Annetje Van Doorn had been aboard a VOC—the Dutch East India Company—ship taken by corsairs between Madagascar and the Fever Coast of Africa, the vital Mozambique Channel. No one aboard anticipated that one of the ferocious storms that occasionally trod these waters would suddenly 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 fat East Indiaman Hirondelle—Swallow in English—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. After hiding in her cabin while the battle raged, Annetje Van Doorn cautiously emerged when the cannons stopped. Only then did she discover the officers' betrayal. She came out and saw officers patiently standing on deck while the Arab pirates swarmed aboard. As soon as she was seen, two of the pirates moved to grab her. She had also heard the stories and impetuously leaped over the side, deciding on a quick and virtuous death instead of life in an Arab seraglio.

The captain of the dhow alongside where she jumped immediately sent a man in after her who grabbed her by the hair and hauled her struggling from the tepid waters. Once on board, the fat captain quickly assessed her value and had her chained below decks, 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, so 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 mines or galleys. Annetje was a surprising and potentially very valuable gift from the sea. A week later, in the Zanzibar slave market, the captain 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, little trusting the old reprobate, but was immediately interested when he saw the captured Frankish girl, although he hid that interest well. Four hours, and countless thimbles of syrupy coffee later, the deal was struck for 42 gold rials. It was a high price for a female slave, but Hassan well knew his master’s enjoyment of the unique, especially when it was an obviously beautiful young Christian woman. The comely Frank’s red-gold hair and cream-white skin would earn him a most handsome commission.

Niece to one of the Lords Seventeen in Amsterdam, the old, gray-haired heads of the VOC, Annetje was headed 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. If word got back to Amsterdam of her capture by Arab pirates, some very awkward questions would be asked, so the ship’s officers all avowed that she had died in the attack. So far as anyone at home knew, Annetje Van Doorn was dead.

A month later, she was in Muscat, largest city of the Caliphate on the edge of the great sea. There she was separated from the other purchases and delivered into the care of Fouad, the head eunuch of the Prince’s harem, for preparation before being taken to her new owner.

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 and his father, kept more than 200 (although the Prince followed the strictures of only having four current official wives, but he simply replaced them the moment he grew bored). While Fouad stood back and watched with great amusement, a dozen of the Arab concubines went after the strawberry-blond girl. Despite her protests, Annetje 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 embarrassment. She tried fighting at first to the intimate assault, but her writhing was 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 acquiesced 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 before she was allowed to put on the loose silk blouse and pantaloons worn by all.

Once during her first week in the seraglio, Annetje made the mistake of trying to slap Fouad during one of his intimate inspections. The fat eunuch had years of experience dealing with proud young women and caught her hand easily. As the head eunuch, he was forbidden to inflict any serious or bloody punishments 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 Annetje like a plague of locust, squealing and laughing as they stripped Van Doorn nude. It took only moments before her slim ankles were imprisoned within the slightly angled ankle stocks and her feet stuck out from the far side, with Annetje face down on her knees. Her blushing face was pressed down into a pillow and her naked ass stuck up high behind her. Diramar, one of the older concubines, slid her hips under until the Dutch girl’s face pressed up into her notch. Annetje smelled the musky scent of female arousal in her face and tried to twist away, but Diramar gripped her hair to hold her in place. A dozen of the other harem women reached in with their hands to fondle the Frank’s bare breasts, belly, and thighs. A couple of them paid particular attention to the pink fig between her spread legs. The young Dutchwoman groaned in shame and her torso writhed deliciously under the concubines’ assault.

Annetje had small, well-formed feet with high curved insteps. Unlike the majority of the concubines, hers had been protected by shoes all her life and were totally free of callus. The bastinado would prove savagely effective on such soft tender flesh. Now locked within the narrow stocks, her soles stuck up and out toward the luxuriant room. Fouad looked down, holding a yard-long rattan cane 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. The only thing he liked was her haughty pride for the pleasure he could take breaking it. He hated all women for the loss caring for them had caused him, but he found the pretty young Frank especially offensive. That dislike gave birth to a new thought. 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 every aspect of their lives with a cruel hand, so none dared disobey him. Sarafin, the eldest ex-wife, placed the bone-handled needles into a small brazier of coals. Ahmei, another ex-wife, joined her, fanning the coals until they shimmered bright red and the thin lancets glowed. 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 flesh to be close to the Frank’s teeth when the first agony hit. She knew 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 Annetje’s feet and reached for her left foot. Fouad gestured again and they spread her big toe apart from the long ones beside it, exposing the thin membrane between. Then Sarafin took one of the glowing needles and stabbed it down to drill half an inch into the exquisitely tender flesh with a sharp hiss.

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 even more intolerable.

Four more times Annetje’s petite toes were held and pulled apart to expose the tender skin between them to the radiant needles. After each assault, there was a short break while the sharp lancet was placed back into the coals to reheat and another selected for the next attack. Now aware of the threat, she mustered her resolve and 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 toe and the one beside it. Sarafin looked up at Fouad, but the eunuch was relentless. With a sigh, she turned back and nodded to Ahmei who took hold of Annetje's right foot and the cruel process was repeated.

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

“HUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!” Annetje’s sudden squeal was half smothered in the pillow before her. The fierce sharp pain that exploded in her delicate feet was beyond anything she had ever known. It was beyond belief, yet it had only begun.

WHOCKT! WHOCKKT! WHAPT! WHOCKT! Again and again the rattan rod flew down to strike the bottoms of the redhead’s delicate bare feet, striking with a loud impact. Fouad beat the nude girl’s soles from the base of her toes to the small round heels. Annetje’s naked young body writhed furiously under the cruel attack, but several of the concubines held her arms so her thrashing didn't injure her seriously. The pain afflicting her soft pink feet was beyond endurance. Her insteps reacted most to the relentless blows of the cane, but the strokes over the ball and just below the toes reawakened nerves recently burned by the steel needles, a uniquely excruciating form of pain. WHOCKKKT! WHOCKK! WHACKKKT! WHOHKKT! Only through the most extreme exertion did Annetje hold her grunts and squeals under some control and not break down into an endless wailing aria of suffering.

Fouad delivered one dozen, then two 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 two 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, but only on those who had offended the Prince himself in some way. While he would prefer to beat the Prince’s slaves on their breasts, thighs or slit, he was much to experienced an executioner to neglect a young woman’s feet and there was less of a risk causing injuries that might anger his Prince. Flogging them to the blood was a level of torment he would dearly love to inflict on Annetje, 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 preferred her screams. The next time, he knew, the punishment would have to be even more extreme. The next time he went after this Dutch bitch he would go after her most private female parts with his cruel instruments of torture. He knew of ways to cause excruciating pain between a girl's legs without ruining her or even leaving obvious marks. The next time she would scream . . .

Enticed by the description he had been given by his senior concubine and chief eunuch, the Prince sent for his new slave a couple of days later. The girl tottered on her whipped feet into the Prince’s presence, fighting to remain upright. 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. The Dutchwoman standing before him presented a unique vision 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 petite size. Annetje Van Doorn stood much taller at a good 5’ 7” or so. Her long, straight blond hair was lightly shaded with hints of red as from the sunrise. At nineteen, her body had blossomed into mature femininity with full shoulders, deep rib cage over a slim waist, and newly swelling hips. Her breasts were especially enticing, large and well-fleshed. They had the shape of ripe round pears, yet thrust up and forward on her chest with no hint of sag. Even her nipples looked different: broad disks colored like apricots in contrast to the small hard brown paps of his other slaves. He saw her eyes, a striking blue, meet his direct gaze. She looked away in embarrassment, but not before a delightful rosy blush suffused her cheeks. The moment dragged on without a word spoken. She fought the urge, but still could not keep from looking back at him where he lounged on a low, cushioned settee.

Prince Abd Ishmael ibn Muhammad was a a striking man, 31 years old, tall and lean, with dark skin and sharp nose in the manner of the desert-born. He rose from the divan with the grace of a large cat. 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 returned to her front. She whipped up her arms and nearly succeeded in ripping out his surprised eyes with her nails before he jerked back and the startled eunuch knocked her down. The Prince looked at her in amazement. Such spirit, and this just two days after enduring the bastinado! By Allah! Such pride! Excellent, he thought. He had wanted to see how the Frank responded to pain personally after hearing of her foot beating. He needed no excuse, but this brazen attack provided a convenient reason to order a well deserved punishment to start her taming in earnest. But not at the hands of this oaf. No, for her first taste of more serious play he would place her in the care of his Head Torturer, Ali, a skilled professional in the art of inflicting pain who wouldn't let anger influence his control.

”I've seen enough for now, eunuch. You will deliver her to Ali at sunset. Tell him to prepare her for her punishment before me after I have dined.”

Later that evening, he went down to his dungeon. Ali had prepared Annetje by hanging her up by her ankles from ceiling chains with her arms tied behind her back. She still wore the blue silk pantaloons from that afternoon. The Prince nodded and Ali produced a knife. The razor-edged blade sliced down the length of one side then the other to her hips and the sheer fabric fell away. Now she dangled naked in the torch-lit room and she groaned in shame. 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 way the Frankish wench’s kus does pout as though I had. Never have I seen such plump and succulent lips! And look here!” Ali reached a couple of hard, calloused fingers around from behind to spread the shaved labia. Annetje squealed in outrage and then let loose a torrent of Dutch obscenities she had overheard from the VOC sailors. Ignoring her obvious insults, Ishmael bent down to look and sucked in his breath in amazement. There, at the very top of her gaping slit, sat one of the largest female berries he had ever seen! “They grow them big in Frankish land, do they not?” the torturer commented.

“Aye, Ali. That they do. And the color! By the Prophet, it looks like one of the Great Mogul's matchless pearls nestled in fine pink silk!” He lifted a hand and lightly teased Annetje's clitoris with one fingertip, drawing another flood of insult. He looked back to Ali. “I want this one tamed to the saddle, but not broken, do you understand? Make her hurt, but don’t permanently damage her.”

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

“Did you not hear me? Make her hurt, but don’t permanently damage her. That little mouth looks like it will bear up well enough.” The Torturer smiled and nodded in obedience. He modified Annetje's binding, untying her wrists behind her only to rope them loosely to a heavy iron ring set into the floor beneath her.

Ishmael had a lavish observation area in the chamber and took a seat to watch. Yasmin, a favored concubine already waited there to attend him, ready to serve him. Coffee and sweetmeats were close by, but she knew her lord would desire more than such simple things. A pretty young slave born in Ceylon, Yasmin had been raised in the colony there, a slave child to a slave on a VOC cinnamon farm. She spoke fluent Dutch as well as Arabic. Not only could she interpret, but she was also exceptionally skilled at using her fingers and mouth for his more carnal pleasures. “You may begin, Ali.”

The heavy Arab selected an arm-long strap of tapered water buffalo hide made pliant through hours of chewing by female slaves. It was a favorite tool of the Dutch overseers who called it a sjambok. A fearsome instrument, it could cut flesh to the bone if desired; in the hands of a skilled torturer the supple whip would deliver hideously stinging kisses to soft female skin leaving nothing but pain and angry welts. Ali moved to a place behind the suspended girl. He pulled his arm back and took aim. The first stroke burst with a loud wet smack against Annetje’s poised white ass cheeks and the hanging girl’s mouth erupted with an outraged stream of angry Dutch. The powerful Arab gave her a moment to fully appreciate the pain, then launched his next stroke to bite just above her hips, drawing another outburst of angry invective. The next moved up to wrap the end entirely around Annetje's right thigh.

The Prince watched avidly as Ali swept the sjambok across the Dutch slave’s bottom, back, and thighs with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Yasmin, coy and talented girl that she was, found a way to slip her hand through the folds of the Ishmael's keffiya to find his sex, already swelling from the delightful sight. Her tiny hand worked its experienced magic on his manhood to make the shaft fill and grow into full twitching erection while he watched Ali continue flogging the Frank’s back from hips to knees. Annetje’s nude body writhed from the ankle chains and she continued to scream out a steady tirade as the stinging leather caressed her flesh with ever increasing force.

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

“She curses you in the name of her infidel god, my lord, I apologize to say. And she insults the Lady, your mother. Most grievously, I fear, my lord, accusing her of not knowing your esteemed father among a multitude of others.”

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

Ali bowed. “You honor me, Beloved of Allah. I will make sure the infidel bitch regrets her lack of respect.” He moved so he stood directly behind the dangling girl. A quick snap of his wrist raised the sjambok and swept it straight down between Annetje's spread legs to burst across her delicate genitals. Her entire body tensed, then a raw shriek ripped from her throat. She was still convulsing when a second, then a third, and a fourth snaked over her yawning labia.

The next hour was an excruciating hell for the hanging girl. Ali was well practiced at his cruel craft and employed a devilish pattern of attack: A couple of stinging strokes would punish Annetje’s lower back, buttocks, or upper thighs and then he would swing a crisp vertical stroke down to slap brutally against her yawning sex lips. WHACKK! SWACKKT! SWOCKKT! Two 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. Ali also did not always strike into the gap between them, but carefully worked the entire genital area from where it started bulging at the top of one thigh and across to the other. After five such sets, Annetje's stubborn resolve broke and she shrieked after each fresh lash and twisted wildly from the ankle ropes. The Prince now also saw Ali's genius for torture in action: He had tied the girl's wrists with enough rope to move her arms about, but not quite enough for her hands to reach all the way up to cover and protect her cunt. Ali would also change sides from time to time; as skilled applying the whip with either arm, it ensured that his lashes left no target untouched.

“The Frank continues to curse you, my lord,” Yasmin murmured while her hand continued its skilled manipulation of his swollen erection. “Now she accuses you of being sired by a goat, please forgive me for repeating such a thing.” “Bleed her bottom, Ali!” the Prince shouted in anger, leaning forward in his chair. “The top of her legs as well!” He pushed down his fury with effort. “But not her infidel cunt. Not yet. But I want to see its flesh fill her notch!”

Yasmin gently pulled him back into the cushioned chair. Stroking one arm to soothe his rage, she unobtrusively found his penis again under the keffiya. Still making comforting noises, she eased it back out and deftly fondled it back to full hardness. That was too close, she thought. Prince ibn Muhammad was a very tempestuous man. She had to walk a fine line to keep his anger hot and focused on the infidel while not letting him get too mad to enjoy her talents for pleasing a man. Regardless of how unjust it would be, such a thing could easily provoke him to have her punished for that failure. The Frank was protesting, but Yasmin was making up the specifics she knew would anger a Muslim man. She silently sighed in relief when she felt him relax and the hard shaft start twitching again under her delicate fingertips.

Stroke after stroke after stroke, the barbarous whipping went on, each bitter slap of leather biting the Dutchwoman’s naked flesh. Ali swept a carefully controlled slash to her already well striped buttocks so the pointed tip finally cracked the skin open and the first droplet of scarlet started oozing down toward her back. Crossing over, he drew a second gleaming trickle from her other cheek, right where it joined the thigh. Then the third of this set swept with measured force straight down the middle of her slit so the tip would sting the swollen bud of her clit directly.

“EEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! HEEEEEEEEE! HEEEEEEEEE! HEEEEEEEEEE! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” There was no longer any attempt to control her screams after each genital lash. The fiery pain in her lower body dominated everything else. Hanging upside down with her ankles tied apart as she was it was impossible to close her legs to the sjambok and the ropes on her wrists continued to frustrate every frenzied attempt to protect her sex from the punishing leather instrument. Not wanting to end the ordeal too quickly, Ali varied his attack a bit, leaving Annetje's notch alone for a bit while he went for fresh places down her concave sides from her flanks to the bottom of her clearly defined rib cage. This new assault spurred more angry invective, between the squeals of pain as the lash continued to find fresh, untouched skin. Although not seeking it out as often, Ali still ensured that an occasional lash would find her vulva, now red and bloated from the fiendish beating. Jerking to every stroke, her most violent reactions still followed these most intimate blows. Indeed, Ali had chosen this method of suspending the Christian wench specifically for the shameful way it offered her slit to the lash. Normally it was reserved for the most serious punishments, executions really, such as flaying or death by branding, as the head-down attitude made it harder for the wretch to pass out from the extreme pain before he finished with them.

Staring avidly at the scene before him, the Prince scarcely noticed when Yasmin slowly worked his keffiya all the way apart to completely reveal his loins and now expose his turgid penis openly to the torchlit chamber. Sliding around between his knees, the concubine’s caressing hands were quickly substituted by her mouth, licking slowly up the shaft and teasing the ridge around his glans with her hot little tongue. Ishmael groaned at the exquisite pleasure while he watched the pretty young Dutch girl writhing from her ankle chains under Ali’s fiendish flogging. Her lithe nude body was now coated with the sweat of torture, reflecting the flickering yellow torchlight with every frenzied jerk.

Yasmin glanced over her shoulder occasionally to some particularly strident shriek, aware of the infidel's suffering, but careful to concentrate on her task. She knew that this was the crucial time. She must hold her Prince at the very brink of orgasm without pushing him over the edge too soon. It was a very painfully learned skill. Early in her servitude she had occasionally been careless enough to irritate him; at such times al-Auf had angrily kicked her away and given to Fouad or, even worse, Ali, for punishment. And today she accurately suspected that he had something special in mind, and that would take even more of her proficiency to make happen. She felt the shaft twitch in her hand, but didn't look away to see that the sjambok had just carved a new hole in Annetje's skin, midway down one gently curved side and far enough around towards her front that the Prince could watch the brief crimson splash of impact.

Annetje's punishment lasted for just over an hour of the barbarous whipping before Ali detected the first genuine weakening in her voice. Still, he gave her a dozen more lashes across her back and ass and gash before finally dropping the bloodied whip and quickly undoing the ankle knots so her body could drop to the floor, shivering with pain. Even so, her ordeal wasn't over. Ali also understood his master's habits and, like Yasmin, knew when it was time for the next part. Fully engorged by Yasmin’s play and filled with sadistic lust, the Prince pushed off the chair and crossed quickly to the quivering girl whimpering on the floor. He turned her fully on her back and, holding her arms above her head, quickly mounted her and stabbed brutally into her. He felt the fierce heat of her swollen lips surround his rigid glans and pushed even deeper. The swollen head was held briefly at her maidenhead, but one final lunge pierced through the virgin membrane and buried his shaft to the hilt. She squealed in fresh outrage at this intimate violation. The Dutch girl’s labial lips were hot and bloated 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 scarcely five minutes before his control shattered and the molten thrill of climax erupted from his loins. His head jerked up and he roared as his seed pumped into the whimpering strawberry blond beneath him. The bucking of his hips gradually slowed as the waves of his orgasm subsided. Finally sated, the Prince pulled out and stood. Yasmin darted over to cleanse his drooping rod with warm wet cloths already prepared. Without thinking, he spread his legs to facilitate her efforts while he gazed down at Annetje Van Doorn's sweaty nude body. Her eyes opened and she looked up at the man standing above her. In place of surrender, or even shame, what he saw in those bright blue eyes instead was a deep cold fury, even—could it be—contempt? Well, well. This Frank might be worth even more than that old thief Hassan received.

“Take her to the surgeon and have him treat her wounds, Ali. This Frank amuses me, but she is altogether too proud. It seems more stringent training will be necessary, but I would have her body whole for that next encounter.”

Ten days later the royal physician was summoned. “So, Master Salah, how is the Frank?” the Prince inquired. “My last time with her was so enjoyable that I confess an inordinate eagerness to have another session with her and you have kept me waiting.”

”My Lord, I am pleased to say that she has fully recovered. The Frank is both young and strong and has recovered even sooner than I expected. I beg forgiveness for the time it has taken, but I presumed to think that you would want her back to her original state before she was again brought before you. Especially . . . ah . . . a certain spot?” The Prince nodded and Salah went on. “The welts on her backside faded quickly enough and the few rips in her skin were minor and have healed well, but her kus was quite bruised from the sjambok, although the estimable Ali was as skillful as always so no real damage was done her there. I suspect it was unusually plump before her punishment. Of course, she is still very tender there, but I judge her ready for any game you may wish to play with her.”

”Excellent. You may take your pick from the seraglio for a night in reward for your fine work.” He knew the old physician already spent most of his pay on city women, but none were as young and beautiful as those kept behind the palace's locked doors. Salah's eyes visibly brightened at this unexpected generosity.

”You are as magnanimous as you are majestic, Highness. I only live to serve you well.” The words came easily from long habit, even though he was already thinking of what he would be doing that evening.

”Yes. Make sure you continue to do so. This Christian wench intrigues me with her spirit and appearance and I will expect you to restore her as often as I may require. You may go.”

Highness.” Salah walked away, bowing. He was 52, but a young woman made him feel as vigorous as he was when his hair was still as black as a raven's wing. He had ideas, too. For some of his poppy extract, Ali would occasionally permit him to watch when some woman had committed an offense serious enough to be condemned to death. Ali liked to play with them before their public execution. Salah had learned things about female anatomy not found in his medical books—as well as developing a taste for the sight of a nude woman writhing and screaming under the torture. Salah thought that some of his compounds might be altered to enhance pain as well as ease it. And he was experimenting with ways to concentrate certain acids. Yes, old Salah the physician had ideas. . . .

Where Salah had ideas, Prince ibn Muhammad had plans. Now that the Frank's beauty was restored, it was time for her next ordeal. Abd Ishmael decided to have her tormented in the larger punishment room of the seraglio. This would bar his chief torturer, Ali, of course, as he kept his full male equipment and no such man save himself was allowed, on pain of death, to pass its doors. Anyway, his eunuchs were skilled enough to do what he wanted—inflict great suffering without crushing the girl's spirit. He invited a dozen of his favored concubines to take part in the Frank’s agonies. They all assembled in the late afternoon, after the brutal noon 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 highlighted with gold. The selected courtesans reclined on the floor around him.

Once he had settled in and taken coffee, he gave the command and Fouad and Ahmed, a junior eunuch, entered from a side door, dragging the Dutchwoman between them. Annetje 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 man accepted another small cup of thick sweet coffee from Caramina, the youngest, while he idly played with one of Yasmin’s ripe berry nipples through her sheer blue silk blouse. The Frankish woman wore the loose silk pantaloons of the harem, but only a white bandeau above, a long cloth that passed behind her neck, crossed and cossetted her breasts in front, and then tied again just beneath her shoulder blades. The bandeau nicely exposed Annetje's taut midriff and gently swept flanks from just below the top of her rib cage to the tops of her hips, but did little to conceal the size and wobble of her tits. The Arab Prince admired her unusual height and her two long slim legs, but it was the sight of her smooth skin, a luminous creamy pink highlighted by the fine red-gold hair that really stirred him.

The eunuchs led Annetje into the center of the room and placed her into a special kind of pillory, one not mounted to the floor. Instead of the standard simple pair of boards with three holes, this one, beautifully carved of African hardwood, held the wrists of the victim at the end of separate wings back behind her while a third hole imprisoned her long neck in the front. The wooden device was designed with care to push the shoulder blades of a woman close together, a simple method to present a girl's bare breasts high and out thrust for the cruel attentions of the torturers. The wings were even angled slightly up to keep the arms raised to make the tender armpits and upper spine more available to torture. Now the plump female gourds pushed forcefully against the flimsy white bandeau, straining the thin fabric. Iron rings had been set into the ends of the device and these were now locked into chains that dangled from the ceiling. Then the eunuchs bent down and fastened Annetje’s small ankles into iron cuffs spreading them a full meter apart. Now the lovely Dutchwoman stood helpless before Prince Ishmael and his concubines. A few of them tittered at the way her tits jiggled, whispering to each other about their unbelievable size. The two massive eunuchs took places to her side, awaiting the orders of their Prince. A long, low table behind them had been prepared with a selection of torture instruments, varied in type and severity to accommodate any whim.

Annetje Van Doorn stood up tall and proud in the center of the luxurious room, striving to hide the fear she felt. The Prince leaned back and relished the sight the Frankish woman presented before him. She didn’t look the least bit tamed from her last torment. 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, but still the unexpected intensity of the sjambok's kisses between her legs made her lose control and scream. She was determined to withstand this next ordeal with all the pride and dignity she could muster. Fighting her body's desire to shiver in fear, she held herself erect and stared straight forward as if the man and his hateful slaves weren't there, so she didn't see the smile that crossed his face.

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

Annetje closed her eyes. She had expected this command, but its execution caught her off-guard. The assembled concubines sprang up at the order. Like a pack of gleeful harpies, they descended on the spreadeagled Dutchwoman. In moments, the squealing pack of females had cut away the silk pants and bandeau, revealing her utterly nude before the Prince. The sun was only a few 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 a high annual tribute to the Caliph, his slightest desire was catered to by fawning sycophants eager to please him and avoid his displeasure. Prince Abd Ishmael ibn Muhammad had earned his lesser title of al-Auf, the Bad, through the sadistic and relentless indulgence of his whims. Beyond their ability to please him, he could not care less for the bodies and lives of the victims he had ordered broken and killed. This was as it was and should be. The sole reason for his harem's 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 Annetje found herself helpless and utterly nude before the cruel Omani Prince. The naked girl shivered with a quick, unbidden wave of fear from her predicament. She had been naked in front of this man before, painfully so suspended by her ankles in his dungeon torture room, but this was the first time her proud bare breasts were so obviously presented to the sight and attentions of the barbarous Muslim ruler, and she had a deep dread of what that presaged. In the past three years they had grown in sensitivity even as they grew larger in size. During her last session in the palace dungeon, she had learned of his sadism and now, more than anything else, she feared torture inflicted there. She had struggled to admit to herself their supreme sensitivity, yet relished the pleasure she felt caressing them in her private bedchamber, the way her nipples would crinkle into hard tingling peaks, and the delicious warmth that produced between her thighs. They were also the most obvious aspects declaring her femininity to any who looked at her. And now she faced fiendish torments inflicted on those proudly protruding parts of her body solely for this monster's enjoyment. Still, she would try to withstand the brutal ordeal she faced, and resolved to deny him the satisfaction of hearing her scream or beg for mercy. Even facing the worst ordeal she could imagine, she was still too proud to surrender easily. Prince Abd Ishmael watched the Dutchwoman squirming beneath the stock and chains and smiled. He made a casual gesture and leaned back for another thimble of coffee. Five of the concubines returned to the Frank's splayed body. The eldest four dipped their hands into a bowl of fragrant oil while the youngest one knelt between her knees. Annetje groaned in shame as the four began massaging her naked body with the oil from neck to knees. The youngest, chosen for her long and pointed tongue, lifted her face into the notch between her widespread thighs.

The giggling girls rubbed Annetje everywhere, greasing her with the rare aromatic oils. Their hands fondled her bare breasts, belly, and ass, oiling her naked body until it gleamed. The Dutchwoman protested the insistent hands, but then felt a strange sensation below. Down between her legs, Caramina was using the techniques she had learned from the older women to pleasure them licking and probing into her vagina with her tongue. She skillfully swept it up and back between the silky lips, freshly shaved an hour before, and softly laved them all the way up to the button clit. Suddenly, Annetje's revulsion started turning into something much different, and completely unexpected.

Against her will, Annetje Van Doorn felt herself responding to the incessant licking. She was a young girl in the full flush of feminine maturity and her situation was extremely erotic, nude in an Arab seraglio in the presence of a mature and exotic man. 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 touch of another and felt herself losing control to the rising desire for release.

“Khalass! Enough!” She came back to the moment at the sharp Arabic command from the reclining Muslim Prince. The girls scurried back to their places. Caramina, the one who had so devilishly stimulated her slit, settled beside him. Gauging Annetje's reactions to a nicety, al-Auf had waited until she was fiercely aroused and on the brink of orgasm, then cruelly denied that release. She felt a deep shame at the way her body had responded despite her resolve. The man leaned over and spoke briefly to the girl who had been present during her whipping.

Yasmin turned toward her. “My Lord Ishmael commands me to say that you have not been brought here for your pleasure, but for his,” she said in perfect Dutch. “He is amazed that a Christian and young lady of obvious breeding could be so wanton. No Arab woman of good family would respond in such away, the shame would kill her. Only slaves and concubines would behave so in front of a man.” More quick Arabic. “My Lord also says that if you behave like a slave, you shall be treated like a slave, a slave who exists only to amuse him. It is now time for you to do so.” Paralyzed by those ominous words, Annetje could only watch as the girl returned her full attention to the lounging prince and slowly spread his ornate silken robe below his waist. She had been only half aware during her rape, but now she was fully conscious and couldn't help staring. The Lord of Muscat was a lusty young man, slight, as was typical of the desert-living Arab, but no doubt a man she saw as his newly revealed sex indicated. It was already rising up and filling between his legs. The Dutchwoman could not help but stare with fascination at his penis. It was already plump as a sausage and growing larger before her eyes, it’s single eye staring back at her. She was painfully aware of her absolute exposure in this hideous room and felt fear, but still, still, so much as she hated it, the teenager could not help relishing 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 as if with a will of their own. There was no thought to the act, just a primal instinct overriding her self-control. 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. Annetje knew that she was a beautiful young woman. Before she had been carted away from Bombay, she had been pursued by every European man in the colony. All had tried to reach her newly blossomed chest with their hands and pushed at her loins with their own at dances. Now, helpless and utterly displayed before a healthy young prince, she felt her sex responding in spite of her upbringing. Roused by Caramina's recent licking, warm wet pulses of rising sexual arousal filled her loins again unbidden. My nude body is arousing him, she thought. I am beautiful, and it is my beauty straining his manhood this way. While she hated herself for it, secretly she relished the effect she was so obviously having on his exposed penis. As much as she dreaded the savage sexual torment she knew was about to begin, she could not stop the moist warmth between her thighs, powerless to control her surging young hormones.

Throughout Yasmin's ministrations, Prince Ishmael had never taken his eyes from the naked young Frank. Well experienced in the ways of women, he knew exactly what was happening to her and smiled. Excellent, he thought, the pale-skinned infidel whore is even better entertainment than I had hoped! This arousal will only make her body more responsive to the torture and it now was time to begin. At a command, Caramina rose and went towards the spreadeagled Frank holding a small box of lacquered wood.

The Arab girl who spoke Dutch spoke again. “My lord, the Prince, finds your body interesting. He especially likes your nipples and clitoris, as they are so much unlike ours in color and size. He has commanded that those portions of your body be made even larger in preparation for his entertainment.” Yasmin smiled evilly. “There are many ways to do this. The eunuchs could pierce them with red-hot needles, but my lord the Prince has decided to be merciful and not burn you 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 manhood and the chili paste would ruin you for that. He has decided on another method.”

Annetje looked down and saw Caramina open the ornate box. She held it up so Annetje 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. Yasmin continued “Wasps, special wasps. They come from Africa. Their sting causes the flesh to swell. It is also extremely painful.” Once, when she had been new to the seraglio, she had seen another concubine punished with them. The girl hadn't really done anything to deserve it, she just had the bad luck to be the least attractive of a gift offering from a sheikh at the same time the first of the African insects had arrived for evaluation. Fouad had her bound tightly spread-eagle and naked and then went to work on her. The wasps had wings and he had ordered Yasmin the job of catching the insects within their cages and pulling them off first. The eunuch loved the effect produced by the stings—one of the few times she saw him smile. The grisly torture went on for almost two hours as one after another he positioned the wasps on her skin. The wretch's breasts and genitals were obvious early targets and soon her chest was covered with angry swelling bumps and the entire area between her legs bloated out grotesquely. After that Fouad got creative. There was nothing to restrain his hatred, so he sought out an ever new variety of places to sting. After her inner things and buttocks, he wrenched some particularly desperate screams by attacking her rectum. Then he moved higher on her helpless nude body. After treating her underarms, he went for her face until her ears and nostrils bulged out. The girl's strength was fading, but he managed to restore some energy when he placed the insects on her eyelids. He finished by forcing a few past her distended labia and into her vagina, but she had little left. At some point her mind had broken and without the horror, continuing was not as satisfying for him and he had learned what he wanted about the wasps so more were soon procured. Yasmin unconsciously rubbed her fingers in painful memory. They had been stung repeatedly by the irate bugs leaving her hands so swollen that others had had to feed her for days.

Abd Ishmael, al-Auf the Bad, barked another order, breaking Yasmin’s bitter reverie. She nodded to the girl holding the box. Caramina took a pair of wooden tweezers and fished out one of the tiny creatures. Fouad grabbed the Dutchwoman about her waist to hold her still. Wasting no time, the little concubine presented the tweezers to Annetje Van Doorn’s left breast and positioned it carefully. The girl stared down at the thing in horror, feeling its six small legs tickling her tender pink areola. Caramina squeezed the jaws slightly to provoke the wasp. Suddenly it struck, lancing its sharp stinger directly into the very tip of the teat.

“HHHHUUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!” she grunted fiercely and wrenched back against the eunuch’s barrel chest. The densely clustered nerve endings in the delicate bud flashed white-hot from the caustic sting. The flash gave way quickly to a series of rapid pulses of even more intense pain with every tiny new spurt of venom. Annetje’s head tossed side to side, eyes rolling at the sudden agony afflicting her tender left nipple. She writhed so desperately that she didn’t notice Caramina's tweezers already fishing out a second wasp from the box. Then pretty blond groaned loudly as she became aware of the insidious tickling on her naked right nipple as the wasp gripped its pointed pink tip. She fought to quash her horror and maintain her dignity, but 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. , The fiercely irritating fluid filling her delicate pap wrenched the loud gasp from her throat despite her best efforts to remain silent. In moments, long moments of fighting the hideous agony, both of her naked nipples swelled up into bulging caps tipped with flint-hard teats, both throbbing with fiery pain. When her breasts had first started budding out from her chest, she was aware of how sensitive the tips had become and now that wondrous responsiveness was being used to cause her unendurable anguish. Consumed with the pain in her breasts, she didn't realize that this was only the beginning of her ordeal and just how much worse the next phase would be.

“Please hold her tightly now, good Fouad,” Caramina asked. “This milk-skinned bitch has one more teat that our lord the Prince would have enlarged and I suspect she will object even more strenuously this time.” Annetje 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 grasp one thigh to hold it still. Caramina reached one hand up to spread the fragile lips between her legs apart to expose the dainty pink pearl at their apex. Oh god, god, god, her mind screamed, not that! They wouldn't, couldn't, do that to her! Her mind filled with the single litany of not that, not that, not that, not that . . .

Down before her the girl pulled a third wasp from the box, selecting a particularly large and angry insect this time. Kneeling between the Dutch woman’s spread legs, she lifted her wooden tweezers and presented the enraged insect to the Dutch girl’s notch. Annetje squealed in horror when she felt the tiny legs grasping and stroking that most intimate flesh and then came that same hideous stabbing agony at the very top of her slit when the African wasp lanced its sting into the tip of her clitoris.

“AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHHH! AAAHH, IT HURTS, IT HURTS! AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGG! TAKE IT AWAY! TAKE IT AWAY! THE PAIN! THE PAINNNNN! OH, GOD THE PAIN! OH, PLEASE! MY CUNNY! AHHHH, IT BURNS! IT BURNS SO!” Annetje's torso heaved making her lovely bare breasts sway wildly on her chest. “Damn you, DAMN YOU FOR THIS! YOU HEATHENS! YOU HERETICS! DAMN YOU!” she wailed, her resolution to hold her dignity shattered by the fiendish attack to her most private and sensitive female parts.

”My Lord, the infidel wench is--”

”No need to translate, Yasmina, my pet, I can guess what she is saying.” He chuckled and squirmed down a bit more into the cushions. “You just continue doing your job. Ah, yes, that feels good!”

Yasmin stopped talking and did as he commanded, employing her small hands with all the deftness and skill she had learned from Diramar to pleasure a man’s sex, playing with the Prince’s rigid shaft while he watched the Dutchwoman writhe in anguish. His dark eyes stared at Annetje’s nude body, relishing the way her nipples and clit had bloated, the genital bud already standing out like an angry red berry between her slit. By Allah, he thought, this infidel bitch’s body could awaken the dead! Yasmin felt his surging passion and wisely eased her ministrations to the heavy rod of flesh in her hands, content for the moment with the lightest of brushes. Even so, his rigid penis twitched repeatedly in testament to his extreme arousal. But he was just starting with the pretty young victim.

“Flog the Frankish wench now, Fouad, and don’t neglect those lovely plump udders of hers. You know how I like it so don't bleed her right away, but I want to see them really them dance to the tune of your lash!”

Fouad had brought with him two of his favorite whips, each capable of inflicting the most grievous pains. The first was a hyena’s tail, soaked in brine and attached to a two-foot long handle of ironwood. This cruel weapon, sweeping across the flesh, he could slice it like a knife if he so desired, but that was reserved for extreme punishments or when the woman was condemned to be whipped to death. At three-quarters strength, the hyena’s tail would still burst hideously against the skin and leave a long red line of agony behind, yet 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 with superb accuracy. He picked up the hyena's tail and made the thin whip pop loudly behind her a couple of times. He saw her pale cinnamon hair toss as she tried to look back and anticipate this new threat, but the mahogany neck brace effectively prevented that. Annetje Van Doorn could only look straight ahead at the black-bearded Prince and the seraglio women who were all watching her intently.

Standing behind her, the head eunuch was entranced by the sight her breasts presented. All the other concubines were petite and small-breasted. This Frankish girl’s tits were so incredibly full and round that he could see their outer curves jutting out to either side of her slim torso as she struggled. Fouad smiled to himself. This would be a delightful task. He well knew how sensitive most girls' naked breasts were to the kiss of the lash. If this white-skinned bitch was larger there, then there was just that much more sensitive skin to hurt. He couldn’t see her nipples, but knew from past experience how turgid and achingly tender they got after the wasp treatment. He liked hurting women. 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. Very few 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 perverse pleasures from tormenting the women given into their charge. As Annetje 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 for her and enjoyable for him. Fouad looked to his Prince, eagerly awaiting the command to begin.

Abd-Ishmael ibn Muhammad raised his hand and gave the quick gesture the eunuch wanted. Fouad grinned and swept back his lash. SCRACKKT! The hyena whip cut through the air and burst across the Dutchwoman’s lower back just above her high ass cheeks, the tip curling part way around her side. The stroke drew a sharp hiss, but this flogging was to be no slow buildup of pain. The only reason he started on the infidel's back was to reacquaint her with the sting of the lash, a tactic he knew would add to the her dread of when it started kissing the more sensitive parts of her body. WHACKKT! The next harsh cut followed almost immediately to the tender backs of her thighs just beneath the cute buttocks. SCRACKKT! SWACKT! WHACKKT! Again and again the whip caressed the Frankish woman’s back from neck to knees. The monstrous eunuch applied a little extra force when he directed the whip across the deep sacral dimples at the narrowest part. Each and every stroke left a harsh red welt of burning pain behind it. The hot agony was horrible, but she had regained a little control and 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 embarrassingly aware of the lascivious writhing dance her nude body was performing, but was helpless to stop it.

Soon the head eunuch stepped up 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, carefully judged so the tip just reached her swollen pink clitoris, so cruelly swollen by the wasp venom. “Unnnnnnnnnnnnhhh!” she grunted and her long slim legs hopped back and forth against the ankle chains as she struggled to endure the savage burning agony between her legs. SWICKKT! Again, the fat eunuch swept his whip up between the Frank’s clenching thighs to kiss her ripe pink genitals. Again. And yet again, repeating until eight bitter strokes had caressed her loins and the flesh of her sex began swelling and started to bulge out from her notch. She had felt the whip on her genitals before, but there was no getting used to that burning pain, now made much, much worse by the increased sensitivity of her throbbing clitoris.

Fouad switched to the thin antelope whip for the assault on her front, a forearm's length span of cartilage soaked in brine to make it supple, attached to a two-foot mahogany handle and tapered to a fine pointed tip. The eunuch returned to his place directly behind the splayed nude girl. His cruel little eyes again took in the sweeping arch of her spine, down from the gap between her shoulder blades, down the concavity between the sacral dimples and ending in the crack separating her taut buttocks. Slim and supple she was, yet smoothly curved in that distinctly feminine way that inflamed his hatred of all things female. Unlike Arab women, her skin was as white as milk except where his whip had kissed it; indeed, he was extremely pleased by the way it showed the hard red welts. Given his leave, he would have whipped this splendid back until the skin ripped open and the blood flowed. Then a good dousing with sea brine to revive her followed by a similar whipping across her front. He would like to flog the Frankish wench to the death—with packages of fiery chili seeds rammed up her nether holes and riding the red-hot iron saddle—but he would have to settle for this. He was also comforted by the thought that the Prince would eventually tire of her—in time he always did—and then he would have the pale daughter of a pig completely in his power. He heard a sound and was snapped from his reverie.

Fouad. Fouad! Get on with it, or shall I give you to Ali for some training in focus?”

”N-No, my Lord! No. At once, my Lord!” His eyes narrowed at the form chained before him. That was your fault, bitch! The sight of you distracted me! You will pay for that! This time he started with a vicious forehand stroke that carved the thin skin over Dutch girl’s heaving rib cage, leaving a bright red weal on the virgin white skin to draw another sharp gasp of pain. Yes, now you will pay, now I shall see if your front is as responsive as I hope.

SWACKKKT! “AH!” SWOCKKT! “AAHH!” SWICKKKT! SWOCKKK! With deliberate aim, the whip now curled repeatedly around Annetje’s bared torso, starting at her flat belly and gently rounded abdomen. Her head locked within the hardwood frame, there was no possible warning of where the whip would strike next on her untouched front. The strokes worked up higher, slicing against the thin skin covering her rib cage, then he unexpectedly moved down so the antelope tail could curl around her tender inner thighs. The pain was ghastly, line after line of fire up and down the delicate flesh. The lash drew some particularly satisfying contortions when he moved a little farther to either side so the pointed tip could dig into the tender hollows beneath her arms. She still hadn't screamed, but now Fouad didn't mind; it would only make her wails all the more satisfying when they did come. In the battle between whip and will the whip always won—and until then he knew the stubborn Christian bint was still suffering intensely.

Anticipating the Prince's desire, Fouad administered only a dozen more strokes to the lower torso before sweeping the first cruel lash to the Dutch girl's prominent bare breasts. The slim lash darted around from behind to bite viciously into the soft bulge of Annetje’s right mound.

”AH! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! AH! AH! AH!” She barely back held the loud shriek that wanted to rip from her throat, but it was a very near thing Sweet Mary! The whip hurt even more than she feared on her tits! SWICCCKT! This time around from the other side to strike home on the upper slope of the left globe. Now the fat eunuch slowed his rhythm so the Frank could feel all the pain of each lash and fully anticipate the next. Fouad was deliberately sweeping the narrow whip so it only struck one naked breast at a time. The slim antelope tail would suddenly appear at the edge of her vision from one side or the other and then there would be that hideous stinging pain as the tapered tip scourged one jutting gourd or the other.

Prince Abd Ishmael leaned back, accepting another thimble of cardamon coffee, sipping at it and and lifting his hips up a bit more for Yasmin's exquisite masturbation. The young concubine gripped the base of his scrotum to tug the skin down tight along the shaft, then her head lowered and she delicately licked about the turgid glans, teasing, teasing and arousing, yet always easing back before reaching the crest. It was the Prince’s favorite form of play: To watch the torture of a pretty young woman while another played with his manhood to the edge of orgasm. He was experienced enough with this form of amusement to savor every moment and starting with the relatively minor torment of a whipping just kept the fun going longer. He especially enjoyed it when the the whip caressed his victims' feminine parts, their slit and breasts, but he had never seen such a captivating pair! Every kiss of the antelope's tail pressed slightly into the globes, then they would leap up high and jiggle on her chest in a lascivious dance of pain. Their cream-white skin also provided a marvelous contrast for the bright scarlet stripes left by each lash.

After a dozen strokes, both of the heaving mounds were well streaked top and bottom, but Fouad had carefully left a slim band across the middle untouched, but only to add to her anticipation. Now, infidel bitch, Fouad thought, now let's hear you scream! SWOCKKTT! The cruel antelope tail curled around the Dutch girl’s narrow back to caress the very middle of one breast, biting the wasp-stung right nipple for the first time.

”WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! OH, GAWD! IT BURNS! IT BURNS! NOT THERE! OH, PLEASE, PLEASE NOT THERE!”

Yes! What Fouad suspected was now borne out: the Dutchwoman could endure extreme torment on her back, her inner thighs, even her slit, but her breasts were a different story. As he had hoped, the high-perched white gourds were acutely sensitive, especially the large pink nipples. He grinned. I have you, he exulted, now I will make you really sing. SWACKKT! Around from the left this time, adjusting his reach so the point accurately found that breast’s tip to flatten the rigid teat.

“IIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! NO MORE! NO MORE! PITY, I BEG YOU, TAKE PITY! A-ANYTHING! ANYTHING YOU WANT ONLY STOP HURTING MY POOR TITTIES! OH SWEET GOD, MY NIPPLES BURN! THEY BURNNNNN!” Now, finally, Annetje’s fierce resolve broke completely under the savage sexual torture and she wailed loudly after every cut over her nude breasts. WHISSSSKT! HISSSSWOCKKT! SWICKKKT! Back and forth, back and forth, the fat eunuch flailed the young woman across her jutting naked nipples from behind with the thin whip. “HEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” SWACKKKT! He had to curb his enthusiasm so he didn't ruin the nipples too soon, so the next crisp darting stroke curled under an arm to leave its stripe over the top of the bulging curves. Four more kissed the globes, before: WHISSSSSSSICKKT! Hard from the right, the antelope-tail burst upon that side's jutting ripe mound, the tip once again seeking out the wasp-stung teat.

Thrilled by the sight before him, Ishmael spread his legs even wider to better present his bared penis to Yasmin's delicate ministrations. Still holding the base tightly, she ran her tongue around the corona, then used just the tip to flick rapidly against the exquisitely sensitive delta of the frenulum just beneath the hard plum glans. Despite her hand's constriction, a heavy drop of clear fluid forced its way out of the tiny slit at the top. He groaned with pleasure at the sensation 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 helpless melons. Her shrieks of agony burst forth endlessly now, loud and raw. The strokes continued to leave their cruel stripes over her tits until a full three dozen had carved the globes from each side. Annetje's nude body writhed frantically as she fought the wooden stock, gleaming with a heavy coating of sweat. Both of her ankles were chafed from rubbing against the iron cuffs holding them apart. In between the ragged, now inchoate screams, she panted like a hard-ridden horse from the extreme effort of enduring the hellish sexual torture. Finally, Prince Abd Ishmael ibn Muhammad, known to all as al-Auf the Bad, called a halt.

The Prince husked off his keffiya and rose to walk up to the spread nude girl, now naked himself but for the ornate headdress. His heavy erection swung side to side at every step, yet always pointed out toward the nude Dutch girl. Annetje’s chest heaved from her recent exertions, her body gleaming. Bright droplets of sweat beaded on her oiled skin that sparkled with every breath. Her mind was so consumed with agony that at first she didn't even realize the lashes had stopped. Then her gaze cleared and she saw the cruel man approach. Despite her pain, she couldn't help staring at the large rigid shaft wobbling between his legs and groaned. On top of everything, on top of all her suffering, now this monster was going to rape her again! Two concubines followed him and they tied silken loops around her legs just above the knees. Once in place, they pulled on them stretching her trembling white thighs even further apart and lifting her feet off the floor . After being stung and flogged, Abd Ishmael could plainly see the bloated red currant of her clit sticking out from the top of her inflamed sex and smiled. Then he moved his gaze up to admire the Dutch girl's chest. The soft creamy globes were both generously decorated with an overlaid pattern of rising scarlet welts. There were some darker purple points where some of the lashes had crossed the same spot. Under Fouad's skillful efforts, several of the welts crossed 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. When he got close enough, the Prince reached up with his hands to gently fondle the whipped bare breasts. The globes were so fiercely irritated that Annetje van Doorn gasped at even this light touch. His penis twitched up with delight and he dipped his hips to rub the hard plum head against the 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, slowly sliding his rigid penis up and back against her sex, hot and puffy from its beating. Annetje groaned in shame. Her situation was heavy with lurid sexuality: utterly naked, tightly bound and helpless, made to endure fiendish torture on the delicate organs of her sex, and now an obviously virile and aroused man was gently playing with those same female parts. Her pain robbed her of any vestige of pleasure, but her body was still responding in spite of her embarrassment. Ishmael’s hard purple head pushed up against the tender inner lips of her labia, just below the bloated aching clitoris. The Dutch girl felt her fragile nether mouth open to the man’s insistent probing. She felt her labia part around Abd Ishmael’s stiff glans, then spread wider as he slid the shaft slowly and powerfully up into her vagina. The fierce heat of her labial whipping added a ferocious intensity to the sensation between her legs. In spite of her misery, she felt her sex begin to react and started to let go. But then it struck. Then her stubborn arrogant attitude took hold and tossed her into an even deeper hole. Suddenly and profoundly shamed by her tormented body’s response to the handsome Prince’s insistent manhood, she wrenched away and spat full in his face! The Prince stepped back in shock, pulling his erection out of her. The Dutch bitch was so close, so close to yielding, yet there was still fight in her! Her sudden surge of pride both excited and insulted him. None of his concubines would dare to refuse him this way. The challenge of breaking this Frankish bitch to his slightest whim consumed him—and now he had the additional motive to continue her torture since he could not ignore the blatant affront to his honor she had inflicted on him, especially in front of his slaves! He angrily stepped farther back.

“Caramina! Bring the small brazier and put it down beneath her! Your instruments, too! I want you to use your skills to keep the bitch's genitals properly entertained! She thinks herself too good for my shaft, so let us see if she enjoys your ministrations better! Fouad, Ahmed! I want both of you flog the haughty bitch now. Ahmed, you work on her back and bottom Fouad, she appears to hate the strokes on her breasts, so pay special attention to them. Whip them hard, but I still don’t want them cut until I order it. The Frankish wench has insulted me—I want to see her suffer, but not ruined!”

The Prince remained in front of her, moving just far enough away to clear enough room for the whips. As ordered, the concubine quickly placed the small bowl of coals down between the splayed Dutch girl’s gaping long legs and squatted down in front of her. The little Arab girl carefully slid several bone-handled needles and sharp narrow blades into the small bed of glowing embers to absorb the fierce heat. The other two concubines pulled harder on Annetje’s knee cords, keeping the thighs apart to totally expose her entire crotch. Yasmin glided over to kneel at his feet, reaching around his legs with her small hands to softly play with his scrotum and shaft. The affront to his dignity had weakened his arousal, making him extremely dangerous to everyone in his sight, but the combined effect of her fingers and his anticipation of the horror the Frank was about to feel quickly brought him back to full erection once again. “Continue,” he commanded grimly.

Fouad and Ahmed began first. Fouad chose the thinner antelope whip, but instead of the shorter hyena-tail lash, he selected a long leather strap for Ahmed. Ahmed was less experienced and the belt would make it less likely that he would bleed the infidel by mistake and irritate the Prince further. He also had an idea that just might gain him a reward. The beautiful strawberry blond looked side to side in terror as the huge eunuchs took up their positions. She saw the cruel whip twitching in the older one's hand and knew instantly how the man was going to make her pay for her pride—he was going to have his slave hurt her poor bare titties again! She looked ahead at the standing Prince, desperately babbling now for mercy, but his hard black eyes were implacable—and there was also the insistent rod between his legs. She had learned how much her torture aroused him and now, under the concubine's steady fondling, it was again rigid, the single eye staring at her nude body. Even knowing it was futile, she tried again to free her wrists. The cleverly designed head and wrist stock forced her stirring striped globes to jut out proudly away from her chest, the precise reason behind its design. That would now be used to good advantage for their savage breast flogging and Annetje felt panic rise up and fill her.

”No, oh no, no, NO! Please! Don't do this! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'll let you do what you want! You can make love to me! Just don't hurt my poor breasts again! PLEASE DON'T HURT ME ANY MORE!”

”Yasmina?” the prince asked.

”The Frank is begging your forgiveness, my Lord. She is afraid of more torture, especially to those fat udders of hers. The infidel whore is now even asking you to fuck her—no, not really asking. She is requesting it as if you needed her permission. She even uses the foolish unbeliever expression 'make love!' As if she was an equal and not a simpering infidel slave who exists only to please your Highness.”

Ishmael nodded. He could see that the girl was terrified from the way she spoke, even that her resistance had cracked in the face of more pain, although not to the point that she would actually ask him to fuck her. He found the “make love” phrase humorous; so the insolent bitch wasn't completely broken yet, there was still a spark of pride. Well, it was too late for apologies, much too late. She spat in his face and she would pay dearly for that offense.

He looked to the two eunuchs. “Begin.”

CRACKKKT! SPLATTT! HISSWICKT! SPLAKKK! Lash followed lash, attacking her nude torso relentlessly with their bitter kisses. There was almost no interval between them; the strap would follow the antelope tail and as soon as that left its line of pain the strap was already flying through the air. Ahmed's supple strap had the advantage of striking skin all but virgin to the lash, but that pain was insignificant compared to that afflicting her front. 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, Caramina blew on the coals, then pulled the first of her needles from the brazier, the keen point now glowing with heat. She raised the other hand and her tiny fingers spread the Dutch girl’s dainty labia. She took deliberate aim then stabbed the glowing lance up into that exquisitely sensitive flesh at the base of Annetje's inner and outer lips where they began at the top of the perineum with a loud hiss.

”YYYYYYYIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! OHGODOHGODOHGODTHE PAIN, THE PAIN!” Annetje squealed like a piglet being butchered alive. Her naked genitals exploded in agony at the intimate kiss of red-hot steel between her gaping thighs. As with the beating above, there was scant time between the attacks since the little fiend kneeling below didn't have to wait for the instrument to reheat; fresh ones were already waiting in the coals. Next came a small scalpel blade, glowing red that Caramina used to slice tiny sizzling cuts sideways across the Frank’s bulging left lip. A second blade incised the right fold, always working closer up toward the gleaming pearl of her clit. Annetje’s straining nude thighs tensed and quivered under the fiendish genital torture, still pulled wide apart by the silk knee cords. There was no blood here, either. The cruel instruments were so hot that each and every slice instantly cauterized the swollen flesh.

Behind her, Ahmed applied his belt from the shoulders between the neck and wrist device all the way down to the top of her thighs. He paid special attention to Annetje's buttocks, sending the majority of his blows there. After each one the rounded hillocks would shudder to the impact and they quickly flushed a bright red under the pounding. Once when the small concubine was replacing one hot instrument for another he aimed one stroke so the leather slipped into the notch to sting the tender flesh where one leg began, but a savage look from Fouad told him that the girl's genitals were off-limits to him, at least while the little slave was tormenting them. And she never stopped with her delicate torments. Her next two cut burning lines up the grooves where the lip met the upper thigh. Then Caramina moved her fingertips a bit for the final two blades, delicately separating the labia so she could slide one after the other up the exquisitely tender furrow separating the feathery inner lips from plump outer ones. The sharp hiss of searing meat was almost completely lost under the Dutch girl's bellows of agony.

It was now that Fouad took the biggest gamble of his depraved life. He held back his arm and dropped to his knees toward the Prince, who looked down at him with surprise immediately followed by the beginnings of annoyance.

”What are you doing, eunuch?! I gave no order to stop!”

”Forgive me, Great Lord! A moment, Great Lord! I beg pardon, Mighty Lord!” he babbled. “Beloved of Allah, I know I am just an unworthy slave and not a man, but I have a thought that might amuse your Highness and increase the infidel piglet's suffering!”

Ishmael was about to order the eunuch's death, but then the kneeling wretch's last words penetrated his mind. “ Very well, you may speak, but if you have interrupted my enjoyment without good reason, I shall give you to Ali before I have you beheaded!”

Shaking with fear, Fouad raised his head slightly. “Great Lord, I merely thought that the infidel whore might be growing inured by the current focus of breast whipping and kus burning. If it please your Magnificence, I beg to suggest that, just for a short while, I kiss her whorish sex with my whip while Caramina treats her paps with the hot knives and probes. That will keep her kus from growing bored and will make her dugs respond better to the whipping when we resume. Forgive me, Most Excellent Servant of the Prophet, praise be upon him, I wish only to serve you as best I can.” He dropped his head again and groveled, praying to Allah that his bold move wouldn't result in a torturous death. He visibly flinched when he heard a barking laugh.

”By the Prophet, peace to him, you surprise me, eunuch! Your idea is worthy of the estimable Ali himself! Yes, an excellent thought! Rise and pick up your whip. Caramina, use your tools on her tits for a while. Just make sure you don't block my view, I want to see everything you do to the haughty wench's breasts!”

The adjustment was quickly done. Fouad pushed Ahmed away and moved behind the shaking nude girl while Caramina went to her right. It was unnecessary to move the small brazier for her to reach her instruments. Annetje had heard the exchange of Arabic and noticed her tormentors' position change, but didn't understand either one and the man's concubine didn't translate. She just knew it could only mean something bad for her.

The next fifteen minutes were an eternity of hell for the pretty young Dutch woman. The thin antelope whip swept up from the floor to crack home against her yawning and vulnerable genitals, always with no warning until her groin exploded in agony. The pain from the whip kissing her sex would have been ghastly enough, but after the recent burning it was excruciatingly intense. At the same time, Caramina began burning her aching breasts. First she used the small red-hot scalpels to slice fiery lines of pain across the mounds. She began with the right one, working in a clockwise pattern. She started on its upper slope, moving an inch at a time around over the bulging under curve, and ending again at the top. Often she increased the pain even more by running her hot blades along the rising welts left by the whip. Then it was the left pear's turn. The cuts were very shallow, barely parting the striped skin; cutting deeper was unnecessary since most of the nerve endings were near the surface and only the Prince could authorize any permanent scarring. Sweating profusely from her long ordeal, every touch of the radiant steel now sizzled more than hissed on contact. As ordered, she was careful to stay to either side while she worked so he could see every new burn. Ragged screams accompanied every fresh cut by whip or knife.

Prince Abd Ishmael watched Annetje's suffering avidly. I'll see how proud you stay now, Frank, he thought. This will teach you the price of insult. Then he hissed in pleasure as a fresh shiver ran through his penis. Yasmin had never stopped her skillful masturbation, pushing him expertly toward climax only to ease him back down again just short of the crest. As one of his slaves, it was no more than her duty to please him, but the way she was maintaining his arousal might still be worthy of some small reward, an extraordinary concept for him. The thought was only passing, however. His enjoyment of the lovely redhead's intense sexual torture immediately brought his mind back as he decided to how he wanted to achieve this orgasm. It came to him when he saw the concubine lift one of her needles toward Annetje's right breast.

”Hold now, Caramina! No more burning her chest. Pull the coals back out of the way. Fouad, now I want you and Ahmed to beat the Frank's breasts a bit more, but only with the straps. Flog them well, but I want you to stop the moment her nipples start bleeding, is that clear?” Both nodded immediately. “Now continue the torture of her breasts!”

The brutal strapping resumed. Every wet slap punished already swollen and discolored flesh. The two eunuchs varied their strokes, heavy lashes pounded the upper slopes, rising upper cuts lifted the gourds, and vicious horizontal blows struck across the very middle to distort and set them dancing wildly about on her chest. Without being told, Caramina went back to work on the miserable girl's genitals from behind. A glowing blade made a sputtering sound as it slipped down the middle of her sex until the keen point cut up to the flesh in back where the slit started. Under normal conditions, the little knife would have entered into the vagina, but Annetje's labia were so bloated from their savage beating that they pressed together even with the way her knees were pulled apart.

HIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! HEEEEEEEEEEEEE!AAAAARRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! STOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOPIT! K-K-KILL ME! PLEASE, OH PLEASE, JUST K-KILL ME AND END THIS! AAAAAAARRRRAAH! NO MORE! AH, PITY! NO MORE! NO MORE!” Annetje's screams and frantic pleas ripped out of her throat. There was no longer any thought of defiance, even of dignity, no thought at all but that of somehow ending the intolerable sexual anguish. But there was no end yet, no cessation, only a new, impossible level of agony when Caramina choose a particularly fine needle, reached around Annetje's waist, and then slowly lanced it straight up into the center of the girl's hard, wasp-stung clitoris, pushing the sizzling steel down to the bottom of its root. “HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Ishmael was just staring now, drinking in the lurid sight of the nude beauty's suffering. Yasmin felt his rock-hard penis jerk up against her fingertips and another large clear drop oozed from the head. I can't hold you back much longer, my Prince. It is time. Take her, take her now.

As if to punctuate Yasmin's silent plea, and the Prince's growing readiness, Ahmed's next blow flattened the girl's right breast with his strap and a small mist of scarlet burst from the teat. Angered that Ahmed beat him to the blood, Fouad still held his arm. Absolute and immediate obedience to his master was necessary if a slave wanted to keep breathing.

Ishmael stepped forward out of Yasmin's grasp and right up to the Dutch girl. Her strawberry-blonde hair was matted with sweat, limp on the dark mahogany frame holding her neck and wrists, her cute face now a mask of agony, and her nude female body covered with angry red welts and burns. He thought she was beautiful. Looking down, he saw the thin line of brighter red blood trickle from the grotesquely swollen right nipple. “Caramina, a needle, quickly now!”

Knowing her job was almost finished, Yasmin scurried behind the Frank's yawning thighs. She reached into a skirt pocket and withdrew a small vial. She removed the stopper and poured some of its fragrant oil over the entire length of the long erection jutting up just in front of her face. Then, with infinite care, she used her slim fingers to lubricate the entire length, paying particular attention to the large purple-red bulb at its tip. Ishmael felt the exquisitely erotic sensation, sucking in a short, sharp breath, then Caramina pressed the handle of a glowing skewer into his hand. She grimaced when the hot metal touched her fingers, but he didn't even look her way. Yasmin barked an order to the two women holding Annetje's knee cords and they obediently pulled them forward to draw her hips closer to the Prince's shaft, but all of his attention was focused in front of him.

Gripping the bleeding breast to hold it steady, he held it up and looked into the girl's beautiful blue eyes. “Not so prideful now, hm? I must confess that I can't remember enjoying a session of play with a wench more. Now then, I can't let this grow cold.” Head held firmly by the wood, her eyes stared at the glowing needle. She couldn't understand his words, but his intent was crystal clear. She followed the needle's progress down. She felt the breast squeezed tighter and opened her mouth to beg, but the white-hot bolt of pain when he stabbed the metal sliver into the very center of her erect bleeding teat turned the plea into a scream.

HISSSSSSSSS! “AAAAAAAOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWW! AAAAHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Annetje's wails rang out, broken only by her gasps for air. Down below, Yasmin needed no guidance, she knew exactly what she had to do. Grasping his shaft, she positioned its turgid glans just in front of the Frank's slit and slowly rubbed it gently up and back against the swollen lips. He was focused on turning the skewer in her nipple to cauterize the tiny hole, but still gasped when the head of his penis touched the girl's sex. After the prolonged torture, the skin was incredibly hot, even hotter than his aroused flesh. Shaved and now slippery from the oil, the silken feel of her lips was delicious, incomparable. On her knees below, Yasmin continued directing the action. The knee cords pulled apart as far as they would go and the girl's thighs were parallel to the floor, feet well clear and ankle chains stretched to their limit. He dropped the now cool skewer and raised both hands to fondle her breasts. The feel of the numerous hard red welts beneath his fingertips added yet another small thrill to his sadistic delight. With a subtle yet insistent touch, Yasmin guided the rigid shaft gradually past the lips and deeper into Annetje's body. His loins went with the motion, thrusting upward and inward. The girl's sex could scarcely contain him, but his steady pressure forced the mouth open until he was buried to the hilt within her.

There was no longer any deliberate thought, just the desire of his flesh. Ishmael felt the spongy walls of her vagina grip his erection and began a leisurely piston motion back and in, back and in. The rape, however slow, was still just more agony for the pretty young girl. Ishmael's aroused penis had a considerable girth in addition to its length, so each thrust stretched horribly abused flesh. The worst pain came from the incessant back and forth rubbing against her clitoris. Even though slick with oil, the once dainty bud had been stung with wasp venom, beaten and abraded with whips, and finally seared to its core by a red hot needle until it had bloated to the size of a small grape and every inflamed nerve ending was throbbing in protest. The slightest touch would have been agonizing; this repeated and relentless friction was intolerable. And throughout it all was the shame she felt at this final, most intimate violation.

Yasmin ordered Caramina over and whispered some quick instructions to the younger slave, then backed away and went over to the table of punishment implements. Fouad moved as if to stop her, but a quick, hard glance stayed him. He knew it would be much easier to replace a eunuch than the Prince's favorite pleasure slave, so he only watched silently while she tested a few items before selecting a supple rattan and a couple of slim metal rods. Returning to the center of the room, she placed the end of the rods in the brazier, then moved behind the suspended Frank. Caramina was now kneeling at the Prince's feet with an arm holding her up against one thigh, so that as he pushed into Annetje, she could reach up and fondle his scrotum.

Ishmael was now varying his rhythm to enhance the pleasure, changing slow deep strokes with quick shallow ones. He would stop at different levels of penetration and then pinch the girl's tortured nipples to savor the variety of sensations her inner muscle spasms provided. A few times he pulled back until the head was just barely inside and Caramina would take hold and carefully move it around to stimulate the hypersensitive corona.

Prince ibn Muhammad was introduced to women by his father when he was 14. At 15, he was taken to the palace dungeon for the first time and required to watch the Royal Torturer, Ali's father, Faisal the Relentless, work. The first couple of victims were men, a soldier asleep on duty and a merchant with dishonest scales. Young Ismael merely watched obediently to this new aspect of ruling, but it wasn't until an escaped female slave was punished that his interest was truly piqued. He watched, rapt. Following every lash, every touch of hot iron, and every rip of the pincers, he felt the sweet pressure between his legs, even stronger than when the female slave had teased the first orgasm from him. Faisal understood the effect torture had on some young men and so had a concubine at hand just in case. He recognized the fixed gaze and wriggling that indicated intense arousal and summoned her to use her mouth on the young Prince. From then on Ishmael was a regular visitor whenever a pretty female was condemned to the chamber. Since assuming absolute authority in Muscat he had had many opportunities to indulge his sadism. The nickname he had been given, al-Auf the Bad, was earned by his remorseless use of torture to control his people and amuse himself. Thousands of unfortunate women had been subjected to the horror of his amusement over the years. He was able to further refine his choice of “playmates”, selecting only the loveliest for his personal attentions. Surprisingly, while he accepted his absolute right to torture girls for his pleasure—even had a preference for young victims—he would not countenance the abuse of children in his realm. One old merchant was discovered with a penchant for small boys and girls who had not seen their first moon: The Prince had him publicly boiled to death. These sadistic games were still his favorite form of entertainment, but the years of indulgence had dulled the pleasure he felt. He had not realized how much until Annetje Van Doorn. Everything about her stirred him: cute European face, red-straw hair, pear-shaped breasts, cream-white skin, even her large apricot-pink nipples inflamed his passion in a way he had not felt since his first punished girl all those years ago. Then his orgasm had shaken him minutes after the slave had taken him into her mouth. He had much more control now, but even that had stretched to its limit from the lascivious play session with this extraordinary young infidel. But it was time now for the finish.

Yasmin was well attuned to her Prince's signals and saw the change in his face and eyes. The next time he pushed into the Frank, she swept her rattan crisply across the lower back, drawing a surprised yelp. The rape had been agonizing from the start, but the pain became deep, throbbing, and continuous. Yasmin's stroke was not as fierce as those to her breasts and genitals, but it was totally unexpected. Ishmael felt her surprise as a sudden muscular clench on his penis. He pulled back and in again, and Yasmin struck once more, across the flushed bottom cheeks. The Prince fell easily into this new pattern. Yasmin had the two older concubines move back in a little. The knees were still held apart, but now Yasmin could reach the girl's thighs with her cane.

His rhythm now changed slightly to take advantage of this new variation. Both withdrawal and thrust were quicker, but he would hesitate at full insertion until the rod struck the girl's back. With consummate skill, Yasmin added a new refinement: this time she administered two slashes, so the Prince held his position a fraction longer. She now had the silk ropes dropped to release the stretch on the girl's knees, although the ankle chains still prevented her from closing her legs. Ishmael no longer needed anything save the most minor effort. Under the impetus of Yasmin's cane and his continued rough breast fondling, the involuntary writhing of Annetje's sweat-shiny nude body provided almost all the movement necessary to ride his embedded manhood. The two Arabs played Annetje like a lute. A cane stroke would cause her to clench his penis, then a nipple pinch and twist set her powerful young vaginal muscles into a series of delightful rippling contractions. In between, her squirming raised and lowered her slit on his shaft.

The long delicious sadism coupled with these powerful sensations finally brought Ishmael to the brink. A low moan began rising from his throat. Yasmin knew that meant that he was close now, very close. She dropped her rod and took the short steel rod from the coals. Just as the prince pushed back inside, she 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 onto 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, being ever so careful not to let it reach her master's flesh. Annetje's shrieks rang out hoarse and raw. The savagely tortured girl was now thrashing dementedly, lost in a sea of relentless burning sexual agony. Her muscles tensed and sweat burst from her body, splashing to the floor. The prince felt the girl's all-consuming pain in the powerful spastic contraction of her vaginal walls around his throbbing penis. Ishmael lasted just half a minute more before he felt the final sensation start behind his balls. Like a wave breaking upon the shore, it rose beyond any control. until it filled his existence. His back arched and he threw back his head when the first spasm wracked his body. His entire existence focused in his groin as the molten jets erupted out of the shaft buried deep within the girl's vagina. The combined spastic wrenching of Annetje’s young body and his sadistic enjoyment of her grim torture made for a most rousing fuck. The Prince released her breasts and dropped his hands to grab her flanks. His hips bucked to a new, quicker rhythm as he rode the hot wet ejaculations, ever harder and faster, panting like a stallion at full stretch. Then he pulled her in close so he could bury his manhood up to the hilt into the girl, allowing the powerful spasmodic contractions around it to finish his orgasm. Time stopped for him, but scarcely a minute passed before his penis was milked to its final drop and his mind slowly returned to the reality of the moment. He was surprised to discover that his hands were gripping the wings of the hardwood frame to hold his body erect and pressed against hers. By the Prophet! I haven't experienced an orgasm as exquisite in years! For this alone the Frank is worth twice, three times what she cost!

The Prince remained where he was to let the exquisite sensations to gradually fade before he pulled out of Annetje's tight cunt with a surprisingly loud PLOP. He turned away and walked back to the settee and dropped down on his cushions. He leaned back and spread his legs so two of the waiting concubines could more easily cleanse his loins. He relaxed and accepted a thimble of coffee. The feelings between his legs was nowhere near as intense, but the caress of the warm moist cloths was still pleasurable. He looked up toward the center of the room where Annetje hung twitching from her bonds. Her sweat-shiny nude body gleamed in the late afternoon sunshine. Some separate marks stood out against the pale skin of her belly and abdomen, but the junction of her thighs and the band across her upper chest were flushed a variegated palette of colors from vivid reds through angry purples to dark plum from the hellish tortures inflicted there. Most heavily decorated were the protruding fruit of her breasts, shuddering to each agonized breath. A single streak of bright scarlet blood stood out wet and shiny down the right bulge. Every exhalation was accompanied by a loud groan of misery. Even now after the active torment was over, her most sensitive flesh still throbbed with hot pain.