index


Message-ID: <49283asstr$1096215004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Carlos Malenkov <cmalenkov@yahoo.com>
Reply-To: cmalenkov@yahoo.com
MIME-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Whores (MF MM anal rape viol)
Lines: 275
Date: Sun, 26 Sep 2004 12:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

WHORES
by Carlos Malenkov (writing as Kien Reti)
Word Count: 2303
Copyright (c) 2004 by Kien Reti
Posting and archiving rights granted to ASSM. All other rights reserved.



There was a long, drawn-out silence in the dimly-lit boardroom. Eight
men and a woman sat around a long, massive oak table.

Finally the woman broke the tension. "I get still uneasy when I think
about what we're proposing. I can't help wondering if it's somehow
subverting the Constitution, undermining the republic, as it were.
That feels uncomfortably close to something like, well, treason."

A disembodied voice answered. "That happens to be the least of our
worries. Our primary loyalty remains to the owners and stockholders --
to profit, in other words. This is an eternal truth."

The man at the head of the table stood. "We're in agreement, then. The
proposal is tentatively adopted. This meeting is adjourned."



Valentino clasped his hands together and cracked his knuckles. Kerwin
wished he wouldn't do that. It was so damned uncouth. But Valentino was
the power broker, the fixer, the script doctor. He was the guy who *got
things done.*

Johnny Valentino was the head of OOMPA, the Organization of Motion
Picture Associates. He had been Lyndon Baynes's chief of staff for a
while in the 1960's, prior to that unfortunate Chief Executive's downfall
over the Vietnam war. A protegee of the legendary arch-sleazemeister and
behind-the-scenes manipulator Cliff Clarkson, Valentino was unsurpassed
in situations requiring "special handling."

Johnny Valentino should have been an old and decrepit wreck by now.
Instead, his face was unlined and his hair didn't have a single strand
of gray. It was rumored that he stayed young by drinking the blood of
virgins. That seemed rather unlikely. There weren't that many virgins
in all of Hollywood. (Ah, Hollywood. Everyone in this fucking town is
totally corrupt. And I *love* it.)

Harry Kerwin, head of RIPOFF, the Recording Industry Production Office
depised some of the people he had to work with. But there was really
no alternative. Technology threatened the entire entertainment cartel.
Teenagers downloading pirated songs from the Internet, people copying
movie DVDs, and worst of all, independent bands writing their own songs
and creating their own distribution channels. Where would it all end?

"So, Harry, whaddya think?"

"About the Plan?"

"Don't even say it out loud. Even in this place, the walls, you know,
have ears. Yes, we got one of the muscle guys on it. It'll get taken
care of, don't you worry."



Marvin Hootihound looked himself up and down in the full-length mirror.
He flexed his biceps and leered at his beautiful reflection. "I da biggest
an' baddest."

And he was. Thus far he had done thirty takedowns in the line of duty. And
if he enjoyed his work, what of it?

Now this new job, that was something else again. It wasn't quite a hit,
just some friendly persuasion, but even that left him a lot of slack.
There were these music pirates, y'know, and they had to be made to see
reason. "Just have a little talk with them, Hoot, yeah, yeah, talk."

Hootihound liked persuading people. Sometimes he had to *lean on them*
a little, but hey, that was all part of the game. Take, for instance,
that rock band that didn't want to sign up for a contract renewal with
their label. Well, Johnnie V had arranged a little talk with them, and
later on the band signed, oh, yes, they sure did. So what if the guitarman
came out of it with smashed kneecaps and the lead singer had cigarette
burns on his face? At least those guys could still walk and suck air, huh?

Hootie had been leaning on people for as long as he could remember.
Growing up, he had been a schoolyard bully and he used to get extra
special jollies by setting stray cats on fire. His parents died of
"mysterious causes" when he was 15, and he left town with the contents of
their bank account and safe deposit box, and that happened right around
the time several neighboring houses burned down. Hootie'd had a grudge
against those particular neighbors.

These music pirates, now, he was supposed to make an example of them.
There was this one teenage teenage girl who had been downloading music
bigtime. RIPOFF had filed a lawsuit against her, but her family had
money and connections, and they'd hired a bigshot lawyer who was making
things difficult. Well, nobody could be allowed to get away with that
shit. Might encourage other pirates to pirate music and do other nasty
things. So Hootie was gonna pay her a midnight visit through her bedroom
window and have a little fun with her. Maybe even do some plastic surgery
on her face afterwards, who knows.



Running a movie studio isn't nearly as much fun as it's made out to be.
Michael "Mickey" Mauser, head of Dizzy Walters Productions was in a
pissy mood. The bill making it illegal to own a computer or any other
electronic device without Digital Rights Control built in had failed
to pass Congress. That meant anybody could play DVD movies on their own
computers, and worse yet, copy them. And it was all the fault of that one
fucking idiot. Hitch Hitchens, Senator from Nebraska, the guy who couldn't
even wipe his own ass without supervision. He'd shot off his mouth to
the press prematurely, and before there was a chance to put the proper
spin on it and do damage control, the horse was out of the barn. Higgins
was even dumber than that numb nuts Harley Schnickelfritz of Alabama,
and that was saying something. No wonder they called him "Booby" Hitch.

Well, at least Suzy Kramnitz had pushed  through the Bobo Act a few years
back. Named in memory of the late Bobo Bozeman, singer turned politician,
the Act had extended the copyrights on books, songs, and, most important,
cartoon characters, for an additional thousand years. That protected
the studio's income stream from Ricky the Rat, that lovable and oh,
so lucrative critter, for another 40 generations or so. Yeah, these
politicos should only keep remembering who put money into their pockets,
who kept getting them reelected, who *owned* them.

Yeah, for example, Senator Susan Kramnitz. "Suzy Creamcheese" they called
her, because she'd spread her legs for anyone who contributed a big enough
wad to her reelection fund. But, she was as honest a politician as you
could find in the entire Congress. Once she was bought, she *stayed*
bought.

"Gonna lay some track at that meeting today," Mauser was thinking. Saul
Wingold and Alec Brassner headed up competing studios, but they weren't
really competitors. It was all a tight little club, even if most of the
outfits were foreign owned. He chuckled, thinking of how execs sitting
in their offices in Paris, Frankfurt, and Tokyo made decisions that
ended up making criminals out of American teenagers.

But, yeah, those fucking pirates. Copying DVD's and even filming new
releases in the theaters on digital minicams. Hanging was too good
for those scumbags! Now, to get the other guys on board for "special
measures."

Damnation! There was a demonstration out in front of the building where
the meeting was. One of the Freedom of Expression crazies was up on a
soapbox and giving a speech. A speech!

    What it's really all about is diverting attention away from the *real*
    issue -- the lousy business decisions made by the bigshots at the
    top. These guys want, at all costs, to hold on to their lucrative
    jobs. Never mind that the falling revenues of the entertainment
    firms result directly from their own blunders -- foisting third-rate
    trash by untalented performers on the public. Maybe people are just
    tired of paying for eviscerated hip-hop, whitebread country-western,
    and homogenized pop culture. It's nothing but third-rate garbage.

    You know that they're forcing their product, and it *is* just a
    *product*, down our throats. And it's not as if it had any real
    cultural value. It's trash, crap, mass-produced entertainment.
    And then they tell us that copying a music CD or a DVD movie is a
    heinous crime. Crime? At worst, it's no more serious than shoplifting
    a box of cereal. This isn't about *value*. It's about *perception
    of value*. If you can go to jail for "stealing" it, then it must be
    worth something. Right?

Now this was getting way out of hand. That guy couldn't be allowed to
keep spouting these kinds of pernicious lies . . . even if they did
happen to be true. Not to mention that he was creating a disturbance and
inconveniencing the execs. Mauser pulled out his cellphone and called
Security. "Get pictures of all those guys, especially the speaker. No,
don't have them arrested. It wouldn't stand up in court. First Amendment,
and all that liberal shit. We'll handle it in an appropriate manner,
though. You can bet your sweet ass on that."

Appropriate manner, yeah. That meant contracting out for the services
of a certain Mr. Hootihound.



"Listen, Harry, you *know* we had nothing to do with that. Hey, whaddya
think we are, a bunch of friggin' barbarians?"

Kerwin's left eye kept twitching. Thinking about bloodshed and mayhem
made his nervous tic act up. Not to mention that he'd need another hit
of coke pretty soon.

"Now, Mickey, I know we're all in this together, and yes, it's big,
big money we're talking about. But *murdering* a citizen just because
he makes a speech in front of your offices? *Cutting his damn head off?*"

"What are you talking about? Murder? The guy slips and falls, that's all.
Accidents happen, you know. So don't go bothering *your* pretty little
head about it, babe. Come here."

Mickey kissed him full on the lips. A magician, the fellow was. He really
knew how to take the edge off a guy's worries. And just a few minutes
later, bent over the side of the bed with Mauser deep inside him, slowly
rocking in and out of his ass, Harry felt fully at peace with himself for
the first time in months.



"Johnny, you can't really mean that!"

"Mallory, hon, I gotta have it. I *need* it. It's what keeps me from
falling over dead of a heart attack. Believe me, it's true. Say, baby,
betcha don't know how old I really am. Guess."

"Well, you look maybe 40 at the outside. But, yeah, those rumors . . . "

" . . . are true, girlie girl. I'm 380 years old and what's more I'm
the bastard son of a guy named Vlad Dracul, otherwise known as Vlad the
Impaler, otherwise known as the Count, Count Dracula, that is. Just give
me a teensy little sip. You won't even feel it."

"You shitty little bastard! Just because I'm on OOMPA's legal team doesn't
mean that I'm your damned slave. It's not as if I'm not accommodating when
I have to be. I gave you my ass, didn't I? You said *that* wouldn't hurt
either, but you were too fucking lazy to even open the nightstand and
get out the jar of lube. The two million a year I get paid isn't worth
getting dry-humped in the back passage, much less letting you sink your
filthy fangs into me. Not to mention that your teeth are coated with
slime and you have bad breath."

He could force the issue, but . . . she was naked under her short skirt,
and her plump cheeks resting on the antique wooden stool reminded him
of huge scoops of vanilla ice cream. His ancient member hardened and
his ancient heart softened.

"Very well, my dear girl. We'll let it slide this time. I'll order up
a pint of whole blood from the corporate blood bank. And by the way,
outstanding job you and your team of shysters did on those lawsuits
against that criminal gang of movie downloaders. You really put your
heart and soul into it, don't you, Counselor?"

"Yeah, Mr. V., I really love suing teenagers. That's why my daddy put me
through law school."

"And that's why we employ your daddy to perform special services for us.
So he could afford to put you through law school. Now, be a good girl
and sit on my lap. Lean back a little. Yes, that's right."


"See, Johnny. It goes smoother for the both of us when you stick it in
the right hole. You know, the one in front. The one specially designed
for that purpose."

"Oh, my dear Mallory. Vaginal sex gets so utterly boring after a
few centuries. Nowadays, it's only the *perversions* that hold any
charm. Perversions: anal sex, money, and power. Especially power."



Suzy Kramnitz tightened the strap around her hips. The economy-sized
dildo jutted straight out from her groin and pointed at the bare buttocks
of the man on his hands and knees in front of her. Terry "Pretty Boy"
Johns, four-term governor of Maine and freshly anointed presidential
nominee had an itch deep in his bowels.

"Do me, Suze, pound me harder! Fuck me! Fuck my ass!"

Senator Kramnitz generally preferred being on the receiving end, but
she was nothing if not versatile. And the governor *did* have a nice
ass. Not to mention that this was really more business than pleasure.

"So, as I understand it, Terry, darling, our long-term goal is a nation
of brainwashed TV-addicted robots. The only real function of the average
citizen would be to buy consumer goods and to vote for the candidates
*we* select."

"You got it. But meanwhile we've got to outlaw dangerous and subversive
practices, such as free speech and anything that smacks of independent
thinking or creativity. Since we control the media, though, it's only
a matter of time.

"Yes, it's all about fucking, Suzy. I fuck you, you fuck me, and together
we fuck the public. And speaking of fucking, give it to me again, baby."

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+