Morning chat show

The stylized 'M' and 'W' whooshed in from the edges of the screen and melted together in the center, accompanied by a jolly jingle. As the logo faded out, the camera zoomed in on the presenter sitting on a plush armchair.

She was a black woman with shoulder-length reddish-purple hair in an 'I want to speak to the manager' cut. Her makeup was too aggressive for the early hours of the morning, but it accentuated her large doe eyes very well. Her white blouse was see-through enough to allow one to make out the white lacy bra underneath it. She had large breasts straining against the bra's material. A golden cross hung on a pendant, resting on the top of her cleavage. A purple pencil skirt ended just above her knees on which she rested a tablet. The skirt's length allowed her to show off her shapely ebony legs and purple high heels. Her right hand was holding a stylus and most of her fingers sported golden rings of different styles.

'Welcome back to Morning with Wendy, Steelville!' - she beamed at the camera. 'What a show we had so far today! I can't pick a favourite between those adorable rescue puppies or Chef Pierdine's delicious AND healthy summer salad recipes!' - her smile faded and her brows dropped slightly.

'Now, though, we will speak about a serious topic that, even though tragic, carries an uplifting message of recovery, female pride and finding one's true calling.'

The camera panned out and on the left hand side of the screen a coffee table came into view, with a stack of books on it. Further, Wendy's guest became visible, sitting in an identical chair across from the host.

She seemed to be the exact opposite of Wendy in many ways. The pale, young white woman sat with squared shoulders and rested her hands in her lap, fingers intertwined in a show of piety and modesty. All her clothes were of an unassuming dark beige and seemed to be made of sackcloth. She wore a headscarf tied behind her head that only allowed a tuft of her fiery red hair to show and a long-sleeved dress that covered her whole body, save for her hands and feet. There was no lipstick or eyeliner, only the matte powder the makeup department of the studio put on her face before leading her to the guest seat. She also wore a cross on a necklace, but it was wooden and dangled from brown string. She was a beautiful woman who made every effort to look plain.

'Dear viewers, welcome Mary Lejuisse!'

'Thank you for having me, Wendy, it is great to be here.'

'Now, Mary, I understand this was not always your name - in fact, you changed it less than a year ago, after joining the Sisters of His Divine Mercy, is that right?'

'Yes, the transformation the Lord guided me through in His wisdom felt complete when I abandoned my original name. I used to be called Chardonnay.'

'And the transformation you talk of started with a harrowing experience, spanning more than a year.'

'Yes, it was an ordeal I learned to look back on as the Lord testing me and purifying my soul and I will always be thankful to the Sisters who understood this and accepted me into their Order despite me not being a virgin. It also led me to write my book' - here she gestured towards the table on which copies of her publication were piled up, one with its cover facing the viewer, on it a pair of hands holding a wooden cross - 'which I hope not only to be a cautionary tale but also affirmation of the bottomless heart of Our Lord and Saviour, a heart that makes sure the door to redemption remains open, no matter how low you sink or how hard you fall.'

Wendy nodded approvingly, holding the stylus under her chin.

'Mhm. And the title: 'Harlot to Harem to Hallelujah' really sums up your journey well. To those of our viewers who may not remember reading the news when it broke just under two years ago, Mary was rescued from kidnappers in a Navy SEAL operation in Yemen after having been missing for a year. After returning home, she shared with the world the horrible **** she suffered on the hands of her captors. But, I'd rather she told this story in her own words. Mary why don't you tell us about the first half of your journey, harlot to harem?'

'Of course. I grew up in a small Midwestern town I'd rather not name and moved to the nearest city to attend university when I was 18. Whether a blessing or a curse, I had looks men admired and soon got into modeling. Not catwalk stuff, but rather glamour-oriented photoshoots. The money was good and kept getting better, and eventually in my naivete I dropped out of school and started doing it full time. My parents didn't know, but I don't think they would have cared. After all, they did name me Chardonnay.'

'At 20, I got approached by a talent agent, or so he called himself. The opportunity was one of a lifetime: a six-figure sum to spend a few weeks dancing and socialising with the upper crust in Dubai. Apparently redheads were all the rage, especially ones with a body like mine. I said yes immediately and soon I was on a private jet, heading to the Gulf.'

The first few days went as promised, half of the agreed sum appeared in my bank account and all I had to do was show up at parties and dance in my underwear. That didn't last long, though, and they started moving the goal posts. They told me that for the money they paid me I need to perform more...salacious acts. When I refused, they told me I won't be able to leave the country and might just disappear unless I started cooperating. That night I discovered that my passport was stolen from my hotel room.'

'I gave in and dancing turned to prostitution. Since I was considered a high-value asset, I could hold on to the the lavish lifestyle, the parties, the expensive shopping trips, but one time they did drive me to a villa and showed me the the basement where women were kept ****, in cages, and treated worse than animals. I was told I can end up here unless I keep being a good girl.'

'Whenever I asked about when I could go home - I even offered to give up on the second half of my payment - all I got was vague answers. Gradually their tastes and requests got more exotic and, frankly, disgusting. It's something I learned of after my rescue and repatriation, but are you familiar with the term "Dubai porta-potty, Wendy?'

Wendy looked flustered when she replied - ' I am, but I don't think we should go into detail, Mary. And may I just say - I'm very impressed with how composed you are recounting this hellish trial!' She leaned forward and patted Mary on the the knee.

It was a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, but Mary flinched a little at the physical contact.

'Thank you, Wendy. I guess the perspective I now have, looking at all this as a road where I am reunited with God and accepted into the fold by my beloved Sisters, helps. I have been diagnosed with PTSD, but the convent is the best environment I could ever wish for to help me manage my condition. I don't know how I would hold on to my sanity if I was to be ever ripped from their embrace.'

Wendy smiled reassuringly, although this time she made no attempt to touch Mary's knee. 'Thankfully that could never happen. Please, continue.'

'I was kept isolated from the world, kept in the golden cage of luxury penthouse suites, barred from the Internet, news of any kind, my, I didn't even know what the date was. It's hard to judge what season it is in that climate. But enough time passed that my handlers, or rather their clients, started getting bored of me. One evening as I got into the Lamborghini they used to ferry me to these different parties, we took a different route and instead of a party I found myself standing on a platform with a variety of other girls - most of them white, but a few Japanese and one very petite black girl. I can't tell really where any of them were actually from, since we were never allowed to speak to each other.'

We were told to dance, strip and perform different acts on each other. It's all a blur, but it turned out to be an auction for "used goods". My ex-handler was gracious enough to enlighten me just before I was bundled into a van. He said "Bye-bye Dubai, hello Yemen!". That was the last I ever saw him, or Dubai.'

'It turned out later I must have spent about six months in Yemen, in a compound outside Sanaa. My treatment was much worse than in Dubai and without going into sordid detail I can only tell you that it took me months to be able to look into the mirror. One evening a client of mine fell asleep on top of me, and I managed to wriggle out from under him and go through his bag. I found a satellite phone which I used to contact a university friend of mine, who transferred the call to the CIA. They traced the coordinates, told me to stay patient and compliant, and two weeks later the SEALs stormed the compound and freed me, along with the dozen or so other women held there.'

The camera cut back to Wendy, who was nodding sagely, then leaned back and turned to the camera.

'An amazing story, dear viewers! We have to take a short break, but when we come back, I will ask Mary about how she found the Lord, and the Sisters of His Divine Mercy. Stay tuned!'

Once she got the signal from the producer, Wendy turned to Mary.

'Great job, dear! The ad break is three minutes, then we'll do the Sisters bit. We'll have about five minutes. Let's make sure we leave about ten seconds at the end so I can plug your book, and please don't start standing up until I give you the...yes, what is it?'

Someone tapped Wendy on the shoulder and she turned her head and looked up into the smiling face of man wearing the show's logo on his polo shirt and on his baseball cap. He was well-built and his right hand hovered an inch above Wendy's left shoulder. He leaned down, cupped his left palm next to his mouth in a conspiratory manner and whispered in Wendy's ear. As he did so, he looked up and locked eyes with Mary, and flashed a friendly smile.

Mary still had issues with handling any sort of interaction with a male, so she didn't return the smile, but looked down into her lap and fiddled with her large wooden cross. It got slightly darker from the clamminess of her palms.

Wendy nodded at the man, looking at Mary for a moment then back at him. 'Yeah, sure, no problem.'

He hurried off to stage left, half-bent, past Mary, and disappeared behind some floodlights.

The ad break ended, the logo flashed on the screen, and Wendy smiled at the camera again.

'Welcome back to Morning with Wendy! We are still with Mary Lejuisse, author, newfangled nun and survivor of an ordeal not many of us would have come out of with even a tiny part of our sanity intact. But she did, she found God and she gave us a beautiful book to help understand her indomitable spirit.'

Wendy turned to Mary and smiled.

'Now, I want to move on to the "Hallelujah" part of your experience, the way you battled PTSD, and found comfort in the bosom of the Sisters. Can you tell us a little about your soul searching upon your return home?'

'Sure. I didn't really have a support network stateside, but there was this priest...'

Wendy gave her a funny expression and interrupted her.

'I'm sorry, love, I think there's something wrong with your mic. Just lift your arms for me like this' - she lifted her own arms, straightening them above her head.

'Oh, sorry!' - Mary looked a bit confused, since she wasn't wearing a mic. The studio used boom mics hanging from the ceiling just above them. Nonetheless, she complied.

As the whore-turned-nun raised her arms, viewers could see a man, wearing 'Morning with Wendy' gear step up behind her and reach for her wrists.

In a swift motion John used his large hand to bring Mary's wrists together and with his other hand he slapped a plastic handcuff over them, tightening it with practised precision.

'What's ha...' - Mary couldn't finish her sentence. John held her handcuffed arms by the wrist with one hand. He lifted her out of her seat by them, then pressed his other hand palm-first into her back between the shoulder blades.

Wendy was slammed face-down into the coffee table, her ass pushed skywards. Her face landed on the surface with a thud and her handcuffed arms pushed the books off the table. John quickly pulled his pants down and fished his erect cock out of his boxers. He then grabbed the hem of Mary's dress and lifted it, revealing her ass clad in conservative cotton panties. Mary screamed in pain and surprise. John held her in place with one hand pulled down her panties with the other. Wasting no time, he lined himself up behind her ass and penetrated her immediately.

Mary shrieked as John started fucking her with violent thrusts.

'You OK, Mary?' - Wendy asked, arching her eyebrows. She seemed surprised at the girl's screaming, but didn't look at John at all. No one from the crew came to her help, either, and the cameras kept rolling.

Mary kept screaming and hopelessly trying to lift herself off the table, but John kept her pinned down while mercilessly slamming into her pussy. He leaned down and shouted straight into her ear: 'Akhrus!'

Being told to shut up in Arabic triggered Mary's PTSD and sent her into shock. She stopped screaming and wiggling, resting her head on her outstretched arms and staring straight into the camera with a dead-eyed expression.

'Isn't this better, Wendy?' - John asked the presenter, while continuing to stab into the motionless girl. His thighs made a slapping sound on contact with Mary's pale, round ass.

'Definitely! I wonder what got into her. Thank you, Mr...'

'Doe. John Doe. Just call me John, though.'

'John Doe.'

'No, just John. Sorry, my phrasing was a bit off. I'm not used to being on live TV, so I'm a little bit flustered. Plus, I'm **** this girl at the same time.'

'Oh, John, don't you worry!' - Wendy giggled. 'Anyway, what brings you here? Do you know Mary?'

'You could say so. I heard of her book, read up on her story, and when I found out she was coming on your show, I decided to take the opportunity to finish her story for her.'

He pushed Mary's limp body further up the table, and positioned himself so that he could continue fucking the girl more vertically, switching to a slower but more forceful pace. Mary's expression didn't change, but a single tear formed in her right eye and trickled onto her nose.

'Fascinating! So, what is the rest of her story?'

'It's interesting, really. It actually doesn't end with her being a nun living in her home country, nice and safe and pious. You see, I hired a small army of investigators and private military contractors and reached out to the militia that she was freed from. I have a couple of their representatives waiting in the green room. They have a private plane lined up and once I'm done here - uhhh, which is going to be in a minute - so once I'm done, Mary is flying back to Yemen and she's never coming back. It's safe to say they're rather upset with her, so I'd wager she will never drink anything but piss and cum for the rest of her life and she won't see sunlight ever again. I bet her faith will evaporate along with her sanity.'

'Do you think this endangers her life, John?' - Wendy seemed curious, but not worried.

'Oh, definitely not. They want to keep her alive for as long as possible. She's going to grow old as a human toilet.'

'Fascinating! I guess it was a bit too early to write her memoir!' - Wendy laughed, amused by this twist in the story.

'You could definitely say that, Wendy! Uuuuuhhh!'

John grabbed Mary's sides, bottomed out in her and started pumping his sperm into her with a blissful expression. After a minute he pulled out with an audible 'plop', pulled her headscarf off and wiped his cock clean with it. He then ripped the wooden cross off her neck and slammed it into her snatch, moving it around for a moment. When he pulled it out, it was filthy with his seed. He walked over to the front of Mary, lifted her head by her dishevelled red hair and violently pushed the cross into her mouth and down her throat.

'Gurk-gurk-gluh' - Mary made pitiful wet noises, gagging on the sperm-glazed crucifix.

After about a minute of this ****, John pulled the cross out of her mouth, and tossed it aside, now covered in spit and clean of cum. He grabbed the headscarf he used to to wipe his cock down, balled it up and shoved it into Mary's mouth.

He looked off stage and nodded. Two middle-Eastern men in black suits walked into the studio, gave John an approving nod, grabbed Mary by the shoulders and unceremoniously marched her away. The girl didn't protest, staring blankly ahead as she was led away to return to being a sex **** for the rest of her life.

'Bye-bye Steelville, hello Yemen!' - he grinned and waved to her with exaggerated motion.

Wendy beamed at the camera. 'You couldn't make it up, dear viewers, what an unexpected twist! Truly this is TV history! So, John, tell me, what's next for you then, now that you wrote the final chapter of Mary's life story?'

John didn't bother covering up, his dick hang out of his boxers. He turned to Wendy and walked towards her menacingly.

'I'm glad you asked, Wendy. I'm glad you asked.'