Annetiie [ED]


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by Ed. All rights reserved.

Year 1670. Araby

Annetjie had been aboard a VOC–the Dutch East India Company–ship taken by corsairs between Madagascar and the Fever Coast of Africa. No one had anticipated that one of the ferocious storms that occasionally trod these waters would appear to ravage the fleet accompanying the heavy treasure galleon and leave it a wallowing cripple, ripe for the plucking. Limping down to Good Hope, the Hirondelle, Swallow in English, the fat East Indiaman had been attacked by a dozen of the smaller, more agile dhows of the corsairs. Even though more heavily gunned, her lack of maneuverability and the speed of her attackers soon had the Captain of the Hirondelle dipping his colors in surrender.

The officers knew that they would be worth more as ransom than dead and so remained calm. The more experienced sailors jumped overboard, better the sharks or drowning than alive in the hands of the Arab pirates and slavers. Later, much too late while hiding in her cabin, did Annetjie Van Doorn discover the situation. She emerged on deck and loudly cursed the patiently waiting officers before jumping over the side herself, expecting a quick and clean death.

The captain of the dhow that fished her from the tepid waters had immediately seen her value and had her chained belowdecks, as much to keep her away from his lust-crazed crew as to prevent her escape. The captains of the larger dhows, with their larger crews, took all the bullion and spices. The smaller ones had to make do with what they could fish out of the water. Usually, that only meant a few work-slaves ill prepared for a life of cruel bondage in the salt mines or cotton fields. Annetjie was a surprising and potentially valuable gift from the sea. A week later, in the Zanzibar slave market, he had obsequiously approached Hassan ibn Alamut, chief buyer for Prince Abd Ishmael ibn Muhammad, known as al-Auf, the Bad. Hassan had ventured aboard the smelly dhow reluctantly, but was immediately interested when he saw the captured Frank, although he hid that interest well. Four hours, and countless thimbles of coffee later, the deal was struck for 42 gold rupees. Hassan well knew his master’s enjoyment of the unique, especially when it was an obviously beautiful young woman. The Frank’s bright red hair and cream-white skin would earn him a most hansome commission.

* * * * *

Annetjie Van Doorn was niece to one of the Seventeen in Amsterdam, the old, gray-haired heads of the VOC. She was heading back down to the Dutch colony at Good Hope from Bombay to wed the new Governor there. Already considered a handful in India, she was, in short, a haughty pampered young woman of considerable looks, great family wealth, and a monumental temper. Wedding her off to the fat old man chosen to administer the Compangnie’s interests in such a strategic port would solve many problems. Capture by Arabic pirates would only complicate things, so the ship’s officers all avowed that she had died in the attack. So far as anyone knew, Annetjie Van Doorn was dead.

A month later, she was in Oman, largest city of the Caliphate on the Western edge of the great sea. There, with a dozen other slaves, she was delivered into the care of Fouad, the head eunuch of the Prince’s harem, for preparation.

Fouad read her in an instant, having had much experience with the various royal wives, and turned her over to the ladies of the harem. That first day was a nightmare for the proud young Dutchwoman.

As a royal Prince, Abd Ishmael maintained a respectable harem of over sixty concubines—the great Mogul, the Caliph, kept more than 200 (although the Prince followed the strictures of only having four current wives). While Fouad stood back and watched with great amusement, all sixty-some went after the strawberry-blond girl.

Annetjie was immediately stripped naked and forcibly bathed, her body rubbed with coarse sponges until her entire skin was flushed a rosy red. Then, repulsed by the luxuriant hair beneath her arms and between her thighs, the fiercely struggling girl was held motionless and carefully shaved while the other slaves tittered and laughed at her embarassment. Her frenzied struggles were quickly cut short when the girls started physically yanking her pubic and underarm hair out with their fingers. The pain brought tears to her lovely blue eyes before she acquiesed and lay still for the shaving razors. They left only a small patch of red-straw hairs up at the very top of her mons, knowing how it would excite their lord. Every day thereafter she was bathed and shaved. The head eunuch insisted on examining her, stripped naked, for the slightest flaw in her shaving.

In her first week in the seraglio, Annetjie made the mistake of trying to slap Fouad during one of his intimate inspections. The fat eunuch was well versed in dealing with proud young women and caught her hand easily. As the head eunuch, he was forbidden to inflict the serious or bloody torments on the new slaves, especially the unique ones, but he was also tasked with maintaining discipline in the Harem. “Secure the Frankish bitch to the ankle stocks,” he ordered. “The bastinado for her temerity. You others may play with her as you wish.”

The women of the Prince’s harem descended upon Annetjie like a plague of locust, squealing and laughing as they stripped Annetjie Van Doorn nude. It took only moments before her slim ankles were imprisoned within the ankle stocks and her feet stuck out from the far side, with Annetjie face down on her knees.

Her blushing face was pressed down into a pillow and her naked ass stuck up behind her. Diramar, one of the older concubines, slid her hips down until the Dutch girl’s face pressed up into her notch. Annetjie Van Doorn smelled the musky scent of female arousal in her face and tried to twist her face away. A dozen of the other harem women reached in with their hands to fondle the Frank’s bare breasts, belly, and thighs. The young Dutchwoman writhed deliciously under the concubines’ assault.

Annetjie had small, well-formed feet with high curved insteps. Unlike the majority of the concubines, hers had been protected by shoes all her life. The bastinado would prove savagely painful on such soft tender flesh. Once locked within the narrow stocks, her soles stuck up and out toward the small punishment room. Fouad looked down, holding a yard-long bamboo rod in his hands. From his first sight of the foreigner, he had taken an instant dislike for her, her white skin, her lush curves, her—her utter femininity. He knew he was treading on thin ground, but his hatred was too strong. “The red-hot needles. You know where to apply them,” he commanded.

The concubines knew what he meant. The fat eunuch ruled their lives. Sarafin, the eldest ex-wife, placed the bone-handled needles into the nearest brazier of coals. Ahmei joined her, fanning the coals until they shimmered bright red and the thin lancets glowed dully. Diramar was still trying to induce the Frank to pleasure her slit, but she drew her sex back when she saw the red-hot needles being readied. She well knew Fouad’s cruelty and didn’t want any part of her genital flesh to be between the Frank’s teeth when the first agonies began. The hulking man would beat the Dutchwoman on her tender soles, but first he wanted her to suffer a fiendish refinement that would greatly enhance her suffering. He pointed to a pair of the waiting concubines. They knelt down by Annetjie’s feet and reached for her toes. Fouad gestured again and two more spread her big toes apart from the long ones beside them, exposing the thin membrane between. Then the glowing needles darted down to drill half an inch into the exquisitely tender flesh.

The pain was sudden, ghastly, and totally unexpected and the helpless nude girl couldn’t stop her sharp squeal of pain. Fouad smiled at the break. The soles of a young woman’s feet were exquisitely sensitive and their beating a hideously agonizing torment. Adding the kiss of the red-hot needles between her dainty toes would only serve to make the coming bastinado intolerable.

Three more times Annetjie’s tiny toes were held and pulled apart to expose the tender skin between them to the radiant needles. Now aware of the threat, she was able to only gasp during the fiendish applications, but was compelled to cry out once more when Sarafin and Ahmei stabbed that fine tissue just inside her little toes and the ones next to them.

The two older wives withdrew, leaving the Dutchwoman sobbing in helpless fury, her feet throbbing with hurt from the piercing hot lancets. Then Fouad began. He raised the cane, took aim, and brought it down across both of Annetjie’s tender soles with a fierce horizontal stroke.

“HUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN! Annetjie’s sudden squeal was smothered in the pillow before her, the only thing that kept her break under wraps. Still, the fierce sharp pain that exploded in her delicate feet was beyond anything she had ever expected. It was beyond belief.

WHOCKT! WHOCKKT! WHAPT! WHOCKT! Again and again the bamboo rod flew down to strike the bottoms of the redhead’s delicate bare feet, striking with a loud crack. Fouad beat the nude girl’s soles from the base of her toes to the small round heels. Annetjie’s naked young body writhed furiously under the cruel attack. The pain afflicting her soft pink feet was beyond endurance. Her insteps reacted most to the relentless blows of the bamboo cane, but the strokes over the ball and just below the toes reawakened nerves recently burned by the steel needles, a unique added form of pain. WHOCKKKT! WHACKKKT! WHOCHKKT! Only through the most extreme exertion did Annetjie hold her grunts and squeals under control and not break down into an endless wailing aria of suffering.

Fouad delivered one dozen, then two, then three to the delicately shaped little feet. Bright red lines quickly appeared across the soft white soles from ball to heel. In spite of himself, the fat eunuch admired her strength. None of the other concubines or wives could have taken three dozen strokes of the bastinado without wailing like a babe, and them largely with feet hardened from years of barefoot walking. He had, of course, occasionally beaten a girl’s feet until blood flowed and many of the tiny bones had broken. While he would prefer to beat the Prince’s slaves on their breasts or slit, he was much to experienced an executioner to neglect a young woman’s feet. Flogging them to the blood was a level of torment he would dearly love to inflict on Annetjie, but could not. Still, he was able to stroke the tender, upraised soles with twelve more vicious smacks before having her released. He was pleased at the tears he saw running down her lovely face, but would have prefered her screams. The next time, he knew, the punishment would have to be even more extreme. The next time he went after this Dutchy bitch he would go after her most private female parts with his cruel instruments of torture. The next time she would scream …

* * * * *

Enticed by the description he had been given by his concubines and chief eunuch, the Prince sent for his new slave the very next day. The girl tottered on her whipped feet into the Prince’s presence. The Dutchwoman standing before him presented a unique vison to what he was used to. Due to their extreme youth and countries of origin, most of his concubines had olive skins, black hair, and a petite size. Annetjie Van Doorn stood taller at a good 5’ 6” or so. Her long, straight blond hair was lightly shaded with hints of red born of the sunrise. At nineteen, she was in the full flush of feminine maturity, with full shoulders, deep ribcage over a slim waist, and newly swelling hips. Her thrusting breasts were especially enticing, large and well-fleshed, like ripe round pears. Even her nipples looked different: broad disks colored like apricots in contrast to the small hard paps of the Islamic slaves.

Fouad held her with nothing but a leather collar and leash about her neck and bared to the waist, exposing her lush female form for the Prince’s appreciation. Clad in a light cotton keffiya, Abd Ishmael walked slowly about the semi-nude young woman. Her hands at her sides, Van Doorn feigned subservience until he got close enough and then nearly succeeded in ripping out his surprised eyes before he knocked her out—and this a day after enduring the bastinado! By Allah! What spirit!

He couldn’t ignore the attack, of course, and meant to see the Frank tamed. This time he had her delivered into the hands of his Royal Torturer, Ali.

* * * * *

A day later, he went down to his dungeon where Ali had hung her up by her ankles from the low ceiling chains. Ali had tied her arms behind her back and then cut away her blue silk pantalloons until she dangled naked below the waist in the torchlit room. The Prince walked around her, admiring the unique combination of curves and colors she displayed. The Dutch girl sported a delightfully pert and round pair of buttocks and in front …

“By the Prophet, Ali! You have not already touched her up between her thighs, have you?” “No, Beloved of Allah,” the hulking torturer chuckled, “although the Frankish wench’s lower lips do look that way. Never have I seen such a plump and succulent pair! And look here!” Ali reached a couple of hard, fat fingers around from behind to spread the shaved labia. Annetjie squealed in outrage and then let loose a torrent of Dutch obscenities she had overheard and learned from the VOC sailors. Ignoring her obvious insults, Ishmael bent down to look. There, at the very top of her gaping slit, sat one of the largest pearlescent pink clits he had ever seen. “They grow them big in Frankish land, do they not?” the torturer commented.

“Aye, Ali. That they do. I want this one tamed to the saddle, do you understand? Make her hurt, but don’t permanently damage her.”

“And between her legs, my lord?” Ali asked slyly.

“Make her hurt, but don’t permanently damage her.”

Ishmael took a seat to watch. Yasmin, a favored concubine attended him, serving him coffee and sweetmeats. A pretty young slave born in Ceylon, Yasmin had been raised in the colony there, a slave child to a slave on the cinnamon farms, and spoke fluent Dutch as well as Arabic. Not only was she exceptionally skilled at fellatio, but she could interpret as well.

“Begin, Ali.”

The heavy Arab started with an arm-long strap of tapered water buffalo hide made supple through hours of chewing by female slaves. The very first stroke burst with a loud wet smack against Annetjie’s poised white ass cheeks and the hanging girl’s mouth erupted with a stream of angry Dutch.

Ishmael watched avidly as Ali swept the sjambok across the Dutch slave’s bottom and thighs. Yasmin, coy and talented girl that she was, found a way to slip her hand through the folds of the Prince’s keffiya to find his swelling sex. Her tiny hand worked its preliminary magic on his manhood to make the shaft fill and grow while he watched Ali flog the Frank’s back, ass, and thighs. Annetjie’s seminude body writhed from the ankle chains and she continued to scream out a steady stream of invective as the stinging leather caressed her backside with ever increasing force.

“Yasmina, what does the wench say?” the Prince asked, using the affectionate diminitive address.

“She curses you in the name of her infidel god, my lord, I apologise to say. And she insults the Lady, your mother. Most grievously, I fear, my lord.”

Abd Ishmael’s face hardened. “Ali, I have been overly kind to this Frankish slut. A bit of a spanking and she has the termerity to insult the Calipha! I release you, good Ali. Let us both see how large you can make the soft flesh between her legs!”

The next hour was excruciating for the hanging girl. Ali was well practiced at his cruel craft. SWACKKT! SWAPPT! WHOCKKT! A couple of stinging strokes would punish Annetjie’s lower back, buttocks, or upper thighs and then he would swing a crisp vertical swipe down from behind her to slap brutally against her yawning labial lips.

WHACKK! SWACKKT! SWOCKKT! The first couple bit cruelly over the cute sacral dimples on her lower back and then the third hissed down to smack viciously against the swelling red lips of her sex. Annetjie shrieked at them. “The Frank continues to curse you, my lord,” Yasmin said.

“Bleed her bottom!” the Prince commanded. “The bottoms of her legs as well, but only puff up her labia. Let us see just how fat we can make them!”

Stroke followed after stroke after stroke, each bitter slap of leather biting the Dutchwoman’s naked flesh. Hanging upsidedown as she was, the white silk blouse drooped down to expose the girl’s lower back and belly to the strap. Even as she continued her angry invective, Annetjie squealed her pain and shame as the lash continued to kiss her most private flesh. Her reactions were especially violent immediately following the brutally intimate cuts down across her spread nude genitals.

Yasmin slowly worked al-Auf’s keffiya apart enough so that his loins were completely exposed. The concubine’s caressing hands were quickly substituted by her hot little mouth, teasing his rigid prick while he watched the pretty young Dutchy writhing from her ankle chains under Ali’s fiendish flogging.

Annetjie lasted for over an hour of the barbarous whipping before Ali detected the first genuine breaking in her voice. Still, he gave her a dozen more lashes across her back and ass and gash before finally cutting her down.

Fully engorged by watching Yasmin’s play, the Prince mounted Annetjie Van Doorn, now twitching on the carpeted floor, and stabbed into her brutally. He felt his rigid penis hold briefly at her maidenhead and then pierce through the virgin membrane. She squealed in final outrage at this intimate violation. The Dutch girl’s labial lips were hot and swollen from the strapping and gripped his rod tightly as he pumped roughly in and out of her vagina, lubricated by her virgin blood. Even as inured as he was to pain and sex, he lasted only five minutes before the incipient orgasm shook his loins and he blasted his seed into the whimpering strawberry blond with a roar.

His orgasm done, the Prince pulled his rod out to be cleansed with warm wet towels. “Take her and have the surgeons treat her wounds. This Frank amuses me. I would have her body whole for our next encounter. She is altogether too proud. I will teach her the price of spurning me!”

* * * * *

Now, ten days later, it was time for her next ordeal. It had taken that long for the last of her welts to fade back into her natural lustrious pearl white and for her feet to heal. Prince Abd Ishmael decided to have her tormented until he broke her pride in the larger punishment room of the seraglio. This would bar his chief torturer, Ali, of course, as he kept his full male equipment—necessary for certain torments, but the eunuchs were certainly skilled and motivated enough to accomplish the task. He invited a dozen of his favored concubines and older (in their late twenties) ex-wives to take part in the Frank’s agonies. They all assembled in the early afternoom, after the brutal heat of the tropical sun had waned somewhat. The Prince reclined on a pile of pillows on the raised settee in the harem punishment quarters dressed in an immaculate white silk kaffiya. Around him reclined the selected houri.

Once he had settled in and had taken coffee, he gave the command and Fouad and Ahmed entered from a side entrance, dragging the Dutchwoman between them. Annetjie stood tall in contrast to the Arab concubines who attended him, little more than girls in their late teens, most of them. The Koran forbade sex before menstrual maturity, but Prince Ishmael was not a man to wait much longer. The sweetness of the grape exceeded that of the raisin, as the old texts said. The dark, bearded noble accepted a small cup of thick sweet coffee from Caramina, the youngest, while he idly played with one of Yasmin’s ripe puffy nipples through her sheer blue silk blouse. The Frankish woman wore the blousy silk pantaloons of the harem, but a white bandeau above. A long cotton cloth that met behind her neck, crossed and cossetted her tits in front, and then tied again just beneath her shoulderblades. The bandeau exposed Annetjie’s midrif and gently flaring hips from just below the top of her ribcage to the tops of her hips. The Arab Prince admired her unusual height and her two long slim legs. But it was the sight of her stirring torso, gloriously white yet luminously pink that really stirred him.

The eunuchs had bound Annetjie into a special kind of stock. Instead of the standard pair of boards with three holes, this one, carefully carved of African hardwood, held the wrists of the victim a full span behind her shoulders while a separate clamp imprisoned her long neck. The wooden stock was designed with care to press the shoulderblades of a woman back behind her and together, presenting her bare breasts up and out thrust in front for the cruel attentions of the torturers. Now the plump female gourds pushed forcefully against the flimsy cotton bandeau, straining the thin fabric tautly.

Iron rings had been set into the ends of the stocks and these were locked into chains that dangled from the ceiling. Then the eunuchs bent down and fastened Annetjie’s small ankles into iron cuffs spreading them a full meter apart. Now the lovely Dutchy stood helpless before Prince Ishmael and his concubines. The two massive eunuchs stood to her side, awaiting the orders of their Prince. A long, low table behind them was covered with a selection of instruments, bloodied torture instruments from the bloody chambers below the palace.

Annetjie Van Doorn stood tall and proud in the center of the harem punishment room. The Prince leaned back and relished the sight the Frankish woman presented before him. She didn’t look the least bit tamed now. He didn’t know how mortified she had been at her weakness during the back, ass, and cunt whipping. She had endured that without dying, as well as al-Auf’s subsequent rape. So she was determined to withstand this next ordeal with all the pride and control at her command.

His first command came as no surprise, although its execution did.

“Strip the Frank. I wish to see her naked,” he said.

Immediately, the assembled concubines sprang up. Like a pack of harpys, they descended on the spreadeagled Dutchwoman. In moments, the squealing pack of females had stripped off Annetjie’s cotton wrap and silk pants, revealing her utterly nude before the Prince. The sun was only a couple of hours past noon and all the side doors and windows were wide open, flooding the room with a brilliant yellow light that made her nude body seem to glow from within. The Prince stared at her and felt his loins twitching and filling with pleasure beneath his robes. He didn’t know why the sight of a naked young woman, bound and exposed to the cruel devices of torment, should arouse his delight as it did, but he did not care. As a royal Prince who provided his annual tribute to the Caliph, his slightest desire was catered to by fawning subservients eager to avoid his displeasure. Prince Abd-Ishmael ibn Muhammad had earned his lesser title of al-Auf, the Bad, through the sadistic and relentless indulgence to his whims. Beyond their ability to please him, he could not care less for the bodies and lives his eunuchs broke and flayed and burned. This was as it should be.

Their sole reason for existence was to please him in whatever way he chose and more often than not he chose to have their lovely bodies subjected to cruel sexual torture before he fucked them.

Now Annetjie found herself spreadeagled and utterly nude before the Omani Prince. The naked girl shivered in fear. For the first time, her proud bare breasts were exposed to the sight and attentions of the fiendish Omani torturers. They had grown in sensitivity even as they grew larger on her chest. More than anything else, she feared torture inflicted there. The secret she had refused even to admit to herself was the supreme sensitivity of her chest globes. And now she faced fiendish torments inflicted solely on those proudly protruding parts of her body. Still, she would try to withstand the brutal ordeal he could order. Even facing the worst tribulation she could imagine, she was still too proud to surrender easily. Prince Abd-Ishmael watched the Dutchwoman writhing between the stock and chains. He made a casual gesture and leaned back for another cup of coffee. Six of the houris returned to the Dutchy’s splayed body. The eldest four dipped their hands into the fragrant oil vat while the youngest knelt between her knees. Annetjie groaned in shame as her naked body was rubbed down with oil. The youngest, chosen for her long and pointed tongue, laved up between her widespread thighs to tickle her lips and clit.

The concubines, twelve inststent hands on six giggling girls, caressed Annetjie’s nude body, greasing her with the rare aromatic oils. Their hands fondled her bare breasts, belly, and ass, oiling her naked body until it gleamed. Then the Dutchwoman felt a strange sensation between her legs. Caramina had knelt in front of her and was using the techniques she had learned to pleasure a man on the Frank’s cunt, licking and probing into her vagina with her tongue. Suddenly, her initial revulsion was turning into something much different.

Against her will, Annetjie Van Doorn felt herself responding to the incessant caressing. She was a young girl in the full flush of feminine maturity and her situation was extremely erotic. Her sex flowered and expanded of its own accord to Caramina’s steady licking and she shivered as a sudden wave of pleasure swept through her naked body. Without realizing it, her teats peaked up in the centers of her aureoles, hard and pert. Not a year earlier, she had first fingered herself to orgasm. Now she felt the first tremors of that exquisite pleasure under the control of another. “Stop!” she heard the Arabic command.

Annetjie Van Doorn looked in front of her to the reclining Muslim Prince as the houri withdrew. Caramina, the one who had so devilishly aroused her slit, took seat beside him and was now spreading his ornate silken robe below his waist. Only 27 himself, the Lord of Oman was a lusty young man, slight, as was typical of the desert-living Arab. But no doubt a man; his newly revealed sex was already rising up and filling between his legs. The Dutchwoman could not help but see his erection. It was already plump as an Egyptian sausage and growing larger before her eyes, it’s single eye straining toward her loins.

Annetjie could only stare at her captor’s swelling spear. She was painfully aware of her absolute exposure in this hideous room. But still … still, so much as she hated it, the teenager relished the effect her nudity was having on this obviously virile young man. Her upper body shook, then she leaned forward, thrusting her bare breasts and loins out toward him. The young Dutchy couldn’t help herself. After the mass fondling by the concubines, her youthful body had betrayed itself. As much as she hated herself for it, the young Dutch girl could not stop herself from relishing the effect her splayed nudity was obviously having on the Prince. Annetjie knew that she was a beautiful young woman. Before she had been carted away from Bombay, she had been pursued by every young European son in the colony. All had tried to reach her newly blossomed chest with their hands and pushed at her loins with their own. Now, helpless and utterly displayed before a healthy young Emir, she felt her sex responding in spite of her upbringing. Warm wet pulses of hot sexual arousal flooded her loins. My nude body is arousing him, she thought. I am beautiful, and my beauty is straining his manhood to the point of erupting. Annetjie spread her thighs and arched her back to stick her full tits out even further toward him. While she hated herself for it, secretly she relished the effect she was so obviously having on his exposed naked penis. As much as she dreaded the savage sexual torment she knew was about to begin, she felt an unusual warm moistness between her thighs, but she was powerless to control her surging young hormones. Stripped and stretched, Annetjie could only feel her utter nudity and helplessness before the Prince. And then her ordeal began in earnest. The small Arab girl who spoke Dutch came up before her, holding a small jar of lacquered wood in her hands.

“My lord, the Prince, enjoys your body. He especially likes your nipples and slit, as they are so much unlike ours. He has commanded that those portions of your body be made bigger.” Yasmin smiled evilly. “It may interest you to know that there are many ways to do this. The eunuchs could pierce them with the red-hot needles, but my lord the Prince had decided to be merciful and not burn you there yet. Then there is a paste of oil and ground chili pepper seeds we get from the East. Spread on your nipples and especially around your nether mouth, it burns worse than the flames, but my lord the Prince may chose to honor you with his noble shaft and the chili paste would ruin you for that.”

Yasmin opened the lacquered jar and held it so Annetjie could look inside. She saw something moving within. Then she focused and suddenly whinnied in horror, wrenching her head back. Insects!

The concubine smiled at the white girl’s terror. “Special wasps. They come from the continent. Their sting is intensely painful. They also cause the flesh to swell.” Yasmin rubbed her fingers unconsciously. Once, when she had been new to the seraglio, she had offended Fouad. The wasps had wings and he had given her the job of catching the insects within their jars and pulling them off. Her hands had been stung repeatedly by the irate bugs, her fingers so swollen that others had had to feed her for days.

Abd-Ishmael al-Auf barked an order, breaking Yasmin’s bitter reverie. She took a pair of wooden tweezers and fished out one of the tiny creatures while Fouad grabbed her waist to hold her still. Wasting no time, Yasmin presented the tweezers to Annetjie Van Doorn’s left breast. She stared down at the thing, feeling its six small legs tickling her tender pink areola. Then it struck, lancing its sharp stinger directly into the tip of the girl’s teat.

“HHHHUUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!” she grunted fiercely, wrenching back against the eunuch’s barrel chest. The densely clustered nerve ending in that delicate bud flashed white-hot from the urticating venom. The flash gave way quickly to a series of rapid pulses of no less intense pain.

Annetjie’s head tossed side to side at the agony afflicting her tender left nipple. She writhed so desperately that she didn’t notice that Yasmin’s tweezers had already fished out a second wasp from the jar. The pretty blond groaned loudly, still determined to maintain her dignity when she became aware of the insidious tickling on her naked right nipple as the wasp gripped the pointed pink bud. Then came the same white-hot pang as the diminutive lancet darted into her rosy teat to squirt its aggravating venom deeply into the tender bud.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The Dutch girl wailed. Despite her best efforts, the urticating fluid filling her delicate pap with its irritating poison wrenched the loud gasp from her throat. In moments, long moments of fighting the hideous bare breast agony, both of her naked nipples swelled up into hard, sensitive caps tipped with flinty-hard teats, both throbbing with hot pain. Ever since they had first started growing at the tips of her budding breasts, her nipples had become more sensitive with each passing year—even more so than between her legs. But bad as it was, her ordeal was only beginning.

“Please hold her tightly now, good Fouad,” Yasmin crooned. “This milk-skinned bitch has one more teat that our lord the Prince would have enlarged.”

Annetjie Van Doorn couldn’t understand the rapid exchange of Arabic, but she felt the giant eunuch’s arm tighten about her waist while his other hand reached down to spread the fragile lips between her legs apart to expose the dainty pink pearl at their apex. Oh gods, gods, not that, please not that, not that, too. Yasmin pulled a third wasp from the jar, a particularly large and angry insect this time. Kneeling between the Dutch woman’s spread legs, she lifted her wooden tweezers to present the third wasp up against the Dutch girl’s notch.

Annetjie squealed in horror when she felt the tiny legs grasping and stroking her most sensitive naked flesh and then came that hideous stabbing agony at the very top of her slit, as the African wasp lanced its sting into the tip of the Frankish woman’s clitoris. “AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHHH! AAAHH, IT HURTS, IT HURTS ME SO!” NOT THERE, NOT THERE AS WELL! You’ve already caused unendurable agony in my tittie tips, but now you torment my private parts also. Oh, bedamned, you heretics, all of you bedamned!”

Caramina employed her small hands with all the deftness and skill she had learned from Yasmin to pleasure a man’s sex to play with the Prince’s rigid male shaft while he watched the Dutchwoman writhe in anguish. His dark male eyes stared at Annetjie’s nude body, relishing her bloating nipples and clit. By Allah, he thought, this infidel bitch’s body could awaken the dead! Caramina felt his surging passion and wisely eased her ministrations to the heavy rod of flesh in her hands. “Flog the Frankish wench now, Fouad, and don’t neglect those lovely plump udders of hers. I will enjoy watching them dance to the tune of your lash!”

Fouad made the thin whip pop loudly behind her and saw her cinnamon hair toss as she tried to anticipate this new threat. But the mahogany neck brace effectively prevented that. Annetjie Van Doorn could only look straight ahead at the black-bearded Prince and his female attendants watching her.

As he stood behind her, the head eunuch was entranced by the sight her breasts presented. Every other houri was petite and small-breasted. This Frankish wench’s tits were already so incredibly fat and round that he could see their outer curves jutting out to either side of her slim torso. Fouad smiled to himself. This would be a delightful task. He well knew how sensitive a girl’s naked breasts were to the kiss of the lash. If this white-skinned bitch was larger and rounder there, then she would be just that much more sensitive. He couldn’t see her nipples, but knew well from past experience how turgid and achingly tender they were after the wasp treatment. The Prince had all of his eunuchs castrated by women at the age of ten, before their genitals matured. No balm was applied; only the hideous cauterizing irons. Only a third survived and they maintained a deep and abiding hatred for women until they died. Denied forever the knowledge of orgasm, the eunuchs took their small peverse pleasures from tormenting the women given into their charge. As Annetjie displayed the attributes of her sex to a much more pronounced degree than the others, so her coming ordeal would be all the more agonizing. Fouad looked to his Prince, eagerly awaiting the command to begin.

Fouad had brought with him two of his favorite whips, capable of inflicting the most grievious pains. The first was a hyena’s tail, soaked in brine and attached to a two-foot long handle of ironwood. With this cruel weapon, he had absolute control. Sweeping across the flesh, he could slice it like a knife if he so desired. But that was reserved for executions, when the woman was condemned to be whipped to death. At three-quarters strength, the hyena’s tail would burst against the skin with a hideous force and leave a long red line of agony behind, but not break the skin. The other was similar, the soaked tail of an African antelope. This one was much thinner, starting with a little finger’s width and tapering down to a fine point two feet away. That whip was for later, when its fine control and line could be applied to a wench’s bared breasts and crack.

Abd-Ishmael ibn Muhammad raised his hand and dropped it. Fouad grinned and swept out his lash. SCRACKKT! The hyena whip cut through the air and burst across the Dutchwoman’s lower back just above her high rounded ass cheeks. WHACKKT! A harsh cut to the tender backs of her thighs just beneath. SCRACKKT! SWACKT! WHACKKT! Again and again the lash stroked the Frankish woman’s back from her deep sacral dimples to the backs of her thighs. The monstrous eunuch flogged Annetjie’s back from neck to knees with the supple hyena tail whip. Each and every stroke left a harsh red welt of burning pain behind it. The hot agony was horrible, but still she was able to emit no more than sharp gasps following each one. The slices across the tops of her thighs just below the buttocks were the worst and she was embarassingly aware of the lascivious writhing dance her nude body was performing, but was helpless to stop it.

The head eunuch next switched his attack, lowering the hyena whip to the floor and then sweeping it straight up between her straining thighs. The lash swept right up the middle of the pretty blond’s slit, applying a bitter bite to the swollen pink clitoris. “Unnnnnnnnnnnnhhh!” she grunted and her long slim legs hopped back and forth as she strived to endure the savage burning agony between her legs. SWOCKKT! Again, the fat eunuch swept his whip up between the Frank’s spasming thighs to kiss her ripe pink genitals. Again. And yet again, until four bitter strokes had caressed her loins. The flesh of her sex swelled up under the brutal whipping until it bulged and bloated, filling the notch.

Now Fouad switched to the thin antelope whip. A long arm’s span of cartilige soaked in brine to make it supple. At the end of two-feet of mahogony handle, it tapered down to a fine pointed tip. The eunuch returned to his place directly behind the splayed nude girl. His cruel little eyes took in again the sweeping arch of her spine, down from the gap between her shoulderblades to the swift concavity ending in the crack separating her plump buttocks. Slim and supple, she was, white of skin. And her sacral dimples inflamed his hatred of all things female. Given his leave, he would have whipped this splendid back until the skin ripped open and the blood ran from neck to knees. Then a good dousing with seabrine and a similar whipping across her front. He would like to flog the Frankish wench to the death—with the chili seeds up her nether holes and riding the red-hot iron saddle, but he would have to settle for this. He started with a vicious forehand stroke that carved the thin skin over Dutch girl’s heaving white ribcage, leaving a bright red weal behind.

SWACKKKT! SWOCKKT! The whip curled repeatedly around Annetjie’s bared torso, stinging her belly and abdomen. Unlike facing the whip, there was no possible warning to this fiendish flogging.

Fouad waited only a dozen strokes before sweeping the cruel lash up to caress the Dutchwoman’s prominent tits from behind. The slim lash darted around from the back to carve Annetjie’s jutting bare breasts. The slim antelope tail would suddenly appear from one side or the other and then there would be that hideous stinging pain as the tapered tip scourged one jutting bare breast or the other.

SWOCKKTT! The cruel antelope tail curled around the Dutch girl’s narrow back to caress the very middle of her breasts, biting the wasp stung right nipple for the first time. “AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! What Fouad only suspected was now borne out: the Dutchwoman could endure extreme torment to her slit, but couldn’t withstand the slightest attack to her tits. As he had hoped, the high-perched white gourds were acutely sensitive, especially the large pink nipples. He grinned. Now he would make her really sing. SWACKKT! Around from the left this time, the point accurately finding that breast’s tip and stinging the rigid teat.


WHISSSSKT! HISSSSWOCKKT! SWICKKKT! Back and forth, back and forth, the fat eunuch flailed the young woman across her jutting naked titties from behind with the thin whip. Now, finally, Annetjie’s fierce resolve broke under the savage sexual torture and she wailed loudly after every cut over her nude breasts. Prince Abd Ishmael leaned back, accepting a thimble of Arab coffee from Yasmin and lifting his hips up for Caramina’s lascivious play. The young concubine gripped the base of his balls and tugged the skin down tight along the shaft. Her head lowered and she delicately licked about the Prince’s rigid penis and glans, teasing, always teasing and arousing without the release of orgasm. It was the Prince’s favorite form of play: To watch the whipping of a pretty young woman’s tits while another played with his manhood to the edge of orgasm.


SWACKKKT! Another crisp darting stroke curled around her back to leave its stripe atop the bulging curves of her thrusting naked tits. WHISSSSSSSICKKT! Hard from the right, the antelope-tail burst upon Annetjie’s jutting ripe globe. Ishmael spread his legs instinctively to better present his bared erect penis to the slave’s delicate ministrations. He groaned with pleasure as he watched the slim whip curling around to caress the jutting naked gourds again and again. At each new lash, the nude girl wrenched against her wrist bonds, frantic to somehow escape the stinging cuts over her exposed chest melons. Her shrieks of agony burst forth, loud and raw. The strokes continued to leave their cruel stripes over her tits until a full two dozen had carved the globes and Annetjie hung panting and sweating from the mahogany stocks. Finally, Abd-Ishmael ibn-Muhammad called a halt.

The Prince arose and walked slowly up to the spreadeagled nude girl, naked himself but for the ornate headress. Annetjie’s chest heaved from her recent exertions, her body shiny with sweat. Despite her pain, she couldn’t help staring at the large rigid shaft wobbling between his legs. Two other concubines wrapped silken loops around her legs just above the knees. They pulled on them, lifting her feet from the floor and stretching her trembling white thighs even further apart. After being stung and flogged, Abd Ishmael could plainly see the bloated red currant of her clit sticking out from the top of her gash. He moved his gaze up to admire the Dutchwoman’s chest. The soft creamy globes were both nicely decorated with a pattern of rising scarlet welts, several crossing directly over the paps. The girl’s naked nipples had swollen to a remarkable degree, the aureoles puffed up and the wasp stung teats bulging out hard and erect in their centers.

As he got close, the Prince reached up his hands to gently fondle the whipped bare breasts. Annetjie van Doorn gasped at the touch. His penis twitched up with delight and he bucked his hips to rub the hard plum head against the girl’s distended clit. With her legs held widely apart, there was no way to avoid this most intimate caressing of her genital teat. The man groaned with pleasure and in spite of herself the lovely strawberry blond felt a shiver of powerful sexual heat rush through her body to center in her loins and she felt a warm wetness. Her situation was heavy with lurid sexuality, utterly naked, bound, and helpless, made to endure fiendish torture on the delicate organs of her sex. Now an obviously virile young man was gently playing with those same female parts.

It was such a small thing at the moment; Ishmael’s hard purple glans pushed up against the tender inner lips of her labia, just below the bloated clitoris. The Dutch girl felt her fragile nether mouth blossom under the man’s visceral probing. She felt her genitals reaching down to capture Abd Ishmael’s stiff glans and shaft within her loins, the fierce heat of her labial whipping adding a ferocious intensity of her unexpected arousal. But then it struck. Then the stubborn arrogant upbringing tossed her into an even deeper hole.

Suddenly shamed by her tormented body’s response to the handsome Prince’s insistent manhood, she tried to wrench back and away and spat full in his face! Prince Abd Ishmael ibn Muhammad al-Auf, stepped back in shock. The Dutch bitch was so close, so close to yielding of her own will. Her sudden surge of pride both excited and insulted him. No other of his concubines would dare to refuse him this way. The challenge of breaking this Frankish bitch to his slightest whim amused him—and he could not ignore the grotesque insult she had inflicted on him.

“Yasmina, place the small brazier down between her feet and use all of your tools to keep her genitals properly entertained. Fouad, bring in Ahmad and use the whips to flog her big naked tits. Don’t make them bleed until I order it, but I don’t want the bitch to enjoy this treatment. The Frankish wench has insulted me—I want her to suffer!”

Yasmin quickly placed the small bowl of red-hot coals down between the splayed Dutch girl’s gaping long legs and squatted down in front of her. The little Arab girl carefully slid the bone-handled needles and sharp narrow blades into the small bed of coals to absorb the fierce heat. The two huge eunuchs armed themselves with the animal-tail whips and took up places to either side of the naked girl. The other concubines pulled harder on Annetjie’s knee cords, keeping the thighs apart to totally expose her swollen labial lips. Prince Abd Ishmael ibn-Muhammad al-Auf remained where he was, standing a scant meter away. Caramina glided down to kneel at his feet, reaching up with her small hands to softly play with his scrotum and shaft. “Continue the Frankish girl’s torture,” he commanded grimly.

Fouad and Ahmed began first. Fouad chose the thinner antelope whip, by default giving the shorter hyena-tail lash to Ahmed. The beautiful strawberry blond looked side to side in terror as they took up positions to left and right in front of her. She saw the cruel whips twitching in their hands and knew instantly how they were going to make her pay for her pride—they were going to hurt her poor bare titties again! She looked ahead at the standing Prince, desperately babbling for mercy, but his black eyes and insistent manhood offered little hope. The cleverly designed head and wrist stock forced her stirring striped globes to jut out proudly away from her chest, a fact used to good advantage by the eunuchs as they resumed their savage bude breast flogging.

Lash followed lash, attacking her nude upper torso relentlessly with their bitter kisses. Already beaten down by the previous breast flogging, the lovely young Dutch girl started squealing immediately under its cruel, more intensive, resumption.

Down between her legs, Yasmin pulled the first of the needles from the brazier, the keen point shining red-hot. Her tiny fingers spread the Dutch girl’s dainty labia and then she stabbed the glowing lance up into that exquisitely sensitive flesh between her inner and outer lips with a loud hiss.

“HUHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!” Annetjie groaned in pain. Her naked genitals exploded in agony at the intimate kiss of red-hot steel on her most private parts. Next came a small scalpel blade, glowing red that sliced small sizzling cuts across the Frank’s bulging pink cunt, each working closer up toward the gleaming pearl of her clit. Annetjie’s straining nude thighs tensed and quivered under the fiendish genital torture. Each and every slice cut and cauterized the plump sexual lips. Yasmin devoted her next two blades to the back end of the splayed Dutch girl’s genitals. Slicing slowly up between the wench’s thighs from the dimpled hole of her anus up between her strapped and swollen lips. HISSSSACCCCKT! The second blade made a sputtering sound as it slipped right up the middle of her straining slit until the keen point cut up to the front of her gaping naked slit. Yasmin was exceptionally well trained. As a female, she knew all the ways to hurt a fellow female to the limits of her endurance. Especially when focused on the delicate tissues of her sex. HISSSSSSSACCCCKT! Yasmin slowly lifted a fresh glowing blade up between Annetjie’s puffy labia until the red-hot tip slid up the base of her clitoris to the tip. The pretty strawberry-blond wrenched against her bonds in a vain effort to somehow escape the hellish torment, but the hardwood wrist and head stock was much too strong and the two concubines just pulled harder on their knee cords to keep her swollen genitals fully exposed to Yasmin’s fiendish implements.

Meanwhile, the torture of Annetjie’s jutting bare breasts continued unabated, lash following lash following lash across their jutting naked surfaces. The pain was hideous and the young Dutch girl could only shriek out her shame and suffering. The two eunuchs were whipping Annetjie’s protruding nude tits up one side and down the other. Every fifth or sixth carved the middles of both bare breasts to punish both of Annetjie’s achingly sensitive nipples at the same time.

“AHIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! AAAAAHHHHH! OH, STOP, STOP, STOP! PLEASE STOP WHIPPING MY POOR BREASTS!” Down between her thighs, Yasmin took a glowing red needle and lanced it slowly down the upper side of the shaft of her clit down to its base deep in her loins.


And always, standing right in front of her, stood Prince al-Auf, wearing only his headdress. Caramina was using her mouth and tongue on his manhood now, licking up the bottom and sides of the rigid shaft while he watched Annetjie’s nude torture continue right in front of him. Only her skill held him at the edge of orgasm without crossing over.

By now, the pretty strawberry blond had taken more than fifty strokes across her proud bare breasts and nipples. Both of the large soft globes had swollen greatly under the hellish flogging and the once cream white skin was now flushed an angry red-purple and heavily overlaid with bright scarlet stripes. Extremely sensitive at the best of times, after over sixty lashes and the fiendish wasp stings each new kiss of the leather created an excruciating agony across her chest. Annetjie shrieked frantically and her sweaty naked torso writhed to the scant limits of her binding. The eunuchs laughed at her obvious suffering and continued their ghastly breast whipping.

Prince Ishmael had watched the young girl’s savage nude torture and was fiercely aroused from the sight. Finally he rose and held up his hand. Yasmin knew what he intended now and quickly shoved the small brazier out of the way. Al-Auf walked up to the hanging Dutchwoman. Annetyjie Van Doorn’s ribcage was heaving as she sought to recover from the insane pangs of fire still pulsing through her bare breasts and nipples. He stepped right up between the gaping thighs until the hard purple glans nudged up against her puffy red labia. Yasmin reached up between them to grasp the rigid shaft. Caramina came with fragrant oil and the two concubines anointed his sex, rubbing up and down the male rod to lubricate it. Yasmin slid the slippery head up and down against the bloated female lips and he groaned at the hot slick feel of her genital flesh. Then she positioned him just inside the vulva and he pushed all the way to the balls within her.

If Annetjie thought that her suffering would cease with the rape, she was sadly mistaken. Leaving Caramina to play with the Prince’s heavy scrotum, she went to the eunuchs.

“Continue the torture of her breasts! You whip them, Ahmed. Fouad, apply the pincers to her nipples. That should convince the Frank to give our master a good ride!”

The two brutes grinned and returned to the dangling girl’s sides with their implements. Fouad started, reaching down with the thin pliers to grip the flinty red shaft of her left teat and slowly squeeze the turgid bud. Ahmed followed quickly with a short cut to the right’s bulging undercurve.


Fouad continued cruelly pinching, pulling, and twisting the girls tender left teat until his partner had administered an even dozen bitter strokes across the helpless right gourd. Then they changed places and the pincers sought out the other nude teat while Ahmed resumed the tit whipping.

Ishmael groaned again with pleasure. He had only to stand there with his with his sex buried inside her. Annetjie’s sweat-shiny naked body was squirming under the fiendish bare breast torture, an action that provided all the motion necessary to stroke him. In addition, the slippery inner walls of her vagina clutched strongly at his swollen penis every time Fouad squeezed or Ahmed struck. Annetjie’s powerful loin muscles contracted rhythmically from the hideous chest torment, teasing the man’s prick deliciously inside her.

A low moan began rising from his throat. Yasmin knew that meant that he was close now. She took a short steel rod from the coals and swiftly pressed it against the Dutch girl’s round white buttocks. The sweat crackled and steam rose in a puff, then the little concubine rubbed the glowing rod down over the delicate skin. The miserable captive screamed loudly and her hips lunged down on al-Auf’s shaft. He gasped at the sudden muscular compression inside her and felt the first deep stirrings between his legs. Yasmin grabbed a fresh rod and pressed it vertically into the deep valley between her taut ass cheeks, sliding the red-hot steel up and down the crack to the edge of her anus. Her shrieks rang out hoarse and raw. Fouad, back at the left side again, squeezed and twisted at the throbbing female teat with new passion, finally breaking the aching flesh. A small droplet of bright red blood oozed from the tortured tittie tip over the metal jaws. The savagely tortured girl was now thrashing dementedly, lost in a sea of relentless burning sexual agony.

The Prince grabbed Annetjie’s hips and rocked her back and forth against his loins. The motion slid her sex up and down the length of his rigid shaft from head to balls. She screamed again. Now her labial lips felt a direct friction that reawakened the countless nerve endings so recently and so cruelly seared by the red-hot instruments. He lifted his own hips a bit on every stroke, rubbing the hard upper surface of his penis against the shiny red pearl of her clitoris.

The pain was terrible, beyond endurance, both in her chest and between her legs. And still these men made it grow. The Prince shoved his phallus deeply into her vagina, sliding against her bloated clit yet again, and suddenly her loins burst with a liquid fire beyond belief. It was an orgasm, yet not one she desired. Her entire body was suddenly fiercely aware of nothing but sexual arousal, only not the pleasurable arousal she had occasionally created with her hands. No, this shattering feeling somehow coupled with her torture, making the sex pain infinitely more agonizing. The pretty Dutch girl’s screams rose in volume and stridency as the Prince pumped his shaft into her with ever increasing speed and violence. For her part, Annetjie’s nude body thrashed against Ishmael’s punishing assault.

Annetjie had lost any consciouscontrol over her body. She was lost in the throes of sexual agony and pleasure, combined with the unexpected current vigorous fucking. Nothing had ever afflicted her this way. Ishmael bucked his hips up and back, sliding his rigid shaft up and into her once-virginal vagina to the base of his balls and then back to the hard rim of his rock-hard penis. Then in again. And again. And again.

Of everyone, it was little Yasmin who read the signs and acted. She darted to one of the fruit baskets and snatched up a lemon. Slicing the bulb in half, she reached a slim arm up above the Dutchy’s horribly flogged nude left nipple and squeezed.

Drip, drip, drip, the yellow-tinged droplets fell down to splash over the redhead’s whipped left nipple. Annetjie’s shrieks rose in both volume and timbre. Her frenetic orgasm, spurred by pain, was now enhanced still further by the added burning of the lemon juice irritating her cracked tittie tip. The heavy load of pain finally broke the Dutchwoman’s resolve entirely. Too much pain, too much sexual assault.

Muhammad Abd Ishmael felt the uncontrolled spasms grow behind his balls and then suddenly erupt out of his shaft buried deep into his young slave’s vagina. The combined spastic wrenching of Annetjie’s young body under her grim torture made for a most rousing fuck. The Prince grabbed her hips and used the grasp to ram his rigid sex up to the hilt into the girl’s vagina even as he fell into the spasms of orgasm. The pretty redhead jerked madly from her chains in pain even as the young Prince burst his load deep into the Dutchy’s hot quivering cunt.



The young man pumped his hips up and back, up and back, spurting his seed deeply into the hanging nude girl. When she felt the first hot ejaculation filling her sex, she finally lost all control. Annetjie’s loud, ragged squeal of utter agony ripped through the room as her body wrenched into mad spasms of pain and orgasm combined. Every last vestige of control was totally shattered and the beautiful nude girl shook, quivered, and wailed in absolute agony.

Ishmael grabbed the redheaded Frank’s flanks, sliding his hands up and down her shivering sides from tits to buttocks as his shaft surged load after load into the grasping vagina. The Arab Prince let out a roar at the unbelievable hot pleasure centered in his loins. Although it seemed like an eternity, after scarcely five minutes of staggering physical bliss, Muhammad Abd Ishmael collapsed on top of Annetjie’s hanging nude body. He rested against the Frank’s welted front, thoroughly spent.

Finally, after another five minutes, the young man pulled back out of Annatjie Van Dorne’s tight cunt with a surprisingly loud PLOP. Aided a bit by Yasmin, he moved back and dropped down on his cushions. It seemed like a natural thing, so he spread his legs as he reclined. Yasmin knelt down to clense the Prince’s slowly drooping prick with her mouth. She detested the task, but would do anything to spare her own flesh from the public breaking of his captive prisoners and so went to her task with enthusiasm. In the meantime, Annetjie hung twitching from her bonds, her sweat-shiny nude body gleaming in the late afternoon sunshine. Blood oozed from her scoured bare breasts, inner thighs, and labia. Even now, once that the active torment was over, her most sensitive flesh still throbbed with hot pain.

“Oh, by Allah! Never have I enjoyed one so much! Cut her down and care for her. Keep her body shaved and oil her skin daily. My good Fouad says that this wench’s tits are perfect for binding and suspension. I should enjoy that. Take her away. Another grape, Yasmin, if you will.”


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