Alicia Silverstone is abducted in my mind

Alicia Silverstone walked confidently through the
studio parking lot, her long blonde hair bright in the
Southern California sun. She was wearing a snug white
cotton blouse, a short black skirt, and sneakers with
white ankle socks. She had a purse slung over her
shoulders, sunglasses over her eyes, and an air of busy
distraction. In fact, she was distracted; she’d just
come from a meeting with one of the studio’s producers,
and this was on her mind as she walked.

It had been a good meeting, but only in the sense that
it wasn’t a disaster; she hadn’t gotten them to take
the deal for her newest project, but at least they
hadn’t turned it down. She was trying to think of some
way to get them to come across with the money, some
hook she could throw them, or a bone, and she was so
preoccupied with her thoughts that she didn’t see the
man approaching her from between two cars.

“Alicia?” the man said suddenly.

Alicia jumped, startled, then focused on him and said,
“What is it?”

“Um, hi,” the man said. “My name is Martin and, um, I
worked as a production assistant on your Clueless
movie, five years ago. Do you, um, do you remember me?”

Alicia’s first impulse was to tell the guy that she
would have no reason to remember some nobody production
assistant, but she checked it; one of the first things
she’d ever learned in Hollywood was that the place was
loaded with weirdos, perverts and losers, and she had
to be careful. This guy could have been telling her the
truth, but he could just as easily be trying to catch
her off guard.

So instead of just putting him in his place, she paused
and pulled her sunglasses down, pretending that she was
trying to recognize him. What she was really doing was
committing his face to memory; that way, if he did
anything creepy, she’d be able to pick him out of a
line up.

Martin (if that was his real name) was in his mid
thirties, about six feet tall, 200 approximate pounds,
brown hair and eyes, a little bit pudgy, acne scars on
his cheeks, blue work shirt and jeans, and thoroughly
awash in a dork aura. Alicia suspected that even if she
had met him five years ago she would have forgotten him
about five seconds later.

“Oh, sure,” she said, forcing herself to smile, “I
remember you.” It was best to humor these types. “What
can I do for you, Marvin? Do you want an autograph?”

“It’s Martin,” Martin said. He was fidgeting slightly
and obviously trying not to wring his hands together.
“And, um, no, I don’t want an autograph. Or, actually,
that would be cool. But that’s not why I, um, why I
stopped you. I was wondering, Alicia, if you would
maybe, um, like to um, go out with me.”

It was all Alicia could do to keep from laughing in his
face. Go out with him? Was he out of his mind? Did he
know who she was?

“Gee, Marvin, I dunno,” she said as she let her gaze
drift to her left. She was looking for her car. “I
don’t usually go out with guys… well, like you.” Oh,
shit that was the wrong thing to say. “I mean, you seem
nice and everything.” Yeah, right. “But, you know,
we’re not really friends or anything. But I’d be glad
to sign something for you. You know, your autograph
book or whatever.”

There was her car. Her darling silver Porsche. It was
already three years old and still worth more than this
creep made in a decade. Unfortunately, it seemed a
really long way away. Didn’t this parking lot have a
security guard?

“It’s Martin,” Martin said again, and the tone of his
voice made Alicia return her gaze to him. He sounded
pissed for some reason. Kinda looked it too. “And I
don’t want your autograph. It was nice meeting you,
Alicia.”

Martin turned and walked away, hands crammed into his
pockets. Alicia watched him for a moment, wondering
what that was all about, then she too turned and
resumed walking to her car. She tried to get her mind
back on the meeting, the possible deal, but for some
reason she couldn’t. The incident with Marvin had left
her feeling unsettled.

There was definitely something not right about him.
Fans usually didn’t just leap out at you like that, or
ask for a date right out of the blue. And they always
wanted an autograph. Even stalkers wanted autographs.
So, what was the deal with this guy? Had to be a very
wrong number. Maybe she should plunk down the money for
a bodyguard. Yeah, a bodyguard. That was a good idea.
Nice big handsome body guard.

With that problem solved, Alicia was able to return to
the dilemma of what to do about this new project. She
recalled that, during the meeting, that one guy, the
producer guy, she couldn’t remember his stupid name,
he’d spent most of his time working her tits over with
his eyes. Maybe that was the key, she thought. Play up
to him, flirt with him, let him think he’s going to get
some. Hell, maybe even give him some. He was a fairly
good looking guy, despite that he was old enough to be
her daddy.

Yes, it was slutty, sleeping with the producer, but it
wouldn’t the first time. Not even the fiftieth. Sex had
almost always been a bargaining tool for her. If you
wanted to be a success in Hollywood, you had to face
that reality. Sometimes you had to put out just to
survive.

That was how she’d gotten that role on The Wonder
Years, and also how she’d landed the starring role in
The Crush (and lost her cherry, too). It got easier
after that, especially after Clueless, but there were
still times when she had to at least tolerate some
creep trying to get into her pants.

Not that she didn’t like men. She was straight (for the
most part, anyway), she loved to fuck, and, if she was
with the right guy, she could have totally mad fun. But
“the right guy” was almost a myth in Hollywood. It was
a world in which the assholes ruled, they lived in the
woodwork, and they came out at the mere presence of a
hot young chick. Sometimes they jumped out at you in
parking lots.

Alicia finally reached her car and paused to get her
keys out of her purse. She was still somewhat deep in
thought (as deep as she could get, anyway), and so
didn’t notice the man in the ski mask coming around
from the back of the van parked in front of her
Porsche. He came up behind her, walking almost
casually, and without a word reached out and grabbed a
handful of her bright blonde hair. He instantly yanked
on it, hard enough to pull her off balance and sending
her sunglasses flying.

Alicia dropped to her knees and gave up a surprised
yelp, but she had no time to make any other kind of
noise before the man’s fist smashed into her temple,
causing her to fall sideways onto the asphalt. She
managed to call out, “Marvin, help me!” before the man
kicked her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of
her. Alicia doubled over, in part from the pain and in
part from an instinctive attempt to roll into a ball.
It didn’t do her any good.

He kicked her again, then bent over and hit her several
times with his fist, on the head, the shoulders, and on
her arms when she brought them up to try to protect
herself. She cried out again, but it was a low,
frightened sound that didn’t attract any attention.
When he was done hitting her, the man grabbed her by
the arms and seemingly without effort hauled her up to
her feet. He wrapped one arm around her midsection and
clapped a hand over her mouth.

Alicia struggled feebly as the man carried her like a
rag doll to the van. The side door was open and he
easily tossed her through it. Alicia landed roughly on
the carpeted floor, and a moment later the man in the
ski mask was in the van with her and sliding the door
closed.

Alicia, though stunned and disoriented, managed to get
to her knees and crawl to the back door of the van. She
grabbed the handle and pulled but found it locked.

“Help me!” she called out desperately. “Marvin, help
me, please!”

That was all she had time to do before the man closed
in on her, grabbing her by the hair again and slapping
her several times across the face. Alicia cried out
from the pain, and tears began to spill from her eyes.
The man shoved her down onto the floor, jamming her
lovely face down into the carpet, and for the first
time spoke to her.

“Don’t fight me, bitch,” he told her in a rough voice,
“or I’ll beat you to death. You understand?”

“Please….” Alicia begged, “please don’t hurt me.
Please don’t hurt me….”

“Too late for that, you stupid cunt. But if you don’t
wanna die, you’ll keep your shitty mouth shut and you
won’t yell anymore or try to get away.” The man hit her
hard on the shoulder. “‘Got it?”

“Yes….yes….” Alicia said, weeping now. “Just please
don’t hurt me anymore….”

“And no more goddamn talking.” The man smacked her on
the back of the head. “Now, lie down on the floor and
don’t move.”

Alicia did as she was told, laying flat on her stomach
with her arms out at her sides. The man in the ski mask
went to a tool box against a side wall and opened it
up, took out four items. He set them next to Alicia’s
prone body, then picked one of the items up. It was a
roll of duct tape. He tore off a strip, then grabbed a
handful of Alicia’s hair and pulled, making her yelp.
He slapped the tape over her mouth, then let go of her
hair.

Alicia let her face fall back to the carpet. The next
item the man picked up was a pair of handcuffs. He
grabbed one of Alicia’s arms, yanked it behind her
back, and secured one of the cuffs around her wrist. He
did the same with her other arm, and now Alicia was
handcuffed and laying flat on the floor, her breasts
getting painfully mashed beneath her. She was crying
now, loudly and desperately, but because of the duct
tape the sounds were greatly muffled.

The next item was another pair of handcuffs. The man
picked these up and hooked them onto one of the belt
loops on his jeans, then bent over and grabbed Alicia
by her arms. He roughly pulled her up to her knees,
then dragged her over to a spot next to his tool box.
There was a horseshoe shaped bar there, each end of
which was welded to the wall. He forced her to sit with
her back to it, then secured one cuff around the bar
and the other around the chain between the two cuffs
around Alicia’s wrists. She was now manacled to the
wall and completely unable to escape.

The man slapped Alicia’s face once, then reached for
the last item he’d taken from his tool box: a long
sharp butcher knife. He held it up in front of Alicia’s
face, only an inch from her eyes, and told her, “You
give me any trouble at all, you filthy whore, and I’ll
shove this up your cunt and fuck you with it till
you’re dead.” Alicia moaned pitifully.

The man pulled the knife back a bit, and with his other
hand he grabbed the front of her blouse. He yanked on
it, snapping all the buttons and exposing her chest.
Alicia was wearing a black lace bra, obviously designed
to push her breasts together and make them look larger.
The man grabbed at the bra, pulled it out, and sliced
it between the cups with the knife. The bra fell open
and Alicia’s breasts spilled out into full view.

They were magnificent breasts, full and round, slightly
pointed, and topped with small pink nipples. The man in
the ski mask ogled them for a few moments, then dropped
his knife and with both hands began fondling them. He
was rough, squeezing and pulling and pinching them,
causing Alicia to whimper with more pain. He ignored
her. He continued to play with her breasts for another
minute, slapped each of them a few times, then picked
up his knife again.

Next he pulled Alicia’s skirt up to her waist, which
was a bit of a difficult task, since she was sitting on
a portion of it. Once he had it up, however, he used
his knife to cut away her panties, standard white
cotton things with tiny pink flowers on them, like a
little girl’s underwear. He tossed the panties to the
side, then jerked her knees open. Now he could see her
cunt.

And it was a beautiful cunt. Full and womanly, slightly
swollen lips (probably from getting fucked by every guy
with money she came in contact with), and covered with
a healthy bush of dark blonde hair.

“Wow,” the man said to her, “you’re a natural blonde.
Imagine that.” He jammed one finger into her, all the
way up to his third knuckle, then pulled it out and put
the tip of his knife up to her opening. Alicia squirmed
and whimpered some more. “Just remember what I told
you. You give me any bullshit, any kind of bullshit at
all, and you get this up your snatch. Now, leave your
legs just like they are. Don’t close em.”

He moved away from her, back to his toolbox, and took
out a camera. He moved back in front of her, but as far
to the other side of the van as he could get, then took
several pictures of her as she sat there, handcuffed
and weeping, tape over her mouth, tits hanging out, and
her cunt exposed like a golden treasure.

When he was done with the pictures the man in the ski
mask returned the camera to his tool box, then knelt
down in front of Alicia and told her, “Don’t go
anywhere.”

He slapped her across the face once more, then moved to
the front of the van. He got in the driver’s seat,
started the engine, and began driving.

Alicia was sore all over. Her head and face, mostly,
where the man had hit her the most, but her arms and
legs too, her back and shoulders, her stomach where
he’d kicked her. Her breasts too. He’d squeezed them
and slapped them so hard she was sure they were bruised
now. She understood, though, that the pain she was in,
the possible damage he’d already done to her, was the
least of her worries. As she sat there in the back of
the van, handcuffed and cramping up in the darkness,
she knew that there were worse things in store for her.
Much worse.

He was going to rape her, of course. The way he’d
looked at her after he’d pulled her bra off, the way
he’d stuck his finger in her cunt, those things made it
clear that rape was a certainty. Probably beat her up
some more, maybe even torture her. But as terrible as
those prospects were, what was worst was that he hadn’t
done any of those things as soon as he’d gotten a hold
of her; he was actually taking her somewhere. Probably
out into the desert, or up into the mountains, some
secluded middle of nowhere place where he could leave
her when he was through with her. Where he could dump
her body.

I could die today, Alicia told herself, and she
shuddered with the thought. She’d managed to stop
crying some time ago, but now that the specter of death
loomed over her, she felt the sobs trying to return, to
burst out of her. It took all she had to keep it
inside; the man might hear her and stop the van and
come back to make her shut up. To kill her.

I don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna die. Please, God,
don’t let me die. Just don’t let me die. But she knew
her God wouldn’t hear her; she’d never paid him much
attention in her life, she’d abandoned her Jewish
religion when she was twelve and she’d had to suck some
creep’s cock just for a part in a stupid television
show, and she was sure that He was abandoning her now.
It was up to her to survive this if she could. She’d
have to give in, be submissive as possible, do whatever
he wanted . Give it up for the right to live. Just like
in Hollywood.

The man in the ski mask drove for more than two hours,
long after the sun had gone down. He drove primarily on
the Riverside Freeway, until he reached the turnoff for
the San Bernardino mountains. He then drove north, up
into the mountains and toward Big Bear Lake.

He didn’t go as far as the lake, though; about two
miles from there he turned off onto another, smaller
road, and followed it as it wound around the mountain.
Once it leveled off he turned again, onto yet another
road. This one led through a stand of pines to a small
cabin on a ridge. There was a fairly large parking area
in front but he chose to drive around to the back and
park directly behind the cabin. He stopped, shut off
the engine and the lights, then sat there in the
driver’s seat for a few minutes, smoking a cigarette
and staring out the windshield at nothing.

Finally, he stubbed out his smoke and made his way to
the back of the van. Alicia sat there, handcuffed and
frightened, helplessly waiting for whatever he would
do. The man slapped her face, then reached into his
shirt pocket and pulled out a set of small keys. He
used one of these to unlock the cuffs that were holding
her to the horseshoe shaped bar. Alicia immediately
fell over on her side, but she made no attempt to
escape. The man knelt down next to her, grabbed her by
the hair, and said, “You’re gonna come with me now. And
you’re not gonna try to get away, you understand?”

Alicia nodded. The man reached under her, grabbed one
of her breasts and squeezed, and Alicia cried out in
pain. Then he stood up and looked down at her for a
long moment before slowly reaching up and removing his
mask. Alicia gasped in surprise through the duct tape
over her mouth. It was Marvin.

“That’s right, slut,” Martin said. “It’s me. I got my
date with you anyway. Except, instead of the nice
romantic date you would have had if you hadn’t been
such a stuck up cunt, you’re gonna get the really bad
version. I’m gonna show you what happens to snotty
little starlets who think their smelly pussies are too
good for me. You’re gonna learn your lesson, you rotten
tramp.”

Martin smacked her again, then turned and left the van
through the side door and came around to the back. He
unlocked that door, opened it, then reached in and
grabbed Alicia by one arm. He roughly pulled her out,
letting her fall onto the ground, her naked breasts in
the dirt. He shut the van door, then bent down, grabbed
her again by one arm, and pulled her up to her feet.

“Walk toward the house, cunt.”

Martin held onto the handcuffs that still bound her
wrists together as Alicia stepped and stumbled toward
the house. She tried to look around as she went and
Martin told her, “Don’t bother looking around, whore.
You’re out in the middle of nowhere, so even if you did
manage to escape, you wouldn’t have anywhere to go.
Just keep moving.”

They came up on a porch and Martin went ahead of her to
open the door. He held it open and told her, “Get
inside, slut,” and she went inside. There was a tiny
washroom with a washer and dryer, and immediately to
the right was a doorway that led into a kitchen. Martin
turned on a light, blinding Alicia for a moment, then
guided her through the kitchen and into the living
room.

He didn’t stop there, but continued on through the
living room to another doorway. There he stopped,
reached into the room and flicked on the light, then
pulled her though the doorway and into a bedroom. There
was a large bed against one wall, a nightstand next to
it, and a chest of drawers along another wall, but no
other furniture. There was a bathroom to the left and
Martin guided Alicia to it.

He turned that light on too, then told her, “Go ahead
and piss, or shit, or whatever you have to do, but do
it now, because you might not get a chance later on.”
Alicia looked at him with wide beseeching eyes,
obviously not wanting to be watched as she performed
such a private act. Martin slapped her face and said,
“Do it, whore.”

Alicia reluctantly went over to the toilet, let Martin
pull up her skirt, then sat down. She pissed, the sound
reverberating loudly against the bathroom walls, and as
she did so tears spilled from her eyes and down her
cheeks. Once she was finished Martin tore off a large
wad of toilet paper and efficiently wiped her cunt,
then flushed the toilet.

He pulled Alicia back to her feet, then took her back
into the bedroom and pushed her toward the bed, telling
her, “Lay down, pussy.”

Alicia clumsily crawled onto the bed on her knees, then
just as clumsily lay down. Because of the handcuffs she
was forced to lie on her side. While she did this
Martin opened the bottom drawer of the dresser and took
out a steel chain, approximately three feet long, with
a set of handcuffs attached to each end. He secured one
set to the handcuffs around Alicia’s wrists, and the
other set he secured to an iron eyebolt that was
screwed into the bed’s oak headboard.

“There,” he said. “Now you I know you won’t be running
away on me. Miserable fucking cumbag.”

He went to the dresser again and brought back a large
hunting knife. He used it to cut Alicia’s blouse, the
straps on her bra, and her skirt, then removed all of
these items, along with her shoes and socks, leaving
her completely naked. He put the knife down on the
nightstand, then placed one hand on Alicia’s shoulder
and pushed her over onto her back. Her arms and hands
were stuck under her now, forcing her to arch her back,
and the handcuffs were digging into her wrists.

Alicia made a plaintive noise to communicate her
discomfort but Martin ignored her. He grabbed a handful
of her hair and lifted her head, slid a pillow under
it, then let her hair go. Next he grabbed both of her
feet and pushed them closer to her butt, causing her to
bend her knees, then took hold of her knees and moved
them in opposite directions, making her spread her
legs.

“There,” Martin said, staring down at her completely
exposed cunt. “Perfect.” He bent over her and very
carefully removed the duct tape from her mouth. Alicia
parted her lips as if she was about to speak but he
held up one finger. “Don’t talk. I’ll hit you again if
you talk. But feel free to cry, or to scream, or
whatever else you feel you need to do.”

He stepped back from the bed and began to undress.
Alicia closed her eyes and turned her head, staying
that way as Martin silently removed his shirt, his
shoes, his jeans, and his underwear. Once he was naked
he crawled onto the end of the bed. Alicia continued to
keep her eyes closed and her face turned away as he
moved up the bed, up between her outstretched legs. He
settled himself on top of her, placing his hard cock
right up against her cunt. He slid one of his hands
under her, holding her like he would a lover, and
kissed her cheek. His other hand moved down between
their bodies, gripped his cock, and positioned it so
that the head was touching her pubic hair.

“You’re gonna like this, you sloppy slut,” he said,
then pushed his hips forward.

His cock nudged up to her cunt lips, then pressed past
them. It slid slowly but easily into her; she obviously
wasn’t that tight. Martin groaned with pleasure as he
buried his cock all the way into Alicia’s cunt. Alicia
began to cry, soft girlish sobs accompanied by tears
spilling from her eyes and down her cheeks. Martin
didn’t care; he simply pulled back out of her about
halfway, then pushed into her again, then pulled out,
then pushed in, grunting and groaning as he slowly
fucked her.

He continued to kiss her as well, on her face and neck,
and brought one of his hands out from under her to
caress and squeeze her breasts. As he fucked her he
increased the speed of his thrusts, but he never
reached the point where he was pounding into her or
treating her harshly in any way, remaining gentle and
relatively slow in his sexual use of her. When he
finally reached the point of orgasm, he groaned softly
and pressed his cheek against hers, thrust himself into
her one last time, and came.

When he was done Martin continued to lay on top of her,
catching his breath, his cock still inside of her.
Alicia was still crying, though her tears had slowed
and her weeping had become more of a self pitying
murmur. Martin kissed her again, on the cheek, then
touched her chin and forced her to turn her face to
him. He kissed her once more, this time on the lips,
then softly told her, “Should have saved some of that
crybaby shit for later, cunt. I was being nice this
time, but from here on out it’s no more Mr. Nice Guy.”
Then he spit in her face.

Alicia stood in the shower stall, trying to focus on
the warm spray of water and to ignore Martin’s hands as
they roamed all over her body. When he’d brought her
into the bathroom, telling her “You need to clean your
dirty ass,” she’d hoped he would take the handcuffs off
and let her do it herself, but instead he chose to
leave them on, and now he was cleaning her. He spread a
lather of soap over her shoulders, down her back, over
her butt, then over her breasts and belly.

Not surprisingly, he lingered over her breasts,
squeezing and pulling on them as he soaped them down.
He passed over her cunt, though, moving on to her legs
and feet. When he was done he took the shower head down
and rinsed her all over. Alicia wondered why he hadn’t
cleaned her between her legs, thinking that maybe he
was one of those sickos who liked a woman to be dirty
down there. She didn’t know if she should be thankful
for that or not, but even so her heart sank when she
saw him reach into the cabinet below the sink and pull
out a douche bag.

Oh God, she thought, he’s going to try to use that on
me. She felt herself near tears again, but she knew she
wouldn’t cry; this wouldn’t be nearly as bad as what
he’d already done to her.

“Spread your legs, whore.”

Alicia moved her legs as wide to each side as the
shower stall would permit her and Martin bent down,
brought the nozzle of the douche bag up to her cunt,
then carelessly pushed it into her. Alicia felt a jab
of pain, but only for a moment, then the sensation of
the water being squirted into her from the bag. After
about ten or fifteen seconds Martin pulled it out of
her, took the nozzle off, and used the shower spray to
fill the bag again. He douched her a second time, then
repeated the filling process.

“Now, turn around,” he said, “and bend over, cunt.”

Alicia reluctantly did as she was told. Martin placed
one hand on her waist, and with the other he pushed the
nozzle of the douche into her ass. Alicia cried out at
the pain and closed her eyes as tight as she could.
Martin squeezed the bag and warm water shot up her ass,
then began to leak out. As soon as the bag was empty
Martin pulled the nozzle out and tossed it onto the
floor of the shower stall, then grabbed Alicia by her
hair and pulled her up to a standing position.

“Just wanted to make sure your asshole was clean,” he
said. He smacked her face lightly with his other hand.
“Asshole. Now, come on.”

Martin pulled on her hair again and she clumsily got
out of the shower. She stood still while he toweled her
dry, then followed him as he led her by the hair back
into the bedroom. He pushed her and she fell onto the
bed. Martin roughly turned her over onto her back,
pushed her legs apart, then got on top of her and
shoved his cock into her. He fucked her hard, hurting
her as he jammed his cock into her again and again.
After a few minutes, he suddenly stopped and pulled out
of her. He got to his knees, grabbed Alicia by her
hair, and pulled her up to a sitting position. Then he
was shoving his cock against her lips.

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