Jason Savage makes snuff movies. They’re real, they’re disturbing, and his customers want more.
Jason Savage has had several emails asking when his next snuff movie will be available. With his trusted friends, he makes sure everything is ready to create their next film. A woman willingly comes back to Jason’s house—except she isn’t aware of what’s in store.
The camera’s rolling and the actors are ready. Jason Savage is about to film one of his nastiest films yet.
Series: Jason Savage
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-60054-601-3
lyd Category: Exotica
Length: 72 pdf Pages / 12000 words
Formats Available: pdf, prc, lit, zipped html,
lrf, epub, RB,
Ebook Cover Price: $3.00
Pack it in. Focus and find a decent-looking woman.
He spied her then, gazing around as though bored off her face, probably wondering what the hell she was even doing here. Was she in search of the perfect lover? Someone to come home to after a hard day’s work? Yeah, he reckoned she was. She had that look about her. Desperate. Needy. “Please, someone love me, I’ve got so much to give…”
“She’ll do,” he said, nudging Geoff in the ribs and nodding toward the blonde. “Her with the curls, the red top. If you can call it a fucking top. Looks like underwear.”
“Ah, gotcha. You off now, then?” Geoff fingered his black goatee, the hair there a darker shade than the spiky mess on his head.
“Yeah. Gimme an hour or so to set up.”
Geoff nodded, staring at the chosen woman, giving her a broad smile that would melt Jason’s knees if he was that way inclined. Jason weaved through the throng with his head down, intent on getting the hell out and back to his place so he could get their snuff box ready. He liked that name, the title of the room they used to film in. Didn’t matter which room or location they chose, it was always called the snuff box.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and brushed past a couple dancing, their bodies pressed together as though glued. Another pair who thought the world revolved around love. Christ, when would they ever learn?
He twitched. The pick-up made him edgy; he worried those damn security cameras would film him, that the police would find him once the woman was reported missing. Sod that for a laugh.
He left the club, striding across the busy Manchester Road, shaking his head at the pricks drunk out of their minds in a queue snaking out of the kebab shop. And the chicks, all short skirts and goose pimpled legs, giggles and sagging tits. He didn’t need reminding why he never came out trawling these days.
Reaching his BMW, he pressed the key fob to unlock it and climbed inside. Damn, it was cold tonight, enough to make his cock shrivel. Later on he wouldn’t have that problem. He chuckled at the thought, unsure whether he fancied shagging the blonde or if he’d be the one behind the camera. There were merits to both—behind camera you got your rocks off watching it all play out, and in front of the camera you got off feeling it all out, of being in control. Either way he came goddamn hard.
Peter Lord is married with children and likes nothing more than writing things others may not dare to. He enjoys pushing the envelope, shocking his reader but at the same time entertaining them. He said, “We all have a dark side, and I cater to that shadowy nugget inside us, where we indulge in reading something that isn’t quite “right”—the road-accident thing, where you know you shouldn’t look but you do anyway. You can’t help yourself.”
His work has shocked many in the past, to the point of full-blown arguments exploding, but he weathered the storm on that particular forum and continued writing the darkness. He in no way condones the actions of his characters, merely writes the tale they wish to tell, because, like he said, “There are people out there just like those I write about. We just refuse to admit it because they aren’t what we consider normal. What one person sees as wrong, another feels is right. That’s just the way of the world, and if you don’t like what you may consider ‘nasty’, then don’t read my books.”
Peter was once asked, “Are you sick in the head?” His response was, “Not to my knowledge. I’m perfectly sane. What comes out on the page isn’t me as a person, but me getting inside another’s head and writing their story to the best of my ability. People tend to forget there is such a thing as imagination and they confuse the book with the author. Just because my books are dark, it doesn’t make me a bad person—a bad husband and father. Does someone who writes erotica spend most of their time having sex? Are they obsessed with sex? I don’t think so. Is someone who writes about vampires a vampire? For God’s sake, no, they’re writing for the market. Writers use their imagination and let it lead them wherever it wants to go. That’s the thing of it, that’s the way it is. Whatever genre we choose isn’t a reflection of who we are.”
If you pick up a Peter Lord book, know that somewhere inside there will be scenes you find difficult to read, but they happen for real somewhere in the world, and the author likes to tell their stories.