Unconquered (the true story)

[gerembeau]

I apologise for the interruption due to a mistake on my part in giving the text to be translated to Eulalia, God bless her!



September 6, 1705-Louisiana, the French camp on the border of the Natchez territory, east of Fort Challeau.



She sometimes found some comfort in Peter Three Fingers, who had convinced her to try her luck in the trapper's camp. She was able to tell the Breton, a fellow-countryman, how she had been unable to ever see her father again. He himself had narrowly escaped the galleys, and knew very well how Jeanne felt. He was clever enough to make progress in winning her affection, standing out as he did from the brutality and rudeness of the other wild men of the woods. In those days when a strong, well-made man could be a good match for a woman, he knew he had a chance if he took his time.

But Jeanne had begun to grow bored, she had become accustomed to the harsh life of the trappers and their wives, but this routine was beginning to weigh on her, and she did not see herself ending her life just skinning venison and hollering at night, pint in hand, around a campfire.


4 August 1705, Fort de Challeau in the morning a little later

Fort Challeau proudly dominated the narrow roadway that divided the Louisiana waterfront to the south into two spray-swept coasts facing each other. The girls walked slowly along the path towards the ring of high palisades. Their relief at having escaped a horrible end mingled with deep concern for Marie.
They had been able to buy some balm in the town to treat their wounds, and they took advantage of a corner to drop their calico shifts and anoint each other's burning backs.

"My dear god, whatever's going to happen to the poor girl?
"In the colonies, it's hanging in an iron cage. I've been told its over very quick."
"No, I saw a chopping block, I think she will be beheaded."
"Either way, no more torture, she won't suffer."

In their eyes that met, each one read the hope of being right.

They remained stretched out for two long hours, leaning against the thick wooden piles, not bothering to respond to the salacious remarks of the soldiers who were doing their rounds, just giving a smile to the women who passed by to take a look at them, some out of sympathy, others to revel in their past sufferings.

Around 11 a.m., the first drum roll brought them to their feet. They got up quickly and leaned against the parapet overlooking the central square of the fort. They observed that the scaffold that had been empty the day before was now cluttered with various materials, and they looked at each other in dismay. There was no gallows or block, but a large wheel resting on a thick wooden plinth sloping 30 degrees towards the square, and facing the crowd that was beginning to gather. Grey smoke was rising from a brazier placed next to two long pikes. The owners of the two inns had placed more chairs on their terraces and the wealthiest of the inhabitants had occupied the place early, even if it meant drinking earlier than usual, and also more than necessary. Some rich merchants had even rented rooms for the day, and were strutting on the balconies to show off their wealth.

Renfroy d'Ormonville had been particularly complimentary in his eulogy of Ballancourt. The three judges, with grave faces, had listened to him for several minutes. The murder of a man of God had never before occurred in the small colony, and there was no precedent for assessing the punishment that should be inflicted on Marie. It was the executioner who told the judges what punishment should be meted out to the murderer. It was not by chance that he listed all the tortures he could inflict, for every task was meticulously paid to the nearest sol, and he would earn himself a small nest egg for the day. Struck by the exceptional nature of this case, the judges agreed to all of Justinian Roubrac's proposals.


Marie walked slowly, her bare feet sometimes slipping on the wet cobblestones, many were soiled with the shit of the multitude of dogs that were barking incessantly, excited by the murmuring of the crowd getting ever more aroused up under the hot sun. Behind her, a priest was holding up a cross while chanting a prayer that Mary refused to listen to. Eggs were thrown, one burst on Marie's head, but the soldiers calmed the more aggressive settlers in groups along the street with sharp blows of their rifle butts, so the procession could continue.

Soon, calm returned and only a few jeers accompanied Marie in the rest of her walk of shame. At the last crossroads before arriving the square, Justinian put a firm hand on Marie's shoulder to stop her. He pulled the lace that held the immaculate linen dress around her neck and slipped it off. He held her firmly by the shoulders to force her to straighten her torso and prevent her from pulling up her chain-laden wrists to hide her breasts from the crowd.

Cries rose up, laughter sizzled. The women were both amused and jealous:
"Did you see the fat cow's udders? I wouldn't like to carry those around all day"
"Just wait and see what Justinian will do with them, she'll regret being so well-endowed!"

The men were more silent, their throats dry, anticipating all that each of them was hoping in his secret garden to see inflicted to these guilty teats. Jeanne put her hand to her mouth when the tragic procession arrived in the village square. Justinian and a soldier were dragging Marie more than they were supporting her. Her legs had refused to carry her as soon as she had seen the preparations on the scaffold, she understood only too well the fate that was in store for her. Her reflexes of modesty had faded at once, she struggled weakly without caring about her shaking breasts, her slit which yawned open when she tried to give feeble kicks, imploring "No, no, hang me, just hang me, pleeease!"

But her pleas were drowned out by the flood of invective from the crowd. From the inns came clamorous, already drunken, yells of glee as Marie was skilfully bound to the wheel. With her arms and legs crossed, her vulva open to all eyes, she experienced a moment of respite under the hot sun tempered by a cool breeze. By arching her torso, she managed to detach her back from the big pointed hub of the wheel, but she understood that this effort made her breasts protrude even more, for the greater satisfaction of the males in the audience. The tributes paid to her ample chest reached her in spite of the surrounding hubbub.

"My God, what a pair! I'd need four hands!"
"Would my dick disappear between those two titties!"
"The fort would be well defended with such bastions!"

 

[gerembeau]

24 and 25 August 1705, the rapes of Adèle

The following day's march was more of a real ordeal for Adèle. The other Choctaws, frustrated at not being able to rape her, made her walk faster with the help of small branches with ugly thorns, constantly flicking her buttocks to stimulate her. Sometimes she was pushed forward roughly and fell, which was an excuse for the two or three most excited braves to pull her up by her breasts, which did not fail to provoke the laughter of the others.

On the third day, she walked with more difficulty, because the rape of the day before had gone badly, she had been beaten by the oldest Choctaw, who had said to her at the same time "You'll be in great pain" while showing a necklace he wore around his neck. Then he had given her a series of blows on her breasts with the handle of his tomahawk, and once on the ground, had sodomised her violently first with this handle, then with his sex, which was bandaged like a bow.

Her dress was increasingly damaged, a rag that she struggled to spread over her body to protect her basic modesty. In the evening, she was not surprised when the three young warriors who had been pestering her all day came up to her laughing, caressing her all over her body, squealing like the papooses when they're playing Lacrosse. Gathered around the fire, the other Choctaws were watching the show, anticipating the moment when it would be their turn next night.

Adele felt herself being turned on her side like a piece of meat to be roasted, her arms were pulled back and bound behind her back. Her dress was torn off like a sausage being peeled of its skin, and a myriad of fir-tree needles sank into her back and side. Her long hair, gathered in a ponytail, was firmly tied around a stake in the ground. She could not move her head, but she could open her mouth, and her cry of pain was brutally muffled when one of the Indians knelt down and shamelessly thrust a long, slender cock down her throat.

A hand came from behind her back and fiercely grabbed her right breast. The brave fidgeted for a few short seconds before stabilizing his position, lying alongside her body. The smell of the ball of suet he held in his hand immediately informed Adele of his intentions, but she had no time to tense her buttocks as her other breast was being kneaded in its turn by another hand, and a third inquisitive hand was forcing its way into her vagina, pulling out a few hairs in the process. A taut, wet sex was already making its way in.

At the same time, she was being penetrated in three ways, her breasts were being crushed and scratched by long, rough nails, her cheek was being pinched to aid the coming and going of the hard member deep in her throat. Tears were flowing, half from shame because she had never been visited by three men at once, and half from pain. She decided to put an end to her suffering by tightening her orifices and moving her tongue forward to meet the slender penis that was preventing her from swallowing. She felt the first spasms running through her mucous membranes, and as soon as the pounding blows accelerated, she made herself ready to receive the three abundant discharges of semen. When the braves had withdrawn, she discreetly spat out into the grass the stream of acrid liquor that she had not swallowed.

 

[Rupert_137]

4 August 1705

I'm a bit confused, it was supposed to be September 4th right?
At the beginning of August 1705 all the young women were on the ship for America...

 

[gerembeau]

THX for interest -

In fact, there is a constant back and forth in time. But of course, despite my best efforts, I may have made a mistake in these date variations, and....you're right, I copied and pasted an older version. You should read 24 August.

There is the journey, the events leading up to the journey, Marie's ordeal as soon as they disembarked, which is described step by step between the adventures of the other three young women which take place after her end

Perhaps I will also make a document at the end to bring together the history of each ?

 

[Rupert_137]

THX for interest -

In fact, there is a constant back and forth in time. But of course, despite my best efforts, I may have made a mistake in these date variations, and....you're right, I copied and pasted an older version. You should read 24 August.

There is the journey, the events leading up to the journey, Marie's ordeal as soon as they disembarked, which is described step by step between the adventures of the other three young women which take place after her end

Perhaps I will also make a document at the end to bring together the history of each ?

Thank you for the hints!
It's a special, complicated story ... and it took time for me as a reader to understand the plot lines.
Here are four young women whose destinies are first brought together and then divided again...
You don't have to tell each story individually - there are things that run togeter, others side by side - but it would have been helpful for us readers to put these little episodes in a chronological order.
But now you have chosen a different path that challenges our brain a bit more

 

[gerembeau]

2 September 1705, Loupiac plantation in the morning

Loupiac rode his horse through the ranks of slaves and servants.

He liked to terrorise them by remaining silent, turning his horse as if on a merry-go-round around the frightened circle, blacks and white women communing in the same terror.

After a short consultation, punctuated by stifled laughter, with his steward and two ex-army corporals, the most reluctant black female of the group was extracted from the ranks, hung by her wrists from a tree and whipped long enough to bring blood on her Hottentot Venus buttocks.

The twenty or so heavily armed guards who formed the welcoming committee each had their finger on the trigger of a heavy buccaneer's rifle, loaded with grapeshot, and ready to decimate the fifty or so males and females ready to pounce. But the Ashanti chief had discreetly raised his hand, the time had not come. All this was just setting an example, a welcome package that had the power of bringing into line any hint of insubordination or inclination to laziness.

When it was time for the full, round nipples, the crowd remained silent despite the young woman's high-pitched cries of pain, and even when her tattered breasts fell to the ground in pieces, no-one moved, except most of them shut their eyes.

The negroes were subdued from the start, the guards looked at each other with smiles, the showdown was over. Then Loupiac dismounted and looked more closely at the ragged herd of convicts before him. All of them had enhanced their complexions with a hint of terracotta, and were proudly offering their assets under his nose. Only Catherine had opted for modesty, it did not seem likely to her that Loupiac would be ready to choose a mistress from among these women of ill-repute who smelt so strongly, with their fancy talk, while her delicious and distinguished Louise warmed his bed.

So she was not surprised when he drew her out of the batch, offering her his hand, for she looked so much like her sister that she guessed he would want to pick her for the prize. With a kind of a curtsey combined with a backward glance, she signalled farewell to her companions in misfortune with a smile on her face to accompany Loupiac ;

 

[gerembeau]

24 August 1705, Fort de Challeau, around 11 a.m.

Marie turned her head away when Justinian blew his onion-stinking breath into her nose, which the executioner was so fond of that he ate it raw for breakfast. She also closed her eyes, so impressive was the deep gash that disfigured the thick face, the overly red lips, the unshaven cheeks, the cauliflower nose.

Aware of the repulsion he inspired, Justinian brutally seized a breast with both hands to go around it and crushed it savagely between his palms.

"Look at me, whore, who does madam think she is?"

The enthusiastic whistles of the crowd disturbed Marie as much as the vigorous grip that now flogged her breasts, making them ripped violently from left to right in an endless pendulum.

The heavy mammary masses seemed to slide against each other in this perpetual motion.



Justinian was obviously having fun rolling the heavy glands back and forth as they seemed to be trying to escape from their milk box. Worst of all for Mary was a slap under the base of her breasts that sent them flying with particular distension, only to let them fall heavily on her ribs. The breasts were soon marked with livid stains that became visible to the crowd.

The brazier near the wheel was now glowing, and in the hot sun opaque flushes of heat bothered Mary.


"Water, please, I'm thirsty...please.

Justinian looked at her for a moment with a grim smile and moved to the table. He grabbed an object and pulled it back hidden behind his back. Mary's anticipated relief vanished when she saw the strange thing Justinian was waving under her nose with a sarcastic smile.

It was an oblong object, something like a pear at the end of a handle, with screws sticking out.

Mary had no idea what it was, but it didn't look much like a gourd.

Adele groaned. she had once seen one of her Camisard sisters tormented by a pear of anguish, and seen the damage the thing could do once it was deep inside a woman's womb.

For now, this was only the prelude to a further stage of Mary's degradation.

Justinian had put the pear down. He pulled a barber's razor from his pocket and presented it to Mary. "Here, you fat bitch, I'll give your fanny a trim".

He ran his calloused index finger along the hairy slit, pushing his finger roughly into the vagina until it was deeply embedded. The hard, dry hairs that were hindering this intromission became progressively wetter as Mary unwillingly wet herself.


Justininian was now fumbling with both his hands to push back the hairs on either side of the labia majora, freeing the widely protruding labia minora. Mary was well aware that her fiery clitoris was jutting out in full view of the crowd, especially from the balconies where the women were hiding their embarrassment behind their fans, but she could not put off the moment when she was going to cum.

A long spasm ran through her as Justin made his first swipe with the razor to clean her pussy of its pesky hair. A few drops of blood mingled with the clump of hair the blade had removed. With a few jerky strokes, Marie's cunt was as hairless as when she was born, but the plump lips, the distended clitoral bonnet, bore ample testimony to the dissolute treatment she subjected her sex to.

Justinian faced the crowd, holding the pear like a trophy above his head. With the crowd cheering encouragingly, he approached Marie and placed the tip of the pear in front of her vaginal opening. Then, looking straight into her eyes, he very slowly pushed the pear in, turning it as if tightening a screw.



The pear met with no resistance in Marie's perfectly lubricated womb. It passed with ease through the vaginal cul-de-sac before sinking to the bottom of the uterine cavity. Marie felt as if she were being penetrated by a stallion, but she had seen it all before and did not understand how this ordeal could be unpleasant, on the contrary.

Then Justinian knelt over the screws and began to turn them. It did not take long for Marie to utter her first groans of pain. She soon felt as if she were being raped by a tree trunk, as if her inner walls were about to rupture. After a short respite that allowed her to catch her breath, Justin resumed his work despite the condemned woman's pleas. The girls clenched their fists, imagining only too well the suffering their friend was having to endure for sacrificing herself for them.

A fine river of blood ran down the vestibule of the martyred vagina, and when Justinian tore the pear away without closing it, the cry of the wounded beast made even the most hardened women shudder. The bloody pear was displayed again to the crowd, drawing a renewed clamour of approval.

 

[gerembeau]

With a superb manip of our friend ZFX



September 15, 1705, Adèle in the Choctaw camp

Adele was now walking entirely naked. It had not been possible for her to put on her clothes, and she had quickly given up gathering the rags she had found scattered around the tree. But the warriors had finally given her a pair of moccasins, for she was too far from the fort to escape now.

At first she tried to walk with one hand covering her breasts and the other her curly bush, but the warriors regularly pinched her buttocks to make her let down her guard, and she finally gave up this futile struggle to preserve her privacy. Didn't the Indians know everything about her anyway? More than she had ever shown in broad daylight to any man?



Still, she tucked in her breasts, pressed her arms to her sides, to limit their oscillations, anxious to excite as little as possible the brave who had not yet penetrated her. She had dreamt of a gang rape last night without daring to admit it to herself, burying in her subconscious what she persisted in feeling was a nightmare.

There would be no more rapes, for at the end of the clearing that topped a narrow hill, the Choctaw camp stood in a small valley.

Adele stopped, the landscape was beautiful, the sunrise penetrating the fading mist over the small river alongside the camp.

After resuming her walk, Adele began to make out the details of the wigwams, the skins drying on logs, the horses with their magpie robes, the children fighting over a ball, the goats grazing in their pen.

As she walked, she heard a loud clamour, saw squaws stop washing clothes in the river and gather with the warriors who had put down the arrows they were sharpening.

Adele was relieved to see that the squaws and the warriors were forming a guard of honour and she paused for a moment, drunk with the colourful images that were so different from her daily life, the women's ornaments, the warriors' weapons, the crackling fires, the teepees open revealing unknown objects.

So she would finally be treated with dignity as a captive of war? And perhaps even her rapists would be punished when she complained to the council of elders?

At the end of the alley stood a tall warrior with a bear-clawed torso, a buffalo headdress on his skull, his arm resting on his squaw's shoulder. Beside him, another warrior was contemplating her, his eyes half-closed under a helmet formed by the remains of an eagle.

At the thought that she was representing all by herself the fort of Challeau and civilization, Adele boldly straightened her back and proudly resumed her forward march.

"Smaaaackt"

"Aah!"

Adele brought her hand to her bosom, stunned by the blow of the switch she had just received. Another whack on her bottom made her jump forward, she turned around with invective on her lips but her scream was stopped short by yet another blow right in the middle of her areolas. She was promptly redirected in the other direction and received a sort of jolt when a particularly vicious blow to her back found her slit between her muscle-locked legs.

She set off briskly to get under the protection of the chief, but her march was slowed by the avalanche of blows from the rods that rained down on her shoulders, her chest, her buttocks. The squaws were not to be outdone, they knew how to find the points of her breasts that she could not protect while the sticks were hitting her thighs and seeking out her vulvar slit whenever she set a leg forward.

At last she was able to kneel before the great chief, but when she raised her hands to beg for mercy, the Shaman took a step forward and swung her around to face the long line of people who were waving their switches eagerly with shouts and laughter.

The clamour deafened Adele, who was terrified at the idea of plunging back into the human tide and its procession of new pains.



She could see how her thighs, stomach and torso were covered in red, and in some places bloody, welts, and she could only imagine the state of her buttocks.

The Shaman pricked her kidneys with the tip of his spear, and she realised that she had no choice but to set off again, but this time running as fast as she could to escape the swishing whips.

The first run, with her back arched, her hands crossed over her breasts and her legs tightly together, enabled her to absorb a good proportion of the lashes, some of which even fell into thin air. The second saw her run out of breath halfway through, and she had to take a break during which she was amply chastised for having managed in part to escape her punishment. With full throttle, the sticks were aimed at her back and head as she was kneeling.

She returned much more slowly, her aching shoulders could no longer keep her arms raised permanently, and the beautiful, defenceless breasts swung regularly under the blows of several rods delivered at the same time. When she set off on her third run, it wasn't long before she noticed a string of blood drops on the greasy green grass. Her blood... and then she fainted.

 

[gerembeau]

2 September 1705, Loupiac Plantation, early evening, servants' side

Intendant Roquebrune and the two soldiers who formed Loupiac's bodyguard had set their sights on seven or eight of the most beautiful bitches in the shipment from France.

The small community of servants had their quarters reserved at the north of the vast colonial settlement, with accommodation of acceptable quality, a set of small cottages well kept by two old deportees, with a well-lit common room which served as a club room and also as a canteen for the cook, the blacksmith who also acted as a farrier and a carpenter.

A rustic banquet had been planned in the big hall to celebrate the arrival of the prisoners, and the two old women were relieved at the idea of no longer having to satisfy the sexual needs of the male population alone. The alcohol flowed freely, the deportees' bellies were filled with cooked meats on a bed of red beans, along with sautéed crayfish and honeyed doughnuts copiously sprinkled with wine and beer.



Loupiac's men had kept up the Cajun tradition providing some of their music with a hurdy-gurdy that an old beggar had once left to pay for his lodging for a winter.
The cook played melancholic sounds, and the whole audience thought of the happy days in France, and joyful sounds, and everyone danced passepieds and rigaudons to a frantic rhythm. After midnight, couples formed, between laughter, coarse jokes and more and more intimate tickling.

Then one couple slipped away, soon followed by another, they blended into the darkness but they did not go far, to judge by some of the noises that reached the old crones and the women who had not found a knight in shining armour. With one accord they set about clearing away the remains of the libations, some at least were relieved that they had no further duties to perform.

 

[Eulalia]

I'm a bit confused, it was supposed to be September 4th right?
At the beginning of August 1705 all the young women were on the ship for America...

THX for interest -

In fact, there is a constant back and forth in time. But of course, despite my best efforts, I may have made a mistake in these date variations, and....you're right, I copied and pasted an older version. You should read 24 August.

There is the journey, the events leading up to the journey, Marie's ordeal as soon as they disembarked, which is described step by step between the adventures of the other three young women which take place after her end

Perhaps I will also make a document at the end to bring together the history of each ?

Well spotted, Rupert! I've amended the date now.
A time-line would be a very good idea - I'd have welcomed one myself

With a superb manip of our friend ZFX

edited - 'fake' isn't quite the right word!

 

[gerembeau]

THX for watching-one more time- dear Eulalia, our work


24 August 1705, Fort de Challeau around noon

"Some roast, by the devil, mine host!'

From all the tables and the guest-rooms came smells of grills, sautés or casseroles, as the dishes were beginning to be served. Justinian deliberately allowed this interlude to continue so that the rich burghers as well as the nobles could eat in peace.He himself sat on a butcher's block sipping a glass of wine while he ate a pemmican sausage to recover his strength.

Marie had gradually calmed down, but the loss of so much blood had weakened, as much as panicked, her, she was nodding her head and murmuring prayers.

Justinian stood up slowly, stretching. The sun had nearly induced torpor, but he quickly regained his senses, as he grabbed a short but stout pair of pincers with ridged edges that mimicked the jaw of a crocodile.

"Take a good look at this, and tell me what I'm going to do to your fat tits, bitch?"

Marie shuddered without answering, she could only imagine the pain that would devastate her poor breasts.

Justinian first played sadistically with the ample breasts, caressing at length the globes falling on her belly, lifting them gently and pressing them between his powerful fists to spread them apart and lay them out them across her ribs. Then he bent down to lick the large areolas and suck on the breast tips as if he was drawing out milk.

When the teats were fully engorged, he applied the pincers to the tender nipple of the right breast and slowly squeezed the handles together, turning them continuously for a few moments. The tears that arose onto Mary's face were soon followed by cries, then high-pitched pleas:



"Enough, enough, I can't take it any more" "Stop it now, it's tooooo much".
By the time Justinian had removed the pliers, the nipple had shrunk considerably, but it was elongated, as if it had been chewed on for hours.

Justinian grabbed the bruised nipple, pinching it between the fingers of his left hand, causing Mary to roar again, and lifted the massive mammary to free the base of the breast. This time the bites sank deep into the fatty flesh, crushing a considerable mass in which some globules burst. Mary writhed in pain, trying to shield her breast from the terrible bite. This time ugly red bruises appeared, clearly visible to the entire audience.

"Enough, please, have mercy, father I repent, I repent, make it stop ... aaah!"

The other nipple was treated even more vigorously, Justinian had in addition stretched it strongly forward, closing the jaws as if to crack a nut, and the nipple was hanging down pitifully, half severed, with beads of blood dripping profusely. Then he continued to knead the breasts, grasping the large globes with his hands to give the clamps a piece of flesh that could not slip with sweat.



Her face ravaged, Marie was suffocating, her throat blocked, her jaws paralysed.

From all sides came encouragements,

"Look how the fat cow likes to be milked!" "Go on, torturer, get rid of her fat tits!"
After a quarter of an hour of this dreadful torture, Justinian laid the frightful tongs back on the table, and looked at the crowd. Everywhere he saw pitchers of wine being passed around. The flavours of charcuterie and spicy sauces tickled his nostrils. He decided it was time for him to take a break too, and took from his bag a chunk of bread to have with a big slice of cheese.

 

[Rupert_137]

And here are the matching pliers for this torture from your breastrippers saga seen up close:

 

[gerembeau]

Dear Rupert, you know of course, it's related, than in the years 1570 and 1572,; city of Than, 2 and 4 witches were dragged on a cart, topless, and had their tits crushed with red-hot breastrippers. There are 2 medieavl drawings depicting the scene. Sometimes, I try to imagine the scene, the cruelty, the medieval crowd watching the show exactly as we write our stories.....Brrrrr

 

[Rupert_137]

Dear Rupert, you know of course, it's related, than in the years 1570 and 1572,; city of Than, 2 and 4 witches were dragged on a cart, topless, and had their tits crushed with red-hot breastrippers. There are 2 medieavl drawings depicting the scene. Sometimes, I try to imagine the scene, the cruelty, the medieval crowd watching the show exactly as we write our stories.....Brrrrr

Yes, red-hot tongs or claws were a particularly vicious form of public torture and punishment, especially at a woman's sensitive breast.
And I still have three historical pictures of yours in my mind...
This additional punishment is historically documented for the sprawling witch trials in Bamberg too (1628 - 1630), but it only affected a few chosen victims.
In the New World this was probably no longer common; the Salem witches were hanged in 1692, not burned at the stake.
But the tools were known and our stories spring from our imagination...
In my Bamberg witch story I additionally utilized these pliers with the crocodile's mouth, although just the bite with red-hot pliers at both breasts is historically documented for my poor young victim.
The pictures of these evil pliers are really challenging, so I've reposted them here again...

And here are both pliers again, the small ones to bite with teeth and the big ones - which could seize the whole breast, or even a leg - that were usually made to glow before use. When I saw this double pair of pliers, I wanted to use both pliers in my story too:

 

[gerembeau]

September 5, 1705, Adèle in the Choctaw camp in the early morning

In a kind of half-awake torpor, it was Adele's senses that were first aroused. From far away in her misty mind, she felt her sex traversed by diffuse waves of pleasure, she had the impression that something soft and silky was passing through her large lips, but she could not name what she was feeling.



This simply animal pleasure of teased flesh was prelude to other sensations, of the tips of her breasts being traversed by the pathways of slugs or silkworms, that was how she felt, and imagined in her subconscious, the slithery movements that were encircling her areoles.

At another level of consciousness, she perceived distinctly that her clitoral hood - and this time she knew how to name it - was being lifted by... two fingers, and it was like a memory flash, immediately muffled by the wave of pleasure which seized her when two lips joined to kiss and lick her clitoris.

The tips of her breasts had been captured by two mouths, expert hands had cupped the bases of her breasts to make them rise, and never had Adele been caressed so gently, so slowly, as her nipples were delicately flicked with rhythmic intervals. Her clitoris, engorged by blood, also felt relaxed as inquisitive fingers penetrated her vulva, alternating in rotation with a thumb sinking deeply into her anus with a lazy back and forth.

Then she felt that two hungry mouths, having nibbled at her nipples, were sucking them with the same ardour as her other lovers, at the same time as her clitoris was throbbing, on which a skilful tongue remained poised while scarcely moving, just to taste her increasingly abundant juices.

The greatest pleasure of her life submerged her, her body arched, her mouth opened with a continual series of sighs and moans, which were prolonged for a long time after her back had regained contact with the thick fur of the bearskin on which she was resting.

On awakening her first sight was of crossed poles far above her head, supporting a vast canvas which enclosed the range of her first glance. Instantly, her memory of her situation returned, and bursts of mocking laughter made her lower her eyes to see the three young squaws around her:

"You have good taste, you know!"

"White woman with big tits, all the same?"

"You got papooses?"

 

[gerembeau]

2 September 1705, Loupiac Plantation, late evening, at Loupiac's

Catherine remained stunned, her elbows resting on the impressive teak table, her head in her hands, big tears flowing between her fingers.

Yes, Loupiac had recognised her as Louise's sister, but far from opening up to her, he was looking at her as potential prey. He had sadistically spared no detail of the state of the corpse that the wild men of the woods had brought him. Inwardly, he had accounted it no different from the day his favourite horse had to be slaughtered, it was only the loss of a piece of property, one he had had to rape several times before becoming totally master of her.

In Louise's room, Catherine, her throat tight, touched the little reliquary they had shared as children, the beautiful linen dolls they had fought over, the pendant she knew had been given to her by the Chevalier de Castelnau. The smell of wax reminded her of their father's little study.

Her gaze wandering across the walls, came to rest on the portrait of Louise, radiant in her twenty-first spring, painted when she imagined she was going to marry a war hero of minor nobility.

The onslaught suffocated her just as the first tears began to fall. She had already been taken in her arse by two infantrymen, and had deflowered herself with a thin cucumber, but the touch of the hardened rod on her buttocks was as foreign to her as if she had been a virgin. The shock of imagining herself being raped before her sister's eyes by her husband made her faint.

Loupiac savoured this magical moment, which was beyond his most depraved fantasies. He was not going to have to fight, slap and whisk his flogger to obtain the legitimate favours that were his due as a husband. He gently laid Catherine back on the bridal bed and carefully pulled down the panties that she had insisted on wearing even though she was past her prime.

Long before caressing her breasts, he ran his hand along the Mount of Venus, teasing the first hairs, Venetian blond in colour, then released them to intrude his nose further into the curly, musky-smelling clump. After a long sniff, he let the fingers of his right hand stroke the clitoral hood imperceptibly. His left hand moved up to meet Catherine's luscious right breast, into which his fingers gently bent, kneading with them in the same rhythm as the masturbation.

An unwelcome noise on the stairs reached him only from a distance. He had never had a hard-on with such power, he could have broken the bed with the stake he felt between his legs. With clumsy impatience he undid his under-britches to free the compressed member, at the same time as Catherine let out a cry of horror before passing out entirely.



At that moment the door to the room flew open.

 

[gerembeau]

24 August 1705, Fort de Challeau, around 1pm

The girls had fallen back silently, leaning against the wooden partitions. They were devastated by the spectacle they were witnessing, yet at the same time relieved to have escaped it. These conflicting thoughts troubled them, and they were angry in their hearts that they were not more sensitive to the torment Mary was enduring for them.

Mary climbed onto the table. After promptly chastising the maid who had spilled the sauce for the venison on her blouse, Philippe d'Orléans encouraged her:



"Come on, Marie, show them everything".

It was the boots that flew first to the back of the salon of the little huntsmen's gathering. Then the dress was slowly untied, to the applause of the nobles invited to feast on fine game after the royal hunts. The Marquis de Pontaillac, who had risen to help unhook the corset, was vigorously kicked away. The breasts, freed, seemed to explode in the faces of the males gathered at the foot of the table. A salvo of champagne corks preceded the spraying of the imposing breast bags and....

"Aaaah!" Marie opened her eyes in a daze. Justinian was holding a rounded, glowing iron bar in his gloved hand. He had just grazed one of her large, dangling labia, as a prelude to more excruciating kisses.

"Is it true you were on fire, bitch?"

"Well, you're going to be more than satisfied,, whore"

Justinian stood carefully at Mary's side so that everyone could enjoy the show. He released her large labia by holding them firmly between his thumb and forefinger, then walked the glowing shaft over the pink, drooling flesh, without lingering long. With each pass, a little smoke rose from carefully spaced black dots.

Marie remained panting, shaking her big buttocks shaking, their naked bulk did not prevent Justinian from accessing her private parts. After a few minutes, both the labia majora and the clitoral hood had been decorated with a myriad of brownish scars.

From the crowd there now came more specific demands,

"Come on, you're only burning her pussy now ..." "Fuck her with your iron poker!"

The women were not the last to ask for their share of the show. Justinian turned to face the crowd, raising his arm to calm the rabble with a broad smile. Without a word, he positioned himself in front of the brazier and placed the rod on it. Despite the bright light, everyone could see the smoking iron beginning to glow, and Mary shrieked in terror as she realised only too well that she was about to experience the terrible instrument in her private parts.

Justinian walked the rod over her bruised sex once more, for pleasure, but also to let the rod cool down, as he did not want it to finish Mary off too quickly. She felt the bar moving slowly up her vulva.



She clenched her jaws with all her might as Justinian released her clitoris, but she was not prepared for the pain that irradiated her animal brain.

She had not recovered, and she bit her tongue as she felt the iron bar rubbing against her labia minora to violate her vaginal orifice. The burning was intense, devastating, and, though the time it took for her womb to be reached and for Justinian to remove his instrument lasted only for a few seconds, it was an eternity for Mary, before she passed out.

 

[gerembeau]

September 16, 1705, Adele in the Choctaw camp mid-morning.

Adele was stretched out voluptuously on the bearskin, offering the most delicate parts of her body to the caresses of the young squaws. The musky smell of the ointment they were spreading copiously on her back, buttocks, breasts, belly and pussy, was not unpleasant. On the contrary, it helped to maintain the incredibly erotic atmosphere of her awakening. She was no longer paying any attention to the girls' chatter and questions, despite their smiles and bursts of laughter when one of them made some joke, pointing to her anatomy.

Adele had realised that the green fat contained properties that had miraculously healed the ugly reddish streaks, they were barely visible. She felt better, reassured, that after all she had finished with her punishment, otherwise why would she be being so treated?

A calabash filled with maple water was brought to her lips and she drank greedily. The young squaws continued with their chirruping, but an old woman called out to them harshly, and they withdrew, looking over their shoulders at Adele. The old woman gazed at Adele's nakedness, mumbling something in her dialect, and set down a corn leaf filled with grilled meat spiced with herbs.

Adele literally threw herself on the unfamiliar food, which she found savoury, under the expressionless gaze of the old Indian woman, her eyes half-closed as she puffed on her calumet and stroked her turquoise necklace.

When she had finished, she glanced in puzzlement at the old woman, then was chilled by the sentence she uttered in a half-voice, with a broad grin:

"You much suffer now, we avenge our dead".

Then her lips pursed in a long hiss.

Two warriors had lifted the flap that closed the teepee. Before Adele could drape herself in the buffalo hide, they had grabbed her by the arms and pulled her upright. She struggled to stay on her feet, but was ruthlessly dragged along the ground with her feet scraping the dust.

She blinked as the sun's beautiful rays shone down on the camp, which had a particularly pure atmosphere. She was shocked at being so violently manhandled, but also by the carnival atmosphere created by the shouts, songs, colourful outfits and the gesticulations of the braves who were waving their spears and tomahawks in front of her and pointing their arrowheads.

Then she was flung like a log of wood at the feet of the great chief. He took a step forward, pounding his fist on the bear-claw on his neck:

"You whites killed women and children in other camp ..."

A huge clamour arose.

"I, Brown Bear, say, we avenge our brothers!"

The spears pounded the ground with an ever-increasing beat.

Adele began to tremble, as she perceived the hatred in the looks, the distorted mouths, the fingers pointing at her.

"You die. Suffer much before, to please us. I have spoken."

The two warriors lifted her again and directed her towards a pole carved into a vast trunk. Their approach to the torture post was marked by the beating of a drum, the tempo gradually increasing.



The torture post was painted in a baroque manner with the faces of unknown divinities. Under other circumstances Adele would have admired this pagan art, but these representations were purely evil in her eyes, and showed her only too clearly what horrible fate awaited her.

The drum sticks were raised, they were held by the old Choctaw who had so savagely sodomised her. With a broad grin he lifted the drum before her eyes and Adele noted, with a startled gasp, that the skin stretched over the drumhead was made of a flayed breast, the nipple carefully preserved by the sticks.

Her mouth closed as she was tied to the pole, her back bruised by the protruding carvings that made her large, pear-shaped breasts protrude halfway down her body.

When she saw the three young squaws come out of the crowd laughing, she had a moment's hope, the great chief had simply wanted to frighten her, for she could not of course be tortured by those who had loved and cared for her.

Her joy was short-lived.

"We will see if your breasts can grow again," said one of them, caressing her ample breasts. The other two each held a leather strap dripping with water.

It didn't take long for them to encircle the two globes tightly in several turns of the strap. Her breasts were half-captured by the rough straps from their bases, and her brown tips were thrown forward like spearheads.

To her surprise, the gathering began to disperse, most of the squaws and warriors turning away.
The young squaws sat and watched her as she twisted and turned. Relieved to see the crowd moving away, allowing her a few moments of respite, Adele took a deep breath and looked at the life of the camp, the dogs running in the tall grass, the meat drying on trestles, the tent poles swaying

in the north wind. The camp was teeming with a vibrant, yet peaceful life, Adele might have liked to stay there as the country girl she had always been.

Her peaceful thoughts were disturbed by a choking sensation in her mammary glands. She looked down at her chest and perceived that her breasts had begun to swell under the pressure of the gradually tightening straps. The noonday sun blazing down on her breasts was drying out the leather. The strips of skin soon shrivelled to the point where her breasts had become two hard, bouncing balloons, with nipples protruding outrageously like two huge baby-bottle teats. The purple colour of the breasts was gradually arousing the whole tribe, who were sitting in a circle around the torture post.

Then the warriors, whose torsos were now anointed with multicoloured paint, took out their tomahawks and struck their palms with the blades, chanting a war song. They danced in single file, passing in front of Adele one by one, ululating. Each in turn struck her swollen breasts with the back of the blade. The blows were only light, yet terribly painful on her constricted breasts. Her areolae and breast tips were also a sought-after target, with hateful faces sticking out their tongues as they pretended to slice the areolar glands.

With tears streaming down her face, Adele begged:

"STOP, I never did anything! Not this ... aaahhh, have mercy!"

It was the fear of losing her breasts as much as the pain that was driving her mad, the sweat on her face that she couldn't wipe away was making her blink all the time, she could barely make out each new tormentor through a halo of tears, and only a different rhythm of pounding, tugging, pinching on her breasts taught her they'd changed.



Despite the extreme constriction of her breasts by the leather straps, the violence of some of the tomahawk blows managed to flatten them slightly, punctuated by Adele's still more accentuated roars of pain. After the thirtieth warrior had passed, her vast nipples seemed on the verge of exploding, so compressed, so congested, they were barely holding back the mammary glands ready to burst from their sacks of skin.

"I BE-E-E-EG YOU!"

She heard herself scream as the sticks were raised above the drums. Brown Bear approached her slowly, with the Shaman in his wake like an evil hound.

"You in the tent now, you please us tomorrow."

 

[gerembeau]

September 2, 1705, Loupiac plantation, early evening, on the side of the slaves' barracks.

Henri Maroufle was contemplating with a hint of affection the young negress who was licking his testicles, running her mischievous fingers along his cock, swollen to bursting-point.

God, it had been a beautiful evening! The negroes had wisely returned to the slave quarters, the males had been consigned to an enclosure newly-built for them, while the best looking females had been taken to join the ones already warming the beds in the guards' quarters.

The arrival of some fresh flesh to revive the herd had been worthily celebrated, the punch prepared by the old black women was delicious, the more so as it was served by young negresses naked to the waist.

All the guards were gathered around a large fire, either with a glass in hand, or having their dicks gently sucked on the glans, or both. In the dampness of the night there were little cries of pleasure:

"Ah, you're sucking my soul out, bitch!"

"Yes, leave your tongue on my 'banjo-string', like that, yes ..."

"Aaah, take it all, whore!"



As hands closed to hold the head in place for the duration of the orgasm. It was such a beautiful night with the flames crackling cheerful, slices of grilled bacon in profusion, the punch-bowl flowing around.

Henri was still very aroused, but he couldn't understand why he hadn't cum yet, as he was a hot bunny. But he couldn't quite put the thought into words, with the vague feeling that the fumes of the alcohol didn't explain the failure of his hard-on.

His closed eyes opened for a fraction of a second to the carnival of tiny stars high in the sky, in response to something wandering down his throat, and he died before he felt the pain of his slit throat.

How good it was being a steward at Loupiac's, thought Robert Roquebrune, his hand resting on the breast of the good-natured bitch who had given him the best tit-job of his life only moments before.

He had been saving money for a long time, and the time was approaching when his nice nest-egg would allow him to start a life as a small farmer on his own before becoming a planter in his turn.

He was thinking of hiring Louis Magret, the one of the two former soldiers he got on with best. Thinking of him made him raise his head automatically, for the man was frolicking with another trollop not far from where he was. He pushed the tall grass aside with his hands, and froze with his mouth open in a silent scream of horror.

Louis' head was stuck on the end of a short assegai.

It was the last thing he saw before his own head rolled to the ground.

 

[gerembeau]

24 August 1705, Fort de Challeau around 2pm

It took Marie almost an hour to emerge from her coma. It was searing pain that gradually woke her. In the first few moments she was not clearly aware of what was happening to her, only the burning fire that was smouldering in her entrails, the rebirth of these ceaseless waves of excruciating pulsations from the rich nerve-endings of her devastated clitoris.

Jeanne had wanted to leave as soon as the first burns occurred, but Catherine and Adèle had forced her to stay: "She is suffering for us, we must accompany her to the end".

The spasmodic moans turned into howls interspersed with sobs, when a murmur of astonished delight rose from the crowd.

At three corners of the platform, Justinien held up a long, broad-bladed cutlass. The thicker edge of the blade was a finely honed saw, and to make sure no one doubted it, he ran a piece of parchment along the edge of the teeth, its own weight swept along the teeth was enough to cut it in two.



Passing Mary, he chuckled evilly,

"Guess what we're going to plant on these stakes? Not your head!"

And burst into a prolonged laugh that echoed for a longer still around the walls of the square. The brazier had long since been rekindled, when Justinien plunged the blade into the burning coals. Deep down, Mary knew what was going to happen, but her conscious mind would not allow her to formulate it in a rational way. Until the last second, she was begging, just to avoid thinking ...

Her pleas reached a climax when Justinien pulled her bruised nipple hard and fast, so he could place the sharp edge of the saw under the base of her big right breast, right on the chest wall. Then he let fall the heavy bag of flesh, completely enveloping the glowing saw-blade. Marie's frightful howl made the whole audience shudder. Some of the men had inserted a hand discreetly into their pantaloons, and under the cover of their clothes they were shamelessly stroking themselves, slowly, in order to prolong their pleasure until the time of the ultimate torture ...