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According to a brave, anonymous sex-slave who somehow swallowed down his Hello Kitty ball-gag, chewed through both wrists to escape the pink-fur-trimmed handcuffs that kept him chained to a four-poster bed of nails, and survived the traumatic blood loss from his valiant struggle for survival long enough to exclusively tell Star magazine about his harrowing imprisonment in Britney Spears' Mulholland Drive sex dungeon, the troubled pop star may be into some relatively kinky shit. Reported the survivor with his dying, erotically exhausted final breath:
Britney's "fantasy room" is a bedroom on the second floor of her Mediterranean villa off Mulholland Drive, reveals an insider who has seen it. Heavy, dark curtains cover the windows and the only light comes from bordello-red bulbs, which barely illuminate the pink and black color scheme and the large bed with black satin sheets.
"Britney is sexually obsessed," says the insider. "Her fantasy room is filled with sex toys, from ticklers, whips and chains to fur-trimmed handcuffs hanging from the metal bedframe. She also keeps sex toys — including spanking paddles — displayed in a glass jar." Brit's sin center has mirrors on the ceiling, provocative pictures of herself in a variety of lewd, scantily clad poses covering the walls, and a closet stuffed with erotic outfits.
Shockingly, Britney doesn't confine her bizarre sexcapades to her fantasy room. She even keeps sex toys in plain sight, next to another favorite romping spot — the living room couch! Another source tells Star, "She has a large, covered candy dish on the living room table that has sex toys and lotions in it. Britney calls it her 'pleasure chest!' She's into all sorts of wild things — blindfolds, spankings, having her clothes torn off. And she doesn't even clean up when she's done; she leaves it for the housekeeper to pick up. It's disgusting."
We think that the informer's disgust about Spears' alleged delegation of postcoital clean-up chores to the housekeeper is more than a little misguided: why should one even employ domestics if one can't have them power-wash the couch following a generously Astroglided encounter with some background actor whose inhibitions she's worn down with several punishing hours of dehydrating hot tub foreplay? It's not like she stands accused of commanding the maid to continue paddling her partner while she calls up Kevin Federline to tell him he can keep the kids for the night because she's tied up with "business stuff," which would represent a serious breach of the employer/employee relationship.
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