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Chapter 6 – Scream Time
Lola, the current weathergirl and anchorwoman wannabe, loved the way the Arab had shaved his genitals as she spread her legs and felt his thick, uncircumcised, one-eyed snake slither into her warm, wet cockpit. She rubbed her twin beach balls ecstatically against his hairless chest as her hips pumped lewdly around his tightly clamped cock. She stuck her tongue in his ear and whispered exciting obscenities into the moistened, sensitized orifice.
The Arab unloaded so powerfully that she could almost taste it. Lola smirked smugly as yet another conquest gazed adoringly at her breasts. Those implants had been worth every penny she paid for them.
Lola gazed at him innocently.
"You wanted to know about Star?"
It was the Arab's turn to smirk smugly, thinking rather pathetically that he was a wily rascal deceiving a wide-eyed naïf.
"We, in the Arab community, wish to thank her personally for the fine interview she did of Saddam's childhood friend. It is so important that his dark side be shown."
It was news to Lola that anyone thought that Saddam had a light side. The Arab smiled ingenuously at her, not a very good actor really.
"You don't happen to know how she tracked him down, do you?"
"No, I don't."
His face fell. Inwardly, lovely Lola smirked. A past master at baiting the hook, Lola had been playing men for fools since puberty. She put on her best bimbo-esque manner as she helpfully gave him the inside dope.
"If you want to thank her though, you could catch her as she comes off work after the late night news. She always stays a bit late to wrap up and to start preparing the next day's stories. She works for about an hour afterwards and then she leaves alone. She does a lot of her own research. The way she found Saddam's childhood friend is a mystery to the rest of us. She likes protecting her sources."
The Arab's eyes took on a feral gleam. Coyly, Lola wrapped her fingers around his dripping member, examining it for signs of life. His tumescent member thickened under her expert ministrations.
"Care for a BJ? One for the road?"
"You have to ask?"
The Arab gripped her head as it began to bob between his legs. It was his lucky day. The Arab terror world desperately needed a few quick wins after Afghanistan and the embarrassing ease with which the Coalition forces had flattened Iraq.
Some women pursue active sex lives. Others have active sex lives thrust upon them.
Star hadn't bothered the police about her latest team cream, convinced that they were useless. They had done nothing concerning her first exercise in coerced sex as far as she could see. She had been worked over twice more, much more intensively, since then. Deeply depressed, despairing of getting any help, she had phoned in sick for a few days, trying to recover on her own. She had signed up with a security service and had the security on her home tightened so much that it squeaked.
She spent a lot of time showering.
To make matters worse, she had argued fiercely with her boyfriend, a professional football player. Until now, he had been delighted to go out with a well-educated, classy lady in a position of power and responsibility, very different from the usual type of football slut that hung around the pro players. Now that Star was damaged goods, possibly infected with AIDS and who knows what else, his enthusiasm for her had waned spectacularly.
The fact that the traumatized beauty didn't have the sense to go to the police infuriated him. A physically tough man, he had scant sympathy with her distaste for the medical swabbing and intimately invasive inspections that seemed to her to lead nowhere. He had no patience with people who wouldn't do the simple and obviously right thing because they were scared little ninnies. He unwisely said exactly that. Star promptly terminated the relationship.
"Are you okay?"
Star looked up from her desk. Charlie, the lighting director, was staring at her with a concerned expression. The good news was that he was a caring male. The bad news was that he was gay. The most favourable thing that he had ever said about women was that they were 'horrid, bleeding, scheming little beasts'. This pronouncement was inevitably followed by a disdainful shudder of the most complete disgust and horror.
Star thought that she must look very bad indeed if even Charlie was worried about her. She resolved to stop being stupid and get help. She smiled bravely at him.
"Just a bit down on my luck."
"Did you have a little tiff with the boyfriend?"
Star could tell that this was something he could relate to. She nodded.
"Among other people."
Charlie was sympathetic.
"Lots at once, eh? Everyone's jealous of us people in showbiz. Don't let the boyfriend worry you."
Charlie spoke confidently.
"There's lots of fish in the sea for people like us."
The idea that she and a screamer like Charlie were twin souls caught her unprepared. She started to giggle. Charlie giggled too. For some reason, it sounded much more feminine when he did it. They both started laughing uncontrollably, wiping the tears from their eyes.
"See? Ole Doc Charlie can tell that you're on the road to recovery."
"Thanks, Charlie."
Satisfied that she was all right, Charlie was re-assuring.
"Just talk it over with a therapist. You just have to get it out. Once you do that, you'll know exactly what to do. A therapist doesn't really do anything. They're just a sounding board, so you don't fuck up your personal and professional life by giving live ammo to the people that you deal with every day."
Charlie had some surprising news for her.
"I, for one, am glad that you're back. That Lola is impossible as your replacement. I think Goth girls take her make-up course. She thinks that she can wrap all the men around her little finger. This is one man she can't play for a fool."
Star smiled.
"You must be a revelation to her, Charlie."
Charlie nodded emphatically.
"See! There are advantages to being gay."
"I never thought of it like that. Thanks for the tip. I'll try it out. I think a therapist is just what I need."
"I don't want to discourage you, sweetie, but therapy made me the man I am today! I didn't even know I was gay until I started going to bed with my first therapist. He was wonderful."
Star's jaw dropped. Charlie grinned.
"Just joking! Seriously, you don't have to get a hunk with ten inches of rock hard gristle, just get one that listens."
"Um, thanks!"
Charlie wandered off. Star tidied up, studying the stories and making corrections. The Eleven O'clock News was in half an hour.
The elevator doors opened. A handsome blond man in an expensive three-piece pin-stripe suit carrying a briefcase stepped out. Next to him was the hard-faced black matron who had strip-searched her at the airport. Everyone in the newsroom stared, for the man was Ernest Mannheim, the leader of Aryan Masters, a white supremacist group. Seeing him with a black cop was a surprise. What was more surprising was that he looked pleased with the situation.
Even for a hard-faced matron, Shivonne looked unhappy. She glanced at Ernest and took a deep breath, inflating her blue shirt nicely.
"We have to speak to you, Star."
She paused significantly.
"In private."
Wondering what this was about; Star led them to a deserted conference room, soundproofed so that any sessions wouldn't be audible in the broadcast studio, and shut the door. Ernest (Dirty Ernie to his friends) took in her beauty with the eyes of a predator that eats its young.
"Unbutton your shirt, nigger. Open it wide and show the white cunt what you've got."
Star's jaw dropped as Shivonne, her eyes cast shamefaced at the floor, quickly unbuttoned. Shivonne looked at her pleadingly as she spread the front of her heavy police shirt, revealing a very nice set of naked knockers. Star's stared in horror at the belt around her waist. Dirty Ernie was smug.
" I see you recognize the remote control Stun Belt that you featured in one of your newscasts a few weeks ago. It works just like you said, delivering an 8 second, 50,000 volt blast to the left kidney, paralysing the victim completely while it does so."
Stun Belts were used on prisoners in American courtrooms on occasion. The police loved using these things as they could be hidden under the prisoner's shirt, out of the view of court spectators and nosey reporters. She thought wonderingly of the prosecuting attorney who had lightly dismissed it's use as 'a spanking' when she had interviewed him regarding a prisoner who had dared to interrupt a female judge while she was pompously pontificating and been fried in open court as a result. A 50,000-volt jolt was hardly a 'spanking'. Only a lawyer or a politician could come up with a concept like that.
Star bolted towards the doorway. Earnest smoothly stepped into her path, blocking her. He held up the remote control and pressed the button.
Shivonne's face contorted hideously. She grunted and went rigid, her bare breasts aquiver, nipples erect, as she silently absorbed the pain. Star, horrified, stopped in her tracks. Earnest was delighted.
"The nigger gets a blast every time you don't do exactly as you're told."
He smirked at Shivonne.
"I guess we'll find out how much of a nigger-lover Blondie here is. I think that my pet nigger-bitch should give Blondie some advice on the value of co-operating."
Shivonne's voice shook as she pleaded.
"Please, Star! Do as he says. I can't take any more."
Ernie wrinkled his nose and inhaled deeply.
"I love the stink of a sweating Jungle Bunny."
He stared at Star's 38D bust line.
"Unbutton your blouse, cunt. Show Uncle Ernie what you've got."
As she unbuttoned, Ernie was in redneck heaven. This was playing out exactly like Big Bill had said it would.
"Open your blouse wide."
Her see-through bra did nothing to hide her tits. She spread the front of her blouse and flashed them at Ernie.
"Turn around, Blondie, Let's see your back."
Star experienced a frisson of horror, feeling the fabric slowly pull across her skin as he untucked the back of her blouse. He opened his briefcase and pulled out another Stun Belt. He wrapped it around Star's bare belly and exposed back. He buckled it snugly in place.
"They're all the rage, Blondie! All the dumb cunts are wearing them."
While Star quivered in terror, he helpfully tucked the tail of her blouse inside the waistband of her skirt, giving her bum a friendly fondle in the process.
"Button up, fuckmeat."
It took two tries for her fumbling fingers to get the buttons right. She misaligned them the first time and had to undo them and button up again. Ernie helpfully tucked the front of her blouse inside her skirt, reaching between her legs for another friendly grope in the process. Her toes curled as he ran his fingers over her cuntlips. She stared fearfully at the second remote control in his hand.
"I like giving all my cunts a taste so that they fully understand the concept of consequences."
He pressed the button.
Like Shivonne, Star grunted and went rigid, quaking as 50,000 volts burned into her left kidney. The amperage and pulsing of the electronic blast was carefully calculated to paralyse the victim in a world of pain. Star's gut churned with liquid fire as her tummy muscles knotted and cramped agonizingly. She seemed to be frozen forever, helplessly absorbing the brutal punishment, although it was only eight seconds. She gasped as the current stopped.
"What do you want?"
"I want you to deliver your newscast while I wait here, watching on that monitor. Then you come with me and we'll discuss what sort of stories you'll be writing about the Aryan Masters."
He gripped her jaw with one hand, forcing Star up on tiptoe. He stared intently, his madly gleaming blue eyes boring into hers. He reached under her skirt and slipped a small transmitter inside her panties. He clipped the attached microphone to the elastic waistband, facing out.
"With this, I can hear everything you say. If you say a suspicious word to anybody, the nigger fries and you fry too."
A determined knocking on the closed door interrupted them. The urgent voice of the script girl came through.
"Star! It's almost time to go on!"
Ernie nodded at the TV monitor fastened to the wall.
"I'll be watching."
Star quivered as he ran his fingers around inside the waistband of her panties.
"I'll be listening."
He glared at Shivonne.
"Get behind the door, you topless whore."
Shivonne obediently stepped behind the door, to be out of sight when it opened. He slapped Star on the rump as he opened the door.
"Knock 'em dead, nigger-lover. Come here when you're finished. Tell everyone that I have a hot story to give to you and you alone."
Star nodded and scooted out the door. He shut it behind her. He looked sternly at Shivonne.
"Drop your pants to your knees, slut. Spread your legs as wide as you can to hold them at your knees."
Shivonne unbuckled her heavy belt with its bullet-less gun. He had removed her bra and panties earlier. She was bare-ass before him as she spread her legs, holding the waist of her pants tight between her parted thighs.
"Assume the position against the door, Officer Coon."
Shivonne rested her sweating palms against the door and stepped back.
"You have to keep me amused like a good dark meat whore while I listen to the evening news."
Shivonne grimaced as she felt Ernie's finger worm lewdly into her fuckhole. He knelt down, placed a palm on either ass globe and spread her light brown butt cheeks. Her buns quivered as he spat a slimy goober onto her exposed rectum to lubricate it. He licked his fuck finger and opened her heinie hole with it, spitting on it repeatedly as he pumped it in and out.
He stood up and unzipped. His white sausage tube slithered into her anal passage, pale as an albino cave snake that had never seen the sun. He gave her a blast from the Stun Belt. Her buttocks clamped down so hard that she expelled his sausage like a greased turd. Surprised, Ernie laughed as Shivonne shuddered in the cruel grip of the Stun Belt. He kicked the back of her knees, dropping her to the floor. He booted her onto her back and knee-dropped onto her taut, cramping belly.
The air whooshed out of her. Greatly excited, he placed his throbbing member between her ample breasts as she wheezed for air, squeezing them tight around his dick. He pumped hard and sprayed a generous load of man milk into her face.
On the TV monitor, Star was giving her worst performance ever, mumbling nervously through the news, burbling on about the President's Bush, blushing prettily as she realized what she had said and then stuttering as she fumbled to correct herself. Unfortunately, it now sounded like she was talking about the President's Tush.
Ernie shook his head grimly. He kicked Shivonne hard in the belly as she tried to pry herself up off the floor.
"Button up, zip up and buckle up, bitch. Tough as it is for a nigger bitch scumbag whore, you have to try and look respectable."
He held up her Stun Belt's remote control.
"Do you want another taste or are you going to get a move on?"
Shivonne hustled to make herself presentable, huffing and snuffling, wiping his cum off her face with the sleeve of her shirt, pulling up her pants, putting her uniform back together.
The newscast was over. The News Director had just looked at Star and shook his head unbelievingly.
"I'll make it up to you!"
He snorted sceptically and went to talk to Lola who gave Star a smug smirk as she chatted earnestly with the News Director. Deeply fearful, unable to think properly, Star promptly reported in to Dirty Ernie.
"That was pathetic, you useless cumslut. You must have fucked your way to the top. The only thing about you that probably works is your cunt and all you probably do there is spread your legs."
"Let's go."
As they left the newsroom, everyone made a big point of ignoring Star. Charlie exhibited that loyalty to a fallen comrade for which media people are so justly famous. He spoke loudly to the script girl as Star walked past.
"Even that bitch Lola would have done better!"
Star's face burned a bright red.
They went down to the parking garage. Ernest stared in surprise down the barrels of the AK47s that suddenly surrounded him. The Arabs were nervous.
"You can keep the nigger. We want the white bitch."
"What about my Stun Belt?"
"Stun Belt?"
Ernie was patient with the ragheads. To him they were an inferior race, slow on the uptake. He spoke slowly and loudly, like one addressing slightly deaf, badly retarded children.
"She's wearing something called a Stun Belt. I want to keep it. You can have the bitch. She's useless to me anyway. They'll probably fire her after that performance."
The Arabs were confused.
"What's a Stun Belt?"
Ernie addressed Star briskly.
"Unbutton your blouse and show them the goodies, cunt."
Star found herself flashing her tits to a leering audience for the second time in one night.
"How does it work?"
Star grunted and quivered rigidly, everything jiggling nicely as Ernie pressed the button on her remote. Urine spattered from between her legs onto the garage floor. The Arabs were fascinated.
"Excellent! We'll take it! Is the policewoman wearing one too?"
Ernie nodded, dismayed at this development. Stun Belts cost money and were a bit tricky to come by since, theoretically, they were only sold to law enforcement personnel.
"On second thought, we'll take her too."
"Hey, that's not fair! They're mine."
The Arab was reasonable.
"Our kidnapping them is just as fair as your kidnapping them."
The Arab gave the loudmouthed redneck a sweet smile.
"We can take something else too."
"What's that?"
"Your life. Just say the word, any word."
Looking thoroughly pissed off, Ernie shut his lips tight. As Ernie's hand reached out to hand over the remotes, Shivonne's foot kicked out. The heavy police boot sent the remotes and their batteries flying. The hard kick unbalanced her.
Outraged, Ernie grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head into the side of his van. She slumped to the cement floor, lights out.
At the same moment, a red dot blossomed in the middle of the Arab's forehead. His brains sprayed out the back of his head, splattering over the white wall behind him.. His buddies, conditioned to a world of sudden violence, grabbed Star and ducked down, eyes scanning wildly for the shooter.
Ernie grabbed Shivonne by the back of her shirt and her belt. He heaved her inert body into the back of his van, giving a quick thumbs-up to his sharp shooting buddy who had been lurking in the shadows as back up.
"Good work, Henry! That stupid raghead never saw it coming!"
A dedicated survivalist, Henry laid down quick bursts of covering fire. As the Arabs ducked down from the hail of bullets, Ernie started the engine. Henry dived into the passenger seat as the van started to roll, quickly picking up speed. They drove off, careening wildly, tires squealing, as they exited the parking garage.
The Arabs stared in dismay at their fallen comrade. Having been drilled pitilessly in one of Khaddafy's terrorist training camps in the Libyan Desert, Achmed quickly assumed control. He ignored the dead body.
"This is just a minor setback. We have the bitch. The mission is still on."
He raked Star with a predator's gaze. With his hawked nose, coal black eyes and seamed skin, baked by the burning sun, he seemed to her a wild desert animal.
"Bend her over the hood of that car."
Star felt her breasts crush against the cool steel as they gripped her wrists, pulled her forward and stretched as her torso over the hood.
"Spread her legs."
Strong hands gripped her slim ankles and pulled them apart. She felt Achmed slip his fingers inside the elastic waistband of her panties and pull them down her thighs. Achmed gripped her by the hair, jerked her head up and pressed the barrel of a revolver against the middle of her forehead. Breathing heavily, she stared upwards at it, slightly cross-eyed.
"I'm going to put this gun barrel where I can't miss."
He removed it from her forehead. Achmed parted her cuntlips with his long fingers. He placed his forefinger along the top of the barrel so that the front sight wouldn't scrape too atrociously until it was buried deep. He eased the barrel into her love tunnel.
Her flesh crawled, feeling the gun barrel part her cuntskin as he wormed the cool steel into her hot fuckhole, pushing it in slowly and steadily. She gasped as the mouth of the barrel went beyond the length of his forefinger and began to scrape delicately against the exquisitely sensitive female flesh deep inside her tool tunnel.
"If I pull the trigger, it will gut you completely. You'll die slowly in great agony."
The large calibre gun went in as far as it could go until the mouth of the barrel was tapping her cervix. He kept the barrel moving slowly inside her, twisting and stirring, keeping her continuously aware of its hard invasive presence. It took Star several tries to form the necessary words.
"Wha...."
"What d..."
"What do you want?"
"How did you find Saddam's childhood friend?"
Star gulped as he jammed the O of the barrel hard against her cervix. The information poured out of her.
"One of the researchers, Kirstie Benton, actually located him. You'd have to ask her."
"Where is this researcher?"
"Kirstie likes working late. She's still at the station. Her number is on my cell phone."
"I want you to phone her, get her to come here and bring her file on Saddam with her."
He twisted the gun barrel hard. Star was pathetically eager to please.
"No problem!"
Her cell phone was extracted from her purse, Kirstie's number was located and the cell phone held to her ear.
Kirstie was excited. Fresh out of university, she had hired on as a researcher for the news. Busy surfing the 'net for new info, she had missed the evening newscast and Star's disastrous performance. Her VCR at home recorded the newscasts. She replayed them the next day while she ate breakfast. Now Star was calling her to bring the file on her Saddam research, actually waiting for her in the underground parking lot for the info. Kirstie zipped the info and dumped it onto a diskette.
They took her as she stepped out of the elevator. A quick clip across the back of the head with a sap and she collapsed to the floor like a sack of cement. Her unconscious body was handcuffed, each wrist handcuffed to the corresponding ankle. She was gagged with duct tape and loaded on her back into the trunk of the Arabs' Mercedes.
Blindfolded, on her knees with Achmed's gun barrel worming slowly inside her fuckhole for encouragement, Star was giving blowjobs to the security guards. In addition to a nice bribe from the wealthy Arabs for looking the other way, they were being treated to some celebrity meat. Her blouse open, her big bare boobs bobbing in time to her dipping head, Star was busily stroking, licking, sucking and swallowing security guard sperm as they stood in line, feeding her their dicks for a quick knob gobble.
When she had gulped down the musky man milk of the last security guard, her hands were cuffed together behind her, her lips taped shut and she was loaded into the trunk of the Arabs' Mercedes. Her face was jammed into Kirstie's crotch. As the Mercedes pulled out, Kirstie slowly came to with her pretty face buried in a dark, wet, smelly place. Completely disoriented, her taped lips pressed against Star's bare cuntlips, Kirstie sobbed and whimpered in terror.
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