The house of film producer George Rutlins was huge—a sprawling mansion high in the hills, looking down over Hollywood from on high. Tonight it was hosting a party, and Alyssa was on the guest list.
Her limousine pulled up a distance from the front door, and Alyssa carefully climbed out. She was wearing a gorgeous evening dress—the same one she had worn to the premiere of her last film—which was long and black and figure-hugging. The garden was decorated with fairy lights, and the sound of a live band drifted out from the mansion.
For a moment, Alyssa felt like everything was normal. She was a movie star—famous, untouchable—and she was about to mingle with the pretty people.
Then her manager, Blake, approached, dressed in a tuxedo, and Alyssa knew that it was not going to be a night of joy and laughter. Her hand went unconsciously to the leather dog collar she was wearing around her neck, and the name-tag hanging from it that read “RAPE ME”.
It would be a night of humiliation, one way or the other.
“Hello, beautiful,” said Blake. “Are you ready to wow Mr Rutlins?”
“Yes,” said Alyssa, unhappily. She was angry with Blake. He had told her that she already had the role in Rutlins’ new film. In fact, she had already done publicity for it. But now Blake was tellilng her she still needed to please Rutlins to seal the deal.
Blake reached over to her and pinched her cheek. “Get rid of that frown, baby,” he said. “I want you to be all smiles for Rutlins. If he likes you tonight, we can put ink to paper for your contract tomorrow. You’ll be the star of his new film “Rape Liar”, and you’ll pocket a leading lady salary—minus my cut, of course.”
Alyssa opened her mouth to reply—and felt her hypnotic conditioning guiding her next words. “Do you think he’ll want to rape me?” she asked. “Do you think he’d prefer to rape my pussy or my mouth?” She blushed, and added, “I like it when men make my cry while they fuck me.”
Part of her inside was already crying. She hated this. She hated having to say such slutty things. But she couldn’t help it. And the worst bit was that it was an idea she had come up with herself. Her own imagination had crafted this hellscape for her.
Blake laughed—and Alyssa saw his cock stiffen in his pants. “You don’t have to fuck him,” he said. “Just make him like you. Flirt a bit.”
As Blake spoke, his gaze drifted from Alyssa’s face down to her breasts—and Alyssa blushed deeper as another of her hypnotic rules engaged.
Her hand drifted to her bosom, caressing one of her nipples through the fabric of her dress. “Would you like to see my tits?” she asked.
“Of course I would,” replied Blake.
Alyssa deliberately didn’t look around. She didn’t want to know if anyone was looking at her, because it wouldn’t change anything. Blake had looked at her tits. She had needed to ask him if he wanted to see, and then show him if he said yes. She pulled down the front of her dress and lifted her breasts out. She was wearing no bra. Her heavy udders hung out in full view.
“Fuck, those are some hot tits,” said Blake, admiring her fuckbags. “Are you showing me these because you want to, or because of your Average Availability thing?”
She blushed and said nothing. She wasn’t required to tell him. He should know.
“Want to have a quickie before we go in?” asked Blake, teasingly.
“Gross, no,” responded Alyssa instinctively—and her conditioning engaged. It was time for a new rule.
She knew she should have said yes. She could have fucked him, it would have been quick, and then she would have two less rules. She should always say yes when a man wanted to fuck her.
But Blake had done this to her. He was the one who had tricked her into going to the Average Availability hypnosis program. She would be damned if she would let him profit from it by enjoying her cunt. She would keep saying no to him, no matter what.
Her mind processed quickly, and a new rule floated up from the depths of her imagination. She would encourage comments that treated her as a sex object.
She took quick stock of her current rules:
- Draw attention to my tits.
- Become aroused at the idea of being raped.
- Tell each man I meet that I enjoy a sexual activity. Don’t use the same one twice.
- Wear a dog collar with a tag that reads “rape me”
- If someone stares at my tits or cunt, ask if they’d like to see, and show them if they say yes.
- When talking to a man, ask him questions that help him visualise raping me.
- Encourage comments that sexually objectify me.
She hated them. How did she still have so many? Why couldn’t she just do the work of fucking a few men—it would only take four, if she didn’t reject anyone in between—and clear out the rules?
Because she still had her pride. And her dignity. And the sense that she could fight this. And it was those things that kept making her situation worse.
Was abandoning her dignity to willingly fuck a few men really worse than the constant humiliation—and resulting rape—that came from these rules? Surely not—and yet, she didn’t for an instant consider relenting and letting Blake fuck her. So the rules persisted.
Blake’s face had turned into a sneer at her rejection. “Fine, fuck you too,” he said. “Just get your sweet little tits inside and make Rutlins happy.”
Alyssa pulled her dress back up over her breasts, and did as she was told.
The guest list of the party was a “who’s who” of Hollywood. The beautiful people of the film industry filled every corner of the room. Alyssa did her best to sweep across the room with confidence, acting like she hadn’t been raped multiple times in the last week, trying to give the impression that she was confident, in control, and that Blake—who insisted on remaining right next to her—wasn’t her date.
A man stopped her. “Alyssa! So glad you could make it!”
“Of course, Chris, I couldn’t miss it,” Alyssa replied immediately. The man was Chris Harris—young, almost supernaturally handsome, and the star of several recent science fiction action blockbusters.
Her hand drifted automatically to the bosom of her dress, teasing at the neckline, drawing attention to her breasts.
“So sorry about your recent brush with the paparazzi,” said Chris. He meant her appearance, covered in sperm, on the cover of Celebrity Slut, of course, and she silently blessed him for his relative tact.
But her hypnotic programming would not allow her to be similarly discreet. “Oh, it’s okay,” she said. “I love having men’s cum on my face. It feels so slutty and hot. Don’t you think I’d look prettier tonight if my tits were covered in sperm?”
Chris’ eyes widened—shocked at her whorish reply. She watched as his eyes drifted down from her face, to her dog collar—with its tag reading “RAPE ME”—to her large breasts.
“Would you like to see them?” she asked, cupping her breasts a little with her hands.
“Uh…” said Chris. “Wow. I mean, yes, but not here. How about we find one of the bedrooms here and explore that idea?”
Alyssa felt a conflict in her mind. She’d offered him a chance to see her tits, and he’d said yes—but it was conditional, and she was pretty sure he was actually asking if she’d like to fuck.
And she did want to fuck him, not just to get rid of rules, but because he was gorgeous, and nice. She’d masturbated to thoughts of fucking him for many nights after his last film hit theatres.
She wasn’t sure if she was obliged to accept a conditional offer to see her tits until she actually spoke—and then it turned out that no, she wasn’t.
“That sounds great,” she said, “but I actually have some work socialising to do. Maybe some other time.”
And she cursed inside as she said it. She could absolutely have fucked Chris, and still had time to please George Rutlins. The only reason she had said what she said was the conditioning of long years, leading her to instinctively turn down random sexual propositions.
But she had said it. And her hypnosis activated. She needed a new rule.
Her eyes drifted over the room. Everyone here was so pretty. The men. The women. And the memory of licking the cunt of blonde bimbo Melina Michaels while her husband watched returned to her—filling her with shame and degradation and illicit arousal.
You like to make out with pretty girls while men watch.
That was her new rule. A punishment for being such a slut, because she wasn’t a lesbian, and sexual encounters with women filled her with shame and guilt.
Across the room she saw one of her actress friends—stunning redheaded Jessica West, whose last movie had propelled her to a place on “100 hottest women” lists worldwide. Her relationship with Jessica was close, but platonic—they shared stories of acting, of Hollywood, of boys.
Now Alyssa wanted nothing more than to tongue-kiss her friend, and grope her tits, while Chris Harris watched and stroked his cock.
But Blake was already guiding her on, through the large open rooms of the mansion, past groups of laughing, drinking celebrities, towards a long red couch in a slightly darker room. At the centre of the couch sat George Rutlins—a broad-shouldered man in his 50s, with salt and pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard.
His arms were draped around two beautiful women, one on either side of him. Alyssa recognised the one on the left—Daniela Lopez, who had only turned 18 last week. She had become a minor star at the age of 14 as the lead of the kids’ TV series “Daniela Versus The World” on the Disney Channel. Now she was an adult, hoping to graduate into adult roles, and hoping George Rutlins could give her that chance. She was wearing a tight pink clubbing dress that cupped her tits and stopped only an inch below her pussy. It was a teenager’s idea of sexy eveningwear. Alyssa was sure Daniela had thought it was classy, but it made her look like a baby prostitute—and Alyssa thought Daniela was beginning to realise that, because Daniela was cringing from George’s arm, nervous and insecure and learning that she was now a viable sexual object to the men who controlled her future.
The other woman was older—in her early 20s—with red hair and big plastic tits. Alyssa was in a good position to judge her tits, because they were fully exposed, pulled up and out of the woman’s red dress into public view. The woman didn’t seem to mind at all, and Alyssa had a vague recollection that this was not an actress, but a famous porn star.
She thought of kissing these women, and felt her cunt wetten and her lips moisten.
“Alyssa!” said Rutlins warmly, making no effort to get up. “Come take a seat! These fine ladies here are Daniela and Jayden.”
Alyssa stepped forward and shook hands with each girl, and then sat next to Daniela.
Blake moved to sit too, but George flapped the hand around Jayden’s shoulder dismissively at him. “Go circulate, Blake,” he said. “I want some time with your girl here. I’ll talk business with you when it’s done.”
“Absolutely, sir,” said Blake, and vanished obsequiously into the crowd.
“So, Alyssa,” said George, sizing Alyssa up across the diminutive form of the teen actress in between them, “what do you think of young Daniela here? All grown up, and packaged for an adult audience. Don’t you think she’s just the most appetising little whore?”
Alyssa was already idly stroking her own tits, trying to draw Rutlins’ attention to them. She saw Daniela flinch at the word “whore”, and knew what Rutlins wanted of her. He was acclimatising Daniela to objectification, making it clear to her that her job as an actress was to let men dress her, ogle her, demean her, and fuck her. He wanted Alyssa to join in.
Two weeks ago, Alyssa might have stayed silent, standing firm with her fellow woman, not compromising her ideals.
The Alyssa of today found it very hard to stand firm on anything. She was scared of what Rutlins would do to her if she didn’t play along. She was scared of what would happen to her if she didn’t get this role. No one had said anything to her about undoing the Average Availability programming, but the plan was to turn it off once she landed the movie, right?
“Yes, sir,” said Alyssa. “Daniela is a hot little fuckdoll.”
And then she felt words bubbling up in her head, from her hypnotic rules, and was powerless not to say them. “Can I kiss you, Daniela?” she heard herself say.
Daniela looked stricken. It was clear to everyone that she didn’t want to say yes. But alone, in the thrall of a Hollywood powerbroker, half-dressed and with no one to rescue her, she didn’t feel like she could say no. So she just nodded, nervously.
Alyssa didn’t want to kiss Daniela. She didn’t want to kiss any woman, let alone one that she knew wasn’t really consenting. It was tantamount to committing a tiny rape.
But on the other hand, she very much did want to kiss Daniela. And she wanted George Rutlins to watch.
She leaned in and pressed her lips against the young teenager. Daniela resisted a little, so Alyssa twined her hand through Daniela’s long brown hair, gripping it, pressing the teen’s face against her own. Her tongue poked at Daniela’s lips, and after a moment Daniela gasped, and admitted Alyssa’s tongue into her mouth.
Alyssa moaned sluttily into the young girl’s mouth. She felt George’s hand rest on her head, pushing her gently down against Daniela, stroking her hair like a pet, approving of her, and her cunt pulsed with sudden urgent need.
I like to make out with pretty girls while men watched, she heard her own voice say inside her mind. And it was true.
Her hand went unbidden to Daniela’s tits. Daniela did flinch now, trying to back away, and escape her touch, but there was nowhere to go. She was pressed up against George, and when she tried to raise her arms, George moved his hand to gently restrain her. Alyssa’s palm settled over Daniela’s boob, and when she squeezed she felt Daniela gasp into her mouth, half lust and half misery, and Alyssa almost orgasmed on the spot.
Then she did the other thing that she knew George wanted. She tugged down on the front of Daniela’s dress, and sure enough Daniela’s pert teenage tits popped out into view. Daniela squealed and tried to cover herself, so Alyssa helped George restrain her arms until she stopped struggling and accepted what was happening.
And then finally Daniela grew still. Her breasts were visible to the entire party—or at least the portion that dared look in the direction of Rutlins’ couch—and she made no effort to conceal them. She just sat there and blushed. She understood now that the only difference between her and the porn whore sitting on George’s other side was that her tits were smaller.
Alyssa pulled away from Daniela, looking to George Rutlins for approval. She received it immediately. He was smiling at her, very pleased with her behaviour—and she could see his cock was hard, tenting his pants.
She felt perversely proud of herself. She had been in the business long enough to know that Rutlins wasn’t easy to please. She was a true professional.
“Good girl, Alyssa,” said Rutlins. “Just give me a moment to finish with Daniela here.” He turned to the blushing teen actress. “Now, sweetie, do you still want that role in the new Karl Hager picture?”
Daniela nodded mutely, humiliated and violated.
“Good girl,” said Rutlins. “Well, I’ve told Hager that he can fuck you tonight, and as many times as he likes during the shoot. If that’s fine with you, you’ve got the part.”
Daniela’s eyes widened. She looked at Rutlins in horror.
“It’s a billion dollar movie, honey,” said Rutlins. “I know you’re a virgin, but it’s this, or go back to doing direct-to-Disney school specials. Do you want the movie, or not?”
Daniela was silent for a long time. She looked at the ground, her face bright red, tears in her eyes.
Finally she spoke. “Yes. I want the part.”
Rutlins laughed. “Good slut,” he said. “Hager’s out in the garden, chatting up some slut from that Netflix series. Run along and tell him he can start using you tonight.” He paused, and added, “Don’t bother covering your tits for the rest of the night. I like them that way.”
Daniela got up, as quickly as she politely could, and hurried away. Alyssa could see that the girl desperately wanted to cover her arms over her bare tits—yet her arms stayed by her sides, as she moved through the partygoers in a state of complete humiliation. Most of those present turned to look at her, as she went bare-titted and blushing to offer her virginity to an older man for money.
Alyssa moved closer to Rutlins without needing to be told. She felt his arm settle around her shoulders, and saw his gaze turn to stare at her tits.
“Would you like to see them, sir?” she asked automatically.
“Of course I would,” said Rutlins.
Alyssa pulled her own breasts out of her dress. Now it was her who was exactly the same as Jayden the porn slut.
“Now, I hear you want the female lead in ‘The Rape Liar’,” said Rutlins.
“Yes, sir,” said Alyssa.
“Well then,” said Rutlins. His hand came down over her shoulder to feel her breast. He cupped it, squeezed it, then pinched at Alyssa’s nipple. Alyssa let him do it.
“Well then,” said Alyssa, echoing him. “How can I get the part, sir?”
Rutlins smiled. “Why don’t you start, my dear girl, by telling me exactly why you’re qualified?”
And Alyssa didn’t like the look of that smile at all.