“Look, the warrior princess is finally coming around.” The harsh baritone wakes my mind like basalt rock against a cheese grater. Every syllable is ripping out a handful of the paper-thin wall between sanity and echoing paracusias.

Such a tiny little mistake... I walked right into that trap, didn’t I? The annoyed voice in my head is beating up my reckless, overconfident self mockingly, while another, more fragile ego prays to a god - we don’t believe in - for this to be just a bad dream. The burning, acidic perspiration running down my brows, my temples; the putrid, fishy stench in my nostrils; the distant, yet deafening razor shriek of seagulls; the foolishly tight rope chafing into my wrists all ensure me otherwise. Fuck, this is going to be a challenge on a whole new level.

I’m drifting in and out of consciousness. Besides my apparent injuries and hopeless circumstances, it’s the heat that’s really getting to me. My thighs are glued together in this sticky, airless hell. Seeking solace, I involuntarily open them with an audible grunt – to the obvious amusement of the two goons keeping me hostage.

An old ceiling fan is whirring above, designed to provide some relief. Instead, it just makes everything worse. Its constant buzzing is like blades of a blender – fresh abuse to my mushy brain bringing on a pulsing, unbearable migraine.

When I finally come to my senses, helped by a glass of water rudely thrown into my face, a new voice violates my eardrums. I try my best to open my eyes to see which godforsaken moron has just signed his death wish. My blurry vision focuses on a pair of charcoal eyes in the centre of a face that I could fall in love with, under disparate circumstances.

“The infamous Alyssa Anton; we finally meet. Precious. I heard all about you.” Mr Big Mafia Boss narrows his inferno eyes at me as he claws my jaw and turns my face left and right to study my features. “Both good and bad, I must say,” he adds with a long growl.

“The pleasure is all mine,” my dying voice offers trying to hide a grimace, even though I haven’t the foggiest who the stinky demon you are. Oddly, out of all levels of nuisances, it’s my cotton and Sahara-sand-filled mouth that bothers me the most. “Can I have a glass of water, please,” I whisper pleadingly.

His laughter joins the gulls’ nail-on-chalkboard calls. Then the other two follow with a loud snort to violate my tortured senses. They are a few steps away but I swear I can smell their rotten, boozy breath on my face.

“I never in my wildest dreams imagined a lady of your caliber begging for anything.” The boss-villain holds a glass to my mouth and before I could protest against the stagnant odour of it he tips it into my mouth.

“Has that glass ever been washed?” I turn my nose up before braving another mouthful. His unbearable chuckle morphs into the sound of one of those annoying crackling fireworks.

“Just drink it up Miss Royal Highness, you’re not going to die. Not of some dirty water anyway.” Their roaring laughter makes bile rise in my stomach.

Oh, you abhorrent piece of shit. I will mop the floor with your face before too long. As I gulp down the rest of the gross, tepid water, I carefully study his rough features. I seem to recognise the scars under his right eye. This must be Mr Ice Shark Jr. Aka Frankie Bankes. I AM FUCKED.

“Could I possibly use the bathroom please?” I plead, trying to use the short-lived amicable atmosphere to my advantage. “I really need to pee.”

“We know that trick, bitch. Wasn’t born yesterday. I wouldn’t give a flying fuck if you pissed yourself on this chair. In fact, I’d rather enjoy that.” His pig-snort makes me throw up in my mouth a little but at the same time, his crass words have a strange effect on other parts of my body.

There goes my ingenious plan. Luckily, I speak fluent pervert fuck.

“How much would you pay to see Miss Tough Pants piss her knickers?” He goes on, turning to his rhinos. “I bet a lot of people would pay big bucks to even just see this queen in her underwear.” He draws a pocket knife out mimicking an attempt to cut my clothes off, drawing the blade from my knee towards my hip bone. I involuntary groan as the cold metal traces my bare skin.

“We both know, if you lay a finger on me Marco will fuck your ass with that cute butter knife of yours, before slicing you open.”

“Your loser boyfriend? He couldn’t rescue a drowning puppy from a pond, let alone be a threat to me.”

“Maybe not on his own...”

“Ya talking about your old man? I might keep you as my court jester, girl, you are hilarious.”

“My ‘old man’ just signed with the Albanians. You sure you wanna cross Ermin and the whole of East Block?”

“Your pathetic threats are kind of turning me on, little one.”

Oh, are we going down the DDLG route now? I murmur under my breath.

“What did you say, slut?”

“Nothing.” It might be his rough grip on my jaw, the fact that Marco has been in Madrid for over a month, or just this fucking heat but every insult he throws at me makes my clit throb with foolish need. “If you let me use the loo, I let you play with me - no one needs to find out.” My fucked up version of a siren’s song seems to be working as his eyes feast on my hell-bent smirk.

“I dunno, Sweet Temptation, smells like a trap. And have you looked in the mirror recently? A bit of bruising usually gets me hard but you are a few steps beyond that, doll. You lost your sex appeal somewhere around the time Anthony – he looks at the gorilla on his left - asked you about Marco and you spat in his face.”

“Reckless move, slut,” Anthony nods. “A broken nose doesn’t suit even the prettiest, like you.”

It takes a bit more to break my nose you fuckwit warthog.

I flash my kinkiest, most devilish grin looking at both as I reply. “Hm. I quite enjoy being spat on. Turns me on,” My eyes light up reading both of their expressions. “I think you have overreacted, Anthony,” I purr.

“I have heard rumours that you like it rough,” Frankie boy growls eating up my poisoned sour candies.

Despite the less-than-ideal circumstances my stupid clit agrees with the bastard. My mouth involuntarily twitches into a sideways warped smirk. “Guilty.”

His hand travels from my jaw, down my neck, between my breasts, down my stomach, between my legs... “Only one way to find out if you’re bullshitting me,” he growls into my ear as his fingers venture under my red summer dress that has seen better days.

“Bathroom break first,” a swoon innocently. “My hands are tied, what could I possibly do?” I look down at my obviously hard nipples as I continue to sing in honeyed tones. “Pull my top down, please play with my nipples. Look, how hard they are. I know you want to touch them.” I study the thugs one by one making sure they are where I want them before reeling them in. “My favourite way is one in my mouth, one in my cunt, third one pulling hard on my nipples. Come on, you want it. I haven’t had any for months. Marco has been in Spain for too long.”

They know at least that bit is true. So they seem to be eating up the rest too. As they should. I’m telling the fucking truth. No acting is needed here, whatsoever. But Mobster Jr. Is still hesitating, so I continue on my newborn lamb voice. “Go on, Frankie, just check it for yourself. I ain’t bullshitting.”

Using his name does the trick. He cocks his head staring into my eyes, millimetres away from my face as his fat fingers slide under my panties, easing their way between my moist lips and into my welcoming wetness.

“You really are on heat aren’t you, you filthy fucking slut.”

“Go on, call me all the dirt you can think of,” I whisper as close into his ear as I can.

“You have no fucking idea what we’re gonna do to you, you cheap alley-whore,” he reciprocates through gritted teeth and instructs his minions to untie me from the chair. They pull me up by my arms and re-bind my wrists together. I’ve never felt this helpless in my life under their rough hands. Frankie’s threat ringing in my ears I lose my balance as the room starts to spin.

“Careful, Miss Anton. We nearly lost you there again. But don’t worry, you are in good hands,” he tortures me with lullaby words that rudely contradict their cold-blooded death grip on my arms as they lead me towards the bathroom. I’m really ashamed about what it does to the state of my underwear. Every sweet, prolonged syllable makes me gush like a waterfall.

I’m still unsteady as they push me towards the toilet. “Don’t let me go,” I pray to the chief villain. My damsel in distress is nothing short of Oscar-worthy. “I do need a little help,” I eye up the closed toilet lid and state the obvious that I can’t pull my knickers down with my hands tied behind me. The lack of his earlier arrogant laughter and the impressive tool he rubs against my thigh before pulling my knickers to my ankles ensure me that there’s no coherent thought left in his pig brain.

“I didn’t picture you as a lace kind of girl,” he notes before tucking the barely there material into his pocket.

“I’m full of surprises, Frankie. So, tell me, you like watersports then? I think it would be really hot if you fingered me right now.” I’m yet to find one who can say no to my Cheshire cat grin and flame-to-the-moth eyes.

“You are rotten to the core, demon-girl. Too bad you are the enemy’s pet.”

“Yes, but this pet likes to play around, Sir. So please, would you finish me and make me cum as I pee. My favourite kind of way.”

I catch a blurry glimpse of the two losers pulling their dicks out of their trousers watching their boss toy with me. I don’t care for them.

“This is fucking hot,” Frankie grunts out of breath as he makes me stretch to accommodate god knows how many chunky fingers of his and fucks me relentlessly. “Come on, cum for me then you fucking piss-whore. Don’t hold back.” His other hand grips my throat hard.

“Fuuuck,” my beast howls.

“Beg for it slut, beg to be allowed to cum. Otherwise, I’ll stop.”

“Please make me cum, Sir.” I squeeze the broken, distorted words through his strangling grip. Stars and whole universes pass by as I let go of absolutely everything .

Fuck. I can’t remember the last time I became this pathetic needy fuck. I can’t remember the last time I came this fucking hard.

The thing is, the real me doesn’t want to stop there. I want to feel his cock inside me. But I can’t deviate from the script that much, so easily tearing the rope apart, that his minions were careless to knot properly, I pull his handsome face between my legs and smash his head against the porcelain bowl, fake blood splashing anywhere.

“A-a-and cut.”

“That was amazing, Norah, a hot fucking scene. It will be my new favourite porno, for sure.”

“I thought your all-time favourite one was our little home video with Nicky. When you were the one being tied to a chair.” I grin wickedly at my favourite director.

“You are a very very naughty girl today, Nor. Should I call it a day, send the crew home and let you have some off-camera fun with these three?”

“Yes, please. Are you up for it, Leo?”

As a reply, Leo aka Frankie grabs my hand and leads it to carefully trace his crotch and impressive hard-on. “I’m definitely up for it.”

What came next became my new favourite home video as Brad decided it shouldn’t be strictly off-camera and let the recording roll.