starfuck: Sophie Raworth, Katie Derham, Kirsty Young & Mary Nightingale

[apoll...@my-deja.com]

STARFUCK

Not to be read by anyone under 18. This story contains explicit
descriptions of non-consensual sex. If this offends you, please look
elsewhere. This is FICTION. If you are tempted to recreate the
following scenes, your psychiatrist is going to be a very happy
man......

Starfuck is designed to be a series of STAND ALONE stories (much like
the Hypno-Celeb franchise). However, each story will feature the same
protagonist - an individual with the power to control people's minds.
At some point, I might determine the limitations of this power (ie how
many people he can control at any one time), but for now all you need
know is that in order for control to be established he must have skin-
to-skin contact with his target, though only for a split second. Now,
lets just kick back and watch him put his talent to good use.....
Further starfuck stories can be located at;
www.dejanews.com/~celebfuck/

Comments and suggestions for future stories always welcome!
It's your suggestions that keep me writing..........
abeel...@hotmail.com

Starfuck: Newsreaders - Sophie Raworth, Katie Derham, Kirsty Young &
Mary Nightingale
by Mephistopheles
MC, MF, CELEB

Babes guaranteed to make even the bleakest news palatable.....

The morning proceeds as normal. Sophie and her co-presenter
John Nicolson present the news in their trademark fashion; serious and
professional when the occasion demands it, yet relaxed and informal at
less serious moments. They have a sparky rapport - evidence of an
elusive chemistry that is difficult to synthesise. Not that forming a
rapport with a woman like Sophie can be in any way difficult.....
The show moves as it always does - showing no indication of
anything being amiss. In fact, the first sign of my influence only
becomes apparent when they do their daily review of the newspapers. As
any Raworth aficionado knows only too well, this is always a highlight
of the Breakfast News transmission - the moment when the viewer gets
his first sighting of Sophie's fantastic legs. It might only last a
couple of minutes, but our perseverance is almost invariably rewarded -
only occasionally does she deign to wear a trouser suit. Today, she
didn't have that choice....
As they move away from the desk to review the papers, we are
rewarded with the image of Ms Raworth wearing the shortest skirt
imaginable. As she sits cross-legged, the hem rises to such a degree
that it barely covers her crotch - making it quite apparent that she
has chosen (or rather, I have chosen for her) to go sans panties. With
her legs crossed, we are denied a sighting of the crown jewels, but
with the absence of underwear all too clear, it can surely be only a
matter of time.....
For those who can tear their attention away from a possible
sighting of Sophie's bush, there are other abnormalities. Firstly, her
outfit is completed by a pair of high heeled shoes - the type one
expects to see adorning a cheap hooker rather than a renowned
newscaster. Secondly, Sophie is visibly squirming in her seat. At
first, this movement is barely noticeable, but quickly becomes quite
apparent. This is no brief moment of unease - her squirming is
prolonged. The look of discomfort on Sophie's face is mixed with
embarrassment; indicating a helplessness to control her actions that is
just so arousing. The moment of realisation is always delicious......
This discomfort continues unabated for the next hour. Although
she is once again seated behind the desk - scandalously hiding those
fantastic legs - her squirming is still quite evident. Equally
apparent is her growing inability to concentrate. This fact is
highlighted when she conducts a satellite linked interview with a
correspondent in Iraq. Despite the seriousness of the issue, Sophie is
barely able to speak her lines coherently; her sentences repeatedly
fractured by a series of very audible sighs (or were they gasps?).
Normally, the BBC would quietly pull the presenter off air, ensuring a
swift resumption of normal service. But not today. Under my
influence, this show has been specifically designed for the sole
purpose of humiliating this beautiful newsreader.....
Why is Sophie so distracted? I must confess - without a
modicum of conceit - that her discomfort is down entirely to
my 'influence'. Yesterday, after the show, Sophie collided with a
fellow pedestrian - in that moment of contact, I established control.
Not that there was any immediate transformation. Resisting the urge
for immediate gratification, I left her in total command of her only
faculties - until she is back on air. Now, I have planted a certain
image in her mind; one so strong that her body responds to the stimuli
as if real. In this case, the image is an illusion that, beneath the
desk, Sophie is having her pussy sensually licked - by her 'Breakfast
News' colleague, Rosie Millard. Under normal conditions, Sophie's
preferences are strictly heterosexual in leaning; however, this morning
she has little choice in the matter. While this might only be a
fantasy, to Sophie's clouded mind the illusion is real enough to
stimulate her clitoris. As such, after a brief time of resistance, she
is beginning to submit to the waves of pleasure lapping at her sex.
The poor girl can hardly speak; she's so horny - though she won't be
coming anytime soon......

In the final twenty minutes of the show, Sophie presents the
regular slot on healthcare. It is during this segment that we, her
increasingly horny audience, receive prolonged exposure to Sophie's
pins, as she leaves her desk in favour of a less formal sofa. Leaving
John and the conservative newsdesk, Sophie begins by interviewing their
resident doctor. Relaxing back into an easy chair, Sophie makes an
impressive attempt at professionalism, despite it being all too obvious
that she has other matters on her mind.....
It is quite evident that she is far from comfortable. Having
stuttered out her question, she begins to squirm helplessly as she
awaits the answer. To make matters worse, the camera does not move to
her guest but remains glued upon Sophie's arousal.
I decide that the time has come to put the poor girl out of her
misery. She is obviously aroused - time for her to act upon it.
Instantly, her hand drops to her hem line, raising even this short
skirt higher, and, in the process, giving us all a nice shot of her
pussy; surrounded by closely cropped, whispy blond pubes - so, it seems
Ms Raworth is a natural blond after all....
As her audience watches (no doubt dicks firmly in hands), this
gorgeous newsreader slips a pair of fingers into her cunt and begins to
masturbate - on live national television. All inhibitions have been
abandoned (although in her mind, Sophie is horrified by her
slutishness) - spreading her legs to their furthest width, skirt raised
to her midriff, Sophie's only concern is relieving the frustration she
feels. There is a look of intense concentration on her face as,
dissatisfied with the friction from two fingers, she begins to work her
entire fist into the opening. The cameras stay on her the whole time.
After ten minutes of this exertion, I grant her release - almost at
once she begins to come.
Having milked the last drops of juice from her aching cunt,
Sophie begins to realise what she has done. Her demeanour changes from
relief to mortification. Sadly, her humiliation has barely begun......

Acting upon my instructions, the male crew swiftly move into
position around her. At their head is Nicolson; obviously eager for a
shot at his colleague. These seven men quickly lead her (she
struggles, having regained control of her body - but it does her no
good) back to the newsdesk. This time she is not positioned behind it,
but on top.
Despite her protestations, Sophie is forced onto her hands and
knees atop the desk. From here, the remnants of her dress are pulled
from her body (giving the cameraman a lingering close up of her perfect
arse), before the mauling hands set to work on her blouse - no care is
taken to unbutton, the material is simply torn apart. This leaves Ms
Raworth in just her bra and high heels - and, while she quickly loses
the former, the latter are left in place; general opinion seems to be
that they complement her role as slut. Her breasts are nice; pert and
pale, topped with plump cherry nipples. These are quickly mauled,
before she is forced face down onto the desk. This position nicely
raises her arse to an accessible level; it is not long before her
cheeks are parted and a cock is stuffed into her tight little rectum.
Her screams are obviously attractive, for hands grasp her hair and pull
her head up, forcing her to look up at the face of her co-presenter.
Nicolson has already unzipped his pants and eagerly presents his hard
dick to his partner's face. She desperately tries to keep her mouth
closed, but, the combination of the brutal ramming of her anus, and the
repertoire of threats repeatedly issued by the mob, lead to a lapse of
concentration. The moment her lips part, Nicolson forces his meat into
her mouth. The only influence I exert is to stop her clamping her
teeth down - other than that, she is left to her own devices. As such,
she will not suck. This does not seem to bother Nicolson - he simply
grabs even more of her hair and forcibly fucks her face.....
This violation at both ends is not Sophie's sole violation.
Her hands are wrapped around another two cocks and she is forced to
wank them off. The others concentrate on holding her down, mauling her
tits, and biding their time until they can have a go at her
orifices.....

Sophie's eyes flutter open. Her mind immediately rationalises -
it was just a dream. No sooner has she found this reassurance, then
reality shatters the illusion. Although it seems she now has control
over her own body, it does her little good; hog-tied as she is in a
complex bondage harness. Her body is painfully suspended from the
ceiling - arms strapped tightly behind her back, legs folded up to her
buttocks and fastened securely. In fact only her head is free; free to
observe the precise nature of her predicament. Beneath the chains and
pulleys, Sophie is completely naked. Well, not quite completely.
Around her neck is an ugly dog collar, while her nipples have been
linked together by a pair of nipple rings attached to a chain. Even
her ability to scream is denied her - a large rubber dildo gag has been
inserted deep into her mouth / throat, before being secured around the
back of her head. All Sophie can do is hang there and wait......
She does not have to suffer this predicament for long. Within
minutes, I arrive to release her from this bondage, and introduce her
to a new life of slavery. I loosen the bonds around her legs, but
leave her arms as painfully strapped as before (the ensuing arch forces
her breasts to stand out for easy inspection. As she kneels before me,
struggling in vain against her bonds, I smile evily. "Time for
walkies, bitch". Attaching a lead to her collar, I roughly pull her
out of the dungeon; forcing her to waddle along on her knees to keep
up. She looks so damn cute, shuffling awkwardly along on her knees -
its all I can do to resist fucking her there and then......
As we walk, I decide to engage in conversation. Stopping
briefly, I run my hand through her beautiful blond hair; a reward for
being such an obedient pet. "Don't worry girl, this is only day one of
your training. Soon you won't need to be bound, because you'll only
want to walk on all fours."
My words have their desired effect. Momentarily compliant,
Sophie begins to struggle again. A sharp yank on the chain (tightening
the collar around her neck) quickly puts her back in line. I lean in
close to her petrified face. "You don't believe me do you Sophie? An
intelligent, independent woman like you, you'll never serve. Think
we'll never break your spirit? Maybe if I gave you a demonstration..."
With a swift motion, I unfasten the dildo-gag, pulling it
sharply from her throat. She immediately gasps for air. "Speak to me,
Sophie. Show me what a sophisticated whore you are." She tries to -
but fails. No words can form. In a single moment I have erased from
her mind the ability to talk. When I explain this to her, she looks on
with disbelief and horror. She knows I speak the truth. She can no
longer remember how to form words. Almost immediately, she begins to
sob uncontrollably. If she were able, I'm sure she'd be begging by
now - so much feminism.....
I must confess, this is one of my favourite fantasies /
pastimes. To turn a woman famed for her intelligence into a mindless
pet, but leave her internally aware of her transformation, of just how
far she has fallen - what could be more degrading? However, I cannot
take sole credit. Sophie and her colleagues are special presents for
an inventive client. Casting the redundant gag aside, I lead Sophie to
meet her new owner.......

Martin Lewis was once the BBC's anchor for their
prestigious 'Six O'Clock News' broadcast. He held this position for a
number of years, before being unceremoniously dumped in favour of a
newer, younger breed of newscaster. Being very much of the old school,
Mr Lewis resented his replacement - particularly since he felt the
usurpers were female. This was the ultimate indignity. Lewis viewed
these women as talentless - popular only because men fancied them (we
won't mention the effect his fandom of housewives had on his career).
His plan of revenge against these women struck a chord with my own
degradation fantasies for them, so here we are.......

Lewis sits upon a throne, king of his own specially designed
court (actually a rather spacious room deep within the inner sanctum
of 'Beelzebub' given over specially for this event). Aside from
myself, Lewis is the only male in the room. However, Sophie is not the
sole female - although her brethren can hardly now be classed as
human......
After tearing one's eyes from Lewis' naked form - squat and
bloated upon a tacky gold-painted throne - they swiftly come to rest
upon the delectable form at his side. In his hand, Lewis holds a leash
(not unlike the one connecting me to sweet Sophie, although rather more
ornate / expensive), the other end of which is fastened to an equally
gold-lined collar (the type you put upon only the most expensive
bitch). At present, this collar is fastened around the neck of Mary
Nightingale - not that she responds to that name any more. If you want
to give Lewis' favourite pet an order, you address your command
to 'Pussy'.
Like Sophie, Ms Nightingale has long been a favourite of mine -
I took little persuading to make the delectable presenter of 'London
Tonight' and 'Holiday' a target. Mary, like the rest of her female
colleagues, had gotten ahead in the lucrative field of newscasting
primarily through being so damn fuckable. While Sophie teased the guys
through flashing those fantastic pins, Mary played a more 'subtle'
approach - always fully clothed, always buttoned-up, and all the more
fuckable because of it. Just as we all dream of getting down between
Sophie's legs, so we all long to strip away Mary's respectability, to
dirty her. Right now, she looks pretty damn dirty......
Currently, she's not looking quite so wholesome. All she's
wearing is that collar - I can clearly see her pert little tits,
closely cropped muff (catagoric proof that she's a natural blond); not
that I'm bothered, I've had plenty of opportunity to study this little
Nightingale in the last few months. She sits on all fours beside
Lewis' throne - perched just like the cat she has now come to portray.
Indeed, if you get close enough, one could even hear her purr (the
facility of speech having been removed as with Raworth).
If one moves passed Mary, you confront an extremely pleasing
spectacle; the sight of Katie Derham - weekend anchor of ITN's news
bulletins - showing that sexuality her many fans have up until now only
had cause to dream about. Katie is so small, so delicate; her short
brown hair in no way obscuring the specifics of her body. For the last
few weeks, Katie has spent the bulk of her time in the same position -
the very one she is employed in now. She is situated just inside the
room's entrance; her kneeling form attached to the wall via collar and
leash (do you detect a theme...), legs chained together, hands cuffed
awkwardly behind her back. Her mouth is held perpetually open via the
use of a specially designed gag - comprising of a leather head harness
with a variety of straps and a pair of flat metal hooks with rubber
wedge attachments. The harness fitted snugly over Katie's head -
strapped over and around - while the 'hooks' went either side of her
mouth's interior. Once this was in place, the straps were tightened,
moving the wedges further and further back into her mouth; forcing the
jaw open. Once the harness was fully tightened and secured, poor
little Katie was quite helpless to close her mouth. The finishing
touch was a crudely designed sign - little more than a piece of card
more normally seen in shop widows - hung around her neck proclaiming
her status; 'Bound to Please'....
Martin Lewis had particularly enjoyed the use of this toy;
initially wanking into her waiting mouth, before settling upon using
her mouth as a toilet. In the last few days all Katie Derham has been
allowed to consume is fresh piss. Allowing myself a minute, I relieve
myself - making sure that I give a quick spirt over her face itself -
she looks quite cute with piss dripping down her nose. Her eyes have
glazed over - the fear and spirit of earlier days has been vanquished;
she has accepted her fate. I make sure that Sophie realises this -
this is what is in store for her.......
The final one of Lewis' current crop greets us almost
immediately. This one is his oldest acquisition - the one he wanted
more than any. Currently, he has her clad as a slave girl - completely
naked but for a loose veil around her face. Kirsty Young and her
Channel 5 broadcast (directly rivalling Lewis' old time slot) can be
held responsible for the recent news revolution - at least that is the
way Lewis sees it. And, when his desire for revenge leads to the
complete humiliation of a woman like Kirsty, who am I to argue? Ms
Young, even moreso than Mary Nightingale, is infamous for her refusal
to show even the slightest bit of skin. She is determined to be taken
seriously, determined to prove that her success owes nothing to sex
appeal. Does the foolish bitch really believe she got such a high
profile job without the aid of sex appeal? All her insistence upon
dressing in form hiding business suits does is tease - why else did
Channel 5 introduce the now infamous technique of interviews in front
of (or, perhaps more appropriately, on top of) the news desk? Kirsty's
steadfast refusal to acknowledge her desirability to male fans was
ultimately her undoing. Now she serves light refreshment as a naked
waitress (and occasional dancer) at the court of King Lewis.
Currently, she holds a silver serving platter - on top of which
rests a red plastic dog bowl. At my unspoken instruction, she meekly
puts the bowl on the floor beside my unwilling pet. The name inscribed
upon the bowl is now readily apparent even to Raworth's disadvantageous
position - 'Sophie'. A look of horrified realisation quickly invades
her face - casting those tear ridden doe eyes pleadingly up at me. If
she still had the ability to talk, I do believe she'd be begging......
Crouching down beside her, I playfully run my hand through her
blond locks, forcing her to face the bowl. "Are you hungry, pet? I
bet you are. Don't hold back. You don't have to worry about things
like manners any more. Who expects manners from a dumb animal?" My
laughter is load and cruel - Martin Lewis quickly joins in. "Go on,
Sophie. Tuck in!"
Pulling her leash, I position her head directly over the bowl.
She is now able to fully realise the horror of her predicament. The
bowl is filled with freshly shot semen - an ideal protein boost for a
bitch like Sophie. With this realisation, she begins to struggle - an
endeavour ultimately doomed to futility. A couple of sharp yanks on
the chain quieten her down, before I take away control of her own body
once more.
Internally, she is fully aware, still struggling against this
bondage, but her body is now unresponsive - playing to my tune. With
tears flowing down her cute little face, Sophie lowers her head to the
bowl. Like an obedient bitch, Sophie Raworth begins to lap up the
spunk. Her degradation has now begun in earnest......

Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/
Share what you know. Learn what you don't.