Chapter 16

“Why are you making me do this?” said R.G. She had raided Laycee’s closet and looked far from her usual frumpiness. Her shirt was tight across her chest, low cut and exposing a firm midsection. Around her waist was a miniskirt that just barely maintained her modesty, especially since she wasn’t wearing a stitch of underwear. The ensemble was topped off by long socks and high-heeled boots, making her look more like a slutty sorority sister than a lesbian who spent her days sucking up to a film star. Her hair too was pulled back tight, helping her glasses to complement her face instead of detracting from it. Cockzilla didn’t know much about dressing a girl up, but he knew enough to know how to make one look like a slut, and he’d certainly made R.G. do that. The makeup could use a little work, though.

“Because Marty says every guy has to bring a girl,” said Cockzilla. He was clad in a white, sleeveless shirt and shorts, along with some brand new and very expensive sneakers. He couldn’t believe that Ratch skinkgirl who’d tattooed him had bothered calling to let him know there was a party. He’d thought that she was just some throwaway tramp, but apparently he’d left quite an impression. He had been hoping to get some time off to relax, to really get his fuck on before turning his charm to Henna, and the party presented the perfect opportunity for him. Sure, he couldn’t bring Sunset to such an event just yet, she was too valuable, but R.G. cleaned up well enough. Everyone would be drunk anyway, so the fact that R.G. was only modestly attractive wasn’t as important as the fact that she was compliant.

Cockzilla pulled up the SUV he’d rented with the company credit card onto the street in front of the house. It was a remote location, far from other houses or major highways. Perched near the edge of a cliff and overlooking the city far below, Marty’s place was not the sort of home that belonged to the typical stoner or party boy, indicating he got his money from somewhere. Cockzilla saw no suspicious guards or back entrances though, letting him know that Marty was no dealer. He was probably the recipient of a rather generous trust fund, or some other good fortune. Either way, the party was well underway, with a mixture of guys and girls drinking, dancing and fucking all over the place. On the balcony over the front door girls were eagerly lifting their shirts and occasionally spilling their drinks onto the crowd below. R.G. blushed and averted her eyes, clearly humiliated by the thought of going inside.

Cockzilla hissed and grabbed R.G. by the arm. “Look are you coming, or am I placing a phone call?” he said. “Laycee’s just barely hanging on at Antipodes. I could send you both down the river.” He knew that the bit about Laycee was true, at least, but for different reasons. She had her foot out the door at Antipodes not because Henna was firing her, but because there was a good chance she’d be picked up for a reality show where she had to seduce some b-list star while riding in a bus across the country. Seeing as R.G. arranged the interviews, she had to know on at least some level, but her powers of denial were nothing if not incredible.

“Fine, I’ll go,” she said. R.G. stepped out of the SUV, still blushing and holding down her shirt. Considering what she saw every day, Cockzilla was somewhat surprised at how shy she seemed to be around the drunken partiers. She slapped off a grope as they forced their way to the front door, and avoided flirting with or even responding to all the guys who cheered, and then booed, at her arrival. It didn’t matter much, though. All Cockzilla needed was for her to get him in the door. She could just go into the kitchen and drink herself unconscious after that.

There was a rather large kangaroo at the door, big enough to be some sort of bouncer, but inferior to Cockzilla in terms of size. He took one look at Cockzilla and R.G. and let them inside, not even bothering to ask for ID. Cockzilla had gotten used to lying and cheating his way into booze considering he was 18 and thus couldn’t legally drink in America, and he was almost pleasantly surprised that he didn’t need to show his fake ID. It wasn’t particularly convincing, and usually he had to follow it up with a $20 bill just to get what he wanted.

As he continued to drag R.G. inside, he found that the house opened to a number of large, expansive rooms, each one seemingly filled with even more debauchery than the last. Drinks and drugs of all sorts were on use and display everywhere he went, but much more interesting was the sex. Marty’s rule about bringing a girl meant that the selection was excellent, and already he was looking over various groups and deciding which ones he wanted. Every now and then he’d pass a locked door with moans coming from behind it, but for the most part the sex was open and wild, with partiers doing it wherever they felt like. Instantly 106Cockzilla knew the sort of party he was going to throw once he got his hands fully seeped in the company money. He’d be fucking girls all night and well into the morning with a setup like this.

Ratch seemed to pop out of nowhere, grinning and grabbing at Cockzilla. “I’m glad you could come!” she shouted over the music, which was steadily growing deafening. “I was worried you might not show up, what with your big movie shoot tomorrow!” Cockzilla nodded and grinned, trying to remember which lie, exactly, he had told Ratch over the phone. But he didn’t have much need to lie, as Ratch grabbed R.G. by the hand and kissed her, their muzzles intertwining. R.G. was uncomfortable at first, but she slowly got into it, the female form being more familiar and comfortable to her than that of Cockzilla. “So who’s this slut? And how come neither of you have any beer?”

The next hour or so went by in a blur. Ratch introduced Cockzilla and R.G. to various people between beers and shots, impressing even Cockzilla with her alcohol tolerance. R.G. was visibly drunk, being a lightweight, but Cockzilla was just getting a buzz. Still, he’d much rather stop walking around meeting Ratch’s friends and get to fucking, but he was willing to put up with it for a bit longer, at least until he had better prospects than R.G.. Ratch might be OK, but the unflattering way in which she was dressed, combined with a belt made of motorcycle chain and a combination lock, made it clear that she probably wasn’t on the market right now. He might be able to force it, but with so many prospects, and so many witnesses, it didn’t seem worth it.

Out of the maze of bodies and booze, one tall, handsome otter stood out. Dressed in something dangerously close to a pimp outfit, he grinned at Cockzilla, his one gold tooth shining in the bright living room lights. Before Ratch introduced him, Cockzilla knew that the guy must be Marty. Cockzilla had expected to see some sort of college dropout with a fat checkbook, not someone who was clearly so in charge of both the proceedings and his own finances. He sipped champagne from a glass and motioned for Ratch to leave. Only then did Cockzilla notice that Marty’s pants were unzipped, and that a vixen was prodigiously working his cock hard in her muzzle. Cockzilla grinned, then hissed out his long forked tongue. This Marty guy was the sort of person Cockzilla needed to meet, and eventually, become.

“This your girl?” said Marty, gesturing at R.G. Cockzilla nodded and pushed her forward, ignoring her shyness. Marty looked her over carefully, as if he was examining a piece of hardware. He grabbed the vixen between his legs by the hair and looked down at her, barely moving his eyes and muzzle. “Wipe your face, then get to work on our guest here,” said Marty. “He’s a film star, and I expect you to impress him.” With the vixen gone, Cockzilla could see that Marty was endowed well 107beyond what might be expected for a male of his size, though of course far inferior to Cockzilla. It didn’t stay exposed for long, though. He grabbed R.G. ’s hair and forced her to her knees, his hands powerful and controlling. Soon his shaft was in R.G. ’s mouth, and he sighed as she worked him, his hand constantly moving and controlling her. “I had hoped you’d bring something better than a flatchested lesbian.”

Cockzilla was surprised that Marty had picked things out so well, but the otter seemed more bemused than upset. “Yeah, sorry about that,” Cockzilla said. “It was a short notice thing. ” Cockzilla sat down on one of the nearby couches, and as soon as his ass hit the cushion, the vixen was on him. She didn’t even look at him, focusing entirely on getting his pants undone and his shaft in her mouth. If she was surprised by his size she didn’t show it, her hands and muzzle moving downright automatically. She was like a cocksucking robot, so exactly trained to her job that she could think of nothing else. And she was good at it too.

“Don’t worry, I nailed that penguin bitch at a bachelor’s party back before she had those fake tits,” said Marty. “She was nothing special then, and she’s nothing special now. That vixen sucking you off now, she’s special. She does exactly what I tell her, when I tell her, and with whom I tell her. You know who she was sucking off last night? The governor. And tomorrow I’ve got her lined up for a quick one with a Japanese film star. She brings in the money, and she doesn’t talk. The perfect female.”

“I agree,” said Cockzilla. He was certainly enjoying her work. Her hands were soft and delicate, manipulating his shaft even as her tongue and lips worked the tip. She had no trouble taking much of his length, swallowing and shoving it down without even the slightest hint of gag reflex. Cockzilla rested his hand on the back of her head and, on a whim, began to press her down and forward. He had expected her to begin choking, especially as his long shaft tickled its way down her throat. But she remained supple and almost motionless, even going so far as to not offer the slightest resistance when he held her down. She gasped for air when he finally let go, but he was clearly impressed. Even in Bali, he had never seen a girl so powerfully trained. “But what do you want with me?”

“I’m glad you’re not stupid,” said Marty. “I was worried you might think you’re here just because Ratch has been blabbing about your cock, although that did help. You see, the callgirl gig is getting more and more dangerous. Those morality-and-family politicians are looking for a new bogeyman, and I can’t just keep taking the money into my house anymore, laundering it by claiming I charge admission to these wild parties. And porn is changing, what with more and more of it going on the Internet and making the studios nothing. What I want is Antipodes, to launder my money and to bring attention to my girls. Everyone wants to fuck a pornstar, and with my girls supposedly employed, it’ll be a lot easier to make everything legitimate.” As he spoke, he roughly worked R.G. on his cock, not seeming to notice or care about the tears streaming down her face or the sobs shuddering through his crotch. She didn’t try to make him stop, or dare to bite down, though. In his left hand he gently fingered a switchblade, occasionally making sure R.G. caught the glint of it in her eye. If Cockzilla had a notepad, he would have been scribbling furiously.

“Okay, so you want Antipodes,” said Cockzilla. “Why don’t you just up and buy it?” As he spoke, the vixen between his legs worked on him all the harder, sucking and slurping on his shaft, milking and squeezing. She had shifted from just making it feel good to genuinely pushing towards orgasm, and even as well experienced and controlled as he was, it almost knocked Cockzilla off guard. Part of him wanted to stop her, so he could concentrate on what Marty was saying, but it just felt too good even to try.

“How did you think I was going to get it? You’re going to steal the key for me or something?” Marty huffed, holding down R.G. until she began to struggle, emphasizing his frustration to Cockzilla. “Henna won’t sell, leastwise not for the price I want. She knows I’m dirty. She knows about these parties, which I do more because they remind me of my college years than because of the laundering, and she knows that I blackmail everybody from cops to politicians to preachers. But that’s why I want her, I need a studio that’s so fucking legit, nobody even looks at it anymore. Porn is a sketchy business with a lot of unpaid taxes and unreported cash payments. The fact that Henna keeps everything above board makes it…attractive to a male like me, who needs to not attract attention.

“Well ahnn…I’ll give Henna the squeeze, make her sell it,” said Cockzilla. As the vixen continued to work, he found it harder and harder to concentrate. Sex had never felt this good before! If this is what could be gained from a broken and trained bitch, he’d have to try it out on Sunset, and then later Henna. Whatever horrors Marty had put this vixen through, it had converted her into the sort of sex slave Cockzilla had always wanted.

“That’s not exactly how I want it to go down, but I’ll tell you what to do as we go along,” said Marty. “Don’t worry, though. You’ll be in charge and you’ll have all the pussy and money you could ever want. You just keep your mouth shut and your eyes closed while my boys do all the work. I’ll make you the biggest pornstar this country has ever seen.”

“Yeah sure, whatever you say,” said Cockzilla. The vixen between Cockzilla’s legs was working things up to a fever pitch now, and despite his best attempts to resist her, he felt his shaft cumming and spurting hard in her mouth. Instantly his head was filled with a thick, calming buzz, a pleasant dizziness that seemed to make his whole body tingle. It had been 109so long since he’d had a truly impressive orgasm that he’d almost forgotten what it was like. The vixen swallowed him and then slipped off, kneeling with her hands in her lap. Marty snapped his fingers, and the bunnygirl leaning on his left arm went over to the girl.

“Have her cleaned up and put back in her cage,” said Marty. He grabbed R.G. by the hair and pulled her off, leaving her hacking and coughing. “Send this one downstairs too, for a good lesson. Not sure what we’ll do with her yet, but you can never have too many well-trained girls. See that she gets home after the session, we can get the rest of the training in once she’s under my employ.”

“Her name is R.G., if that matters,” said Cockzilla. A large, muscular pitbull appeared almost out of nowhere and whisked R.G. away, his massive hand over her mouth keeping her from screaming.

“It doesn’t,” said Marty. “My girls don’t have names, except for Yvette and Candy here.” He patted the asses of his two bunnygirls, smiling at them lightly as he tucked his dick back into his pants. Yvette showed no emotion, but quietly hustled the vixen away in the same direction R.G. had been dragged. “Candy, why don’t you show Cockzilla here the executive suite I keep upstairs?”

“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Marty,” she said. Cockzilla grinned. If the vixen slave was that good, how much better would a member of Marty’s personal staff be?