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Emily was naked, her wrists strung high above her head, pulling her body taut. Her legs were spread wide, held in place by a long bar of gleaming metal, with an attached metal cuff securing each ankle. The room was empty, suffused with a white light from ceiling to floor.

Emily's head had dropped forward, her dark shiny hair tussled and damp with perspiration. The sound of the whip cracked against her soft supple flesh. Mark's heavy flogger struck her body again and again, coiling around her thigh, her belly, the perfect globes of her ass. Her cries echoed in the empty room.

Mark lay on the bed, his hand on his cock as he watched her on the screen. The flat screen high definition TV didn't do her justice. Emily Hunter was laughing toward him, her dark blue eyes beckoning to him as he sighed. His recurring fantasy of whipping his bound slave, just before he let her down to fuck her, remained in the back of his mind as he watched the movie star on the screen.

Mark shifted a little in anticipation of her next scene. In a few moments the male character would begin to unbutton Emily's blouse. Mark moaned. He should be the only one to do that. Soon he would be - soon Emily Hunter, adored by millions, would belong to Mark and only Mark.

He would be able to touch that lovely face, to kiss those luscious lips. As Mark watched Emily close her eyes, surrendering herself to her on-screen lover in the climactic final scene of the adventure-love story that had catapulted the then relatively-unknown young actress to stardom, he felt longing dragging like a knife through his gut. Oh, to be kissed by that mouth, to feel those soft lips brush against his in shy hesitation before he crushed her to him, before he took what should belong to him - Mark groaned as his hand flew over his cock, pumping himself in time to the movements of the lovers on the screen. Her lips were like ripe fruit waiting to be bitten. As Mark's lust raged, it wrenched an audible sigh from his own unkissed mouth.

Emily had been compared to Lauren Bacall and with good reason. There was something of that sultry "I dare you" quality in her expression, but Mark knew she was an innocent. He'd followed her career for the past seven years with avid attention. Beyond the movies, he read every interview, bought every magazine on which she was featured and wrote for several online blogs of devoted Emily Hunter fans. But it was two years ago, when he'd managed to get tickets to the screening of her latest movie, that he'd decided to stop living on the sidelines of Emily Hunter's life.

Seeing her in person had been thrilling. She had worn a simple but elegant silky blue dress that clung alluringly to her perfect curves. With that easy, pelvis first gait she had, she'd walked confidently along the receiving line, stopping every few feet to be photographed and to meet her fans. When she'd turned her dazzling smile on Mark, those haunting eyes staring into his own, he'd felt the electricity pass between them. Though she turned away a moment later to smile at the next fan, somehow Mark knew they'd shared something unique. It was at that moment he began to devise his plan.