Emily Dewer was one of Hollywood's most respected young actresses. That is to
say, the body of her work was respected. Emily was a talented actress who took her work
quite seriously. She had been acting since she was a child, and had rejected all roles
which did not, in her opinion, help her "grow" as an actress, or which were not
serious, or which were not in serious films. Emily acted only in critically acclaimed
films and disdained anything which she feared would be demeaning to her as an actress.
She avoided exploitive, big box office movies.
That, at any rate, had been the plan. It had been a good plan, and it had certainly
brought her the critical acclaim and praise she had so long and so desperately sought. For
Emily was a young woman fraught with fears and in constant need of reassurance about her
worthiness as a person and actress. She had an enormous inferiority complex, and
desperately worried about each poor review of her work.
But Emily, though now wealthy and famous, had only ever once come close to starring
in a hit movie. That had been ten years earlier, when, as a sixteen year old, she had
appeared in a comedy, very much against her own better judgement. Since then, her movies
had been well received, but small. And she was up against a wall in her wistful desires
for more.
Her measurements were a voluptuous Thirty Six-D, Twenty-One, Thirty-Three, and she
was all of five feet tall. This naturally precluded her consideration for action roles.
Her small stature and soft, vulnerable, little girl looks meant she was rarely even
considered for roles as "the love interest". She absolutely refused to do nudity
of any kind, feeling it would draw howls of denunciation for her "exploiting"
her body, especially her breasts.
And she would not do comedy, feeling they were not "serious".
That did not leave very much room for her to expand outside her self imposed box of
smallish, serious films. This caused her considerable consternation.
Of course, much caused Emily consternation. She had a very poor self image, and
often felt terribly alone. Her private life was the polar opposite of her dignified
career, for she had sought after (some said stalked) man after man, most of them rock
stars and actors, and engaged in so many relationships even the slavering paparazzi of
the Hollywood press had been unable to keep up with her romances.
She was, in fact, becoming something of a joke, with the press no longer asking who
she was sleeping with, but who she hadn't. And the list was growing ever shorter.
Her reputation for jumping from bed to bed had caused ridicule enough among press
and peers, but she was now trying to live down an even worse blow to her reputation and
her forlorn desire to be respected and taken seriously. She had recently been arrested
for stealing a necklace from the home of a producer during a party - a party she had not
been invited to but had crashed.
Her mug shot, with Emily looking quite pitiful - though in an eye popping low cut
dress - had appeared in all the papers and on TV, and there was much open speculation
about her mental state and psychological condition.
So she was deeply unhappy when she returned home that evening from another party
where she had been uninvited, where she had very anxiously tried to seduce a famous rock
star - and failed. She slammed the door of her mansion and the sound echoed through the
enormous front hall. Then she leaned back against the door, eyes filling with tears,
feeling quite sorry for herself.
She sniffled softly as she walked through the dark hall and made her way up the
winding staircase to the second floor. There, in her luxurious bedroom, she stripped off
the thousand dollar gown she had been wearing, dumped her bra on the floor atop and hooked
her thumbs into the waistband of her lacy G-string, slipping it down and off.
Naked but for a diamond and emerald necklace, she padded into the large, adjoining
bathroom and opened the big shower stall, then turned on the water before turning and
padding back. She reached behind her neck as she walked, undoing the necklace, then
dropped it into her jewellery box before turning again for the bathroom.
She had been drinking, but was not - quite - drunk. So she was surprised to see the
bathroom door closed ahead of her. Frowning, she put her small hand to the knob and tried
to turn it, surprised that she couldn't. She stared at the door in confusion, then
turned to go back into the bedroom, halting, shocked.
There was a figure standing in front of her, a large figure. The room was dark,
with the only light coming from the open hall door behind him, and so his face was dark
and frightening.
"Wh-who are you!? She gasped, falling back against the closed door. "What
do you want!? How did you get in here!?"
The man stared at her, and Emily tried to cover her breasts and groin with her
hands, her lower lip beginning to quiver. "What do you want!?" she cried.
Yet the man only looked at her.
There were two walls hemming her in and a locked door behind. There was no where
for Emily to go. She burst into tears, hiding her face, then her breasts, then turning and
pressing herself against the door as she sobbed deeply.
She felt his presence behind her, and her sobs became deeper and choked with misery
and fear. She felt his hands on her bare shoulders, and cringed, weeping, as his hands
gently caressed her soft skin, then moved up to comb softly through her short dark hair.
"Please," she whimpered. "Please!"
"Shhh," he whispered.
He leaned in so she could feel his breath against her cheek, and she hid her face
against the door, closing her eyes.
"I'm going to make you a star," he whispered.
Her arms were clenched before her and he took them gently but firmly, pulling them
back and then around behind her. Emily did not resist, but only whimpered more strongly as
she felt him pulling her arms back and pinning them together with one large hand. She felt
something cold and metallic against the soft flesh of her arms, encircling first one arm
and then, as they were pulled closer together, the other.
"Please!" she gasped. "Y-You're hurting me!"
Her arms were pulled back painfully far, her forearms, and then her elbows squeezed
together by the cold metal. Then she felt similar metal bands around her slender wrists.
She whimpered fearfully, gasping as she felt a pull on her short hair, a pull which forced
her head up and back. She was breathing in short, desperate little pants now, almost light
headed, in danger of hyperventilating.
She saw a metal band go over her head and pass before her eyes. It was thin, and
about two inches or so in width. It pulled back together behind her throat and she heard
a click as it was fastened somehow. Then She was pulled backwards, wailing in fear as she
was walked back along the little hall which led from bathroom to bedroom, and then turned
around.
There were two men there now, and her fear grew more pronounced, her wide eyes
jerking from one shadowy figure to another.
"What do you want!?" she sobbed.
"We're going to make you a star," one of them said.
And then a bright light made her eyes squint.
"What do you mean? I don't understand!"
"Get on your knees."
"What? Why?"
"Because I told you to."
Sniffling fearfully, Emily slowly got to her knees, grunting awkwardly, her
shoulders aching because of the way her arms were pinned back.
"You like to suck cock, don't you, Emly?"
Her lips quivered as she stared up fearfully into the light.
"Answer the question," the voice snapped.
"I-I-I g-guess," she gulped.
"You have a reputation as an excellent cock sucker. Do you know how many cocks
you've sucked?"
She shook her head numbly.
"Would you call yourself a whore, Emily?"
"N-No," she whimpered.
"Many others have. You sleep with a lot of men, after all."
"You fuck a lot of men," the other voice said less kindly.
One of the men stepped forward, still shadowed to her, the bright light behind him.
"I want you to suck my cock, Emily."
"A-all right," she gulped. "Just don't hurt me."
The man unzipped his pants. The sound was loud in the quiet room. He took out a
long, thick cock which under other circumstances would have impressed her, but now Emily
only looked at it anxiously.
"Suck," he ordered, stepping forward.
| 
