Created Wednesday 27 April 2011
Once again, a serial killer stalks the streets of London. But this time the killer only targets young, beautiful models. Jenny's friend Mary is the latest victim, horribly tortured and killed. Jenny is certain that sadistic photographer Barry Sharpe is the murderer, but the police won't listen to her. In desperation, Jenny decides to obtain proof, the only way that she can – by agreeing to pose for him and performing in his S&M video. If she can excite him enough, Jenny believes that she can get him to incriminate himself, provided she doesn't end up as the next victim.
Intense sex, S&M action and murder makes Flashpoint a special e-book for lovers of sadistic fiction and pussy torture.
I could smell the scent of her pussy, and again, it was familiar, yet different. It was the smell on my fingers after I had been touching myself under the blankets, or from the quick, furtive swipe between my legs, as a lover was undressing beside the bed. Healthy, clean pussy. I swallowed and slid my lips down her belly, down over the almost undetectable stubble of her pubic mound. Suddenly, my lips touch a different pair of lips. So soft, faintly moist and peeping from between the firm bulge of her fanny. I moved my mouth up and down, feeling her pussy with my lips. As I came upwards, my lips touched a soft overhang, and touched a small, smooth, firmer texture. I heard Amber sigh and I knew that I was kissing the tip of her clitoris.
The whip pivoted on my hand and flashed around my body and landed with a loud slapping sound across my shoulder blades. The fine softness of the leather was deceptive, and it hit me with much more force than I had expected. I had to shift my feet to prevent myself from staggering. For a moment, it felt as if a blast of frigid air had struck my back, and then it magically transformed to warmth, and then to fire. It felt as if a large fire cracker had gone off against my back, as both heat and impact seared my skin. I controlled my desire to gasp and grimace, freezing my face into a smooth mask. Strangely, despite its immobility, I saw that my face still somehow managed to show the pain that I was felt when I glanced over at the monitors. The sound of the whiplash seemed to echo in the studio, although it was probably just my imagination. Biting down hard, I twisted my body and swung the whip again, this time aiming lower.
"His first choice was a simple steak knife, the kind with the slightly serrated edge. It was an ordinary piece of cutlery and not razor sharp, the kind you could find on the tables of a thousand canteens and restaurants. He held it up and let the girl – let's call her 'X' - see the light reflect off of the chrome steel blade. With a sweep of his arm, he slashed the blade across her pussy and the girl cried out in surprise and shock at the kiss of the chilled steel. …."