The Big Exclusive

**

While Donna found making friends on campus difficult, Warren had no problem whatsoever. He had the water polo team over to the apartment for poker nights. His teammates adored him. The players often came accompanied by their dates for the evening or their girlfriends. Most of whom were hostile to Donna. Donna understood the reason. Every member of the team owned the issue of "Naked Slave Monthly" featuring her centerfold. Many of them had asked Donna to autograph their copies. This did not go down well with the women in their lives. It was one thing for their men to lust after a movie starlet or porn star whom he would never meet. But to encounter such a celebrity in the flesh as the possession of a friend, and for her to be there every day on campus was a bit more than they could take.

Without fail, at their gatherings, one of the athletes would ungallantly suggest that Warren have his slave get undressed so that they all had something to jerk off to later. Warren always shot them down. This gesture rang hollow with Donna. Her master dressed her in micro miniskirts, spiked heels, and halter tops; making Donna look like a whore and causing the women to hate her even more. She caught his boorish teammates staring down at her boobs or slyly peering up her skirt. In a way, it was worse than actual nudity would have been.

**

Donna sized up her competition at the qualifier for the Slave Games swimming event. Somehow being naked with a bunch of other slaves was easier to handle than when she was alone. She tried to tune out her personal cheering section. Nearly every one of Warren's teammates had made a road trip to watch Donna participate. The collared woman understood full well that their presence was only partly for genuine encouragement purposes. Their main reason for attending was the chance to see her naked after being denied the privilege so many times by her owner. Donna tried to let the cheers of "Con-ie, Con-ie, Con-ie," wash over her so she could focus on competing.

Her focus occasionally drifted; she could not help but notice the naked male slaves as they ran their heats. Their hairless, muscular bodies were a treat for the eyes. Donna was quite sure that the Olympics television ratings would vastly improve if they returned to their ancient roots and had all the athletes participate naked. While some seemed in excellent form, it was clear that a fair portion of the entrants was there as a lark on the part of their owners. Either they didn't care how their property placed or entered them simply because one of their fellow slave-owning friends had. Warren had entered Donna in six events. Her fears about the competition were groundless, she placed no lower than third in any of the events, easily qualifying for the nationals in March.

Warren was tickled pink. On the way back to Harvard, he stopped at an elite jewelry store and allowed Donna to select anything she wanted, "to keep forever." Donna left with a titanium and gold bracelet studded with diamonds and topaz.

"If you win multiple golds in the Slave Games, Connie, I will treat you to a three-day weekend at the Stud Farm."

"You mean it Warren?"

"Yeah. You will have earned it. Three days being pampered, adored, fucked, and empowered. That should make for some juicy journal entries."

"You won't be jealous, Warren?"

"Of those guys? Give me a break! That means, of course, that your training intensifies starting tomorrow. I want to win those medals and you need a good reason to win those medals for me."

**

Christmas at the Wasserman mansion was a melancholy affair for Donna. On the one hand, she received some wonderful gifts, including dresses, jewelry, and a MacBook Air. On the other hand, the collar around her neck reinforced Donna's lack of freedom. There was a large crate from Renard, Warren's brother-in-law, addressed to her owner. When opened, it revealed a top-of-the-line Real Doll version of Donna, clad in a Victoria's Secret wet dream of black lace. Warren was utterly delighted, while Donna died just a little bit more inside. Naturally, Warren had the expensive sex toy carted up to his bedroom. Just as naturally, the black lace migrated from the doll to Donna. Less naturally, Donna had to sleep next to her doppelganger after Warren had made love to it as well as herself in rapid secession. Her dreams that night were especially awful.

Donna spent so much time with Warren and so many hours making love to him, that an affinity for him naturally developed. This affection, however, was not as deep as the one she held for him before Warren had shattered her trust by turning her into a porn star. Warren received regular proposals for Donna to appear in various full-length films. She lived in terror that he would accept one. For the present, Warren was content to leave things stand as they were, "I don't want to overexpose you, lest you become yesterday's flavor and stop selling. There are one or two things in the pipeline, however. When pressed as to what those were, Warren was his usual cagey self.

True to his word, Warren doubled downed on her training. Donna had to concede that she was in the best shape of her life. Donna liked the way she looked, "If only I was a free woman displaying this physique in a dress of my own for a night on the town," she said wistfully to her reflection. The rest of her time stood in front of her as a daunting, freedom-less landscape. It was the small things she missed the most, such as darting out to McDonald's for a Big Mac when she was hungry or selecting her hairstyle and her own knickers.

School progressed. Donna realized that she had learned a lot, not just in her classes, but about the human condition. She was even resigned to the nude modelling. The instructor claimed that Donna had a knack for it. She like to stride about the studio between posing sessions in her robe and assess the works in progress. Some of the artists were quite talented. One young artist took a shine to Donna, and she was enthusiastic about his work. The student, Arvin Halleck, an upper classman, wanted to paint Donna in oils. Donna had always wanted her portrait painted. Together, they asked Warren for permission to do so. Warren agreed, provided that the painting was not a nude, Arvin allowed him to purchase the painting, and he was permitted to select the pose. Donna loved the result. Warren had her pose in a strapless black gown, with her hair piled up on her head. Arvin likened the finish product to John Singer Sargent's "Madame X." "Only she wasn't wearing a collar," he added.

"I wish you would paint that damn thing out!" Stated Donna.

"That would rob the painting of all its bathos, Donna," returned Arvin firmly. The artist was more than pleased by the purchase price. Donna was left in the dark as to the sum paid. Warren allowed the painting to be photographed so that Arvin could add it to his portfolio. He also provided a rave review to place next to the portfolio photograph.

Spring break arrived and Warren bought them both tickets to Trinidad. Naively, Donna thought it would be a simple vacation until Emily Perkins, the camera whiz from "Naked Slave Monthly" met them at the airport.

"Mr. Wasserman, Connie. I hope you had a good flight. Tomorrow we will be shooting Connie's encore appearance and the summer swimsuit video. I need you at the shooting location at eight sharp tomorrow. We will be going all day, ending at the golden hour of sunset. In the meantime, the hotel is lovely. Make sure Connie gets plenty of rest."

"Will do, Ms. Perkins."

"There go my hopes for an ordinary, regular tropical vacation. I knew it was too good to be true."

"We'll be here for almost two weeks, Connie, your posing will take no more than two days. After that, we will be exploring the islands like regular tourists. That is, when you are not swimming, the nationals for the Slave Games await us when we return to the states."

The hotel was indeed lovely, with a breathtaking ocean view above white, spotless sand.

Warren and Donna had drinks and played strip poker until it was time to turn in. Since Donna won at cards, she got to decide their first sexual position. She chose to mount Warren and ride him like a bull until he climaxed. Being a cowgirl always made Donna feel powerful. This time she recalled a line from an old song with new poignancy, "Sometimes I think life is just a rodeo. The trick is to ride. Make it to the bell."

Since the events of the following day were not a surprise, Donna had a much easier job handling them. All the forms to be signed were initialed by Warren. Emily had little need to wield Donna's controller, aside from brightening the occasional smile or making her eyes sparkle. The swimsuit video bracketed the day. Donna sported dozens of swimsuits, mostly barely-there bikinis, several spray tans, and lots and lots of sunscreen. There were scenes of Donna changing and an interview conducted from offscreen by the publisher of "Naked Slave Monthly."

The questions were not especially probing, but Donna answered them all to the best of her ability and as truthfully as possible, even finding a bit of humor. When asked, "Where do you see yourself in five years, Connie?"

Donna answered with, "I hope to enter broadcast journalism, publish my memoirs, and settle down with a hot stud and start a family."

"You'll have no problems finding suitors, Connie."

"I'd prefer one who hasn't read your magazine!"

"Where are you going to find one of those, Connie?"

"I don't know, perhaps I'll seduce a priest!"

Both laughed and the interview ended.

Donna had to conclude that the photos were superlative. The fact that she worked with Emily this time meant that she was more photogenic. The long day at the beach turned into real fun. Since the readers demanded more of just Connie, she didn't have to pose this time with male models or suck cocks. The readers, at least in Connie's case, wanted their imagination to provide the intercourse. All involved expected the upcoming issue and video to be big sellers.

The publisher of the magazine wanted Warren to commit to a third photoshoot, but Warren turned him down. "Too much of Connie, spoils Connie."

"No man could ever tire of Connie!" insisted the publisher.

"Replace the name Connie with any divorced mega-babe from Hollywood, and you will see how untrue that statement is." returned Warren with finality.

The rest of the vacation really was wonderful for both Donna and Warren. They did all the touristy things exploring Trinidad and nearby islands, trying their hands at windsurfing, wave riding, and building sandcastles together. Warren called it their "honeymoon" even though the two of them had had more sex over the last few months than most married couples did after a decade of intimacy.

There were quaint shops, wonderful dinners, quiet beaches, and lots of lots of rigorous swimming on Donna's part. Warren often trained with her. He smoked her in the pool but racing him was a real challenge and, upon occasion, she nearly beat him. This elated Donna and pissed Warren off although he did a good job at hiding his anger. One of the surprises for Donna was being recognized in public. Her cable network wasn't very large, neither had it developed much a presence on the cable frontier. Being approached in stores and restaurants was a new experience. Warren began carrying postcard-sized nudes of Donna for her to sign on these occasions. Donna wondered what exactly folks did with those things. Did they have them laminated and beat off over them or did they simply go into scrapbooks and collect dust? Which option was better?

"Sports Illustrated" turned out for the nationals. Donna was both delighted and chagrined to realize that she knew the correspondent covering the event for the magazine. Ralph Bingham had gone to college with her and had taken some of the same courses. They even went on a double date together as partners of other people.

"Donna?"

"Ralph?"

"Long time no see, now I see all of you!"

"Still the charmer, aren't you Ralph."

"I always thought so."

"I was being sarcastic!"

"I know!" There was a brief pause before Ralph plunged forward. "So, Donna, Constance, sorry Warren's slave Constance, you are the oddsmaker's favorite to clean up today. Can you tell me what your training regime has been like?"

"Well, Ralph, when you are a slave, the term slave driver ceases to be metaphorical."

The rest of the interview provided Ralph with excellent copy. As he finished, he said, "Off the record. Is there any message you'd like me to send to B.C.N. on your behalf?"

Donna dashed off a quick note, folded it, and said. "When you hand this over, make sure to tell the boss to keep my chair warm. I'll be back with a vengeance."

"Will do. Winning big today will make your case a lot more sympathetic, and our magazine's cover is far more socially acceptable than the ones you've been appearing on."

"Go fuck yourself, Ralph."

Her cover certainly was memorable, Donna wielding a carefully positioned bouquet of long-stemmed red roses with four gold, one silver, and one bronze medal hanging below her collar.

"I want a performance that repeats or excels today's results in June, Connie!"

"I'll do my best warren. Keep in mind that I'm only human."

"Yes, you are. MY human!"

Warren only gave her three days off from training. He hung Donna's medals with pride in his bedroom back at the estate and bought her platinum, emerald, and diamond-studded belt to wear around her narrow waist. Donna adored the belt but would have traded it in a heartbeat for her freedom. A few days later, Warren dressed her elegantly and escorted her out to his car. Donna noted that something seemed to be bothering Warren. A few kilometers into the drive he said in a sober voice, "I apologize in advance for this Connie but through magazine channels, I received an offer I simply could not turn down. When a man of my means states that an offer is outrageous, he is not resorting to hyperbole. We will be meeting a gentleman at our destination. He will be "borrowing" you for the weekend."

"Warren!"

"The number of zeroes on his check simply could not be ignored."

"You could at least have not sprung this on me at the last minute!"

"You would have been just as upset had I given you a year's advance."

Donna sighed. "Can you at least tell me what he is like?"

"Well, he's not your type."

"Fuck! What's he want?"

"You for an entire seventy-two hours. I understand his suite will be full of equipment and various fashions. He's expecting you to enact certain fantasy scenarios."

"Jesus Christ! Warren!"

"Don't speak to me in that tone of voice. The decision is made. I've given you away before."

"You know Reggie is different. He's a friend and we talked about it first."

The difference is nominal. You'll be dining with him. Later, I will be in the suite next door. You are perfectly safe. He cannot, by written agreement, permanently mark or injure you."

"That sounds like your agreement does not include an absence of pain."

"That is why I am apologizing in advance. I do not foresee this happening to you again."

"So, it might?"

"I doubt anyone will offer this amount of money again."

"What if they do?"

"I'm a capitalist, Connie! Now, pull yourself together. I want you all smiles at dinner tonight."

"Fuck you!" Connie savored every moment of pain her collar delivered for that insult. It was totally worth it!

The restaurant they ended up at was beyond swanky. Donna's heart dropped when she realized who was awaiting her. Of course, she recognized him. He had never been a handsome man, but the dissipation and high living he had wallowed in since making his fortune, which practically doubled every year, had made him paunchy, pasty, and pale. One would have thought that with his kind of money, he could afford a decent haircut. One would have been wrong, though. His reddish hair was thinning in a lopsided pattern. His grey-flecked, uneven beard gave the impression of a homeless man in a borrowed suit. His clothes were expertly tailored, and his shoes were imported from Europe. The expensively capped teeth in his over-large mouth smiled crookedly at Donna. He was the epitome of the phrase, "All the money in the world cannot buy class." He rose on his stubby legs and pulled out Donna's chair. He planted an uninvited kiss upon her right cheek as he pushed it in. "Oh, God!" said Donna silently as she girded her loins for what promised to be the most horrific weekend of her life.

Warren remained at the table long enough to hand over Donna's controller and plant a good luck kiss on her left cheek. As he walked away, Donna was sure all her hopes went with him. She forced her eyes from his retreating form to the craggy countenance across from her.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, doll; we are going to have lots of fun."

Donna placed her mind in neutral and made small talk. "I wonder how much this dolt spent for my time?" she thought followed by, "Since I have to be a whore, why couldn't my John have been Brad Pitt?"

"I am such a big fan, Constance. I just had to arrange this meeting. You are such a rare beauty."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Please, just call me Bill."

"OK, Bill. I hope meeting me hasn't been a disappointment."

"No, not at all. You are far more radiant in person."

Donna might have been flattered by the billionaire's attention if it wasn't obvious that he was undressing her with his eyes the whole time. Clearly, this meal was just the preliminaries to getting her horizontal. That was, of course, no surprise, the billionaire's bluntness was. After all, he was a man famed in the press for his unemotional demeanor. His negotiating tactic with every company he had purchased was one of calm steadiness, now he was leering like a choir boy on the way to his first peep show! "May as well help myself to the priciest items on the menu and fortify myself with lots of liquid courage," went the dialogue in her head. The waiter materialized and Donna asked for the rarest wine on the drink menu.

She forced herself to banter with him while she sought anything appealing about her tablemate. His jokes were corny, his questions intimate and blunt. He even had the affrontery to ask Donna how much she weighed!

The waiter returned, and Donna allowed her tastebuds to be driven solely by expense. Bill selected what amounted to no-frills fare from the menu. After Donna mentioned Bill's recent appearance on the cover of "Time" magazine, the conversation drifted to the topic of the news media.

"Oh. don't get me started, Constance! While they serve their purpose, virtually every reporter is a barely functioning moron. You just know when you look at the photogenic face of one of those female newsreaders that she slept her way to the front of the teleprompter. The guys are no better, every last one is a fag who owes their positions to their cock sucking skills. I'll bet at ANY news service you can name, whether they be print, broadcast, or radio, there is an editor or a department head who has first-hand experience with the fellatio skills of every "talent." When I try to imagine what one of those hot cable news babes is willing to do to get her mug into every American living room, I get SO hard! Perhaps my next purchase will be a struggling newspaper or TV station just to find out how desperate those dim-wattage whores are to keep their jobs."

It was all Donna could do to prevent herself from gathering up a fork and planting it firmly in the middle of Bill's forehead. Instead, she replied with a coquettish, "Oh, I'm sure it's nothing like that."

"How would a woman like you know? I mean, you are more than pretty enough to sit there and read the news, but your real skills are in the bedroom. Even if you were free, no one would hire you to appear on the air. It would be like hiring Esther Prynne to be your church organist."