Hey. This is an erotic story about Kelly Osbourne. It is fiction. It is
fairly nasty, and those of a sensitive disposition should stop reading.
I make no apologies for the lack of a decent plot; it is intended to be
sex-dominated. Age restrictions are tyranny, as is copyright: this story
is in the public domain.
“Someone told me once that there’s a right and wrong
Punishment was sure for those who dared to cross the line…”
— Tool, _Jerkoff_
The leader swore as his white van pulled up into the ostentatious driveway.
He was running a risk by being
here. He’d tried to bribe the security
first with a sizable wad of cash, then with promises of a piece of fine
teenage ass, but they were having none of it. _Clever them_, he thought,
for none of these things would ever have reached them. _Or not so clever_,
he corrected as he caught a glimpse of their stunned bodies in the driveway.
A man can be big, but a tazer will beat any muscle.
He cradled the keycard in his pocket, lazily driving the van with one hand.
Soon she would be his. He pulled up outside and quickly carded the door,
taking care to avoid the security camera’s gaze. Silently, he was in.
He bounded up the staircase, marvelling inwardly at the skulls adorning
the walls, but holding his silence with the precision of a cat burglar.
As he reached the door (there was no doubt: it was plastered with a large
middle-finger motif), his adrenaline sparked.
He stepped gingerly into the room, its cow-patterned lurid carpet, its
garish colour scheme, and knew this was right. The posters told the tale:
clean-cut rockstars from the latest anonymous bands on MTV, but these were
signed lovingly, addressed to “Kelly”. And there she was, the little bitch:
lying splayed on her bed, not below the sheets, as if she’d just passed out.
And that was the truth.
How brilliant his plan was. When he wasn’t assembling an entourage of
cultlike fervour (to them, he was just “master” or “leader”), he found time
to serve drinks in the Korova, the hippest rock bar in town. He served
celebrities daily, and usually wasn’t that interested in them: so perfect
and dull. But then, one day, walked in a girl – she can only have been
sixteen, early seventeen – who strutted around like she owned the place.
Visually repulsive (at least for one used to the sight of celebrities) –
overdone make-up and a pot belly, cellulite that was exposed through the
striped and torn pantyhose she wore below a short black skirt – and with
a shock of pink hair and a foul mouth, she looked more like a hooker from
outside a goth club than a patron of the Korova.
“Get me a fuckin’ drink, bartender.”
“With respect, madam, may I see some ID?”
“You don’t need to see my identification,” she said, and, with a flourish,
subtly lifted her enormous breasts (augmented with fat) from her top and
rubbed them together with audacity before squeezing them back into her tight
Briefly persuaded, the man had served her her choice – double vodka and
lemonade, although she was clearly too young to be drinking. He wondered
how she got in, how she got through the bouncers.
“Excuse me, may I ask your name?” he enquired, straining to be polite to
this underage strumpet.
“Duh.” She accompanied this with a sardonic hand gesture and a silly face.
“I’m Kelly Osbourne. Ya know, daughter of the biggest man in metal and
rising musical starlet?”
Now he thought, he could recall hearing a song on the radio. _Shut Up_,
it had been called. It fit perfectly with her personality: loud, obnoxious,
and strongly needing discipline. As he stared transparently at her
he hatched a plan.
“Let me get you the special,” he said. As he went into the back, he took
a pill from his wallet. It was Rohypnol (a “roofie”), easily obtained,
especially when you had contacts like him. He had planned to use it to aid
his getting drunk at the end of the night, but now he found a much better
for it. He mixed a vodka and lemonade, slipped the pill into the drink and
watched it dissolve. He then grabbed a bottle of claret to mask the taste
and make it more “special”. He realized it would taste foul, but nevermind.
As he arrived back at the bar, the little harlot was making eyes at him,
having finished her drink quickly, without so much as a shudder. Before he
handed her his drink, he asked, “So, what are you doing tonight?”
“I’m going back to my house with my boyfriend. We’re gonna watch
maybe more.” She gave him a wink and giggled. “Sounds like a great night
in,” he said, now on autopilot. This was all he needed to know. She
know for a while, but as the night went on, the drug would make her drowsier
and drowsier. Her boyfriend would have to go early, because she wouldn’t
want to do _anything_. And _everyone_ knew where the Osbournes lived.
And so he found her, lying face down on her expensive pillows, her black
lipstick stained mouth dribbling a small pool of saliva. It was a beautiful
sight. Everything was going to work out great…except for her. He picked
her up, and she didn’t stir, but God, she weighed a ton. He thought of
as a strong guy, but this was stretching it; and she was _big_. She
fit across his shoulder, so he had to painfully haul her down the stairs,
cradling her pink hair in one hand while supporting her weight from her
with the other. His footsteps were much heavier, and it was very lucky that
the family were heavy sleepers, otherwise he might have been detected.
Desperate to be rid of the weight, the second he got to the van, he opened
the boot, and found his gang waiting for him. He dropped Kelly roughly on
the floor, and her hand moved and a groan escaped her mouth. She was
restrained by his followers. The leader smiled. It didn’t matter that she
was awake now. There was no escape, and the fun was just about to begin.
* * * *
“Caught by the fuzz, while I was, still on the buzz
In the back of the van, with my, my head in my hands…”
— Supergrass, _Caught By The Fuzz_
He pulled a piece of metal from the tattered blue sports bag. It was dark
steel, welded roughly in a square shape with the bottom left off, forming
an arch; facing inwards from the right and left walls were two squat spikes,
their length roughly the same as their two-centimetre diameter,
staring you in the face. There were concealed hinges in the joints between
the side and top pieces of metal. The purpose of the device was clear: to
puncture. A button on the top poked obscenely; the man pressed it
and the gang watched in unsurprised glee as the spikes clanged together,
contacting perfectly with a jarring steel clash.
One gang member pinched the flesh of Kelly’s ass between his finger, and
it upwards, stretching it far away from the bone. Another member positioned
the stapler device in the exact middle of the exposed plane, bringing both
sides of cold metal down around the arch. Kelly screamed, desperately
to get a look at the stubby spikes facing inwards towards her butt-flesh.
“Don’t worry, it’ll only hurt for a second”, the gang leader said, while
the order to fire. The spikes closed, instantly puncturing Kelly’s flesh
and letting blood trickle down from the wound, clogging around her asshole.
Kelly screamed blue murder; the pain seared like the end of the world.
A gang member slapped her around the face, causing it to blotch, but this
only provoked more screams.
“Let’s do this thing before we have to kill this bitch”, said a more violent
member. The leader tacitly agreed. He gave the command to pierce Kelly’s
other ass cheek; the one that had just been pierced was beginning to finish
bleeding, and the hole left was neat and clean, about one centimetre radius.
Kelly, of course, could not care less how big her new opening was; she was
too busy screaming. The gang decided to take advantage of this situation.
They quickly positioned the stapler; it was more difficult because
Kelly’s back was bucking so violently, but a member quickly held her down.
She hardly noticed when the arch punched another hole in her ass-flab,
exactly horizontally symmetrical thanks to the high standards of the leader;
the blood trickling down her legs seemed to soothe her psychological torment
rather than intensify it.
The gang left her tied up naked on the floor, bleeding from her buttocks
the cold sheet-iron crinkled floor. As the van drove off along the darkened
road, lit by cats-eyes and the odd streetlight, she squirmed and writhed,
confused, wondering why anyone would want to do this to her. She’d never
thought herself particularly attractive: certainly, she could do with losing
some weight. Her music career was nothing but a piece of harmless fluff,
something that no-one but a true elitist could find fault with, and a music
fan would never go to these lengths. Money? She held barely any
the security around her would cop anyone who tried to access her funds
or those of her parents in a second. There’s only one explanation left,
she thought as she felt the blood cool unnaturally in her bare asshole.
A ransom. I’m nothing more than a cartoon character tied to a traintrack,
only this time I’m just tied to a van wall with holes in myself.
The gang leader giggled in his head, knowing that Kelly was nothing of
the sort, also knowing that she would soon be tied to something she would
find much more objectionable than the tracks ridden by the biggest train.
He chuckled at the brilliance of his heist, and his penis strained against
its enclosures when he thought of Kelly Osbourne’s pale ass staring at the
moon, two gashes in it contrasting perfectly to the darkness of the night.
Better yet, this had only just started. They had many days of play ahead
of them; who knows how long they could keep her before they threw the fat
fucktoy away, her body used, her mind broken? The voices of his members
barely penetrated his fantasies: “Bitch wasn’t punk enough to get her nose
pierced, how does it feel to have her ass pierced?”…”She doesn’t need a
ring for it, there’s one in full view”…Lame jokes, shame he had to use
these creeps to fulfil his objectives.
* * * *
“I got the mugwump jism up in every verse”
— Bomb The Bass, _Bug Powder Dust_
The van pulled up, anonymous and white, at some equally anonymous
Anonymous not to the gang members, but to Kelly, who had been diligently
up so that even though moonlight reflected off her bare bottom perfectly,
the view looking back through her legs was just the night sky and her
pursed pussy lips. She had no hope of ever seeing behind her over her
back: she was tied too well, and doing so just rippled the fat on her neck.
The gang will have to get me into wherever I’m going somehow, she thought.
I’ll just look around, then call the cops and give them a detailed
Hell, I’m Kelly Osbourne, they’ll get people to come get me in an instant.
In a few weeks I will have forgotten this even happened. Come dig me out,
she thought wryly, despite the painful crick in her neck.
When a burly gang member burst into the back, the metal doors painting
his silhouette holding aloft a blindfold, she thought, Damn. Mustn’t let
myself get ego trips when all the blood in my body is pooling in my brain.
They probably posed me like this just to get me off my guard, she thought,
with a whisker of paranoia. She didn’t resist, however; by now, psychosis
made her dilemma seem mildly amusing. She was led out of the back of the
blindfolded and guided by two men lest she break one’s grip and run away.
Her bare feet walked over painful stones and onto cold stone, and she felt
outlines of a door brush her tied hands. When her blindfold was taken off,
she was in the whitest room she ever saw. Even in her music videos, where
she did all her filming in a white room, there were always crew around her.
But here, she couldn’t even tell how big it was. Her only point of
were metal hooks on all four sides of her: she guessed there were walls
but she couldn’t be sure.
“Oh, it might look empty, but before long it’ll seem like a veritable
playground”, the gang leader said playfully, with the charm of a pantomime
villain. Suddenly, Kelly remembered she was naked, bound, and had gaping
in her buttocks. Probably induced by this motherfucker. She felt a sudden
rush of hatred, and lunged to hit him. Unfortunately, her bonds kicked in,
her arms flailed uselessly in front of her, and she fell flat on her face,
her cheekbones taking the brunt of the impact, making her cry out like a
“Ooooh, did ickle Kelly have a fall?” The gang leader bent down, levelled
face with Kelly’s, and angled his face to the right, as if talking to a
Kelly’s hate had not faded. As soon as his nose touched hers, she spat in
his face. A big blob of her sputum splattered across his cheek. Expecting
be hit, Kelly instinctively recoiled. Nothing happened. Instead, the gang
leader stood with an amused expression as Kelly’s saliva rolled into his
He licked his lips, and said, “Untrained dogs always slobber at first”.
“I think she needs to be taught what it’s like to be…attacked”, one
member said. The leader nodded. The man ran forwards, unzipping his
and pulling his penis from his underpants. It was erect already, presumably
from the previous piercing. He walked right into Kelly’s face, banging
his balls into her chin and forcing her neck back. He then pulled back,
grabbed his cock and slapped Kelly around the face with it. She shouted,
“WHAT THE FUCK?” The man did it again, harder. She swore again in pain.
Angered now, the man repeatedly slapped her with his penis, the head
her nose aside each time, occasionally stabbing into her eye. Kelly’s eyes
began to water. The man stopped his display. Kelly was crying, tears
staining her cheeks. She was backed into the corner of the white room,
its newly painted wall cold and clinical; there was no escape.
Without warning, the man forced open her mouth with his hand and inserted
his cock. He grabbed her short, dyed pink hair and rocked her back and
her shocked mouth massaging his prick. As he moved faster and faster, he
grasped her scalp, causing her eyes to widen in surprise, a yelp suppressed
by the cock fucking her face. The man’s cock started to hit the back of
her throat. He felt this and forced her face towards him, pushing his cock
down her throat and obstructing her breathing.
Kelly was thinking. She was thinking, This is how I’m going to die.
to death on a penis. Well, it’s better than Elvis. She felt herself grow
fainter as the man probed deeper into her gullet. I’m going to be sick.
No I’m not. I haven’t had anything to eat. Suddenly, she felt the man’s
cockhead pulse. He’s giving me something to eat, she thought woozily.
She was shocked out of her stupor as a spurt of glutinous semen squirted
down her throat, directly into her stomach. She felt like her whole body
was occupied by this man, so cruelly raping her throat, now spewing his
unwanted DNA into her digestive system. She choked as the thick, sticky
fluid accidentally found her lungs.
The man felt his penis be ejected from its natural home. Distracted from
ejaculation, he forced his cock deeper back into Kelly’s throat, and
filling it with his sperm. As he saw her face turn blue, he pulled out,
his job done, smacked her a few times with his penis, watched her cough,
trying to eject his semen from her lungs, and backed away to watch the
Kelly was still having trouble breathing. She had gone without air for
too long. Suddenly, the man was gone, and she took a big gulp of air;
feeling the semen slosh in her mouth and throat disgusted her. She coughed
at the floor, like a new smoker. She coughed again. Suddenly, her throat
buckled, and she puked her semen snack onto the floor, gagging and retching.
She noticed an oddly-coloured drink in the foul ejection as well: although
did not know, this was the spiked alcohol that had subdued her and hastened
her kidnapping. She was a placid cum dumpster.
The gang leader strode over, pleased; the Osbourne girl had been shown who
was boss. “You see, Kelly, here, no one can hear you scream.” Cum dribbled
from the sides of Kelly’s bruised lips, causing her thick make-up (intended
ironically by her highly-paid cosmeticists, but now making her look like
another cheap whore) to run in a parody of showbiz. “Oh, Kelly, your face
is smudging,” the leader said. “Perhaps we’d better make you up some more.”
He lifted his jackbooted foot high in the air as Kelly cowered on the floor.
He bought it down on her neck, not with malice but firmly, eliciting a yelp
from his dog. Kelly’s face was forced into her own vomit, semen and slushy
food, coating and sticking to her face. “Oh God, save me, I’ll do
she thought. She was barely aware of the shouted order from the gang
gang members crowded around her and forcibly removed her pink crop-top and
black, short PVC skirt. She was aware of cold, and little more.
“So, little Kelly Osbourne, on her knees in a bra and panties, with a face
full of cum. How many times has this happened?” Kelly was released from
leader’s boot, and her face flushed as she fulfilled his prophecy by rising
to her knees. “All made up,” he wryly noted as strands of semen dripped
onto her nipples. “How about we get that out of the way?” The elaborately
dressed master unsheathed a butterfly knife from a belt attachment. Kelly
struggled to her feet. The master circled her, overtly ogling her puppy
fat, her large breasts and ass. He quickly and subtly sliced through her
bra straps, shocking Kelly, her nipples becoming unwillingly erect because
of the fear and the cold. Her bra fell off from around her, exposing her
breasts, her oversized nipples, one breast bigger than the other, she had
always felt self-conscious about that. How far away it all seemed now.
She trembled as the master continued to circle, cold cum dripping from her
chin and shocking her already distended nipples.
Kelly’s black panties – emblazoned with tiny “KO” logos – were beginning
to discolour as a darker circle appeared around the crotch. _Oh God,
I’m getting wet,_ thought Kelly. It was entirely involuntary. She prayed
to God the master wouldn’t notice. He did. Elaborately bending down, he
pressed his nose obscenely to her crotch and sniffed twice, theatrically.
“This won’t do. Little girls don’t have – juices – coming out of them,”
he said, in a sick parody of a British schoolmarm. His knife slashed past
Kelly’s chest, barely missing her nipples, and cut through the cotton of her
underwear with precision. The knife cut down half the material, down to her
urethra, and was whisked away as fast as it had been unleashed. The master
circled again. Kelly was beginning to worry now; a guy was standing behind
her near-naked body with a knife. Something about the ringmaster, however,
persuaded her she was not in immediate danger. This instinct proved
The knife scraped the small flesh-strip between Kelly’s pussy and ass,
finishing the panty-cutting up to the top. Kelly’s panties fell from her
hips, cut in two.
“Now the dog is ready to learn,” the master smirked.
* * * *
“Shiny shiny, shiny boots of leather
Whiplash girl-child in the dark…”
— The Velvet Underground & Nico, _Venus In Furs_
Kelly winced as her mouth tasted cloth. Musky scent filled her nose.
She recognized it as her own, even with her blindfold reattached. She knew
better than to fight now. She had been stood up for a very long time, and
yearned to sit down; but God knows what they’d do to her if she did. No:
best to stay here. _Inhale the smell of your own juices, stuck-up bitch,_
Kelly screamed at herself. She couldn’t help blaming herself. If only she
had appeased the scene kids, made herself out to be less of a “poseur”,
maybe this wouldn’t have happened. She took note that the holes in her
asscheeks had stopped hurting a while ago. She didn’t dare to feel them:
was almost afraid to feel another alienated part of her body for one thing;
and on a more practical level, surely the penalties for “feeling yourself”
uncommanded would be high.
Little did Kelly know she was about to get to know those holes in detail.
She felt rough hands force her to the floor. “All fours, bitch,” the master
said, and as if by magic men forced her hands to the floor as well. She had
no idea why. She heard distant clanking.
The master surveyed two of his men, carrying two metal chains. They
towards Kelly. The creeps had no idea what to do, so he knew he would have
to interject. He strode to Kelly. “Good girl. Now stick that fat ass in
the air for me.” Kelly complied, confused already. The clanking got
Kelly felt metal against her skin from two directions, and a slight pang
of pain. Then she realized what was happening. The fuckers were _threading
steel chains through the holes in her ass_. Why, God only knew. This was
such a gross violation that Kelly screamed.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, YOU ASSHOLES? LEAVE MY FUCKING ASS ALONE!
I’LL FUCKING KIL-”
She was cut short. The master had aimed a vicious kick at her tits.
The steel toecaps contacted on a slant, bruising her right nipple and
hitting her ribcage, forcing all the air from her lungs and winding her.
Kelly turned red in the face and gasped for breath. “You’re certainly not
going to be killing anyone, Miss Osbourne. We’re the ones who are going
to be killing you if you don’t take your punishment like the dog you are.
Or should I say bitch?”
Kelly tried to crawl forward, still hurt from the kick. But she found
resistance from her behind. When she tried to move forward, it was like
flesh was being ripped away from her asscheeks. She was still blindfolded.
The master kindly elucidated. “It’s best not to try and resist. You’re
chained to the walls doubly. If you try and go forward, your ass will
tear like so many magazines with your face on them. If you try and go
backwards…well, let’s just say you won’t be going backwards any time
The master slapped her ass as he said this, causing rolls of fat to ripple
down across her belly. Kelly shuddered. What were they going to do to her?
What merited this kind of restraint? Her thoughts were cut short as light
poured onto her retinae; her blindfold had been removed. At the same time,
she felt a cock brush her backside, and precum dried there.
Kelly realized as the cock touched the back of her legs that she was going
be fucked in the pussy. This was quite a relief to her. She had done this
a few times with her various boyfriends, and she enjoyed it. Of course,
there was no way she could enjoy it here; but it could be a lot worse.
She didn’t want to think about just how much worse it could be.
This wasn’t the master, for he was standing in front of her, leering
Her rapist pushed his dick into Kelly’s pussy. “God, she’s fucking loose!”,
the man exclaimed. The master took this and ran with it, as Kelly had
predicted. “Is he a better fuck than your boyfriends, Kelly?” And he was.
The guy was hung; Kelly could feel it as he rammed in and out. She began
to unconsciously ride his cock, and instantly felt guilty. She could feel
her labia loosening, her hole being enlarged, as this man violated her.
Suddenly Kelly remembered: he wasn’t wearing any protection! Kelly didn’t
take the pill as a matter of principle. “Fuck! Get out! I’ll get
she screamed, then instantly regretted it. “As little as the world needs
fat Kellys ruining the music scene…I think you need to be taught a
The master was irritated at Kelly’s outburst. He summoned another gang
member, who strode across the room. He violently entered Kelly’s pussy,
rubbing up against the other guy.
“Ever had double-vaginal before, Kelly? Thought not. Though you’re plenty
loose enough for it, little sixteen-year-old whore.” Kelly unconsciously
grunted at this new intrusion into her cunt. She was being pushed and
stretched, and it was beginning to hurt. Her eyes screwed up on every push
forwards. The men were coordinating their assault on her teenage vagina,
ramming to the hilt in time, and making Kelly’s eyes water.
Kelly couldn’t help it. She was going to cum. She rode back and forth
on the two cocks, fucking them frenetically and violently, her eyes and
her occasional whimpering telling her distress. She dug her fingers into
the floor. “ARGHHH YES FUCK MEEEEEEEE!” she screamed, the blissful release
of orgasm taking over her body and warming down to her toes, forgetting she
was being raped, just coming. A surprising amount of juice trickled out of
her pussy, stretching obscenely like mozarella onto the floor.
Sanity returned. Kelly realized she had two cocks in her pussy. More than
likely, they were about to come inside her and make her pregnant. At the
same time, the chains attached to her ass were hurting more every second.
Suddenly, one cock pulled out of her cunt, and the man circled her teenage
body, looked into her distressed and helpless eyes, and began to masturbate.
“Suck it up prissy teenage popstar bitch. I hope your cunt rips in two.
Prickteases like you deserve to be raped. You need to diet anyway –
I hope you like cum”. The man spewed abuse at Kelly’s face. Suddenly,
his pulsated member jerked, and began to spew white globules at her face.
The first strand hit her cheek, and quickly dribbled into her mouth, still
involuntarily opening from the vicious fucking she was receiving. The next
spurt went directly into her left eye, stinging and making it impossible
to see. Kelly shrieked. She tried to get the sticky semen out with her
hands, but only rubbed it in deeper. Meanwhile, her forehead and hair was
being decorated with white goo, her right eye continuing to gaze obscenely
and uncomprehendingly at the cockhead an inch from her face.
Brutalized by this scene, so common, she was woken from her stupor by
warm mucus in her vagina. Kelly realized, with growing horror, that the
man had come inside her. The shock spread across her face, whitening her
already pale complexion, and rage formed in her gullet. Her mind was war:
she desperately wanted to scream the place down, to tell these bastards that
they had ruined her life; and by the same token she didn’t want to give them
the satisfaction (or any reason to smack her up more than they had already).
She kept her mouth shut, although it took serious concentration.
“Awww. What’s the problem, Kelly? You constipated? Did our little starlet
have to learn some self-control? Pregnancy is the least of your worries,
my dear. Why, it won’t be such a shock, darling. People probably mistake
for being pregnant most of the time anyway.” Another crack about her
Kelly groaned inwardly. So many times she had wanted to lose the pale
flesh that hung off her ass and midriff. But even her darkest moments were
no match for the lure of a juicy hamburger and double chocolate milkshake.
And, thought Kelly, that’s the way it should be, surely. Surely these
can’t be so brainwashed by society that they would do this to be rid of my
Kelly stopped thinking. She realized she was tired (she hadn’t slept in
a long time now). And hungry (her last meal was long enough ago that it
hadn’t shown up in her vomit earlier). And thirsty (her last drink had
been the reason she was here now). And sore (she had been chained in the
air by her ass for several hours now). She whimpered, “Food. Drink.”
The master heard. He leaned down, looked Kelly in her cum-smudged eyes,
and said “Kelly want a cracker?” She nodded, letting out a false laugh at
his sick joke. He nodded, and motioned for the exit. The men strode out
of the room. Kelly knew they’d be back. For the while, she leaned back
against her restraints, put her face to the floor, and went into a light
sleep, her cheeks spreading against the cold white floor and spreading an
inch of drool backwards as she closed her eyes.
* * * *
“Yeah, 4st 7, an epilogue of youth
Such beautiful dignity in self-abuse
I’ve finally come to understand life
Through staring blankly at my navel…”
— Manic Street Preachers, _4st 7lb_
The lights burned brightly. Kelly’s eyes opened woozily as she realized the
men were back. She’d been out for…maybe an hour? Her body clock told her
that, but then her body was fucked, literally and metaphorically, so it was
probably safe to assume that its clock was. She’d slumped back during her
rest, and her mouth was directly aligned with an unpleasant-smelling
smeared on the floor? God knows where it came from; her impregnated
the cock in her face, or the ones surrounding her. This did not matter.
She pulled herself up, feeling some slight resistance from the sticky fluid.
The gang emerged, brandishing a silver dish. Kelly, although she was used
to life in the lap of luxury, had never seen one of these before except
in cartoons, and had to stop herself laughing. It was flatly bell-shaped,
and evocative of expensive restaurants. Two henchmen laid the thing on the
ground before her eyes. She wanted to touch it, but knew she shouldn’t.
The master whipped round, and showily removed the cover from the dish,
revealing to Kelly’s eyes, and nose, the biggest steak she had ever seen.
“A big dish for our big girl,” the master said. “No scraps for this dog.”
There was cutlery at the side of the vast thing, its rind deep red, its
body flat, pink and rare. Kelly didn’t wait to be told. She lunged forward
towards the cutlery, grabbing it and straining her restrained ass, although
she didn’t notice. Another lunge pulled the steak within range. She paused
briefly to honour the moment, and then attacked the steak in its luscious
centre with the fork and (savagely sharp) knife. The steak briefly gave at
the sides, before surrendering to Kelly’s sleek carving and revealing pink,
barely blood-stained flesh.
Kelly shoved the fork in her mouth. The steak instantly erased all the
fluids that had invaded her system. Its natural juices filled her mouth,
carnal, animal instincts awakened by this flesh, now sliding down her
going directly to her stomach. She jabbed the steak again, now elaborately
carving out a piece and swallowing it whole, only just fitting it into her
mouth, the dark blood staining her lips and cheeks. She ate the whole
with the hunger of a starved dog, dropping pieces now and then, abandoning
knife and fork to stuff them into her gaping maw hard with her stubby fists.
As Kelly finished, she was woozy, having received so much raw energy in such
a short space of time. She felt slightly ill, and the angle didn’t help.
As she felt the steak come back up her abused throat, she gestured
to the master for some water, choking. Amazingly to Kelly, he obliged,
whipping a large bottle from behind him. Kelly frantically screwed the lid
off, discarded it and threw her head back as far as she could, draining the
bottle dry in a single motion, gulping, her throat protruding obscenely when
she swallowed. The master applauded when she meekly handed him the bottle.
“Kelly sure can swallow. That will be useful.” And with that, he gestured,
and the gang left the room.
Kelly’s face hit the floor, exhausted, not even noticing the pain of impact.
It was time to sleep, sleep was good, and good things were rare these days.
It was strange how the past day had come to seem like a thousand days, her
entire life. In essence, this was her entire life in microcosm. Exploited
those she had trusted. Reduced to reliance on the generosity of strangers,
living in hope that her next public gesture would be well received. How
ago it seemed when she had written – well, sung – songs about pregnancy and
masturbation. As she descended into the alternate reality of the
words echoed through her brain.
“We’re in an awful mess, and I don’t mean maybe
Papa don’t preach, I’m in trouble deep
Papa don’t preach, I’ve been losin’ sleep
But I made up my mind, I’m keeping my baby…”
* * * *
“It seemed to last for hours
It seemed to last for days
This lady of the flowers
And her hypnotic gaze…”
— Placebo, _Lady Of The Flowers_
Wet. That was her awakening. The lights were off. The men weren’t home.
Kelly was by herself. Why had she woken up? She wanted to sleep, but
something was stopping her. Something physical. Something behind her.
It was revealed, as a bass, vibrating note rang out around the room, and a
foul, yet oddly agreeable, smell spread across Kelly’s nose. Kelly never
farted like that. Hers were ladies’ farts: discreet in public, rich and
loud in private, but never with such noise, aroma, or physical sensation.
That fart had rippled the flesh around Kelly’s asshole, had shaken her
restraints. It was an omen.
The jig was up. It dawned on Kelly, as she felt her sphincter loosen.
The fuckers had given her laxatives. She shuddered, in horror at herself,
as, unbidden by her, a light brown slug trailed out of her asshole, making
its way over her hind quarters, leaving tracks across her vaginal lips,
hitting the apex of her belly, where, as Newton predicted, it left her body,
dangling horrendously and coldly in the air as it stretched the vast
from her belly to the floor. Kelly was sickened as she looked underneath
parting her pendulous breasts to one side to get a better look.
Kelly farted a few more times, spattering the skin of her ass with
brown diarrhoea, before her digestion relented. She sighed with relief
as she felt the “spent” feeling radiate from her bowels towards her face.
It was only a few seconds later that she realized another source of wetness
had appeared. From her urethra, there trickled yellow piss. It trickled
down her belly with more tenacity than her anal excretions. As the light
yellow fluid approached her face, she bucked furiously, but by increasing
the angle she made it worse. Her piss flowed across her face, pooling
her lips and entering the corners of her mouth, making her spit and staining
her face. She couldn’t stop the flow, and soon she decided to help herself.
She briefly shook off the eye-stinging piss flying into her face and put
her hand to her urethra, directing the flow onto the floor.
As Kelly spent her bloated bladder, the pool on the floor spread.
though it was, she couldn’t help being relieved, and instinctively touched
twat as it was sprayed with her yellow piss. As the pool spread, so her
were soaking in her urine, she was too far gone to care, and as it reached
her hands it dawned on her that this was the longest piss she had ever
Eventually, she finished, joyously, and slumped, before realizing she was
slumping in her own piss. Even though it was not very concentrated, she was
close enough for the smell to be unpleasant. But there was nothing she
do: it was her fault she had pissed all over the floor. She was disgusted
with herself, but resigned herself to her fate, and fell asleep in a puddle
of her own urine, her piss clogging her nostrils when she tried to breathe.
* * * *
“It’s carryin’ something
It’s carryin’ me
And someone I used to be
Great plastic someone
Blue plastic girl
Your prayer is, pushin’, pushin’
— Underworld, _Push Upstairs_
Kelly awoke to the sound of footsteps. She woozily raised her sticky face
from the floor. As the master walked into the white room, he feigned shock
the sight of the floor, which stunk of dried urine and held a yellowish
“Looks like our dog needs toilet training,” he wryly observed. Kelly put
her face down in instinctive shame. She didn’t see two gang members grab
her shoulders and pull her head back, and barely had time to struggle as
they rotated her legs underneath her and sat her on her naked buttocks in
her dried piss.
What’s going on now, she thought. But she didn’t protest as two men grabbed
her feet, holding between her toes, and spread her legs painfully wide.
Her vaginal lips were now straining to close, her neatly trimmed pubic bush
bunching together in thickets, held with semen and urine. She was
not to be embarrassed, though her pussy was now on display like never
“Ahh, a beautiful sight,” the leader said. “Little Kelly Osbourne’s cunt.
Looks loose enough now to be ready.” Ready for what, thought Kelly.
those lips,” the man commanded, and Kelly reluctantly obeyed, pulling back
her skinfolds easily to reveal a deep red hole, clearly recently penetrated.
“Now hold still, this won’t hurt a bit,” the man said. And he whipped
something out from behind his back. Kelly didn’t recognize it at first,
but she realized soon that it was a bottle of Coca-Cola. Large and bulbous,
and half drunk. The man sloshed it around in the bottle. Then she suddenly
realized what he was going to do, and tried to get up, but she was held
too tightly by the gang members, who had her arms in a lock, and her hips
were held apart in a tight brace by two other men. She kicked her feet
pathetically and flailed her arms, but there was no escaping. The man
advanced, holding the bottle like a divining rod.
The man was now kneeling in the maw of her hips. He levelled the bottle,
then carefully peeled back Kelly’s labia with one hand, holding the bottle
precariously in the other. “Relax Kelly, just relax, it won’t be bad.
Just think of it as a practice for when you really give birth. It’ll be
easier when you’re seventeen and give birth to this fucker’s seed,” –
he pointed at the member who had ejaculated in Kelly’s pussy yesterday –
“your cunt will be almost fully grown by that time. But this’ll help.”
Bizarrely, Kelly did feel reassured, and as the bottle top was eased in,
she barely felt it.
The neck of the bottle, however, jolted her out of her disconnection.
She felt her cunt walls stretch as the neck of the bottle inside her labia
became wider. “Too wide!” she shouted. The leader motioned, and the men
spread Kelly’s hips wider. Her body wasn’t built for doing the splits, and,
although the angle between her legs was still a long way from a hundred and
eighty degrees, she screamed in pain, and her muscles ached. This briefly
masked the stretching of her pussy, and also made it easier to fit the neck.
The master took advantage of this, and shoved the whole neck into her pussy.
“The worst is over now. From here it’s clear sailing.” His words were
distant. Kelly felt good. It was so wonderful to feel full. She felt
relieved from all responsibility, and a smile spread across her face.
She instinctively put her hand down to her labia and found her clitoris, the
men letting her arms go when they saw her path. She began to slowly fondle
her vagina, rubbing all around her twat and letting out tiny yelps whenever
she accidentally touched it. The concentric circles her stubby fingers made
became smaller. She had little moving space anyway, and as she got closer
and closer to her orgasm she rubbed harder, faster, frigging her clitoris
directly on the nub, rebounding her hand off the cold plastic Coke bottle –
all was lost as she came, screaming, sighing deeply, her breathing shallow.
As her juices leaked from her cunt and coated the label, she closed her hips
around the bottle.
“Looks like someone’s enjoying herself,” the master leered. As sanity
returned, Kelly realized she hated him. “It’s my turn now,” he said,
and pushed the bottle further into Kelly’s spent hole, with a vestige of
violence now. The bottle was pushed almost three quarters of the way in
when Kelly realized something hurt. It felt like her bowel, but she knew
it wasn’t. The man continued pushing the bottle into her. Every push now
caused sharp pangs in what felt like her stomach. Kelly protested, but it
too much, she felt like she was being eviscerated from the inside. She
“Stop…it…breaking…me…” between her sobs. Tears ran down her face,
and her muscles spasmed to get free. Suddenly, just as the pain reached
its zenith, it stopped, fading to a dull ache and knowledge that permanent
damage had been inflicted. The master watched Kelly’s labia close around
the indented bottom of the bottle, and then it was gone, the only evidence
it was there at all a slight bloating of Kelly’s nether region from her
labia to just above her navel.
Kelly’s brain reeled as she tried to think clearly through the fog of pain.
Something had been broken, maybe her womb, cervix, whatever. She hadn’t
paid much attention in Biology. She heard the master command, “Rise,” and
she woozily rose to her feet. She was unprepared for the liquid inside
her, however, and the sloshing put her off balance, making her stagger.
Still, she reached her feet, unconsciously clenching her labia to prevent
the bottle falling out. “Walk, bitch,” she heard, and she tried. She put
one foot in front of the other, and tried to walk, but it didn’t come easy.
She felt like she had gained a hundred pounds, and walked with a stagger,
desperately trying to keep her balance.
“Now run.” Kelly sped up her pace. This was virtually impossible. To run
she had to spread her legs. If she had, the bottle would have slowly and
painfully fallen out. Instead, she waddled comically, keeping both legs
virtually parallel. The gang members laughed uproariously at this sight,
even Kelly would have admitted was funny if she had seen it herself, seen
fat breasts swing from side to side and her face contort with concentration.
Still, it wasn’t funny when she was the one being laughed at. Unbalanced,
she fell over, landing on the white floor in an ungainly and painful manner,
the plastic inside her jarring against her back, and she groaned.
“Get up, bitch!” She pulled herself to her feet. Astonishingly, the bottle
had not been dislodged by that. Presumably it had become wedged inside her.
But as she staggered up, a strange sensation filled her cunt. A rushing and
tingly one. She realized what it was. Fizz. Seeing her face and a
brown drip hanging from her distended labia, the leader said, “Oops, I
to mention, we unscrewed the top a little.” Kelly felt the liquid trickle
down from high inside her. Suddenly, she felt the bottle slip inside her.
Her labia parted. The bottle’s end poked out. Kelly’s face was a picture
of horror. But how could she stop it? She stood stock still, racked by
as the top of the bottle slipped from its home, retouching all the wounds
inflicted from its original entry. She spread her hips instinctively and
pushed. The bottle shifted. Her fists clenched, the bottle lurched slowly
through her labia, lubricated by the liquid. Then, suddenly, the body of
bottle was out, leaving only the neck, and it fell obscenely from her cunt,
landing upright on the floor. Her labia fell back around her hole, relieved
from duty, and as she looked down she saw the bottle, its lid on the floor,
the label stained with blood. She fell to the floor. Barely conscious, she
didn’t protest as the men forced the bottle into her mouth. She tasted the
flavour of her cunt and the blood of her body in the liquid, but swallowed
it anyway, needing rest. Eventually, she passed out.
* * * *
“I need you to feel this
I need this to make me whole
Release in this sodomy
I am your witness that blood and flesh can be trusted
And only this one holy medium brings me peace of mind.”
— Tool, _Prison Sex_
The master circled his cock head around Kelly’s puckered asshole. It was
clearly virgin-tight. Her blindfolded head was oblivious. He circled
around and around her forbidden hole. He pushed the tip inside, and Kelly
gave a shriek.
“God, no, please don’t fuck my ass. It’s too disgusting. No, no, no,
A gang member signalled if he should stop her tear-stained face from any
complaints, but the master responded in the negative. “I want to hear every
scream when I fuck this bitch’s ass,” he said. And with that, he forced in
the head of his cock, with an audible pop, and Kelly screamed blue murder.
The master waited a few seconds to savour the sound of her pain. Then he
viciously rammed his member directly into her underage asshole. It was
unbearably tight and hot. Kelly gave a shrill, vocal-chord-stretching
scream as her asshole
was destroyed. The master pulled out and reinserted, again to the hilt.
“GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT! HE’S TOO BIG! AHH FUCK IT HURTS…”
The master repeatedly rammed into her ass several times to relish her
violated screams. He settled into a rhythm, bumping his balls against her
distended pussy lips.
Kelly was in agony. This was like something alien, the worst case of rape.
Every synapse in her bowels was shouting, “I’m dying”. The pain as her
anal nerve endings were destroyed was exacerbated by the pains of the master
forcing her ass forward, straining the metal chains against her cheeks.
The master smiled, his lips curling as he pulled out to see blood staining
his penis. He rammed all the harder for this. “Shit it out, Kelly. If
so bad, just shit it out. Pretend you’re pooping in your pampered house.”
And she did. She couldn’t believe it, but Kelly pushed back with her
muscles, trying anything she could to get the violator out of her bowels.
The master was brought to new plateaus of ecstasy with this new development.
Her fighting made her eventual giving in all the more pleasing. But shit,
this bitch was fighting, and pushing his cock out. He redoubled his
doing battle with her sphincter, and eliciting more blood. Kelly’s screams
were deafening now. It sounded like she was about to pass out.
The master had to finish. He pushed harder as she screamed. Harder.
Harder. He was going to come soon. He sped up his efforts, and shouted,
groaning loudly as he crossed the threshold, burying his cock in Kelly
Osbourne’s asshole to the hilt and ejaculating, flooding her bowels with
her semen. At the same time, he pushed against her wobbling ass cheeks
so hard, Kelly’s stretched ass flesh could no longer support his weight.
The holes in her ass broke open, sending torrents of blood onto the floor
as her face was rammed forward into the floor.
Kelly passed out. As all went black, she was aware of a slimy sensation
on her chest. Oh, God. As Kelly had flown forward, the master had pulled
out, and a mixture of Kelly’s shit (brown and semisolid), blood, and the
master’s semen trickled down her chest, falling from her tits onto the
The master laughed; his shrill voice rang out around the echoing room.
* * * *
“I’m a punk rock prom queen
Brown paper magazine
Hotter than you’ve ever seen
Everywhere and in between…”
— Josie And The Pussycats, _3 Small Words_
Sticky eyes opened. By now, Kelly had lost track of all time. She could
have been out for minutes or months. She could feel something on her lips.
Then she saw the master standing above her, holding a stick of black
She was tired, and her ass hurt like hell. She lay still, stemming the
initial shock, as the man drew on her lips with precision. “It’s dress-up
time today, Kelly,” he said. She didn’t hear.
He pulled eyeliner from his pocket and stretched open Kelly’s eyelids.
He flicked the eyeliner onto her thick lashes expertly, so well that Kelly
did not flinch. He applied an eyebrow pencil with artistry to her brows,
extending and defining them. He fished for rouge in his make-up box on
the floor; pulling out some, he applied it to her cheeks with a brush.
He pulled out a mirror and showed Kelly to herself. Kelly noticed her pink
hair was gradually slipping back to its real shade, jet black. She only
applied limited time hair dye, and presumed her sweat had washed it out.
Pink highlights still persisted. She was shocked at her sunken eyes, due
to lack of sleep. The make-up had been applied with an intentional lack
of subtlety. Her pink cheeks contrasted with her pale complexion like those
of a Japanese geisha, and her face looked painted on.
“Stand up,” the master said. Kelly obeyed, staggering to her feet. “Lift
your arms.” Kelly held them out to each side, feeling silly. The master
picked up a bra from the floor and fitted it around Kelly’s breasts with
difficulty. The bra was a B, while he knew Kelly was a large C. She
as he tied it around her back. “Too tight,” she mumbled frustratedly.
She was ignored, though her nipples were clearly visible through the bra.
The master now took a tiny black tube top from the floor. Kelly lifted her
arms, and the master fitted the strapless thing across her chest, pinning it
behind her back. It was obscenely low-cut, and the bottom of her bra and
her nipples were exposed at the top; it was cut off at the bottom as well,
so Kelly’s ample belly protruded obscenely, her large waistline emphasized
by the squeezing of her breasts. Despite the bad taste of the outfit, Kelly
enjoyed this in an odd way. It was like being back at home, and dressing
up to go out. In fact, Kelly rarely dressed much more subtly than this.
The master produced another garment, this time a pair of panties. Kelly
these. They were her personalized range, emblazoned pop-art style with “KO”
explosion logos. She put them on; they fitted perfectly, although they
a little; she had been wearing them for a few days before she was captured.
They were in a thong style, and the pink cloth pressed against her violated
Another garment was held aloft in the fingers of the master. This was a
black PVC miniskirt. “I don’t think I can fit in that,” Kelly said timidly.
“Of course you can. What are you, fat?” the master replied cruelly.
And so she tried. The master knelt, stretching the skirt apart, and Kelly
felt an interesting role reversal. _I could kick him now_, she thought,
but instead slipped her left leg into the skirt, and then the right.
She was now immobile: how quickly her power had gone. The master pulled
the skirt up past her knees, but the skirt stuck at the start of her thighs.
Kelly fell over awkwardly onto the floor, unbalanced.
“You’ll fit,” the master said, not entirely reassuringly for Kelly. He
the skirt up another few inches. This was beginning to hurt. But he
on, pushing the skirt against the flesh of her thighs, compressing the flesh
around the rim of the skirt with his fingers, and making steady progress.
He got up to just below her waist, so the crotch of her panties was just
by the skirt, when Kelly shouted. “Arghhh, fuck this hurts!” Kelly quickly
checked herself and was silent, but, surprisingly, the man stopped.
And finally, the shoes. Strappy black high heels, too small for her.
Kelly squeezed her feet into the shoes, the straps contrasting with her
pale flesh and showing the deep impression they made against her large feet.
“Get up,” the master commanded, and Kelly obeyed. She gingerly put a heeled
foot behind her torso, briefly stumbling for purchase on the floor, and then
moved the other one to a parallel position, until she was sitting on the
of her legs. She then straightened her thick legs, steadying herself on the
floor with her hands. The tiny skirt, suspended below her waist,
her movement. Kelly looked down at herself. Her titties and belly bulged
from her front, and the skirt emphasized her large waist and thighs. She
feel her pale round ass cheeks sagging against the thong and skirt behind
“And now the crowning moment,” the master announced. He pulled out a cheap
black tiara, decorated with gold stars. He put it around Kelly’s head,
pulling back strands of pink-black hair. “Kelly Osbourne is our Punk
Princess, because she acts like one, and Punk, because that’s what she is,
in the original sense.” The men had all gathered round without her
They all cheered, and Kelly felt a bizarre ego boost. “Take a bow, Kelly!”
master commanded, and she did. Taking a step back, she wobbled on her
having to take three small steps because of the skirt.
She was carried away in the moment, and dramatically put her arms to her
and leaned her torso forward. As she did so, her back horizontal, wounded
ass cheeks on display to the men behind her, her bra suddenly gave way and
her breasts fell out of her top. An uproar broke out, all the men laughing,
hooting and jeering at her as she lifted her head, her face reddened with
both rouge and embarrassment. Her nipples were pressing against her chin.
She frantically tried to stuff her mammaries back into the bra, but they
would not go in.
“Let me help you,” the master said, and strode over to her. He viciously
squeezed Kelly’s left breast with one hand, stretching the bra out with the
other. He seated it in the cup, Kelly wincing with pain as her breasts were
crammed against her ribcage, and stretched the bra around it, eventually
covering the nipple. He repeated the process for her right breast, and
stood back to admire his handiwork.
Against her will, Kelly was turned on. She felt like she was at a concert
again. She revelled in being looked at by crowds. She had sometimes fucked
groupies; sex with them was often better than with her boyfriend, since
they were devoted and noncontradictory. Her nipples were erect now, and
her pussy began to leak juices, her stretched panties revealing it
“I knew you loved the attention, Kelly,” the master said. “Now we can start
the celebration of your crowning.” He signalled, and a member pulled
from his pocket. Unrolling a piece of material, he revealed a red plastic
mat, circular and big enough for one. He laid it down ceremonially on the
floor behind her. The master pushed her forehead, not harshly but firmly,
and Kelly staggered, falling to the floor and bracing herself with her
As her ass cheeks hit the mat, pain stung her.
She changed her sitting position to avoid the pain. Surprisingly gymnastic
for a girl her size, Kelly put her feet out to her sides, drawing them in to
her thighs, so her legs formed an “M” shape. This was comfortable: it put
weight on her thighs rather than her ass. Meanwhile, the men were lining
as if for a procession. Kelly wondered what was going to happen. Suddenly,
they removed their robes. There were around thirty men in the line, white,
black, Asian men, all naked, stroking their dicks. A horrible realization
dawned on Kelly.
Suddenly, before she could react, the man at the front of the line stepped
forward and began to masturbate, unsheathing his cockhead and aiming at
her mouth. Kelly stared at his face and body in wonderment, watching his
expression change as he rubbed his prick harder and faster, seeing the
head glisten as it moistened. She had never had such an unflinching view
of male sexuality, and she was scared. Suddenly, it ceased to matter:
a beam spread across the man’s face, and thick white semen erupted from
the tiny hole in his cockhead. It sprayed across Kelly, from her shiny
forehead to the cleft of her breasts. The man moved forward, jerking his
hand harder, and another spurt hit her nose, dripping down onto her lips.
As his rubbing faded, another smaller strand of cum fired onto Kelly’s ear,
dribbling and pooling in the aperture.
Kelly was horrified as she felt the cum drip down her face, staining the
rouge on her cheeks, moving with purpose around her mouth onto her chin,
dripping from there onto her breasts, seeping through the bra and drying
on her nipples. But before she could think, another man was in her face,
flesh moving vigorously up and down, this time much closer. This man came
quicker, his payload spraying artistically across her eyebrows, dripping
onto her cheeks, a small amount of watery precum dribbling into her eyes,
stinging and making her blink.
The next man forced his cock into her mouth, grabbing her forehead and
pushing her face back against his cock, forcing her tongue to taste the
salty head of his penis. When he pulled out, smiling, Kelly’s head sighed
forwards in a cringing breath, and the man euphorically shot his cum into
her black hair, making a beautiful contrast as it bunched together strands,
sliding down and chilling her scalp.
And another twenty-seven men ejaculated onto Kelly, most hitting her mouth
cheeks (she spat out the semen in her mouth), a few deliberately ejaculating
into her eyes, making them water and close. Some went for more spectacular
performances, coating her hair with white goo, or spraying glutinous juices
down her bra, quickly growing cold and unpleasant around her nipples. Most
the cum on her face ran off her chin and onto the red mat. Some ran down
her body, eventually staining her belly and panties with dried sperm. By
time all the men had finished, Kelly was unrecognizable, her make-up blurred
down her face, her eyelashes specked with fluid, her hair decorated with
stuff that made it look like she’d just washed it. Her chest was stained
dried spunk; the stuff pooled in the cleft of her squashed-together breasts;
it ran down the front of her top, pooled in her belly button, obscured the
logos on her panties. And since she hadn’t moved (her ass still hurt),
the cum on the mat remained solid and sticky, although cold.
Kelly opened her eyes, blinking away pain. The men were sitting down now
around her. The master was standing up. He announced, “Kelly, you have
truly earned your title of Punk Princess. Stand up and accept your title.”
Kelly, barely hearing him, got to her feet laboriously, hooking her legs and
pushing up. As she did so, the cum that had pooled in her various crevices
dislodged itself, running down her body and falling from her crotch onto the
floor to join the spunk that was preserved there. “You may kiss the groom,”
the master said. And suddenly, he kissed Kelly deeply, ramming his tongue
into her mouth, tasting the semen of thirty men. He pulled her forwards,
embracing her, making her stagger forward. She regained her balance as he
removed his lips from hers with a great smack. Kelly had to admit that
this guy was a great kisser. She didn’t notice that the mat was gone.
“Three cheers for our princess Kelly!” the master declared, and as a roar
went up among the men, Kelly felt cum drip off her tiara and run down her
A member ran in, and passed something to the master. Kelly couldn’t see
“And now, it’s time for our princess to sup of the ceremonial beverage.”
The leader raised a bottle forward. It was a Coca-Cola bottle, smaller
than the one that had been inserted into her. Its neck had been severed.
But what worried Kelly was its contents. It held a white semisolid,
of subtly different colour throughout. It was instantly recognizable.
“Yes, the leftover semen of all the men who helped in your crowning.
Once you drink this, the celebration will be complete.” And with that,
he handed the bottle to Kelly.
Oh my god. Gross. Who knows what diseases these men have? Can you
get pregnant from swallowing semen? But none of this matters, really,
said the voice in her head. You’re already pregnant. Besides, there are
thirty men around you. Do you really think you can escape? And so Kelly
held the bottle aloft, and put the neck in her mouth. The slimy goo took
a while to slide to the front. She got her first taste, and was revolted,
spitting instinctively. The master grabbed the bottle and held it
and sperm slid into her mouth, filling it quickly.
She panicked. She couldn’t breathe properly, because her mouth was blocked
with cold semen, and her nose was sore with crying. She couldn’t spit the
foul salty mess out of her, because the master was holding the bottle to her
mouth. And so, she swallowed, forcing the glutinous spunk down her throat,
gagging as it stuck to the sides. Soon her mouth was empty. Before she
catch her breath, another load was dumped into her mouth. She swallowed it,
gagging and coughing. Another load arrived. The coldness of the cum and
her revulsion with herself and this act caught up with her, and she felt
bile and half-swallowed spunk rise in her throat. Panicking, she forced
both down at once. As she felt a last trickle of spunk snake into her mouth
from the bottle, and felt the cold semen trickling down her oesophagus into
her stomach, she smiled. It was over. She, Kelly Osbourne, had swallowed
a bottle of sperm. She was the Punk Princess, whatever that meant.
* * * *
“Breathe in the healing love of the universe,
and breathe out the sickness which has taken you.”
— DJ Shadow, _Blood On The Motorway_
Training complete. The master didn’t switch the light on. Instead, he
padded into the room with two henchmen. They could dimly see Kelly sleeping
on the floor. They picked her up neatly, holding under her knee-pits and
against her back. She was heavy, and the men staggered as they moved her
of the room. Meanwhile, the master was putting a blindfold over her eyes.
Kelly woke just as he had begun to gag her with a piece of black silk.
She shouted, and was muffled, as he tied the gag securely around the back
of her head.
The men opened the back door of the van, which was still parked outside on
the gravel track. They placed Kelly on the floor with uncharacteristic
She was reminded of the coldness. _Where am I going now_, she thought.
As the door slammed, the side doors opened, and Kelly saw the men get in the
passenger seats. The master was in the driving seat. He fired the
and the engine rumbled slowly to life.
“Our little doggy is going home,” he said, and Kelly’s heart lept.
“You’ve learnt all you can while you’ve been here.” Kelly would get the
police on them. She would tell, and everyone would feel sorry for her,
and these men would go to prison for a long time. “And before you think
of telling…consider this. We have pictures and videos of you here.
You can tell the police it was us, but your career will be ruined forever
once the pictures come out. And we have surprising power in the government.
We can get the case against us dismissed.”
“You may think that people love you, Ms. Osbourne, but the truth is that
people hate you. To them, you’re just a stroppy, attention seeking
They think you deserve punishment – punishment we administered. The footage
will strike a chord with the public at large. That will ensure our victory.
We’ll walk free, and you will just be an ex-pop star who got a little too
big for her boots.”
“No, Kelly. How about you go home and forget all about it? Carry on with
your life. But remember what we taught you, when you mime masturbation
on stage. If you’re gonna talk like a whore, you gotta walk like a
whore; don’t be surprised when people expect you to.” Kelly was furious.
But something the brute had said struck her. How many real friends did she
have? How many people thought she was a valuable human being as opposed to
a disposable novelty? And from that moment on, she knew she was not going
to be able to tell anyone.
Kelly was dumped outside the Osbourne mansion, naked and tied, by the
white van that sped off as quickly as it had arrived. The guards, trying to
hide their erections, escorted her to the door, and she collapsed into the
arms of her mother. But when she asked where Kelly had been, she frowned,
looked away, and said “Nowhere.” Quickly, she went upstairs and got into
the shower. As she rubbed the soap all over her body, cupping her ample
breasts and washing deep inside her violated pussy and asshole, she felt
she no longer owned her body.
>From that moment on, her life resumed as normal. She still strutted on the
stage, she still sucked her boyfriends’ dicks. Her family never thought
to ask: her nakedness was worrying, but otherwise week-long benders were
not rare among the rich and famous, especially wild children like Kelly.
Something was different for Kelly, though. She felt changed by her
Sometimes, in her darkest moments, Kelly wished the men had killed her
instead of leaving her with her secret.