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Disclaimer: This story contains content that should not be read by people underneath the age of 21. It is 100% fiction and has no bearing on reality whatsoever. 100% fiction means real life rape is WRONG. The author does not condone illegal and immoral actions described. If you feel rape in the real world is a good thing, bend over in a prison and whistle dixie. While I'm disclaiming, racism, homophobia and other bigotry of any kind are also really fucking stupid. I don't own Southland Tales or any characters and make no profit from this story. Please read the story codes above to ensure that you are not going to be offended by, or otherwise dislike, the content.

Description: After being surgically rendered limbless on Baron von Westphalen's orders, Krysta Now is found by horny gangstas...

A/N: This is a re-write of my old story from 2007/2008 and is hopefully now much improved.

Content Codes: MF, MMF, nc-cons, pwp, inter, mutil, viol



Southland Tales: Nobody Now
by JD (joandoe@gmail.com)

It all began, as these things often do, in a Venice Beach burger franchise which existed as a subsidiary of a division of the multinational Treer Corporation. Krysta Now had only pulled in for food at the request of her old friend and former porn colleague, Deena Storm. Technically, Deena was still shooting porn, but she'd agreed to stop when Krysta Now's planned new reality TV show took off. As Deena climbed from Krysta Now's car, she left behind a small pool of spunk. It wasn't as if Deena smelled like her earlier gangbang; she'd clearly showered, but not douched. Krysta Now reached down quickly and scooped the mess up, licking her hand clean with a shiver. She'd done girl-on-girl scenes with Deena before, and thought about suggesting a session for old times sake.

"Come on now, Krysta! I got a buddy works here who'll serve us for free if we go in the back door."

"Don't call me Krysta! It's got to be Krysta Now, or they'll mistake me for someone else," she pouted.

Krysta Now reflected that similar lines to Deena's call had appeared in her own films as she followed her friend around the back of the gaudy plastic fronted building. Blank eyed bovine customers within paid no attention to the girls passing the window; many of them were far past the point of sexual activity in their obesity. She found it slightly disgusting that her finger slurping was mirrored by a grossly overweight woman with a pile of dollar burgers. Though if the customer had been rude to the staff there may have been the same amount of semen in the sauce.

"Deena! Wait up!"

Realizing the other woman was out of sight, Krysta Now hurried after in a clattering of heels. She could move quite fast in them, and quickly rounded the building's corner and sped through the doors. Instead of the kitchen, the door led into a staff rest area, and instead of staff on the couch she saw her patron Baron von Westphalen. She came up short, even as Deena, kneeling, pulled the old man's cock from his expensive suit trousers and slipped it into her mouth. Serpentine, the Baron's companion, stood behind the businessman, massaging his shoulders sensuously. The scene reminded Krysta Now of a Dad Rock photoshoot.

"What's going on, Baron? I thought we were going to meet tomorrow to discuss things."

"It's my own fault, Krysta Now, you're simply no good for my Whore. You're far too intelligent. Had I but realized, I'd have hired this ignorant little skank in the first place. She's a good little whore."

Deena, with a mouth full of cock, appeared to offer agreement. She gave her betrayed friend a thumb up. Krysta Now opened her mouth to respond, when a heavyset bodyguard closed a strong smelling rag over her mouth and nose. Pulling her petite body too him, he groped her perky tits through the sheer top she'd chosen to show them off. She felt a raging boner poking into her ass, but as she tried to pull away the fumes on the rag overcame her frightened and confused mind. As she sank helplessly into drugged oblivion, the Baron's last taunting words made it into her brain

"It wasn't hard to find a replacement whore in Los Angles..."

She might have thought Deena sucked, if it wasn't stating the obvious.


Time passed. Plans were put into action. Fluid Karma spread across the globe. Deena Storm released Krysta Now's pop song as if it were her own, and took the reality show role, and generally made an acceptable Whore of Los Angeles despite stiff competition.


Krysta Now's hair had almost been her signature; rich, blonde and shining prettier than any other gal in Porn. When she awoke without any hair at all it was as if a small part of her personality had gone. She even noticed the cool air on her bared scalp before she realised she lacked her teeth. They'd left her with a mouth like a chat show host's Trailer Park Special guest She felt drugged, and couldn't move her arms or legs. When she lifted her head woozily, she saw it was because all four limbs had been cleanly amputated. The surgeon had left her the barest stump at each joint.

The surgery was almost entirely healed, and Krysta Now realised that she must have been unconscious for a long time. She tried to scream, but only managed to make a kind of soft woo-ing noise. Never having been the dumb blonde most of her calloused-handed fans assumed, she quickly deduced that her larynx had also been surgically operated on. Her voice, her arms, her legs, her teeth were all gone. She didn't know it, but all of her body hair and partially re-grown scalp hair had been removed using the latest electric depilatory technique. She would remain hairless as long as she lived. The shallow part of her mind said that keeping her weight low had been made much easier.

The room seemed to be a private hospital room, but it was warm enough that she had been left nude and uncovered. She lay on clean sheets and had no signs of bedsores, having clearly been well looked after. The drugs in her system were fading, which was why she had woken up. She felt the beginnings of phantom pains in her amputated limbs, and licked dry lips. Thankfully, the phantom pains would grow no worse.

Her feelings about the medical status of the room were supported by the catheter tubes running into Krysta Now's pussy and ass, and a standing drip, which was needled into her stomach. The drip looked empty. Krysta Now lay on the bed - having no choice - for an hour, moving her bare head around and taking in views of the entire room. After the initial shock faded, she felt terribly bored. Part of her wished there was a TV, or a radio. Krysta Now also tried to think back to what happened, what kind of terrible accident could have reduced her to this state. The last night returned to her mind; Deena and the Burger Joint. That bitch!

So why wasn't she dead? That was the only thing Krysta couldn't figure out. If she knew too much for the Baron to trust her smart little head, why not have someone put a bullet in it? She knew enough to know he'd happily murder somebody. That was part of the plan, even! Had they been driving her to an execution spot when some terrible crash had robbed her of her limbs, and caused the paramedics to remove her piercings? What sort of surgery required the removal of nipple and pussy piercings anyway, never mind her ears?

She did hear muffled movement outside the room a few times, but she could only make soft air noises in reply. There was no way to draw attention to herself in any way, and she couldn't even reach any kind of hospital buzzer that might be out of sight by the bed. Louder noises sounded like distant gunfire, softened by the thick walls of the room. She dropped her smooth head back to the pillow, and waited for someone to enter the room. Having been awake and bored for the best part of two hours, Krysta Now was close to dozing off when the door suddenly opened.

"Holy shit! Pops check out what that crazy bastard has in here. This is some fucked up shit."

A large man stood in the doorway. Powerfully built and well over six feet tall, her virtually filled the entrance. He wore black clothing and leather gloves, as well as a balaclava obscuring his face - only his surprised brown eyes and gaping mouth were uncovered. The semi-automatic he carried enhanced his already intimidating stature considerably. Krysta Now moved her lips soundlessly and pleaded for help with her eyes. Another voice, older and rougher, answered the man from somewhere outside the room,

"Had, you mean? That cracker motherfucker is top drugs dog in this town no long... HOLY SHIT, T-DOG!"

"...I already said that, Pops."

The second man was dressed like the first, but less powerfully built. He broke off his cocky statement and swore when he put his head around the door, and saw the surgically altered former porn star on the bed. Pops had seen some fucked up shit back when he served as an Army medic, and had conveniently developed an amputee fetish. He found the sight of the perfect-breasted girl, completely shorn of her limbs, incredibly erotic, and pushed eagerly past his companion into the small room and laid his own gun aside.

T-Dog followed behind, and commented,

"Wow, so he really as a surgeon, huh? My cuz said they just called him that because he liked to have guys who fucked with him cut up and posted to their mommas. That's why they needed us New York niggas to come down and sort his ass out. We went through his crew like a fat momma through buckets of wings! Maybe he could've healed himself up; I hadn't shot him in the head all those times."

Pausing behind Pops, he stood with his head on one side, thinking hard, and continued, "Say, do those white titties look familiar to you? I swear I seen them getting jizzed all over in a skin flick. I never forget a rack."

Pops was too busy pulling his cock from his pants to answer. Completely professional as they'd taken out the building's owner and his bodyguards, associates and unfortunate chauffer, he couldn't stop himself getting a piece. He'd even forgotten that T-Dog liked to have first dibs when they banged a bitch - in the parlance of the street. He pulled Krysta Now's limbless torso off the bed, yanked the tubes and drip needle free with unconsciously recalled skill, and upended her. She was helpless to prevent him as he pushed his hard cock right into her toothless mouth. He gripped one arm tightly around her back, and used the other on Krysta Now's head. She swallowed his shaft to the heavy black balls immediately.

"Oh yeah... that's real nice."

Krysta Now felt the blood rushing down into her head, which began to throb. Her assailant started fucking her face, but with years of experience in porn she didn't gag once. It wasn't the kind of skill that made it onto a résumé, but it served her well. He leaned down to her exposed crotch and lapped at her pussy while bouncing the upside down torso on his cock. He was well hung, but once again Krysta Now's experience counted in her favour. She was no stranger to big black cocks.

"Shit, Pops! I see something like this I remember why the Army didn't want your ass around the wounded no more. Uncle Sam don't mind rape, but only wanted it against the enemy, huh? Even then you didn't want to get caught," cracking a smile he continued, "Yo, I hope you don't want a hand job off her, when you get done fucking that face."

Pops raised his head from Krysta's saliva moistened folds and spoke over T-Dog's laughter for a second before bowing back in,

"T-Dog, my man, this is my dream girl. That dead fucker don't need her no more. He got his hole in the head instead. Damn her throat feels good..."

Krysta Now had realized that there hadn't been an accident. The Baron had turned her over for this surgery purposely; no doubt he'd included her in some business deal. She recalled rumours amongst the mobsters who hung around porn studios of a big time Russian Mafioso who wanted his girls helplessly compliant, and maybe him or someone of similar tastes had possessed something the Baron wanted. You couldn't accuse the repugnant traitorous old piece of shit of being inefficient. Yet, the man fucking her throat without so much as a 'May I?' and his buddy were to thank for the asshole surgeon responsible no longer being a problem for her.

She felt very grateful, and who didn't like being a dream girl? So she worked with all her porn star skill to give him the best blow of his life. She didn't have a working larynx but she certainly had a tongue, and she worked it energetically around Pops' thick shaft. She'd done clothed scenes before, so easily ignored the slight discomfort of his clothed torso against her upturned body; the odd feeling of his balaclava against her thigh stumps was arousingly ticklish. He worked her pussy well with his tongue, and Krysta Now realised that though her head was pounding she was getting very wet. Her pussy's own 'fluid karma' dribbled down her belly as far as her breasts. She wiggled her stumps in pleasure.

T-Dog was at first incredulous, but then started to get turned on, and slowly tugged his own cock out. Checking his watch, he decided they had time for a little fun. He jerked his even bigger organ as he watched Krysta Now's increasingly red face being fast fucked by his middle-aged friend. Her toothless mouth was a soft source of incredible pleasure before each thrust up into her tight gripping throat. Krysta Now received almost as much pleasure from the tongue working her gooey hole, labia and clit. It wasn't long until she peaked, coming in Pops' arms. She would have been screaming around the dick in her mouth if she still possessed the ability. She squirted hard, spraying wetly across Pops' and round about as he raised her from his twitching shaft.

Pops suddenly pulled her off his dick and laid her torso crossways over the bed. She was still shuddering from her orgasm as he pointed his cock at the crown of her bald head, and fired sticky streams of spunk across it. She felt the familiar feel of warm ejaculate dripping down her skin. Her pussy twitched, wanting a share. She remembered another girl in the business claiming guys always loved coming across the head of a girl with her hair shaved off. Krysta Now had called it cancer chic. In Pops case, T-Dog suspected he just appreciated someone else who'd have the same amount of hair as the rapidly balding veteran. Pops groaned as he rubbed his purple crown across the smooth scalp, smearing his load into Krysta Now's smooth skin.

"You don't mind sharing your dream girl do you, Pops?"

Krysta Now looked up at T-Dog's question, smiled toothlessly and nodded her approval. He realised that what'd started as rape, being as Pops didn't get no permission, had somehow turned into consensual sex. T-Dog would try anything once. One time, in prison, at the urging of an effeminate cellmate, he'd even watched Sex in the City. Looking into Krysta Now's eager eyes he again felt a spark of recognition, brought on by the realisation that it was like the plot of a cheap porno. He shrugged, deciding there was no way he'd seen this Los Angeles ho before.

"Long as you don't mind me keeping her, T-Dog. We can take her back North with us when we done looting the rest of his valuables for L'il Go-Lane, right?"

T-Dog wasn't really listening while he moved up to take a turn. As Krysta Now's face returned to a more normal colour, he positioned her limbless torso at a better angle across the bed. She would have moaned if she could, as he slid his cock into her highly aroused hole. She gripped and squeezed with her internal muscles as he fucked her. He'd assumed she'd be loose, well fucked and reamed out - not a bit of it.

Of course, it helped that the tough African-American gangsta was hung like a porn star. Hell, he was almost as big as a black porn star. Krysta Now's mouth moved soundlessly as he pounded into her over the bed. If she still had legs, she would have wrapped them around his hard black ass to make him fuck her deeper and faster. T-Dog slurped an erect nipple into his mouth, and lapped it with his tongue. He certainly knew what to do with a fine rack. Krysta Now realised she was close to coming again.

"Course, I might buy her a pair of false teeth to wear when we ain't fucking. Don't want her to get no granny mouth."

T-Dog raised his head to glower at Pops, annoyed by the mental image. Normally he'd have been put off kissing a girl right after she'd blown another guy. Caught in the passion of the fuck and wanting to show the girl her face was still beautiful, he pressed his tongue into her mouth. Krysta Now returned the kiss, running her tongue behind his teeth as he tasted gums. The medical bed rocked under his powerful thrusts. He felt her torso tense up as a further climax exploded out from her pussy and tore through her entire body. Sunk to the balls between her leg stumps, he moved his hands to grip her arm stumps, and groaned.

He cried his loud pleasure to Krysta Now's silent joy. He managed to tug his cock free from her squeezing spraying pussy. His first shot sprayed across her left leg stump, but he fired the rest across her flat stomach. Krysta Now's tits rose and fell as she came down from the plateaux of pleasure. She tried to thank the man for making her cum, but remembered again that she was now mute, mute and toothless. Pops lent down and shared a kiss with the gasping Krysta Now, making sure he didn't overbalance her from the bed.

"Sorry 'bout that T-Dog, she the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," he rubbed a leg stump affectionately, "Just meant I could help keep her that way."

They looked around, but couldn't find any record of Krysta Now's name in with the edited medical history the sadistic surgeon had worked from. When Pops said it seemed like she was a nobody, Krysta Now nodded and smiled so they nicknamed her Nobody. She didn't want them to know her real name; in case word got out that they'd been the ones to take her from the surgeon. The Baron might want to send people after her, and, frankly, she felt safer with the two large gangstas than the evil old businessman.

When they left, they took Krysta Now with them along with a goodly amount of looted equipment and drugs. They set a fire just for kicks. T-Dog volunteered to drive so Pops could strip off his gear and hug her on his knee, holding off from coming as long as he could on the drive to T-Dog's cousin's place. The truck was old, and the suspension poor, so the ride was pretty rough, driving Pops cock up into Krysta Now's pussy over and over. He felt as powerful as pointing a gun in some fool's face as with the helpless, limbless white girl on his cock. She'd been out of the sun for a while, and her skin looked extra pale against Pops' high melanin content.

Once business was taken care of, and T-Dog's Californian relatives controlled the hard drugs trade in more than half of LA, they drove back up to New York, sharing the eager torso that'd been Krysta Now in motels along the road. They used her every way they wanted, and she happily and willingly took part in their games. Her new favorite position was when they stood facing each other and bounced her on their dicks, one in her pussy and one in her ass. Her previous anti-anal stance, arrived at after an especially rough anal gangbang for a second rate producer, seemed meaningless put up against the violence the Baron's surgeon had done to her. She would grip them as they plunged in, and release them as they pulled out until they pumped her full of their thick, hot, seed. Her silenced cries didn't even disturb the other guests through the thin walls of the cheap fleapits.

Back in the Big Apple, Pops took his responsibilities to Nobody seriously. T-Dog said he was finally settling down like an old geezer. He had the medical training to stop her getting pressure sores with enough movement, and learned what he needed to with other issues that arose. He got her on the pill. He even bought her the teeth. Their mutual pleasure was most heightened when he installed a harness, suspended from the ceiling of his crib, which allowed him to bounce her, and twist her and spin her every which way. One night, while T-Dog and Pops faked the suicide of a pimp who'd refused to kill himself, T-Dog jokingly suggested the pair get married.

Meanwhile, T-Dog finally found where the sense of recognition came from. Catching one of Krysta Now's old porn flicks while smoking a fatty with his homies, he came to an important realisation,

"Huh, Nobody... rocks the cock like Krysta Now."*

Pops and Krysta Now might've remained together for eternity, Gangsta and Fuck-Torso, except that a handshake a few weeks later down in Los Angeles collapsed the fourth dimension and everything changed. They were fucking at the time, and if the world actually ended they went out with a bang.

End.
Feedback to joandoe@gmail.com

*Citation: "Nobody rocks the cock like Krysta Now" Is a line from the movie Southland Tales.

    

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