Secret Cast
1.
In a luxurious palace, nestled in the golden dunes of the Arabian desert, Sheikh Ahmad al-Gharun sat in his private chambers, surrounded by silk carpets, inlaid ebony furniture, and the soft light of crystal chandeliers. The air was saturated with the scent of expensive mahogany and the faint smoke of a hookah, untouched on a low table. The Sheikh, a man of about forty-five with a neatly trimmed beard, dark penetrating eyes, and an athletic build concealed beneath a spotless white dishdasha, leaned back relaxed on the cushions of a sofa.
On the huge screen opposite him, a concert video of Lilia Venter was playing — the famous
singer whose fame echoed around the world. She was performing on stage in a tight dress the color of midnight, which accentuated every detail of her perfect body: full breasts, a slender waist, rounded hips swaying to the rhythm of the music. Her long hair cascaded over her shoulders, her lips were crimson in a passionate performance of a ballad, and her eyes — large, expressive — looked straight into the camera, as if directly at him.Ahmad was watching the video for the third time that evening. His breathing grew deeper with each frame. When Lilia leaned forward, hitting a high note, the dress stretched slightly, outlining her nipples showing through the thin fabric. The Sheikh felt a heat spreading in his lower abdomen. He imagined those lips not whispering songs, but moans of pleasure. Those hips gripping his. Her body arching beneath him, wet and ready.
He was a passionate collector — not only of artworks, jewels, and rare cars, but of something more intimate. In his secret room were trophies from famous women: stolen panties from a model, a lock of an actress's hair, even a used tampon from a supermodel, bought for a fortune on the black market. But Lilia… Lilia was special. She seemed unattainable, a pure icon adored by millions. And that was driving him mad.
Ahmad turned off the video and stood up, walking to the window, beyond which stretched the endless desert under a starry sky. His cock strained against the folds of his clothing, demanding relief, but he restrained himself. He didn't want just a fantasy. He wanted to possess her for real — at least a part of her. The most intimate part.
The idea came suddenly, like a revelation: a precise silicone cast of her vagina. A perfect copy of those delicate folds no one had ever seen. He could hold it in his hands, study every detail, use it to create a toy that would replicate her insides down to the finest nuances. It would be his secret trophy — proof of the power of money and influence.
The Sheikh returned to the sofa and picked up his phone. One call — and his loyal assistant, who knew various secret channels, received instructions. Money was no object: millions of dollars for silence and professionalism. It turned out Lilia had just finished an exhausting world tour and was recuperating at an elite private clinic in Switzerland — a place where security was tight, but not impenetrable for those who knew whom to pay.
The team was hired that same evening: two experienced operatives, specialists in "delicate" assignments, with medical equipment for the cast. Ahmad smiled in the darkness of his chambers, imagining how soon he would get what he wanted. Lilia would never even know. And he… he would possess her forever, in the most intimate sense. His hand involuntarily slid down, squeezing the tense flesh through the fabric as he waited for confirmation that the plan was in motion.
2.
The elite private clinic in the Swiss Alps was steeped in night silence. The large windows of Lilia Venter's room looked out onto snow-capped peaks, and moonlight softly filtered through translucent curtains, bathing the room in a silvery glow. The air was warm and slightly humid from the climate control, with a faint scent of alpine herbs from a diffuser. The room was spacious and luxurious: a large bed with white linen, a nightstand with a bottle of mineral water and books Lilia hadn't opened during her days of rest.
She didn't hear when, exactly at midnight, the electronic lock on her room door emitted a barely audible click — someone had entered a code, bought for a large sum from one of the clinic staff. The door opened silently, and two shadows slipped into the room. Two men, dressed in black jumpsuits, masks, and gloves, moved with the professional grace of predators. They were tall, muscular, with a military bearing — the Sheikh's mercenaries, accustomed to missions where the slightest noise could ruin everything.
The first, the one carrying a small black case, stopped by the bed and froze for a second, his gaze sweeping over the sleeping star. The woman had kicked off the blanket in her sleep, and his eyes behind the mask lingered on her body: the curve of her hip, the way the orange fabric of her thong contrasted with her skin, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The second man quietly closed the door and checked the corridor through the peephole, then nodded to his partner — all clear.
They moved closer. The man with the case carefully placed it on the floor and opened it: inside were the casting tools — bottles of medical silicone, a tube of lubricant, a soft speculum, a syringe, wipes, all sterile and ready. The second man pulled soft, fur-lined handcuffs and a silicone pacifier with a wide flange and a strap from his pocket. Their breathing was even, but in the room's silence it became slightly more noticeable — the excitement from seeing the naked celebrity, whom they had only seen on screens, now lying helpless before them.
Lilia stirred in her sleep, turning slightly onto her side, and the thong dug even deeper between her buttocks. The men exchanged a glance — time to begin. The first nodded, and they moved in sync: one to the head of the bed, the other to her feet. The night was in full swing, and their task required precision, silence… and time to savor the moment the Sheikh had paid for so generously.
3.
Lilia's eyes flew open wide, her heart pounded in her chest so hard she could feel its beats in her throat. The room was still bathed in moonlight, and in the semi-darkness she saw two dark figures in black — masked men standing on either side of the bed. Panic washed over her instantly: she tried to sit up, to break free, but the handcuffs held her firmly, forcing her body to arch. Her chest rose high, her nipples hardened from the sudden tension and the cool air, and the thong, already thin, shifted slightly from the sharp movement, exposing her smoothly shaved pubic mound and the upper part of her delicate lips.
She opened her mouth to scream — loud, desperate, calling for help — but the second man, the one standing closer to her face, acted lightning-fast. His gloved hand was already holding a large silicone pacifier: soft but bulky, with a wide flange that prevented spitting it out, and a long leather strap with a small metal buckle at one end. He leaned down, one hand gripping her jaw — not roughly, but firmly, forcing her mouth open wider — and inserted the pacifier deep, so the silicone tip pressed against her tongue and palate. Lilia instinctively shook her head, trying to evade, her hair fanning out on the pillow, but he was faster: deftly wrapping the strap around the back of her head, just like putting on an expensive wristwatch — the free end of the strap went through the buckle, then he pulled it tight, adjusting it snugly but not painfully, and the buckle's tongue clicked quietly into one of the holes, securely locking it in place.
The sound that escaped her throat was pitiful and muffled — not a scream, but a wet, hoarse moan around the silicone. The pacifier filled her mouth completely, causing saliva to pool, and the reflex made her involuntarily begin to suck to avoid choking. Lilia's eyes filled with tears of horror and rage: she looked up at the men, trying to convey all her hatred and fear with her gaze, but they remained calm, professional, only their breathing a little deeper.
Her body thrashed in a useless struggle: her hips clenched and unclenched, trying to cover herself, her buttocks tensed, digging into the sheet, and her chest heaved rapidly and heavily, her nipples standing out sharply, betraying not only fear but an unwelcome reaction to the sudden helplessness. The orange thong was now completely askew, the fabric digging between her lips, and the cool air touched her moist skin — she felt a slight tremor run through her down there, treacherous and humiliating.
The men didn't speak a word. The one who had secured the pacifier took a step back, his gaze sweeping over her — from her tear-filled eyes to her exposed intimacy — while the second was already preparing for the next stage, opening the case. Lilia moaned louder, jerked, but the handcuffs didn't give, and the pacifier only intensified the feeling of complete, absolute vulnerability. She was their captive in her own bed, the famous singer adored by millions, now reduced to a helpless body ready for what would follow next. Tears rolled down her cheeks, mixing with sweat on her temples, and inside everything tightened with horror and a strange, forbidden anticipation of future events.
4.
The men acted with cold, polished professionalism, but in the moonlight of the room, it was visible how their chests rose a little more frequently than usual. The taller, broader-shouldered one knelt by the edge of the bed, his black gloves contrasting with Lilia's pale skin. The second, lean but muscular, stood nearby, slightly spreading her knees wider and holding them with his palms — not roughly, but inexorably, so she couldn't close her thighs. Lilia jerked, moaned into the pacifier, saliva now trickling in a thin stream down her chin, but the resistance only heightened her helplessness: each jerk made her breasts bounce, her nipples rub against the air, and the thong dig deeper into her crotch.
The man took his time. He inserted one finger — slowly, parting the entrance, checking the elasticity. Inside it was tight, hot, and Lilia felt her walls involuntarily clench around the foreign intrusion. The lubricant made everything slippery, but the sensation of fullness was sharp: the finger moved in and out, in circular motions, spreading the lubricant deeper, touching sensitive spots. A second finger joined soon after — the stretching became more noticeable, a slight burning mixed with warmth, and Lilia arched, the handcuffs clinking. Her own moisture now mixed with the lubricant: her body reacted against her will, secreting more, making everything wetter. Her clit pulsed, swollen and sensitive, and each time the fingers withdrew, the intruder's thumb "accidentally" brushed against it, making Lilia's thighs tremble.
His partner watched all this time, his palm sometimes sliding along the inside of the woman's thigh — ostensibly for stabilization, but in reality feeling the skin break out in goosebumps, the muscles tense. He nodded quietly to his colleague when he removed his fingers: the entrance was ready, pink, glistening, slightly parted.
The tall man took the soft silicone speculum — warm, flexible, similar to a medical speculum but gentler. He inserted it slowly, opening Lilia fully: first the tip, then the "wings" spread inside, locking in place. Lilia groaned into the pacifier with a wet, drawn-out, humiliated sound. Now she was open, as in a gynecological exam, but in her own bed: the inner walls pink, glistening, vulnerable. Cool air penetrated inside, and a drop of mixed moisture and lubricant slowly dripped down, over her anus onto the sheet.
As the silicone began to harden, the pressure became more palpable, as if her intimate place was now sealed, belonging to someone else. The man carefully extracted the speculum, followed by the perfect cast — warm, moist, an exact copy. They wiped her gently with wipes, put the thong back in place — the wet fabric clung tightly, accentuating everything anew. Lilia lay exhausted, her body trembling in the aftermath: a light throbbing between her legs, a reminder of the arousal she had experienced, which she would never admit. The men packed their tools, preparing to leave, leaving her in a half-daze of shame and strange satisfaction.
5.
The procedure was complete. The cast lay in a special container — a perfect, still-warm copy, neatly packed in soft cloth. The tall man rose from his knees, wiped his gloves with a wipe, and nodded to his partner. The latter released her knees, allowing Lilia's thighs to finally close, though they still trembled from the experience. The orange thong, now damp and clinging, was carefully repositioned, but the fabric immediately absorbed the remaining moisture, accentuating the contours of her swollen lips and making everything even more tangible.
Lilia lay exhausted, her breathing heavy and uneven, her chest slowly rising and falling. The tears had dried on her cheeks, leaving salty trails, and her eyes were half-closed — she was balancing on the edge of sleep and wakefulness, her body relaxed after the strange, forced tension. Between her legs pulsed a light, warm emptiness, a reminder of the fullness that had just been inside. She no longer jerked, no longer resisted — her strength was gone, leaving only a strange, languid stupor mixed with shame.
The men worked quickly and silently: packed all the tools into the case, wiped down surfaces to leave no traces. One of them went to the head of the bed and carefully removed the handcuffs — first one wrist, then the other, massaging the skin with light movements to avoid leaving strong marks. Lilia barely reacted, only weakly moved her arms, letting them fall alongside her body.
Last — the pacifier. The tall one leaned closer to her face. Lilia felt his presence: a faint smell of latex and male sweat beneath the mask. He raised his hand and slowly placed his gloved index finger to his lips — the classic "silence" gesture, slow and expressive, even in the semi-darkness. His eyes met her dazed gaze: the warning was clear — not a sound, not a scream. Lilia froze, instinctively nodding almost imperceptibly, though inside everything tightened with new fear.
Only then did he reach for the strap at the back of her head: his fingers deftly unbuckled it with the same motion as taking off a watch — the tongue came out of the hole, the strap loosened, and he slowly pulled it out from under her hair. Then he carefully extracted the pacifier from her mouth: the silicone came out with a wet smack, taking a thread of saliva with it. Lilia's lips were swollen, red from the pressure, and she instinctively licked them, feeling the numbness of her tongue. She didn't utter a word — only a heavy sigh escaped when her mouth was finally free.
Lilia was left alone in the moonlight. She lay motionless for several minutes, listening to the silence of the clinic. Her body felt heavy, between her legs — a sticky warmth, her nipples still sensitive, and in her head — a whirlwind of sensations, too vivid for sleep, but too incredible for reality. "An erotic dream," she finally thought, convincing herself. "Just fatigue after the tour, a fantasy…" She turned onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest, and the thong stretched, reminding her of the wetness. Sleep returned quickly — deep, dreamless, blurring the lines between what had happened and fiction.
And in the corridor, the two shadows had already dissolved into the night, carrying with them the trophy that would change everything for the distant Sheikh.
6.
A few days after that night in the Swiss clinic, a package arrived at the palace of Sheikh Ahmad al-Gharun. It was inconspicuous — a plain black box without markings, delivered by a trusted courier on a private helicopter. The Sheikh received it personally in his private chambers, dismissing the servants with a wave of his hand. The door closed behind him with a heavy click, and he was left alone in the semi-darkness of the room, illuminated only by the soft golden light of table lamps and the flicker of sandalwood candles.
Ahmad sat in a deep leather armchair, placed the box on the low table before him, and slowly opened the lid. Inside, on a velvet lining, lay a container with the cast — a perfect silicone copy of Lilia Venter's vagina. He took it out carefully, like a precious artifact: the material was still slightly warm from transport, soft yet firm, accurately conveying every detail. In the soft lamplight, the cast gleamed — pink, delicate, with precise folds of the outer and inner lips, a small entrance that narrowed slightly inward, and a texture replicating the walls.
The Sheikh brought the cast closer to his face, inhaling the faint neutral scent of medical silicone, mixed with a barely perceptible memory of her natural moisture preserved in the process. His fingers — strong, well-groomed — began to explore the trophy slowly, reverently. First, he ran the pad of his thumb over the outer lips, feeling the silicone yield, just like living flesh. Then he parted them slightly, revealing the inner folds — delicate, wavy, perfectly molded. He imagined how it looked in reality: Lilia on the bed, helpless, eyes wide open, while his men took this cast.
Ahmad's cock strained against the folds of his dishdasha, becoming hard and hot. He didn't restrain himself: with one hand he unfastened his clothing, pulling out his thick, pul