The location was a four-poster bed in a bare room apart from a pair of small Wharfedale speakers attached to the magnolia painted walls. On top of the rubber-covered mattress Marcie’s arms were strapped to the posts. In this scene she was face-up and wearing a flimsy, peek-a-boo bra and panties that had been ripped to one side.
A naked man, who Mason knew to be in his mid-forties and nothing else, was kneeling beside her head. He told her to open her mouth while he put one hand between her legs.
‘Good girl,’ said Mason, as she obliged Mister No-Name. ‘I’ve trained her well, don’t you think?’
Turpin chewed on the stub end of his cigar. ‘Nice action with her tongue ... she’s a little cracker, all-right.’
Mason hand reached into his pocket past a wad of crisp tenners to feel his erection swelling. No-Name had coughed up plenty for an exclusive scene before the Main Event. Three other nameless men were playing Pontoon for high stakes in the sitting room. Their 4X4 vehicles were parked outside Mason’s Manor, situated at the end of a country track on the edge of Exmoor, not far from Lynmouth. The Manor was ideal; secluded outlook and privacy, used on a strictly need to know basis by coded telephone messages between him and the man on the bed.
Mister No-Name was sweating profusely; he arched his back and emitted a low growl.
‘Here it comes,’ said Turpin. The camera zoomed-in for a close-up of the messy ejaculation. Marcie gulped — then smiled, just like Mason had trained her to do. She would do anything now, his tiny, home-made slut. But the Main Event wouldn’t be what she expected.
‘Nice lips,’ said Turpin, as he switched off the camera and reached for his pack of Havanas.
Mason got up. ‘I’m stepping out for some fresh air. Recommence in fifteen, okay?’
Turpin lit up, blew out more smoke, and relaxed back in his chair. ‘Suit yourself. I’ll keep my eye on little Marcie.’
Mason grunted. Slimy turd with a big hooter, he said to himself. But a genius cameraman — ex-Pinewood Studios — before a dubious history involving under-age girls saw Turpin out of one job and into a more lucrative one.
The card game had finished; the men were gathered round Mason’s pleasure box of toys, inspecting the contents. A white rabbit was caged next to the box. One of the men noticed Mason, beckoned him over, and pointed at it.
‘What do you expect me to do with this smelly creature?’
Mason waved at the folders on top of the cage. ‘You got ten minutes. Read the fucking script ... the snuff-scene.’ He didn’t know why he had bothered to set up a perfect stage for the Main Event; these perverts wouldn’t appreciate his — and Turpin’s — fine choreography. They moaned about it at length until Mister No-Name intervened.
‘Do what you’re fucking told or Turpin might forget to blank out your faces. These tapes will make us a fortune, so shut it.’
Mason spat into his hands. ‘Any cunt going to argue?’ He glared at them. No eye contact, no-one said a word. ‘Thought so, let’s get started.’
Later, in the bedroom with the pleasure box, the three men were listening to Mason’s instructions from the speakers.
‘The first scene is a warm-up; get excited, play with Marcie.’ She was unstrapped from the bed posts, wearing a black corset, matching panties and a red-glossed smile.
Turpin smirked. ‘Look at the animals.’ Her corset was ripped down at the top while her mouth and hands pumped the men erect. ‘Nice nipples ... how old did you say she was?’
Mason grunted. ‘None of your fucking business.’
Fourteen ... Fucking crazy.
Turpin shrugged; gave him the signal he was ready. Mason spoke into the microphone. ‘Next up, a freestyle scene. Use your toys and take Marcie anyway you like ... empty your balls. Act natural while we’re filming ... when we’ve got enough tape, I’ll signal a break.’
Turpin began to film, while Mason lazed back in his chair and watched the abuse. A voyeur with a hard-on, but Marcie was used goods now; he’d have to find another play-mate on the next trip.
‘Canned it,’ said Turpin as he stopped filming. ‘Filthy pigs, the lot of them.’ He sniggered. ‘But I wouldn’t mind a piece, myself.’
Mason called time out. They’d had their fill; Marcie was hugging herself with a towel, tears streaming down her face. He grimaced. ‘Give her one then. Fifteen minutes, but make fucking sure you clean up after.’
Mason followed Turpin into the screening room to prepare for the Main Event. He beckoned to Marcie, kept his voice low.
‘Turpin’s got horny watching you.’
Fresh tears began to fall. ‘Daddy ... I’m aching, all over. Please don’t let him hurt me like the others.’
Mason laughed, thumped Turpin on the back. ‘Hear that? You be a good daddy to her.’ He moved towards Marcie, yanked at her arm, and dragged her across to Turpin. ‘On your knees, bitch. Make him feel welcome.’
He waited to see if she would react, but she seemed resigned, just nodded her head and mumbled okay. Broken her spirit and now it was time to seal her fate. While she tended to Turpin, he busied himself setting up the Main Event for Mister No-Name.