Monique, with one sudden move of her rear, separated from the man, feeling the wet and slippery rod slide out of her guts. She had been taken four times, and was mad because not only had she received no pleasure from that embrace, but she was hurt, as he had been brutal. She silently dressed and went out, draped in her black cape, in front of an annoyed Max.
The fresh air calmed and eased her mood. She was angry at Max for not being able to moderate his appetite and his guests' appetites. And besides that she felt no pleasure at the same old mirror game that was only a forward to the complete sodomization of her being.
She went back to Sonia and slept miserably. The day went slowly. She did not go swimming, and refused to let little Jacques caress her belly. She met Janine at the same place in the woods and a long embrace had them rolling under the pine trees in the dunes. Monique gave herself completely under the child's caress. When the haze of pleasure that dimmed her vision and blurred the trees and the landscape around her had faded, she stretched and, while she was caressing her breasts, asked Janine to tell her about the past evening at her Uncle's.
When coming home, Janine took advantage of her uncle being in the garden, to go in the attic. It was a huge room under the roof that covered the house's whole surface. It had huge timbers, and ropes were hanging from the ceiling-she could not at once understand why. The only light was given by some candles here and there, and also a couple of oil lamps. In one corner of the room there was a kind of closet, the door of which was made of disjointed panels. She looked inside, and decided that that would be the ideal spot to go at the proper time.
She also noticed a few chairs, a chest of drawers, and on an old table, whips of different types and shapes, and also leather belts, and tweezers, needles and many other torture instruments.
Janine went down for dinner. It was a quiet evening. Janine learned that Solange was going to spend the evening and then the night at some friends of Barral, under the pretense of helping them. She left around eight or nine o'clock and Barral sent Janine to bed. Time passed, the night was really a dark one; the young kid did not want to sleep and the whole house was silent.
Then the noise of a car. Janine heard Barral locking her in. Quickly she put on her nightdress and went by the balcony into Barral's room and from there into the attic.
The lit oil lamps were giving a strange glow to the room and to the things in it. Janine shivered, but she struggled against her fears and went and hid herself in the little closet. She put on her slippers, waiting for the mice. Her heart was beating like a drum.
She heard the car stop, then hoarse voices; some sighs, and cries, then footsteps in the corridor. Then through the opened door came Barral, dressed in a dark brown frock, then two peasants in Sunday clothes, with a white carnation at each of their buttonholes. They were holding a young bride, all in white, who was struggling against them. But Janine soon saw that she was tipsy and that she could not really defend herself.
“No, No, I do not want it. NO… are you out of your mind? NO…”
Behind them came a fat and red-faced monk. Barral locked the door.
The men pulled the girl along one of the pillars. Barral took a supple stick and came before her: She looked at him, frightened; the monk came closer and told her:
“Now, now, my child, you will have to become more obedient. Your husband, completely loaded, proved himself quite unable to fulfill the duties that he had to fulfill, and also showed that he did not deserve you, as he is now completely asleep. You had, yourself, by your-let us say-original behavior, some attitudes that are not to be taken or accepted by he who admits you among the pure and holy young brides. Thus you will have to repent and confess completely. My friend here, agreed to replace your absent husband, and transform you into a real woman. You must now accept that he does what he has to do with all the experience and refinement that is required.”
“But, first of all, come here, and confess all your sins.”
He moved his stool closer to her and sat down.
The young bride was looking at him in complete amazement. “No, not here. No, I do not want to, not in front of them.” He drew her close to him, but she struggled against him.
The monk got up, took a supple stick, and told her: “If within thirty seconds, you are not here, kneeling prostrate, I will be sorry to have to chastise you as you deserve on your bare buttocks.”
The bride looked at all the men, one by one, around her. She remained silent and put her hands on her white dress. She shook her head in refusal. At a given signal, two men got hold of her hands and lifted her dress from behind higher than the belt. She had a relatively plump behind, that was molded in a pair of white silk panties. Barral hurried to roll the pants down her thighs. She was wearing white silk stockings.
The monk raised his hand, and with a cutting noise, the stick landed on the rotund globes, five times in a row, leaving big red marks on the soft flesh. At each blow the bride's body twisted under the pain, and she hollered like an injured animal. After the fifth stroke, the monk stopped and said: “Now Suzanne, are you consenting, or must I go on with the punishment?”
“Ah, no, please do not hurt me anymore, I hurt too much, leave me alone…”
“I ask you to answer my question-are you ready to confess your sins?”
From the tip of the stick he caressed the bare flesh, she shivered.
“Yes, yes, enough, do not hurt me any more!”
The monk gave Barral a sign. He put the material of her dress in the belt of the skirt, revealing the strong behind with its twin pulpy globes, separated by a deep slit. The fleshy thighs were emerging from the lily white dress, their pink shades contrasted against the immaculate material of the bridal attire. They placed the bride in front of a stool, bending her forwards, and tied her hands with lashes.
Barral stood by her side, his stick in hand, and the monk sat behind the young woman facing the bare round buttocks.
Then, while he was touching with his hands the bare flesh, he confessed her, making her admit little by little all her menial sins, and insisting on the sexual caresses that she had either received or given.
Then the monk said:
“For your penitence, my child, you will offer the sacrifice of your modesty, and then later, you will receive on your colossal ass, the punishment that it amply deserves. After, and only after, will you be authorized to be purified by us all.”
He got up and they freed the girl. She got up, blushing under the shame, and took a look at her captors. They were all holding whips.
The monk ordered: Take your dress off.”
She looked at him, and remained motionless. A cry. Barral had just stroked the bare behind. She moved away, and backed against a pillar. They raised their whips: “No… No… Not that, I will do whatever you want me to do…”
And, breathing heavily, she unhooked the front of her dress, let it slide, revealing the round shoulders, the muscled arms, the rather thick legs. She remained with only a short white linen blouse, all embroidered, and so transparent that one could see the brown flowers of her teats.
“Lift your shirt and show your belly.”
She looked at the monk, hopeless; two more blows reached her between her thighs, then crying, she took the material between her fingers, and lifted it up. The men could see the velvety pubis, the thick fur of ebony black hair.
“Higher…”
Facing the raised sticks, the girl lifted her shirt higher, and they could all contemplate the round belly, the deep navel. They left her in that posture for a long time, and then the monk ordered:
“Take it off…”
A stick whistled in the air. The bride shivered, and her shirt fell around her ankles. She was then completely naked except her white stockings, her white gloves, up to the forearm, and her white veil. A rare vision. Voluptuously, they contemplated her. She was expecting the end of her torture, her eyes closed.
The monk looked at Barral who showed him the rope hanging from the ceiling. They came to the girl, and before she could only react, they fastened her wrists in two leather bracelets. She was then like a pink Y hanging from the ceiling. Her breasts, propped up by this pose, were even more suggestive.
They came to her.
“No, no, please let me go. I refuse. No. Aaah.”
She could not help crying under the odious caress of the hands on her breasts, on her buttocks, on her cunt. They were sucking at her nipples and caressing her between her legs. She was shivering and trembling, trying to free herself from the ropes that were holding her prisoner. But in vain. She kicked the monk with one foot; he came by her and gave her a couple of severe blows, then he put her ankles in two other leather bracelets that were tied to the ground. Now she was like a capital X, completely open, offered to the desires of her tormentors.
“Ah, you are like a wild horse, eh? Your breasts are sensitive? I am going to harden that flesh then…”
They both came, Barral and the monk, and took a breast in hand. A continuous lament filled the room, that had Janine shivering in her closet. The woman was twisting in the ropes that were maintaining her and the men were pressing her teats in their hard and nervous hands. They shook them, pulled at the ends, pressed the globes, lifted-the whole globe by the nipple. The pain must have been insufferable to judge from her cries. The tortured flesh was lapped, whipped, pinched, squeezed. Then they stopped and looked at her shivering body.
“Now little girl, is one getting wiser? Now you are ready to receive the caress that will transform your horrible teats into real breasts.”
Barral takes a cat o'nine tails in hand. The monk sits by the two country men, completely loaded and not realizing what is happening. Barral then raises his arm, and methodically starts an intense beating of her breasts. The young bride tries to escape, but in vain. One can see the muscles shiver under the contraction at each blow.
The lashes are encircling the globes either from the bottom to the top or vice versa; the flesh shivers and undulates under the blows. Barral feels that he is reaching the limit that he cannot pass without it being dangerous for the girl. He stops. He takes one of the brown, erected nipples between his lips, but then turns to his friends:
Those ain't big enough yet.”
“We will have to elongate the things,” replies the monk.
“Very well,” says Barral and he takes a pair of tweezers-the old type used for laundry- and he attaches them to the nipples. The woman screams under the squeezing of her delicate flesh. In vain; they are all admiring the show of that woman with her breasts stretched by the action of the tweezers.
Barral feels a sadistic pleasure in pulling at the wooden things, and stretching the solidly maintained nipples to make the treatment more painful. The woman is moaning, her temples are painful under the blood pressure suddenly increased by the pain in her breasts. Barral takes the tweezers away and watches the color come back to the painful extremities.
“Those aren't really long enough,” says the monk who knows Barral's passion.
“I know a way,” replies Barral. He takes two thin ropes ending with a loop. Quickly he encircles the nipples, and then, squeezing the flesh by pulling at the rope, he tightens his grip on the teats. Holding the ropes, he pulls slowly. The breasts are stretched monstrously; the girl looks in complete horror, at her distended bosom that elongates more and more. Now the breasts are nearly completely horizontal, held by the tips. As Barral pulls harder, the pain gets more violent, and she cries, twisting her tortured torso. But Barral now turns the ropes and the breasts are undulating under the action of his hands, like two puppets.
But now the girl is hollering, and after two more violent shakes Barral leaves the breasts and unhooks the two ropes, deeply pressed into the teats. He sucks at the breasts for a long time, while his hands are caressing the girl's sex, and deeper, between her legs. She quivers. His finger had just touched her virginity. He does not insist, but keeps sucking at the teats, and looks at them.
“But those ain't got no holes in them. I will have to do that right now, or you could not feed your coming sons.”
Horrified she sees him take the needles…
Then one by one, Barral takes the needles, each tipped with an artificial pearl, and he sticks them in the woman's nipples, not deeper than a couple of millimeters. The pain is not too violent for the woman after all the other tortures that her breasts have undergone. But she keeps her eyes closed and sighs slowly. There are already twelve needles in the right nipple. Barral now comes to the other one. There is hardly a drop of blood. He is, doubtless, an expert.
Moving backwards, Barral contemplates his work, and says to the monk, “Now it is your turn to inflict on that young child the last chastisement that she deserves.” And he gives him the cat o'nine tails. Then raising his arm high over his head, the monk gives the bottom a hard beating and soon enough the result comes. She undulates in the most suggestive way. But Barral gets up, and gets a mirror that he places, slightly sideways, under the bridged legs. They can all then contemplate her most intimate parts, offered and distended by the pose that she is obliged to endure, a pretty virgin's slit with the pink lips shaded by the pubic hair, slightly parting in the middle of her buttocks.
And while the whip caresses the bottom, reddening under the correction, the little mouth seems to open and implore in the language of virgin cunts, some mercy from her tormentors.
Little by little, the girl moans and cries, and at last screams. But she resists quite well because it is not the first time that her buttocks are being chastised that way.
The monk strikes across her buttocks, bringing the blood right under the skin. The flesh is squeezed with a flat sound. The lashes whizz, and the strikes strangely enhance the massive and rotund bottom undulating under the whip.
In the mirror, the sex keeps its mute conversation, its twisted mouth opening and closing convulsively.
The girl sighs, and the whip cracks on her tense skin. The ropes are squeaking, or maybe it's the wood of the timber supporting the girl's tormented body.
But the monk realizes that the blood is going to come out of the hurt flesh. He stops tormenting the bottom, and in the sudden silence of the room are heard only the heavy breathing of the men, and the continuous moan of the hanging girl.
Barral, one by one, removes the needles from her breasts. He could not tell whether she expressed pleasure or merely gratitude when she looked at him. He caresses the palpitating breasts, and kisses the consenting mouth.
The monk separates them.
“Not yet, my son. First, she, the sinner, must confess all her sins, and repent.” And Barral sees him take a long supple rod, and place himself behind the girl. He speaks to her:
“How many times did you touch your slit with your fingers?”
The young bride, taken aback, does not answer, but already the rod cracks on her flesh, between her legs, on the exacerbated pubis. The rest of the stick insinuates between the lips of the cunt. Another cry, another convulsion, and the flesh puppet moves in its ties.
“Then?” repeats the monk.
The girl is still hesitating, but the rod lands again between her legs.
“Enough… enough! I… well often.”
“Well, and this week?”
She hesitates, and then feels the stick insinuating between her legs…
“Once…”
“When?”
“The day before yesterday…”
“Who else touched your sex?”
“No… nobody…”
“Liar…” and once again the stick whistles in the air before crashing between the girl's legs, on the dampened pussy.”
“Yes, yes… other people…”
The stick caresses the cunt, softly. She capitulates.
“Who?”
“You, and then the schoolteacher.”
“And a guy from the town, from last year… and my fiance…”
“And?”
“And some girls…”
“On Sunday… and?”
“That is all…”
“Liar!”
Once again the rod…
“Enough, Ooooh… enough, I will tell you everything…”
The monk stopped hurting her.
“Then?”
“My future father-in-law…”
“Ah, now you admit it, little vicious… And in your ass? What nozzles did penetrate?”
He slaps the cunt, and in the mirror, Barral can see the rod that goes between the lips of her intimate mouth.
“Yes. I took some enema…”
“And big fat pricks too?”
She hesitates and the monk hurts her more violently.
“Aouch! Yes… yes… my father-in-law…”
“Often?”
“More than once… and…”
“And?”
“And the schoolmaster. Twice.”
“And? is that really all?”
“Yes, I swear it. I swear.”
The young bride let her head drop on her chest, all her muscles aching under her weight.
“You bitch,” hollered the monk, “and you dared to refuse me.”
He takes the cat o'nine tails, and with all his force hits her between her legs. They are watching the horrible flagellation of her intimate parts. The lashes are covering the fleshy and pulpy surface freeing the flesh that reddens, covering it again the next minute. Like a puppet, the body twists in the ropes, and the girl hollers her pain, her eyes wide open. The tip of the lash crashes on her cunt, on her belly, and the monk hits with all his strength, furious to have been deprived of that pleasure, to the benefit of a mere peasant…
At last, after a couple more violent blows that left the girl motionless, he stops.
The bride is unfastened, put on her back on a bench; her thighs lifted up and apart, her knees touching her belly, and they all come to see that tortured flesh, check her virginity, and put a couple of ardent kisses on the burning cunt. Barral sucks at her more deeply, faster, and it gives her such a strange sensation that she cannot restrain a sigh of pleasure. Then he goes on, and little by little the spasm comes in the bride's belly. She gives herself up to him, abandons all resistance. Her belly moves, undulates; she contracts between the hands of the men that are holding her and finally she comes violently.
The men strip, and Janine, through the disjointed panels, can see the erected members of different sizes. One by one the bride must take in her mouth the flesh of the men, and suck at the palpitating pricks, while the others are caressing either her burning ass or the love button of her cunt.
The monk is the only one to let his sperm splurt in her throat, while he presses her breasts, sagging heavily under her chest.
Finally, they pull her to one of the pillars where she is tied, her hands held to the ground by two leather bracelets, her legs similarly attached by two leather bracelets. The mirror is placed under her; she is 20 inches from the floor, and she is revealing under the light of two oil lamps, her large distended bottom and the slit of the sex.
Barral, his prick in full erection, stands behind her. His hands separate more completely the two globes of her buttocks; the head of his tool, reddened by the effort, is posed against the pucked mouth of her ass, opening the narrow passage. Barral breathes heavily; the muscles of his thighs are bulging, contracting. Then he pushes violently with a hoarse cry-another savage cry! The girl, her anus distended, feels the man's balls against her cunt, and the hairy belly glued to her ass. The tool has penetrated her with one single thrust.
Nothing is heard but the gaping breath of the young bride, trying to recover her mind after that odious rape. Barral caresses her sides, then he slowly moves his damp and hard flesh in her warm belly. The others, bending forward, are looking at the movement of the fleshy pole going in and out of her ass. Barral feels the contraction of the muscled little mouth around his tool, and once again Sodom is the master of pleasure. Barral frantically moves his prick. He feels pleasure come while bruising the warm intimacy of the girl. She is gasping, and Barral feels his pleasure rising. He moderates his pace, and moves out of her, then he digs into her again in a brutal rape that has the girl panting and crying with pain. She is crying, and tears are oozing from her closed eyes. The prick, like a piston, goes in and out of the tender sheath, deeper at each move. Once again, the sperm comes to the prick, and this time Barral does not try to prevent its coming-he lets his burning sap spurt in her, while his fingers dig into the flesh of her buttocks.
He finally moves out of her warm and slimy entrails. One of the countrymen is already there, his short and erect prick in his hand. He aims at the sperm soiled asshole and with one move of his powerful loins he sodomizes the young girl pitilessly, not even hearing her cries.
Barral goes to the monk and together they discuss the fornication of the couple in front of them.
“Congratulations father, this is really quite a girl. How did things go at the wedding?”
“Well, everything went O.K. I was sitting right next to the newlyweds, and after giving them too much wine, I succeeded in adding some sleeping powder to the husband's meal. When he fell asleep, they were both carried to their place, and then I told her that one of my benefactors had participated in buying her trousseau, and that she had to come to thank him. She came, quite unconsciously, and in the car she ate an aphrodisiac contained in some candy. It does not seem to have been too efficient, but… too bad.”
“I hope that you like it all the same?”
“When those bastards will have taken their pleasure out of her, I will take her virginity.”
The monk laughed.
“Later, we will try to bring her here again under some other pretense.”
“Are you sure of the silence of the guys?”
“Oh yes, quite sure, they often come to the rectory to play with my maid without their wives knowing it. I have them at my disposal.”
“And what about the husband.” If he wakes up?”
“No danger. It was a good dose. Tomorrow, when he wakes up, he will think that he fucked his sweet wife all night long.”
“But her… what if she complains?”
“She would not dare, it would be too shameful for her to say that she agreed to leave him on such an evening.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the continuous lament of the young bride, being assfucked by yet another peasant. “Come, let's watch that,” said the monk.
He walked to the mirror with Barral, and they contemplated the heavy thick prick that the bride's belly was swallowing. The hole was completely distended under the size of the dart. Under the vacillating light of the oil lamps, the tableau had a strange, deeply lubric allure. The girl was moaning, sustained by the plougher's powerful hands, but it was nearly an inert flesh that he was dominating. The belly was slapping against her ass, and one could hear the damp noise of the piston sliding in and out of the painfully distended sheath.
Soon the man sighed and stopped. The silence impressed the men, excited by that savage possession. The man disimpaled the girl, and she had to be held. Then she was placed on her back on the bench.
The monk came by.
“Let me go. Leave me alone, I hurt too much. No more.”
“Hush little girl. Now you will be rewarded, you will become a complete woman.”
Two men held her arms as if she was crucified, and her breasts, reddened by the cat o'nine tails, point arrogantly from her chest. Barral takes the girl's knees, folds the legs till the knees touch the belly, and then he takes the legs apart. He contemplates that pink virgin cunt, around which the blows left some tiny red marks.
He bends down, his erected prick posed against the slit; the head slides between the thick lips, and stops against the closed hymen. Without pushing, Barral caresses the flesh softly and for a long time. The girl, exhausted does not react; she stays there, her eyes closed, mouth agape. She sighs deeply, and little by little the sighs change tone. Barral guesses that the intense excitation given by the flagellation of her sensitive flesh is bringing the girl off. Barral feels his prick, while turning in direction in the cunt. The hymen is tensed, distended and suddenly opens. The raped girl utters a pitiful cry and tries to escape from the male's embrace, in vain. The other men are nailing her to the bench, and inexorably the prick goes deeper and deeper in her cunt and only stops when it reaches the bottom of the vagina.
Barral rests a little, slowly caressing the bride's breasts. She looks like a wounded bird in her white veil. Then slowly he fucks her, his teeth clenched, his eyes closed.
They are all looking at the love act. The prick is going in and out of the cunt, covered with blood, but also with the girl's come juices.
Barral is now glued to her, bites at her half-opened lips, slides his tongue in her mouth and inhales her warm breath. And with powerful movements of his loins he digs his prick in the burning cunt.
The wide open eyes of the woman are now reflecting a strange impression. They widen and Barral thinks that it is desire. He sucks the tongue that does not refuse his kiss. He feels the white silk stockings against his sides; he guesses that after all that display of intense voluptuousness, he will be the first to really create pleasure in that body, her first womanly pleasure. He wants her all and completely. After the brutal possession comes the most refined caresses. He does not move completely out of her, so that her bruised flesh would not suffer more from the contact. His prick is now deeply in her cunt, and he fucks with all his strength. He is completely in her, and what could not be avoided happens. She gives herself completely. He orders the men to free her arms, and she grabs him by the neck, encircles his shoulders, her body arched, her belly tensed, glued to the man's belly, and the orgasm comes. Half conscious, she bites Barral's lips. Then, mad with pleasure, she hollers her joy and lets her arms fall from each side of the bench while the man lets the sperm go in her, in hot long splurts…
Barral takes a look at his guests, gets up and removes his softened and soggy prick out of the vagina. Already another man covers the girl with his body. She tries to scratch his face but she is maintained by the others, and the peasant stops her cries with his thick lips. He fucks her with the power of his short but thick phallus, tearing a little bit more the painful passage. He breathes heavily, he rattles, and the girl, unable to defend herself, must let the sperm overflow her cunt.
Another cry-her eyes wide open and contemplating the huge tool coming between her thighs, and the third peasant is fucking her too. He is in her, and moves slowly; in spite of her disgust he feels pleasure coming and she gives herself to that male. But he is selfish, and he comes before she could be satisfied, and once again the hot and greasy substance is in her. He moves out, leaving her disappointed.
She remains there, thighs open, from her sex sperm is drooling, mixed with blood.
But he gets excited again. The others, exhausted by their libations, are yawning on their chairs, their big hands resting on their knees. Barral takes the girl to the bench, lies on his back, and obliges her to straddle him. He forces her to impale herself on his prick. One little cry, and the girl is glued to him. He gives the monk a signal; the latter, understanding what he is expected to do, straddles Barral's thighs, and also the bench, and aims at the offered asshole. One more sigh, and the girl feels the monk's belly glued to her ass.
Under the double penetration she sighs softly. But this time it is from pleasure. The flesh shivers, the hands caress either the breasts or the belly. The moans of the girl are almost immediately stopped by Barral's mouth. And under the yellow light of the oil lamps, comes the love song of the over-satisfied woman.
The three remained motionless, crumpled over each other. Then the monk moves out of the ass. The girl gets up, and the flattened prick falls softly on Barral's balls. Barral gets up and caresses the warm and still hurting breasts.
The girl smiles and her marked eyes are a testimony of the violence of the assaults that she has just endured. She wants to go and wash, but Barral holds her.
“No, not now, not yet. You are my wife, and you are going to keep my seed in you.” And he kisses her.
He obliges her to dress again. And again she becomes the young bride that she was a few hours earlier. Before she puts her panties on, they asked her to make some provocative poses, displaying her cunt and her ass, her legs propped up. Then at last, all of them being dressed again, they go down.
Janine, behind them, goes back to her room, her finger slippery with her own come juice from the many masturbations that she enjoyed in front of all those exciting postures.
Monique was listening passionately to this account. She abandons her body to Janine's lips, and three times in a row she comes furiously under the child's caress.
They were late for dinner. They took a date for the next day, in their little love nest after the bath…