0 comments/ 36539 views/ 4 favorites Hurley the Harlot By: adoration Author's note: this story is, of course, pure fantasy. I don't know if there's a device such as an EEZI zapper, but if there is there's no way the "hero" could be this stoic. Well, I don't think so. * I became a film publicist, that's how I got into – well, I was going to say a real mess, but on second thoughts ... Hi, my name's Tony Drum, I'm 36-years-old and I was in journalism. Sometimes I think, hell, I should have stayed in it, and then again, if I had I wouldn't have had half as much fun. I got the job as a publicist for Hell Fire Productions, a Sydney-based outfit, when I had a helluva row with the night editor of the Sydney Morning-Herald. I basically told him "shove yer job up yer arse, sport" and walked out. Then an old flame of mine, called me. Jen and I used to have a raging thing going, but she decided she preferred sheilas, so I got the dump. She called me the day after my temper tantrum: "Hey sport, if you've got a free day, I've got a free lunch." I laughed. "Don't bullshit me, Jen," I said. "There's no such thing as a free lunch, as you very well know. And as you also very well know, after last night I've certainly got a free day." Sydney, despite all its high rise apartments and skyscrapers is still a pretty small town. News of my defection from the dear old SMH was on the lips of every journo in every early opener – sorry, that's a pub that opens not long after 8am, an ideal time for journos, believe me. Anyway, to cut to the chase, I had lunch with Jen in one of those rizty joints down by The Rocks, drank far too much red wine, and got talked into joining Hell Fire as a publicist. It was, said Jen, a oncer. They wanted me to be personal publicist for Liz Hurley. As soon as Jen dropped Hurley's name, she knew she had me! I know Hurley is 40-plus, I know she can't act her way out of a paper bag, but – and it's a bloody big "but", sport – she is still a darned fine looking sheila. "Why me?" I asked, sucking on another glass of excellent Penfolds Bin 387. "What makes me so special for the Hurley assignment?" Jen grinned her pearly whites at me. Crikey, lesbian or not, she was still damned good-looking! "Because at 36 you're still quite hunky. You've got all your dago black hair, you've got straight teeth but a crooked smile. You work out, so you're nicely cut and toned. And you've got an eight inch uncut cock, as I remember." "So?" I said, sipping again at the Penfolds. "So Hurley insists on having handsome hunks as her publicists," said Jen. "It's probably an ego thing. And you know every blooming journo in Sydney and Sydney's where she's going to be based during the shooting of our latest production." Now Hell Fire Productions isn't exactly a porno studio, but it's only a couple of rungs up. The ladies who star in their features display a helluva lot of breast, thigh, butt and almost – but not quite – pussy. "Why does Liz Hurley have to stoop – pardon my French – to making a movie for Hell Fire," I asked Jen. "Let's just say we made her an offer she couldn't refuse," said Jen, picking up the tab. Like I said, there's no such thing as a free lunch. It wasn't until a couple of months later that I found how much I'd be paying for it. So, fast forward, as they say in the video business. The movie was in the can, Hurley had charmed all the local press, radio and TV, flashing that big fucking Pommy smile, talking that posh, plummy Pommy accent, and generally showing enough cleavage to put a hard on a jellyfish. She and I had got along very well. "Tony the tout", she called me. Once, out on location and in her caravan, after too much to drink I took the "Tony the tout" line for the last time and called her "Hurley the harlot". She laughed fit to bust her britches, but she never called me "the tout" again. I made darned certain not to call her "the harlot", either. So after the post-production party was winding down and all the publicist photographers had gone, Hurley came up to me, grabbed me by the arm and walked me to one side. "Tomorrow morning, the place I'm renting in the bay, 11am. And arrive sober, Tony," she whispered. Making sure no one overheard. Like a fool I said: "It will be my pleasure." That's a fucking laugh! The next day, I wheeled my Holden Commodore SV8 into the driveway in front of the posh mansion Hell Fire had rented for her during filming. She hates hotels. She peered out the front door, peeping around it, actually and smiled: "Nice car." It's not a Ferrari but, as they say, the SV8 is like a shark prowling the streets for small fry to gobble up. "Thanks," I gave her my most winning smile, as I stepped into the hallway. Then I saw why she only partly-opened the door. She was wearing a shiny black satin bra and matching little panties. Now she may be 40, 41, I'm not sure which, but it's one of those bodies to die for, pardon the cliche. "Upstairs, follow me," she said, leading the way, her pert arse wobbling in the satin which stretched tautly across her buttocks. Her legs were long and tanned – shit, I just love long legs. She was wearing black high heels. I love high heels, too, because of what they do to a sheila's calves. Yum, yum. Up in a bedroom, with a massive queen-sized bed, I saw what even I, with all my innocence of anything "kinky", recognised as a spreader bar. I should have got out of there right then, but you know the story. My cock was leading my brain and my cock was the length of the Flemington straight ahead. No way I was backing down from a session with this Pommy fox! "The clothes are nice, Tony," she said, in her fruity fucking accent, "but they're not really necessary. Be out of them when I get back, there's a dear boy." A "dear boy" – I'm 36, for fuck's sake. She stepped into a bathroom adjoining the bedroom – one of those en suite jobs, or whatever they call 'em in those poncey real estate ads. I stripped off to display my terrific tan – I spend a lot of time lying out on Bondi perving the sheilas - and my eight-inches of stiffness down there. I glanced in a mirror. You smooth-looking bastard, I grinned to myself. Then it all started to turn to custard. Her Highness returned, this time wearing a g-string just big enough to cover her pudenda and a black satin quarter-cup bra, which thrust her tits – I guess they're 34, 35-inches, I'm not sure to this day – into uplift that would give a dead man a hard-on. She was still in the high heels. Now this is going to sound silly, but right then if she'd said "Jump!" I'd have jumped off the Sydney Harbour Bridge. "Ready for a bit of erotic bondage, Tone," she said. I hate it when they call me "Tone", but as I said – she could have said anything, the harlot, and I'd have obeyed. I remember nodding rather stupidly, and she picked up the metal thing from the bed, knelt in front of me and attached the ends of the bar to my ankles. This spread my feet some three feet, maybe an inch or two more, but it wasn't too awkward. On her way back up, Hurley the Harlot planted a kiss on my erect cock head. Just a kiss, no open-mouth stuff, but I heard angels sing. Oh was this ever going to be good. Then, as I said, it all turned to custard. "OK girls, he's all yours," she called and into the bedroom stepped two women. Both were clad in bikinis – one red, the other black. Both were holding – and I fucking kid you not – cattle prods! I knew they were cattle prods because last summer I'd done a feature about the effects of the drought out in the bush and I'd seen the effect they had on half a ton or more of heifer. I shuddered to think what they'd do to a man weighing 160 pounds. Anyway, the one in the red bikini I'd seen before. She was Hurley's personal trainer. She was, as we say down here in Australia, built like a brick shit house. Her figure was muscled, but not outrageously so. She was about my age, with dark, almost black hair, fine breasts, great thighs and a stunning arse. She also looked as mean as hell. "Hi," she said, smiling wickedly at me, "my name's Sam and we're going to get along famously – just as long as you behave, kay?" And she traced the bloody cattle prod down my upper torso. I nodded. Then the bitch in black spoke up. "And I'm Nikki, Tony. Looking forward to working with you." Nikki was smaller – in height that is – than her partner, and around 10 years younger. She was a blonde and she obviously also worked out a lot. Great body, but too young for me. "Now, let's get those hands behind your back," snapped Sam and I just looked at her. Then I looked at Liz Hurley, who by now was lying back on the bed, her fingers grazing over the covering patch of her g-string. She was getting off on this! "Hey, Liz," I said in a voice that wasn't pleading, but wasn't far off it. "Joke's over, OK? Let's call this quits. You've had your laughs, now let me go." Hurley laughed and it was the sort of laugh that sent a shiver down my spine. "No fucking way, Tony," she said, through gritted teeth. "You called me 'Hurley the harlot', now I'm going to live up to it. In a few minutes the girls are going to pack you in the van and then we're going on a nice drive upstate to where a dear friend has lent me her home. Don't worry where, it's not important. "I've got the place for a week. Sam, Nikki and I are going to enjoy the week. For you, though, my dear Tony, it's going to seem like a year. Get him packed up, girls, I'm going to get dressed." And with that she disappeared into a walk-in wardrobe and the two women had me cuffed in impossibly-tight rubber handcuffs behind my back. OK, I know I'm a big boy, but I was scared shitless and there was no way I was going to get a zap from one of those fucking prods! The two minders then hauled me off downstairs, through the kitchen. Backed up to the back door stood a high-roofed Transit van. I was marched into it and told to stand in the centre of the vehicle. They then used strong ropes hanging from half-way up the sides of the van to tie around my biceps. Similar ropes from waist level held me steady there. A rubber ball gag was placed in my mouth and attached with strap around my head. A large rubber hood was draped over my head to blindfold me, and then I heard the doors slam. Ten minutes later I heard Hurley's voice: "We're on the way now, Tony. Enjoy the drive. Oh, Nikki is following on with your clothes and your toy Holden. Don't worry, she's an excellent driver." And the van started its drive out of Sydney towards the secret hideaway. It took two hours, possibly three, because after a while I stopped trying to calculate time, just how much shit I was in. At the destination, I was untied by two pairs of hands and marched out of the van – backwards. The hood stayed on. Inside the house we went up a flight of stairs, then I was halted and the hood pulled from my head. I gazed at a stunning view, looking out over a huge valley, totally tree-clad, the sky blue on the distant horizon. We were in a large, sumptuous lounge. "Enjoy the view, Tony," said Hurley, who was dressed in a T-shirt, jeans and with a little black leather cap on her head, "because that's the last you'll see of it for a while. Downstairs with him, ladies." Then the cattle prod carriers escorted me down to a basement corridor, then into a large, windowless room. Off from one wall, was a bathroom and toilet. In one corner was a metal cage, with a rubber sort of swimming pool floatie. There was a large bed, pushed up against one wall. Hurley entered after they'd got me down there. She'd stripped to her g-string and quarter-cup bra, but she left the cap on. She climbed onto the bed and sat up on propped-up pillows. "Get his arms up in the yoke," she ordered, and while Sam stood off to one side, Nikki removed my cuffs. She then placed a heavy leather yoke across my shoulders and strapped my arms and wrists to it. "Now get him cleaned up," said Hurley. Nikki went into the bathroom and emerged with a safety razor and a jug of warm, soapy water. She then proceeded to shave every scrap of hair from my calves, thighs, anal region, cock and balls, chest, upper back, the small of my back and my armpits. "Head, madam?" she asked. "I rather like it, how about you two?" Sam and Nikki both nodded. "It's quite cute – very dark," said Sam. "Then it stays," said Hurley. I kept quiet during all this – the look of the cattle prods did that. "Right, get him fitted with it," said Hurley, and Sam stepped forward this time, while Nikki stood back, cattle prod at the ready for any false move on my part. The tall personal trainer, then produced a black rubber dildo, with a strap at its base leading to a rubber bag. "Bend," she snapped, and I bent over. I knew what it was leading to, but bound to the spreader bar and yoke what could I do? Sam then smeared some sort of jelly onto my anus, then – with rubber-gloved fingers – poked some up my back passage. It was very uncomfortable. "Breath in, hold it and when I say 'relax', do just that," she instructed. I then felt the dildo's invasion, as six inches or so of thick rubber pushed up my arsehole. "Relax," said Sam and I tried to. She then thrust the rubber monster up until the strap was flush with my groin. Sam took the strap and with two fingers of one hand opened the rubber bag and deftly snapped it around my scrotum. I felt several hard lumps press against my balls when she had done so. Then she patted me on the backside and said: "Now stand up." I did and was amazed to see my cock starting to rise to a full-blown erection! "Look," said Nikki, from where she had gone to lie on the bed beside Hurley, "it's working on his prostate already." "Get him on the stool," said Hurley to her personal trainer, and next Sam went to a corner of the large room and pushed a sort of trolley-cum-table set on four castor wheels to where I stood. Black leather straps gleamed on its top. The woman then knelt and freed me from the spreader bar. "Walk around, get your circulation going," she ordered, and I obeyed, starting off slowly but soon warming up. "Don't even think of the door, sweetie," said Hurley, "it's locked." As if I would, with a sodding leather yoke across my shoulders. "Up here," said Sam, patting the top of the table. I climbed up, helped by the personal trainer, until I was kneeling on the leather-padded top of the piece of furniture. Sam then walked around, strapping my ankles and legs to the thing. Next she removed the yoke before pulling each arm in turn back behind me and strapping my wrists to the top of the ankle straps. I was completely helpless, my body bowed back, my cock still hard and pointing at my chin. Sam then stroked the rubber bag around my balls, announced to the other two "He's ready" then climbed on the bed so she lay on the other side of Hurley. The three women looked at me, smiling. I was starting to sweat. "Let me introduce you to our little electrical toy, Tony," said Hurley, in a cold, menacing tone – far better than anything she could manage when appearing in any of her crap films. It was then that I noticed she had a sort of television remote control in her hand. She smiled and showed its buttons to me. "This is going to be so much fun for us," she laughed, "and I do hope you're going to be better at playing with it than my poor old friend, Hugh." The two women alongside her laughed. "He was such a total wimp, madam," said Nikki. "He blubbered just at the sight of the controls." "I think this one will be much tougher, when he's got used to it," said Sam. "Oh, I don't know," said Hurley. "Sometimes these big, macho types disappoint and turn to jelly very quickly. But maybe he'll make an effort for Australia to prove he's stronger than some big Pommy poofter, eh Tony?" I was in no mood to make conversation to please them. I just glowered at her. "Now this is called an EEZI Machine," said Hurley, as if she were explaining to me how a video remote worked. "It stands for Erotic Electronic Zapper Implement. It's going to give you shocks – but only mild ones." I strained against my bonds. A totally futile gesture, of course. "It's got three settings and instead of telling you all about it at first, I'll demonstrate the first setting so you can see what it's all about. This is the 20-second setting, Tony," said Hurley. And she pressed a button. The women leaned forward, their breasts bulging in their bikini bras – Hurley's, of course, spilling from her quarter-cup bra. Suddenly I felt a dull ache in my arse, accompanied by one, two, three, quick jolts in my balls as the zapper hit me. I wasn't ready for it and I yelped "Aaaargh" as the current struck home. Then the women watched intently as I tried to regain my composure. Twenty seconds later, of course, the current tortured me again. Again I shrieked and flailed uselessly in my bonds. After six shocks had coursed through my groin, Hurley pressed a button to bring the 20-second cycle to an end. "That was just two minutes, and you're doing very well, Tony," she said. "Congratulations. Now I'll hand it over to Sam and she can demonstrate the second setting. Sam, please do the honours." And she handed the awful device to her personal trainer. Sam smiled wickedly at my bound, nude body, sweat already pouring down my torso. "Next, Tony," she informed me, "we have a random cycle. All I do is press this next button and the machine goes into – well, random zapping. Sometimes you'll get a nice long breather, sometimes ..." And then she stopped. "But instead of me rabbiting on, let me show you." And she pressed a button. I knelt there, hardly daring to breath, as the seconds ticked away, then after almost a minute, the zapper kicked in. "Aaargh," I screamed, as the current hit me. The next zap came 10 seconds later. Again I yelped. Then the beastly contraption gave me nearly a minute, then zap. Twenty seconds, no more, zap, 10 seconds, zap, 15 seconds, zap, and so on until I had been tortured for some five minutes. "Wonderful," said Hurley, taking the remote control back from her personal trainer. "I think he's going to be so much stronger than Hugh, I think we're going to have hours of laughs with him." "Now for the third cycle, Tony," she smiled, handing the controller to Nikki. "Explain it to him, there's a pet." Nikki knelt up on the bed and showed me the controls. "The last control is called 'the Mistress Control Cycle', we call it the MCC for short," she told me. "But, of course, that doesn't have anything to do with cricket, eh, Tony? "Ready, Tony? Want to play?" I pouted sullenly. And then she hit me with it. "Aaaargh," I gulped and Nikki laughed. "I do so love the MCC, you have so much more control over the slave," she told me. Then her finger hit the button again. For five minutes she varied the time between strokes, short, long, medium, long, short. She kept me in a constant state of apprehension as to when she would make my body jerk and shudder under the jolting agonies of the current. Then she stopped and handed the control back to Hurley. "Oooh, he's going to be so wonderful, madam," she said. "We're going to have hours of fun with this one." Hurley stood from the bed and approached me. She was joined by the others. The stool was only a couple of feet in height so they all looked down on me from above. "Now Tony, things were by necessity a bit rushed back in the city," she said, "so let me formally introduce you to my lovely assistants. "Now you know Sam, my personal trainer. Sam's 36 and she's a really big fan of cock and ball torture. Oh, what am I thinking of? Silly me – we've all got a thing for cock and ball torture." And the dark-haired muscular beauty leaned over and kissed me on the mouth, a strong kiss but one which helped to keep my cock hard and stiff, above my abdomen. Hurley the Harlot "And this is Nikki, of course," said Hurley, indicating the younger, blonde woman. "Now I know you prefer more mature women, and she's only 25, but I know that after you've tasted her pussy several times you're going to fall in love with her. She tastes absolutely wonderful. Believe me, I know." Nikki in turn leaned over and kissed me, stroking my erection with one hand as she did. "Oh," said Hurley, almost as an afterthought, although I'm sure she planned it this way, "Nikki's got a thing for water sports and whipping." As she waited for the words to sink in, Hurley then giggled and added: "Oh, there I go again, I'm afraid. Look, we've all got a thing about water sports and whipping." Hurley then looked me in the eye and asked: "Any questions, Tony?" "Yes," I said, my voice and body still trembling from my zapping. "Why me?" Hurley smiled. "Well, the cheap 'Hurley the Harlot' line for one thing. And for another, we like doing it. And I get so totally sick and tired of being bossed around by men on the set of a movie. "It's always the same, it's men bossing me around for weeks on end. Do this, say this, say it that way, sit there, show me more cleavage. This is just my way of unwinding after a month or two of shooting, it's become – oh, what would you say girls? A bit of a fetish." The other two laughed, then Hurley turned to me again: "Oh, by the way, don't worry, we'll only be using you for a week and by the end you'll find you're enjoying it, they always do. Poor wimpy old Hugh, aside. "And we'll take lots of film of you 'enjoying' the more salacious moments, so we can always argue you were a willing sex slave. We'll say you're the kinkiest Australian male we've ever come across. Wouldn't do your macho reputation much good, Tony, would it?" And with that warning ringing in my ears, the trio of tomentresses then clambered back on the bed and Hurley asked: "OK, who wants to play with him first?" "Me," said Sam, quickly, followed a split second later by Nikki. "OK, Sam," laughed Hurley, "you start him off with 20 minutes, then Nikki goes second and I'll bring up the rear, if you'll pardon the expression, Tony." "And after each 20-minute session, the controller gets to give him a mouth wash," said Hurley, before handing the remote to her personal trainer. "Nikki," said the movie star, before Sam got started on me, "would you like to stroke him during his punishment?" "Would I what?" said the blonde, leaping from the bed and kneeling beside me, one hand stroking my stiffy. Nikki took my cock in hand and stroked it slowly, rubbing my pre-cum – yes, I was aroused, I'm not ashamed to admit it – along my shaft. "He's all yours, Sam," she said, "get him going." "OK Nikki," called the personal trainer, cuddling up with a very attentive Liz Hurley, "here's five minutes of the 20-second cycle. Enjoy, Tony, enjoy!" And as the little blonde began to stroke my cock I felt the jolts from the zapper every 20 seconds. At one stage Nikki, in what was obviously one of their well-rehearsed lines, whispered to me: "Lay back and enjoy it, Tony. Go with the flow!" Then she covered her mouth with a hand and giggled. "Oh, I'm so sorry about that pun. Do forgive me." For five minutes I suffered the steady tempo of the zapper's 20-second shocks, then Sam switched the controller onto the random cycle. Nikki kept up her stroking, every now and again kissing me on the mouth, maintaining my erection. Then Sam sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. "Righto, Tony," she smiled down at me. "Now I'm in charge. Ready?" Ready? Did she really expect an answer? Suddenly the pain coursed through me. "Listen, buster," Sam snapped, "I asked you a question." Then she said "When". Then came a jolting zap. "I." Another zap. "Ask." One more. "A." Zap. "Question." Zap. "I." Zap. "Expect." Zap. "An." Zap. "Answer." Zap. My body was heaving, I was groaning. I'd burst out with a yelled "Aaargh" after each zap. Sam smiled evilly at me. "Now, are you ready?" I was beaten. I nodded. "Good," she said. "Now, no more misbehaviour, OK?" "No," I heard a disembodied voice which turned out to be my own. "No more what, Tony?" asked Sam, and then she hit me again. "No more misbehaviour, Sam," I replied. And then she tormented me for another eight or nine minutes, thrilling to my body's shudderings after each jolt of the EEZI machine. Finally, it was over and then the muscular beauty stood and stepped out of her bikini pants and marched up to me, her pussy hovering over my face. It was shaved, apart from a small square of dark pubic hair on her mons. Her labia lips were thick and inviting, her snatch gave off a wonderfully strong aroma. "Mouth wash time, Tony," she snapped, from above me. "Open wide." Nikki whispered in my ear: "Do as she says, darling, or madam will order her to give you the 20 minutes all over again." I didn't have a clue whether Nikki spoke the truth or not, but there was no way I wanted to find out. I obediently opened my mouth and from her semi-squatting position over me, Sam released a strong stream of dark yellow urine down my throat. I tried manfully to swallow the foul-tasting piss down and nearly managed it all. Thankfully there was no punishment for the slight spillage and, as Nikki still worked on massaging my cock, Sam placed her pussy lips against my mouth and ordered: "Clean me, Tony." I licked at her wet minge, almost gagging on the awful taste of her urine, but thankful I was now tasting a much more pleasant wetness as she ground on my face. Finally, she pulled away and announced: "OK, Nikki, leave his cock to me. Your turn." And the little blonde gave me a sweet, lingering kiss on the mouth and whispered "I'll try not to be too hard on you, darling" and she scampered over to the bed, picked up the remote control and flicked it onto its 20-second cycle. As Sam stroked my still erect cock, Nikki laid back with Liz and watched with interest as I endured the shocks which came every 20 seconds, then with even more interest as I underwent the evil machine's random cycle. Lastly, the blonde switched it onto the Mistress Control Cycle and played with me teasingly, chattering away to Liz as she tormented me. After 10 minutes of her cruelty, Nikki pulled off her bikini bottom and stepped in front of my perspiring, pain-wracked body. "Pee pee time, Tony," she smiled, presenting me with a totally shaved snatch, not a pubic hair in sight, just large, fleshy labia lips. Then her strong stream of piss flowed into my mouth, much less salty and bitter than Sam's and – thank goodness – not such a long stream as the personal trainer's. I cleaned her with my mouth, while Sam kept up a steady stroke on my rigid manhood. Then Nikki stepped back and Liz confronted me. "Right, Tony, time for the boss," she said, with a cruel grin. "I think you're probably getting bored with the 20-second cycle, so I'll only give you a two-minute warm up, then we'll go into the random cycle. Keep up that stroking, Sam." Then the electro-torment continued. For two minutes I suffered the 20-second cycle, then Liz switched the machine over to the random shock system. "Just three minutes of this, Tony," she announced, "which means I can give you the Mistress Control Cycle for a quarter of an hour. Won't that be fun?" But any reply on my part was interrupted by my grunted, groaning "Aaargh" as the random cycle gave me its first shock. "I said won't that be fun?" Liz shouted, in a near scream, after my first hit on the Mistress cycle. "Yes, Liz," I grunted, just before the zapper did its horrible work once more. For three minutes – and I'm only assuming this, I didn't have a timer on it, did I? – the random cycle did its irregular work on me, then Liz switched it onto the Mistress cycle. "Right, girls," she announced. "You can help me in this. Sam, I'll zap him after three sucks." The personal trainer lowered her mouth to my cock head and sucked my hard-on. Then again. The third time her mouth barely flickered over my helmet. "Was that a suck?" asked Liz, extending my torment. "Yes, madam, a light one, but definitely a suck," replied Sam. Zap! My body arched and I cried "Aaaargh" as the pain zipped through me. "Now your turn Nikki, count to three for me," said my torturer. "One," said Nikki. "Two." I tensed my body. "Two and a half," called Nikki and Sam and Liz laughed out loud. "Tease," said Liz, playfully. "Two and three-quarters," called Nikki, with glee. Then, finally: "Three." I arched and strained against my bonds again as the shock surged through my balls. And so it went on, Liz sometimes calling in Sam for sucks, or Nikki for counts – one was backwards from 10 to one – as she played with my strapped body for 15 minutes. At last it was over and Liz stepped out of her g-string and presented her strongly-smelling snatch to my face. Her pussy was not totally shaved. On her mons was a pencil-slim strip of dark pubic hair. This strip then separated and went down on either side of her labia lips but ended before her vagina. The pubic strip only served to heighten the glorious pussy lips which gleamed an almost crimson hue as she stood above me. "Open up for my nectar, Tony," said Liz, in a husky voice. I could tell this was arousing her. I obeyed. A short spurt of deep yellow piss splattered into my mouth. Then came the second surge, a strong, steady stream which seemed to go forever, foul-tasting and hugely salty. I somehow managed to gulp it all down, then the film star's snatch was on my mouth and she was grinding up and down on me. I licked her slavishly, then she was done. Liz stepped away and while Sam stood by with her cattle prod, Nikki freed me from my bonds and ordered me to stand and rub the circulation back into my body. This took some minutes and as I did so I saw Liz lying on her back on the bed, watching me. After I'd finished some stretching, Liz looked up at me and crooked a finger. "Time for munchies, Tony," she said, in that impossibly proper Pommy accent and pointed one perfectly manicured hand to her pussy. Still wearing the dildo and scrotum sack, I climbed onto the bed and pushed my face into her crotch. Then, as I licked and laved her sweet-smelling pussy, all the pain and punishment I had undergone seemed to flow out of me and I was simply bathing in the aromas and taste of her sensational snatch. It didn't take long for her to start going through her pre-orgasm routine, as Sam and Nikki, cattle prods in their hands – and Sam with her other hand holding the EEZI instrument – watched. Finally, about four minutes into my oral adoration Liz began to buck and heave beneath me, before shouting "Yes, Tony, yes, yeeeeees!" and exploding with a noisy climax. I didn't know what to do, so I stayed down there, slowly licking and kissing her fantastic pussy until I felt a hand ever-so-gently grab my hair and drag at me. "Show me what you're made of, you Aussie hunk," she hissed, and I moved up her body, kissing at her superbly upthrust breasts until my cock was brushing against her cunt. She smiled at me as if we'd been lovers for the past hour, rather than torturer and slave, and I slid my erection deep into her velvety smooth cunt, luxuriating in her tightness and dampness, until I was buried in her to the hilt. The lovely lady smiled at me and I kissed her, tasting her lovely mouth. But she pulled a face. "Oooh, Tony, what is it you Aussies say – you've been on the piss?" she laughed. The two assistants laughed, and then I realised Nikki was filming the proceedings. But I didn't care. I was fucking Liz Hurley! I was making up for the countless times I'd had to get her coffee, or her special bloody mineral water, or a glass of champagne, or held her hand at a TV studio or radio station VIP suite. All her "Oh, Tony, I don't know that I can do it, I think this man's going to be hard on me". All the "This reporter doesn't like me, she's going to do a hatchet job". All of this I'd put up with, now I was fucking her. Then I felt my climax nearing, I rose slightly feeling the semen thinking it was time to fly the coop, then that fucking Sam zapped me! The pain surged in my balls again, accompanied by the duller throb in my anus, but this time it was wonderful! This time my spunk soared through me, through the shaft into the beautiful woman's cunt. Then Sam zapped me again. I arched again, not screaming, not shouting, just grunting as the most intense ejaculation of my life burst into the film star's vagina. Then Sam hit me again. Once more I spurted my spunk, then I fell back down onto the movie mistress, totally spent. Liz smiled at me. "Now what is it they say in the cliches, Tony? How was it for you?" I smiled back. "It was the best come I've ever had in my life," I told her. Liz laughed. "Sam, do you think we've been using this thing the wrong way? Do you think it's supposed to be a sex aid?" Sam replied: "Either way, madam, I think he's enjoying it, don't you?" Then Liz indicated I should pull off her. The two other women then escorted me, prick slipping back into limpness, to the metal cage. Sam stood back, prod at the ready, while Nikki helped me in through the narrow opening. But I wasn't protesting, I was utterly spent. Nikki then produced a jug of cool water and a glass from the bathroom and put them in on the rubber mattress. The door was slammed down and a bolt shot, a padlock shut. "There's a buzzer against the wall if you need to perform any bodily functions," Liz told me. "We're going upstairs for some lunch and a spot of sunbathing by the pool. Don't run away, there's a dear." And to peals of laughter the torture trio left me alone. I must have dozed off because the next thing I remember was a sudden shooting pain through my balls. I jerked up, cracking my head on the cage's latticed metal roof. Standing outside my little prison were three naked women, all wearing high heels, all looking oiled as if they'd just come inside from the sun. "Wakey, wakey, Mr Sleepyhead," called Liz, "time for some more fun and games." Nikki unlocked the door and I crawled out. In the middle of the room, I saw that they had arranged a large leather bench, a flogging bench, I guessed, judging by the straps on it. As Sam stood guard with her cattle prod, Nikki strapped me down across the bench, thrusting my buttocks high. As she did this, Liz pulled a large leather easy chair across the floor until its front pressed against my arms. If I poked my tongue out I could lick the edge of the chair. "Right ladies," said the film star, "choose your weapons." They walked in front of me to a sort of hanger on the wall. From it, Nikki selected a two foot long leather paddle, which must have been four or five inches in width. Sam picked a leather lash, some three feet long, slender and cruel-looking. Liz chose a sort of leather riding crop, only its business end was a large flap almost the size of a woman's hand. The flap was shaped like a heart. They then returned to poor old me, and Liz settled herself in the chair in front of me. She slithered down the leather, her thighs splayed across the arms of the chair until her pussy was within inches of my face. "Nikki," she said, "you may start. When I've had my orgasm, Sam will whip him, while he gives you yours. Sam, film this, I think it's going to be fun." As Sam focused the video camera, Nikki laid the first stroke across my arse. It stung, but nothing too bad. I'd had worse at school, much worse. "That's your signal to start, Tony," Liz reminded me and I began to lick her sweet-smelling snatch. Nikki kept up a steady tattoo of blows across my buttocks and I kept up a steady tempo of licking and loving on Liz's pussy. After, I don't know, maybe five minutes, Liz began to roar her approval as she crashed into her climax and Nikki stopped whipping me. Then, Sam took the single-lashed flogger and stepped behind me, while Liz took over the operation of the camera. Nikki sat down and placed her smoothly-shaved pussy against my mouth and was soon grinding and rubbing her groin against my mouth as Sam worked me over. This implement hurt more than Nikki's, much more, but soon, to my relief, the blonde yelled out words of encouragement as I brought her to climax. Finally, Liz used her riding crop-cum-flogger on me, while Sam's pussy presented itself to my eager mouth and tongue. I say eager because providing oral adoration to three glorious pussies was, of course, an absolute delight, despite the fact that I was being arse-whipped while I was performing it. At last they freed me, only to put me back in the cage once more. I was given another jug of water and then the trio left me alone again, this time switching out the lights and leaving me to lie on the somewhat chilly rubber mattress and try to snatch some sleep. It may have been an hour later, it may have been five or six, but later I was awoken by the lights being snapped on. I was given a tray with a steak, salad and baked potato. I was allowed to wash it down with a glass of Fosters, no less! Then, while Sam stood guard with her prod, Nikki supervised me in the bathroom, where after removing the dildo and scrotum pouch, I was allowed to relieve myself and shave and shower. Then it was back into the cage and "lights out". That was the end of the first day's torments at the hand of the lovely Liz and her duo of dominant helpers. The following morning, I was given breakfast, allowed to use the toilet – Nikki, humiliatingly watched me do it, while Sam stood guard. Later, after another cleansing shower, Liz arrived and started to supervise my second day's humiliations. The days followed on in much the same manner during my entire week's incarceration. The morning would begin by me being fitted out with the dildo and scrotum pouch, which I wore all the time while awake. Then the first session would begin, usually with Sam and Nikki playing with me. Liz didn't always attend that first session, but usually she was there, filming my agonies. It was on my second morning that the two assistants came up with a refinement to my electro-shock punishment. They had placed my ankles in the spreader bar and my arms were strapped to the yoke. The way the wrists were pinned, my hands were free, pointing down. Nikki and Sam were both wearing erotic lingerie this morning – as an enticement for my cock, I guess. Nikki's busty body was in sexy, shiny black satin bra and panties. Sam went for a shiny red satin quarter-cup bra, a matching garter belt and shiny black stockings. She was bare at the crotch. Both wore high heels, of course. "Now, Tony," said Sam, who in Liz's absence was clearly the controller, "do you know what the controls do?" She held the remote control panel towards me. "Yes," I told her, vaguely aware of the refinement in their punishment that was to come. "Tell me what they are then, there's a good boy," she smiled. "The red button is for the 20-second cycle," I said. "Good boy," said the personal trainer. "And the blue?" "For the random shock cycle," I answered. "Which leaves the yellow one, but tell me anyway," she said. "It's the Mistress Control Cycle," I said, quietly, awfully aware of where all this was leading. "Right, so since you know all the choices, I think we'll get you to do the work," Sam smiled. "That'll be fun, won't it, Tony?" I gulped: "Yes, Sam." What point was there in arguing? Nikki pulled up a stool and sat in front of my early morning hard-on. "And while you're zapping yourself, I'll do some sucking," said the bouncy little blonde. "That'll be fun, as well." Sam placed the remote in my right hand and I closed my fingers around it. "Be careful not to drop it," she said, "only sometimes the zap can cause a slave to jerk their hands open when they're in the yoke, and I don't want to have to be bending to pick the fucking thing up." Hurley the Harlot Sam then lay back on the bed and smiled up at me. "OK, Tony, get to work on the 20-second cycle. I'll let you know when you can progress to the random one." And with that the dark-haired personal trainer began to masturbate herself, while the blonde began to suck on my hard-on. I breathed in a deep sigh and pressed the red button. Twenty seconds elapsed, then the zapper hit me. "Aaargh," I cried, feeling the first jolt of the day. Nikki pulled her head from my helmet. "Oh that was great. His cock gave a sort of jerky throb when the shock hit him, Sam," she informed her partner in punishment. "I know what effect it has on a slave's cock, now suck while I concentrate on my orgasm, Nik," said the personal trainer. Nikki resumed her fellatio, then the second zap hit me. Again I cried out. Nikki kept sucking, one hand cupping my rubber-bound scrotum. It took Sam about three minutes to reap the rewards of her digital dexterity, then, after she had recovered, she ordered: "Next button, Tony." I pressed the blue one, sending the torture device into its random cycle. Just after the first shock – some 10 seconds into the cycle – Sam tapped Nikki on the shoulder and said: "Give me a go." Nikki left to lie back on the bed and watch me suffer the random cycle shocks, while Sam sucked on my erection. Soon after the 25-year-old had enjoyed her orgasm, the door to the chamber opened and in walked Liz Hurley. She looked absolutely sensational! Now as you know, I have no opinion on her acting ability – inability, more like – but dress her in leather and she's just one of the most stunning looking ladies, even if she is a blooming Pom! She was clad in a black leather playsuit, which must have cost hundreds of bucks. It gleamed dully, but it clung tightly to her glorious body. The upper part of the outfit was open-breasted, so her lovely boobs stuck out, full and firm. It blossomed over her hips but was crotchless, her delightfully shaped pubic hair dark and inviting. The playsuit had suspender straps – four on each side – which went down to gleaming black boots that came to half-way up her thighs. I felt my cock stirring into an even harder erection, despite the shocks the random cycle was delivering to me. Liz smiled and walked over to me. "Hi Tony, enjoying your random cycle?" she asked, with a huge smile. "Yes, thank-you, Liz," I replied. OK, so I was being punished, but I was learning to live with it. I'd take more of it if I could only make love to this stunning creature again! "Jolly good," she said, in that awful upper-crust English accent. "Now entertain me with the Mistress Control Cycle – and make it inventive, or I'll be cross. Oh, and in case you think of cheating, I've been reading the instructions that came with this lovely little toy and it says if the button isn't pushed after a minute in the MCC, it reverts to the random cycle. Clever, eh?" Then she stepped around to the bed, and lay back on it, spreading her thighs wide, allowing me a clear view of her beautifully-lipped pussy. Both of her assistants joined her on the bed and watched as I had to torture myself with the device. I tried as hard as I could to make it enjoyable for them. I gave myself jabs after 10 seconds, 20, then 30, then 45. I tried at one stage to speed the zaps up, but learned quickly that it didn't allow you to increase the speed beyond a zap every five seconds. Some sort of built-in safety device, I guess. The women watched with interest as my body shook and shuddered under my self-induced punishment and then possibly 10 minutes after I'd begun to torment myself, Liz called out: "Bravo, author, author!" I took it to be some sort of theatrical joke, and then she added: "Now come and lick me – girls, release him." Nikki, watched by Sam who stood by with her trusty cattle prod, removed the yoke from my aching shoulders, then the spreader bar from my ankles and took the remote from me. I almost leapt on the bed, thrusting my face into her strongly-smelling snatch, licking at its moistness, savouring the delicious aromas and tastes, all enhanced by the wonderful smell of her leather outfit. Soon Liz was humping my face furiously as she roared to an ecstatic climax, then I heard the words I so desperately wanted to hear: "Now fuck me, you lovely Aussie stud!" I climbed up from her minge, placed my hard-on against her wet cunt and thrust home, kissing her open-mouthed at the completion of my initial thrust. It was all being captured on video by Sam, while Nikki stood by with the trusty EEZI zapper control. Liz gave me a wicked grin as our pubic bones bumped together and whispered: "Tony, you're loving this, aren't you?" I had to confess I was. "You're the most fantastic fuck I've ever had," I told her, without a trace of a lie. Then, as my climax neared, Liz gave a nod to Nikki and I received a blast from the zapper. It triggered my explosion and once more I surged to a shock-supported orgasm which was as intense and as fulfilling as anything I'd ever experienced – well, at least since the day before! So that was how I spent my days at the hands of these three sadistic women – lovely, yes, but sadistic. The mornings and evenings were spent being zapped, being whipped and every now and again being allowed to make love to Liz Hurley. Oh, one thing I forgot. Her "afternoon matinees" – another of her little theatrical jokes, I guess. I'll describe the last one, which was also the hottest day I can recall for years. The upstairs part of the house had what they called "the fun frame". On castor wheels, it was two slim metal poles set about four feet apart, about eight feet high with a crossbar. There were sturdy leather straps set in each corner of the rectangle. I was strapped into it, so I hung like an elongated letter "X", then they wheeled me out into the afternoon sunshine beside the large swimming pool. It looked cool and inviting, which it was – but not for me. This final afternoon, the two assistants left me alone with Liz, while they went off to play some sort of lesbian games. I was hanging in the brutal sun, arse plugged with the dildo, rubber scrotal sack in place. Liz walked out with a beach towel. She arranged a recliner directly in front of me, then showed me the remote control. "It's so bloody hot Tony, I'm off for a dip, but before I go I'll put the zapper on the 20-second cycle. I'll only be a couple of minutes, then I'll switch it on to random for you," she informed me. The zapper was switched on and as I felt the first shock surge through my anus and balls, Liz dived smoothly into the water and began to swim lengths, stopping occasionally to watch my 20-second tremors. She must have left me on that cycle for five minutes, before climbing from the pool, the water glistening sexily on her stunning figure. She switched the controller off then walked to me, put her wet arms around me and rubbed her nude body against mine. "Gosh, you're so hot," she said, kissing me sweetly on the mouth. "I bet you'd love a dip." Then she turned, presenting me with a great view of her arse, bent over, presenting me with a great view of her pussy, flicked the controller to "random" play and dived back in the pool. For five more minutes she cut through the water in what looked like a pretty good freestyle stroke, then climbed out again and towelled herself dry. All this time I was enduring the EEZI's wicked jolts, jerking in my metal frame. Then, after putting on a large floppy sun hat and smearing sun tan lotion all over herself, Liz lay back and looked at me with a cruel grin. "Now it's my turn, Tony," she smiled. "Try not to shout too much – my friend tells me the nearest house is a couple of miles away, but we don't want to attract the neighbours, do we?" Then she gave me a jolt. Five seconds later another. Just then the two assistants, both nude but in high heels, emerged from the house. Sam handed Liz a magazine, one of those stupid women's things. You know the sort of crap "Madonna's weight loss horror" and "Elle Macpherson's sexy secrets". Pure rubbish. "Look what I found, madam," said Sam, handing the mag to Hurley. "An article all about you." Liz took it and opened it to the page in question. "I'm on the mistress control cycle," she said, handing the zapper to Sam. "Keep him going while I read this. Oh, and Nikki, pop into the house and get that heart-shaped crop. May as well keep him warm while he's enjoying his shocks." While Nikki went to get the flogger, Sam sat on the front edge of Liz's recliner and amused herself making me sweat under the "Mistress" cycle. "Oh fuck," said Liz, the word sounding even more crude coming with her posh Pommy accent, "I never said that. Tony, I never said 'One day Liz says she hopes to settle in Australia' did I?" Sam zapped me. "Aaaargh, no Liz, I don't think so, nothing like it," I replied and got zapped again for my troubles. "Bloody jounralists, they just invent things," said Liz, obviously miffed. Then Nikki returned and as Sam amused herself making me guess when the agonising jolts would hit me, the blonde began to beat a steady tattoo on my arse, backs of my thighs and upper back with the crop. They enjoyed themselves this way for about an hour, until Liz said: "Time for my Big O, girls. Get him back down into his cell." Then Nikki, under the close watch of Sam – by now holding the cattle prod – removed me from the frame, snapped rubber handcuffs on me and marched me back down to the basement, where my aching, sunburnt body felt relief to be back in an air-conditioned environment. Liz followed soon after and Sam shut the door. Nikki uncuffed me and Liz lay back on the bed, spreading herself wide for my oral attentions. "Give me all your loving, big boy," she commanded, and as Sam filmed our sexual encounter, Nikki stood off to one side, armed with her trusty cattle prod and the remote control. The mature woman's snatch was a heady mix of sweat, urine, suntan lotion and sex juice. It didn't take long for her to start bucking and heaving under my mouth and then I went for her clitoris and drew grunted cries of "Ummmfffff, yep, I'm coming, yes, that's it, that's great, ooooh yes!" And then she came. I lay panting slightly after my oral exertions, then heard Liz's voice, soft now, saying "Time for your fun, big boy, climb aboard." I placed my cock against her cunt, then thrilled once more to the smooth slide up her sex chute, its satiny-soft walls grabbing my eight inches in a vice-like grip. I kissed her hungrily on the mouth and she smiled: "You're loving this, aren't you Tony? Tell me you're loving this." And, like a good puppy dog, I obeyed. "I'm loving it, you're so sexy Liz," I told her. She kissed me back. "Do you feel like coming now, Tony?" "Yes, yes, I do," I panted, as I heaved and humped on her glorious body, running my hands across her sweet breasts. "Do you want the zapper, Tony?" she cooed in my ear. "Yes," I said, feeling ashamed of my response. "Beg Nikki for it, nicely, go on, let me hear you beg," said Liz. "Zap me, please Nikki, please," I pleaded. "Pretty please Nikki, give me the zapper. Please, please!" And Nikki laughed. "You're such a big softy," she said. "Oh, no, that's probably not the right word, is it madam?" Liz smiled at me, then Nikki hit me with it. "Aaaargh," I grunted, and then I felt my seed spurting to my cock head. Another jolt. I erupted into another wonderfully intense orgasm. And that was the last time I made love to Liz Hurley. That evening, after a nice steak meal, with the usual accompanying Fosters, Nikki allowed me out of my cage and under Sam's supervision – she had the cattle prod at hand – she removed the dildo and ball bag punisher, then showered with me, rubbing her busty body against mine. When I went back into the cage, I found an ice tray, a glass, a bottle of Coke and a large bottle of Bundaberg rum. I was locked in for the night and I attacked the Bundy. It's not my favourite tipple – give me Grey Goose any day – but any port in a storm, as they say. The next thing I recall was waking and having this intense desire for a piss. I pressed my emergency button and waited. Nothing happened. I pressed it again, suppressing a now urgent desire to empty my bladder. Nothing happened. I pushed on the door flap to the cage and it opened! I could have sure I'd been locked in, but I was busting for a piss so I clambered out of my small prison and went to the bathroom. On returning to the main room, I tried the door. It, too, was unlocked. I crept quietly upstairs and walked into the large lounge with its magnificent views. The sun was strong, a clock told me it was almost nine o'clock. The house was deserted. In the kitchen I found them – an unsealed envelope with my Holden's keys on top of it. Next to that my clothes, arranged in a neat pile, and alongside that the dildo and scrotum shocker with the remote controller. I sat down and read the contents of the envelope. It was a typed sheet. It read: "Dear Tony, thanks so much for proving to be such a good sport – that's what you Aussies say, isn't it? "The girls and I had lots of fun. Trust you did too. "The videotape is in a safe place. If I'm ever back in Oz, I'd be delighted to do lunch. "The dildo and ball bag is my gift to you as a memento of the wonderful week we spent together. It's powered by two little flashlight batteries. Enjoy." It was signed "Hurley the Harlot" and there was a PS. "By the way, you were much better than poor old Hugh." I went back downstairs and showered. Then I returned to the kitchen, dressed, got a bottle of Coke from the fridge and drained it in a couple of swallows. I picked up the envelope, the dildo and its remote and walked out to the Holden. I wasn't in any hurry. Once inside and with the aircon going full bore, I picked up my mobile. It had 47 messages. The top one, the most recent, was from Jen. "Let's do lunch tomorrow, Tony. Call me." I checked the date – "tomorrow" was today. I gunned the Holden alive and took off for Sydney, called Jen and agreed on the venue, dashed into my apartment, shaved, put fresh clothes on and grabbed a cab to The Rocks. Jen was waiting at the bar, nursing a Bloody Mary. I gave her a non-committal peck on the cheek. "Where the hell have you been for the past week?" she demanded. "Oh, I decided to get away from it all for a while," I lied. "Funny," said Jen, "that's exactly what Liz Hurley said to me when I saw her off at the airport this morning and it set both of her assistants off into fits of laughter." She sipped on her drink while I ordered a Grey Goose on the rocks. "She said something about coming across 'a real hunk of an Aussie guy'." Jen looked at me archly. "Wouldn't be you, by any chance, would it, Tone?" I laughed, probably a bit nervously. "Fat chance, I'm not that lucky," I said. Over lunch, Jen made her pitch: "Hell Fire has decided to make more, shall we say raunchy productions?" I nearly choked on my fish. "More raunchy? For Hell Fire to be 'more raunchy' they'd have to go into porn," I said. "Er, exactly," said Jen. "And they'd like you to be publicist for the next production." I put my hands in the air. "No way, Jen, no way. I'm through with being a publicist in the movies." Jen smiled. "Pity, because the star who's accepted the leading role in their first porno is Jenna Jameson." She looked at me intently. She knew she'd got me. Jenna Jameson, wow! But that's another story!