Rats….racks….acid-filled dildos…fire ants…scorpions….a descending wall of razor-sharp needles….boots lined with thousands of terrible, tickly quills….. These are just a few of the hideous tools at the disposal of deranged mob boss Vincent Garrimone.
Eleven years ago he held a family hostage at his private torture compound, victims of his perverse pleasure and insatiable appetite for cruelty, before they banded together and reduced him, and his criminal empire, to dust. They thought they killed him. But is he really dead?
Eleven years later, it doesn’t appear that way to Phil Palmer, the put-upon patriarch of “Loser’s Bluff,” General Dom’s 2005 BDSM crime pulp page-turner.
Many think so, until Phil’s wife Jenny, who played a key role in defeating the maniac, inexplicably goes missing. Then, Phil finds himself increasingly implicated in a series of sex torture crimes that seem to be targeting his family and friends.
As the resurrected Mafia kingpin launches a campaign to reclaim his throne, Phil and his comrades search madly for a way to bury the fat fiend permanently.
EXTRACT
Garrimone seated himself next to her on the silk upholstered loveseat,
his corpulent form consuming most of the antique setteé. He put his
arm around the girl, drawing her to him.
“A toast,” he purred, “to old adversaries, to new friends, and
secret loves forever.”
She said nothing, cradling the heavy glass.
“Come now, dear, let’s get comfortable, shall we? Come to
papa….”
He set their glasses aside and let his huge hands roam across
her top. He leaned down and brought her mouth to his, kissing her
forcefully. Just then Phil’s scream shattered the seductive setting,
piped from a nearby speaker. Garrimone withdrew briefly and his eyes
half-closed in an expression of deep appreciation.
“No doubt your daddy is feeling the pressure of my mighty hand,
my pet. I want you to feel it as well.”
He shoved his digits down her low-cut dress and began pawing her
tits, plucking them from the silk, squeezing the nipples, sucking on
them. He pushed her down on her back, into the soft cushions. He put
his hands to the fly of his silk pajamas and undid a few buttons,
liberating his pulsating cock.
“I want to take you…here…now!” the old man demanded. “To stop
me, you only need to encourage your father to assist me.” He kissed
her again and undid her dress only part way when she refused. “He’s
listening…feel free to plead for his life at any time,” he laughed.
She winced and shook her head.
“I want you to strip for me. Entice me,” Garrimone ordered,
stuffing his mouth with a chocolate truffle from a candy dish and
swishing the glass of Cognac luxuriously.
She stood and walked to the front of the fire, and then slowly
began removing her dress.
Garrimone’s hand moved to his cock and he began to stroke
himself. Another maddened cry came from the speaker system. He
wondered how badly Phil wanted to die right now. He stiffened even
more at the thought.
Janice slowly removed her dress until her nude, nubile form was
silhouetted before the fire. Garrimone marveled at her beauty, and
then ordered her to raise her arms and back slowly against the marble
hearth.
She silently obeyed. He heaved his portly body from the couch
and strolled over to her, panting lightly from the exertion, as his
wide, wet tongue lapped furiously at her tits, then traveled down her
tummy, finally coming to rest on her pussy lips. He took a small pair
of handcuffs from the mantle and attached them to a decorative hook
over her head, then clicked them shut.
“Ah, the awesome power I hold, my dear, sweet Janice. Your
father in such pain, a pain I control with my own hand, while I live
in luxury! Tell me you will help me influence him and end his
suffering.” Janice gave a soft moan from her lips, but she still shook
her head. She hated him, but her body was responding differently. She
was once more at Black Lodge, a victim and nothing more.
He drew back and stuck a poker into the embers of the fire,
heating it slowly. He then withdrew his penis once more and pressed
into her. She jumped at the size of it. The general pushed upwards and
entered her wet little pussy, his cock plunging into her a good eight
inches or more. It made small, quick thrusting movements inside her.
“First, I get you all nice and hot,” he sighed.
Then, without warning, he pulled out, fiddling with the poker.
“Then…I make you beg for it. Beg for my cock, slut.” She almost did,
she wanted to be fucked so badly. Anything to take her from this awful
place. She could easily pretend he was someone else.
That thought was quickly squelched as she opened her eyes to
stare into his flabby, double-chinned face, felt his bulbous belly,
sheathed in the softest velvet and silk, brushing against her. He was
revolting.
“I’ll not beg you for anything,” she said evenly, meeting his
gaze.
An inhuman look of hatred transformed him and he turned and
grabbed the poker, it’s end bright white, smoke tapering to the
ceiling from the tip.
“You’ll beg me, bitch. You’ll scream for mercy!” He gripped the
rubber handle and brought the hooked, pointed end within inches of her
left nipple. Even though the metal wasn’t yet touching her flesh, it
felt as if someone were holding her heaving bosoms to a hot stove.
“No! God, no! Please...” she found herself babbling. He only
smirked sadistically and tapped the end of the rod on her nipple. She
shrieked, writhing in the chains.
“You monstrous pig!” she screamed. He threw back his head and
laughed deeply.
“I said: beg for my cock, or else….” He jammed the poker into
the fire again, unleashing a shower of sparks.
