Michael Broderick's attorney had showed him a copy of the suggested ruling that his wife's attorney had provided to the judge hearing their divorce case. "Good God, they can't be serious. I know that this is California, what with the community property rules, but I earned most of my money before I married that witch," He had moaned out when he saw the request for forty-four million dollars.
Louis Nizer cast a sympatric glance at his client. He knew that look of total despair only too well. "Michael, I am afraid that there is more. She wants your Rolls Royce, as well as your home in Malibu. If her Honor stays true to form, Greta will get it. I'm sorry. The one bright spot is they are not asking for your place on Catalina Island, or your condo in New York."
"I paid six million for the Malibu estate."
Just then, Greta Broderick made a grand entrance into the court room, trailed by her attorney, the sneering Brenda Woodbury. Greta was bedecked in an original Pasdivi creation. It was subdued, by Greta's standards, but still cost a cool three thousand. She never walked out the door without twenty thousand dollars worth of diamonds on.
"All rise." Her Honor entered. Michael knew that he was dead meat, when her Honor maintained her stone face when looking in his direction, but gave Greta an old friend's smile.
Her Honor gave the clerk copies of the divorce decree. It was nothing more, or less, then Brenda Woodbury's suggestions, with the exception that Michael was ordered to pay Woodbury's fee of five million dollars.
Michael is forty-two years old. He had divorced his first wife, Sheryl, when her nude photos were splashed all over the "Enquirer." It was known that she screwed every man she co-stared with, but getting caught, both nude, was too much for his public image. He was getting tired of her anyway.
Greta was an up and coming starlet. Sure, he knew that she was a gold digger. But, what the hell? She had a body that men could not keep their eyes off. That face, with her smoldering beauty was unequaled. Damn. She was the ultimate trophy. He had thought that it would take her five years to become a star in her own right. He always thought that he would lose her someday. In the meantime, having that on his arm bolstered his super star image. In the bedroom, he put his cock into her three, four, sometimes five nights a week. He would give her that, she was a good fuck.
Then that Chad Ward came alone. They had been at Clooney's home. Mike had become tanked, as was Greta. Chad was dancing with her. She could hardly stand up. Soon, Greta and Chad were missing. When he finally found her in the upstairs bedroom, she was alone. She was out, laying on her back. Her dress was up to her waist. On the floor were her pantyhose, panties, shoes. From her pussy, there was a stream of cum running down her ass.
Mike was pissed. He suspected that it was Chad, but he had lost track of time. He went looking for the fucker. I'll ask him right out, he thought to himself. Well, Clooney's is a big place. Twenty rooms. By the time that he was back in the basement, his anger had subsided. He refreshed his drink.
There were fifty guests. He spied Chad Ward with his arm around Charlie Sheen. They both were laughing. Jim Carey was just walking away. Michael whispered in Chad's ear, "Did you get some pussy upstairs?"
Charlie and Chad both burst out laughing. Michael contained his anger. He went so far as to smile.
Chad, "I don't know what Greta had to eat. All the time that I was fucking her, she was letting out one fart after another. Does she do that all the time?"
Michael had to admit, That was funny. He was enjoying their company, when it suddenly dawned on him that Jim Carey had hurried off in the direction of the stairs. He hurried to the third floor. Carey passed him, coming down the stairs, zipping up his zipper. He peeked into the room. A man was between Greta's legs. His thrusts were fast. Greta's feet were on the back of his legs, as her ass was meeting his every thrust.
Michael walked into the room. He did not recognize the man. Greta's eyes were closed. With each thrust, her body was pushed forward. Her breast would slide up and back. The impact of his body hitting her ass caused a ripple.
Just then the man groaned. With several hard thrusts he pumped his cum into her. As he rolled off, He said to Michael, "She's all yours."
With irony in his voice, Michael answered, "Yes, I know."
Michael used a wash cloth to wash the cum off her pussy, and her ass. Still drunk, she leaned on her elbows looking at him, as he washed her. "I needed that," she said referring to the three men who had fucked her." Defiantly, she added, "I am going to have some more of that Chad Ward. He has a nice thick cock."
True to her word, Greta begin to sneak around to meet with Chad. Michael begin to hear that they were being seen together. The divorce followed.
It did not take a genius to understand that now Chad Ward would be able to fuck her every night that he wanted, in Michael's own bed.
That night, watching the sun set from the porch of his home on Catalina Island, Michael got very drunk. Stinking, puck up your guts in the toilet, drunk. He woke up at three AM. A milk glass of straight vodka. He was out again.
His hatred of that Bitch seethed. Many of his friends knew well enough to not even mention her name. Ever the tabloids got wind of his resentment of her. Greta's picture was in "People Magazine." She was promoting her newest movie, "The Song is You." Next thing he knew, she was on the "Tonight Show."
A few weeks later, the phone rang one evening at nine o'clock. It was on his unlisted private line.
A man with a distinctly English accent intoned, "Is this Michael Broderick?"
"Yes it is."
"Mr. Broderick, There has been a discussion of you between myself and your attorney, Mr. Nizer. I and my associates offer a service, unlike any other in the world for men who have received deceitful treatment from their wives, as well as unfair treatment by the courts. Would you be interested in learning more about our services?"
In a low, even voice, Michael answered, "Where are you, my English friend? I will visit with you, as soon as I can get there."
"Mr. Nizer thought that would be the case. I am in the Bahamas. You should fly into Nassau. I will have you flown by seaplane out to our island. We will be starting a "Game" tomorrow at noon. You will be able to observe just what we have in mind for Greta."
"I will be airborne in my private jet within the hour."
At quarter after ten AM, The seaplane touched down near a sixty foot cruiser anchored a half mile off an island. Once aboard a crew man escorted him to the captains quarters. As he entered, a tall, distinguished, lean, weather-beaten, man stood. Offering his hand, he said, "I am Geoffrey Mann. Mr. Broderick, I presume?"
Michael, "I am here on the strength of your mention of Mr. Nizer."
"Indeed. I am a man of few words. This is an aerial photo of the island off our port bow. It is twenty-five acres. You will note that it is covered by high grass, a few trees, and has a raised cabin in it's center. Scattered around the island are ten comfort stations for those playing the Game. At each is food, and water.
The raised cabin is sixty feet in the air. From it, one can see all over the island. It is equipped with high power telephoto equipment, lounge chairs for those of us watching the Game, as well as radio receivers which catch every word the players utter."
"Just what is this Game all about, Mr. Mann?"
A huge grin crossed Mann's face. "You will like this, Michael. May I call you Michael?"
"Well, Women, such as your Greta, are control freaks. They are spoiled, pampered, egoistical, self centered, women, who have come to believe that their completely man-made world, one controlled by their great wealth, is the only world there is.
What we do, if you are interested in our service, is to kidnap the woman. She is sedated, then brought here. She has no idea where she is, not even which ocean. Once here, she is subjected to the Game."
"What does this cost? What do you do to the woman?"
"Five hundred thousand dollars. I am sure that you will think that it is money well spent. I will continue.
In this very room, I will sit with her. We will enjoy a fine meal. It is so very gentile. I explain that I am sorry to disrupt her life style. Then, I explain that she is going to play a Game. She will be striped of all her clothes, and will be provided with tennis shoes for running.
Her name will have been posted. Several men will have bid for the right to pursue her. Only one man may chase her at one time. If he catches her, he may do anything he wants to her. He can have his way with her as long as he wants to. When he is finished with her, another man will be allowed to pursue her. That will go on until we run out of men, or you wish something else to happen to her.
For your part, Michael, you have the choice of letting the bidders have her, or you can request that one of our "Special men" go after her, first.
You, I, as many as fifteen others, will witness the chase. We place bets on how long it will take to catch the woman. We also bet on how she will conduct herself, when she finds that she can not run any further. Some women will offer to pay the man to leave her alone. Some will call the man all sorts of obscene names. Some pick a nice place to lay down, lay on their back, close their eyes, and open their legs. Most are dragged down. It is a long way from Hollywood and Vine. Say what?
Of course, if you request a "Special man," your Greta may run until she can run no further, completely exhausted, fearful of the fuck that she will receive. That is very exciting to watch. Especially, if she has been a brazen, greedy slut, who has taken you for millions."
"What are these Special men?"
"Let me show you pictures."
Geoffrey placed seven pictures on the table. Michael sucked in his breath. "Great balls of shit. Look at those cocks. Where do you find men such as these?"
"We fly them in just to service a woman. Each of these men works out so that he has unmatched endurance. This big fellow here, is the chaser of the woman today. You will note that the men do not run. In fact, they do not even hurry. At first the woman being pursued will be pleased that she easily leaves her pursuer behind. He will loose sight of her. The woman will trot away. Her breasts bouncing as she opens the distance between them. Within two to three hours, he will have her in sight. She will see that man with the monstrous cock getting closer, ever closer. She will run like a yearling deer. Finally, she can only walk. He keeps getting closer. We will hear her breaths coming in gasps. She has nothing left. She is defeated. Finally, he will get his hands on her. He will then take her.
She is no longer the star. Her money is of no worth. Her beauty will not have an effect. No, she is a woman with a cunt. The man is her master. He will use her cunt, like a buck deer servicing the skittish doe. Again, again, and again."
It was like old home week when Michael entered the cabin. "What are you doing here, Tom?" Michael said to Tom Cruise.
Answering his own question, he said with a laugh, "Nicole, Today? With that big stud?"
"You got it."
Geoffrey got their attention. "There she is. They have releasing her." Nicole was walking near the shore. Some distance from her, a large naked man appeared on the beach. Nicole stopped. She allowed him to walk toward her.
They could hear her yelling at him, "Do you know who I am? I will report you. You are in big trouble."
He just kept walking towards her. His right hand begin to run up and down his cock. Nicole stopped in mid sentence. "Not in me…"
She turned and sprinted into the high grass. "Fast little shit, isn't she," Tom said.
"How deep is she, Tom?" Geoffrey asked.
"I'm six inches, I hit her cervix."
"My Special Man will give her quite a ride with his eleven inches."
Bruce Willis got up. "I putting a thousand on his getting it all in her."
"Your on," Michael responded. Hey Bruce, Is Demi in the offing?"
Mike, I'm here like you are. We will see how this goes. But, you know Demi touched me for over one hundred million. Nicole is trying to take Tom for over one-fifty."
Meanwhile, The "Special Man" had Nicole in sight again.
"Are her tits real, or store bought, Tom? She has a nice set for a thin gal."
Fifteen minutes later, the Special Man had narrowed the gap down to fifty yards. From then on, he kept inching closer, as they walked through the high grass. Geoffrey intoned to the telephoto operator. "Bring her up very close. Put it on the TV."
They could see the sweat breaking on her brow, Her tongue was out. she was panting. He grabbed her hair. She was stopped. He held her wrist. He admired her beauty. His right hand was stroking his cock. Nicole's eyes were locked on to his cock.
He walked her to a small clearing, so that they had a full view of them as he lowered her to the ground. She did not scream at him. She did not try to buy him off. She knew the Game was intended for her to be fucked. She was the prize. There was little resistance, as he opened her legs.
Half heartily, she pushed at his head as his mouth went to work on her pussy. Not to say that she was enjoying it, but it served the purpose of wetting her. He slid forward.
The pampered, spoiled, too good to be with mere peons, golden ass of Nicole Kidman was now receiving a thick, hard, long cock. With little pushes, it was forced in, inch by inch. It bottomed at seven inches. Her legs were slowly lifted. When he was ready, all eleven inches was buried into her muff.
"Go, Man," Tom said.
"Here is the thousand," Michael said to Bruce.
"Gentleman, watch a truly masterful fucker turn a haughty woman into a panting slut." They were fascinated as the huge ass ripped and slashed in a blur of motion. The massive cock driving relentlessly in and out of her golden pussy. The force of his fucking was pushing Nicole across the clearing, inch by inch.
Michael sat holding his chin. "Geoffrey, I like what I'm seeing, but eleven inches will not frighten Greta. She is long and narrow. Do you have a really thick guy?"
Geoffrey slid a picture across the table. "How about our Russian friend here?" The picture showed a blond man of average height. His cock was displayed on a table with a ruler and a large beer can beside it. It was thicker then the beer can, and ten inches long. "I call him, The Stretcher."
After Nicole had been hard fucked three times. The Special man turned toward the cabin. He could be heard saying, "Next."
"The next chap is a fellow from London. He has paid ten thousand dollars to chase and fuck her. He intends to fuck her in the ass. How will she respond to that Tom?"
"She is a virgin. Good! This, I'm going to like."
Thirty minutes later, Nicole was taken again. She raised a fuss, but she was taken in the ass. There would be no sleep for Nicole. By sunrise, four more men had pursued her. When she saw the last two coming, she just lay down, with her legs opened, hoping that they would leave her sore ass alone.
Michael gave Geoffrey the go ahead to bring Greta to the island. He could hardly sleep as he imagined The Stretcher thrusting into her. Geoffrey told him that she was aboard the cruiser. As instructed, he turned on the TV in his room.
To his surprise, no only was Greta sitting with Geoffrey, but her bitch attorney, Brenda Woodbury was sitting, sulking, with them.
Several times when Geoffrey tried to speak, Brenda would interrupt. Finally in exasperation, he turned to two of the crew members. With a smile, he instructed; "Strip this one. Take her to the other island. Cuff her to a bed. Tell the men of the village that they may use her all they want."
Quietly he said, so that a watching Michael would know what was going on, "When we went for Greta, we found Miss Woodbury in bed with her, so we brought her along."
Michael rang a buzzer. Geoffrey picked up the phone. "What?"
"Blindfold the Bitch. I will pay you another twenty thousand to sit at the end of a bed as Special Man, and the Stretcher take her. I may even fuck her in the ass myself."
"She is on her way for your use." Geoffrey said with a smile, as he returned to telling a completely shaken Greta, that she was to play a "Game" in which she was the prize. He winked at the camera. He showed Greta a picture of the Stretcher. Her mouth fell open as she grasped what was in store for her. "You won't really do this? I am Greta Broderick, not some whore. This must all be a mistake. Her eyes met Geoffrey's eyes. He had a bemused smile on his lips.
Greta tried to struggle, but the two crew men had no problem taking off her clothes. She now sat in the chair, naked. Her proud breasts, those wonderful tits that she allowed to rise above her dresses, were on display for all to see. The tits that thousands of men would give a weeks pay just to see, were about to become world famous, as would the puffy lips of her cunt. For, you see, Geoffrey Mann had agreed with Michael to display her conquest, in its entirety, on the net for all to see. Millions of men would hear, real time, her musings, protests, and groans as her cunt was extended.
The stretcher liked to take them "Doggy Style." And yes, they gladly submitted to him when he explained to them, that if they did not stay in position, that he would take them in the ass, instead.
"I have a lot of money. I. I will fuck you. There must be something that you want?" The sarcastic, demanding Greta, was replaced by a woman trying to sweet talk her way out of this, this problem that could not be happening to Greta Broderick.
Geoffrey clicked on his TV. There in living color, was a blindfolded, Brenda Woodbury, cuffed to a bed, her legs pulled up and tied above her head. On her, Special Man was pumping all eleven inches of his cock in and out of her swollen red pussy.
Calmly he told his crew men. "Take Greta to the island. Turn her loose."
Greta had a personal trainer. She ran several miles each week. There was no "Jog Bra" containing her size C tits. World Wide Webbers trying to click on any number of sites were diverted to a full screen image of Greta. The camera, would from time to time, cut away to show the Stretcher closing in on her. By the time that he tackled her. There were over ten million viewers glued to their computer screens. Men would call their wives to watch. Girls would call their boy friends. All were soon treated to Greta Broderick, on her hands and knees being taken. Part of the screen showed her face, straining with intense effort, as inch by inch the Stretcher buried is cock into her belly. With each push, her tits would sway. Finally it was in. Faster then you could count, his ass thrust and withdrew his meat from her. She hunched up her body. Her mouth opened. A look of fear, then lust, came over her.
"Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhaaaaaaa," she screamed as her cunt tightened up in an long frightful orgasm.
Back in Hollywood, Chad Ward's little seven inch cock erupted and blew his slimy milky cum all over his computer keyboard.
Millions of computer printers were used to print out the picture of the Stretchers cock partly in Greta's mouth as she licked it off.
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