the connecting door to wardrobe where I was given a sheer nightgown to wear. I put it on gratefully, though it was nearly invisible. From wardrobe I was sent through another door with directions to one of the sets in the large warehouse that had been converted into a studio. I put the nightgown on and managed to wind my way through the various sets until I found the one I was looking for. I was joined a few minutes later by the three men from makeup. It turned out they’re the men I’ll be working with in the scene for which I was hired.

I wasn’t given a script. I suppose that was for the best. I was terrified. I couldn’t have remembered any lines if my life depended upon it. I just did what I was told.

The three men I met for the first time just minutes before they started filming my scene spent most of the next several hours raping me in just about every position known to man. It wasn’t constant. They stopped every now and then to discuss camera angles, the things the men did and my responses. Each time, before we started again, the men would step behind a divider separating a small room from the main set and three women would kneel before them and in a very businesslike manner they would suck on their cocks until they were fully erect.

The sex might have been more satisfying, or at least it might have better satisfied these new cravings I have if we weren’t surrounded by sound men and cameramen, a director constantly telling us what to do and at least a dozen other people who were apparently being paid to do nothing but stand out of the way, hold things like clipboards or sheaves of papers and watch.

I left the studio that day several hundred dollars richer and humiliated beyond belief. But once my new fantasies began to control my thoughts, my impression of what took place that day began to morph. It was the first time I ever undressed in public; the first time I ever had sex with a stranger, a man I’m not dating. It was the first time I ever had sex with more than one man at a time. It was the first time I ever allowed myself to be photographed in the nude much less while performing sex acts.

It wasn’t until several days had passed that I began to realize the things I did that day had apparently warped my mind. Now I can only hope that acting in another of those kinky movies will satisfy this new craving; or at the very least it will make it possible for me to suppress the urge to do something really, really stupid.

I took a quick shower, put on a clean set of underwear and a dress that didn’t send out any signals about me one way or another. I went out to my poor, beat up but impossible to kill, bright yellow 1986 VW Beetle convertible. She needs a new top in the worst way and she sounds like she has a bad case of indigestion until she gets up to speed. But she just keeps running and running. I think she’s going to last forever. I call her Ladybug.

I drove across town to the huge warehouse which houses the studio and its offices. The sign which stretches most of the way across the front of the building in large black letters says Bad Sam’s Circular Enterprises, Inc., whatever the hell that means.

It’s kinda funny, I didn’t start feeling nervous until I parked and turned off Ladybug’s engine. There are just a few minutes remaining before my appointment and now, suddenly, I’m so nervous I can feel an uncomfortable tightness in my chest. All the way over here I’ve avoided thinking about the reason for this trip across town. I’m coming to see a man in order to ask him to make me do some pretty nasty things. I doubt if I even know all the things I’ll be subjected to. I know next to nothing about these kinds of movies or the activities they portray. I suppose everyone has heard of S&M. But how many people actually know what’s involved? I don’t. I know about rape, of course. For a few hundred dollars I desperately needed I allowed three men to rape me in this very building just three weeks ago. But what else might I be forced to experience if I go through with this? The truth is I’m not really all that well informed on the subject of sex, especially kinky sex.

I almost started the car and drove away. I had my fingers on the keys but images from the perverse fantasies I’ve been experiencing lately, the dangerous ones, the real rapes, ran through my mind. I told myself I have to do this. I need the money. But the truth is, I have to do this or I’m afraid I might start shopping for a rapist ... a real one.

I got out and went inside. The office is through the first door on the right. The bored secretary/receptionist looked up, cocked her eyebrow in obvious disapproval and said, “Gabriella Sing, right?”

I nodded and replied, “Gabby, yes.”

That was stupid! She doesn’t care what my nickname is! She sure as hell doesn’t want to be friends with me!

She picked up the phone, pushed a button and said, “Mr. Voss, your three o’clock is here.”

She hung up the phone and turned back to whatever she was reading when I came in. Without looking up she said, “Have a seat. He’ll be right with you.”

The bastard kept me waiting for fifteen minutes. I hate that. I can see the lights on the phone on his secretary’s desk. He isn’t on the phone. When he finally called his secretary to have me sent into his office I entered to find him all alone. He kept me waiting just for the hell of it. But of course I didn’t say anything.

He motioned toward one of the chairs in front of his desk and picked up a sheet of paper. When I was seated he began to read from the paper as if the information on it is all new to him. “Gabriella Sing, twenty, sophomore at State, you’ve acted in one scene from one movie.”

None of that seemed to require a response so I just sat there. I have no desire to open my mouth and say something else stupid. He read a bit more and said, “You have a long list of things you won’t do Miss Sing. You’re very attractive but I’m not certain I can use you. And to be honest, I didn’t care much for your attitude when you left here the last time.”

“I apologize for that, sir. I didn’t mean to leave you with a bad impression. I’m new at this. I haven’t been with many men in my life. Everything that happened in the studio last month was a first for me and it was a shock to my system. I’ve had time to think about it and I really do need the money. I’ve been working two jobs but one of the places I worked closed down and my second job is just part time. I’ll ... you can ... I’ll do anything you want from now on if you’ll put me to work. It won’t be easy for me. But I’ll do it. I swear.”

He sat back in his chair and looked through the file in front of him for a moment. Finally he said, “I don’t put up with any shit from the girls who work for me. The only reason I’m leaning toward giving you another chance is that some of the early feedback from my clients has been pretty positive. They want to see more of you. If we handle this right, if you do what you’re fucking told this could be pretty profitable for both of us.”

“I will, sir. You have my word.”

He’s obviously skeptical and, just as obvious, he wants me to know it. He ordered me to stand up. I jumped up and stood in front of his desk while he looked me over more closely. He looked down at the file again, flipped through a few pages and said, “Take off your clothes.”

I don’t think I expected that. Not here. Not now. But even as my breath caught in my chest I began undressing. I slipped my shoes off. I reached behind my neck and unfastened the catch on my dress. I unzipped it, slid it down off my shoulders and over my hips. After stepping out of it I dropped it on the chair next to me.

He watched me closely. It isn’t just the critical appraisal of a studio owner evaluating a prospective actress, either. He’s looking at me like so many other men look at me, like someone he’d like to have sex with. It was only in that instant it occurred to me I may have to fuck him to get this job! God! How dumb am I?!

I removed my bra and my panties while he stared at me like a piece of meat. He’s a somewhat unattractive, husky though not overweight, man in his late forties. He has an aura about him that’s a combination of small time hoodlum and child molester. But if he demands it of me I know I’m going to fuck him.

After removing my panties I stood up straight with my arms at my sides while he appraised my naked body. He looked back down at my file and asked, “These numbers you wrote down the last time you were here, are these right?”

He saw the confusion on my face and with a look on his face that made me feel about this small he quietly exclaimed, “Your figure! Jesus! You wrote down that your measurements are 32B, 25, 34 and you weigh one hundred and six pounds. Is that all correct?”