Phil Palmer wants control…over his philandering, frigid wife, his estranged children, and his boring, hum-drum, suburban life. In search of escape and something to call his own, he begins a dangerous affair with a call girl who happens to double as a sex slave for Vincent “Mr. G” Garrimone, a tyrannical local crime boss, for whom bullying, extortion, kidnapping, and torture are routine methods for achieving complete domination over a city and its people.
In retaliation for “poaching” Mr. G’s best girl from his city-wide prostitution ring, the powerful gangster demands exorbitant sums of money from Phil. After he refuses to pay further, Garrimone employs a radical band of expatriate Nazi thugs to abduct and sadistically torture Phil’s wife, Jenny. While determined to save his wife and break free of the greedy hood’s clutches, Phil can’t seem to overcome his cowardly nature, as he finds corruption and peril around every corner.
In order to break free of Mr. G’s puppet strings, Phil must confront himself and his fears. He must play the madman’s warped game…a game where losers bluff, and potential winners are forced to put everything --- life, sanity, and family --- on the line.
In his first full-length novel, author General Dom combines wickedly twisted wise guys, corrupt cops, nasty Nazis, hot sex, and some of the cruelest and most outrageous tortures into an unconventional BDSM pulp fiction blender, mixing a page-turning thrill-ride that will confound your expectations at every turn.
“Losers Bluff” has previously appeared on another web site in a much shorter form, under the working title of “Insurance.” After being pulled from the site following a limited two month run, at the author’s request, the story has been expanded by over 20% with even more scenes of graphic sexual, physical, and mental abuse.
It is now available exclusively at A1AdultEBooks in a special edition, bigger and nastier than before. If you love both BDSM and crime fiction, “Losers Bluff” is one bet you can’t lose.
EXTRACT
I am wrenched into consciousness by the smell of ammonia wafting into
my nostrils. As I choke, I open my eyes and find myself suspended in
blackness, arms above my head, with only a dim light glowing from the
rear of the room. My wrists are chained to two large iron poles that
are on either side of me. The pain in my wrists from the cold
manacles is lessened, only slightly, by two small pieces of metal,
attached to the poles, on which my wrists rest. By contrast, the pain
in my ankles is much more intense, and I realize that they are bound
to yet another set of bars, located farther apart than those
restraining my arms. My ass is spread widely.
After what seems like hours, but is probably only minutes, I
hear a door open slowly behind me.
“Hello…” I whisper tentatively, after there is only silence for
several awkward moments. A door slams shut, and slow, deliberate
footsteps begin to approach me from the rear. I can tell they come
from leather boots, by the dense crunching sound.
“Guten morgan, fraulein,” a husky, masculine voice counters, in
a thick, theatrical German accent. “You appear to be relatively
rested as opposed to when I last saw you,” the unidentified man says,
rolling his “r”s like a freight train.
“When you last…?” I blurt out, confused, though a tiny ball of
terror is beginning to form in my guts. “I don’t...where am I?
Who…are you?”
“Ah ha ha,” the man laughs, actually saying “ha ha.” “A little
joke. We are not amused.”
“I have no idea who you are,” I spit, with just a touch of anger
spilling into my tone.
“Ah, yes. I am sure you do not,” the disembodied voice
continues, imperious, and as cold as the wretched room I’m trapped in.
“Patience, fraulein, patience. All in due time. Let us now turn to
a subject of mutual interest --- that of your charming, young
daughter.”
My breath freezes in my throat. Janice…what do they want with
Janice? My mind races with panic. Could they really have my baby
girl?
A few more footsteps, as he draws closer to me. Without
warning, I feel the cold, forceful penetration of a long stick
plunging into my ass, snaking up my colon with swift, ruthless
brutality. I smell an overpowering musk of old tunic, stale cigarette
smoke, and expensive whiskey as the man sidles closer. He continues
to delve deeper inside of me, and I can feel that the stick has been
wrapped with something coarse. Every time he twists it, it feels as
if tiny nails are ripping my insides. The baton mingles with my sweat
and bodily fluid, creating a ghastly squishing noise as it travels
further into my ass, which is involuntarily pumping and writhing.
The torture stops abruptly, though the stick still remains
within me, slowly distending my throbbing rectum.
As the man moves in front of me, I can see only bits and pieces
of his form in the room’s low lighting. He makes a few motions with
his hands that I can barely make out, and then a lighter suddenly
illuminates his hideous face. He is older than I’d imagined from his
voice: a corpulent, full-faced man of diminutive stature --- large,
flabby jowls, a wrinkled face. His bald scalp catches the soft light
occasionally, and I notice that it’s polished to an unearthly gleam,
wisps of white hair circling the perimeter. He’s wearing a black
uniform, emblazoned with SS insignia, snugly tailored around his
enormous belly and bulbous, bulging ass; matching flared breeches make
his already large hips appear larger than any part of his ungainly
physique.
A foul smile spreads slowly over a pair of thin lips, as he
brings a black cigarette holder, easily a foot long in length, to his
mouth, with aristocratic precision. Puffing deeply, he exhales the
smoke upward, where it forms a whitish-blue cloud that floats around
my head.
“What do you know about my daughter?” I demand uneasily, turning
away from the obnoxious smoke and his fierce stare, which is burning a
hole in me through an elegant, gold-framed monocle.
He ignores my question and bellows: “Lights!” Instantly the
room is flooded by harsh, white light, so bright that my eyes blink
for several minutes, before the small, dismal, cinder-block room comes
into focus. My heart races as I realize I am chained to some kind of
frame, almost four feet from the ground
The pompous fat man continues to stare at me, smiling hatefully,
his beady, cold eyes that of a ravenous swine. “Now, now, fraulein.
We do not know anything of your beloved child, other than that she
exists. However, with a bit of well-executed persuasion, that will
change.” He laughs at the helplessness and fear welling up in my
tear-streaked face.
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” I say, after
finding my voice.
“Oh, I think you do,” he says, sighing heavily. “You have just
not been properly motivated.” He gestures with his cigarette holder
to someone behind me. A uniformed henchman appears, wheeling over a
large steel rod mounted to a small cart, pointing upwards at a slight
angle. I note a power cord protruding from the base of the cart, and
tremble uneasily. Electricity, they’re going to use electricity. I
start to shake, sweat covering my breasts in a chilly glaze.
The henchman advances toward the cigarette-smoking man with a bowed
head and places a small, wired device with two buttons and a dial into
his hands, which are sheathed in expensive-looking black gauntlet
gloves.
The big man smiles, fondles the remote, and says: “Forgive me,
fraulein. I have not properly introduced myself. My name is
Commandant Colonel Von Helsing. We will be spending much time
together.” He walks over to me, pauses for a moment, and then slowly
begins stroking my sweaty thigh with his hand. The smell of fine
leather drifts up to me, both intoxicating and chilling me. He lets
loose an evil, deeply melodic laugh, and then stares past me, absently
pulling on his cigarette holder.
“Major Enrique!” he thunders abruptly, jowls inflating like hot
air balloons. “Prepare her!”
The attending thug pivots the monstrous rod so that it rests
lightly in the crux of my pussy lips, and then locks it into place
with a lever on the cart. “I…I’ll never let you hurt my daughter…” is
all I can manage.
He stares at me, obviously unimpressed, and says in a business-like,
almost apathetic, tone: “We shall see. Major, grease it up.”
The colonel takes several paces back from me as Enrique
retrieves a small step ladder, which he positions in front of my body.
Enrique is young, muscular, and has smooth, olive-colored skin. As
he climbs up, he leers at my heaving breasts hungrily. I watch as he
takes a small tin of something from his coat pocket, and opens the
lid. He removes his glove and scoops out a small amount of what that
looks to be Vaseline, dutifully coating the poles that secure the
manacles to my wrists.
Von Helsing is puffing importantly on a fresh cigarette,
watching me slowly go crazy, with malevolent, twinkling eyes. I begin
to sob, enraged at the indolent manner in which these men are carrying
out their sadistic savagery.
“‘Where is your daughter?’ --- such a simple question,” the
colonel gloats, obviously immensely happy with himself, “seeking an
equally simple answer.” He laughs, holder jauntily set into the
corner of his mouth. “You have far more control than you realize,
fraulein. Tell me what we wish to know and you will be freed.
Refuse…and we will continue.”
“Fuck you, you filthy Nazi pig!” I scream instinctively,
instantly regretting my response.
He chuckles, folding his hands, seeming almost pleased with my
answer. “fraulein, you will now place both your hands over the two
rods that the major has kindly prepared for you.”
When I do nothing, Von Helsing glares at me, and returns to my
rear. I feel him grasp the stick in my ass and I wince as he gives it
two swift twists. My asshole --- now swollen and inflamed ---
contracts spasmodically at his further torment. My eyes widen in
shock, and I begin to scream. The stick is removed suddenly, and I
get a brief look at it, as it rests in the colonel’s hand. It is a
wicked-looking riding crop, covered with sandpaper. Agony pierces my
right thigh as he slams it fiercely into me. “When I give you an
order, you obey!” he shouts, dealing twelve swift cuts from the
flexible whip, now moist from its contact with my body.
When he finishes, my shaking hands move slowly over to the two
greased poles that secure the manacles. It takes much effort to hold
my hands in place, and I grit my teeth as my grip keeps slipping.
The commandant returns to face me and it is obvious that this
overweight, self-important prick is not used to carrying out his own
dirty work. Wheezing slightly, he lights another cigarette, wiping
small beads of perspiration from his large brow with a white silk
handkerchief.
“Now…” he intones, in a low villainous hiss, “remove the wrist
rests.”
Enrique quickly detaches the small platforms on which my wrists had
previously lain and steps down from the ladder, allowing the manacles
to begin sliding freely down the poles. I grasp the slick surface
wildly with my hands, stopping myself in mid-air, as I feel the long
steel dildo easily enter my pussy.
“Consider this an initial test of your strength, my beauty,” Von
Helsing snickers. “The longer you can keep your pretty twat free from
that wicked device, the longer you have to think about the answer to
my little question. I, however, am not a patient man, so I have
taken the liberty of hedging my bet that you will fail, by making
those poles difficult to cling to for any amount of time.” He laughs
smugly, puffing thickly on his holder, blowing a stream of smoke rings
lazily into the air, toward my face.
As the foul smoke envelops me, I begin to choke, and
subsequently lose my grip on the metal, sliding downward. The dildo
plows into my pussy like a battering ram, and a sharp cry is torn from
my throat.
“And now, while I have your attention,” the commandant grins
cruelly, “let us see if your memory has returned. Where is your
daughter?”
He casually depresses a button on the device in his right hand, and a
low charge of electricity surges quickly through me. He laughs
hysterically as I dance like a puppet for his whimsy, impaled on the
highly-charged steel.
“I…ahhhh….I…..AHHHHHHH!” I find myself screaming incoherently,
as I scramble to pull myself up from the dildo’s infernal invasion. I
finally do, after several seconds, and look down at the devilish tool,
as it buzzes below me, emitting tiny sparks.
The commandant chuckles lightly to himself and disappears around
to my rear. As I struggle to keep myself suspended, I feel the warmth
of his pudgy face leaning into my sweat-drenched ass. His vile, wet
tongue begins to lap at my asshole, and I cringe with disgust.
“Please stop…please,” I beg the maniac, but he only laughs and
begins to lick me even more feverishly, gripping my twat from behind
and fingering it greedily. “When I am through with you, my lovely
fraulein,” he pants between strokes of his tongue, “you will tell me
everything about where I can find your little baby. Won’t you?” Pain
sears into my ass, and I can tell from the heat and moisture that he
is biting into it. I howl in pain. My entire body is alive with
fear, hatred, and dread. I start to lose my grip on the poles, but
somehow steady myself, thinking of my Janice, my dear girl.
A sharp sizzle pierces the silence. I feel a sharp stab of
agony, and a deep burning sensation. The pain retreats, only to be
replaced by a mind-bending after burn. The fiend grins insanely,
peeping from behind the iron frame, grinning at me like a naughty
child, a smoldering butt hanging from his cigarette holder.
“You…fucking…animal!” I wail. I jerk my head back, nausea
flooding me, as I smell my burning flesh. I feel ready to pass out.
I surrender my grip, falling once more onto the dildo as the
commandant laughs victoriously.
Von Helsing faces me once more, adjusting a dial on his remote,
and then leisurely opens his cigarette case, hunting for a fresh smoke
to place in the now vacant golden tip of his holder. A contented
smile spreads over his face, devouring what little humanity, if any,
ever resided there, as his gloved finger gently taps the button of his
remote control torture device.
