Two for Torture



by Susan Strict and John Savage

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!

Published: 11 / 2009     No. words:  51,200



“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.


“We will keep it simple the first time,” he explained to her. “But I have some really spectacular tortures planned for the future. Right now we’ll begin by whipping your breasts.”

Denise whined at that announcement. She had always been very proud of those magnificent mounds. The idea of being whipped there was very frightening.

“Camera going?” James asked. Carlos pointed to the monitor where Denise’s image was sharp and clear. The camera was just far enough back to get all of her into the picture. “Sorry you can’t see it,” he told her. “High definition, very good image.”

Her hands were twisting against the rope. There was no chance of working them out, for the ropes had been applied with a very strong hand and knotted quite tightly out of reach of her fingers. Fear was written across her lovely face as her eyes darted about as if seeking someone to save her. There was no savior in sight.

Suddenly her eyes were drawn to the whip in James’ hand. Where it had come from she had no idea, but there it was, black and wicked. She whined louder through clenched lips and jerked harder at her bindings. Positioning himself so as to have a clear swing at the target yet not block the camera’s view in any way, James grinned as he lifted the whip back for the first strike.

Denise clenched her fists and closed her eyes. But they sprang open when the sudden pain shot into her left breast. “Ohhhh!” Her cry was not quite a scream but much more than a simple statement. She looked down, expecting to see blood across her breast. There was only a red streak.

The second stroke caught her totally unprepared and the cry was truly a scream this time, for the tip of the whip had kissed her nipple. The pain that shot into her breast was worse than anything she had ever felt in her young life.

There had been intension in her mind of stoically accepting the pain with little outward sign of her distress. That would have lessened the impact on her father, she reasoned. That intension flew out the window at the first contact of the leather against her soft flesh.

“No!” she cried out. “No more! Please!”

It mattered not that such pleas and cries were exactly what they wanted. Her father would surely know just how much his precious daughter was hurting.

The whipping of Denise’s breasts continued. Several more on the left one, then targets switched and blows began to land on the right breast. All through it, Denise’s hands were clenching and unclenching, her body jerking and struggling uselessly against the ropes, and massive sobs coming between the sharp screams as each blow landed on target.

Denise had not kept count, but James did. An even dozen strokes to each breast. Seemed like a good number. More would not really add much the effect created on the video; each breast was covered by a grid of red welts. She was in pain and showing it quite nicely. He had spaced out the blows so the total time was over ten minutes – an eternity to the tormented girl. It would seem like an eternity to her father, too.


Lawrence set the helicopter gently on the slope just out of sight of the castle. Coming in from the West they could see the castle and dropped immediately below the mountain to stay out of sight. Brian Stryker and the two other members of his team, Terry and Oscar, exited rapidly and took up defensive positions around the helicopter as Lawrence shut down the systems. When the blade finally slowed to a halt and all electrical power was switched off, he also exited the chopper.

Each man carried an assault rifle and a sidearm, usually a .45 automatic or a Desert Eagle. Two of them had sniper rifles slung across their backs, while the other two carried the RPG-7 USA. Brian signaled to Oscar to move to the top of the hill. He did, moving low but at a surprisingly fast crawl to the top of the hill. He unslung his M40A3, and used the scope to view the scene below, easily seeing figures moving on the ramparts of the castle. Through the scope he could even make out that they were females, surprisingly enough. All young and pretty! A few of them carried what appeared to be shotguns or hunting rifles. He grinned. At this distance he could pick them off with little danger of return fire. He did, however, note that a couple of the deer hunting rifles had scopes. Have to be careful about those two. He patted his rifle affectionately. The right tool for the job, he told himself as he settled the crosshairs on the woman who seemed to be giving commands.

It is an old soldier’s rule: go for the officers first.

The memory of the dusty, hot streets of Ba’Quah and Ar Ramadi came back to him, along with all the times he had centered those crosshairs upon human targets. It had been the most exciting time of his life. It was an incredible experience to softly squeeze the trigger and then see someone’s head explode. A real sense of power!

As if possessing a will of its own, his finger tightened on the trigger. Slowly he squeezed, his training making him pull in a shallow breath then hold it ever so gently as the trigger neared the critical position.


The shot echoed off the green hills all around. He saw a small explosion of rock and dust on a wall near the woman who had been in his sights. The others on the wall ducked, but she stood there, looking at the gouge in the wall. That bitch is either frozen in fear or very brave, he told himself. He was lining up a second shot that would take off her head when he remembered his orders.

Shit! he told himself, why did I do that? And why did I miss? Scope must be out of alignment.

Stryker came crawling rapidly up to his side.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded in a fierce whisper.

“Sorry, sir. I… Well, there was this woman down there giving orders and…”

“Oscar, damn your eyes! I said not to engage unless I gave the order. Give me that rifle.”

He put down his P-90 and practically grabbed the sniper rifle from the scared man. He brought it up to his shoulder and used the scope to scan the scene below. There was a little movement along the top of the wall, but what immediately caught his attention were the figures moving into place to surround the castle. They were obviously armed and from the way they silently moved with precision, trained. He studied them as they took positions around the castle, but not facing inward, rather outward.




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