Chapter One: A Business Proposition

 

Stern was in the midst of a highly diverting training session, when a call came on the special line known to only one person other than Stern himself. He frowned at the offending telephone, then looked down at the nude form of the woman stretched out below him over a curved steel frame.

She had short, dark hair, brown eyes and a lean, muscular, sexy, body beaded with glistening droplets of sweat. From her expression and the way her corded muscles strained against the restraints bending her backwards over a metal bar, the woman was obviously in great discomfort, and yet she refrained from voicing any but the most discreet complaints. This was not due to her unusual courage under torture (although, as a former Secret Service agent, she was both brave and tough,) but rather to the fact that she was physically unable to produce any sound louder than a weak, almost inaudible groan, due to the combination gag filling her oral cavity from front to back.

The unfortunate woman, Diana Roberts, by name, stared up at Stern in a mute plea for mercy. He had been putting Diana had been engaged for two hours in one of his favorite pastimes (although it was far from her favorite): orgasm training. This consisted of 1. informing the bound woman that if she climaxed without his permission, she would be punished and, 2. tormenting the beautiful, thirty-year old security expert by manipulating her sex with his fingers, cock and a vibrator, until she yielded to her body's urgings, then punishing her with a whip, crop or electric cattle prod. Stern relished the abandoned way Diana's naked body reacted to the alternation of pleasure and pain. He had just discovered Diana's powerful response to having the braided leather shaft of his riding crop run lightly over her stiff love knob, and he was experimenting with his new-found technique when the phone rang.

He reluctantly withdrew the crop from her sex and said, "You'll have to excuse me for a moment, Diana. I have to take this call." He walked to his desk, sat down in the big leather chair behind it, and reached for the telephone. He paused momentarily before lifting the receiver from the cradle, to say, "Don't worry. I'll make this quick and then we can pick up right where we left off. All right?"

If this was intended to reassure Diana, she gave no indication he had been successful. Indeed, she showed no sign that she had even heard him. She closed her eyes, exhaled and let her head drop back onto the cold metal bars of the frame.

Stern shrugged and picked up the phone. "Hello, Sidney," he said. Making no attempt to hide his annoyance, he continued. "This better be good. Do you have any idea what you interrupted?"

There was a snort of laughter from the other end of the line. Fellow billionaire Sidney Collins was the closest thing to a friend the reclusive Stern had, and the only man in the world that Stern tolerated laughing at him. "Knowing you, yes, I have a pretty good idea," Sidney said. "It's not very difficult to guess what you're doing, Robert; only who you're doing it to. Now let me ask you a question: have I ever called you about anything unless it was important? Of course, if you're too busy playing with your little fuck-toy to spare a minute to talk, tell me right now, and I'll call somebody else."

Stern considered. Sidney could be a bit of a pain in the ass at times, but on the other hand, he had all sorts sources of interesting information , and if he thought he had something Stern would find interesting, chances were that he was right. Even if he was wrong, Stern still felt he owed the other man a favor for the little trick he had played on Sidney in connection with his handling of the man's homicidally inclined wife and daughters [as told in Swallowed by the Sea 3: Hostile Takeover. CJB.]

"Okay, no need to get your knickers in a knot, old boy," Stern said.. "I'm all ears."

"Really? That's a new look for you," Sidney said. "You'll have to send me a recent photo." In a more serious tone, he went on, "I have someone here that I am fairly confident you'll want to meet, so I suggest you hop into one of your jets or submarines or hot air balloons, and get your ass over to Cap Ferrat..." (the Collins estate was located on this ultra-fashionable peninsula on the French Riviera, five kilometers east of Nice) "...before she goes back home. She's in town for the Cannes Film Festival, and once it's over she'll be..."

Stern realized that Sidney was intentionally baiting him, but he still could not keep from bursting out, "Who?" he demanded. "Who is in town for the Cannes Festival?"

"Oh, didn't I mention her name?" Sidney asked with an authentic-sounding air of innocence. "Sorry. I was talking about Kara Prince. It seems she's recently developed a badly swollen head. I was asked if I knew anybody who could let some of the air out and your name was the first one to pop into my head. Interested?"

Thirty minutes later, a helicopter rose from the cone of the extinct volcano where Stern's underground city was hidden, then swung west over the Mediterranean, en route to Cap Ferrat.

***

"Would you like to be introduced?" Sidney asked. "She's right over there, talking to that short fellow with the thick glasses." He pointed.

He and Stern were standing together in the ballroom of Sidney's mansion, Le Bel Mer, awash in a sea of film stars, directors, agents, managers and other parasites, studio executives and wealthy friends of Sidney Collins. The rich men were there to rub elbows with the haute monde of the movie business, who were in town for the world-famous Cannes film festival, while the stars, agents, directors, etc., had come to Sidney's party in the hopes of persuading some of the rich men to back one or the other of their projects.

"Why not?" Stern answered. "I'd like to look her over and see if she looks as hot in person as she does on the big screen. She's no spring chicken, you know, and I have no interest in training an old hag to be an obedient fuck-toy."

They walked across the room to where Kara was sipping something from a martini glass and talking to the short, fat man. A strapless, emerald evening gown clung to her body as if it had been sprayed on, revealing that she was not wearing any support for her famous high, tight breasts. Her shape, slender, elegant and subtly curved, was very close to Stern's ideal. Other than a light coating of pink lipstick, she wore no make-up, or if she did, it was applied so skillfully that he could not detect it. She eschewed elaborate hair-styling, permitting the silken strands to her chestnut brown hair to fall naturally to her bare shoulders. Her eyes were a much darker brown than her hair, almost black, and they seemed to draw Stern into them.

A nudge from Sidney's elbow brought Stern back to the present. He realized he had been staring, and had missed most of Sidney's introduction to the actress and the short, fat man.

"...is my friend, Robert Stern, who appears to have been momentarily stunned by your glamor," Sidney said.

"Yes, I must apologize," the fat man wisecracked. "I get that a lot." He grinned and held out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Stern, or may I call you Robert?"

Stern managed to tear his gaze away from Kara, but the man, whoever he was, did not capture more than a part of his attention. "What...?" he mumbled distractedly. "Oh yes... sure, 'Robert' is fine...uh..., sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Didn't throw it," the man responded cheerfully. "I can see this is a bad time to get acquainted with you. Maybe we can talk later." He bobbed his head amiably and strolled away the room to strike up a conversation with a French director. Stern did not notice his departure. His attention had returned to Kara.

"It's a great pleasure to meet you, Miss Prince," Stern said, holding out his hand. To his great annoyance, he found himself gushing over her like a star-struck teenager. "You are even lovelier in person than in your films."

She looked reproachfully at her host, as if asking Sidney why he had inflicted this person on her, then sighed, displayed her perfect teeth in a pained smile, and said, "Why thank you, Mr. Stern. I don't believe I've ever heard that before." She looked down at his still-extended hand, as if it held a dead rat, then added, "It was so nice to meet you. Now, if you will excuse me...," and walked away, leaving Stern feeling uncommonly foolish and utterly humiliated.

He said nothing for a few seconds, clamping his jaws together hard enough to make a distinct grinding sound, but otherwise giving no sign of his feelings. When he did speak at last, it was in the low monotone that meant he was not merely angry, but enraged. "I think, Sidney," he said, "that I am interested in hearing the proposal."

A few minutes later, Stern was seated in Sidney's billiard room, along with his host and the fat man who had been talking to Kara. He discovered that this unprepossessing little fellow was none other than Harvey Friedman, super-agent and business manager for a number of major Hollywood stars, one of whom was Kara Prince.

"She started out as a pretty decent sort," Harvey explained to the other men, "but it's the rare performer who doesn't eventually start to believe all that crap they read about how wonderful she is, and after that, it doesn't take very long for her ego get too big to fit through an ordinary doorway and..." he paused. "Well, you see how she handles fans yourself, Robert." He added, "Don't take it personally. That's pretty much the way she acts when she working, too. Everybody in the business is sick and tired of her."

"I see," Stern agreed grimly, "and while I am not averse to showing Ms. Prince some of the bad things that can happen to an egotistical cunt, I would like to know a bit more about exactly what you want out of this, Harvey. Do you want her handed over to you as a trained, submissive sex-toy, or do I sense that money, rather than sex is behind this arrangement? I assume you are looking for something more than revenge and some good fucks."

The agent nodded and looked at their host. "You told me he was a sharp one, Sidney," he said approvingly. To Stern he said, "You're a good guesser, Robert. As it happens, I am so sick and tired of that cunt, I wouldn't fuck her with your dick, if you will pardon the expression. I wouldn't mind seeing her whipped and made to beg for mercy, though."

"I think I could arrange that," Stern offered. "If I take the job, that is."

"Of course," Harvey agreed. "I represent a group of wealthy and powerful men who have been repeatedly screwed by that bitch, and not in the good way. If this was about revenge, it would be easy enough for the men I represent to arrange for something permanent to happen to her.."

He paused to feel around in his pocket, and drew out a cigar. "Do you mind very much, either of you?" He asked, gesturing with his stogie.

"Not at all," Sidney answered. He glanced at Stern, who nodded. "In fact, we'll join you." He rose from his chair, went over to the bar, opened a drawer, and returned with a box of Cubanos, some long matches and a cigar cutter. Soon, all three men were puffing away, surrounded by bluish-gray billows of aromatic smoke.

"Now, where was I?" Harvey asked.

"A group of wealthy and powerful men have taken a dislike to Miss Prince," Sidney prompted. "As I have good reason to know, since I happen to be one of them."

Stern studied his friend, his eyebrows raised quizzically. "I didn't know you were attracted to the glamour of show biz, Sidney," he said. "You have hidden depths, it seems."

"I'm attracted to making money, although god knows I have plenty already," Sidney answered. "A movie can be a very profitable investment, if you can pick a winner. Titanic grossed over six hundred-fifty million, in 1997 dollars...,"

"And that Star Wars piece of crap from a couple of years ago, The Force Something or Other, chummed up nine hundred million," Harvey chimed in. "That's serious cash, even to somebody with a swimming pool full of greenbacks, like Scrooge McDuck." The other two men chuckled.

"But big productions need big investors," the agent continued. "Do you know how much Disney made from those five Buccaneers of the Spanish Main pictures? A cool four and a half billion," he said, answering his own question. "But the average production cost was close to three hundred million per."

"And Prince was the female lead, if I'm not mistaken," Stern put in. "in a series that made the investors a potload of money. So now you want to snatch her off the street, and turn her over to a depraved sex maniac. That's Hollywood for you; you're only as good as your last movie," he said, with mock disapproval.

"It's a business," Sidney repeated, "not a popularity contest. And when a professional actor turns into a professional pain in the ass, it affects the bottom line."

"Kara was a real pro," Harvey explained, "back before she decided she was more than a mere actress; she was a star. After a while, she started showing up on the set late or without knowing her lines, and sometimes, not showing up at all; arguing with the director, the other actors and anybody who came within range; demanding multiple re-writes in the middle of a shoot and walking off the set if she didn't get them, and so on, and on, and on."

"To know her is to hate her," Stern said. "I'm beginning to understand."

"As I said before, Robert," Sidney said, "this isn't about hurt feelings, it's about money. It takes serious money to produce a piece of crap like Buccaneers of the Spanish Main. Every day the production runs over schedule adds to the overhead, but even if it runs over budget, you are in for good or bad. When you sink two hundred million bucks into a project, you are pretty much committed to finishing it, even if you reached the point where you're probably pouring the money down a rathole; a half-finished movie is worth exactly zero. So if the production runs way over budget and on top of that is a flop..."

"We need someone to take her in hand, to straighten her out," the agent chimed in. "Basically, what we want is a pliable, reliable Kara Prince, who can be counted on to take direction, and who won't walk away from her obligations. We want Kara to be a business asset, not a liability."

"It may be strictly business for you," Stern said, "but I do much better work when I have a personal interest. As it happens, I have a yen for a nice, long, private, talk with her on my island." He paused, picturing a nude, bound Kara Prince in his underground dungeon. "Okay, let's do it. I want a five hundred thousand dollar retainer. I expect to be given as much time as I want to train her. When I'm done, I will leave it to you to decide whether I have earned anything more after I finish the job. How does that sound, gentlemen?"

It clearly met with Harvey Friedman's with approval. The agent, who had been prepared to pay Stern considerably more than that for his services, smiled broadly. "It sounds," he said, rising and offering his hand to Stern, "like we have a deal."