Do It Like You Mean It

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

The director called out, “Where the hell’s our model? Get her on the set so we can check her with lighting.”

“Oh, she’s hangin’ around here somewhere, boss,” Bert said.

Annabelle looked at them balefully as they laughed.

“A regular comedian you are. Get her ass over here, for chrissakes,” the director said.

Bert walked to the wall behind Annabelle and made some adjustments to the levers. The tension in the ropes slowly began to ease and she was able to place her full weight on her feet again. She moaned as her arms experienced renewed pain in returning to a more natural position. Bert removed the rope that had tethered her to the pulley. As he dragged her toward the set, she fought and tried to pull away, but the pain became too great for her wrists as he pulled her by the connecting chain between the cuffs.

The director called out, “Hey, Angelina! Brad’ll be here later. I guess you want to know what your motivation is for your first acting scene, right? Isn’t that what all actors want to know? What’s my motivation, right?”

“f**k you!” Annabelle yelled.

The men in the studio joined in a chorus of whistles and laughter.

“Now, now. We’ll have none of that. Well, actually, you’re going to get a lot of that. You. Not me. Get my drift?” the director said.

“Just let me go! I won’t tell anyone, I swear!”

“Oh, I doubt you’ll tell anyone, all right. We’ll make sure of that,” the director said. “And where’s your gratitude? You know, it’s not every girl who gets a rare opportunity like this one.”

Annabelle was yanked to the side of the equipment. Bert held her cuffs with one hand and pulled a small key out of his pocket.

“Now we can do this nice, or we can do this hard. Ya’ get me?”

“Do what nice?” she sneered. If you think you’re cuffing me to this — ’’

He landed a stinging slap to her ass.

“Goddamn it, I f*****g swear!” she cried out.

“Are you going to be a good girl and cooperate?”

Annabelle steeled herself, looked him straight in the eye and said, “No.”

“Why not? You’re not going anywhere. Go ahead. Try to get away.”

“f**k you, asshole.”

“What the hell did you just say?”

“Are you stupid and deaf?” she said.

The noise in the studio immediately adjusted, and Annabelle knew she’d made a terrible mistake. With force she feared could snap her arm in two, he took her left forearm, placed it over the opposite bar and effortlessly held it in place while he attached the handcuff. Annabelle cried out as he then took her right wrist in a visor-like grip. His look was menacing.

“You’re about to learn your first lesson, you little b***h. Now lie down on the bench.”

The room was silent, and Annabelle knew all eyes were on her. She shook her head slowly, almost imperceptibly. She was only stalling the inevitable, she knew; there was no way she would be able to free herself from the handcuffs, and Bert was far too strong to fight off.

“Fine, honey. We’ll just do it your way for now, okay?” Bert said.

His grip tightened on her wrist as he yanked her closer to the bar. The remaining handcuff went around the bar and Bert snapped it shut. She now stood to the side of the padded bench and was manacled to the waist-high bars attached to the front of it.

“Now. Lie. Down. On. The. Bench.”

Tears came to her eyes as she shook her head violently back and forth.

“Your tears don’t mean nothin’ to me, lady,” Bert said, shoving her to a seated position on the bench. Annabelle saw in his eyes that it was absolutely true.

“You’re gonna get some punishment for disobeyin’ me before. Now stretch out on your stomach on this bench.”

“Please — ’’

With speed that belied a man of his bulk, Annabelle’s legs were grabbed and pulled behind her. Her body came down so hard on the bench, her breath caught in her chest. Bert was now fastening some sort of binding around her ankles, and she cried out when the pressure became almost unbearably tight. She strained to see over her shoulder, but the cuffs prevented her from turning more than a few inches.

“I’d love to have those nice little legs spread wide for me so I could teach you a real lesson, but this is gonna have to do for now.”

The director was now standing by her head. “More of your payback, Bert?”

“This lady really needs it, sir. You know she does. Comes in here all hot for the job, then won’t do what I tell ‘er to do.”

“Just don’t leave permanent marks on her. Remember what you did to our last model, for chrissakes. Couldn’t shoot her ass from behind again.”

“Got it, boss,” Bert said.

Annabelle could feel material brush against the sides of her ankles, and she sensed Bert was straddling her feet at the end of the bench. She felt a slight shift in movement, then a burning fire as something connected with the flesh on her ass. Annabelle’s breath caught in her chest as her mind fought to register the pain. When a second lash landed on the other ass-cheek, she screamed and violently tried to twist away.

The director was again by her head. “Hurts a bit, doesn’t it? You’ll do well to do what you’re told while you’re here.”

When the director stepped away, Bert landed more and more lashes on her ass. It seemed the louder she screamed, the more force he wielded. Then her punishment abruptly stopped.

“Am I makin’ my point, lady?”

Annabelle moaned in agony and her chest heaved for air.

“I asked you a question!” Bert yelled, landing another lash on her ass.

“Yes!” Annabelle screamed. “Yes! Please don’t hurt me anymore!”

But Bert connected the strap harder than ever with her burning skin several more times, enough to reduce Annabelle to a sweating state of pain and misery.

“What are you gonna do when we tell you to do somethin’?

Annabelle sobbed and tried to speak. Bert brushed the strap back and forth over her burning ass as if to warn her that her lesson wasn’t necessarily over. Annabelle raised her forehead off the bench and whispered, “I do it.”

“You do it. Yep, that’s right, Miss Sugarbritches. You do it.”

“Boys!” he yelled. “I want y’all to hear somethin’. The lady says when we tell her to do something, she’s gonna … now, what was it you said, b***h?”

Bert swung the strap all the way behind him, arced it high over his shoulder, and then brought it down on her ass.

Annabelle screamed, “I’m going to! I’m going to do it!”

Bert walked to the front of the bench and dropped the strap on the floor in front of her.

“You’re gonna feel this any time you don’t obey me. We’ll start shootin’ as soon as we get the lightin’ right. Be sure not to wander off,” he said, walking away.

She heard someone approach from behind, but they stood a few inches too far out of her peripheral vision for her to see a face.

He said, “Just going to check the lighting around you, babe.”

“Please,” she whispered. “Please…help me. Do something!”

“All in a day’s work, hon,” he said. “I need the money, and you need to shut up. Got it?”

She tried to twist her head far enough around to make eye contact with him, but all she could see was a hand holding a lighting meter. The shadows his movement cast on the area around her told her he was checking lighting on various areas of her body.

“Surely you know you can’t do this. You can’t get away with this!”

“Yep. Do it all the time, and get away with it all the time,” he said, walking away.

Her panic was replaced by cold fear. Annabelle pulled and twisted at her handcuffs until the pain made it too uncomfortable to continue. She saw without a doubt there was no way she’d ever be able to get herself out of them. How many other women had they done this to? Worse yet, what had happened to them when the men were finished with them? Bert alone was more than enough muscle to subdue her; he could break her body in half without even breathing hard. How the hell could a woman possibly escape a room with locked doors and so many men?

She scanned the faces she could see from her position, searching for anyone who looked as if they might take pity on her. She studied every face, trying to catch someone’s eye to give them a pleading look. But no one bothered to look her way, and what was most disturbing was that they weren’t even intentionally avoiding her gaze. She didn’t matter enough to look at; she knew it. She was a piece of meat. She’d already had her legs forced open wide so several men could view her, and now she was a strapped-down and freshly spanked piece of model-meat on a bench. And it had all been done to her with so much ease and so little conscience. Annabelle felt a wave of nausea as she broke out into a sweat under the lights, which someone had moved so close that she could feel the heat directly on her naked skin.

“What’s the first shoot?” someone called across the studio.

“f*****g machine,” another voice responded matter-of-factly.

“Bert! Get Angelina ready to meet her new best friend!” someone yelled.

Heat rose to Annabelle’s face as the men in the studio laughed. She already knew two names of the men, and vowed to commit to memory every physical characteristic she could. If they did let her go, she vowed to f*****g level them in court, remembering everything they said and did, and every way they pawed, taunted, beat and humiliated her. She saw herself being questioned on the stand. She was confident and poised…and pissed. Oh, was she ever pissed.

She strained her neck to look over her shoulder, and saw a strange contraption being wheeled toward her.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” she moaned, when she saw the oversized pink dildo protruding from the center of it. Someone spread her ass cheeks and slathered cold gel all over her p***y, then inserted and pumped their fingers in and out of her v****a. Annabelle cried out in disbelief, and strained and pulled against her bindings, screaming.

“Liked it that much, did you?” a voice asked. “What about this?”

A gloved and lubricated finger quickly probed her anus and withdrew, then probed again. Annabelle screamed and flailed, trying to jerk her hips away from the intrusion. Whoever had his finger in her ass only laughed and forced it deeper inside her.

“Tony! Get your dirty claws out of the b***h’s ass! We’re not doin’ anal today!”

“Seems to me she can’t get enough practice,” the owner of the finger said.

“Yeah, well, you’re not running this show, I am. Capiche?”

“Huh?” the finger-man responded.

“Capiche, you dumbfuck. Christ, never mind. Get the f**k away from our model!”

The finger pushed hard again, then twisted inside her before withdrawing. Annabelle feared she was only seconds away from retching.

Bert appeared at her side. She could already recognize him by his shoes without raising her head from the bench.

“All of you, stay out of the b***h’s ass!” Bert yelled. “You get to do what ya’ want with her at the cast party, ‘member?”

The men in the room whooped at the reminder, and some responded as if it was wonderful news they were just now hearing for the first time. Someone passing by slapped her hard on the ass. Annabelle thought she might faint with dread. For if she’d been unsure only minutes ago what horrors these men had in store for her, the danger of her situation was becoming abundantly clear.

“I’m gonna be sick. I swear I’m going to throw up,” she moaned.

“You do it, and you’re gonna clean it up,” he said. “Now here’s what’s gonna happen. These cuffs are comin’ off. You’re gonna’ get off the bench and get on your hands and knees right here, got it? Then this here machine is gonna be positioned so you can take this dildo in your p***y. And you’re gonna hold still while we take shots of you with it goin’ in and out of yer p***y. Ya’ dig?”

Annabelle moaned as a wave of nausea moved to her throat. Her mouth was now filling with bitter-tasting saliva, a sure sign to her that she was about to be ill. Bert grabbed her hair and raised her head enough to see his face.

“I assed you a question, bitch.”

Annabelle moaned in assent. Sweat trickled down her forehead and into her eye. She tried to free her head from Bert’s grasp to wipe her face on her shoulder, but he gave her head a sharp jerk, forcing her to maintain eye contact.