In spite of Cesare's good looks and strong personality, Carlotta hedged and procrastinated until it became clear to all that she was not going through with the marriage. The background reasons were, of course, political and Carlotta followed the instructions of her father's ambassador. She also displayed a certain hauteur towards the Duke of Valentinois on the few occasions when they came into contact.
The final blow came when Cesare, who was impressed by the beauty and inaccessibility of the princess, sent word telling her in the most courteous of paraphrasing that he could not wait forever in the court of France and that he failed to see what was delaying her decision.
Carlotta sent back a message saying that her family was not in the habit of being pressed- even by Italian blood of noble ancestry. This was an open slight on Cesare's foreign origin and social history which cut him to the quick. He began immediately to plan his revenge, taking into his confidence his closest attendants and companions.
It was common knowledge that almost every day in the afternoon, Carlotta, a few ladies-in-waiting and a handful of male attendants went riding for exercise in the woods near the King's court. They would often be away for two or even three hours, cutting across the hillocks and hollows until the brush and trees became too thick for further progress. Sometimes they would descend from their mounts and continue their promenade on foot a short time-all dependent on Carlotta's whim of the moment.
Cesare had the movements of the little band watched for a few days while he lingered on in the hospitality of Louis-who was somewhat embarrassed that his end of the bargain had not been fulfilled, through no fault of his own.
During the mornings, Cesare himself would ride discreetly out into the forest with a few of his men to explore, to scout out the ground on which he was going to carry out his plan-the rape of Carlotta.
At the beginning of an afternoon a few days after the princess's curt reply to Cesare's entreaty to make up her mind, the Duke and some twenty of his men rode out into the forest. In a clearing not far from the spot where Carlotta and her company usually began their jaunts, they all changed into a motley collection of clothing such as might well be worn by the bands of outlaws which infested the forests farther to the south. Several of the band then rode back to the forest outskirts and posted themselves to watch the approach of the princess.
Cesare had not long to wait before the first of the lookouts raced back to report the entry of Carlotta into the wood at a certain point.
For the next two hours the Duke and his men silently shadowed the unsuspecting party from the court. They kept well in the wings, only the lookouts keeping the party in sight. The laughs of the women would filter through the leaves and the sunlight every now and again, whetting the appetites of the stalkers who were soon going to enjoy their bodies.
A light breeze rustled through the foliage, conveniently covering the soft swishings of the horses, trampling through the grass and leaves. Nobody in the Duke's band spoke, communication being made simply through signs. The horses had been muzzled.
Deeper into the deserted forest the two bands made their way. Sometimes, from a ridge, they would have a view of the trees stretching out solidly in a great plain before them, at others they were almost enmeshed in a web of leaves and creepers as they advanced.
It was late in the afternoon and the sun was well down in the sky when a lookout came trotting gently back to report that Carlotta and her band had reached a spot near some rocks and had dismounted to pick some flowers.
At a sign from Cesare, his men donned rough masks of sacking which they had made themselves. They dismounted, unhitched bows and arrows from their horses, hobbled the animals and began to creep through the brush toward the spot indicated by the lookout.
They moved slowly, crouching, making use of every available cover, avoiding twigs with mathematical determination. As the sound of voices whispered through, they began to fan out, to surround the unsuspecting flower-pickers.
The wall of foliage became slighter and slighter, until Cesare, slipping slowly from tree to tree, could see the white garments of the women through the spaces in the low-hanging branches. He crouched lower and advanced a step at a time until the whole scene was clear to him. He stopped, a man on either side of him, and listened. There was no sound from his men, invisibly surrounding the small, rocky clearing.
The women, buxom wenches, were laughing and taking, as they helped. The princess gather her blooms. The princess, herself, was in a gay mood which, for the moment, chased the haughtiness from her face, leaving only the tilt of her features to suggest her pride, her disdain of lesser mortals who thought themselves as good as herself.
Around the women the male attendants- less than a dozen of them-idled and wandered and exchanged a few words with each other.
Such a blissful, sylvan scene, Cesare thought with a grim inward chuckle. What a shock was in store for them. He watched Carlotta, laughing, unaware, bending to the ground. His lips curled in desire and revenge. He'd soon take that haughtiness from her, he'd soon debase her so that she couldn't lift her head again with that proud tilt. He'd provide the French Court and Society with the scandal of the decade- at Carlotta's expense. He'd have her haughty, inaccessible cunt so filled with prick that she'd never be able to close her legs again.
He straightened his bow in front of him, silently fitted an arrow. The two men at his sides followed suit. He took aim, slowly. He gave a sharp, piercing whistle and let fly. His arrow slashed straight through the neck of one of the men-at-arms. The man uttered a strangled, coughing cry and staggered to his knees before falling flat on his face.
The sunlight of the clearing was suddenly crisscrossed with a hail of arrows. All around the horrified women, their escorts crumpled up and ceased to exist. The attendants had no chance to escape. A few managed, pathetically, to draw their swords and start uncertainly toward the woods at their nearest point. They never got as far as. the first thickness of foliage.
In the space of a few minutes the ground was littered with the still bodies of the dead. The women had gathered around Carlotta and were cringing in terror. The forest around them had relapsed into a temporary silence.
Cesare smiled his satisfaction and raised his bow once again. His arrow pierced the clothing of one of the ladies-in-waiting, stabbing through the hem of her dress and pinning it to the ground. There was a guffaw of laughter from his men on all sides at the sign-and then they moved into the clearing, a sinister-looking bunch with their rough masks.
Some of the women screamed as they were seized by the men. Their screams were stifled with rough and ruthless hands. Their clothes were torn from them, their eyes blindfolded with strips from their own undergarments.
Overcome with horror and a helpless indignation, some of the women struggled desperately, others yielded, sobbing and pleading for mercy.
Cesare watched while Carlotta was stripped. She was weeping, but more in rage and shame than fear. During her manhandling she continuously threatened and cursed the men who were denuding her. Her clothes were in rags by the time her captors succeeded in getting them off her and she stood between them, trying to cover breasts and loins at the same time.
Cesare's heart began pumping faster as they blindfolded her. She was small and slim, with a sinuous, perfectly proportioned body. Her breasts were not large, but they were high and firm with a luxurious curve which made him itch to run his hand slowly, gently around it; her hips were well-molded with a thrust of flesh on the peak of the bones; her legs were slim and rounded into light curves of muscle.
A delicate morsel, he thought, as his men began to march her toward the point where he still stood in the shelter of the surrounding bushes. If I can't have her legally, I'm sure I'll lose little by having her against her will. She'll still be warm, juicy flesh and blood. Her hips will still yield under mine, her breasts will still press hard against my flesh, her thighs will still ache from being spread so wide, her passage will still grow wet in spite of herself- and her hauteur. He clacked his tongue in satisfaction at the rape of her dignity, her reputation.
The strange trio had reached him while the thoughts wafted through his head. Close up she was more perfect than ever. He could see the moisture on her skin — the sweat of fear. He could make out the light down on parts of her body, a mole beneath her left breast, the puckered, corrugated skin around the base of her nipple, the slight quiver of her thighs as she approached.
He made a sign to his men and took her by the arms as they released her. Nobody spoke, no voices were to leave traces in her memory. With a wave, Cesare dismissed the men back to the clearing where the rest of his band were drawing lots for the order of ravishing the other women.
Left alone with her, he marched her in front of him, holding a slim bicep in each hand, away from the clearing.
She had a slim, straight back, a firm curve to her spine. The narrow waist rounded out into a fleshy dome of bottom which quivered sinuously as she walked. Her buttocks were like the heads on columns, rounded, well-fitting from the well-shaped, classical thighs. He put one hand down against her buttocks as she walked and the brushing of them, smooth as eggs, made his hand tingle, brought his penis crushing up inside his clothing, giving it that solid, blood-filled ache which only intercourse would relieve.
“Whoever you are I warn you you'll lose your head for this,” she snapped suddenly, with a choke in her voice.
For answer he slapped each of her buttocks in turn. She squirmed and tried to break free but his grasp tightened on her arm so strongly that she cried out with pain and stumbled forward.
“If you get my clothes and put me on a horse I'll arrange a pardon for you personally,” she urged with a sob. “You're all doomed-but you who are with me can be saved if you help me.”
He jabbed his thumb between her quivering buttocks as she finished her desperate speech and she cried out and tried again to squirm away. He pulled her back toward him to control her and felt her buttocks writhing against his erection. He joggled against her, crushing his penis against her flesh, rotating it around the inner banks of the ravine between them.
“You beast, you swine!” She was crying bitterly again. He rubbed his hands over her breasts and sucked her neck as she struggled vainly. He had to get in her quickly.
Flushed and perspiring, he pushed her forward again. He ran his hand down her spine, let it swoop out with the lift of her buttocks. She kicked back at him and he slashed the flat of his hand across her rump anew.
At a distance from the clearing where he could no longer hear the scuffling of activity, he tied her to a tree while he cut four stakes with his dagger. The stakes he shoved deep into the ground in a rough square. He went back to the tree and looked at his victim. Now that she was in his power he tortured himself, gloating over her body, taking his time in the preparation.
He kissed her lips and she started at the unexpected assault. The lips trembled under his and tried to drag away but he pressed on them hard and bit them so that a muffled cry of protest tried to escape from her throat. He moved his mouth off her and nibbled her nipples.
“Oh, you swine, you swine! If you touch me I promise you you'll be tortured to death!”
He sucked the breast, letting it bulge right into his mouth like a perfect rounded fruit. He moved his mouth again and kissed her belly. She tried to fight him off with her legs, but emotion was exhausting her.
Cesare stepped back after a while and slowly began to undress. He stripped gradually, garment by garment, feeling the cool touch of air on his naked flesh. He revealed his loins last and a tremor of excitement ran through his body as his penis shot warmly into the cool atmosphere and soared there, tensed up, in a static thrust against nothing.
He went close to her and untied her from the tree. She felt his naked body as he brushed against her and she began to fight, weeping almost hysterically at the same time. She was no match for him. He held her easily in his arms while he pressed his hot joint against her loins, against her behind as she twisted. His knob was a deep blood-color; it had moistened over. With a grunt of effort he pulled her to the ground and tied her wrist to one of the stakes.
She jerked against it while he held her other wrist and moved the second stake to a more suitable distance before tying the second wrist. He smiled with lustful satisfaction at his work and pulled her left leg wide out from her body, as near a right angle with her hips as he could make it. She tried to kick him, gasping with pain and rage. That leg fastened, he caught the other and pulled it wide, moving the last stake over. The angle between her thighs was now an obtuse one. It left wide and unprotected that mass of delight between her white columns. He gazed down at her. The lips of her vagina were pink and fleshy, a muff of hair receded from their surroundings.
Cesare walked in between her legs and pressed her vagina with his big toe. She gave a little scream and tried to recoil.
“You can have anything if you'll get me a horse,” she gasped, “pardon, money, jewels- anything you want!”
He inserted his toe slowly in her vagina. He felt it open and yield and he jogged his toe into her. His penis was sticking straight out from his loins like a handle; a drop of moisture dripped from it onto her belly.
He grinned and knelt down between her legs, staring at the opening he was going to fuck. He wanted to make her degradation complete. He lay down between her thighs with his face right up against her mossy opening. He pulled the lips wide apart with his thumbs and pushed his lips against her warm flesh. He kissed and licked and then he poked out his tongue into her hole.
Carlotta strained at her bonds and gasped out exclamations of horror and shock. “Please, please!” she begged. “No, no!”
Cesare continued to lick. He had found-the clitoris which was soft, unresponding and was sucking it hard, intending to hurt her physically as well as mentally.
At the same time he slipped his hands up under her behind, his fingers rustling on the bed of old leaves on which she was pinioned. Her buttocks squirmed tight and cringed at his touch. But so widely were her legs splayed apart that she couldn't hide her dark, little hole and he began to push it and pull it apart, so near to his lips.
“Oh, God, God, no, no!” Carlotta was almost in an hysterical delirium. But that only increased his thirst for revenge.
He released her anus after a while and caught both her wide-spread thighs, pulling her pelvis down at his mouth, pushing his tongue up into her passage as far as it would go. She was small, and obviously a virgin. He wondered if she'd bleed when he had her. He wondered if it would shame her more to bleed. Perhaps he shouldn't finger her too much for fear of making his passage easier.
He brought his tongue out of her and knelt up on both knees, looking at her body. She was a flesh and blood dummy there for him to use. There was nothing she could do or say to stop him from doing anything he wanted to in any way he pleased.
He lay down on her and slithered up her body. She gasped again at the horror of his weight on her and what it meant. Her breasts were firm and springy under him, balancing him up like two rubber cushions. Down at his thighs was a void, just the leaves under him, no thighs of hers, nothing. She was pulled too widely apart; there was just the almost horizontal line of legs and pelvis.
He put his hand down there and felt for her aperture. It was moist, but tight, difficult to open a little. He took his prick in his hand and aimed the knob at the small hole he'd found. She squirmed away, but there was no hope. She began to cry and to-mutter a prayer. His knob was against the little orifice. He drew back his hips a little and then lunged forward and up.
A choking cry of pain burst from her lips as he smashed through a tight channel, right in and up, bursting the hole all the way until it was just too tight to take the rest of his thickening stem.
He drew his prick back a little. It was so tight in her passage that he felt a stab of pain in his organ, a pain that was exciting because it seemed to draw the fluid from him with his first thrust. He rammed up again, tearing farther this time so that his teeth gritted with the painful ecstasy of it.
Carlotta uttered a low groan which seemed to expand and contract as if she couldn't get her breath. She seemed to fade into a half-stupor, still crying and very white.
The sight of her pale, agonized face acted as a spur to Cesare penetrating her. He wanted to get up and up, right up into her haughty belly so that he could see that haughty face creased in the painful knowledge that a man was raping her, shagging that guarded treasure of hers so that it was numb with pain.
The pull on his penis was like the hug of a mountain bear. It was almost unbearable, but just bearable because it was so exquisite at the same time.
He flexed his hips at the horizontal bar of her legs and pelvis in sharp, powerful movements. His prick ran solidly up, bringing his loins against the fleshy undersides of her thighs with a bump. He was panting hard. There was such a tight pull on his organ.
He felt warmth and wetness. She had bled. It made it easier. He crammed it in short strokes, flicking up the last with an extra thrust until he could feel his knob right up in her as something separate from the rest of his penis. It seemed to make contact with something in its path in addition to the crunching pressure all around its hot, drawn-back length of skin.
This seemed to be the most pulverizing screw he'd ever had, and the sweet sensation of vengeance made it all the better, all the more sadistically exciting to grit his teeth and curl back his lips in passion as he seared into her squirming channel.
He grasped and squeezed her thighs in a grip that brought her out of her semi-coma and made her groan with a fresh awareness of reality.
He slipped his arms around her, grazing them on the leaves, and hugged her to him, crushing her in his strong arms. She was utterly in his power, crushed in his arms, crushed by his great, in-tearing mast. As a final possession he crushed his lips again on hers, forcing them savagely apart, feeling them yield and slip back on her clenched teeth. He bit her lips and the teeth came apart enabling his tongue to invade her mouth.
His prick and loins were boiling. With each thrust it seemed as if matter were being drawn from his penis with a hot poultice. His loins were churned with chilling, twisting clasps which seemed to be tearing out his very guts.
“Oh, God… oh, wonderful!” he breathed- and then half-remembered that he shouldn't speak and fresh words merged into animal sounds of passion.
He leaned his body up from hers, pressing his knees into the leaves. Now he could exert more weight, more of a thrust from his loins. He slipped his hand down holding her buttocks, each oval of smooth flesh in his hands. At each stab he pulled her lower body hard against his loins, letting out a groan of pleasure.
Carlotta, her face wet with tears, could manage no more than a continuous whimper- the proud beauty was reduced to a sniveling, agonized toy. Her lips trembled, the bandage around her eyes was soaked from her weeping.
Cesare felt the end approaching in a delicious agony. He pushed his prick ruggedly in to its full length and pressed there, trying to push farther than was possible, while he wriggled his hips against her pelvis, brushing her pubic hair with his, flattening the fleshy rims of her vagina.
He reached to her breasts with his hands as he felt the scorching helter-skelter from his stomach to his genitals. He grasped them, twisted them so that she cried out afresh with pain. He pulled her nipples. His face was a mask of lost, bacchanalian sensuality. His hips jerked and jumped, screwed and squirmed as if of their own volition while his hands trounced her breasts and his eyes glazed over.
“Ah, ah, ah!” He couldn't hold back the eruption of his breath. Carlotta cried out in despair, recognizing that she was soon to be filled with the polluting sperm of her tormentor, the final, cruel, inescapable indignity.
A rack seemed to be torturing Cesare's organ, pulling it, distending it, punishing it with a voluptuous, throbbing clench.
His hands moved off her marked, reddened breasts, clamped on her waist, jerked her hips at. his prick. He slowed his stroke, surging into her to the very root of his pulsating tube. His head swayed back on his neck, his chest heaved with choking breaths, his buttocks clamped together as he flexed inwards, his hands made fresh marks on her waist. It was here, here, gathered ready to fly, gathered, gathered, couldn't be held. “Uuuuugh!” His head jumped, his teeth gritted and fell apart, gritted again as he pumped the full extent of his lust between her legs, discharging it into the slim, gripping channel.
The princess lay under him, her head turned sideways into the leaves. It was over now, over and done, an eternal, ineradicable shame. The tears dried on her face, her head ached, her vagina ached and throbbed. It felt swollen and inflamed and her breasts hurt. She wished she were dead.
Slowly Cesare climbed off her. He stood up, wiped his penis on one of her garments and looked down on her. There was nothing haughty or inaccessible about her now. Her body was marked in a number of places from the rough usage he'd subjected her to. And her gaping legs were divided by a red, raw-looking area of flesh where his prick had scourged her.
He looked down at his organ as he wiped it. It was red and hot and there were traces of her blood around its limp base. He wiped the blood off and threw the garment down beside her.
He dressed with a feeling of triumph and satisfaction and, leaving her fastened and spread-eagled, walked back through the trees to the clearing.
Most of his men had finished loosing their lust on Carlotta's ladies-in-waiting. Some were dressing, others still naked, yet others still bobbing on the nude bodies of their prey. Many hadn't bothered to seek the privacy of even a small bush in order to indulge their sexual appetites.
Cesare gave a loud whistle and after a few minutes lookouts rode in. They had taken up their posts as a matter of course although it was highly unlikely that there would be any wanderers at this depth of the forest.
The Duke indicated to the newly-arrived that they were to take the places of their companions, a task they fell to with gusto, while those who had worked out their passion moved off through the trees to keep guard.
Beckoning to three of his men, Cesare led them off toward the spot where Carlotta lay.
“Have her one after the other,” he told them in low voice on the way, “and make her suffer.”
The men grinned lasciviously. They considered themselves lucky to be offered the most noble lady of the group.
For a while Cesare watched his men tormenting the prostrate body of the princess as a preliminary to fresh rape, then he walked off through the trees to make sure the lookouts were well posted.
He felt highly satisfied with the day's events. He had taught Carlotta a lesson she would never forget. It was very probable she'd feel it necessary to leave the French Court. In any case he wouldn't have her now even if she suddenly agreed to his suit. She could keep her dowry.
Cesare had no fear of discovery. The coup had been well planned and executed. He was aware there was a slight possibility that in some quarters suspicion might fix on him. But he was not afraid of suspicion. And for the most part it would not be dreamed that such a dastardly crime could be authored by any but the crudest of brigands.
He and his men, he mused, would ride back — with suitable scouts-along the tracks made by the princess and her cortege on the out-coming journey. Near the fringe of the woods they would have to separate into pairs and ride off in different directions, getting back to their quarters at different times and from different directions. They would leave the women tied to trees with the dead for company. By nightfall the King's men would be scouring the woods in search of them and their cries would soon bring about their rescue. He'd have them left naked so that Louis' men would also have a very astonishing eyeful-an eyeful they would hardly be able to keep to themselves. And so the story would be quickly spread.
Whistling softly, Cesare finished the checking of the lookouts, and strolled back to the spot where Carlotta was finding over and again that her flesh was not inviolate.
The sun was still splaying through the leaves, though from a more acute angle. Perhaps he had time for one more act of revenge. Perhaps if he screwed his prick into her ass that would be the crowning indignity.
He skirted the clearing, avoiding the locked couples from whom gasps and screams emitted at intervals in a more or less regular accompaniment to their rustle of movement.
The last of his men was reaching the climax to which Carlotta's well-gripping passage had brought him and Cesare squatted down with his other two henchmen and watched the man from the back view, his balls dangling, his behind tensing as it swept forward and his rod widened her. Carlotta no longer showed any emotion except for an occasional gasp as an extra-hard thrust took her by surprise.
In a low voice Cesare gave orders to his men.
“When he's finished you can leave me with her for a short time. Go back and help the others lash the women to trees. Make sure that they remain blindfolded-and not a word if there's any chance you'll be heard.”
The buttocks of the ravisher were whipping in faster and faster, the backs of his thighs trembling. He gave a staccato series of coughing barks in which his body straightened and jerked convulsively. Then he staggered back from her on his knees and rested, kneeling, with his head dropped forward onto his chest.
Nobody hurried him and after a minute or two he turned, grinned without embarrassment at his companions and began to dress.
Cesare waited until all three were disappearing through the trees and then he stood up and walked over to Carlotta. Her body exuded an air of crushed and beaten animal. She could go no lower-she thought.
He took his knife from his belt and cut through the cords binding her wrists. She lay there, motionless. He pushed her with his foot and she seemed to come to her senses. She moved her hands up to the blindfold but he knocked them down.
Carlotta cringed in terror, completely subdued by the treatment to which she'd been subjected. He watched her, a cruel smile on his lips, until she moved her wrists and began to massage one with the other. She made no further attempt to remove the blindfold.
Watching her, ready for any movement to release her eyes from their confinement, he cut the bonds from her ankles and, painfully, she moved her legs together and wriggled her feet. She gave a little moan as she sat up and her vagina brushed the ground.
For a few minutes he allowed her to move her limbs and then he gathered the pieces of cord and knotted them into lengths again.
When he seized her, she made no effort to struggle. He turned her over so that she was lying face down on the ground. She lay pressed into the leaves, lifeless while he ended her brief freedom by fastening her wrists to the stakes once more.
He stood up and looked at her buttocks. They were like swollen buds preparing to burst into bloom-a little soiled from their contact with the ground-inviting a touch, to be fondled and held.
She had made no attempt to press her buttocks together or even to close her legs. She lay limp, exhausted, legs and arms slack, waiting for whatever was to come. She'll never be the same again, he thought with grim satisfaction; something in her will be broken forever-apart from her maidenhead.
He undressed for the second time that day. Desire was welling up^: in him again like a dried-up river suddenly growing again with the floods.
His penis when it flipped into view was still pink, with veins standing out on it prominently. It was hot, too, and heavy, needing a fresh release.
It was still warm in the spots where the sun's rays crept through the tangled branches, but the air was cooling. He braced his wiry body. His penis was the hottest part of him.
Carlotta stirred and groaned. He bent toward her to hear.
“No more…” she murmured. “No more… have pity… please.”
Her helpless throwing of herself on his mercy produced an opposite effect to the one she desired. It made a nervous throb pulse in his chest, a little crest of sexual excitement, which began to break over his body like the surf on a shoreline.
He kicked her thighs apart with his feet. She let them flop where he kicked them. She had no more strength to resist.
On her thighs he could see the layer of slight, fair down, but her bottom, so smooth as to be almost glossed with a sheen, held his gaze. He gripped his organ in his hand. It felt enormous. He wondered how women could take it all. It moved in his hand involuntarily, a little jerk over which he had no control.
He sank to his knees on the soft bed of leaves and stroked her buttocks with a hand that quivered. He caught each of the glossy hillocks and pulled them apart. She stiffened, tried to close them together and then gave up as he jerked at them rudely again.
Her anus was disclosed like the center of a flower whose petals are pulled apart. He gazed at it. It was hairless, simply a small garden of the same slight, fair down leading up to its crinkled edge. From the crinkled edge, the little pouchy slit curved into itself redly.
Cesare ran his tongue over his lips. He settled down on her back, kissing her spine. He slid his hands between them and drew the buttocks apart like curtains and wriggled his prick between them. Alongside his prick he let his fingers glide, feeling the way. His index finger encountered the sudden rubbery point of her posterior opening and he nosed his knob after it, prodding tentatively.
“No, no… please, no!” he heard Carlotta's weak, muffled appeal beneath him.
He pressed down vertically with his stand of rigidity. He felt it come in contact with the spot and took his hands under her loins, gripping her tightly.
For a number of little strokes which were just rebuffed pressures on her anus, he jogged up and down, pushing his loins at the soft cushion of her rump. In, out, in, out, he sawed without any specific feeling but a growing sense of pressure, vague and ill-defined in his genital region.
The princess, who might have been his wife, lay quivering under him, knowing that he was about to sodomize her, not knowing what it would be like, only aware of the intense shame which burned in her like a disease.
Cesare pushed, pushed, levering his whole body on his stiff stem of flesh until it suddenly broke through with a great grip on his knob. Carlotta uttered an agonized cry which sputtered into a gurgle.
He pushed down, thrusting into her, feeling his prick sliding in, now, the slapping pressure fitting tightly and strongly-defined along his inflated flesh.
Carlotta began to struggle, trying to press her thighs together under his, finding new strength to twist and fight against her bonds, “No, no! I can't bear it!” she cried.
But Cesare held her in spite of her struggles and plunged more and more thickly into her with a slow swampy advance which seemed to be tearing his rod to shreds.
His victim couldn't keep back fresh tears. The pain forced them out of her eyes. The agony from her anus spread up into her throat and choked her. She felt sick and slightly dizzy. She continued struggling in her mind even when her body was not making movements, was taking no direction from the mind.
Her head was dazed, but through it all she was aware that his thick protrusion was entering her behind, spreading it, opening it up, making it wet and large, splitting it, making it ache, burn and protest with pain and indignity. She bit her lips until they were warm and wet. She didn't know it was blood on them.
The daze in her head was a mixture of pressure from her behind and noises from around her. It was only later that she realized the noises-which seemed impersonal-were those of her own groaning and his gasping on her back.
Eventually the pain meant nothing. It was simply a continuous, overwhelming cutting away of that opening between her buttocks, an enlarging which felt like the whole of her innards being pushed up into her chest and out of the way of the intruding pike.
There was pressure all around her, which she also recognized later as the weight of his body on her back and backside.
For a long time the tearing, chafing in and out which was a wave of advancing and withdrawing torment, went on, until she was aware of herself performing certain actions which were dictated by his guidance. She was kneeling up with her head left on the leaves. Her thighs were widespread and pushed in under her. Her legs felt stiff and jelly-like at the same time.
She was aware of a greater edge to the continuity of pain, an extra pricking stab which her new position had enabled him to make. Now she was sure that her body was being ripped from that tiny point which now seemed so large, as if the entirety of her behind were just a gaping hole.
She became aware of another pressure on her waist just above the hip bones. That was his hands, pulling her back onto his enormous, indefinable mass of intrusion, pulling her back as his weight pushed forward and surged into her behind with a fresh shattering wave of pain every second.
Cesare skewered and screwed in from all angles, moving his hips at and across her bottom. His prick was burning again. It had never felt so deliriously crushed and pulverized — and yet so huge and swollen because the great pressure made it more acutely sensitive along the entirety of its throbbing length.
As he swept in, his belly smacked against her bottom. The well-fleshed buttocks provided a buffer from which his body recoiled with a spring before flowing in again with a smooth, agonizing fluency.
His penis was undergoing the most voluptuous torture. He wished it could go on forever — but he wanted it to gather momentum as well, to sweep to the inevitable climax which was such sweet torment.
In and in he surged, his prick tearing right in until it was completely swallowed and his hair squashed against the down on the inner crack of her buttocks.
He felt the liquid of climax growing in intensity and his mind reeled with the pleasure of it. His mind took in the groaning of his soft-fleshed victim, the abandon of her posture, her helplessness, the fact that she was crying again through her groans. He gripped her waist like a vise as he felt the thin, fluid movement right up to the base of his rod.
The moment of oblivion, wonderful oblivion was almost on him. He gasped for breath, his chest heaving in great, gasping sighs. His prick was crushed and squeezed beyond endurance. He couldn't keep on at the same pitch. It was too much.
The fluid blocked into a great, pricking weight at the base of his penis. He couldn't hold it. His mouth twisted into a multitude of ungovernable shapes. Her buttocks were there containing his penis, glossy and smooth, lovely and exciting and her prostrate back and her thighs like a tripod under her and her groans and her sobs. He couldn't hold it. It was rushing suddenly along the thick length of his staff, terribly clear and acute like scalding water. And it flowed straight through and burst from his knob with a force which dragged a long, grating cry from his mouth. Twisting his mouth under the cries he smashed his prick home again and again, ridding himself of a great-weight of sperm letting it shoot up into her, hearing her cry out sharply every time he shattered in.
By the time he felt sufficiently recovered to dress and return to the clearing, the sun had gone down and the twilight was on its way.
His men were waiting for him. Their naked victims were already grotesquely attached to the surrounding trees in positions which were at once revealing and comic.