Asha 8217 s First Fuck Date With Director
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Producer & Director free porn video
Author’s Note: Considerably longer and somewhat softer than typical for this site. Hopefully worth the time for those interested in character development in a plausible reality. Chapters do not stand alone and should be read in sequence.
Chapter 1
At my age it’s more difficult than it used to be to enjoy the charms of younger women. That’s OK, though. With lots of free time and a little money I’ve found a way to stay interested in sex and satisfied with life. I like to envision myself as the sponsor, producer and director of shows, and, unlike most, I act out my vision. My productions are actually staged – for an audience of one: me. It may not be Broadway, but watching and controlling get me off better than the half-hearted efforts of young but used-up women of the night. Because the net gives me a certain anonymity and I’m vain enough to want to show off, I’m going to give you an example of one of my presentations. Even though it may seem like fun, I don’t suggest you try to copy me. A lot of time, money, and effort are needed and the penalty for bad reviews could be jail. Kidnapping is a serious offense. I’m good at it only because, like I said, I have enough time and a little money. Being well educated and possessing at least a few moral scruples, I’m also very careful to make sure no one really gets hurt in the end.
After persistent searching, I found the boarded-up 10-unit, 1950s vintage motel sitting by itself behind a dense grove of trees on a deserted stretch of the ‘old road’. Abandoned for several years because the area had been bypassed by the interstate, it was five miles from the nearest civilization. Civilization in this case was just a truck stop on the new highway consisting of a gas station, convenience store and a couple of fast food restaurants. The fact that the motel was about equidistant from the region’s two major cities made it ideal for my purposes. Not wanting to chase me away by questioning why in the world I wanted it, the owner happily sold the building and half acre of land to me for next to nothing. I’m handy with tools and enjoyed doing the modifications myself. It took me about six months, but the only really expensive materials were the two-way mirrors and the video systems. The results were great, if I do say so myself. It’s too bad it’s not safe to use a place like that more than once.
While I was working on my motel, I spent one or two days a week scouting the nicer parts of the two cities for my guests. In doing this I was exceedingly cautious. I never drove the same rental car twice and always changed my appearance with makeup, fake facial hair, wigs, and sometimes even a corset to make me look somewhat thinner. It took a lot of legwork, but by the time I was finished with the building I had picked out both of my prospective tenants and had discovered everything it was possible to find out about them and their families. To do this I used public and credit records, the Internet, and even school records (I won’t tell you how I got access to these, but its fairly easy if you know how – ditto for health records). Their friends at work and school also revealed lots of information to me (there are ways to get people to share things without arousing suspicion if you are patient and seem very ordinary). I was able to observe them closely in their daily routines and even briefly spoke to their parents. I was just one more anonymous participant in day-to-day suburban activities. It’s a rush when you realize you know so much about people without them having a clue to your existence.
The two of them lived in different cities, each about 50 miles from my motel. They were in the last year of high school and of course didn’t know one another (a requirement for my plans). Both were members of relatively affluent, two-parent families. The parents were well known in their communities, but not really movers and shakers. These were families that would be able and more than willing to pay for the safe return of their children and I would need the money for future projects. The kids (I call them that even though both of them were somewhat older than their classmates, having recently turned 18) were intelligent, attractive and outgoing. Based on what I discovered I was as sure as I could be that neither of them had yet experienced sex (it’s amazing what you can find out by quietly keeping a keen ear open at school, soccer games and church picnics). Despite what you may read in the papers and see on TV, there really are kids of their age who for whatever reason don’t sleep around. Maybe it’s religion, maybe they are ‘late bloomers’, or maybe they are just ‘saving it for marriage’. Who knows? The part of the country in which they lived probably played a role. This was not east or west coast urban America. Even so, in my search I had to reject many other possible candidates just because they were already sexually active.
After finishing my plans and stocking up on needed supplies, I finally was ready. The girl had to be first because my study of psychology indicated that what I was planning would take longer with her. It was time to begin.
****
Cindy walked slowly up the curving hillside street that led to her house, the last one on the cul-de-sac. It was Thursday and she was in no particular hurry to get home from school. She knew her mom was getting her nails done and wouldn’t be home until after 4:30. Her brother had football practice at school and her dad worked until 5:00. No other kids her age lived on her street, and Cindy paid little attention to what was going on around her. All of the houses were set back, totally screened from the street by trees and bushes planted just for that purpose. It almost felt like living in the country. The ambiance was great, but Cindy would have been willing to live in a more crowded area if it would have meant she could have some friends closer by. The good thing about Thursday afternoons was that Cindy could spend at least a whole hour on the phone without her mom getting on her case. This thought made her walk a bit faster. She wanted to talk to Stephanie about the rumor that Phil liked Susie and was going to ask her to go to the dance with him.
Cindy glanced up and saw that the city utility repairman was there again. This was the second day that the large yellow van was parked along the sidewalk, flanked by large red-orange traffic cones. The man with the hardhat, dark glasses, and orange jumpsuit was there again, doing something with his tools and equipment in the open side door of the van. As she passed she had to slow down to step over some wires on the sidewalk. Suddenly, she felt herself grabbed from behind by powerful arms. Shocked, Cindy tried to suck in a large breath to scream, but something was covering her face. Her nose and throat filled with a strong, biting odor that made her want to cough and gag. She was able to resist only briefly as she rapidly lost consciousness.
Chapter 2
Cindy was struggling to get away from somebody (or something) which had her arms pinned against her sides. She tried to cry out but was unable to make a sound. As she thrashed about the dream began to recede, and Cindy gradually realized she was lying in bed with her eyes squeezed shut to keep out the light. Her head hurt and she knew she would need an aspirin before she got dressed for school. She wondered why the light was so bright in her room. Had she overslept? She sat up and opened her eyes. A sick feeling of panic rose from the pit of her stomach and forced itself out of her mouth in a piercing wail. She wasn’t in her own bed! She wasn’t even at home! Suddenly remembering the struggle as she was headed home from school, she shrieked again and tears streamed down her face. Gasping after her second cry of horror, Cindy fought to control her breathing as her tears continued to fall. With her eyes closed she gradually slowed her hyperventilation and the consequent bout of dizziness passed. She opened her eyes again and looked around the room.
She
was alone. She was sitting on a bed. Her first impression upon opening her eyes had been that a crowd of people surrounded her, but now she could see that the others were only more Cindys, reflected and re-reflected by large mirrors on the walls. She was alone except for her own multiplied self. In the midst of her despair Cindy was suddenly seized by an urgent need to relieve herself. The thought of making a mess increased her panic. Wildly casting her eyes around the room she saw through her tears an open area at one end of the room that held a sink and a doorway. Remembering motels her family had stayed in, Cindy automatically assumed that the door went to a bathroom.
Quickly Cindy stood up, staggering as she sought her balance. She walked unsteadily past the sink and into what was indeed a bathroom. There was no door to close and she felt exposed and vulnerable seated weeping on the toilet, even though there was no one in the room to see her. As she emptied her bladder she realized she was still wearing the same clothes as when she was attacked. Except for the headache (which was gradually fading) she felt physically OK. The rush of relief at not being hurt (or worse!) abruptly disappeared as she realized that she might be a prisoner, and it was possible she could be hurt (or worse!) at any time. She quickly wiped herself, pulled up her panties and bluejeans, flushed the toilet and washed her hands at the sink (the analytic part of her mind was briefly amazed to see how automatic that sequence was, even in such a horrible situation).
A bit calmer now, Cindy surveyed the room. It did look a lot like the motel rooms she had been in on trips with her family (the thought of her family brought a stab of loneliness), but in this one there were no windows. One door was located at the far end with a second next to the bed (queen sized, her mind decided, working on its own). Large mirrors hung at the head of the bed, on the wall opposite the bed, and on the wall next to what appeared to be the entry door. Below the mirror opposite the bed there was a low dresser half occupied by a large TV. There was some sort of opening next to the TV covered by a recessed piece of dark wood or metal. The bright light came from a large overhead fixture and was accentuated by the mirrors.
Quickly stepping to what she supposed was the entry Cindy grabbed the doorknob. The knob turned, but despite her best efforts the door would not budge. The same was true of the other door next to the bed. Both doors were cold to her touch, and after futilely pounding on them with her fists she knew that they were made of metal. She sank into the upholstered chair next to the bed and quietly began to cry again. She felt so alone and so scared. This was not a motel room. There were no windows. There was no phone. There was no way out. She hadn’t even seen a switch with which to turn out the lights! The weeping turned to agonized sobs as she threw herself face down on the bed, overcome by despair.
She was roused by a sharp clicking sound. Dried tears made opening her eyes an effort and she realized she must have been asleep (Why? Had she been drugged?). Next to the TV she saw a tray protruding from the rectangular hole in the wall. There was something on it. Moving to the dresser she picked up a piece of paper from the tray. Cindy read the printed words: ‘Do not be afraid. We will not hurt you. We are trying to get money from your parents. When they pay us we will let you go. Even if they do not pay us we will eventually let you go. You will never see us. If you do see any of us you can never go home, so do not try. Be patient. We will get you food. If you understand, put this note on the tray and push the button on the wall next to the TV.’ Her mother had always said that Cindy was an ‘analyzer’, and even in her fearful state part of her mind noted the simple sentences. Did they think she was dumb?
Cindy looked at the wall and saw what looked like a doorbell button next to where the tray stuck out. Before doing anything she stooped and tried to see into the hole. Something either in it or on the other side blocked her view. Then she remembered what the note said about seeing her captors and experienced a renewed spasm of fear. She put the paper on the tray and pushed the button. Nothing happened. After a few seconds she nervously moved back to the chair to sit down. As she turned there was a clicking sound and the tray disappeared into the hole. She did not know whether to be relieved by what the note said or not. They said they would not hurt her. She knew her family had money and was certain they would pay to get her back, but she didn’t know if she could trust whoever was on the other side of that wall. Then Cindy grimaced. What did it matter if she trusted them or not? There was nothing she could do, anyway. She had no other choice except to ‘be patient’.
Having come to this conclusion she walked back into the bathroom to examine her surroundings more closely (she remembered a teacher who said that analysis was better than paralysis, or was it that too much analysis caused paralysis?). There was a toilet and tub but no shower or shower curtain. As in the rest of the room, the walls held mirrors and there was no switch with which to control the lights. There were clean towels and a washcloth on the back of the toilet. On the sink outside the bathroom she found a toothbrush still in its cellophane-wrapped box and a new tube of toothpaste. There was a glass also wrapped in cellophane (just like a ‘real’ motel, she thought). She noted a large tube of shampoo, a brush and a comb. In addition, there was a box of sanitary napkins. Her initial response to seeing the pads was a sense of relief that she had just finished her period, but then with a pang she wondered if she would be a prisoner so long that she might need them at some point.
The clicking noise drew her attention back into the main room. The tray again was sticking out of the hole in the wall. On it was another note and what appeared to be clothing. She read the note: ‘Your clothes are dirty. Take all of them off, including your underwear, and put them on the tray. We will wash them. Also put your shoes and socks on the tray. Dress yourself in this outfit. When you are finished push the button.’ Looking down at her blouse and jeans, she noted large smudges of oil and dirt that hadn’t been there when she was on her way home. They must have been soiled during her struggle with the kidnapper. Picking up the piece of clothing from the tray Cindy saw that it was a shift made of a filmy pink material that was almost see-through. She held it up to herself. The straps were thin and the hem hit her legs at about mid thigh. There was a pair of panties to match. It was an outfit she might wear to bed at home, but certainly not in public. She recoiled at the idea of putting it on in her present circumstances. She had no idea who could or would see her in it. She said loudly ‘No’, sat down in the chair and waited fearfully.
Nothing happened.
Cindy sat for what seemed to her to be forever and nothing happened. She did not have a watch and after looking around she realized there was no clock in the room. She had no way to tell time or even know if it was night or day.
Still nothing happened.
Cindy began to get bored. For the first time she acknowledged the gnawing feelings of hunger that had been present ever since she had awakened. It must have been a long time since she had had a sandwich and coke for lunch at school. The note said the kidnappers would feed her. Where was the food? Using the glass, she drank some water from the sink and decided to look in the dresser drawers, halfway expecting to find a copy of a Gideon Bible, something that always seemed to be present in motel rooms. In one drawer she did indeed find books, but they weren’t religious. It seemed by the titles that all were ‘teenage’ books like the ones she and her friends sometimes read if they had nothing else to do. In the other drawer was a large collection of
videotapes. Some looked like ‘Disney’ type animated movies while others were live action. She examined the TV. It had a built-in VCR. She turned the power on but no matter what channel she chose she got only static. Evidently it only functioned as a video-player.
She was getting hungrier.
Maybe the only way she could get food was to do what the note said and change her clothes. She didn’t want to. They could probably watch her change. She looked again through the collection of videos, recognizing many of the titles. None were ‘R’ rated. Maybe the kidnappers didn’t know she was over 17.
She was really hungry.
There were no windows, so how could the kidnappers see her? Besides, they needed her to push the button to know when she was ready to have her clothes pulled in on the tray. They must not be able to see her.
She was famished.
With tremendous trepidation, Cindy decided she had to do something.
Chapter 3
Only halfway believing her rationalizations, Cindy took the shift and panties and went into the bathroom (somehow it seemed safer to change there). She slowly removed her shoes and socks. Then she took off her blouse and jeans. She stood still in her cotton bra and panties. Should she disobey and keep them on? As she stared at her reflection in the mirrors Cindy saw what she always saw: a short, not quite pretty girl who never would compare to most of her friends in looks. Truthfully, though, she did have to admit that she was reasonably well developed for her age. Sometimes her girlfriends said they wished they had a figure like hers. She was embarrassed by this, but also flattered. Her bra was only a B cup and she wasn’t as big busted as many of her friends, but her softly padded slender hips and flat tummy gave her a shape that was slightly more curvaceous than bony. She looked good in almost any type of clothing, something her friends with more voluptuous bodies envied. Her figure was just right for her 5’2′ frame.
Fear and hunger finally overcame her modesty. Looking around again nervously, Cindy slipped off her panties and bra. She could now see herself naked from all sides in the mirrors. This was a novel experience and she stood for a moment, briefly mesmerized by the way her body looked. She could see her firm, round bottom reflected from the mirror behind her and on impulse stood on her tiptoes to see what that made it look like. It got firmer and rounder with a small dimple on each side near her backbone.
Cindy examined her breasts. She had seen some of her friends’ chests during sleepovers and knew that while many were bigger, none of them had breasts that were as round and gently turned up as hers. Now she could see them from the side as well as from the front. In her present mood the small light-brown birthmark on the left side of her breastbone didn’t distress her like it usually did (despite reassurances from her mother she was convinced that the spot was ugly and always chose swimsuit tops which covered it). Her light pink areolae were about the size of quarters. She could see her nipples sticking out. They were the size and shape of hard pink miniature marshmallows. She knew if she touched them when they were like this she might get that tingly feeling both in her nipples and ‘down below’. Vaguely feeling that this was wrong, she repressed the urge to do it.
‘Down below’ some of her friends had patches of dark hair but Cindy had only a dusting of almost colorless fuzz on her mound (it matched her straw-colored hair). This made it easy for her to wear bikinis. Some of her friends had to shave (or wax, or even pluck!) to keep their hair from showing at the pool. She ran her hands slowly down her sides, briefly enjoying the ‘almost tickling’ sensation. In her semi-trance she was fleetingly tempted to spread her legs and look at herself more closely, but with a sudden start she remembered where she was and quickly put on the panties and shift.
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