“Excuse me sir, a package just arrived by Federal express. I left it on the desk in your den.” “Thank you, Phillip,” I said, putting down the book in my hands. I’d been trying to read the same paragraph for the last five minutes and still had no idea what it said, totally unable to concentrate for worrying about my daughter, Jenna. Worrying about her was a common condition, however. As a teenager, she’d developed some unsavory habits and started running around with a bad crowd. She was constantly in the tabloids, and that certainly made being a politician a lot more difficult. I’d hoped she’d grow out of this phase when she graduated high school, but instead her disturbing behavior only got worse. It had gotten to the point where I was constantly fearful for her general future, but rarely bothered to have intense worry pains, until I got a call from a cop telling me she was in trouble again. Then I sent one of my political operatives to burry the skeletons as deep in the closet as they could. This time it was different, however. She’d missed a scheduled dinner—again not all that unusual—but when I called to find out why, she didn’t answered her phone. That, at least, was not like her. She rarely passed up an opportunity to beg for money. I left the book I was reading on my desk and walked from the library to my den. The package was lying on the corner of my favorite mahogany desk. I picked it up, pulled the tab and shook out an unlabeled DVD. I frowned when I saw the accompanying business card, which read: From the Production Team at: Mind Abuse Studios 1-800-4Fucked It only took a moment for the same image from the business card to pop up on my screen when I stuck the DVD in my computer. I suppose it’s better than a ransom note, I told myself as I read the familiar but unusual business card. At the moment, however, I really wasn’t in the mood to deal with this kook. Recently, at a charity fundraiser, my daughter introduced me to a man who called himself M. A. Johnson, pronouncing it like the single name Emmy. He wanted me to invest fifty thousand on a movie he was trying to make. From his vague description, it sounded like porn—porn with a bizarre, zombie setting. These zombies weren’t starving for brains, instead they’d become sex crazed maniacs with incurable hard-ons; they loved to capture pretty young girls, tie them up then torture and rape at their endlessly somnolent pace. I turned M. A. down, of course. I wasn’t interested in funding the endeavors of my daughter’s latest pervert. Now, less than a week later, here he was sending me a DVD—no doubt with a final plea for my financial help. I was tempted to throw the disk away without even bothering to watch the rest of it, but before I could hit the eject button, a harsh voice spoke to me from the speakers. “Hello, Mr. Edward Joseph Wellington. I just wanted to think you again for taking the time to speak with me at the recent benefit for Children’s Hospital. Don’t worry; this is not another appeal for money. On the contrary, I am happy to inform you that Mind Abuse Studios won’t need your money after all. Let me introduce you to a very talented new actress…” The image from the business card disappeared as the screen went dark for a moment before being spliced into a dimly lit scene. It was a close up of my daughter’s face—her hair was in disarray and her mouth was gagged by a blue ball on a leather strap. That was all I could see of her, but there was no question that it was my daughter—or that she wasn’t entirely free from distress at the moment. “This young lady has very graciously volunteered to play all the female roles in our current film—and, I can assure you, there has been no shortage of male actors eager to work with her free of charge as well. In fact, this arrangement has saved us so much money that we are now ready to produce our first movie. Yes! I said our first… you see, we’re so pleased with having acquired this new source of free acting that we’ve decided to expand our original plan of making just one movie. Now we have a much more ambitious endeavor in mind. It will include one hundreds short films… each with a budget of around fifty thousand dollars. We will use the proceeds from the first film to produce the second, and so forth. “We fully expect these films to be an overwhelming success, so if you should ever change your mind and decide that you wish to invest in our little production company, please let me know. We still have room for a few wise investors. “My dedicated film crew is working hard, at an undisclosed location, but you can still contact me at 1-800-4FUCKED if you’re interested in pursuing this unique, limited time, opportunity. “In case you’re interested, I’m including some footage of our actress’s screen tests, to help you decide whether investing in our movies will be worth your while. We’ll be sending you complementary updates as our movies are made. If you still have no wish to invest, after viewing each movie, feel free to keep the movie as our free gift, or simply discard it, if you prefer. Keep in mind that the number of movies you wish to fund is entirely up to you—there will be no hard feelings if you decide not to fund any. Our new actress has already proven that she is a diligent (and some might say enthusiastic) worker, when given the right motivation. “By the way… for the safety of our actress, please keep the information in this DVD confidential, as our competition would no doubt love to steal her away from us—and we’re determined to keep her under contract for the duration of our multiple film project. If we feel any pressure from outside competitors to acquire her, we’ll be forced to take her into deep hiding, to ensure that they will never find her. “Thank you for your consideration… and now, I hope you enjoy the show. I know we enjoyed making it.” With those words, the camera began to gradually pulling back, showing that Jenna’s arms were raised above her head. Two bands of stretchy fabric were wrapped around her upper arms, very close to the shoulder joint. These bands pushed her head forward and helped hold her arms so close together that it pushed her head forward and messed up her normally perfect hair. The camera didn’t show it, but her wrists seemed to be bound, and she was hanging from the ceiling by them. As the camera continued to pan out, it became apparent that Jenna had a pair of clothes pins clamped to her bare nipples. The perspective continued pulling back, showing that the rest of her body was naked, except for a pair of black heels. Her legs were spread, with each ankle secured by more stretchy black material. It seemed to be a single, long piece of cloth with a loop at both ends—the center was trapped beneath the iron plate that Jenna was standing on. It was a clever way of tying her together, while holding them apart. A large torch was burning between her legs. Its barrel looked like a candle, and its flame was large enough that Jenna moaned and squirmed, desperately trying to get away from the heat. Suddenly, someone stuck a clap-board in front of the screen and snapped the orange and white candy striped sticks together. “Screen test for Cellar Rape—take seven,” an enthusiastic young voice said before pulling the clap-board out of the way. A few seconds later a completely naked man came out of a dark doorway. He had dark shadows around his eyes and he was holding his hands out in front of him in the typical ‘zombie’ stance, as he lumbered towards Jenna. She turned towards him, with real fear registering in her eyes as the zomboid groaned and swayed close toward her. Desperately, she pulled at the black fabric holding her legs, trying to break free, even though there was no reason to think she could. Her leg muscles strained and the nipple clamps flopped back and forth as her muffled screams begged for release. Despite my horror at seeing my own daughter in such a compromising situation, my cock was throbbing against the inside of my jeans. I’d always known that Jenna was a beautiful young woman—given the clothes she liked to wear, it would have been impossible not to notice; but I’d never seen so much of her. Nor had I seen her helplessly bucking and twisting as one of the horny undead squeezed her breasts around fiercely biting nipple camps and groped her crotch. She had such a fine body that it was easy to forget who she was and get turned on—or maybe it was because of who she was that I was getting so excited as I watched a man grabbing a fist full of her belly. Pulled her reluctant body, first one way and then back the other, positioning himself behind her as he reached down to spread the cheeks of her ass. He pushed into her from behind and the expression on her face was delicious. Either she was a very good actress or she wasn’t enjoying this one little bit. At least one of those possibilities had me rock hard. “As you can see,” the voice said, in a poor imitation of a narrator’s voiceover. “In this scene, our heroine is being used as bait, to help capture a zomboid. Unfortunately for her, her partner (who she’ll play while wearing a wig) has been ambushed by another zomboid, so she is unable to come to her rescue. In fact, she’ll get her own turn being zomboid fuck meat. “At the moment, of course, we’re just screening all the male actors to decide whose best for which roles—so there’s a lot more filming to be done before we actually begin making the movies. I haven’t included all the outtakes, but I dare say this strategy has been very effective. Every time we do another take, it seems our actress gets better at feigning fear and pain. Sometimes, it really is hard to believe that she’s just acting, she’s just that good.” Even as my cock throbbed, my heart was aching. It was obvious what they wanted: One hundred films at fifty thousand a piece? That was Five million dollars. Five million dollars in exchange for a rebellious daughter who’d caused me nothing but trouble over the past several years. It hardly seemed like a fair trade—and I was finding it hard to believe I wouldn’t enjoy watching the films they sent me more than having her back. Actually, I wouldn’t put it past her to have been the one who came up with this scheme… even if I didn’t believe she was still getting what she wanted. If this really was against her will, I wondered if she’d come back any different. Was it possible that M. A. could tame Jenna’s wild spirit in a way that I never could. Or perhaps she would be so permanently traumatized by her experience that I’d have to send her away to an insane asylum. No one would question the need, after what she was going to experience at the hands of this evil film maker. I could picture myself visiting her in solitary, where she’d be wearing a straightjacket to keep her from harming herself. I could visit her as often as I wanted… and keep her there for as long as I wanted. The thought was almost enough to make me want to retire from politics so I could spend more time with her. But first I had to decide how many films, if any, I was willing to pay for. Would she come back any different, if I failed to pay for ten films. Would that be enough trauma to change her ways? And did I really want her to come back to me obedient and well behaved? Four and a half million would go a long way during my next campaign—and there was the added benefit of seeing another ninety-five movies, not unlike this one. On the other hand, those visitations sounded pretty good too. As I unzipped the front of my pants and pushed down my pants, I wondered what M. A. would think about making some of his movies about a girl in an insane asylum. Whatever his reply, it looked like I was on my own for the moment. Lucky Zomboid, I thought as I began to stroke my hard member.