I would love to buy this, but every time I try I get a "transaction declined" message from their payment processor? Every card I have gets declined... Bummer.
from what I hear they're pretty responsive via email on payment problems. Give Lora a holler at:
Masterfrog wrote: ↑Tue Aug 09, 2022 9:36 am...I miss the good old times of ZFX movies!! Ahhhh great videos!
Absolutely! Can we call Rick Masters a visionary? Some of his videos (films) are in the horror spectrum, but with a decided BDSM bent. Can you imagine what he'd do with even a small-ish Hollywood budget?
Candi Licks in Trojan Horse 2, being whipped. I really liked her in Witchhunt, when her hair was straight and uncurled. IMO the straight blonde hair gave her such an innocent soccer Mom vibe.
Marvelous latina Lisa Kincaid, being electrotortured, in Underland 2.
I also liked his soundtracks; nothing more than a simple synthesizer, with brooding monotones, but it meshed well with the groans and gasps of the actresses that starred in his movies.
I would love to buy this, but every time I try I get a "transaction declined" message from their payment processor? Every card I have gets declined... Bummer.
from what I hear they're pretty responsive via email on payment problems. Give Lora a holler at:
I’m excited to be headed to a two-hour roleplay session with a local dominatrix/switch. She’s a hot redhead who resembles the chick in this image. The scenario is that she’s a Bond type spy who has infiltrated the evil henchman’s lair on a private island. She’s come by sea, dressed in a wetsuit and holster. Just as she’s about to egress, she’s discovered and caught.
Dragged to the basement, my spy will be metal-cuffed to a steel-framed bed spring. She’ll already be wet from her time in the ocean, but I’ll wet her down further and threaten her with horrific electro torture. She’ll be “interrogated” and groped for just under an hour, before I leave for a moment, telling her the real torture is about to begin. Her binds loosened, this will be her chance to escape. When I return, she’ll gain the upper hand, and I’ll be her prisoner, and the one to face the actual torture. She’s been instructed to tie me AOH and perform a mix of whipping and electro shocks, using a TAZapper - and of course some tease and denial in between the pain.
I wish the scenario was reversed, but she’s really a ‘top,’ so I’m lucky to be able to get what I can in the first half. We’ve done a similar scenario before, so there’s trust built up, and I can at least bind and grope her, while threatening her with terrible things.
Looking forward to seeing - and feeling and hearing - a sexy, wet, spread-eagle shackled redhead in tight neoprene begging for mercy.
This is from chapter two of the spy-girl novel THE DEVIL’S DUE, a commission work I did and currently (no pun intended) available on Patreon in Tier 5.
The inspiration for the Amanda Weller character was actress Amy Acker, who played the character of Fred on the tv show ANGEL.
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Amanda Weller woke up with start.
There was light above her – a unfocused glow that quickly resolved into a single, old fashioned light bulb handing from the ceiling. Her brown eyes flew open, and she tried to sit up, only to find herself strapped down on her back.
Fear surged through her. She jerked hard at the straps. Her wrists and ankles were fastened into cuffs at the side what looked to be a medial gurney. It rattled slightly as she shook it with her struggled, and she could feel thin padding under her.
She felt cold. Lifting her head, the brown-haired woman saw she was dressed only in her white bra and pale blue panties.
Amanda gave a shocked gasp. The fear she had felt at being strapped down now swelled into terror. “Where am I!?” she shouted.
Her voice echoed. Around her it was mostly dark, but she got the sense the room was small. She could see a light behind her. The CIA analyst tipped her head back to get an upside-down view of a square of light in what seemed to be a door.
“Somebody! Get me out of here!”
Only the hollow sound of her voice bouncing off stone or concrete walls replied. Amanda tugged at the straps again. She tried to twist her wrists free as the leather chaffed her skin.
There was a noise behind her. The door opened, and Amanda turned her head back. Two men were entering. The one in front was dressed in a loose shirt, black tee, and long pants. He had unkempt black hair and a brown, clean-shaven face, and he rolled a trolley that had some kind of machine with wires on top of it.
The one behind was shorter and looked older. Like the first, his skin was brown. Amanda guessed them both to be of Latino stock. He had on a yellow button up shirt, and his black hair was combed straight back. Under his thick black moustache, he had a large cigar that smoked gently as he entered.
“Who are you people?” Amanda said. She leaned up as the trolley was wheeled past her and the man in yellow walked to the other side. “Where am I?”
Neither man answered her. Amanda felt her terror rising to engulf her, but she fought it down. Her analyst training hadn’t given her much by way of dealing with this kind of situation, but she knew that the thing that would help the absolute least was to panic. She closed her eyes and took a breath. When she opened them, she looked at the short man in yellow squarely.
“Listen to me. My name is Amanda Weller, and I am an agent of the United States government. I demand to know who you are and where I am.”
The man puffed on his cigar and said something in Spanish to this companion at the machine. He shrugged in reply.
“Answer me!” Amanda said, sternly. She hoped that her voice sounded less desperate to them than it did to her.
The yellow shirted man removed his cigar and smiled at her. “Miss Weller. My name is Rodrigo Oliveira. And you...” he paused and waved his hand with cigar gently around the room, “...are nowhere.”
“What do you mean, nowhere?” she said, breathing hard.
Oliveira put his hands on the table and leaned over her. “I mean, nowhere where anyone will ever find you,” he said.
Amanda felt the colour drain from her face, and he smiled as he watched. When his eyes roamed over her half naked body, she shuddered and felt sick.
The other man was doing something with the machine. He had something that looked like the device doctors put on a patient’s finger to keep a track of their pulse, and he slipped it onto her finger. When she tried to resist, he just grabbed her hand hard and taped the plastic clip firmly in place.
“What are you doing?” she said in a soft, shaking voice.
Both men ignored her. The one with the machine turned something on, and Amanda heard the beep-beep of her pulse. It was quick, like she had been jogging.
Next, the machine operator took another wire. It also had a clip on the end, and he moved down to Amanda’s feet. When he put it on one of her toes, she felt a painful bite and realized this one was a sharp toothed alligator clip, like you would use to hook up to a car battery but smaller.
“Listen to me,” she said. The man ignored her and went back to his machine. When he turned it on there was a hum and a pair of dials lit up on the front.
“Listen!” Amanda said. Her head turned back to Oliveira. “I am an operative of the United States Central Intelligence Agency. Unless you release me – right now – you are going to be in more trouble that you can even imagine.”
Oliveira looked over at his companion. That man picked up something that looked like a plastic circle. Moving up to top of the gurney, he put one hand on Amanda’s forehand and pushed her down hard against the padding under her.
“NO! DON’T TOUCH ME!”
He ignored her words, except to take the opportunity of her open mouth to jam the plastic bit into her mouth. Amanda gurgled helplessly and tried to spit it out. The man’s rough hands tugged a piece of electrical tape from the trolley and slapped it down over her mouth. He pressed down, and the tape held the sour tasting bit inside the curly haired woman’s mouth.
Amanda’s brown eyes were wide as the longer haired Latino man moved back to his machine. He picked up metal wand with a plastic handle. A wire ran from it to the humming machine. He nodded at Oliveira and stood quietly.
“Ms Weller,” Oliveira said softly.
She looked at him. The beep-beep of the machine tracking her pulse was going like she was running a race. Amanda breathed in and out through her nostrils, sucking down air noisily.
Oliveira, on the other hand, seemed perfectly calm. He stroked her slightly curly brown hair like some caring uncle. Amanda flinched, but there was nowhere to run to.
“Ms Weller, there are things you need to tell us. This machine is to help us know you are telling the truth.”
Amanda breathed in and out as quickly as she could with her mouth taped. She felt lightheaded and wondered if she would faint from hyperventilation.
“First we are going to help you understand.” The man with the wand moved closer and held it up. Amanda struggled sharply.
“NNNNNNN! MMMGGGHHHHHH!” She shook her head. Her brown eyes were watering with tears. Oliveira held up his hand, and the man paused.
The short Latino boss leaned over Amanda again. “I understand. You are afraid, yes?” Amanda looked up at him a tear slid down her cheek. She nodded.
“Of course you are. That is normal. I have seen grown men in your position who have the same reaction. It is nothing to be ashamed of. This part is necessary. After a while, we will have a proper conversation.”
Oliveira stepped back and put his cigar into his mouth. He nodded.
The man with the wand moved closer. Amanda gave a sobbing gurgle as the metal rod dipped towards her.
***
“MMMMMMMMMGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!”
Amanda’s body jerked powerfully as the metal wand touched her bare belly. It was like someone was punching her again and again in the solar plexus. Her stomach clenched hard and every muscle in her body seemed to be snapping tight at once.
The pain went on and on. She clenched her eyes tight, trying to endure it. Drool ran back down her throat and she choked on it while her teeth bit down hard on the gag.
The pain stopped. Amanda fell back against the thin bedding, trying to breathe. Her muscles twitched and quivered. The slender woman sobbed gently.
Before she could get her bearings the wand was back. This time it pressed against her shoulder. Her neck cramped hard, and she thrashed as the electric current shook her. Her head was pounding.
God, make it stop, please! PLEASE!
It did stop eventually, after almost a minute of agony that seemed like much longer. Amanda flopped back against the gurney. She shivered, not just from the after-effects of electrocution but also the sweat covering her that was chilling her body. Her eyes stared up at the light overhead and she cried.
Oliveira leaned over her. He looked at her with an unconcerned expression, like a doctor examining a patient with a cold. He took the cigar from his mouth and blew out a stream of pungent grey smoke that tickled her nose and made her cough.
Oliveira looked at the man with the wand. “Again,” he said.
Amanda shook her head no. Her hands clenched into fists as she struggled.
The wand touched her side, moving around to under the helpless woman. Amanda squealed and arched her back as the muscles there all cramped at once. Her spine felt like it might break from the force of her own bodies pain. She twisted like that, with her small breasts straining against the fabric of her bra.
“MMWAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! HHNNNNNNNNNEEEEE!!!”
The man moved the wand up and down her back as she writhed. Amanda threw her head to one side. Her sharply pretty face was tight with anguish. She tasted blood in her mouth as the gag bit into her gums from her biting down so hard. Her toes pointed; her fingers clawed at her sides. Still the pain went on and on.
When the wand pulled back, Amanda crashed back down. Her mind swam with anguish.
Hands were touching her face. The tape on the gag was peeled back. As the plastic bit was eased out of her mouth Amanda gave a loud, wet gasp.
Something cold and metal touched her lips. Not the wand, but the rim of a cup. It tipped up and water spilled over her lips and down her chin. Amanda coughed and tried to swallow.
“Slowly,” Oliveira said. He tipped the cup again and she managed to get some of the water down her throat.”
“Enough,” he told her. He pulled the cup away and handed it to the other man.
“Please,” she said, crying. “No more.”
Oliveira stoked her face. “You understand now, chica. You must tell the truth.” He fished in his pocket and held up a photograph.” You must tell the truth about what you know of this person.”
Amanda blinked away some tears. The face was of a woman. She was brown haired, like Amanda, and strikingly beautiful. The type of woman Amanda herself had often been jealous of.
“You know this woman,” Oliveira said. “She is an agent of the C.I.A.”
Amanda knew she should be silent. But the memory of the electricity ripping through her was like a demon crouching by her head. She nodded. “Yes.”
Oliveira nodded as well. “Good. That is good Amanda. I can call you Amanda, yes?” He put the photo down. “I need to know what you have found out about her, and her investigation.”
Amanda spoke in shuddering tones. “She’s on a mission. In Africa.” She hated herself for speaking the words, but the pain!
“We know this. You were collecting information about her associates. About a man called Paxley.” He held up another photograph, this time of a blond man Amanda recognized as the blond programmer. “What did you find?”
Amanda fought to think. When she paused, the man with the wand looked at her like a cat watching a mouse. “His file... had irregularities.”
“Explain,” Oliveira said. She struggled to think. “Amanda, tell me what you mean, or I must ask my friend to continue.”
The girl wept. “Please don’t.”
“Then tell me.”
“His files... had been tampered with. Someone had altered them. His past...”
“His past had been changed?”
“Yes,” she said, then shook her head. “No. It... someone had made it look that way... like he was hiding something...”
“Tell me who.”
Amanda looked up at him. “I don’t know. I didn’t... have enough time... to find out...”
Oliveira shook his head. “Tell me, Amanda. Who changed the files?”
She shook her head again. “I don’t know. I swear I don’t.”
The South American man signed and looked at her sternly. “You disappoint me, Amanda. I thought you understood, you must tell me the truth.”
Amanda strained against the straps. “I am. Believe me! I don’t know.”
Oliveira stood up and placed the cigar back in his mouth. The other man moved up and grabbed her head and forced the bit back into her mouth.
“NO! NO! HGGGGGGHHH!”
He pushed the bit back in hard and pressed the tape back over her face to keep it in place.
Amanda thrashed and sobbed.
There was a clicking sound. The bound woman’s eyes opened, and she saw the flick knife in the man’s hand. Casually he reached down and grabbed the shoulder strap of Amanda’s bra. The sharp blade cut through it, and then the other. She cried in terror as it was pulled away to reveal her pert breasts with their stiff, upright brown nipples.
The man’s knife moved to her panties.
Amanda cried and twisted. It took him only a few seconds to cut the flimsy material away and yank it form her body. She lay completely naked now. When she opened her eyes, she saw Oliveira staring down at her. His eyes glided over her quivering belly and the thin patch of trimmed hair between her legs, then back up to her breasts and face.
He nodded and stood back. The other man, the demon with his metal wand, moved up again. Amanda made a gurgling scream for mercy as the metal dipped down and touched her naked breast, and she felt that perky young tit burst with agony.
