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

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dommmu

Magistrate
There is a short BDSM scene in Frank Schätzing's novel "Limit" (published in Germany, 2009). I do not know, if the book had an international release, but Schätzing is a pretty big name in the German mainstream literature.

The book is a thriller and the scene serves as a comic relief.

In the near future, recreational space travel is not science fiction anymore, but has become reality. The first ever hotel on the moon is opening and a group of selected scientists and celebrities are about to be the first guests.

The group has just started their journey to the moon in a luxury spaceship and everyone is retreating to their cabins. One couple, Amber and Tim, want to pass the flight with some sexy time. The problem is, they are in zero gravity and so occupied with fondling each other that it does not take long until one of them, Amber, hits her head.

They look around in the cabin and discover two handles near the bed as well as a bunch of rubber bands, "Love Belts". Tim jokes around that he is going to tie his wife up like in a medieval torture chamber, but Amber has no intention of submitting to that. In return, she suggests that Tim should be the one to be tied up. He is reluctant and suggests that they should discuss this, but Amber determines that Tim's member is probably not in the mood for a long discussion. And she is right. :D
 

specimeat

Assistant executioner
In the field of the pocket novel, this book describes a brutal lashing with whips of a girl by two subjects.

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i found a box full of these pocket novels in the attic of an old neighbor who had died and i helped to empty and clean. They were together with Lafuente Estefanía's and the like. Maybe i should have taken a second look before recycling them. :oops:

(In my defense, i will say that the adults who i was helping said something along the lines of, "nah, those were cheap novellas for grandpas, not worth their dime, just take them to the blue container, hon") :(
 
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Jon Smithie

Governor
In his Warlord Chronicles, (a trilogy including The Winter King, Enemy Of God, and Excalibur) Bernard Cornwell, a writer of primarily British historical fiction, has brought far more historical realism to the Arthurian legends than any other fiction I've read on the period. In his tellling, Lancelot is a vain weakling and a coward, and is King in Benoic, one of the many small and usually squabbling small kingdoms in Britain. He is allied with Arthur, who rules in Dumnonia, known to us as Camelot, but who, as Uther's bastard, is not a king himself. Nor does he want to be. Arthur is quite content to be a placeholder until Uther's legitimate son, Mordred, comes of age. In the meantime, Arthur is a strong and just ruler who wants to bring peace to England so together the kingdoms can fight off the Anglo-Saxon invaders. Arthur willingly steps down when Mordred is old enough to assume the throne. Lancelot has acknowledged Mordred as King in Dumnonia but has also made an alliance with a Saxon king, and when the time is right, Lancelot attempts to have Arthur and Mordred murdered, and assume the throne of Dumnonia himself.

In this scene, Lancelot's men attack the villa of the narrator of the story, a man called Derfel Cadarn, a Saxon by birth but raised English (by the Druid Merlin, as it happens.) Derfel is one of Arthur's friends and chief supporters, Dumnonia's foremost warrior and appointed as the King's Champion. He is also supposed to have been killed along with Mordred and Arthur.

Derfel's beautiful wife Ceinwyn rejected Lancelot years earlier, and now, in Book Two, Enemy Of God, Lancelot will have his revenge. One of the henchmen (Lavaine) holds a sword to Ceinwyn's daughter's throat, threatening to kill her if Ceinwyn and Merlin do not comply with his orders. I have edited out references to the child.

"Ceinwyn," Lavaine called in his deep voice, "Come out! My King wants you!"

The shields parted and Ceinwyn stepped out. She was dressed in a dark cloak that clasped at her throat. . .

'My King demands your company.'

'Your King,' Ceinwyn asked. 'What King is that?'

'King Lancelot,' Lavaine said. 'King of the Belgae and King of Dumnonia.'

Ceinwyn pulled her dark cloak tighter about her shoulders. 'So what does King Lancelot want of me?' she asked. . .

'You, Lady, are to be his pleasure. . . It is an old debt of honour that you owe to him. . .'

There was a pause. Ceinwyn and Merlin spoke together softly. . . she took Merlin's hand and began to walk towards Lavaine.

'Not like that, Lady,' Lavaine called to her. 'My Lord Lancelot demands that you come to him naked. My Lord will have you taken naked through the countryside and nakd

through the town and naked to his bed. You shamed him, Lady, and this night he will return his shame on you a hundredfold.'

Ceinwyn stopped and glared at him. . . Ceinwyn instinctively tore at the brooch that clasped her cloak and let the garment drop to reveal a simple white dress.

'Take the gown off, Lady,' Lavaine ordered her harshly, 'take it off . . .'


Lest anyone think it goes any further than that, alas, it does not. Derfel, who is of course not dead, and has been listening to this confrontation and waiting for the perfect moment to attack, now chooses this moment. His sword running red with blood, he rescues Ceinwyn. Now, this may seem like a lot of trouble to go to for a scene that doesn't deliver that much, but for me the tension and suggestiveness of the scene was quite intense, so I thought I would share it.

I really like Ceinwyn. I've gotten to know her through the first book and most of this one, and she is a lovely woman, both inside and out. So I am glad that Derfel rescues her, but damn it, I wish he could've waited until at least she'd been taken naked through the countryside and naked through the town. Sigh.

This is a very worthwhile series, for those of you who enjoy historical fiction. IMHO Cornwell is one of the best. He's probably best known for his series set in the Napoleonic era featuring Richard Sharpe as the hero soldier/adventurer. The Sharpe series and The Last Kingdom, a series set in the time of Alfred The Great, have been adapted for TV.
 
In his Warlord Chronicles, (a trilogy including The Winter King, Enemy Of God, and Excalibur) Bernard Cornwell, a writer of primarily British historical fiction, has brought far more historical realism to the Arthurian legends than any other fiction I've read on the period. In his tellling, Lancelot is a vain weakling and a coward, and is King in Benoic, one of the many small and usually squabbling small kingdoms in Britain. He is allied with Arthur, who rules in Dumnonia, known to us as Camelot, but who, as Uther's bastard, is not a king himself. Nor does he want to be. Arthur is quite content to be a placeholder until Uther's legitimate son, Mordred, comes of age. In the meantime, Arthur is a strong and just ruler who wants to bring peace to England so together the kingdoms can fight off the Anglo-Saxon invaders. Arthur willingly steps down when Mordred is old enough to assume the throne. Lancelot has acknowledged Mordred as King in Dumnonia but has also made an alliance with a Saxon king, and when the time is right, Lancelot attempts to have Arthur and Mordred murdered, and assume the throne of Dumnonia himself.

In this scene, Lancelot's men attack the villa of the narrator of the story, a man called Derfel Cadarn, a Saxon by birth but raised English (by the Druid Merlin, as it happens.) Derfel is one of Arthur's friends and chief supporters, Dumnonia's foremost warrior and appointed as the King's Champion. He is also supposed to have been killed along with Mordred and Arthur.

Derfel's beautiful wife Ceinwyn rejected Lancelot years earlier, and now, in Book Two, Enemy Of God, Lancelot will have his revenge. One of the henchmen (Lavaine) holds a sword to Ceinwyn's daughter's throat, threatening to kill her if Ceinwyn and Merlin do not comply with his orders. I have edited out references to the child.

"Ceinwyn," Lavaine called in his deep voice, "Come out! My King wants you!"

The shields parted and Ceinwyn stepped out. She was dressed in a dark cloak that clasped at her throat. . .

'My King demands your company.'

'Your King,' Ceinwyn asked. 'What King is that?'

'King Lancelot,' Lavaine said. 'King of the Belgae and King of Dumnonia.'

Ceinwyn pulled her dark cloak tighter about her shoulders. 'So what does King Lancelot want of me?' she asked. . .

'You, Lady, are to be his pleasure. . . It is an old debt of honour that you owe to him. . .'

There was a pause. Ceinwyn and Merlin spoke together softly. . . she took Merlin's hand and began to walk towards Lavaine.

'Not like that, Lady,' Lavaine called to her. 'My Lord Lancelot demands that you come to him naked. My Lord will have you taken naked through the countryside and nakd

through the town and naked to his bed. You shamed him, Lady, and this night he will return his shame on you a hundredfold.'

Ceinwyn stopped and glared at him. . . Ceinwyn instinctively tore at the brooch that clasped her cloak and let the garment drop to reveal a simple white dress.

'Take the gown off, Lady,' Lavaine ordered her harshly, 'take it off . . .'


Lest anyone think it goes any further than that, alas, it does not. Derfel, who is of course not dead, and has been listening to this confrontation and waiting for the perfect moment to attack, now chooses this moment. His sword running red with blood, he rescues Ceinwyn. Now, this may seem like a lot of trouble to go to for a scene that doesn't deliver that much, but for me the tension and suggestiveness of the scene was quite intense, so I thought I would share it.

I really like Ceinwyn. I've gotten to know her through the first book and most of this one, and she is a lovely woman, both inside and out. So I am glad that Derfel rescues her, but damn it, I wish he could've waited until at least she'd been taken naked through the countryside and naked through the town. Sigh.

This is a very worthwhile series, for those of you who enjoy historical fiction. IMHO Cornwell is one of the best. He's probably best known for his series set in the Napoleonic era featuring Richard Sharpe as the hero soldier/adventurer. The Sharpe series and The Last Kingdom, a series set in the time of Alfred The Great, have been adapted for TV.
I think the same as you do. The naked girl walked through the entire town. This time unintentionally, not like the Lady Godiva story. It would have seemed the opposite to Lady Godiva.
 
Well, the next thing I have posted is a fragment of a small story that appeared on a website. It is a written adaptation of the last story of the film HEAVY METAL (1981), that of Taarna the warrior. It is the scene where she is tortured by her enemies. This scene that does not appear in its entirety in the movie, turns me on a lot. See the web: http://author-me.com/fict02/legendoftaarna.htm


The Legend of Taarna

Adapted by Adam W. Smith
Taarna had never been captured before, and the next few hours were to be the most degrading and humiliating of her life. The soldiers cautiously opened the net and threw ropes first about Alata's neck, then around hers. Several men held the bird and bound his legs while she was dragged out of the net and thrown to the ground. The rough cord cinched tight around her gorge, nearly choking her. A man sat on her back and held her while another bound her wrists. Then she was unceremoniously stripped and shoved, stumbling, through an annular passageway to a small, dank room. Like the rest of the complex, it was dark and decrepit.



A massive, foreboding rack awaited her. It squatted in the middle of the room, an ancient abomination of torture realized in stone, wood and iron. By a handwheel bolted to a vertical screw, its height could be adjusted to apply relentless tension. Four large, metal eyelets were affixed to its front. Blackish brown bloodstains--mute testimony to the anguish of past victims--dotted its heavy beams.



She was led to it, turned, and pulled spread-eagle as each of her limbs was tightly bound to the iron loops. The rope around her neck was then removed, and she gasped in great, ragged breaths.



At first her arms and legs were slack. But then one of the men disappeared behind her, and with a rusty, grinding sound, the rack was slowly raised and she was pulled taut. The strain of the rack and the weight of her body quickly made her wrists ache, and her hands began to tingle and go numb. She tried to maintain the circulation by opening and closing them. Pain blossomed in her feet and ankles as the sinewy fibers bit down into her skin.



Another soldier lugged in a large pail of cloudy, brackish water. He stopped before her and heaved the entire bucket into her face. As she coughed and gagged he withdrew a rag from his pocket and began wiping her down, wrenching her hair as he squeezed the water from it. With obvious relish he lingered at her breasts and pubis as the others stood by, leering. Yet, perhaps fearing punishment by his master, the man went no further.



They left the room, and for a period of time she was by herself, alone with her pain. She looked around at the disgusting surroundings. From cracks in the walls water leached down the broken, vertical surfaces. Moss and mildew grew in the corners, and here and there climbed toward the ceiling. There was a steady drip, drip of water. Insects crawled secretly along the musty surfaces. She heard the distant shouts and activities of the soldiers. The wind blew through the adjoining passageway, making a low moaning sound.



She tried to think of something, anything other than where she was and what horrors awaited her, but could not blot out the bleak surroundings and her wretched situation. She felt abandoned.



She opened her eyes at the sound of approaching footsteps. Two large, burly men entered the chamber. The smaller of the two—he had a scar across his right cheek which terminated in a shriveled, empty eye socket—motioned to the other, who clambered up to the handwheel on top.



“He heard that she was too comfortable,” the maimed one announced to his companion, a sly, knowing grin touching his lips. He reached up and tugged on the rope which bound her left arm, but was unable to move it; it was as rigid as steel. “Yes, much too slack.” Smiling, he gave the nod.



Slowly, the rack exceeded what Taarna had mistakenly thought were the limits of her capacity to stretch. In her lower back she felt her spine unload and straighten, the vertebrae decompressing from one another. She could only utter a huh-huh-huh sound—a fear-filled panting noise—as her mind tried to deny what was happening. She mouthed a moan, but no sound came out, and she cursed her impotence of voice in the presence of an overwhelming need to scream.



The rusty wail continued at regular intervals as the hands grasped and turned, grasped and turned. The muscles in her legs and arms cried out in agony. Oh my God please no more please—



She felt and heard a pop of cartilage in her left shoulder, the one she had dislocated over ten years ago. The maimed one must have heard it too, for he gestured to the other to stop.



He leaned forward and feigned interest in her contorted features. “That’s just about right,” he proclaimed. “Can’t have her too damaged.” He leaned even closer, and she smelled the foulness of his breath. His eyes crawled over her. “Too bad you’re so pretty. Well . . . that will change.”



The other climbed down, and together they grabbed hold of the rack. With grunts and complaints at the excessive weight of the device, they wheeled her from the room and down the hallway.



Like a trophy Taarna was brought into a large hall before the barbarian chieftain, who sat in a chair on the far wall. He was flanked by two large, feral, rat-like creatures which made guttural growling sounds as the rack creaked to a stop. He scratched the head of one absent-mindedly while watching Taarna with interest. A half dozen or so guards stood at intervals around the chamber, and off to the side in the shadows stood one of his lieutenants, feet apart, arms crossed, watching emotionlessly.



He stood and approached her, his heavy boots clanking on the plate metal floor. She managed to glare at him, but given her vulnerability and utter helplessness, he found this amusing. Yet, part of him secretly feared her gaze. She looked as though she would leap upon him and tear his eyes out with her bare hands if she could. His enormous arrogance, however, allowed him to quickly and easily squelch the unsettling emotion.



"So this is the Taarakian," he announced at last with a chuckle, hands on hips. Quite a prize, he thought to himself. He reached out and grabbed her cheek. Carefully avoiding her mouth, he forcibly turned her head to examine her neck and confirm her marks. "Somehow, I thought it would be more . . . difficult to capture a Taarakian," he said contemptuously.



He expected her to reply, but she said nothing, and her expression did not change. Her defiant attitude angered him, but he was not surprised by it--the Taarakians, after all, were legendary warriors from the northern country, renowned for their steely resolve.



It was the fact that she was a woman, coupled with his pride and sadistic nature, that led him to the mistake of not killing her.



"My whips," he said softly. He would break her silent defiance, crush her loathsome spirit. When he was through with her, she would look at him with nothing but fear, and his perverse desire to see that fear was worth keeping her alive--for awhile. His lieutenant dutifully stepped forward, and the heavy weight of a whip dropped into his raised hand.



Taarna's hands felt leaden as the barbarian stood before her; there was no more feeling left in them. Her entire body was a throbbing mass of pain. She tried gamely to take his measure, but she did not find much comfort in that--he would obviously be a formidable opponent in combat, assuming she ever had the chance to fight him.



She had guessed that she would probably be flogged, or worse, but imagining it and actually seeing the long, thick whip in his hands, with its several tails, were very different things. Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for the first lash, the dreadful knowledge of her utter inability to twist, turn, or somehow escape bearing down upon her.



The flogging began.



The pain was astounding, traveling from her fingertips to her toes. From top to bottom her body quivered in every nerve. Where the whips stuck she felt as though she was being impaled with a knife or spear. The time between each stroke seemed interminable, yet the next blow came too soon. She was unable to scream, but in her extremis she bit her tongue, and soon her own blood filled her mouth, choking her. She could feel the sticky wetness of her blood on her abdomen and legs, and the ever-increasing icily painful spots where her skin was being flayed open.



The whipping was not over quickly; after thirty-five lashes, she lost count. The time since the punishment had begun seemed like the only period of her life. She felt as if she had always lived in pain and torture, and that her lifetime before this awful day was a dream long past. Despite every effort it became impossible for her to think of anything except the next blow.



Between blows with an inner voice she began to beseech her god in terrified and broken fragments.



God you are not with me I am forsaken--



--I cannot continue I--I cannot be strong for You any more--



--No more no more no more, please let this end, let me die O kill me now--



The barbarian leader grew increasingly frustrated at her silence and began to whip her harder and faster. Beg, scream, say something you Taarkanian whore! Why did you come here when you’ve no chance of doing anything!? At last he could no longer restrain himself. Chest heaving, he threw down the whip, wrenched off his helmet and struck her with it. The heavy metal connected solidly with her skull and her head reeled back, then flopped sideways to her chest.



Taarna's body hung limply as a guard finally lowered the rack. The barbarian chieftain looked on with pleasure, gratified with his handiwork. What had been preserved in beauty over the lifetime of a young woman he had ruined in forty-five minutes. His boots and pants were flecked with blood. Thin strips of flesh lay about his feet. He grabbed her by the hair and lifted up her head to stare into her unconscious face, but she did not stir. Blood and spit rimmed her lips and ran down her chin from the corners of her mouth.



He remained impressed by the fact that she had neither screamed nor cried out. He could recall no previous victim of his torture who had stayed completely silent throughout the brutal experience. Lips pursed, with a dismissive gesture he yanked her head down roughly and relinquished his grasp.



When your arms and legs are dislocated you will scream, he said to her silently. I will make you.

aarna awoke lying prone on a rocky prominence in a large, dim pit. Head hanging over the side, she could see more ledges below her, but the bottom was veiled in deep shadows.



Her head throbbed mightily, and her tongue was swollen and dry inside her mouth. The copper taste of her blood lingered in the recesses around her teeth and gums. She longed for water.



Her body hurt so much that at first she was incapable of movement. For some interminable period she tried to remain frozen and breathe as little as possible. At last she found the willpower to pull herself to her hands and knees.



It was then that she realized the extent of her injuries. Her breasts, abdomen, and thighs were smeared with dried blood and dirt. Her wrists and ankles were severely abraded from the ropes which had bound her so tightly. She had a large, misshapen bruise over the left side of her torso from her fall into the pit. Breathing was painful, and after gingerly feeling the area she realized that her ninth rib was broken.



The pit was filled with a powerful, almost overwhelming smell of death and corruption. The closest source of the stench was a moldering pile of bodies on the ledge near the pit's wall. She estimated that there were twelve to fifteen of them, festering in varying states of decomposition. It appeared that most of them had been killed by arrows or crossbow bolts and then dumped over the edge. The sweet, sickening miasma brought back memories of battlefield carnage that she had witnessed, bodies of enemy dead bloating in the sun.



The ledge was thirty feet from the top of the pit, the rim of which was studded with large spikes. Above them she saw a handful of soldiers gazing down at her. As she looked up, one of the men dropped her clothes over the side. They landed in a tangle beside her.



From the shallow angle of the light slanting into the hole, she guessed that it was now quite late in the afternoon. She was very hungry, and sitting down for her morning meal seemed an eternity ago.



The palpable atmosphere of despair settled over her like a gray, smothering blanket. There was no possibility of climbing to the opening above. Even if she climbed atop the corpses, she would still be more than twenty feet from the top. The moist, slippery walls of the pit offered few projections to scale them, assuming the unlikely possibility that she could do so undetected. The nearest ledge below her was much farther down, and there was no promise of an exit below.



The walls of her prison were not uniformly solid. Rather, they were pocked with innumerable holes and caves of varying size and depth. An abundance of dank, foul water ran from many of them, trickling quietly in weird, irregular courses down into the darkness. As she grew accustomed to the silence, she noticed that infrequently she could detect sounds of unseen life, slithering in the network of caves.



I am lost; this is the end, she thought hopelessly. How stupid I was to fly straight into capture. I deserve to die here, in secret. This way, she thought, no one would know how the last Taarakian had disgraced herself and her people.



Taarna heard footsteps and scuffling above. She looked up and saw a man being hoisted over the precipice. He was deliberately thrown out into the pit so that he would miss her ledge. In a shocking instant he tumbled past her, screaming, his arms flailing. There was neither time nor opportunity to act. Eyes wide, she watched him fall out of sight, then heard the chilling impacts as he struck unseen obstacles far below. She was filled with pity and horror. A chorus of jeers and laughter followed from above, and the barbarians smirked down at her.



Witnessing this cruel and senseless death banished all feelings of self-pity and drove her to action. I’m still alive, she thought. That has to be worth something. Slowly, stiffly, she began to put on her gear. Doing so was exquisitely painful, but she bent her will to the process and tried to master the pain. Her mental and physical conditioning helped her to regain movement. As she dressed, she heard a familiar sound: the screech of her bird.



Some distance away, the barbarians were having a difficult time putting the animal down. Three men were trying to hold him with ropes, while two others prepared to kill him with a large, bolt-firing weapon.



"Hold it still and I'll put an arrow through it’s head!" shouted the gunner. He looked through his sights and found his target. He squeezed the trigger and fired, but he was premature--his companions did not yet have control. Beating his wings furiously, Alata jerked to the side, and at the last instant one of the soldiers was pulled into the path of the missile. It struck him squarely in the back.



With only two holding the ropes, the bird was able to break free. He rushed at the gunner and his helper, knocking them down before they could fire again. Soaring into the air, he pulled the last two men along behind. They continued to hang onto the ropes until Alata flew low over a sturdy pipe. They struck it forcefully and were flung to the ground.



Taarna had just finished pulling on her boots when to her surprise, Alata suddenly appeared over the pit, into which he dove with a loud, courageous cry.



In an act remarkably agile for someone so battered, Taarna leapt off the edge. She relied entirely on instinct, having no time to gauge time or distance. For a heart-stopping instant she was suspended in space, her body out over the pit. She strained for the horn of the saddle, and then suddenly she had it, and she fell into the seat as the bird passed. The sudden jolt caused pain to shoot through her from the broken rib. She was able to find the reins, however, and at her signal Alata powered his way upwards to freedom.
 

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Well, if you have read it, here it describes what happens from when the "green face" boss says "my whip" until the next scene that we see Taarna naked and whipped in the great well. In deviantart for example there are images of those moments.
 

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In the 1981 movie "Heavy Metal" I have always asked myself the following question:
-What would have happened if instead of getting Taarna the Taarkian free with the help of her bird and getting out of the well, her pet had died and she had not been able to escape from her prison?

I imagine an alternate story at the end of the film, in which Taarna, unable to escape, continues to be savagely tortured by the leader with the green face until she ends up bent or does not bend, but dies in a spectacular final torture well crucified.

Maybe one day I dare to write the story of alternative Taarna, that she has not been able to escape and suffers the unimaginable at the hands of her captors. Or maybe someone dared to write it, or maybe someone has already done so ...
 

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Jon Smithie

Governor
In the novel FAN CLUB by Irving Wallace, a group of young fans of a movie actress decide to kidnap her because they are so obsessed with her. During her captivity, the actress is tied up and raped by young men.

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Thanks for jogging my memory about "The Fan Club," Jose'. I read it many years ago and thought it was pretty good. As I recall now, it had some effective scenes as the "fan club" becomes more aggressive towards their kidnap victim. I may have to take another look at it. The book which really stood out for me during that era was Mendal Johnson's classic "Let's Go Play At The Adams', which was published the same year, (1974.)
 
The lashes were falling on the woman's bare back.
Tied to the spine, feeling her skin jump in strips, she writhed
agonizingly.
I could hardly even moan anymore.
Her throat was agonizingly dry.
She felt the blood trickle down her back.
Lark smiled, sitting a short distance away, while another woman stroked him
the crotch.
I couldn't help it. Every time he saw an ordeal of that kind, he
it excited so much that it reached the height of ecstasy.
The lashes followed one another.
The victim was about to lose consciousness.
Fourteen lashes ... fifteen ...
One more could mean death.
-Enough! -said.
The victim was completely naked, but the woman who
hitting with a whip was too. They were both young and beautiful.
As young and beautiful were the other girls who attended the torture, in the
basement of the house.
All of them were well accompanied. The richest men in the
region were there with them, allowing themselves to be caressed or practicing various
sexual perversions, while the lashes sounded. When the torture
ceased, most of these men had reached ecstasy, though
they were willing to continue.
And so it was really going to be. Then they would go up to the rooms, each
with her girl, and the party would go on. But the show they had just
witnessing was one thing they would not forget as long as they lived.
Lark beckoned.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I welcome you back to my home, the best
pleasure house found throughout Arizona and New Mexico. Like you
You know, my women are kind and cordial to you, and they go out of their way to
serve them.
Clients - that privileged group that from time to time had
access to the basement - they emitted a hum of satisfaction.
"However," Lark continued, "from time to time
girl runs amok, tries to run away, or confronts those in charge of keeping
the order. Then you have to punish him, and generally that is done by a
of her companions. That way, the example is much more ... compelling.
 

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In this little Western novel, a girl named Linda is married to a cruel man; because she actually wants to punish the death of a friend murdered years ago by this man and his henchmen. She is helped by a gunman. There is a scene where the villain and husband whips with a whip the girl.

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Scene text from the indicated book:

One of the two men kicked the holster of his revolver,
sending him away. Another pinned his arms behind his back, twisting them
so that it seemed as if he were going to tear them to pieces.
Meanwhile, Pinkair seemed beside himself.
He grabbed Linda, knocking her down onto one of the armchairs.
"You're going to pay for it, damn it!" I'll make you fling like a mangy bitch!
I will let everyone know what you are! A bitch!
He had ripped her dress in one go, revealing the shapely
woman's back.
Noticing what was about to happen, Kenton shouted from the ground:
- Damn pig!
But Pinkair had already taken down one of the whips that adorned a
living room wall. With one hand he brandished it, while with the other he
He was leaning heavily on his cane, as if he were going to fall.
Chaaask! Chaaask!
The lashes struck the woman's back, ripping off two
screams of pain. Kenton threw a couple of wild curses and
irreproducible, but the damage was done. Linda shuddered, while
two thin threads of blood were born on her back.
One of those holding Kenton muttered:
- But, boss ...!
Pinkair dropped the whip.
Her whole body was shaking with rage, but she did not give Linda any
hit more.
 
...and more of ...

"You can't make me." -That's what you think? Now you'll see. He took a whip that hung from a nail on the wall. He shook it, making dry clicks. "Go ahead, little dove." Or I will treat you as you treat your slaves. -Not! The whip landed on Olympia's left shoulder, ripping her dress and removing a shred of her skin. The second lash tore the clothes at the height of her chest, caused her a vivid, unbearable pain. "Outside," the old woman thundered. If you don't obey, I swear I'll destroy your pretty face ... The whip leaves indelible marks. Olympia hurried out of the cabin. At that moment she seemed much more horrible to him than the corpses in the shed. Theda's pain and attitude drove her into blind obedience, as if her mind had gone blank and the old hag was infiltrating her brain to impose her strange and ruthless law. Theda pushed her several times, whip in hand. The last push threw the girl into the center of the shed, where she fell flat on her face, supporting her hands so as not to bury her face in the dirt that formed her floor.

----------
There was no doubt. It was moans what he was hearing. Moans that
they came from the shed.
He ran there and removed the bar.
She heard Olympia's voice:
"No, not those horrible corpses again."
"Olympia," he exclaimed.
The girl's cry of joy when she recognized his voice moved him.
She expressed such intense joy, such deep love, that Tony forgot
All the horrors past
They merged into a close embrace, kissed, lavished
caresses, the fiery phrases.
-What have they done to you? She muttered when she saw the trace of the lash on the
shoulder of the young woman.
 

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In this novel "The Legend of the Ghost" the leading girl, a warrior in search of treasure, recalls the torture she suffered years ago.

The situation entered his mind in a brutal flash. They had tied her
To the metal frame of the circular door through which he had gazed,
the first day, the sunset of the belt. But now her back was to him
gazing at the back of the wall of the room that had been her
camp. Their feet rested on the ground, but they were bound by the
ankles to the jambs, and his hands, raised, were tied tightly by
the wrists on either side of the lintel. Her naked body formed a
open X framed in the door circle.
In front of her were the pirates of the ruins ... five
from them. They were eating quietly, forming a circle in
around the fire. Further on, in the central column that supported the dome of the
stay, Jhoron was tied tightly, also naked like her,
just as they had been found. She did not seem conscious. Maybe they had
hit again.
She shuddered, because all five men were looking at her.
The boss, Ohof, stood up. The others slowly followed suit. I know
approached her.
"Lass," the man said, and her voice was slow, drawn. Have you
made a mistake with us. A terrible mistake. You have hurt very
seriously to our colleague Hastro. She pointed to the side, near.
the cargo naracs, where there was a motionless bundle, covered by a blanket
-. We had to hit him to stop him screaming. The same dies. You
you have done a lot of damage. And this is not right. See you still have her blood in your
mouth. He lifted a hand and ran it lightly across her crusted lips.
Zanara. A lifeblood to him, dare I say. —Someone to their
Backs laughed quietly.
Zanara tried to struggle, but the ropes holding her were
tense enough to impede most of her movements.
"So now you're going to have to pay," Ohof said very quietly.
And you can be sure that we are all going to get paid from you. Thoroughly. Y
more than once.

He brought his hand down Zanara's chin, the hollow of her neck,
the valley between his breasts. Zanara shuddered. Then the man raised his
other hand. Both thumbs rested lightly on his nipples, the thumbs
they walked in slow circular motions. Zanara noticed that very to him
regrets were beginning to stiffen. He set his teeth.
"What do you want from me?" He muttered.
It was a stupid question. And the answer was inevitable.
"Everything, girl." We want it all from you. And maybe we still ask you
more.
The man's fingers closed over his nipples and squeezed,.
first gently, then harder, twisting. No
violently, but with a desire to produce pain, a confused pain and
deaf. He held the pressure for a moment, then released them and stepped back
Some steps.
"We're going to have to punish you for your bad deed," he said. Is what
less than our friend Hastro deserves. So everything we do to you
we will do it in your honor. And in ours, of course.
He laughed, and made a sign behind him; the other looking man
Inconcrete he wandered off to the side, no doubt toward the Narac mounts that
they had brought with them. Ohof moved toward her again.
"You are tremendously beautiful, lass," he said, putting his hands down
on your sides and following the curves of your body down to your
hips. So punishing you is not going to be a burden to us, but a
pleasure. And you can be sure that we will know how to enjoy it fully.
He put a hand on her belly and brought her down slowly,
tangling her fingers in her pubic hair, playing with it; found the lips
of her sex and caressed them lightly, just a touch, marking with the index
the direction of the slit. Zanara instinctively tilted her pelvis toward
back, but the man waited for his move, and his hand seemed drawn
for him. It continued lower and continued between her legs, ascending
by the curve of her buttocks, lingering caressingly in the cozy hollow,
then going all the way back, slow,
deliberately, until he stops again at her sex and slowly pokes
at.
Zanara gasped. Ohof smiled slightly. His eyes were hard as the
steel.
"You will curse us in a little while," he said, without leaving his smile or
her poking around. But don't expect us to soften up. We will enjoy
maximum of you and your pain. Get used to the idea of it. And that stupid you
He was accompanying - he pointed slightly with his head back, towards the
central column - you will have the honor of being a privileged witness of all that
we make you. Her smile turned into a hearty laugh.
He withdrew his hand, took a few steps away, and in front of him, very.
ostensibly, he began to undress. Zanara felt unable to remove
his eyes. She still had the sensation of the man's fingers on her sex, and
she knew what was coming next. They were going to rape her. All of them. More of
once. That was why they had tied her up like that while she was
unconscious, so that she could not defend herself, to have her immobilized and
his mercy, so that he could not resist them. He shuddered. Tried
struggling once more, but she knew it was useless, and her
movements were going to do nothing more than increase her arousal.
Better to remain immobile, passive, flaccid. I couldn't help it
did with their body what they wanted, but it would give them so little satisfaction
on it as much as possible.

Ohof was now naked too, standing before her, legs
slightly apart, their clothes a confusing heap beside her. Your member
was a spear standing between his legs, which he gently stroked with a
hand. The other man, the one with the blank face who had disappeared
a few moments, he came back to his boss. I was carrying two small
packages wrapped like suede in hand. Handed him one, then
disappeared with the other to one side. Ohof took the package, it
unwrapped, unrolled its contents. Zanara suddenly identified what
was. And she gasped, horrified.
It was a haroo.
Or rather, one of the many variants of the haroo. The cult of
Haruma, the devil of prostitutes, is a strange cult. On the one hand
there are extremists, those who want to completely abolish the
prostitution and they punish declared prostitutes by tying them in the squares
public to wooden blades and introducing hard and painful haroos,
phallic objects bristling with more or less long and pointed spines, in their
natural orifices. But there are also those who use the cult as a
Pretext to unleash her sadistic instincts. They consider that
prostitutes must be punished, yes, but live. And so they have created their
particular haroos, elastic rundas made of animal gut and bristling with
spikes, with which they cover their limbs before possessing their victims,
those who punish in this way while they get their pleasure,
since the ha-roo on its members also increases enormously
your satisfaction. Naturally, this limits the characteristics of the
punishment, as excessive size or affiliation could injure
also the punisher. Thus, the haroo-funda do not actually produce
real injuries, but only a severe abrasion on the victim. Which,
their supporters say smiling, it is just another advantage, since
allows repeating the punishment over and over and over again.
Zanara was unable to tear her eyes away from Ohof as he, with a
The twisted smile on his face covered his member with the haroo. It was from a
ominous black, and reflected the afternoon light in the multiple flashes
of its abrasion elements. He adapted it firmly to his member, tied his
back the tapes that would prevent it from slipping, and approached
she.
"I see you're understanding," he smiled. This is going to be our first
punishment. Endure it, and think that you have more than deserved it for what
did.
He rested his hands on her hips and brought both bodies together, leaving
that his member slid up over Zanara's belly,
allowing him to feel the roughness of the torture device on his skin.
Then, with his body firmly attached to hers, and his face a foot
of the other face, eyes fixed on the eyes, she slightly drew back.
her hips, let her member drop, and gently shook herself until
that he noticed that her end found the lips of her sex. Ohof smiled
lightly, enjoying the look of expectant fear on the face that
before him, and he pushed his hips forward slightly, just a
little, enough to push the glans between the lips. Zanara
She took a deep breath and held her breath. She wasn't going to scream, she told herself.
herself intensely. She wasn't going to give them this pleasure. Ohof waited a few
moments, immobile, as if waiting for her reaction, without stopping looking at her
straight into his eyes for a moment, and then he was slowly pushing,
very slowly, penetrating her millimeter by millimeter, enjoying it. Their
hands slid gently from her hips to her buttocks,
pressing forward, accompanying the movement, until all your
member was inside her, and their pubic hairs touched, and she was
She kept silent, her teeth locked, resisting the rough brush that.
hurt the tender skin of her vagina, thinking that maybe the fluids
lubricants will minimize abrasion, but knowing that in those
circumstances would not be enough to be of much use to him.

Ohof's face was a demonic mask of satisfaction before her,
her eyes two deep wells that seemed to want to penetrate her more
intensely than her member.
"You look strong," he smiled. But don't get your hopes up; shortly
you will beg us.
He began to stir gently inside her, slowly, with
premeditation, searching every last corner of her sex. Zanara
She held back the tears that tried to come to her eyes, she held back the moan,.
endured the pain. After a few moments Ohof withdrew from her,
slowly, very slowly too, until again he only had the
glans between the lips of her sex. Her smile it got wider.
"Maybe deep down you like this," she said.
And the hands gripping her buttocks pushed toward him, and gave
a sharp blow of the kidneys forward, and buried her member again
to the bottom, in a brutal jolt. This time, Zanara couldn't help a
gasp that was almost a moan, and that was cut short when the man
She jerked back abruptly and launched another lunge, and.
then another, and so on several times, as he gazed gleefully at the
unsuccessful efforts of her to control her tremors. Stopped from
Again, he glanced at something over her shoulder, and his smile grew
wide. She abandoned her attacks. The hands that held her buttocks
they advanced a little more, as if crawling, they entered the valley until
reach the orifice of her anus, and they flailed, probed, and her two fingers
index fingers penetrated her slightly from behind, opening the sphincter, pulling
to the sides of him, as his cock now stirred inside her
in a deep circular motion. Zanara gasped uncontrollably,
trying to control herself but not succeeding, unable to twist her body
as she demanded, feeling that the ropes were biting her
wrists and ankles. Then suddenly Ohof abandoned her operations
rear; he withdrew his hands from her anus, and then Zanara noticed something
more: a new presence behind her. A naked body leaned
against her from behind, and rough, eager hands grasped from behind
her breasts. She felt something hard and scraping trying to push its way through
her buttocks, she got it, found the orifice of her anus. Got it
too late, while another male member, strong and hard, wrapped
in a haroo, he pushed down the path that Ohof's fingers had opened
and penetrated deep into him from behind, awakening a wave of pain that twitched
your whole body down to the last muscle.

"I told you that you were going to receive a deserved punishment for what you did -"
Ohof smiled at her, sadistically. I guess now you are
starting to realize
What Zanara realized was that she was losing everything
sense of reality. Impaled front and back with something that was
Like hot irons, with their groins turned into a churning volcano,
prevented from the slightest defense movement, she was shaken by
the alternating thrust of the two men, who soon seemed to reach a
agreement and establish a rhythmic pump, in which one penetrated
deep into her while the other withdrew, then reversed the
process. Ohof's hands were now on her waist, holding her
strongly enough to finish stabilizing her body, while the one
pressed against her back, no doubt the one who had brought the haroos, squeezed.
her breasts to the beat of their swaying. And the pain grew, grew as
the pace increased, until it became unbearable.
But she didn't scream, though her teeth dug into her lips until
they dripped blood.
Ohof was the first to reach orgasm. She shuddered, stopped.
pumping, he pressed himself tightly against her, as his partner continued
With her frenzied swaying from behind until she too climaxed,.
and his hands clawed at her breasts like two claws as he gave
two or three little short jerks and he was still too,
panting. They stayed like this for a few moments, inside her, pressed against
her, motionless, clinging, until finally Ohof backed away a few
steps, slowly, and the other did the same, releasing her bruised.
breasts. Zanara noticed something warm and thick slipping off a thin
trickling down the inside of her thighs, and he knew it was blood.
Ohof let out a deep breath, searched behind her back for the ties that
They held her haroo, she released them and got rid of her. Her member hung
semi-limp and sticky from her own sperm.

to be continued.....
 
"You have weathered the first punishment well," he murmured. But now it's the
Aante's turn. His specialty is unique, I assure you. I hope you like it.
The very tall man with the face of a bird of prey took a few steps forward,
a smile that made his face look like a skull. Had not
undressed, he hadn't even dropped his pants. But his expression was
of concentrated lust.
"I don't care about women," he murmured. Only me
my art matters. And the pain.
He extracted something from his belt. At first Zanara was unable to see what it was.
Then a flash of light told him, and he shuddered: it was a small dagger,
very pointed and with a very fine blade, almost a razor. The man held her up
up to the woman's eyes so he could see her well.
"This is my lover," she said, her voice oozing with pleasure. To me what
I like is to mark.
And she got to work.
Zanara held her breath as the man bowed slightly before
she gently cupped one of her breasts and rested the pointed stiletto on
the tip of your nipple. She nailed it very gently, just a few millimeters,.
before lowering it in a ninety-degree arc and cutting toward
down, in a fine line, almost barely tearing the skin, all the way around
lower chest. Zanara, numb from the pain that spread through
all her English, barely noticed a prick, then as if someone passed a.
very hot tip brushing over your skin. The man repeated the
same operation on the other breast. Then she continued.
He was a true artist. Her hand moved precisely, forming.
crisscrossing strokes, creating the arabesque of a drawing on the skin:
first on the breasts, then the middle valley, then the sternum down to
the belly button. The blade barely left a slightly darker line on the skin, and
only occasionally did a drop of blood gush out here and there, somewhere
place where the sharp blade had penetrated a little more than expected. I know
he toiled by drawing a complicated design around the navel, then followed
belly down, seeding it with twisted Kabbalistic lines from part to
part. He paused complacently on the mount of Venus, and followed by the sides
pubic hair, working only the inner thighs, until almost the
knees. Then she took a couple of steps back and examined her work,.
like an artist contemplating his creation. I had barely used ten
minutes.

Then he stood behind her. Zanara didn't understand anything. Did they pretend
was that torture? The pain was almost non-existent, just a slight
tingling on the skin, just a discomfort. Or was it the passion
irrepressible of a body sculptor artist? It was absurd. I look towards
front, and for the first time since he began all his eyes
Jhoron, tied firmly to his spine. Gods, in her own predicament,
I had almost forgotten. She had regained consciousness. The hunchback was
beside him, watching the spectacle from a distance along with
Fat; the vague-faced man who had sodomized her couldn't be seen
Nowhere. Someone, the hunchback probably, had gagged
Jhoron tightly, after filling his mouth with rags, and her husband
gazed at the scene with wild eyes, flailing helplessly in her
ligatures, while the hunchback laughed idiotically. Zanara remembered the
Ohof's words: «And that fool who was with you will have the honor of
to be a privileged witness of everything we do to you ». And it felt
terribly impressed by one detail: Jhoron, struggling helplessly
in her bonds to what was being done to her, she nonetheless exhibited
a tremendous erection.
Aante, the tall thin man with the face of a bird of prey and sharp
dagger, began to work with his back. Zanara felt it on her shoulder blades,
then descend along your spine, following the vertical gap and
branching out to the sides. Her buttocks occupied intense attention, and it was
there where she felt the action of her dagger the most, where she seemed to have recreated most
Although the plumpness of the buttocks should have minimized the
sensation. Then the touch of the fingers and the blade ceased, and Aante returned
to appear before her. Her face expressed immense satisfaction.
"I've finished my masterpiece," he murmured, not addressing her,
but to others. It is yours again.
The fat man had gotten up and disappeared to one side. Return
a few moments later, carrying a water skin and a
sachet of regular dimensions. She put both things on the ground, in front.
of Zanara, and opened the bag. She licked her lips with her tongue and
smiled.
Ohof was smiling too. She leaned over the sack, got her index finger wet.
of her right hand with saliva and plunged it into it. When she pulled it out again
the finger was covered with a small whitish crust. Approached
she.
"I hope you like it," he said. We will love it. -Y
He lightly rested his finger on her lips. Zanara acknowledged
immediately the substance: it was salt!
The sachet belonged to their own supplies, it was the salt they used
to give to the naracs. She shuddered. Now she knew what they intended to do. Y
it wasn't going to be pleasant at all.
In turn, the men wet their hands with the water skin, and
then they dipped them up to the wrists in the bag. When they took them out,
they were covered with a crust of wet salt.
Then they headed toward her, circled her. Zanara stirred, trying
to get rid of ties that he knew would not be loosened in any way,
but unable to avoid her instinctive movements. In the column, Jhoron
she flailed too, foaming helplessly into her gag. The hunchback don't know
had joined the group; stood by Jhoron's side, staring at the
scene with watery eyes, mouth ajar.
They began to caress her

They were experts in female bodies. The hands ran over her from
everywhere, without hindering each other: by her breasts, her
sides, her belly, her back, her buttocks, her thighs. And the wet salt of
Her hands penetrated the hundred tiny cuts made by
Aante, and her skin began to burn. And the hands kept slipping,
enjoying the touch of her skin as well as her pain and squirming
from her body. Aante went to the sack, took a small handful of salt and
put it in her mouth, then came back to her side and began to kiss and
lick her body, starting with the breasts, lingering on the nipples,
sipping and sucking and filling them with saliva and salt. Zanara shuddered and
she was twisting in her bonds, and now yes, now she screamed, unable to contain
the waves of pain that spread through her entire body like a sheet.
And that excited his tormentors even more.
She was unable to determine how long this lasted, although it may have been
an eternity. Until finally, Ohof, the chief, stepped away from the group that
toiled around him and went to the hide, got abundantly wet
one hand, and dipped it into the bag of salt. When he came back to her
held between her semi-closed fingers, forming a kind of bowl, a.
little mound of salt.
—I want you to also remember us in the most intimate and most
deep within you, ”she said.
She lowered her hand to her crotch, and smashed the handful of salt against the
lips of her sex. Then, with her index and middle fingers, she pushed the salt toward
inside, inserting her fingers as well, rotating them to spread it,.
shaking them like he's raping her with them. Zanara felt that a
unsustainable outbreak of pain seized her entire lower abdomen and
it rose like a wave to her very head. It twisted with a sharp
He cried out in anguish, and sank into compassionate unconsciousness.
She woke up amid numbness and pain. Of the first thing I know
The realization was that she was no longer tied to the circular door frame.
She was lying on the ground, on the soft, warm white powder of the material.
crumbled from what had been in its time the wall of the room of
the Ancients. Her hands were free. Tried to get up but realized
that his legs were locked. I look. They had tied a long stick to their
ankles, holding her firmly, in order to force her legs apart. No
they were done with her. She heard a voice:
"Well, there we have it again."
It was Ohof. He walked over to her, knelt beside her. She was still naked.
"We must all enjoy you, lass," he said. Except the poor
Hastro, of course. So we must continue.
He tried to throw his hands at him, but the other took a few steps away and
River. He beckoned, and the fat man approached him. Now i was naked
too. The other two men, the one with the blank face and the one with the
bird of prey, they stood by his sides, grabbed his wrists before
could resist and they extended their arms in cross. In this position, and with the
legs locked, she was as helpless as she was tied to the door.
"But you're freer," Ohof said, as if she had read her
thoughts-. You can squirm more, and that
we like. She laughed out loud. Zanara thought of Jhoron. But no
I could see her from there.

The fat man stood over her, feet on either side
from your hips. He dropped to his knees, which were level with his
armpits, and sat lightly on her stomach, without exerting too much
pressure, but evidently prepared to drop with his full weight and
immobilize her completely. His hands were plump and full of
rings. His member, erect, long and very red, rested like a plump
worm between his breasts. It pulsed slightly.
"What you did to Hastro was not good at all, my dear," he said.
But nothing, nothing, nothing good. It was a disgusting job.
He took her breasts between his plump hands and brought them together, closing them over
her member, as if she wanted to wrap it. Zanara had big breasts
and firm, very sensitive and reddened now after the cuts of Aante and the
subsequent and repeated caresses with the salt to which they had been subjected.
The fat man began to rock slightly back and forth,
making her knees and hips serve as hinges, sliding her
limb through the narrow tunnel that he himself had created, brushing the
sensitized skin. Zanara had the incongruous thought that when
least he didn't wear a haroo: it was a relief. She tried to debate, but the other two
The men held her firmly, keeping her arms extended and
nailing their wrists against the white dust with one knee each,
so that he could barely move. The fat man's glans hit
rhythmically her chin and the hollow of her throat with each new shake.
His hands laboriously worked her nipples, stirring them with
thumbs, sinking them against her flesh, bending them,.
tighten them.
"We each have our specialty, you know?" —It was the voice of
Ohof, enjoying now as a voyeur. He had stood between her legs
open so that I could see him over the fat man's head. TO
Tenko loves to play with women's breasts, especially if they are so
beautifully plentiful like yours. Says only between breasts
as a woman can find satisfaction. I think what really happens to him is
who is afraid of crushing them if he fucks them in the normal way. —She started
laugh, contemplating her partner's efforts.

The fat man began to pant and increased the intensity of his swing. From
he soon shuddered, his movements becoming frantic, and Zanara
felt the spasms of his ejaculation hit his throat, his chin,
draw an arc towards your mouth, your nose. He coughed and choked, while
The fat man followed his movements between his breasts for a few more moments and then
he stayed motionless over her, and the pressure of his hands relaxed. With
knees still pressed against his sides, at the level of his armpits,
lifted off his stomach. His member still hadn't lost any of
her stiffness when she let him gravitate to her face.
"What you did to Hastro was not good at all," he repeated. And by
Of course, you're not going to do it with me.
He grabbed Zanara's hair and forced her head off the ground. The
two other men loosed their hold slightly on their wrists to
allow movement. Zanara saw the fat man's member gravitate to him
eyes, thick and big and ugly, with a whitish droplet still hanging from his
extreme. The man's face was twisted.
"Open your mouth," he said.
Zanara tried to think coherently. But every thought had
fled from her before the uninterrupted succession of humiliations. Stayed
still.
"Do as she tells you, lass," Ohof said, still standing between her
legs, in a gleeful voice. If you don't want things to get still
Worse for you.
The thought of what could be even worse for her floated briefly in
Zanara's head, then disappeared. In an automatic reflection, fruit
both from fear and from fatigue and pain and deep dejection,
her lips parted. The fat man put his body forward a little more. But his
member did not penetrate into his mouth, as would have been expected. Kept it
simply leaning against his lips, not crossing the threshold, as.
Waiting for something.
"Like this," said the fat man, in a satisfied voice. And began to urinate against him
mouth.
Zanara felt the jet of hot, acidic liquid hit her
bottom of your throat; she choked, coughed, spat. The fat man lay down
quickly backwards, and the fiery jet washed all over Zanara's face,
And her neck, and her breasts, mingling with the sperm and the blood and the salt and
the sweat. The fat man burst into a raucous laugh and stood up, and his
Urine spilled the last drops onto Zanara's stomach and belly.
"We've already prepared it for you." You already have it the way you like it, Koko -
said the fat man, turning her head.

to be continued....
 

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Then Zanara saw the hunchback. I was no longer next to the column
central and Jhoron, but with the others, next to her. Had stripped
her clothes at last, and her body was a daunting spectacle
monstrous: hairy and misshapen, with one shoulder higher than the other, a
prominent belly and arms longer than normal. But the worst was
her member: huge, long and wide ..., a monstrosity greater than her
owner.
Koko approached her, her mouth parted and drooling, her eyes
bright and lustful. And, while the other two men continued to tense
Her arms crossed, laughing, and the long stick tied to her ankles held her.
legs spread, the hunchback dropped on top of her, crushing her with his
weight, the weight of a short but strong and muscular body. Instantly
the man's face pressed against hers, and his tongue, a scratchy, scratchy tongue
tremendously agitated, she began to lick her, while her whole body
contorted like a snake over her body, in a crushing
bestial caress. He licked her eyelids, and her nostrils, and her lips, and
her mouth, and her neck, sucking the remains of urine and sperm and blood.
and sweat, enjoying it, as his tongue descended along her
neck and ran down her breasts and followed the taut hollow of her sternum,
stopped at her navel, sipping all the juices that were left
stuck there. Zanara felt with an indescribable horror the slip
of that body on his; The shaking of the monstrous member against
thighs, while the hunchback gasped and wheezed and the others laughed
watching the spectacle, and Ohof gave a tremendous laugh that
it reverberated in a thousand echoes on the wall of the half-ruined room. When
reached his sex, the hunchback seemed to remember something that he had forgotten until
so; rose up his body again, elbowing
pinned to the ground at his sides, panting like an animal, and plunged his
face in the crook of his shoulder, crushing his jaw against his chest
left, and stirred over him again, now searching for the entrance to him.
pleasure. His member knocked lost between the open thighs, and the fat
he exclaimed with a laugh:
"That way you won't get anything, fool!" Use your hand to guide you!
The hunchback would not stop twisting his body over Zanara's,
crushing it, as if it were already extracting great pleasure. He listened to
fat man's advice and lowered one of his hands, grabbed his member and groped
looking for the desired opening. He found his lips, firmly nailed the
member in them, he withdrew his hand, and thrust himself up with a fierce
animal growl. Zanara felt something enormously monstrous penetrate
into it, as if he wanted to rip it in two, and screamed, a cry of anguish and
pain. The hunchback seemed surprised by some
moments, but his desire was too great and his intelligence
too short, and she realized she was really inside, and started
to jerk spasmodically wildly, back and forth,
back and forth, moaning and grunting and gasping He ejaculated almost
right away, and Zanara felt the rush of his cum hit her at the most
deep like a hammer, like a fiery cataract. The hunchback
shuddered over her several times, his hands clenched on the ground, his
teeth digging into his shoulder. Then her whole body seemed to relax,.
like a doll that swells. He raised his head, stared at the
eyes, a few drops of drool fell from his lips onto her chest. The
others laughed uproariously, as if it were; the funniest show
of the world. The hunchback pushed down, again with his elbows,
as suddenly possessed by a new frenzy. Zanara felt like e
monstrous member came out of her with an audible pop. E hunchback
down his body, his face pressed against his skin, until he reached his
belly. There his trembling hands sought his sex, found it, opened.
anxiously, her lips let out a dirty
mixture of fluids, salt, blood and sperm. Then his thick lips were
they closed over it all, almost biting, and sipped eagerly ...
Zanara squirmed uncontrollably in the hands that held her
wrists, let out a high-pitched squeak, and lost
knowledge.

Aante, he brought a whip, and showed that he knew
use it in the most ingenious and varied of ways, both on the
of the tails as especially of the mango. Koko said she was hungry, and
So they came up with an ingenious game. They placed Zanara lying on
their backs on a makeshift ledge made of lumps, the height of a
table, and Ohof brought a number of fruits of various kinds and sizes from
provisions of the na-racs. They spread their legs wide - they had
removed the rod that locked them; at that point it was no longer necessary
Forcibly holding them open, Zanara was unable to resist anything
that they did to her - and Aante began to insert them into her sex, pushing them
delicately with two fingers to the bottom, while the hunchback,
knees before her, was dedicated to slurping them one after another, with the fat
helping him by squeezing hard and rhythmically on Zanara's belly to
help their expulsion. They started with the little ones, and then they went
increasing in size, laughing, and the hunchback sipped a
after another, helping at last with his fingers as the size began to
difficult to expel with the sole help of her mouth and the pressure of the fat man.
Meanwhile, the man with the blank face held Zanara's arms
tense above her head, not so much to keep her immobilized
as if to hold her hands around her member and work them as if
were a sex, enjoying the variety of this new situation, and Ohof
cared devotedly to her breasts, for which she seemed to have
acquired a real obsession. Zanara was already beyond all pain,
of all vexation, of all indignity. When Aante introduced a piece of
particularly large fruit and the hunchback retrieved it without any
difficulty, the tall thin bird-faced man said that
It wasn't funny, that the girl's sex was and; so long that a
narac could enter it; To prove it, he pushed the hunchback aside,
He closed the fingers of his hand in a pineapple shape and introduced them into the swollen
opening, slowly sinking the hand to the same wrist, and during
for a long time he was shaking it inside, chuckling, saying that
never before had she raped a woman with her hand like that.
Zanara began to shudder spasmodically, and Ohof left the
chest he was nibbling with relish and looked up at the
contorted face. Her smile was demonic.
"I suppose right now you're looking forward to us killing you
one time and let's get this over with. Forget it, girl. We are not going to give you this
pleasure. We do not intend to give you any pleasure. We are not going to kill you. Tea
we will leave alive, so that you always remember us, so that today
is deeply engraved in your memory. We want you to drag up
the end of your days the memory of what you did to Hastro, and what
you received in return. She sank back into her chest, and bit down fiercely.
Zanara didn't even have the strength to scream.
The spectacle of Aante's hand dipping and flailing at the opening
excited the hunchback, and said he wanted to possess her again. Everyone laughed,
because obviously now she no longer had any merit to do so, despite
to the size of your member. But they decided they could give him satisfaction.
They lowered Zanara from the makeshift ledge, placed her on all fours on
the ground, holding her down because she was already unable to support herself and the
The hunchback rode her from behind, and in her semi-consciousness Zanara felt the
tearing of the muscles of her anus, but the pain was already something too
vague and remote. The hunchback ejaculated again almost instantly,
grunting and gasping, and collapsed forward, dragging
Zanara and those who held her. They had to extract it from her, and Ohof gave
He turned the woman over, unconscious again, and said that he believed she had already been
punished enough. Anyway, by pure procedure, he lay on her
and possessed her again, though the fact that she no longer reacted to his
pounding took away all appeal to her action. It was a long time since there was
dawn. They decided they weren't going to get much more out of her and
they had had enough fun, they had already given him enough deserved. Jhoron
it was pure spoil tied to the column, a comically spectacle
pathetic. The naracs slowly charged, placed Rastro
lying and restrained in one of the couple's riding jiaracs, although
they were sure that he would die on the way (which they did not care
too much), they picked up Jhoron's blueprints that evidently pointed to the
exact location of the site they had found, although none of
they understood them, they left Zanara lying on the ground, where there was
fallen the last time, ate, and then started
Andoora.

Zanara woke up in a horrible haze of pain.
She tried to get to her feet without success. Her whole body was a pure
burning. Her skin felt tight, her groin on fire. Her legs were shaking
uncontrollably and refused to hold her. She managed to support her elbows.
on the ground and raised his head. Everything was dark, empty and silent at her
around. It was dark night. She wanted to get on her knees, but her
lift and fell headlong into the warm white dust. Got around
with an effort the head to the side to prevent the dust from
thrust into her nostrils and suffocate her. Lost again the
knowledge.
When he opened his eyes it was still dark. Or had it
a whole day? She did not know, nor did she care. It turned on itself and was
backs on the ground, gazing at the cold stars through the chunk
disappeared from the ceiling. She stayed like this for a while, looking without seeing the sky,.
trying to compose her thoughts. They were gone. And she was still
live. Ohof had kept his word: They weren't going to kill her ... which was not
but another element of torture. She rested her elbows on the ground and.
she began the painful process of getting up again. On the third try
got; Her legs faltered terribly, but they were capable of.
hold it. She looked down at herself, and shuddered. Her breasts, her stomach,
her belly, they were crisscrossed by arabesques of something resembling small
veins, crusted in places with small drops of dried blood
and globs of white powder. Down the inside of her thighs and down to her
trickles of dried blood descended on feet. I knew that her back and her buttocks
showed the signs of the whip that Aante had known how to use so
skillfully: not very deep, not to the point of opening the flesh, but
enough to leave its reddish trace of pain. It was dirty, and it felt
dirty. But the tears refused to come to her eyes. They had not sprouted
during all the gruesome torture she had been subjected to, and they were not going to
do it now.

.............
 
In the novels INQUISICION (AQUASILVA TRILOGY 2) by ANSELM AUDLEY and CRUZADA of the same trilogy, a young woman named Ravenna is tortured.

-------
An ether whip, I thought as I reached out my good hand under his
shoulders and she put an arm around my back, clinging to my
tunica. Palatina, already on her feet, approached, trying to push her way through the
tapestry of broken glass that covered everything, and took Ravenna by the other
side. How had Orosius dared to do such a thing? The ether made it burn
everything she touched. It was incredibly inhumane to use it against
anyone and, much more against a tied and defenseless woman (a girl,
as he had called her). Any kind of tie to my brother that
he could ever have tried died at that moment.
,,,,,,,,,,,

"He's our enemy too!" Ravenna objected, then untied the
ribbons that closed her tunic and, in a dramatic gesture, she undressed her
shoulders not caring about the presence of the emperor. Can you see my
wounds in the gloom? This is what he did. And you intend to cure it?
The wild marks that I had seen reflected in my mental image,
whitish and raw, protruded from his skin in the form of burns and
bloody lines covering her shoulders, arms, and breasts, and
even his neck, which he had previously concealed with his tunic.
By the Elements! How much he must have suffered during the previous hours
to our capture! And how could he save the person responsible for that now? The
Wounds ran through Ravenna's body. Would they heal without leaving scars?
Surely not, if she wasn't treated by a doctor.
,,,,,,,,,

My peace of mind was gone, however, when I discovered that the
Inquisitor was unwilling to let anyone take the blame and
he had decided instead to punish Ravenna. The conclusion was that the
Ranthas's work had been made impossible for she had failed in her
obligation to keep the wall of water up and to calm the lake to
save Murshash.
I suffered then the most hateful sensation I had ever experienced,
because I must have remained immobile and powerless among the other slaves
while one of the soldiers stripped Ravenna's back and lacerated her
with a whip, crisscrossing the new wounds with the old ones
left my brother. It would have been more tolerable if I had been
tied to the makeshift wooden frame, since it was no
mystery the pain of being spanked and knew it was nothing like
grief and anger that came over me when I witnessed the scene.
Oailos held me tightly by one shoulder the whole
punishment, but that didn't make me feel any less lonely. Had it not been for
the time I had spent in the ruins of Ulkhalinan, where I learned not to
get attention, I would have betrayed us both by doing something totally
stupid. Ravenna, for her part, did not scream at any time, which
the less it helped me contain my anger. He was aware that she did not feel the
whipping itself, for she could hide in the emptiness of her mind. I would only suffer
the consequences.
That was the first time that the reality of the occupation of the
Dominio touched me so closely. It is true that he had been punished when
I helped Ravenna escape, but I had never witnessed the torment of
Vespasia or Pahinu, or any other of my friends among the slaves.
I have never witnessed the torment of someone so close to me as
Ravenna. That was what the crusade and the war meant, after all.
religious government: being forced to remain immobile and powerless
while a loved one was tortured with lashes, punished by a
non-existent crime and as a consequence of the mere word of a man
whose opinion could not be contradicted because his authority came
directly from a god.
That was the martyrdom that the Archipelago had undergone during the
last four years. Ravenna had fought the Dominion, had
used her magic to kill her representatives. And yet much
of those who suffered at the hands of the inquisitors were innocent of any
offense against them. Ammonis claimed to act in the name of the divine law of
Ranthas, but that was the opposite of the law, too far removed from it to be
taken even as a parody of the law. As far as the
Inquisition, no one was innocent. Never.
By the lake, under the cliffs of Ravenna's homeland,
hearing in dismayed terror every blow of the whip, I learned by
end to hate. Not just the deep contempt that many people call
hatred, the contempt that a clan might feel for its worst rivals, but a
hatred of the kind Ravenna had felt for the seventeen years that
they followed the murder of her brother at the hands of the sacri.
 

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