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.