BDSM Library - Given to the Women

Given to the Women

Provided By: BDSM Library
www.bdsmlibrary.com



Synopsis: Nineteen year old Monique Desalle in a prisoner of a cruel and sadistic Emir in a remote part of North Africa. When her plan of escape fails she faces an ordeal at the hands of the Emir's female torturers in his infamous Punishment Courtyard.
Given to the Women
by Cortez

Dragged from the darkness of the cells, Monique Desalle was dazzled by the sun
blazing down into the Emir's dreaded Punishment Courtyard. Slowly adjusting to
the light the young, blonde French girl blinked rapidly, still in the shadow of
the deep, tiled veranda. The high, whitewashed walls were pierced at intervals
by archways, some obscured by intricate fretwork grilles, some like the one
she'd just been pulled through, guarded with iron barred gates.

The courtyard itself was paved with smooth stone slabs. The young woman looked
out then kept her head lowered, trying to avoid the sight of the horrible
looking devices and heavy wooden shapes scattered round the enclosed square.
Perhaps by not looking she could pretend this whole thing was just a
nightmare...

One step more and the nightmare became only too real as she saw the other girl
hanging by her wrists from a beam at the front edge of the veranda. Her legs
were stretched wide apart, each ankle lashed tightly to an iron ring set into
the tiled floor. The stripes of a recent whipping stood out like fine red lines,
criss-crossing her brown skin, the weals even lacing the wide aureoles and
prominent nipples of her small, high breasts.

The girl's heaving breaths, the quivering of her stomach muscles and the thick,
wet cream lacing the lips of her sex told Monique that she had not just been
flogged, but she had been made to come to a climax within the last few
minutes... and not for the first time either that morning by the evidence of the
gasping, lolling exhaustion on her face.

Monique gazed at the slim figure of her maid, Nula, in horror; her hopes of a
last minute rescue finally dashed.

"After last night... did you not think I would have you watched?' The Emir
chuckled, his gross body wobbling as he lolled back on a mound of cushions
studying the near-naked French woman held before him in the iron grip of two
guards. As he had ordered, she had been tied at the elbows with her arms behind
her. With her shoulders forced back, her full breasts thrust forwards obscenely,
the pink stubs of her nipples standing proud and ready as though offering
themselves for the Emir's attentions.

The Emir giggled, enjoying the mental torture of toying with her. 'Oh, I see...
you think that your maid over there might have managed to deliver that urgent
message you gave her.' He held up his hands in mock fright. 'And now, I can do
nothing to you because foreign soldiers are on their way to free you...' He
licked his lips, enjoying the moment. He paused, picked up a single sheet of
paper and pretended to study its contents. 'Unfortunately, she was...
interrupted, in her task.'

Monique's incriminating letter, entrusted to Nula only hours before, was
casually tossed aside. 'So, no soldiers... and no rescue either. Such a pity...
for you, now you will be able to watch my two little persuaders helping your
traitorous maidservant to understand the penalty of her betrayal...'

He giggled again, thick lips curling in a cruel smile, as he looked down to
where two young Arab women, each one naked, apart from gold bangles at wrist and
ankles and a gold cord round the waist, were curled up, catlike, on the rugs at
his feet. Monique, her last hope shattered, shivered violently as she looked at
the eager, smiling faces of Emir's two dreaded torturers.

'Of course, in a little while, it will be your turn...' he went on. The two
women smiled broadly at his words, their own expressions hot and avid with cruel
anticipation.  Making sure that Monique could see, they stretched lazily on the
cushions, soft fingers moving and caressing each other, one gently stroking her
companion's long dark nipples while, in return, the other traced her finger tips
over the plump naked lips of her friend's sex.

Both of them wet their thick, full lips, their gaze fixed on the young French
girl, their kohl-rimmed eyes studying her slim curves. Monique Desalle shivered
despite the baking heat as she watched their deliberate sex-play, knowing that
the awful stories were true. These were the ones who had spent the morning
whipping and pleasuring Nula for the Emir's amusement as the captured maid hung
helpless from the beam.

Although the guards had ripped her cotton gown away completely, the nineteen
year old was still wearing a black cache sexe, the waist band pulled high on her
hips so that the bulging V of her sex was cupped and emphasised by the
abbreviated triangle of taut fabric. Monique trembled uncontrollably, knowing
the agony that must soon come. The two women's smiles deepened as they saw how
the French girl's trembling fear was making her full, pink-tipped breasts,
jiggle and bounce delightfully.

Monique tried to twist away as the two women padded across to her but the guards
just gripped her arms even harder. She bit her lips as soft fingers tickled the
out-thrust globes of her breasts, feeling the familiar betrayal of her body as
her nipples hardened and rose under their expert touch. She writhed, trying to
remain silent as sharp nails scratched and scraped the delicate pink flesh of
each stub and its wide, tender aureole.

In a few minutes the women had brought each nipple to an aching hardness and
Monique was panting and moaning, writhing in the guard's hands as the torturing
nails continued to tease the delicate flesh of each breast.  'I am Ria... and
this is Mena,' the taller woman whispered, teeth nipping at Monique's ear. Her
hand traced down the French girl's quivering belly so she could play with the
pouting bulge still cupped by the black silk. 'No need for this now....' She
said softly, fingers scraping over the taut fabric and teasing the swell of
Monique's labia so that she twisted even more wildly against the coarse, grubby
fingers of the guards.

With Ria still tickling her cunt, Monique felt Mena's hands on her hips, soft
fingers easing the waist string down as she peeled the clinging wet fabric away,
pausing to tease the cord to and fro between her buttocks before pulling the
tiny garment down completely to reveal the prominent lips of the young French
girl's clean-shaven sex. Ria's fingers returned to stroking the now-naked labia,
gently tracing along the moist split of her cunt.

Kissing Mena over the French woman's shoulder, Ria brought another anguished
moan from her victim as one finger slipped deeper to caress around the fleshy
hood at the entrance of her cleft, using a tormenting feather touch to bring the
bulb of Monique's clitoris to full erection.

The finger circled in the wetness, just grazing the tip of the little stub with
an expert stroking movement. Monique twisted and surged in the grip of the
guards.

'Ah, Aaah, p-p-please, ah yes, aaaaaaah!'

Then she was suddenly left panting as the finger was withdrawn.

'Enough... it is time for you sing for us...come,' Lia whispered. Monique
squealed as each of the women gripped one of her nipples, pinching the hard,
pink tip between finger and thumb. The women smiled at each other, nodding for
the guards to release their hold. Hearing Monique's gasping cries and frantic
pleas they simply twisted their fingers harder, pulling unmercifully as they
forced her to walk out into the blazing sun of the courtyard, led by the
agonising double grip on her teats.

Once out in the full glare and heat they stopped, forcing Monique to look at the
devices scattered across the hot stone slabs of the Punishment Courtyard. With
relish they turned her, twisting their hands on her nipples to move her as they
wished, making sure she studied each one of the Emir's favourite torture
instruments in turn.

To one side, a four-legged stand supported a black metal saddle, very much
abbreviated but with an unmistakable domed shaft curving up from the centre. To
the left of the saddle, on a stone block, a small bowl held a bed of charcoal,
grey with ash. There was no flame or smoke, but Monique could see the shimmer in
the air that revealed the heat coming from the coals.

Near the saddle, and mounted on a circular stone slab, a single polished stake
rose almost chest high. Arm thick at the base, it tapered, not to a spike as
Monique expected, but to a flared crest, almost the size and shape of a plum.
About eighteen inches from the base, two small pegs jutted out...

Monique shuddered as she was forced to look at the grim stake. Knowing exactly
what it was for, she imagined the women ordering the guards to lift her up, then
both of them giggling as they held the lips of her body open so they could slide
that cruelly blunted end into her body.

Monique shuddered again at the thought of the fierce, unending pain as the stake
slipped deeper and deeper, her descent halted only when she could balance
precariously with her big toes alone resting on the little pegs, the muscles of
her calves and thighs on fire with agony. She knew that the final torment would
be the sight of the Emir and his women, taking their ease, laughing and joking
as they waited for the moment she would slip... and begin that final, agonising
descent.

Building up her fear by taking her to each device in turn, the women pulled her
towards the stake only to turn away at the last moment.

Another few stumbling paces and she was taking in the details of a curved and
padded whipping frame, all black wood and leather. Monique, trembling at sight
of each new horror, could see exactly how she would be made to straddle the end
of the block, how each leg would be bent double to open the cleft of her bottom
before being strapped immovably in place.

Then, finally being forced forwards, far over the rolled leather pad, her arms
pulled down until her wrists could be tied to the base of the frame, leaving her
open and helpless to whatever they might wish to do. Just to leave her in no
doubt, a tall earthenware pot beside the frame held a selection of long canes
and bamboo rods... all looking as though they were well used.

Another teasing pause as Monique's heart raced in fear but the women tugged her
aching teats again and Monique was forced to stagger on. Further round the
courtyard, two strong uprights stood alone, a U-shaped slot cut into the top of
each post. Monique shivered as she wondered what diabolical torture they might
involve...

Her terrified imaginings were cut short as the women twisted her round, pulling
her back past the impalement stake and the iron saddle to the other side of the
courtyard.  On their own, two iron posts supported a serrated brass bar. A
narrow wooden platform stood beneath the bar. Short wooden stakes were set in
holes in the slabs on either side.. The top of each stake was stained... and
shaped into a blunt point.

 Monique's eyes bulged and her breath rasped more quickly in her throat as she
looked at the polished brass rail and the line of blunt zigzag teeth crowning
its top edge.  Before her capture, back at the camp, she had heard whispered
talk of girls being tortured by being made to 'ride the Brass Mare'. Now she
realised just what the Emir's 'Brass Mare' was; and knew with a sick certainty
that it was her who would be riding the diabolical device in a few moments time.

The two women released their grip on her nipples, giggling to each other as she
hissed and danced in the agony of returning circulation. The Emir's words
confirmed her worst fears. 'Ah! You know of my little toy, I see. Well, now you
will ride for me, just for a little while... something for you to think about as
you watch my little ones at work on your maid...' Lia patted Monique's bottom as
she and Mena forced their trembling victim to step up onto the unsteady
platform, holding her firmly as Monique awkwardly lifted one leg to straddle the
brass rail.

This time it was Mena who cupped Monique's sex, her forefinger slipping easily
between the French woman's labia to play with the little bulb of her clitoris.
'Ah, ah no, no p-please, Aaaahhh!' Monique groaned, caught between the thrill of
the woman's touch and the anticipation of the torture that was about to start.

'You want to come? You will, many times but not yet, first you must watch
her...' Mena whispered. Still straddling the bar on the wobbly platform, Monique
looked across to where Nula still hung. 'Enough waiting... sit down on the bar
now....' Monique felt Mena's hands parting her labia as Lia pressed her
shoulders, forcing her to squat down.

'Ah, God, ah, no no, I can't,'

Monique squealed in agony as she felt her most sensitive flesh touching the
blunt serrations. She squealed again as her weight pressed the bar deeper into
the soft valley of her cunt. The two women had done this so often before that
they gave her no chance to struggle or resist. Just as she began to pant at the
agonising pressure of the bar, Mena used one foot to tip the little platform
forwards and Monique screamed like an animal as her full weight sank onto the
thin, blade-like rail.

Lia held her arms in an almost gentle grip, her tongue just licking the whorls
of Monique's ear as she kept the babbling, pain-wracked girl upright as they
both waited for the first manic cries to subside. 'There, there, such a pain I
know, but you can rest a little... move your legs out... yes, yes I know it
hurts more... but if your toes can find the stakes...'

The two women watched avidly as Monique scrabbled and fought for balance...
eventually managing to lodge her feet wide astride on the two wooden stakes,
stretching up on tiptoe to relieve the awful strain on her cunt. Satisfied with
her splayed position, Mena secured a rope between Monique's trussed arms and
then threw it over a thick, blackened beam that crossed the corner of the
courtyard above the girl's head.

'Ah, ah, Arrrggghhh! No, no Noooooo! AAARRRRGGGGHHH!'

Monique squealed even louder as Lia tightened the rope, forcing her to curl
forwards, the brass rail biting cruelly as the weight of her body forced one of
the blunt peaks against her clitoris. The women smiled, once more toying with
the French girl's full dangling breasts as they enjoyed her struggles while Lia
carefully adjusted the rope for maximum effect.

By the time the two women had finished Monique Desalle was already straining to
cope with her devilish position astride the Brass Mare. Although not sharp, the
blunt points on each stake created a dull, agonising pain in the balls of her
feet and toes as she tried to hold herself as far off the toothed bar as
possible. The splay of her legs and her tiptoe stance ensured that her calves
and thighs were already quivering with strain. Knowing exactly what would happen
next the women clasped hands and made their way back slowly to the shade of the
veranda.

Soon the girl's slow, torturing ride would begin properly.

When the strain became too great, Monique would be forced to lower herself fully
onto the bar. In seconds, the new pain in her cunt would again become too much
and she would try and lift herself back onto tiptoe once more, exchanging the
agony of the rail for the agony of the stakes and her tortured leg muscles. Up
and down, up and down, riding the Brass Mare in a blaze of agony... until of
course she lost her footing on the stakes...

The sun blazed down as the Emir and his two torturers took their ease in the
shade. Before them, sweat rolling down her lightly tanned body, nineteen year
old Monique Desalle cried and panted under a blazing sun, rising and falling in
a slow, terrible rhythm. Her wide splayed legs allowing her torturers to see
every detail of how her labia bulged and slid over the toothed brass blade, a
blade that now gleamed and glistened with the juices leaking from the French
girl's body

'Charming, such a pretty picture,' the Emir giggled as he fondled Ria and Mena
with soft, podgy fingers. His eyes were hot with excitement as he watched
Monique's desperate, slow rise and fall. 'Now for the maid again, play with her
a little for me...' He studied his grim 'toys' with the air of someone choosing
a fine vintage. 'Then... ah yes, put her on the saddle. Her mistress can see
what is in store for her too... ' As the two women uncoiled themselves and
padded across to where the slim maidservant hung between the pillars the Emir
chuckled to himself... after all, it would be foolish to waste the charcoal now
it was lit...

Mena pressed herself against the slim maidservant's back, rubbing her long
rubbery nipples over the network of red weals, her hands reaching round to play
with the girl's breasts. Nula cried out, automatically arching forwards to avoid
any contact with the raw skin of her back. Ria, waiting in front of Nula's
outstretched body, knew exactly what the young maidservant would do. Her hand
cupped the moist lips of her cunt, letting Nula's own thrusting movement slide
two fingers deep into the entrance of her vagina.

'Noooooo, no, no, you said I could rest! Not again! Please... I can't, no more,
please... you're hurrrting meee!'   

The maid bucked violently, making matters worse as her struggles only worked
Ria's fingers deeper into her cunt. Mena pressed her hips against the maid's
bottom, forcing her onto Ria's busy fingers, deliberately adding to the young
girl's helpless writhing movements by tickling the deep sensitive hollows
beneath each arm.

'Ah, ah, no, please no, no, ah, Ah... AH... AAAAAH!'

Already wildly sensitive from her previous orgasms it only took a few minutes of
Ria's expert masturbation before the young maidservant's cries turned from
pleading to pleasure. Blinking and flicking her head to rid herself of the sweat
rolling down her face and body, Monique watched from her agonising position
astride the rail as the two women brought Nula to yet another screaming climax.
Ria's hand thrusting in and out of the girl's cunt like a piston whilst Mena
brought fresh spasms from the pinioned figure as she carefully worked her
forefinger deep into the girl's anus. In devilish partnership the two women
forced the maid to climax and then held her at her screaming, pleading peak as
they fondled and probed her body relentlessly.

Monique watched in horror as each of them used her free hand to draw crimson
stripes of pain down Nula's front and sides, using their nails to scrape across
the red, raw weals of the earlier whipping. All the while their fingers rubbed
and teased the delicate tissues of her vagina and anus, forcing her to peak
after squealing peak as she bucked and twisted and screamed for the Emir's
delight.

'Enough, enough, my little ones...' The Emir clapped his hands finally. 'Let her
ride the saddle for us now!' The two women smiled as they gave the shaking,
sobbing figure a few final caresses. Whilst the guards busied themselves with
cutting Nula down from the beam and freeing her legs, they moved across to where
Monique still moved gently up and down in her slow, agonising rhythm.

Standing one either side of the French girl they caressed the dangling globes of
her breasts. Their hands, still slippery with the wetness of Nula's climax,
slithered over the pink nipples, tweaking and scratching the swollen tips so
that Monique cried out as she was forced to move more vigorously on the toothed
bar.

'Nooooooo! Please, d-don't, no, please d-d-d-don't...'

'Watch carefully then as your servant pays for her folly. The Emir has sentenced
her to ride the Saddle... Study her torment well; perhaps it will be your turn
next...' Ria's coaxing voice was thick with cruel pleasure as she cupped
Monique's chin, forcing her to look at the black iron saddle. For the first time
Monique saw the metal bands dangling from each side... and the circular iron
ring set between the four uprights just below the saddle. A ring just the right
size to hold the shallow bowl of charcoal now resting on a stone block to one
side of the saddle.

'Oh god, no, no you can't, you can't you'll kill her, no, no you can't...'
Monique screamed as she watched the thickset guards dragging the small
struggling figure of her maidservant to the saddle. No ceremony, they simply
held her arms and thighs then lowered her astride the curving metal seat. Nula
screamed insanely, back arched in pain and terror as the hollow metal phallus
slid up into her vagina then she was mounted firmly on the diabolical device,
thighs spread and legs dangling.

One of the guards buckled a wide leather belt round the young girl's waist.
Monique watched helplessly as her maid's wrists were locked into cuffs on each
side of the belt. 'Her fingers are so near her pain but she will be able to do
nothing... nothing at all, it is delightful to watch.' Ria's voice purred in
Monique's ear. 'Now just to secure her legs...'

As she spoke the guards brought the metal straps over the top of each of the
maid's thighs, clipping them so tightly that the flesh bulged over the thin
steel strips. Finally, there were metal cuffs for each ankle before Nula's legs
were bent double at the knee so each ankle cuff could be clipped to the back of
the saddle. One of the man slapped Nula across her widely splayed buttocks
before they marched back to take position on guard behind the Emir once again.

Monique felt a final pinch on her breasts, and then the two women strolled
across to the pinioned figure on the saddle. 'Are you ready, little traitor?'
Monique heard Ria ask and saw the frantic shaking of the girl's head and upper
body as she flung herself about, straining to lift herself just a very little
bit from the iron saddle, iron that would soon be heating slowly to roast the
most sensitive places on her body.

Using tongs, Mena lifted up the shallow bowl of charcoal, making sure that Nula
could watch as she carried it to the saddle. She held it in front of the
screaming girl as Ria blew gently on the coals, the grey ash flying off so that
the dull, red heat of the charcoal was clearly visible. Then Mena knelt, sliding
the little bowl between the uprights until it rested in the circular holder. Now
the charcoal bed was directly under the centre of the saddle, the column of heat
slowly warming the metal from below. 

The two women returned to their places at the Emir's feet and, for a few minutes
there was near silence. All that could be heard was Monique's panting gasps as
she continued her ride of pain and the soft click and jingle of metal on metal
as Nula continued to surge and twist on the saddle. Monique could see that he
maid's fingers frantically stretching fingers could actually touch the crease of
her thighs but she was quite helpless to move herself more than a tiny amount
off the saddle in any way at all.

'It usually takes a few minutes to become uncomfortable. After that... well, you
will see for yourself...' The Emir's voice was rich with amusement as he
listened to the first sharp intake of breath, then the racing gasps of panic as
the little maidservant began to feel the warmth of the iron between her thighs.
The girl's hands scrabbled wildly and her upturned feet flexed and twisted as
she sought to move, even the tiniest amount, away from the increasing heat.

'Help me, please... Oh p-please, the heat, the heat it's going inside, p-please
AAAAArrrrrrggggggghhhhh!'

'Did I not tell you that it is the iron man she rides on that gets hot
first...?' The Emir giggled as he watched the mad writhings of the girl. 'Remove
the tray for a moment... let her enjoy the first touch of the coals before we
continue.' The woman called Ria, obviously the Emir's favourite, picked up the
tongs and walked over to the saddle where the girl's screaming was now a high,
continuous wail. She lifted the bowl out of the ring and placed it on the stone.

Ria's long fingers found the peaks of Nula's breasts as she stood behind the
screaming maid. 'Yes, yes, it burns but now it will cool a little... and then we
will slip the bowl back again and you will feel it getting hot all over
again...' She paused, deliberately tormenting the girl, 'but this time you will
be so sore it will be a thousand times worse. Shhh, save your voice... you will
need it... especially next time when we leave the bowl in place to heat the
saddle properly.'

She bent to listen to the babbling voice of the maid. 'Stop? Why ever should we
stop? This is a lesson for your mistress and you have only just begun to teach
her the meaning of pain. See, on the veranda, Mena has turned a sand glass.
Watch the sand my little one because I will replace the bowl when the sand has
run through...'

Nula screamed again, still twisting in her bonds, her eyes fixed on the tiny
stream of golden sand falling through the glass bulb. Ria walked over to the
container by the whipping frame and selected a thin, flexible rattan rod. She
walked back to where Monique was still carefully rising and falling on the brass
rail. 'Now, let's make you work a little harder on the Mare, shall we?'

'Aaaaah! God!'

Monique squealed as the stroke sliced across her bottom. Instinctively she
reared up and then dropped back, the sudden agony of landing hard on the toothed
rail wrenching a second anguished cry from her. 

'Thwack... thwack... thwack... thwack...'    

The blows fell with an awful rhythm so that Monique writhed and wriggled madly,
the toothed rail biting viciously into her cunt as each scalding stroke laced
across the smooth tanned curves of her buttocks. Ria relished the sight of the
French woman's legs, outstretched and quivering with the awful effort of keeping
her in position and as far off the brass bar as possible.

'Ah, ah, no, no more, please, no, no, no!'

'So you wish a change, yes?' Ria giggled as she let the thin rod rest on the
ground. 'Very well, let us try somewhere else...'

'Thwick...'

'Arrrggghhh! No, no not there, no pleeeassse!'

Monique seemed to go mad, her whole upper body surging and twisting as the first
cut took her across the nipples, the thin rod indenting the stiff, swollen peaks
before they sprung back, Monique's breasts swaying and bouncing madly as she
tried to control the blazing agony of the weal crossing the peak of each breast

'Thwack!'

A wetter, flatter sound this time as Ria made the rattan curl across the wide
pink aureoles. The effect was just as dramatic with the young French girl
threshing against her bonds, quite heedless of the way the brass bar was working
and cutting into her cunt as the fiery agony in her breasts overwhelmed her
senses.

Ria had only time for three more strokes before the Emir clapped his hands once
more, signalling that the last grains had run through the glass and that it was
time for Nula's torture to continue. 'Let her ride the saddle properly this
time...' he said softly as Ria blew on the coals before placing the bowl back in
the ring below the saddle.

This time the stillness was not so complete. Nula was still crying from the
scorching effects of the first session whilst Monique was crying and babbling as
she tried to regain some semblance of balance on her torturing rail.

'Ah, Ah, ARRRRGGGGHHH!'

In minutes, the girl's cry became a high, inhuman squeal as the iron saddle
began to scorch and sear the inside flesh of her labia, the awful heat turning
the impaling hollow shaft into a spear of pain. She bounced up and down madly in
an ecstasy of agony as the saddle became unbearably hot beneath her. Lost in her
own world of agony Monique heard, in the gaps in the manic gabbling squeals, the
hissing noise as Nula lost control of her body, the stream of liquid trickling
down the hot iron to drip unheeded onto the stone slabs below the saddle.

Monique could also see the trickle of blood from where her maid had bitten
through her lip in agony, as well as the raw red circles at wrist and ankle
where she had flayed the skin away in her frantic efforts to free herself from
the blazing hell of the iron saddle. Nula was still twisting and turning,
throwing her torso into wild contortions as her cunt was slowly roasted by the
heat of the charcoal bowl beneath the saddle.

Monique was wondering just how much more the little maid could take when she
gave a single, high-pitched shriek and her head fell forwards against her chest. 
From the shade of the veranda the Emir peered at the girl, noting how her chest
was still rising and falling rapidly. He frowned, disappointed that his cruel
pleasures had been cut short.

'Feeble! No stamina... take her off! Let her recover for a few hours... she will
ride even more noisily later on.' The guards hurried to free Nula from her
torture. She screamed once again as they pulled her free from the iron phallus;
as they lifted her, Monique saw the pattern of holes from the iron saddle had
been seared into the raw red skin of her upper thighs. The lips of her cunt were
puffy and swollen, gleaming wetly as the men slid her off the hollow metal shaft
to lift her clear of the saddle. Without ceremony they dropped the
semi-conscious figure on the sandy ground before the Emir.

He looked at the shuddering figure of the girl and then to where Monique Desalle
was still rhythmically rising and falling on the toothed torture of the Brass
Mare. 'Unsaddle that one too, she still has much to endure.'

The gasping pain-wracked figure of the French girl was thrown down next to her
semi-conscious maid. The Emir smiled and looked down at the two women at his
feet. 'Do not think I am being merciful... you are promised to my little ones
for their pleasure this afternoon and they would not wish either of you to be
too exhausted so soon. His smile broadened at the hot, eager stares of his two
torturers as they waited patiently to know their master's pleasure. He waved his
hand at the Nubian guards. 'Come my doves, it is time for rest and refreshment,
Nahib, put them both back in the cells until we need them.'

Still chuckling at his own sadistic words the Emir rose. 'Come my little ones...
you shall show me again how you pleasure each other so skilfully...' Flanked by
the two young women the Emir made his way back into the fortress. In the blazing
heat of the Punishment Courtyard, the guards hurried to do their master's
bidding

An hour later, Monique Desalle curled and twisted restlessly on the stone floor
trying in vain to ease the pounding ache between her legs. The heat in the small
stone cell was stifling... the window slits let in shafts of sunlight whilst the
ancient iron grille barring the door allowed the guards to enjoy every moment as
the naked blonde, nineteen year old French girl twitched and wriggled
helplessly.

Her tanned, honey-coloured skin gleamed with perspiration and sun-bleached
strands of hair were plastered uncomfortably across her face; but there was
nothing she could to move them because her hands were still tied behind her
back. She gasped and panted continually, partly trying to cope with the awful
heat but also because every movement brought fresh agony from the angry red
weals lacing her bottom and the firm, full globes of her breasts, as well as the
deeper, throbbing hurt from the brass teeth of the Mare.

Locked in her pain, Monique Desalle was trying very hard to keep her fears at
bay. It was only too easy for her to imagine the horrible, obscene things the
evil young two women would do to her when they took her back to the Punishment
Courtyard. The thought of being impaled on the hollow shaft as she was strapped
down onto that diabolical iron saddle like poor Nula made her shiver with
terror. She remembered, only too vividly, how her maid had squealed as the
charcoal had slowly warmed the iron phallus deep inside her vagina. The slow
torture increased as the heated air caressed her delicate inner flesh through
the artfully pierced holes in the hollow shaft so her screams became shriller
and shriller before she had finally slumped unconscious from the pain.

The young French girl's panicking thoughts were interrupted by the deep note of
a gong throbbing through the hot, sticky air of the prison block. Moments later,
Nahib, Chief of the Emir's Guard, stopped outside her cell, deliberately
thrusting his hips forwards so she could see his erect penis tenting the front
of his thin cotton trousers and grinning crudely to reveal a hedge of yellow
broken teeth.

He unlocked the iron grille and signalled for two of his men to pull Monique to
her feet. Just as they'd done last time each held one arm, twisting it against
the joint so she was forced to walk stretched upright, almost on tiptoe, with
her breasts thrust out. The firm mounds and their swollen pink tips danced and
jiggled madly with each step. 

Nahib casually flicked one sore pink teat making Monique gasp and jolt in the
men's fierce grip. Obscene comments and crude laughter made the nineteen year
old blush furiously. Their laughter increased as Nahib deliberately flicked her
other nipple to make her gasp again before ordering the guards to march her
away.

Much as Nahib desired a few more moments with the girl, he knew that his master
was waiting and only a fool incurred the Emir's anger. Besides..., Nahib
thought, stroking the thick shaft of his cock and letting his thumb caress the
sensitive rim of his glans through the thin cotton... besides the Emir might
wish to enjoy the sight of his guards fucking one of them... His thumb moved,
rubbing the cloth against the sensitive 'v' underneath the helmet until he
bucked as he felt the slippery wetness leaking from the slit. Of course, as
Chief of the Guard, he would be the first...

Monique winced as she was marched into the full glare of the afternoon sun. Just
like this morning, the Emir was lolling back on a heap of rugs and embroidered
cushions, enjoying the shade of the wide veranda and sipping a glass of cool
lime sherbet.

'Ah, Miss Desalle, so good of you to join my little entertainment once more...
you are just in time to watch my pets playing another game with your foolish
servant.' He waved one chubby and bejewelled hand towards the courtyard,
'although I fear her discomfort will outweigh any pleasure she may feel.' He
giggled as Monique stared round at the collection of awful torture devices
scattered across the Punishment Courtyard.

Would the put her back on the ghastly iron saddle with its jutting shaft? A bowl
of burning charcoal was standing ready at the side.... or perhaps she would be
forced to make love to the slim, vertical impaling stake with the slow cruelty
of its deliberately bulbous tip? The wooden shaft stood ready too, polished to a
gleaming black shine with the short toe pegs jutting out one either side a foot
above the base; tiny inadequate supports to hold a victim up for those extra,
lingering minutes of agony before the final descent.

Or would the Emir make Nula ride the Brass Mare? Monique pressed her thighs
together at the sight of the toothed rail they'd forced her to straddle this
morning. Her cunt still throbbed with the bite of those blunt metal teeth and
her breasts and bottom bore the raised, angry weals of the whipping that had
forced her to ride the brass rail in agony.

She was looking at the grim black shape of the whipping frame when Mena and Ria,
the two young Arab women who were the Emir's favourite torturers, padded out
from another of the arched openings into the open area at the side of the
courtyard near their master's couch. The olive skin of their naked bodies
gleamed with fresh oil and the gold bracelets at wrists and ankles winked and
glittered in the light.

Ria, the taller of the two was carrying what looked like a giant belt, made of
thick, dark brown leather set with bronze fittings and buckles. Mena carried two
of the thin rattan canes they'd used to whip Monique with when she rode the
Brass Mare earlier. Both of them smiled in cruel anticipation as they saw the
tanned blonde Frenchwoman arched up on tiptoe in the grip of the guards, her
face gaunt with terror as she waited for their agonising attentions to begin
once more.

The Emir clapped his hands and other guards half-carried, half dragged Monique's
maidservant, Nula back into the courtyard. Like her mistress, her body bore the
weals and marks of her earlier torture. Her eyes were wide with terror and but
for the harsh grip of the two men she would have fallen from pain and
exhaustion. Suddenly she went rigid, eyes wide and her mouth gaping with fear
she saw the curious belt-like object in Ria's hands. She writhed so violently
that the guards almost lost their grip and a thin high scream of terror echoed
round the courtyard.

The screams continued as the guards forced her forwards to the open flagstone in
front of the Emir's couch. With her wrists tied behind her there was nothing the
slim young girl could do to resist and the guards held her easily, letting her
thresh about so they could all enjoy the sight of her breasts bobbing and
jiggling as she struggled vainly to avoid her fate.

Ria put the wide leather band down on the hot stones, opening it out so it was
laid flat, the ends curling up from the shaped stiffness of the thick leather.
She smiled at Nula and licked her lips.

'It seems that your servant has heard about this little toy of mine,' the Emir
giggled once again. 'Using it means much pleasure... for them, unfortunately for
your maid...' Whilst he spoke Nula was forced forwards, pressed down by eager
hands until she knelt on the middle of the wide leather strip.

Ria stroked the girl's face. 'You know what must be... bow, bow to your Lord and
Master so the corset can embrace you properly...'

'Wait!' The Emir scratched idly. 'No.... let the servant ride the Mare this
time.  I wish to see Miss Desalle wearing the corset instead...' He studied the
shivering young Frenchwoman for a few moments, 'and then you must enjoy your own
ride on my iron saddle... after all, I did promise...' the Emir's rolls of fat
wobbled as he laughed aloud, amused by the horrified expressions on his victims'
faces. 'The maid first, let her mistress watch as she rides for us...'

The girl was pulled back to her feet and the guards stepped back. The two Arab
women pressed against her, rubbing their own breasts against her moist flesh and
stroking the maid's quivering flanks. Monique watched them deliberately letting
their hands tease up so their fingertips tickled the hot, swollen tips of her
small conical breasts. Nula's head rocked from side to side so her wet hair
whipped across her shoulders and she moaned and twisted at the tormenting
pleasure of their hands.

Just like they'd done with her mistress earlier, Ria and Mena gripped one of the
girl's nipples apiece, twisting slowly so the girl moaned again at the throbbing
pain before leading her across the hot stones to where the toothed bronze bar
was held between two iron posts.

Someone had replaced the unstable little platform crosswise beneath the bar and
Ria let go of her teat so she could steady the girl as she awkwardly straddled
the toothed bar. The watchers could see the hollowing of the girl's belly and
the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she tried to ready herself for the agony
to come.

'Sit, sit down now little one... feel the mare nuzzling against your wetness...'
Ria's voice was soft; coaxing the girl down until the lips of her cunt parted to
kiss the hot metal of the mare's toothed blade. 'There...' Her foot moved and
the little platform rocked forwards, falling over with a sharp 'clack' on the
stone flags.

'IIIIIiiiyyyyyyih-ih-ih-ih-aaaaaaaaarrrggggghhh!'

The girl's frantic cry filled the air and her body locked into a rigid spasm as
she tried vainly to hold herself off the blunt torturing teeth now biting into
her cunt with the full weight of her body. 'Use the stakes little one... at the
side... they will give you relief...'

Ria and Mena brought a new squeal of agony from the girl as they pulled her feet
apart, forcing her to squat even harder on the mare as they placed her
outstretched toes on the wooden stakes set into the stones on either side of the
rail. Nula's leg muscles showed like quivering iron as she desperately tried to
hold her self a little way... even just a tiny fraction, off the blunt brass
teeth now biting deep into the delicate folds of her slit.

'And now to hold you up... just to stop you falling off as you ride your fine
steed... Mia's voice was filled with cruel amusement as she tied a rope dangling
from the overhead beam to the bindings round the girl's wrists. She moved to a
cleat on the wall, unfastened the other end and began to haul the rope taut.

'Uh-uh-uh-uh! Nuh, nuh, no, p-p-p-please d-don't d-don...Aaaaaaaahh!'

Monique winced as she saw her maid's arms rise into the air behind her back and
heard the frantic pleas for mercy followed by that single quivering wail of
pain. She knew only too well what was happening. The pull of the rope was bowing
her forwards, forcing Nula's clitoris even harder against the metal teeth of the
mare, doubling the agony. From across the courtyard Monique could see the
straining, quivering tension in the girl's outstretched legs as she lifted
herself so desperately onto tiptoe.

Silence fell,  only the girl's frantic panting breaking the stillness of that
hot, cruel place. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the slim, quivering figure
straddled over the mare's toothed back. One minute... two... the trembling of
Nula's legs became worse then...

'Nuuuhhh... uh....uh.... naaaaaarrrgggh!

The Emir grinned wetly, clapping his hands in delight as he saw the girl's
muscles relax and heard the first desperate cries as she lowered herself fully
onto the bar. Only a few moments passed and she was rising again, legs shivering
as she fought the cramping pains to lift her body even fractions clear of the
teeth. Monique pressed her own legs together, remembering the agony of the
morning... She saw her maid sinking down once more, her face contorted with pain
as she cried out in her torment.

Nula was now locked into the horrible rhythm of the torture, riding up and down
on the rail as long as strength remained in her legs. Up at full stretch...
until the cramps became unbearable... then down until the agony of the metal
teeth drove her upwards again to yet another straining effort.

'She rides well, almost as well as you,' the Emir giggled. 'No need for my pets
to tickle her just yet...' He looked at the ominous leather belt, the Emir's
corset, lying on the courtyard stones. 'Now it is time for you to embrace a new
garment.' He clapped once, softly and the guards hurried Monique forwards.
'Kneel... as you saw your maid do!'

Eagerly, excited by the thought of the torture to come, the women hurried to
Monique's side.

They pressed the young Frenchwoman down onto her knees in the middle of the wide
leather band. 'Forwards, just a little forwards...' Ria whispered in her ear,
her soft, oiled hands caressing the nineteen year old's body as she made Monique
shuffle forward until her knees were resting on the rim of the leather band.
'Sit back, right back...' their hands pulled her back to sit on her heels...
then she was being bent forwards at the waist, forced down until her breasts
were squashed against her thighs.

Now the guards took over, wrapping the supple, oiled leather round Monique's
body, folding the sides over her back to keep her in position and confining her
bound arms. All Monique could see was the ancient grey stones of the courtyard
and the feet of her torturers grouped round. The leather held her folded in a
'Z'... no pain yet, just a constant pressure and a sticky, growing heat as her
body sweated in its tight casing under the desert sun. Mena cupped the young
girl's scarlet face in her hands. 'Now prepare... breath only a little,' she
laughed, 'it will soon be impossible for you to do more...!'

A sudden, awful thudding impact and a grunt of effort from the guards and the
leather tightened like a vice, gripping her body in an awful crushing squeeze.
Monique's cries became a series of rapid, panting groans as she tried to cope
with the increasing pressure

'Huh, huh, nuh, puh, puh, p-please... nuuuuuuh!' 

Her grunts of protest ended with a sudden gasp as one of the guards knelt even
harder on her back whilst the corset's straps were tightened again, each buckle
fastened to secure the girl immovably within the leather hoop. Then, like some
sore of obscene parcel, Monique Desalle was carried to the edge of the courtyard
where two thick ropes, each ending in a polished steel hook, dangled from a
crossbar. Working with the speed of long experience the guards lifted the bound
girl, slid the hooks through the rings on either side of the torture corset, and
let her swing freely.

For Monique the world revolved in a circle as she spun between the ropes.
Gradually, the movement stopped until she hung, upside down, heels pointing
skywards and her head pointing to the stones. Fighting dizziness she tried to
control her breathing, her face reddening still more with the horrible
compression of the corset and her head-down position.

Her view was suddenly filled by the oiled curves of Mena's body then soft lips
touched her own. 'Now you will learn of the Corset's true torment...' the
woman's hands steadied the ropes and Monique gasped as she felt Ria's fingers on
her bottom. It was that touch that told her just what an awful position she was
in... for with her body compressed within the confines of the belt, only her
buttocks jutted out beyond the leather rim. Not only that but she now realised
that the position meant that the tender opening of her anus and her already sore
and swollen genitals were quite clearly displayed between the taut, parted
cheeks of her bottom. Even worse, she was quite incapable of moving to shield
herself in any way.

Ria's clever fingers teased the wet furrow unmercifully, one fingertip tickling
and probing the wrinkled, sensitive rosette guarding Monique's anus. The only
response the bound nineteen year old could make was a gasping grunt of surprise
at the sudden stimulation and a futile heaving spasm that made the ropes and the
oiled leather creak softly. Ria's fingers moved higher between the French girl's
tautly stretched and parted thighs, stroking and caressing the full, pouting
lips of her shaven cunt, spreading the slippery wetness of her unwilling arousal
and forcing Monique to respond to her insistent masturbation with frantic mewing
noises.

After a few minutes she looked across to where the Emir sat in the coolness of
the veranda... Her master bobbed his approval so she leaned forwards into the
scented, moist warmth to touch her lips to the girl's labia. Using her
fingertips she parted the swollen lips to reveal the pink inner folds and then
flickered her tongue into the wetness.

'Yyyyiiiiiiiiaaaaaaah, ah, aaaaah, hah, hah, y-yes... n-no, no, nooooooo!'

Monique's breathing raced, hissing and bubbling as she panted and gasped for
air. The leather corset creaked and groaned as she fought to flex her muscles;
to draw a full breath, even to be able to move just a little as the woman's
tongue stimulated her beyond bearing.  Then, as her head flailed wildly in her
rising excitement, her world became a hot, wet darkness as Mena's thighs
straddled her head. Now there was only the hot copper tang of the woman's
arousal and the oily pouting lips of her cunt filling her vision. Mena shivered
in delight as the young Frenchwoman's frantic panting breaths caressed her
genitals

She looked up dreamily, sharing the ecstasy of the moment with her lover,
waiting until Ria's fingers had taken their victim almost to the brink of
coming... Ria lifted her head, her face glazed and sticky from Monique's juices
and smiled back before bending her head once more. This time her mouth nuzzled
deeper, her lips spreading those delicate folds until she could flicker her
expert tongue against Monique's prominent clitoris.

Mena jerked in response to the sudden spasms as Monique jolted with excitement.
She bent her knees, pressing down so her labia parted allowing the girl's tongue
and lips to work against her core.

The two torturers joined their hands as they worked Monique to a cruel orgasm
within her corset of pain. Ria's face was buried in the cleft of the nineteen
year old's bottom as she licked and nibbled the oily pebble of the girl's clit.
Mena, gripping the girl's head between her thighs, rocking rapidly to and fro,
her body arched backwards in excitement as she neared her own peak.  

For Monique her orgasm was now sheer agony as she wailed and squealed at the
maddening sensations that she was unable to release in any way. As her heart
rate increase so her body demanded more and more air. Air that was simply not
available to lungs compressed by the leather corset and a nose and mouth half
smothered by the wet oily folds of a woman's cunt.

Monique's desperate efforts to breathe, her wild cries and the jerking spasms of
her mouth acted as an extra stimulant to the woman riding her face and Mena
screamed with pleasure as she reached her climax, drenching Monique's face with
the sharply scented flood of her juices. Caught in the bucking spasms of her own
release, Mena sank to the stones of the courtyard gasping with the effort and
the pleasure of her orgasm.

Ria lifted her face, coated and shiny with Monique's wetness, looked at Mena and
brought both hands down between the splayed thighs before her. Two fingers of
her right hand speared into the girl's anus whilst forefinger and thumb of her
left hand slid between those slippery lips to pinch and flick the tender stub of
her clitoris in a merciless, driving rhythm.

Monique Desalle squealed like mad thing as her devilish tormentor took her to
more and more agonising peaks of pleasure, forcing her to come and come again
whilst the leather corset kept any relief or movement so cruelly confined. It
was only after long, torturing minutes, when the young French girl went limp
with exhaustion, that the woman pulled her hands free. She kissed the young
Frenchwoman's cunt lips for one final time before walking back to join her lover
in the shade and leaving Monique swinging gently between the two ropes.

The Emir watched the dangling figure for a few moments before summoning the
towering figure of the Captain of the Guard forwards. The heavily muscled Nubian
salaamed deeply. 'Master...?'

'You may take her, Nahib... turn her so she rides on your manhood... I wish to
see her face as you begin...' The heavily muscled Commander of the Guard grinned
at the Emir's words and stripped off his loose linen trousers, posing for a
moment so his master could admire his magnificent physique, especially the size
and length of his purplish-black penis. The thick, ridged shaft jutted out like
a fleshy tusk, curved up so the wide domed head bobbed and danced with every
movement.

Nahib peered at the semiconscious figure and stroked his fingers round the
curving shaft, flexing his muscles so the Emir could see his readiness to meet
his master's command. Grabbing a handful of her lank blonde hair in one hand and
one protruding foot in the other, the massively built Nubian turned the
semi-conscious figure over, spinning her round on the two hooks clipped to the
rings riveted into the leather belt.

Groaning and grunting with the sharp pain of those fingers wrenching at her
scalp Monique Desalle slowly came back to full consciousness to find she was
held as though kneeling in mid air, still gripped by the awful pressure of the
corset but finally able to draw shallow breaths without the awful pounding
pressure of being head down. The Guard Commander's fingers tightened and her
head was slowly forced back until she was staring straight at the heaped silken
cushions and the toad-like, grinning bulk of the Emir.

'You see how considerate I am, Miss Desalle, allowing my guests to take their
pleasure first. But now you must repay that kindness... Show her that you are
indeed a man Nahib... let our honoured guest,' the words were soft but dripping
with cruel enjoyment, 'see the spear of flesh she will ride for my delight
before she mounts the saddle.' Nahib need no further command. He moved round
until Monique was staring at the flaring helmet of his penis, dark purple and
already gleaming with the seepage of his excitement.

His big hands closed on the shorter, finer hair behind her ears holding her head
in position so he could press the meat of his cock head against her lips... lips
already wet and sticky from Mena's juices. Her eyes strained upward trying to
see further than the solid muscles of the guard commander's belly and the thick
wiry triangle of hair at his groin. The hands moved in her hair, twisting so
hard that she felt her scalp lifting; the rubbery dome of his glans pressed
insistently against her teeth. Through the sharp, stabbing pain the Emir's voice
was faint but clear. 'Open your mouth... accept him or I will have your cunt
skinned as you hang there...' Monique shivered, knowing the threat was quite
real. She swallowed and opened her mouth.

Still panting rapidly she gagged and dribbled helplessly as the pungent, thick
meat filled her mouth and she tasted the salty slime of his seepage. Nahib used
her hair like two handles to move her head up and down, working his cock into
her throat and grinning at the wonderful stimulation of her busy tongue and
lips. The movements were slow, deliberately drawn out to increase her
discomfort... and also to ensure his master had the best possible view of the
thick, black shaft being caressed and mouthed by the full pink lips of this
foolish infidel.

He stood posed like a polished ebony statue for long minutes, only his hands
moving as they rocked the young Frenchwoman's head up and down. 'Enough, Nahib,
enough...' The Emir called, tiring of watching his servant's pleasure, 'take her
now... show her I am master here.' Nahib pulled the gleaming black shaft of his
erection free and signalled one of the guards to hold the girl in position for
him. He moved round her strapped and bound body, standing close to Monique's
jutting buttocks and rested his big hands on the brass buckles holding the
corset closed. The slippery head of his penis nudged into the offered cleft,
just sliding along the taut sensitive flesh between her anus and vagina. He
looked at the Emir, waiting for his master's whim...

'Take her as you would a boy, Nahib... we must leave something for the iron man
as well. Slowly, though... let her face show me how an infidel cries to be taken
by the spear of a true believer.'

Nahib nodded, grinning broadly at the command. He jerked his head for the guard
to stand away and then pushed the bundle that was the tightly bound girl forward
a little; the ropes creaked and the metal hooks clicked against the rings as she
moved. He shuffled on the stones, probing gently until he felt the domed head
pressing into Monique's Desalle's anus. He edged even further forwards, pushing
her out as though she were on a swing letting her own weight press back on his
wide, slippery glans.  

'Ah no, mercy Highness... stop him he will split me, please, oh, oh I can't
h-hold it p-please. Stop, stop...! Nnnnnaaaarrrrgghhh!'

The Emir grinned happily as he watched the growing panic on Monique Desalle's
face. The way she twitched as Nahib's manhood touched her just where she was
still so ultra sensitive from Ria's ministrations; then the frantic disbelief as
the young Frenchwoman reacted to the pain of the plum-sized glans stretching her
anus wider and wider.

The Emir loved these moments... the victim's staring, bulging eyes; the gaping
mouth and those gabbled useless protesting noises; Nahib's patient waiting
stance, strutted like a gleaming black statue as the girl's muscles slowly
weakened and that final, animal squeal as guard's massive penis popped through
the anal ring and she felt him filling her rectum for the first time.

A cruel expert at this kind of entertainment, Nahib relaxed his hips, pulling
back until held within her body only the tightness of her anal ring gripping him
by the wide flange of his glans. He waited, revelling in the pulsing twitches of
her muscles around that sensitive rim as she fought to adjust to the massive
invader. Then, as Monique relaxed for just a moment, he thrust forwards again,
the thick oily shaft sliding deep into her bottom and bringing a second piercing
cry from her throat so the Emir clapped and giggled with pleasure at his skill.

Now he settled into a long, slow driving rhythm, swinging the girl's body to and
fro so she was forced back onto his long, thick penis then forwards again to
feel his thickness sliding out until just the domed head kept her impaled. At
first the squeals were those of pain and terror... then the first notes of
unwilling arousal crept in, panting desperate sounds that signalled her growing
lust as the veins and ridges along the length of his cock fretted and aroused
her excitement once again.

'Oh no, please no... I don't, oh please stop him, ah please, hah, hah, aaaaaah!'

'Make the maid ride harder! Make her cry to as her mistress is pleasured like
the bitch she is...'

Warned by the petulant note in their master's voice Mena and Ria scrambled to
obey. Each seized one of the thin rattan canes they'd used earlier and hurried
over to when Monique's tormented maidservant was still rising and falling with
awful deliberate care on the toothed bar of the mare.

'It is time to ride faster... let us see you gallop for his Highness,' Ria said,
wiping the girl's tear-stained face. 'It's time to taste the whip across those
pretty globes.' Nula's hair whipped across her face as she shook her head madly,
but whatever she was going to say was lost in a sudden scream and jerking spasm
of pain as Mena brought her cane zipping through the air to brand a single fiery
line across the girl's out thrust buttocks.

Ria stepped back to give herself room to swing her arm and replied with an even
harder stroke that caught the swelling under curve of Nula's breasts just one
the edge of her dark brown aureoles, the pain making her jerk her upright so
violently that one foot slipped off its stake and she was left sitting with all
her weight on the bronze rail.

'Iiiiiiiiiaaaaahhhh!'

'Thwick! Thwuck! Thwick! Thwuck! Thwick! Thwuck! Thwick! Thwuck!'

That scream of agony dragged Monique's eyes away from the Emir. She bit her lips
as she watched the two grinning women wielding the canes and heard Nula's
desperate cries of pain over the regular sound of those thin, flexible rods
smacking into naked flesh. Shame washed through her as she realised the Emir's
evil plan was working... despite her own torments the sight of her maid's
torture was arousing her, turning the pain of Nahib's long slow fucking into a
hot, guilty pleasure. She dropped her head, letting her long blonde hair cascade
down to cover her growing excitement.

The Emir giggled with excitement and mopped his sweat- beaded forehead with a
length of green silk, sitting forwards and sipping at a cool glass of fresh
lemon juice as he revelled in the scene before him. To one side his women, their
copper bronze skins gleaming with oil and perspiration, heavy breasts bouncing
and jiggling so wonderfully, flogged the girl strapped astride the mare. He
licked his lips as he saw the first sheen of blood on her breasts; blood from
where the network of thin agonising weals had repeatedly scored the delicate
peaks of her breasts, almost skinning her nipples raw.

But the real delight was just in front of his eyes...the tightly bound body of
the young Frenchwoman, her face convulsed and contorted with the pleasure-pain
of his massively built servant's deliberately slow impalement of her anus. Like
her maid she was crying too, gasping wordlessly as she climbed towards her own
orgasm once again, feeling the torment of the cruel leather corset holding her
cramped in agony; denying any chance of riding the pleasure peaks as she wanted.

Even as he gazed at her scarlet, shiny face, lips and chin still sticky with
saliva and Mena's thick mucus, Nahib's movements became harder and faster,
jerking the young woman back so far that each time she could feel the harsh wiry
hair of his groin tickling the cleft of her bottom. In turn, his lust was also
being stoked by the sight of the writhing brown body astride the mare, the
wonderful screams of pain and the constant bucking movements as the canes lashed
her breasts and bottom cheeks without mercy. 

'AAAAAAAHHHH!'

Nahib's cry echoed round the walled courtyard as he forced his cock even deeper,
jerking rapidly and arching back in triumph as he ejaculated in long spurts. He
pulled free of Monique's cunt as he came, the wet gleaming shaft still jerking
so the last sticky white gobs spattered over the girl's taut buttocks to show
his master the evidence of his virility. 

Those final jolting thrusts had pitched Monique Desalle over the edge as well.
Already roused by the women's clever masturbation, Nahib's long, slow invasion
of her rectum had worked her to another unwilling climax and she too cried and
whimpered in the spasms of her orgasm. Her head flailed wildly as the jerking
spasms overcame her, her breath racing in shallow frantic gasps as the corset
held her immovable... just the threshing of her head and the desperate curling
and uncurling of her toes revealing the agony of yet another enforced orgasm
cruelly confined by her agonising bondage.

The sound of soft clapping brought all activity in the courtyard to a halt.

'Leave the servant on the mare... let her witness her mistress's fate and
then...' The Emir looked at the girl's bleeding, pain-wracked figure still
rising and falling on the toothed rail and smiled at his Guard Commander in
cruel anticipation. 'You can place her carefully on the stake, Nahib, once her
legs are sufficiently weakened by her exercise...'

His hot, cruel gaze returned to the dangling figure before him. 'Prepare the
infidel woman for the saddle... I have promised she shall mount my iron man and
it would be impolite to break such a promise to a guest ...' The Emir's pudgy,
ring encrusted hands clapped once more and the guards hurried to obey. The
Emir's woman exchanged glances and Ria stroked her lover's flank, fingers
curling down and under the curve of Mena's left buttock to tease the warmth and
wetness between her bottom cheeks as they padded across the hot flagstones to
prepare the saddle.

The device was the Emir's favourite torture implement. The saddle itself was
metal, cunningly curved and shaped to seat a victim with their thighs apart and
the core of their body pressing into the central ridge. The iron phallus jutting
vertically from the saddle's crest was hollow, pierced and fretted and decorated
with cunningly twisted ridges, and fixed over a round hole in the metal
saddle...

A hole that was directly over the metal ring positioned between the legs of the
torture saddle, a ring shaped to hold the bowl of glowing charcoal that waited
on the stone plinth beside the horrible device.

Whilst the guards placed Monique on the ground and carefully freed her from the
corset's grip, Mena was coating the shaft and exaggerated, bulbous head of the
saddle's phallus with palm oil, making the hollow shaft and jutting ridges gleam
and glisten in the sunlight.

Ria waited by her master's side watching unmoved as the young French girl
groaned and cried, writhing on the ground as she tried to overcome the biting
cramps and shooting agony from muscles suddenly unbound after such cruel
captivity. In her hands was the broad waist belt they'd used on Nula, a belt
with the wrist cuffs attached... the Emir's sadistic refinement of torture that
left a victim's hands free but so tantalisingly out of reach of being able to do
anything at all to stop the agony.

Finally, the guards dragged Monique Desalle to her feet and pushed her forwards
to confront the Emir once more. They held her arms apart so Ria could fasten the
belt, cinching the buckles tight in the small of Monique's back before
tightening the cuffs around each wrist and pinning her hands against her hips.

Monique raised her head, still moving slowly and painfully from her ordeal,
pursed her lips and stared at the bloated figure before her. Lack of water and
exhaustion made her voice hoarse but the Emir's eyes narrowed as she spoke and
his tongue licked over his full lips.

'Please, no more I beg of you... mercy please my Lord...' She would have fallen
to her knees but for the guards holding her arms. 'Not the saddle, please...
have mercy.'

'Your fate is already written and your mount is waiting... However,' Monique's
head lifted at the hint of hope, 'I will allow you the dignity of mounting on
your own.' He smiled in sadistic pleasure. 'Otherwise my guards will carry out
my judgement. You have a few moments to decide...' Monique's face crumpled,
tears trickling down her cheeks as the last vestige of hope vanished and the
eager, grinning faces closed around her.

From somewhere she gathered her remaining courage and took the few faltering
steps to where the two women waited. Mena had placed a wooden stool on either
side of the saddle and Monique was about to step up onto them when Ria stopped
her, grinning and holding up a polished wooden bar. 'A moment... just to make
sure you are displayed as his highness would wish.' The guards grabbed her upper
arms, forcing her elbows back until Ria could slide the bar across her back and
through the gaps between arms and body, pinning her elbows back so the wrist
cuffs were pulled tight and her breasts were thrust forwards. Giggling to each
other at the nineteen year old's involuntary display and just as they had done
that morning, the women gripped a nipple apiece... squeezing just hard enough to
ensure Monique's obedience as they turned her into position. 'Up you go,' Ria
murmured as they both pulled upwards, stretching the tender pink tips as their
shivering victim scrabbled to get up onto the stools.

'No, no d-don't I... aaaaah!'

Monique cried out again as the women twisted their fingers, their unspoken
orders making her straddle the gleaming metal column. The fingers twisted again,
cruel, pinching pain that pulled her downwards until the plum sized bulb touched
the wet, engorged lips of her labia.

'Nuh, nuh, nooooooo, no please you can't do this to me... you CAAAAAAN'T!'      

The hopeless cry echoed back from the walls and the Emir giggled with excitement
as the women dragged their victim downward by her nipples, her knees bending in
submission as the bulb sank into her vagina. The nine-inch metal shaft slowly
impaled the sobbing nineteen year old and the Emir wriggled with pleasure as he
watched her cunt lips stretching round the oiled invader. Every movement brought
new gasps and grimaces of pain as Monique Desalle sank down onto her torture
saddle.

There was a clatter as the women kicked the stools away; more gasps and cries as
Monique felt the metal penis pressing deep inside her body, the domed head
nuzzling against the mouth of her cervix. The cunning ridges on the sun-warmed
metal scraped and fretted the delicate internal membranes of her body, whilst
the wide, hollow shaft held her agonisingly stretched and open.

At long last her tormentors released their grip on her breasts and she twisted
on from side to side, her high, firm breasts bouncing and jiggling as she tried
to relieve the throbbing agony of returning circulation. Each pink teat was
jutting out like a little peg, the flesh taut and shiny, swollen from the
pinching fingers and the weals of the earlier caning.

With the women out of the way the guards cinched the flexible metal straps tight
over each thigh. Obedient to the Emir's whispered command they pulled them tight
but left her just a little room to lift her bottom from the saddle. Finally,
Monique's slim ankles were lifted high behind her, the guards binding them fast
to the back of the iron saddle so her weight was forced forwards, the sensitive
folds of her cunt splayed apart by the iron phallus to press even more firmly
against the saddle itself.

'This is the penalty of failure, Miss Desalle... now you will taste my
displeasure. Ria, let her feel the heat she is to bear.' The tall Arab woman
picked up the tongs and lifted the small bowl of burning charcoal. Carefully she
blew the fine grey ash away so the coals showed dull red in the sunlight and the
air shimmered and flickered above the surface. She brought the bowl round until
it was near Monique's belly, close enough for the column of heat to caress the
tender undersides of the young French girl's breasts. She held it in position
for a few moments, watching intently as Monique reared back trying to avoid the
searing heat.

'Oh God no... ah, aaah, aaaaaah please, it burns, please... PLEEESSSEEE!'

'Begin'

Everyone moved back into the shade, all eyes fixed on the naked sweat-soaked
figures mounted astride the iron saddle. The Emir's chief torturer smiled at her
latest victim and placed the little bowl under the saddle. She gave Monique's
outthrust breasts a final caress and padded across the stones to join her lover
at the Emir's feet.

In the silence the hum of insects and the racing pant of Monique Desalle's
breathing were the only sounds. Even her maid, still riding the bronze teeth of
the mare, was silent as everyone watched the young French girl. They could see
her fingers working madly, stretching and curling towards her groin but to no
avail. Her fingertips could just touch the crease of her thighs and the swell of
her mound but no more... she could do nothing to relieve the coming agony.

'Aaaaaaah!'

The Emir chuckled at that first, horrified gasp from the impaled rider. Monique
bit her lip, trying to ignore the growing warmth deep inside her body, holding
back longer and longer and longer before...

'Arrrrggggh! Its burning me, noooooo, oh God, no, aaaaah aaaaaaah...
Iiiiiiiiiaaaaahhhh! Please...pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseeeeee!' 

As the wild screams and pleas echoed round the courtyard Monique Desalle threw
herself from side to side, jerking up and down on the heated metal shaft, her
upper body writhing and twisting in a demented dance of agony as the coals
heated the hollow phallus so it scorched and seared the most tender flesh of her
body in an unending blaze of agony.

'Remove the bowl... let her rest for a moment... to recover before she makes
love to the iron man once more...' The Emir's mercy was an illusion. He knew
only too well that the pause would bring no relief, just a constant burning
agony as the metal cooled so slowly. Not only that but he wanted to enjoy the
Frenchwoman's growing panic as she waited for him to order the coals to be
replaced beneath the saddle once again.

His servants busied themselves with offering sweetmeats and cool juices as the
Emir studied the twitching, groaning figure on the saddle. One hand stroked
Ria's cheek as she nestled at his feet.

'Use the rod too this time... she should experience every delight before the
end...' Ria smiled at her master's words. She walked slowly back to the saddle
and cupped the young woman's breasts, thumbs just grazing the swollen nipples.

'Are you ready for the coals again... no, no shhhhh...' she soothed as Monique
started to babble, pleading with her. 'It is no use... you must endure it all.'
Monique's bulging eyes followed every movement as her torturer used the tongs to
pick up the bowl once more so she could blow on the coals to make them glow more
brightly before putting the bowl back on the stone plinth beside the saddle.
'You will taste the rod too this time...' Ria held out a copper rod for her to
see. Gently curved at the end it was barely finger thickness, tapering down to a
fine tip that swelled into a small bulb. The other end fastened into a polished
wooden handle that Ria was holding. 'First to warm it...'

Monique's eyes bulged even more as she saw the woman used the rod to stir the
coals. She was already twitching, somehow knowing what dreadful thing was going
to be done to her as Ria withdrew the rod and wiped it free of ash on a damp
cloth. The cloth hissed softly at the contact.

Ria watched Monique's growing agony... waiting as the terror mounted. 'Front or
back...?' She asked. All she heard was a wild, manic screaming in reply. A nod
from the Emir and she moved in front of the mounted woman. 'Let us start here
then.'

Steadily and carefully she slid the rod between the parted lips of Monique's
cunt delicately grazing the young Frenchwoman's clitoris with the heated tip.
She stroked her own soaking slit with the other hand as her victim arched back
and an animal squeal of total agony ripped through the air...

'NAAAAAAAAAAAH!'

Cortez

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