Biting down firmly on director Baudelaire's lip, was able to pull her mouth away from his only long enough to let out a short, weak scream before his right hand left her wrist and clamped down firmly over her mouth, muffling her cries for help.
"You are going to be very, very sorry you did that, bitch," he leered. raised her free arm to push against his chest, trying to put some space between their bodies, but the effort was futile.
"Big Jacques, get in here!" Pierre yelled, and a little door on the other side of the long, narrow room popped open. 'Big Jacques' had to duck his head and turn sideways to squeeze his massive body through the small door. He stood at well over six feet tall and wore only a pair of tight, black jeans, his exposed chest and arms seemingly composed of solely of well-toned muscle without an ounce of fat. His head was shaved clean, as was his chest, his bare skin glowing, radiant. 's eyes widened at the sight of him, her gaze darting frantically between the two men. Escape seemed impossible.
"Wee, monsieur Pierre?"
"Fetch me some rope and a gag for this nice, American whore." Pierre turned to , saying, "I told you you'd be sorry, you ungrateful bitch. Big Jacques and I will teach you to appreciate what we have to offer, and, especially in Jacques' case, that's quite a bit!"
Pierre's brawny assistant returned with the requested items, and was soon lying on the bed, each wrist and ankle tied firmly to a corner, a soft gag in her mouth, muffling her whimpering. Tears streamed down her cheeks, turning the cakey makeup into rivers of mottled color. Her silky, blonde hair fanned out beneath her, and her nearly-naked, sparkle-coated body squirmed, though her efforts to escape were getting her nowhere.
Director Baudelaire knelt between her well-toned legs and placed his hands on her hips, stilling her movements. "Save your energy. You're going to need it," he said.
Pierre motioned for Big Jacques to climb onto the other end of the bed, and he did, nearly hitting his head on the low ceiling.
"Rip off her brasierre," Pierre ordered, his voice savage. Jacques easily and eagerly shredded the lacy undergarment, revealing a pair of perky, B-cup breasts topped with invitingly pink nipples. He couldn't resist the urge to cup them with his large palms and tease the soft, slightly pebbled nipples with his thumbs.
"That's it, Jacques," said monsieur Baudelaire, who began running his hands softly along the length of 's inner thighs and across her flat tummy. One hand brushed against her thin panties, and he could feel the heat radiating from within. "You like that, bitch? I know you do. But you're not getting anything more until you ask for it."
Pierre glanced up at his his assistant. "Remove the gag," he ordered.
"Now tell me, tell us. Beg us to give you what you want, slut," Pierre demanded, gazing at the beauty spread out before him, pressing his expert fingers more firmly against her needy, lace-covered flesh as Big Jacques continued to knead her breasts. |