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Bdsm scenes in novels that do not deal with the subject.

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I remember the Larry Collins novel, "Deadly Game" or Operation Fortitude, where a brave spy is tortured by the Gestapo. Of this there is an adaptation for TV from 1994.

cover.jpg The book
Operaci_n_Fortaleza_TV-271752639-large.jpg TV movie.

Then he started walking toward his office and his latest victim.
His torturers had forced Catherine on top of a thick Paris phone book. They then looped a rope through an iron hook at one end to the grommet from which the chandelier hung from the ceiling. Their handcuffs had been driven through the chain until their feet barely touched the cardboard cover of the phone book. As an alternative, they began working on it, first using their fists, then the edge of their hands, and later some leather straps on which metal nails were attached.
Stromelburg slammed the door to his office behind him and walked across the purple carpet to that whimpering figure, suspended from the ceiling like an animal in the slaughterhouse. He was horrified at the transformation brought about by half an hour of work by his men, on his face and body. His nose was broken, his breathing came in labored gasps, his lips were bloody and small, and his eyes were barely visible because of the bruises around them.
The torturers made a respectful pause in their task as Stromelburg headed for that body. Catherine was only half conscious. She had the sensation of being wrapped in a red blanket of pain, with her body formed by a tissue of ganglia on the surface, in which the slightest touch or gesture managed to send discharges of agony throughout her being. Through the flickering film her eyes saw the outlines of the figure of Stromelburg approaching her. Then the man's face was in front of hers, his features contorted with such anger that they seemed more terrible to him than any of the martyrdoms endured. The head was thrown back and then forward like a snake. Her spit caught her on the cheekbones, as she howled:
-Bitch! You terrorist bitch!
Suddenly Stromelburg pulled away from her. He went to a wall in his office and took down an antique mirror with force. Turning to Catherine again, he placed it in front of his face.
-Look! -scream-. Look at yourself! See what they have done to you. What man will ever want to look at you again? Now you are a great beauty, don't you think? And they just started.
He was silent for a moment, then repeating to himself and throwing the words at the woman as if they were rivets.
"They've only just started!"

---------

Open the door.
"Take her upstairs," he ordered.
He stepped aside as his two torturers half carried and half dragged Catherine out of her office and into the upstairs attic. There was a circle of cubicles there, the rooms used by the servants of the wealthy pre-war owners of that building, now converted into cells where the Gestapo kept its prisoners between torture breaks.
Downstairs, the air in Stromelburg's office seemed to stink of sweat and tears, blood and fear. Her red carpet, under the chandelier, was obscured with Catherine Pradier's blood stains. All for nothing, he thought, for a tiny act of sabotage to aid an invasion that took place more than two hundred kilometers away from Calais. What an idiot I have been to be forced to do all this with her.

--------


Catherine's cell was a little larger than a wardrobe of unusual dimensions. Her bed was a rusty iron cot with wooden crossbars where a cotton mattress had been thrown. She had slept, she did not know for how long, on a plaintive tide of pain. Now she woke slowly, despite herself. High above her head, a fading sun filtered through a bare window. He deduced that it would be already noon.
Outside she heard only one sound: the monotonous, metronomometric drop of the SS guard's boots, as she walked slowly up and down the hallway in the attic of 82 Avenue Foch. Periodically, the guard paused to look at her through the peephole in the metal door of the cell. At first, those mocking eyes that devoured her crippled nakedness humiliated and angered her. Then she learned to ignore them: modesty, she told herself, was a state of mind, and not just the dress.
Someone had thrown her shoes and clothes in a heap in the corner of the cell. Occasionally, her eyes went to the same, to the golden tassel of her shoe with her promise of an eternal liberation from her suffering. However, she was already looking at him with detachment. She would no longer crawl to him and grab him for the release he offered her. I had endured it. And I would continue to endure it.
For what seemed like an hour or less, she lay awake on her cot, taking inventory, member by member, of the wounds and bruises her whippers of torturers had torn in her flesh. Across the cell, at the corner of the wall, was a water tap and a bowl. With a supreme effort of will, Catherine managed to get to her feet and lurch across the floor of the cell to the tap. If she was to survive, the fight for that survival would begin here in this cell. As best she could, she washed her wounds with cold tap water. Each application of the liquid to her open lacerations was painful; however, slowly, the shock of the water on her skin revived her.
She dried herself in the best possible way with the mattress cover and then dressed. She forced herself to sit on the cot to look toward the opening in the door, so that she could now answer the guardian's inquiring glances with her own, for the first time checking the exhilarating emotion that hatred had come to constitute.

------------

This time Catherine was taken not to Stromelburg's office but to one of the several interrogation rooms that lined the fourth floor of 82 Avenue Foch. The room had a terrifying imperonality, Catherine noted, when she staggered through the door. There she felt that a prisoner was no longer a human being, not even a number, but rather a kind of block of meat, which could be treated with the same detachment as a slaughterer regarding an ox with her hacksaw.
Stromelburg awaited her. She got up, almost respectfully, when she was thrown into the room and remained standing until she wobbled in her chair. Once again, the girl could smell her cologne and saw how impeccably manicured her hands were and how carefully her hair appeared combed.
Stromelburg watched her with his calm indifference. What they had done to her was a shame. Her face was swollen beyond any possible recognition, a series of protrusions of yellow, purple, and crimson flesh. Her lips were swollen out of all proportion from the blows she had received. She would have trouble maintaining a stiff upper lip, she thought cruelly. Only the eyes, those challenging green eyes, remained unchanged. She was still playing her role as a brave patriot.
She offered her a cigarette.
"No thanks," she replied. I have not changed my habits since yesterday.
-None of them?
The woman caught the sinister tinkle of his voice and shook her head.
-We'll see.
The two torturers who had treated her so brutally the day before had entered the room and were leaning respectfully against the wall, like silent sentinels of Gestapo sadism.
"I wasted a lot of my time yesterday when I had other things to do," Stromelburg began reproachfully. However, today I have nothing else to do except dedicate my full attention and energy to it.
He coughed politely.
"Or to be more precise, the energies of my subordinates here present."
She began to walk slowly around the room.
"Now we wish to review all things for you, Mademoiselle Pradier." I need you to answer three questions. What was he trying to sabotage in Calais? Where are the microfilms Cavendish gave him for the operation? Some simple questions that require simple and direct answers. So what was he trying to sabotage?
"I cannot answer that."
"Where's the microfilm?"
"I cannot answer that."
"What are your code messages from the 'BBC'?"
"I cannot answer that."
Stromelburg sighed. It was the wheezing of a poorly bred child who was denied the indulgence of an extra serving of dessert.
"It looks like a broken record." I'll give you a minute to reply before we get started.
Catherine collapsed in her chair. She felt her heart pound, and terrible cold seemed to embrace her entire body. She wanted to cry in fear, but she would not give him the satisfaction of her tears if she could help it. Please, my God, she begged silently, help me ...
The seconds ticked by until Stromelburg sighed again to close the course of his grace period.
"Very well," she said, nodding to her men.
One of them handcuffed his arms to the back of the chair. The other advanced towards her with a pair of pliers in hand. Stromelburg boiled inside. He should stay with the woman throughout the session, something he didn't have much of a stomach for.
"These gentlemen are going to pluck your toenails one by one," he announced. Slowly, because it's even more painful that way. This, I am told, is a particularly terrible experience. Once each nail is removed, I will repeat my questions. You can end this savagery any time you choose to answer them.
He ran his hand over his forehead as if to suppress from his head the ordeal he was going to attend.
"Most people pass out after three or four nails are pulled out." Don't let that worry you. If necessary, we will revive her with cold water and continue our work.

-------------------------

Her captors led Catherine up the flight of stairs that led to the bathroom, knowing that each of her steps on her bleeding foot was a painful ordeal. The bathroom was a Spartan chamber: a white painted room with a large bathtub along one wall and a series of whips along the other. The window facing the street was wide open. While one of her tormentors turned the cold water tap on the tub to the maximum, the other stripped her, a subtlety that her captors had neglected to carry out that day.
"What was he going to sabotage?"
Stromelburg seemed almost bored when asking that question.
Catherine simply shook her head in response. One of the two men picked up a whip from the wall and made a demonstration or two of his skill by clicking it in midair, then sent the rope toward her so that it crashed into her chest. Catherine screamed and saw the reddened marks left by the lash on her breasts.
"What was he going to sabotage?"
She was flogged perhaps twelve times before she heard the tap in the tub turn off behind her. Her captors sat her on the edge of the tub. One clutched a chain around her ankles. They turned her so that her chained feet were plunged into the icy water. Once again Stromelburg howled his question:
"What was he going to sabotage?"
In her silence, one of the tormentors tugged on her shackled feet while another caught her by the shoulders and forced her to dive into the water. With her hands cuffed behind her back, she was completely defenseless. She tried to kick and twist, but hands tugged on the chain so that her ankles emerged from the bath water. Her eyes were open and she saw the smiling faces of her tormentors above her and through the water that covered her head. Her lungs were about to explode, screaming for some air. Finally, his mouth opened in a terrible and involuntary gesture, and the cold water entered her. Her vision blurred, she suffocated, the force fled from her limbs. Drowning, he slid down a cesspool to death.
When she regained consciousness, the pain in her chest was excruciating, far worse than anything else she had suffered at the hands of her executioners. She felt how those hands pressed against her chest and how the water came out of her mouth. She was lying on her back on the floor. Images, bits of darkness and light, shadow and definition moved before her eyes. Gradually they merged into moving circles, then faces, and above all, she saw Stromelburg staring at her.
 
I repeat the entry for May 3 again. Now this time with text as an example.

In the novel Pirate by Fabio Lanzoni, the girl and lover of the pirate, called Cristina, is a little mistreated by some evil pirates.
--------

Christina knew her bodice was open, her skirts rolled around her waist, her legs bare at the mercy of scrutiny from that band of villains. Oh God how would she survive the rape of all those men? Before dawn I would be dead!

When the net descended until it was within the reach of the sailors, all those smelly beings converged around Christina, giving laughter, fondling her. She felt that in a few moments every inch of her own body was violated, hurt, squeezed or pushed by those rough and dirty hands.

-Enough! Roared a powerful voice.

The pirates backed away protesting loudly. Christina turned her head and saw a bearded giant with black hair looking at her laughing. The brutal smile and lustful glitter in his eyes made him even more terrifying than the other pirates.

"The girl is mine!" -ad.
-------
"They kidnapped her on my orders!" Carlos bellowed, threatening the man with his fist. The captain's lascivious gaze lingered on Christina. Take the girl downstairs, strip her naked and tie her to my bunk. She reached out and fingered Christina's leg; When the girl spat at him and looked at him with hatred, she just laughed. But first, wash it well. It is filthy. She wiped her hand on her own filthy pants, gestured to the other pirates, and added generously, "You can all watch."
Scared, furious, and powerless, Christina heard the pirates burst into wild exclamations. Although reluctantly, she had to admit that Carlos was a cunning man. By granting the sailors a stake in Christina's possession, by allowing them to observe how they undressed, washed, and humiliated her, she avoided a possible riot and the ensuing bloodbath. However, there was little comfort in knowing that she would be raped by one man instead of fifty. In truth, she preferred death over sleeping with a man other than Marco.
They removed the hook from the net without releasing Christina, and among several howling Spaniards they carried her to the main mast. Rough hands pulled her off the net. She fell to her knees on the slippery deck, facing the scoundrels like a wild creature, her eyes sparking and her teeth showing.
"How proud, the creature!" One said scornfully.
"At the end of the night, she won't be so proud anymore!" Another added.
Finally, they caught her among about twelve men. Christina struggled, kicked, screamed, and tried to bite those demons who tore at her body and clothing. She was left with only the shirt; the captain intervened again fearing that the men would get out of control and spoil his own amusement.
-Enough! Carlos howled. Bathe the bitch!
She was thrown back onto the deck, buckets of icy water thrown at her that made her gasp and gag. The wet shirt clung to his body, and the pirates gave bad whistles and shouted insults.
------------------

"Please captain, let us try it!" One implored.
- Julio, Roberto, Miguel! Carlos replied loudly. Take her downstairs.
The pirates looked at each other indecisively, and Christina saw an opportunity. She got up with the speed of lightning and rushed to the side, preferring a grave in the ocean rather than expected on that ship.
Immediately half a dozen iron hands caught her and ruthlessly stabbed into her flesh, bruising her. She insulted them and debated with all her might, but in vain. Within seconds, many dirty fingers grabbed her wrists, ankles, and waist.
"So the young lady likes to play," Carlos exclaimed, looking at her with a lascivious expression. Later, he may lash her back with the whip. For the moment, tie her to the cot as I ordered. We'll see if she's still proud when she's naked, tied to my bed.
The pirates laughed out loud as they dragged her down the hatch that led to the cabins. Nauseating smells of rotting food, human droppings and standing water assaulted Christina's nostrils.
They took her to a small, poorly lit cabin. She hit her hip against the edge of a table and screamed in pain. Her whole body was bruised by the roughness with which she had been treated on deck.
They threw her on a smelly pallet with yellowed sheets; She looked up and glared at the four pirates who had led her there. At that time, she did not dare attempt escape; such reckless action would only have caused the immediate violation. Even if she could get out through the hatch again, she would have to face the rest of the crew on the main deck.
The men looked at her and consulted each other. The disgusting smell of the pirates nauseated him.
"What if we tinker around with the bitch?" One asked as she rubbed her chin. She looks like a hot girl.
"Not so much as to risk being skewered by Carlos's saber," another pointed out.
"Yes, the captain has a terrible character," added a third. It would be able to hang us all.
"In that case, we had better obey the captain's orders," the fourth decided. Without a doubt, when we get tired of the girl, what remains of her will be for us.
Amid obscene laughter, the crew set about stripping Christina's shirt. Again she fought like a wild creature, spat, kicked, and screamed. She knew that she was unable to defeat four men at the same time, but she felt a vengeful pleasure in biting one of the villains. The individual slapped her so hard that she thought she had broken her jaw and felt her teeth collide with each other.
"This wench is a devil!" Exclaimed the wounded man, rubbing his bloody forearm. Thus, we will not finish undressing her.
"Ah, let's leave it as it is," suggested another, disgusted. The captain can finish undressing her ... and he will also make sure this bitch regrets having defied his orders.
"Gag this madwoman!" Said another.
In all cruelty, they tied her wrists to the head of the bunk and her ankles to the other end. They gagged her with a filthy piece of wool.
- It is done! You don't seem so proud anymore, huh, harlot? The pirate Christina had bitten asked with malicious delight.
The four pirates turned and left her alone, gagged and helpless in the cold cabin. The girl, still soaking wet, trembled violently.
--------------------

Every day he dripped poison into Christina's mind, trying to convince her that Glavianus had abandoned her. But so far, all her efforts had been futile. God only knows what's going on in that head, he thought, for he continues to treat me with stubborn hatred. That girl was even dangerous. The first time one of the men untied her hands so that she could attend to his needs, Christina hit the poor fool on the head and escaped to the main deck with the saber she had taken from him. If some of the pirates had not had the presence of mind to cast a net on that incendiary, they would certainly have managed to flee. From then on they took her to wash in front of the entire crew like a dog, with a strap around her neck and her hands tied behind her back. But despite all the humiliations, Christina's spirit never wavered. Even when he threw her on her knees on deck to bathe her, still huddled, almost naked, and trembling violently as the sailors threw buckets of cold water at her, she never expressed fear. The bright green eyes continued to sparkle with anger and contempt. If Carlos managed to confer a more carnal bias on that vivacious spirit ... if he could sleep with that fiery creature without having to rape her ... The very idea caused him a flash of lust in the crotch.
He crossed the room to the bunk, snapped off the moth-eaten blanket, and gazed at her cheekily. The dirty shirt hung in rags over the body, and the skin was covered with bruises. And yet he found her desirable, her chest heaving, her nostrils dilated, and her eyes blazing with hatred.
 
Remember:
In this other pocket novel, a girl is whipped with a kind of electric whip. El dictador del espacio.

....and now the text.

He approached the girl and hit her with the back of his hand. The ring with Kreckton's imperial shield left a mark on the young woman's face, but not a single scream escaped her lips.

"Only cowards do what you have done," she replied. We are at your mercy, coward. Why don't you finish us off?

"If this is your wish, do not doubt that I will please you," the dictator replied sharply.

Krao intervened, taking a step towards Yakobs, extending a hand.

"No, Yakobs." Forget what happened. Ilma is very impulsive. She's gone out to her father, but don't do anything to her. Your power will not be diminished by what a woman thinks.

"I don't care about my fate, Krao!" Ilma exclaimed, Don't try to defend me, although I appreciate your mediation, but I don't want it. I know he plans to kill us just the same. If you have not done so, it is because you want to get something in return. Let her say it at once.

Yakobs felt humiliated in front of his own. He couldn't stand anyone raising his voice to him, so he waved for his family to hold him down.

"Give her a few stream sessions to calm her down."

-Not! She yelled. Torture no.

Krao intervened again:

"Ilma is right." You want us for something. Say it and kill us if you like, but don't torture her.

"Then beg my forgiveness," Yakobs yelled, taking one of his challenging poses.

Krao looked at Ilma with his eyes signaling her to obey, but the girl thought very differently. Arrogant as her father faced the dictator whom, she snapped:

"I will never humble myself before a dog like you."

"Spank her!"

Shiny strips appeared from the respective cananas of the warriors who formed the Yakobs personal guard. In appearance they were like cables of little thickness, but that, nevertheless, connected to thermal batteries, produced tremendous cramps.

Two of the men tore the girl's clothing until she was completely naked.

Two pairs of powerful arms fastened Ilma to a pair of locking rings. Magnetic and then four of the warriors systematically operated those whips that hardly moved from their respective hands, but that with each rhythmic shake made Ilma tremble with pain, who, nevertheless, endured in silence the tremendous torture that. It was splashing her thin skin with reddish dots.

The girl's entire body vibrated at the physical pain of the nuclear current passing through all the pores of her body.

Horrified, Krao called for the torment to end.

"Enough, Yakobs." Please. This makes no sense,

"The punishment will stop when I order it!" And now you will tell me where the other ships are. I know you have two hundred, ”and laughing, he added:“ To which we must discount the two that are going, they do not exist… I know that each ship can carry two thousand people and abundant material. Now I just want to know its course. I don't want to waste my time touring the galaxy. You will save us work.

Krao swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry ... We received an order not to communicate with each other." Each ship does not know the course of the others.

-It is not true.

-Yes it is.

"However, you have communicated with Omega V and X.

Krao was silent while Yakobs smirked.

For their part, the warriors continued the rhythmic punishment against the body of Ilma, who, still half-fainted, still kept his lips still despite the intense pain of that tremendous torture.

"Enough, Yakobs." I beg you. I have told you what I know. Ilma doesn't know more than me ...

Yakobs paced the wide vaulted chamber for a few seconds and finally signaled for his men to stop shaking the body of Borel's daughter.

With the last lash the girl had lost consciousness and was suspended by those strong magnetic bracelets that imprisoned her wrists,

"Maybe it would be good if we rehearsed a session with you, Krao," Yakobs said then. Unless you gather all the ships in the exact place that I say.
 
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