“Please forgive me, master!” the naked girl pleads. She is chained and kneeling in a room with BDSM paraphernalia lining the walls. “I know I deserve to be punished, but I beg you not to whip me again!”
The man she is addressing stands a dozen feet away, dressed in black and holding a leather whip. “You’re right,” he says, “you do deserve it. Thank you for reminding me.” He swings the whip again and the girl screams in agony, her back and shoulders covered in welts and blood.
“Please, master,” the woman wails again. “Remember how it was before? We used to take long walks in the park – I mean, you would walk me in the park on my leash. And sometimes you’d take the gag ball out of my mouth and we’d kiss. I miss those days.”
The man’s shoulders slump and he looks down. “I miss them too, Slave Girl 7, but it’s too late. I’ve sold you, and now I must introduce you to your new master. Forgive me, Slave Girl 7.”
He opens a door and another man enters. He is a hulk of tattooed muscle and he wears a leather helmet adorned with spikes.
“Oh no, not him!” Slave Girl 7 screams.
In two strides the second man is upon her, one fist grabbing her hair and the other hand holding a knife to her face. “You will learn not to speak unless spoken to, slave!” he says in a cold, raspy voice.
“Cut!” someone yells and the director walks into the scene. “That was great, Barry. Thanks for coming in to add this segment. It’s a crucial nuance to the film.”
The hulking, tattooed man in the spiked helmet smiles and hands the director the fake knife as the naked woman removes her fake bindings. “Glad to do it,” he says, “but gosh I’d better be going. I have to get Caitlin to dance class.”
“Grab a cupcake in the break room, Barry,” the naked girl calls cheerily. “They have icing and sprinkles!” As she says these last words, she bounces on her feet excitedly, sending her spectacular breasts in a lovely wobble which several of the men in the studio pause to appreciate. Although they see a lot of breasts in their line of work, no others are quite so spectacular.
The beautiful, red-haired actress has the body of an Olympic athlete and as she stretches out the kinks from being in a cramped position during the scene, all eyes involuntarily glance her way again. A newly hired makeup artist dashes over to her to reattach one of the fake whip welts which has become loose because the actress’ flawless, freckled skin is shiny wet with fake sweat.
“Do you want a robe for between takes?” the makeup girl asks.
The actress laughs. “I don’t do robes, honey. What’s your name?”
“Nice to meet you Annie. I’m Molly.”
Annie giggles and blushes. “I know who YOU are! I’m actually a big fan. I watched you fight in kickboxing and MMA bouts a few years ago and I’ve seen all of your movies. Several times.”
Although Molly is the one who is naked, she looks Annie up and down appreciatively – a dainty blonde with a big smile and prominent nipples poking through her thin blouse. “You are just too adorable for words,” Molly says. “Let’s go for a drink after. Or something.”
Annie’s blush flourishes lavishly. “That would be nice,” she squeaks.
“Was I okay in that scene?” the man with the whip asks. “I’m such a klutz with this thing. It can’t have looked very realistic.”
“You were fine,Todd,” the director says reassuringly. “After we add the sound effects in post, it will all come together. Okay everyone, let’s get ready for the next scene. Blair, get the lighting set up.”
“On it boss,” says the cameraman and begins adjusting light filters.
Molly walks over to Todd. “Are you doing okay?” she asks. “You seem a little preoccupied.”
Todd’s voice quivers as he says, “you know that guy I told you about that I met at the gym last week?”
“The retired career military dude that you think is sexy in an ‘inspecting the troops’ kind of way?”
Todd nods. “His name is Larry and I really liked him but I was afraid to tell him what I do for a living. But last night after working out we went for drinks and ended up at my place. We had sweet, lovely sex. Not kinky stuff like we do here, but just normal-people sex.”
“And he slept over and we did it again this morning and then . . . and then I blurted it out and told him I’m an adult film actor.”
“How did he take it?”
“Not well. Terrible, actually. Apocalyptically terrible.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, but maybe he just needs time to get used to it.”
“You didn’t see his face, Molly. He hates me now, and . . . I’m scared of him. I mean, he has guns and is professionally trained to kill people and he knows where I live and he really, REALLY hates me now.”
Molly is still trying to comfort Todd when the director comes back on set, seeming annoyed. “Blair, I told you to set up the lighting for the next scene.”
“I did, Readerman,” the ruggedly handsome but graying cameraman says. “What’s wrong with it?”
Readerman sighs. “In cinematography, Blair, there is Light and there is Dark, correct?”
“Shh, that was a rhetorical question; I’m just getting started. There is Light and there is Dark, but if you really look at it you see there is Light in the Dark and there is ALSO Dark in the Light. Do you follow?”
Blair nods, uncertain if this question is also rhetorical, but Readerman is not waiting for him anyway. “And sometimes you don’t know if it is Light or if it is Dark – which themselves may be different to different people!”
This goes on for a while, as Blair studies his fingernails and Molly picks absently at her little tuft of bright red pubic hair. Her fans often write to her asking if she would send them a strand. She was happy to do so at first, until they started showing up on E-Bay.
Suddenly, Blair realizes that Readerman has stopped talking. “You’ve explained all of that before,” Blair says patiently because the two are friends and he knows Readerman just has to expound sometimes, “and it’s all very profound, but could you just tell me what you want me to actually do with the actual lights?”
Readerman grumbles and begins changing the light filters himself, and as he does so he says over his shoulder, “Molly you’re needed in makeup.”
Molly gladly skips over to Annie who wipes off the fake blood and peels off the latex whip welts. These, she replaces with fainter versions to represent scars. Lastly, she puts Molly’s wild red hair in pigtails and changes her dog collar to a larger one with spikes.
“So,” Molly says as all of this is happening, “you said you saw me fight. In person or on TV?”
“Oh just on TV — mostly when you were a finalist on ‘Ultimate Fierce Female.’ How come you . . . changed careers?”
“Two concussions for one thing,” Molly says. “And it finally occurred to me that fighting is a lot more work than sex. Plus, now I get to be naked most of the time.”
“You sure seem comfortable . . . being naked. I’ve noticed you’re naked in almost every scene of your movies.”
“I put that in my contract – 80% full nudity. I’ll typically wear clothing in an opening scene to establish the character, but then go naked the rest of the film. My contract also specifies no blowjobs or cum shots when I’m working with dudes. I only do these slave girl movies in order to work with my friends Readerman and Blair, but as a rule I just do lesbian flicks.”
“Oh, I know,” Annie gushes. “I’ve seen ‘Fisting With Felicity’ three times! And you were SO hilarious in that lesbian space comedy, ‘The Trouble With Tribbing’.”
“Well, I am always glad to get to know my fans,” Molly says, making a mental note to clear her calendar for the next few days.
“And I’ve seen you in mainstream movies too,” Annie is saying. “You were great as Naked Girl At Party in ‘Frat House 7’, and you did so much with the 12 seconds of screen time you had as Naked Girl Hitchhiking in ‘Doofus and Dumbass Get High’.”
“Oooh, it turns me on when a girl knows my credits.”
“Well, I use IMDb. Are you ready for me to put the ropes on?”
“As long as I can get out of them when I want.”
“No problem. I have a really nifty way to do that.”
Molly reluctantly puts her arms behind her back and allows Annie to elaborately tie her up. She does love how she looks on camera with her arms pulled behind her and her extraordinary breasts pushed out, but not being able to use her hands tends to make her anxious. When it is done, Annie tucks the release cord in Molly’s hand. “Okay, just pull this if you need to but try to avoid that if possible because the whole thing will completely unravel and I’ll have to redo it.”
“Okay,” Molly sighs. “Darn, I meant to have a cupcake first.”
“I could feed one to you!” Annie declares perkily and dashes to the break room. She comes back carrying a large pink cupcake towering with icing. Annie slowly feeds Molly the cupcake and the process quickly becomes erotic for both of them. By the time the cupcake is gone they are sucking pink icing off of each other’s lips.
“Everybody back on set!” Readerman calls. “Camera rolls in five minutes.”
Molly reluctantly steps away from Annie and rejoins the men. “Looks a lot lighter over here,” she says, winking at Blair.
“Don’t mock me, Molly,” Readerman says. “Light and Dark are important.”
“If I agree, can we not talk about it?”
“And why in god’s name is there a cat in here?” Everyone follows Readerman’s gaze to see a red tabby perched like a statue on the arm of a chair.
“Oh, that’s just Lucille,” Molly says. “She’s been hanging around the back door and I feed her sometimes.”
“Which is why it keeps hanging around,” Readerman says in exasperation. “We can’t keep a cat in the studio, Molly. It’ll wander into scenes. I have a hard enough time herding YOU.”
“Don’t worry, I’m gonna take her home tonight. I feel a kinship with her.”
Blair chuckles. “There’s a joke in there somewhere.”
“What? That we must be related because we both have red hair?”
“No, that now you have TWO red pussies.”
Molly rolls her eyes but laughs. “For an OLD guy, that was a pretty adolescent joke,” she says. “Maybe you’re emotionally regressing from too many boner pills.”
“That’s not how they work. It’s just about blood flow — not that I take them.”
Readerman sighs. “This is why I’m not a substitute teacher, Molly, get on your mark and look at the camera from the side so the audience can see you’re tied up. Now, as you know, everyone, the scene we just filmed was from early in the script, but now we’re filming one of the last scenes when Slave Girl 7 realizes that she has come to enjoy her situation and now wants it to continue. And by the way THAT is why the lighting needed to be changed — to reflect the protagonist’s change in outlook.”
“Dang,” Molly says. “I keep hoping one of your slave girl movies will end with the girl killing everyone.”
“There’s a formula for these stories, Molly, and that’s not it. As the immortal director Severus Seahawk once said—“
“Oh Christ, not him again. I’d rather hear you talk about Light and Dark.”
“You’re just holding a grudge because Severus fired you from his first Mailgirls movie — a seminal work.”
“I wasn’t fired; I quit. Can we just do the scene?”
“Finally, something we agree on. Okay, camera’s rolling. Action.”
Molly looks at the camera over her left shoulder, showing her arms bound to the elbow in coiled rope and displaying her incomparable breasts in profile. Her face is radiant with joy. “I understand it all now,” she declares with near-religious fervor as she turns to face the camera. “I am a slave girl and I’m proud of that. That is all I want to be in life. To be subservient to every random man who passes by, spreading my legs for them and pretending I enjoy it even though they are fat and ugly. Because, gosh darn it, that’s my job as a slave girl. You can tie me up and take me for walks on a leash, even feed me from a dish on the floor because evidently I am subhuman and deserve to be treated like a dog.”
“Cut!” Readerman yells. “Molly, I can usually just edit out your bon mots but you only did one line from the script. Could we please do the words that are actually on the page? Just once, for fun?”
“If you insist,” Molly says and in a flash her face brightens angelically once again and she earnestly recites the exact lines in the script through to the end in a flawless take — and then after two beats she adds, still smiling sweetly, “you twisted, tiny-dick perverts.”
“Cut. I can work with that,” Readerman says. “Now before we wrap for the day, we just need to–”
He is interrupted by a rapping at the front door down the hallway and Annie goes to answer it. In the studio, they all hear a man’s voice yelling, “where is he? Where is that porn actor scum?”
“It’s him!” Todd cries in terror. “Molly, it’s Larry! He found me.”
A man with a crew cut and a very large handgun bursts into the studio and the first person he sees is Molly, naked and in pigtails, her arms wrapped in rope behind her back, and he looks at her with disgust. This is not a reaction she is accustomed to and under different circumstances she would be offended. He strides past her, pointing his gun at Todd and the other men who happened to be standing together behind the camera.
“Larry, please put that gun down,” Todd says, stepping out in front of the others. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”
“You damned well should have told me before we . . . became close. I had to go to my doctor today and get tested for venereal diseases. God knows what I got from you and your 5,000 previous sexual partners.”
“Actually, sir,” Readerman interjects with no hint of fear in his voice. “Our industry is very strict about STDs and our actors are tested all the time.”
Larry points the gun at Readerman’s chest. “Stay out of this.”
“I just wanted to give you relevant information that I thought would reassure you,” Readerman says genially. “People think that–”
“I SAID, stay out of this!”
Readerman opens his mouth to say more, but Blair jabs his elbow into his friend’s ribcage, muttering “for once in your life don’t contribute to the conversation!”
“Leave the others out of it, Larry,” Todd says, taking another step forward. “It’s me you’re angry at. If you want to shoot me, then go ahead and do it, but leave the others alone.”
“Kneel,” Larry growls.
“Larry, think about what you’re doing. If you fire that gun your life will never be the same. You’ll go to prison.”
“Shut up and kneel.”
Todd complies as he keeps his hands up. “What are you going to do, Larry?”
“It’s what YOU are going to do. YOU are going to give me a very professional blowjob while I hold this gun to your head. And if I don’t like it, or if you try to bite me, I will shoot you in the head. Got it?”
“Don’t force me to do that, Larry. That . . . that would be sexual assault.”
“Not for someone like you. You blow guys all the time – for money like a prostitute. So blow me.”
Throughout this exchange, Larry has completely ignored Molly, which is never a good idea. Perhaps he assumed she was actually restrained by her ropes, or that a naked girl in pigtails would be no threat to him. On both counts he was mistaken.
Indeed, Molly has already released the ropes from her arms and is trying to decide the best move to avoid anyone getting hurt if the gun goes off. From her vantage point she can only see Larry’s back and not his gun hand, and there is nothing close by she can use as a weapon except a stack of “Resort Ambassador” DVDs. She picks one up and tosses it to land about ten feet to Larry’s right. When it hits the floor with a clatter, he quickly turns his eyes – and his gun – towards the sound.
He sees nothing on that side of the room, but Molly is already on the move and by the time his peripheral vision picks her up she is on him, kicking his forearm towards the ceiling. The gun goes off and flies from his grip. Blair dives for it as Molly kicks Larry in the chest, sending him backwards. The force of the kick would have put him on the floor had there not been a wall two feet behind him. His back hits the wall hard and he bounces forward.
Molly grins in satisfaction because she knows if the wall had not been there she would have been deprived of this next move. As he stumbles forward, the wind knocked out of him, Molly puts all of her momentum into her swing as her fist hits him squarely on the nose. Blood flies in all directions as Larry’s knees buckle and he slumps backwards, his body crumpling against the base of the wall.
For two seconds the room is silent and then Molly whispers, “God I’ve missed hitting people.”
Annie, the other woman that Larry underestimated, had in the commotion slipped into the break room and called the police, who are now at the door. Larry is carried away handcuffed to a stretcher and everyone is questioned while Readerman calls a cab to take Todd to his mother’s house. Molly offers all the officers cupcakes and has to tell them twice that no, she really wouldn’t be more comfortable putting something on.
Although they were between scenes when Larry burst in, Blair quietly flipped the camera back on when he realized what was happening and so the whole incident was recorded. Larry was out of the picture much of the time, but everything he said was captured on the recording. The only part fully on video is Molly’s final punch, her pigtails flying in the air like red-orange flags and the studs of her dog collar glinting in the studio lights.
Readerman downloads a copy to give to the police as evidence, and after they have gone, Blair is playing the video again and says to Readerman, “you know, something like this might be a better ending.”
“I already suggested that,” Molly says.
“You suggested killing,” Readerman says, “not just punching. Really hard punching. Hmm, it would depart from our usual formula but . . . this could work. I need to get home and write!” With that, he grabs his briefcase and dashes out the door, calling back “don’t ever change, Molly.”
She calls after him, “you’re only saying that because you know I won’t anyway.”
Blair is still playing the tape in slow motion, zooming in on Molly’s fabulous breasts as they sway ever so gracefully and then jiggle delectably when the punch makes contact. Although this level of attention actually delights her, Molly affects a more jaded tone as she comes up beside him and says, “what are you, 12?”
“It’s a professional interest,” Blair says defensively. “Did you see the documentary I made last year about the physics of breast movement when naked girls play basketball?”
“Uh, I guess I missed that.”
“But I’m working on a new project now — a coffee table book on vaginas.”
“Hmm, is that so?”
“Yeah, on each page I’ll have a high-def close-up of a wide-open pussy, and I’m writing a description of each. Sometimes a poem.”
“Uh-huh,” Molly says noncommittally. “What’s the title?”
“Either ’Cunnie’ or ‘Glistening Folds’.”
“I vote for that second one.”
“So I was wondering if you’d be in it?
“Um, I’ll run it by my agent. How many do you have so far?”
“I just added ten yesterday so 462. I’m shooting for 500.”
“And . . . you’re describing each of them individually?”
“Yeah, but I’m trying to keep each entry under a thousand words. It’s really challenging.”
Blair downloads a copy of the video for “research” and says his goodbyes. Molly insists he take the last cupcake and when he is gone she is alone with Annie. “I’m going to take a hot bath,” Molly says.
“My apartment only has a shower and Readerman had a lovely clawfoot tub installed for bathroom sex scenes. I like to use it at the end of a long day.”
A few minutes later, Molly is stepping into the steaming bathtub as Annie clicks on the television. A newscaster behind a desk is saying, “and the alien ships have appeared all over the world, their lasers decimating every nation’s military that tries to challenge them. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of people have been abducted by the aliens, but we talked to one young woman who managed to escape.”
The camera shifts to a reporter on the scene of the attempted abduction and she is holding her microphone out to a red-haired girl wearing a skimpy sundress and a baseball cap. “I saw a beam of light,” the girl says, “and it pulled me up into the ship.”
“Were you frightened?”
“Heck no, I was too mad. I said to those aliens, how DARE you abduct me like that? Did you ever hear of a thing called ‘consent,’ or is your world too barbaric for that? On THIS planet you’re supposed to ASK a girl before yanking her into your spaceship. This is just another example of a misogynist patriarchal society treating women like objects.”
“What did they look like?” the reporter asks. “How could you tell they were male?”
“Well, I couldn’t tell exactly because they had tentacles coming from everywhere and orifices that I couldn’t tell if they took stuff in or put stuff out, but dammit they sure acted male. And I told the main guy, buddy, this is ONE chick you’re gonna be sorry you messed with. I don’t know which of those tentacles you use to procreate with, but I’ll bet it’s really small – and NO that doesn’t mean I want you to text me a picture of it!”
“How did you escape?”
“I’m not sure, but I was just getting started telling them off when the ship suddenly zoomed back to earth and they threw me into a corn field and flew away!”
Annie hits the pause button, freezing Molly on the screen as Molly in the bathtub laughs. “Where did you FIND that, Annie? I ad-libbed that whole speech but it didn’t make it into the final movie.”
“This is the director’s cut,” Annie says, holding up the DVD case.
“There’s a director’s cut of ‘Attack of the Anus-Faced Aliens’?”
“Apparently,” Annie says as she starts unbuttoning her blouse. “That’s a big bathtub. Can I join you?”
“God yes,” Molly says, and Annie quickly shucks her clothes and climbs in, straddling Molly at the waist. Molly was already leaning back low in the tub and as Annie settles her weight Molly’s head slides a little deeper and now the bathwater is lapping at her ears and chin.
“Seriously, Annie,” Molly says, “you’re almost too good to be true. Are you sure you’re not one of those psycho fans that murder their idols? If I go to your house will there be pictures of me all over the walls connected with red string and pins?”
“Well, there might be a FEW pictures,” Annie says, leaning forward and putting her hands on Molly’s shoulders. “Are you afraid I’m going to put my hands around your neck – like this – and push your head underwater and drown you? Is that what you’re thinking?”
“It kinda has crossed my mind.”
“Well, don’t worry, I’m not,” Annie laughs, kissing her instead. “For one thing, you’re obviously tougher than me and I’d probably be the one who ended up getting drowned. And then you’d have to call the cops again.”
“That would be awkward, twice in one day.”
“And besides,” Annie says, moving her body so they are now in the tub side by side, “I plan on having lots of sex with you tonight and I’m not into narcolepsy.”
“You mean necrophilia.”
“Oh, right. I get those mixed up.”
Molly and Annie kiss again, repositioning themselves in the tub so they can each get a hand between the other’s legs, but then Molly stiffens. “I thought I heard something in the studio,” she says.
“Is the front door locked?” Annie asks, her voice quavering.
“It’s always locked, but a lot of people have the passcode.”
“They gave it to me this morning,” Annie whispers, “and I remember thinking 6969 might not be the most secure passcode for an adult movie studio.”
“Let’s just be quiet a minute and listen,” Molly whispers back. Five seconds go by and they both hear the sound of glass breaking in the studio.
Molly lifts herself up to peer warily over the edge of the tub (bathwater cascading from her magnificent breasts as they rise majestically out of the water) and sees Lucille sauntering out of the studio, a mouse tail hanging from her mouth.