The summary below was written by John Savage, and the extracts following are taken from sections of the book written by me.
"This unique novel is an unusual collaboration of the talents of two well-known authors of erotic literature. Susan Strict, noted for her Femdom books and sharp wit, has combined with John Savage, who has produced over twenty-five BDSM novels over the years and who is known as the “Bondagemaster,” for his photographic work, to create a book that combines both Femdom and Maledom action into a single, tightly plotted action novel sure to appeal to everyone.
A wealthy businessman, Malcolm Foxworthy, has kidnapped both the only daughter and only son of business rival Harold Carter. His plan is simple: he wants to hurt Harold Carter very, very much. So, he arranges to have his daughter treated most cruelly and a video of her suffering to be sent to the man. At the same time, on Malcolm Foxworthy’s orders, a wonderfully evil band of women under the leadership of a man-hating, hard-nosed bitch named Brigitte has captured Carter’s son Simon and is doing most unpleasant things to him. Those videos are also being sent to Mr. Carter so he can share in the suffering.
This is one book you won’t want to miss!
EXTRACT 1
“Don’t even think about it,” Brigitte said warningly.
“I wasn’t…” Simon Carter looked up at her in panic. It was, he had just discovered while she had been in the bathroom, quite impossible to free himself from the wrist restraints.
“You were trying to escape,” she told him accusingly.
“I wasn’t,” he repeated, knowing perfectly well that it was pointless to deny it when that was exactly what she saw him trying to do.
“You’ll have to be punished,” she said.
The words sounded ridiculous, like something said by one of those dominatrixes some men would pay to visit. Was that the right word? Simon wondered. “Dominatrixes”? It was something like that. He had often wondered what it might be like to play those sorts of games. The problem now was that this was for real.
Or was it?
“Look,” he tried to sound firm, “This is all a bit silly. It was fun when it started, and you were very frightening and realistic. I like you very much. Could you please let me go now. I’m hungry. I’ll take you to dinner. All right?”
It was not entirely the truth. The whip she had wielded earlier had hurt. There were red welts across the front of his thighs and across his chest, and when she had put the gag into his mouth to stifle the noise he was making, he was terrified. Even so, it had to be her idea of a game. Perhaps she had some weird idea that all men liked this sort of thing.
She was smiling at him. That was a good start. The moment she loosened the wrist straps holding him to the bed, he would grab his clothes and be out of that room as fast as his legs would carry him.
“I told you,” she informed him, the amused smile still on her face, “We’ll be waiting for my team to arrive.”
“What team?” he demanded. “What are you talking about? You’re mad. Let me go right now.”
He pulled at the straps holding his wrists, in a determined effort to break free. Brigitte stood back and watched him until he gave up, exhausted and out of breath.
“It’s never a good idea,” Brigitte pointed out, “To call a woman ‘mad’ when you’re tied to the bed naked and she has a whip in her hand.”
He glared at her.
“It’s even less of a good idea,” she continued, “When she has already demonstrated that she loves hurting you.” She raised the whip.
“Don’t!”
She paused. “Why?” she asked.
“Just… Just stop a minute.” He cringed, expecting the whip to hit him again. “Why are you doing this?”
“I told you,” she said. “I’m simply amusing myself while we wait for the rest of my team to turn up.”
He shook his head. “What do you mean, ‘your team’? You’re not making any sense. This is crazy. Who are you?”
She sighed, lowered the whip and sat on the edge of the bed next to him. “You’re not very bright,” she told him. “As I told you, I’m Brigitte Mitchell. We have mutual friends in LA, and those friends wanted me to come and see you.”
“Who?” he demanded. “And what has ‘coming to see me’ got to do with tying me to the bed and whipping me? And who is this ‘team’ you keep talking about?”
At that moment, there was a knock on the door of the hotel room. Brigitte turned and listened. Simon was tempted to call for help, but something stopped him. If anyone had asked him, he would not have been able to tell them why he did not shout as loudly as he could that a madwoman was holding him prisoner in that room. It was not that it would have been highly embarrassing to be found naked and tied to the bed. It was not that Brigitte would quite probably have struck him considerably harder with the whip and any other instrument of torment she happened to have with her. It was something else. Something that, for Simon, was indefinable right at that moment.
“Are you there, Brigitte?”
There was a look of relief on Brigitte’s face. She strode to the door and opened it, without even bothering to put on her clothes.
Six women came in. Six. There was hardly enough space for all of them in the room. Not one of them seemed surprised at Brigitte’s nakedness, nor at the naked man tied to the bed.
“I told you I could get him,” Brigitte said proudly. “It wasn’t difficult.”
“We still have to take him to…”
“Quiet, Maggie!” Brigitte interrupted. “He doesn’t know yet. And he’s not bright enough to work it out.”
Maggie shrugged. “It doesn’t make much difference, does it? He’ll know soon enough. Anyway, there’s not much he can do about it, by the look of him. I see you’ve been enjoying yourself.”
Simon flinched as Maggie reached down and ran her fingernail down one of the long, red welts on his right thigh.
“You haven’t worked out how we’re going to get him up there?” Maggie continued, tweaking his cock and making him yelp in surprise as much as in discomfort.
Brigitte shook her head. “I wasn’t expecting you so early,” she pointed out. “I said midnight. It can’t be seven yet.”
Maggie looked at her watch. “Half past eight,” she declared, and then added a little sarcastically, “It’s amazing how time flies when you’re enjoying yourself.”
While Maggie and Brigitte were talking, the others had crowded round the bed and were looking down at Simon.
“You haven’t tied his ankles,” a tall, red-haired girl said critically. “I always tie their ankles to the lower corners of the bed. It makes them so much more vulnerable and defenseless.”
One of the others nodded. “Yes,” she agreed. “He can probably free himself if he has long enough alone. It wouldn’t take much for him to get his teeth to those straps on his wrists. If you tied his ankles too, then he’d never manage it.”
She was clearly going to continue, but Brigitte broke off her conversation with Maggie. “I hope you’re not criticizing me?” she said, with a look that could have left no doubt in anyone’s mind that criticizing her would be somewhat dangerous. Simon noted that the girl who had mentioned tying ankles actually stepped back away from Brigitte.
“I’m sorry,” she said, clearly flustered, “I only meant…”
“Well, don’t. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Perhaps I’ll have you tied to the bed and see how easily you can get away while I whip you.”
“This isn’t getting us closer to what we need to do with him,” Maggie insisted. “The boss won’t be too pleased if he’s not where he’s supposed to be by tomorrow morning.”
“I do have some ideas,” said Brigitte. “There’s no hurry. I’ve worked it out. I just need to resolve a few minor issues.”
“What the hell is going on here?” demanded Simon.
“Shut up!” several of the girls told him simultaneously. He shut up.
At Maggie’s suggestion, Brigitte dressed and the two of them left the room to go down to the hotel lounge and discuss the details of what they needed to do over a drink. The other girls were left in the room with Simon.
“Can we…?” asked the red-haired girl as Brigitte was leaving.
“Whatever you want,” said Brigitte, with a slightly wistful glance in Simon’s direction. “Just don’t damage him. The boss won’t want him damaged. Not yet.”
“Excellent,” declared the girl. To Simon’s surprised, she leapt onto the bed and sat astride his chest. He saw immediately that she wore nothing under her short skirt.
While the other four girls looked on, she straddled his face. “Lick,” she demanded. “And make it good. When I’ve finished with you, the others can have you. Don’t even think about using your teeth. One wrong move from you, my lad, and I promise you that whatever Brigitte said about not damaging you, you won’t have any balls left by the time she comes back. Got it?”
Simon got it. He licked.
EXTRACT 2
Someone took the blindfold off Simon’s eyes. He was, as he had already guessed, back in the room he thought of as the torture chamber. Monica was holding the video camera, but it looked as though she was not yet recording.
Simon was bent forward over the edge of a table, his wrists bound together and attached to the far end. His feet were on the floor, but spread widely apart by a metal bar between his ankles held in place by leather straps. He was not lying on the table. As he knew without needing to see it, Jennifer was underneath him, similarly bound but lying on her back and her feet well off the floor. She was still naked, and she whimpered in fear and discomfort.
He felt a gloved hand between his legs, pulling at his erection that lay sandwiched between his lower abdomen and Jennifer’s. He yelped in discomfort and fear of what they might be intending to do to him. There was a sharp, stinging slap on his buttocks.
“Lift your hips,” came the order. He tried, but it was not easy to move at all. “Better.”
The pressure on the end of his erection was intense, feeling almost as if the gloved hand grasping it was intent on breaking it in half. He whined and tried to protest, and then with a grunt of satisfaction from behind him and a scream of fear and disgust from Jennifer, the pressure eased. It was only then he realized what they had done.
Brigitte was standing in front of him, at the far end of the table. He raised his head uncomfortably to look at her.
“Lucky man,” she told him. “You’re going to be the first man ever to fuck young Jennifer.”
Jennifer was sobbing and moaning “No. Please…,” but Brigitte continued, “And each of us is going to fuck you. It’s quite appropriate, isn’t it? I’m guessing that yours is a virgin asshole?”
Simon’s eyes focused on the artificial phallus Brigitte wore strapped between her legs. She held it in one hand and grasped the end of it with the other, rubbing her hand back and forth down its length as if masturbating.
“I hope you’re going to squeal nicely for me,” she told him. “We won’t use too much lubrication; just enough to get started.”
“You can’t,” protested Simon, his voice already not far short of a squeal.
“I can,” declared Brigitte, “And when I’ve finished, so can Maggie and Karen and Ruth and Mel, and then Monica too if I take over the camera from her. Do let us know if you orgasm. Some men do, you know. And, of course, you have the added stimulation of our little Jennifer, don’t you? We won’t stop, of course, but it would be so nice to know when it happens.”
It was not a particular large implement. In fact, if it had been of flesh and blood belonging to a man, any woman might well have had reason to complain at its lack of size unless he used it particularly skillfully. When it pressed between Simon’s buttocks, however, it felt enormous to him.
If Brigitte had lubricated it at all, it did not feel like it to Simon. She pulled his buttocks apart with both hands, positioned the end of the strap-on against his anal sphincter, and just pushed.
“Relax,” she suggested, “It probably won’t hurt as much.”
Simon howled his discomfort, and the noise that came out of him when it finally forced its way into him was indeed a squeal of which any of the suidae family could have been justifiably proud. In short, he squealed like a pig.
Brigitte continued to push forward, and Simon continued to squeal. Jennifer also squealed, although hers was more a cry of dismay that of any pain. Simon, in his futile efforts to lessen the thrust of Brigitte’s artificial phallus into his backside, was quite unintentionally driving his own and very real phallus its full length into Jennifer.
Simon could move no further down and forward, and a second later Brigitte had pushed as far into him as she could, the tops of her thighs pressed hard against his buttocks. She gave a final thrust of her hips, producing another satisfying squeal from Simon and a strangled squawk from Jennifer, and then steadily began to withdraw. She did not, however, withdraw completely. At the last moment, she thrust in again, this time without any of the slow, cautious pressure she had applied as she first violated him. She rammed it home, and then nearly out, and then slammed in again.
All manner of strange noise were coming from Simon, but Brigitte had only just started. She bent forward onto Simon’s back, clasped her arms around him, and began a rapid, rhythmical thrusting back and forth with her hips. The effect on Simon was devastating, and yet something was having a very different effect on him. His breathing was coming in short, sharp gasps between the other noises he was making. His eyes were closed, screwed up in pain and humiliation, and his body was tense and straining at the unfamiliar and unwanted sensations. It came as a total shock to him when he orgasmed. Jennifer screamed.
Brigitte did not stop. She continued for several minutes until she was hot, sweating and beginning to feel tired by her efforts.
“Take over, Monica,” she ordered, pulling out rapidly.
“No…. Nooooooooo,” moaned Simon.
“Do shut up,” Brigitte reprimanded him, slapping his buttocks with the flat of her hand. “This is probably the best fuck you’ll ever have.”
*
Monica and Maggie had both taken their turn, and Ruth was about to start on Simon when Brigitte shouted, “Stop!”
“What’s up?” asked Ruth, startled.
“Quiet. Listen,” said Brigitte.
There was a silent pause, broken only by the sound of Simon’s heavy, gasping breathing, a faint whimpering from Jennifer, and an equally faint sound in the distance from somewhere outside the castle.
“A helicopter?”
“Several, by the sound of it.”
“Not good,” said Brigitte seriously. “Get the guns. He’ll have to wait.”
