Prison Train: Extreme Taboo BDSM Erotica E-Book

Jean Crusher

• Herausgeber: Palimpsest Publishing
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Warning: Very taboo. Not for the faint of heart. May include BDSM, incest, and other taboo and forbidden elements. This is a vintage **full length** (100+ Pages), post-censorship erotic novel.

**************
Flesh was what he desired.

Fresh young female flesh tender-vulnerable.

Sweet young flesh for the cult and its master.

This was a sort of cult, too, this misbegotten ragtag collection of half-baked occultists, confused thrill-seekers, and kinky sex freaks.

The meeting was held in the basement of a private home in a fashionable, expensive suburban community in northeastern New Jersey.

The time?

Midnight right on the borderline between Friday night and Saturday morning, on this frigid winter night.

In the basement it was warm ... hot. Thick with smoke, incense, hashish, stale perfume, sweat, leather.

Hot from the collective body heat of the ritualists.

There were about eighteen of them down here in the basement. Actually, the area was too clean and comfortable and spacious to be counted as a basement.

But it was located underground, its ceiling was the floor of the first floor of the house. It was a wide, spacious area, low-ceilinged.

At the far end of the space, opposite the narrow wooden staircase which connected with the ground floor, was the altar.

Hung on the wall behind the altar was a red banner covered with black runes and symbols of seeming mystic significance.

To a true scholar of the occult like Lupus, the magical trappings of what was essentially an S&M swingers group was laughably pretentious.
 

Leseprobe

Prison Train

Jean Crusher

Copyright © 2017

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 1

Flesh was what he desired.

Fresh young female flesh tender-vulnerable.

Sweet young flesh for the cult and its master.

This was a sort of cult, too, this misbegotten ragtag collection of half-baked occultists, confused thrill-seekers, and kinky sex freaks.

The meeting was held in the basement of a private home in a fashionable, expensive suburban community in northeastern New Jersey.

The time?

Midnight right on the borderline between Friday night and Saturday morning, on this frigid winter night.

In the basement it was warm ... hot. Thick with smoke, incense, hashish, stale perfume, sweat, leather.

Hot from the collective body heat of the ritualists.

There were about eighteen of them down here in the basement. Actually, the area was too clean and comfortable and spacious to be counted as a basement.

But it was located underground, its ceiling was the floor of the first floor of the house. It was a wide, spacious area, low-ceilinged.

At the far end of the space, opposite the narrow wooden staircase which connected with the ground floor, was the altar.

Hung on the wall behind the altar was a red banner covered with black runes and symbols of seeming mystic significance.