Given to the Women by Cortez Dragged from the darkness of the cells, Monique Desalle was dazzled by the sun blazing down into the Emir's dreaded Punishment Courtyard. Slowly adjusting to the light the young, blonde French girl blinked rapidly, still in the shadow of the deep, tiled veranda. The high, whitewashed walls were pierced at intervals by archways, some obscured by intricate fretwork grilles, some like the one she'd just been pulled through, guarded with iron barred gates. The courtyard itself was paved with smooth stone slabs. The young woman looked out then kept her head lowered, trying to avoid the sight of the horrible looking devices and heavy wooden shapes scattered round the enclosed square. Perhaps by not looking she could pretend this whole thing was just a nightmare... One step more and the nightmare became only too real as she saw the other girl hanging by her wrists from a beam at the front edge of the veranda. Her legs were stretched wide apart, each ankle lashed tightly to an iron ring set into the tiled floor. The stripes of a recent whipping stood out like fine red lines, criss-crossing her brown skin, the weals even lacing the wide aureoles and prominent nipples of her small, high breasts. The girl's heaving breaths, the quivering of her stomach muscles and the thick, wet cream lacing the lips of her sex told Monique that she had not just been flogged, but she had been made to come to a climax within the last few minutes... and not for the first time either that morning by the evidence of the gasping, lolling exhaustion on her face. Monique gazed at the slim figure of her maid, Nula, in horror; her hopes of a last minute rescue finally dashed. "After last night... did you not think I would have you watched?' The Emir chuckled, his gross body wobbling as he lolled back on a mound of cushions studying the near-naked French woman held before him in the iron grip of two guards. As he had ordered, she had been tied at the elbows with her arms behind her. With her shoulders forced back, her full breasts thrust forwards obscenely, the pink stubs of her nipples standing proud and ready as though offering themselves for the Emir's attentions. The Emir giggled, enjoying the mental torture of toying with her. 'Oh, I see... you think that your maid over there might have managed to deliver that urgent message you gave her.' He held up his hands in mock fright. 'And now, I can do nothing to you because foreign soldiers are on their way to free you...' He licked his lips, enjoying the moment. He paused, picked up a single sheet of paper and pretended to study its contents. 'Unfortunately, she was... interrupted, in her task.' Monique's incriminating letter, entrusted to Nula only hours before, was casually tossed aside. 'So, no soldiers... and no rescue either. Such a pity... for you, now you will be able to watch my two little persuaders helping your traitorous maidservant to understand the penalty of her betrayal...' He giggled again, thick lips curling in a cruel smile, as he looked down to where two young Arab women, each one naked, apart from gold bangles at wrist and ankles and a gold cord round the waist, were curled up, catlike, on the rugs at his feet. Monique, her last hope shattered, shivered violently as she looked at the eager, smiling faces of Emir's two dreaded torturers. 'Of course, in a little while, it will be your turn...' he went on. The two women smiled broadly at his words, their own expressions hot and avid with cruel anticipation. Making sure that Monique could see, they stretched lazily on the cushions, soft fingers moving and caressing each other, one gently stroking her companion's long dark nipples while, in return, the other traced her finger tips over the plump naked lips of her friend's sex. Both of them wet their thick, full lips, their gaze fixed on the young French girl, their kohl-rimmed eyes studying her slim curves. Monique Desalle shivered despite the baking heat as she watched their deliberate sex-play, knowing that the awful stories were true. These were the ones who had spent the morning whipping and pleasuring Nula for the Emir's amusement as the captured maid hung helpless from the beam. Although the guards had ripped her cotton gown away completely, the nineteen year old was still wearing a black cache sexe, the waist band pulled high on her hips so that the bulging V of her sex was cupped and emphasised by the abbreviated triangle of taut fabric. Monique trembled uncontrollably, knowing the agony that must soon come. The two women's smiles deepened as they saw how the French girl's trembling fear was making her full, pink-tipped breasts, jiggle and bounce delightfully. Monique tried to twist away as the two women padded across to her but the guards just gripped her arms even harder. She bit her lips as soft fingers tickled the out-thrust globes of her breasts, feeling the familiar betrayal of her body as her nipples hardened and rose under their expert touch. She writhed, trying to remain silent as sharp nails scratched and scraped the delicate pink flesh of each stub and its wide, tender aureole. In a few minutes the women had brought each nipple to an aching hardness and Monique was panting and moaning, writhing in the guard's hands as the torturing nails continued to tease the delicate flesh of each breast. 'I am Ria... and this is Mena,' the taller woman whispered, teeth nipping at Monique's ear. Her hand traced down the French girl's quivering belly so she could play with the pouting bulge still cupped by the black silk. 'No need for this now....' She said softly, fingers scraping over the taut fabric and teasing the swell of Monique's labia so that she twisted even more wildly against the coarse, grubby fingers of the guards. With Ria still tickling her cunt, Monique felt Mena's hands on her hips, soft fingers easing the waist string down as she peeled the clinging wet fabric away, pausing to tease the cord to and fro between her buttocks before pulling the tiny garment down completely to reveal the prominent lips of the young French girl's clean-shaven sex. Ria's fingers returned to stroking the now-naked labia, gently tracing along the moist split of her cunt. Kissing Mena over the French woman's shoulder, Ria brought another anguished moan from her victim as one finger slipped deeper to caress around the fleshy hood at the entrance of her cleft, using a tormenting feather touch to bring the bulb of Monique's clitoris to full erection. The finger circled in the wetness, just grazing the tip of the little stub with an expert stroking movement. Monique twisted and surged in the grip of the guards. 'Ah, Aaah, p-p-please, ah yes, aaaaaaah!' Then she was suddenly left panting as the finger was withdrawn. 'Enough... it is time for you sing for us...come,' Lia whispered. Monique squealed as each of the women gripped one of her nipples, pinching the hard, pink tip between finger and thumb. The women smiled at each other, nodding for the guards to release their hold. Hearing Monique's gasping cries and frantic pleas they simply twisted their fingers harder, pulling unmercifully as they forced her to walk out into the blazing sun of the courtyard, led by the agonising double grip on her teats. Once out in the full glare and heat they stopped, forcing Monique to look at the devices scattered across the hot stone slabs of the Punishment Courtyard. With relish they turned her, twisting their hands on her nipples to move her as they wished, making sure she studied each one of the Emir's favourite torture instruments in turn. To one side, a four-legged stand supported a black metal saddle, very much abbreviated but with an unmistakable domed shaft curving up from the centre. To the left of the saddle, on a stone block, a small bowl held a bed of charcoal, grey with ash. There was no flame or smoke, but Monique could see the shimmer in the air that revealed the heat coming from the coals. Near the saddle, and mounted on a circular stone slab, a single polished stake rose almost chest high. Arm thick at the base, it tapered, not to a spike as Monique expected, but to a flared crest, almost the size and shape of a plum. About eighteen inches from the base, two small pegs jutted out... Monique shuddered as she was forced to look at the grim stake. Knowing exactly what it was for, she imagined the women ordering the guards to lift her up, then both of them giggling as they held the lips of her body open so they could slide that cruelly blunted end into her body. Monique shuddered again at the thought of the fierce, unending pain as the stake slipped deeper and deeper, her descent halted only when she could balance precariously with her big toes alone resting on the little pegs, the muscles of her calves and thighs on fire with agony. She knew that the final torment would be the sight of the Emir and his women, taking their ease, laughing and joking as they waited for the moment she would slip... and begin that final, agonising descent. Building up her fear by taking her to each device in turn, the women pulled her towards the stake only to turn away at the last moment. Another few stumbling paces and she was taking in the details of a curved and padded whipping frame, all black wood and leather. Monique, trembling at sight of each new horror, could see exactly how she would be made to straddle the end of the block, how each leg would be bent double to open the cleft of her bottom before being strapped immovably in place. Then, finally being forced forwards, far over the rolled leather pad, her arms pulled down until her wrists could be tied to the base of the frame, leaving her open and helpless to whatever they might wish to do. Just to leave her in no doubt, a tall earthenware pot beside the frame held a selection of long canes and bamboo rods... all looking as though they were well used. Another teasing pause as Monique's heart raced in fear but the women tugged her aching teats again and Monique was forced to stagger on. Further round the courtyard, two strong uprights stood alone, a U-shaped slot cut into the top of each post. Monique shivered as she wondered what diabolical torture they might involve... Her terrified imaginings were cut short as the women twisted her round, pulling her back past the impalement stake and the iron saddle to the other side of the courtyard. On their own, two iron posts supported a serrated brass bar. A narrow wooden platform stood beneath the bar. Short wooden stakes were set in holes in the slabs on either side.. The top of each stake was stained... and shaped into a blunt point. Monique's eyes bulged and her breath rasped more quickly in her throat as she looked at the polished brass rail and the line of blunt zigzag teeth crowning its top edge. Before her capture, back at the camp, she had heard whispered talk of girls being tortured by being made to 'ride the Brass Mare'. Now she realised just what the Emir's 'Brass Mare' was; and knew with a sick certainty that it was her who would be riding the diabolical device in a few moments time. The two women released their grip on her nipples, giggling to each other as she hissed and danced in the agony of returning circulation. The Emir's words confirmed her worst fears. 'Ah! You know of my little toy, I see. Well, now you will ride for me, just for a little while... something for you to think about as you watch my little ones at work on your maid...' Lia patted Monique's bottom as she and Mena forced their trembling victim to step up onto the unsteady platform, holding her firmly as Monique awkwardly lifted one leg to straddle the brass rail. This time it was Mena who cupped Monique's sex, her forefinger slipping easily between the French woman's labia to play with the little bulb of her clitoris. 'Ah, ah no, no p-please, Aaaahhh!' Monique groaned, caught between the thrill of the woman's touch and the anticipation of the torture that was about to start. 'You want to come? You will, many times but not yet, first you must watch her...' Mena whispered. Still straddling the bar on the wobbly platform, Monique looked across to where Nula still hung. 'Enough waiting... sit down on the bar now....' Monique felt Mena's hands parting her labia as Lia pressed her shoulders, forcing her to squat down. 'Ah, God, ah, no no, I can't,' Monique squealed in agony as she felt her most sensitive flesh touching the blunt serrations. She squealed again as her weight pressed the bar deeper into the soft valley of her cunt. The two women had done this so often before that they gave her no chance to struggle or resist. Just as she began to pant at the agonising pressure of the bar, Mena used one foot to tip the little platform forwards and Monique screamed like an animal as her full weight sank onto the thin, blade-like rail. Lia held her arms in an almost gentle grip, her tongue just licking the whorls of Monique's ear as she kept the babbling, pain-wracked girl upright as they both waited for the first manic cries to subside. 'There, there, such a pain I know, but you can rest a little... move your legs out... yes, yes I know it hurts more... but if your toes can find the stakes...' The two women watched avidly as Monique scrabbled and fought for balance... eventually managing to lodge her feet wide astride on the two wooden stakes, stretching up on tiptoe to relieve the awful strain on her cunt. Satisfied with her splayed position, Mena secured a rope between Monique's trussed arms and then threw it over a thick, blackened beam that crossed the corner of the courtyard above the girl's head. 'Ah, ah, Arrrggghhh! No, no Noooooo! AAARRRRGGGGHHH!' Monique squealed even louder as Lia tightened the rope, forcing her to curl forwards, the brass rail biting cruelly as the weight of her body forced one of the blunt peaks against her clitoris. The women smiled, once more toying with the French girl's full dangling breasts as they enjoyed her struggles while Lia carefully adjusted the rope for maximum effect. By the time the two women had finished Monique Desalle was already straining to cope with her devilish position astride the Brass Mare. Although not sharp, the blunt points on each stake created a dull, agonising pain in the balls of her feet and toes as she tried to hold herself as far off the toothed bar as possible. The splay of her legs and her tiptoe stance ensured that her calves and thighs were already quivering with strain. Knowing exactly what would happen next the women clasped hands and made their way back slowly to the shade of the veranda. Soon the girl's slow, torturing ride would begin properly. When the strain became too great, Monique would be forced to lower herself fully onto the bar. In seconds, the new pain in her cunt would again become too much and she would try and lift herself back onto tiptoe once more, exchanging the agony of the rail for the agony of the stakes and her tortured leg muscles. Up and down, up and down, riding the Brass Mare in a blaze of agony... until of course she lost her footing on the stakes... The sun blazed down as the Emir and his two torturers took their ease in the shade. Before them, sweat rolling down her lightly tanned body, nineteen year old Monique Desalle cried and panted under a blazing sun, rising and falling in a slow, terrible rhythm. Her wide splayed legs allowing her torturers to see every detail of how her labia bulged and slid over the toothed brass blade, a blade that now gleamed and glistened with the juices leaking from the French girl's body 'Charming, such a pretty picture,' the Emir giggled as he fondled Ria and Mena with soft, podgy fingers. His eyes were hot with excitement as he watched Monique's desperate, slow rise and fall. 'Now for the maid again, play with her a little for me...' He studied his grim 'toys' with the air of someone choosing a fine vintage. 'Then... ah yes, put her on the saddle. Her mistress can see what is in store for her too... ' As the two women uncoiled themselves and padded across to where the slim maidservant hung between the pillars the Emir chuckled to himself... after all, it would be foolish to waste the charcoal now it was lit... Mena pressed herself against the slim maidservant's back, rubbing her long rubbery nipples over the network of red weals, her hands reaching round to play with the girl's breasts. Nula cried out, automatically arching forwards to avoid any contact with the raw skin of her back. Ria, waiting in front of Nula's outstretched body, knew exactly what the young maidservant would do. Her hand cupped the moist lips of her cunt, letting Nula's own thrusting movement slide two fingers deep into the entrance of her vagina. 'Noooooo, no, no, you said I could rest! Not again! Please... I can't, no more, please... you're hurrrting meee!' The maid bucked violently, making matters worse as her struggles only worked Ria's fingers deeper into her cunt. Mena pressed her hips against the maid's bottom, forcing her onto Ria's busy fingers, deliberately adding to the young girl's helpless writhing movements by tickling the deep sensitive hollows beneath each arm. 'Ah, ah, no, please no, no, ah, Ah... AH... AAAAAH!' Already wildly sensitive from her previous orgasms it only took a few minutes of Ria's expert masturbation before the young maidservant's cries turned from pleading to pleasure. Blinking and flicking her head to rid herself of the sweat rolling down her face and body, Monique watched from her agonising position astride the rail as the two women brought Nula to yet another screaming climax. Ria's hand thrusting in and out of the girl's cunt like a piston whilst Mena brought fresh spasms from the pinioned figure as she carefully worked her forefinger deep into the girl's anus. In devilish partnership the two women forced the maid to climax and then held her at her screaming, pleading peak as they fondled and probed her body relentlessly. Monique watched in horror as each of them used her free hand to draw crimson stripes of pain down Nula's front and sides, using their nails to scrape across the red, raw weals of the earlier whipping. All the while their fingers rubbed and teased the delicate tissues of her vagina and anus, forcing her to peak after squealing peak as she bucked and twisted and screamed for the Emir's delight. 'Enough, enough, my little ones...' The Emir clapped his hands finally. 'Let her ride the saddle for us now!' The two women smiled as they gave the shaking, sobbing figure a few final caresses. Whilst the guards busied themselves with cutting Nula down from the beam and freeing her legs, they moved across to where Monique still moved gently up and down in her slow, agonising rhythm. Standing one either side of the French girl they caressed the dangling globes of her breasts. Their hands, still slippery with the wetness of Nula's climax, slithered over the pink nipples, tweaking and scratching the swollen tips so that Monique cried out as she was forced to move more vigorously on the toothed bar. 'Nooooooo! Please, d-don't, no, please d-d-d-don't...' 'Watch carefully then as your servant pays for her folly. The Emir has sentenced her to ride the Saddle... Study her torment well; perhaps it will be your turn next...' Ria's coaxing voice was thick with cruel pleasure as she cupped Monique's chin, forcing her to look at the black iron saddle. For the first time Monique saw the metal bands dangling from each side... and the circular iron ring set between the four uprights just below the saddle. A ring just the right size to hold the shallow bowl of charcoal now resting on a stone block to one side of the saddle. 'Oh god, no, no you can't, you can't you'll kill her, no, no you can't...' Monique screamed as she watched the thickset guards dragging the small struggling figure of her maidservant to the saddle. No ceremony, they simply held her arms and thighs then lowered her astride the curving metal seat. Nula screamed insanely, back arched in pain and terror as the hollow metal phallus slid up into her vagina then she was mounted firmly on the diabolical device, thighs spread and legs dangling. One of the guards buckled a wide leather belt round the young girl's waist. Monique watched helplessly as her maid's wrists were locked into cuffs on each side of the belt. 'Her fingers are so near her pain but she will be able to do nothing... nothing at all, it is delightful to watch.' Ria's voice purred in Monique's ear. 'Now just to secure her legs...' As she spoke the guards brought the metal straps over the top of each of the maid's thighs, clipping them so tightly that the flesh bulged over the thin steel strips. Finally, there were metal cuffs for each ankle before Nula's legs were bent double at the knee so each ankle cuff could be clipped to the back of the saddle. One of the man slapped Nula across her widely splayed buttocks before they marched back to take position on guard behind the Emir once again. Monique felt a final pinch on her breasts, and then the two women strolled across to the pinioned figure on the saddle. 'Are you ready, little traitor?' Monique heard Ria ask and saw the frantic shaking of the girl's head and upper body as she flung herself about, straining to lift herself just a very little bit from the iron saddle, iron that would soon be heating slowly to roast the most sensitive places on her body. Using tongs, Mena lifted up the shallow bowl of charcoal, making sure that Nula could watch as she carried it to the saddle. She held it in front of the screaming girl as Ria blew gently on the coals, the grey ash flying off so that the dull, red heat of the charcoal was clearly visible. Then Mena knelt, sliding the little bowl between the uprights until it rested in the circular holder. Now the charcoal bed was directly under the centre of the saddle, the column of heat slowly warming the metal from below. The two women returned to their places at the Emir's feet and, for a few minutes there was near silence. All that could be heard was Monique's panting gasps as she continued her ride of pain and the soft click and jingle of metal on metal as Nula continued to surge and twist on the saddle. Monique could see that he maid's fingers frantically stretching fingers could actually touch the crease of her thighs but she was quite helpless to move herself more than a tiny amount off the saddle in any way at all. 'It usually takes a few minutes to become uncomfortable. After that... well, you will see for yourself...' The Emir's voice was rich with amusement as he listened to the first sharp intake of breath, then the racing gasps of panic as the little maidservant began to feel the warmth of the iron between her thighs. The girl's hands scrabbled wildly and her upturned feet flexed and twisted as she sought to move, even the tiniest amount, away from the increasing heat. 'Help me, please... Oh p-please, the heat, the heat it's going inside, p-please AAAAArrrrrrggggggghhhhh!' 'Did I not tell you that it is the iron man she rides on that gets hot first...?' The Emir giggled as he watched the mad writhings of the girl. 'Remove the tray for a moment... let her enjoy the first touch of the coals before we continue.' The woman called Ria, obviously the Emir's favourite, picked up the tongs and walked over to the saddle where the girl's screaming was now a high, continuous wail. She lifted the bowl out of the ring and placed it on the stone. Ria's long fingers found the peaks of Nula's breasts as she stood behind the screaming maid. 'Yes, yes, it burns but now it will cool a little... and then we will slip the bowl back again and you will feel it getting hot all over again...' She paused, deliberately tormenting the girl, 'but this time you will be so sore it will be a thousand times worse. Shhh, save your voice... you will need it... especially next time when we leave the bowl in place to heat the saddle properly.' She bent to listen to the babbling voice of the maid. 'Stop? Why ever should we stop? This is a lesson for your mistress and you have only just begun to teach her the meaning of pain. See, on the veranda, Mena has turned a sand glass. Watch the sand my little one because I will replace the bowl when the sand has run through...' Nula screamed again, still twisting in her bonds, her eyes fixed on the tiny stream of golden sand falling through the glass bulb. Ria walked over to the container by the whipping frame and selected a thin, flexible rattan rod. She walked back to where Monique was still carefully rising and falling on the brass rail. 'Now, let's make you work a little harder on the Mare, shall we?' 'Aaaaah! God!' Monique squealed as the stroke sliced across her bottom. Instinctively she reared up and then dropped back, the sudden agony of landing hard on the toothed rail wrenching a second anguished cry from her. 'Thwack... thwack... thwack... thwack...' The blows fell with an awful rhythm so that Monique writhed and wriggled madly, the toothed rail biting viciously into her cunt as each scalding stroke laced across the smooth tanned curves of her buttocks. Ria relished the sight of the French woman's legs, outstretched and quivering with the awful effort of keeping her in position and as far off the brass bar as possible. 'Ah, ah, no, no more, please, no, no, no!' 'So you wish a change, yes?' Ria giggled as she let the thin rod rest on the ground. 'Very well, let us try somewhere else...' 'Thwick...' 'Arrrggghhh! No, no not there, no pleeeassse!' Monique seemed to go mad, her whole upper body surging and twisting as the first cut took her across the nipples, the thin rod indenting the stiff, swollen peaks before they sprung back, Monique's breasts swaying and bouncing madly as she tried to control the blazing agony of the weal crossing the peak of each breast 'Thwack!' A wetter, flatter sound this time as Ria made the rattan curl across the wide pink aureoles. The effect was just as dramatic with the young French girl threshing against her bonds, quite heedless of the way the brass bar was working and cutting into her cunt as the fiery agony in her breasts overwhelmed her senses. Ria had only time for three more strokes before the Emir clapped his hands once more, signalling that the last grains had run through the glass and that it was time for Nula's torture to continue. 'Let her ride the saddle properly this time...' he said softly as Ria blew on the coals before placing the bowl back in the ring below the saddle. This time the stillness was not so complete. Nula was still crying from the scorching effects of the first session whilst Monique was crying and babbling as she tried to regain some semblance of balance on her torturing rail. 'Ah, Ah, ARRRRGGGGHHH!' In minutes, the girl's cry became a high, inhuman squeal as the iron saddle began to scorch and sear the inside flesh of her labia, the awful heat turning the impaling hollow shaft into a spear of pain. She bounced up and down madly in an ecstasy of agony as the saddle became unbearably hot beneath her. Lost in her own world of agony Monique heard, in the gaps in the manic gabbling squeals, the hissing noise as Nula lost control of her body, the stream of liquid trickling down the hot iron to drip unheeded onto the stone slabs below the saddle. Monique could also see the trickle of blood from where her maid had bitten through her lip in agony, as well as the raw red circles at wrist and ankle where she had flayed the skin away in her frantic efforts to free herself from the blazing hell of the iron saddle. Nula was still twisting and turning, throwing her torso into wild contortions as her cunt was slowly roasted by the heat of the charcoal bowl beneath the saddle. Monique was wondering just how much more the little maid could take when she gave a single, high-pitched shriek and her head fell forwards against her chest. From the shade of the veranda the Emir peered at the girl, noting how her chest was still rising and falling rapidly. He frowned, disappointed that his cruel pleasures had been cut short. 'Feeble! No stamina... take her off! Let her recover for a few hours... she will ride even more noisily later on.' The guards hurried to free Nula from her torture. She screamed once again as they pulled her free from the iron phallus; as they lifted her, Monique saw the pattern of holes from the iron saddle had been seared into the raw red skin of her upper thighs. The lips of her cunt were puffy and swollen, gleaming wetly as the men slid her off the hollow metal shaft to lift her clear of the saddle. Without ceremony they dropped the semi-conscious figure on the sandy ground before the Emir. He looked at the shuddering figure of the girl and then to where Monique Desalle was still rhythmically rising and falling on the toothed torture of the Brass Mare. 'Unsaddle that one too, she still has much to endure.' The gasping pain-wracked figure of the French girl was thrown down next to her semi-conscious maid. The Emir smiled and looked down at the two women at his feet. 'Do not think I am being merciful... you are promised to my little ones for their pleasure this afternoon and they would not wish either of you to be too exhausted so soon. His smile broadened at the hot, eager stares of his two torturers as they waited patiently to know their master's pleasure. He waved his hand at the Nubian guards. 'Come my doves, it is time for rest and refreshment, Nahib, put them both back in the cells until we need them.' Still chuckling at his own sadistic words the Emir rose. 'Come my little ones... you shall show me again how you pleasure each other so skilfully...' Flanked by the two young women the Emir made his way back into the fortress. In the blazing heat of the Punishment Courtyard, the guards hurried to do their master's bidding An hour later, Monique Desalle curled and twisted restlessly on the stone floor trying in vain to ease the pounding ache between her legs. The heat in the small stone cell was stifling... the window slits let in shafts of sunlight whilst the ancient iron grille barring the door allowed the guards to enjoy every moment as the naked blonde, nineteen year old French girl twitched and wriggled helplessly. Her tanned, honey-coloured skin gleamed with perspiration and sun-bleached strands of hair were plastered uncomfortably across her face; but there was nothing she could to move them because her hands were still tied behind her back. She gasped and panted continually, partly trying to cope with the awful heat but also because every movement brought fresh agony from the angry red weals lacing her bottom and the firm, full globes of her breasts, as well as the deeper, throbbing hurt from the brass teeth of the Mare. Locked in her pain, Monique Desalle was trying very hard to keep her fears at bay. It was only too easy for her to imagine the horrible, obscene things the evil young two women would do to her when they took her back to the Punishment Courtyard. The thought of being impaled on the hollow shaft as she was strapped down onto that diabolical iron saddle like poor Nula made her shiver with terror. She remembered, only too vividly, how her maid had squealed as the charcoal had slowly warmed the iron phallus deep inside her vagina. The slow torture increased as the heated air caressed her delicate inner flesh through the artfully pierced holes in the hollow shaft so her screams became shriller and shriller before she had finally slumped unconscious from the pain. The young French girl's panicking thoughts were interrupted by the deep note of a gong throbbing through the hot, sticky air of the prison block. Moments later, Nahib, Chief of the Emir's Guard, stopped outside her cell, deliberately thrusting his hips forwards so she could see his erect penis tenting the front of his thin cotton trousers and grinning crudely to reveal a hedge of yellow broken teeth. He unlocked the iron grille and signalled for two of his men to pull Monique to her feet. Just as they'd done last time each held one arm, twisting it against the joint so she was forced to walk stretched upright, almost on tiptoe, with her breasts thrust out. The firm mounds and their swollen pink tips danced and jiggled madly with each step. Nahib casually flicked one sore pink teat making Monique gasp and jolt in the men's fierce grip. Obscene comments and crude laughter made the nineteen year old blush furiously. Their laughter increased as Nahib deliberately flicked her other nipple to make her gasp again before ordering the guards to march her away. Much as Nahib desired a few more moments with the girl, he knew that his master was waiting and only a fool incurred the Emir's anger. Besides..., Nahib thought, stroking the thick shaft of his cock and letting his thumb caress the sensitive rim of his glans through the thin cotton... besides the Emir might wish to enjoy the sight of his guards fucking one of them... His thumb moved, rubbing the cloth against the sensitive 'v' underneath the helmet until he bucked as he felt the slippery wetness leaking from the slit. Of course, as Chief of the Guard, he would be the first... Monique winced as she was marched into the full glare of the afternoon sun. Just like this morning, the Emir was lolling back on a heap of rugs and embroidered cushions, enjoying the shade of the wide veranda and sipping a glass of cool lime sherbet. 'Ah, Miss Desalle, so good of you to join my little entertainment once more... you are just in time to watch my pets playing another game with your foolish servant.' He waved one chubby and bejewelled hand towards the courtyard, 'although I fear her discomfort will outweigh any pleasure she may feel.' He giggled as Monique stared round at the collection of awful torture devices scattered across the Punishment Courtyard. Would the put her back on the ghastly iron saddle with its jutting shaft? A bowl of burning charcoal was standing ready at the side.... or perhaps she would be forced to make love to the slim, vertical impaling stake with the slow cruelty of its deliberately bulbous tip? The wooden shaft stood ready too, polished to a gleaming black shine with the short toe pegs jutting out one either side a foot above the base; tiny inadequate supports to hold a victim up for those extra, lingering minutes of agony before the final descent. Or would the Emir make Nula ride the Brass Mare? Monique pressed her thighs together at the sight of the toothed rail they'd forced her to straddle this morning. Her cunt still throbbed with the bite of those blunt metal teeth and her breasts and bottom bore the raised, angry weals of the whipping that had forced her to ride the brass rail in agony. She was looking at the grim black shape of the whipping frame when Mena and Ria, the two young Arab women who were the Emir's favourite torturers, padded out from another of the arched openings into the open area at the side of the courtyard near their master's couch. The olive skin of their naked bodies gleamed with fresh oil and the gold bracelets at wrists and ankles winked and glittered in the light. Ria, the taller of the two was carrying what looked like a giant belt, made of thick, dark brown leather set with bronze fittings and buckles. Mena carried two of the thin rattan canes they'd used to whip Monique with when she rode the Brass Mare earlier. Both of them smiled in cruel anticipation as they saw the tanned blonde Frenchwoman arched up on tiptoe in the grip of the guards, her face gaunt with terror as she waited for their agonising attentions to begin once more. The Emir clapped his hands and other guards half-carried, half dragged Monique's maidservant, Nula back into the courtyard. Like her mistress, her body bore the weals and marks of her earlier torture. Her eyes were wide with terror and but for the harsh grip of the two men she would have fallen from pain and exhaustion. Suddenly she went rigid, eyes wide and her mouth gaping with fear she saw the curious belt-like object in Ria's hands. She writhed so violently that the guards almost lost their grip and a thin high scream of terror echoed round the courtyard. The screams continued as the guards forced her forwards to the open flagstone in front of the Emir's couch. With her wrists tied behind her there was nothing the slim young girl could do to resist and the guards held her easily, letting her thresh about so they could all enjoy the sight of her breasts bobbing and jiggling as she struggled vainly to avoid her fate. Ria put the wide leather band down on the hot stones, opening it out so it was laid flat, the ends curling up from the shaped stiffness of the thick leather. She smiled at Nula and licked her lips. 'It seems that your servant has heard about this little toy of mine,' the Emir giggled once again. 'Using it means much pleasure... for them, unfortunately for your maid...' Whilst he spoke Nula was forced forwards, pressed down by eager hands until she knelt on the middle of the wide leather strip. Ria stroked the girl's face. 'You know what must be... bow, bow to your Lord and Master so the corset can embrace you properly...' 'Wait!' The Emir scratched idly. 'No.... let the servant ride the Mare this time. I wish to see Miss Desalle wearing the corset instead...' He studied the shivering young Frenchwoman for a few moments, 'and then you must enjoy your own ride on my iron saddle... after all, I did promise...' the Emir's rolls of fat wobbled as he laughed aloud, amused by the horrified expressions on his victims' faces. 'The maid first, let her mistress watch as she rides for us...' The girl was pulled back to her feet and the guards stepped back. The two Arab women pressed against her, rubbing their own breasts against her moist flesh and stroking the maid's quivering flanks. Monique watched them deliberately letting their hands tease up so their fingertips tickled the hot, swollen tips of her small conical breasts. Nula's head rocked from side to side so her wet hair whipped across her shoulders and she moaned and twisted at the tormenting pleasure of their hands. Just like they'd done with her mistress earlier, Ria and Mena gripped one of the girl's nipples apiece, twisting slowly so the girl moaned again at the throbbing pain before leading her across the hot stones to where the toothed bronze bar was held between two iron posts. Someone had replaced the unstable little platform crosswise beneath the bar and Ria let go of her teat so she could steady the girl as she awkwardly straddled the toothed bar. The watchers could see the hollowing of the girl's belly and the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she tried to ready herself for the agony to come. 'Sit, sit down now little one... feel the mare nuzzling against your wetness...' Ria's voice was soft; coaxing the girl down until the lips of her cunt parted to kiss the hot metal of the mare's toothed blade. 'There...' Her foot moved and the little platform rocked forwards, falling over with a sharp 'clack' on the stone flags. 'IIIIIiiiyyyyyyih-ih-ih-ih-aaaaaaaaarrrggggghhh!' The girl's frantic cry filled the air and her body locked into a rigid spasm as she tried vainly to hold herself off the blunt torturing teeth now biting into her cunt with the full weight of her body. 'Use the stakes little one... at the side... they will give you relief...' Ria and Mena brought a new squeal of agony from the girl as they pulled her feet apart, forcing her to squat even harder on the mare as they placed her outstretched toes on the wooden stakes set into the stones on either side of the rail. Nula's leg muscles showed like quivering iron as she desperately tried to hold her self a little way... even just a tiny fraction, off the blunt brass teeth now biting deep into the delicate folds of her slit. 'And now to hold you up... just to stop you falling off as you ride your fine steed... Mia's voice was filled with cruel amusement as she tied a rope dangling from the overhead beam to the bindings round the girl's wrists. She moved to a cleat on the wall, unfastened the other end and began to haul the rope taut. 'Uh-uh-uh-uh! Nuh, nuh, no, p-p-p-please d-don't d-don...Aaaaaaaahh!' Monique winced as she saw her maid's arms rise into the air behind her back and heard the frantic pleas for mercy followed by that single quivering wail of pain. She knew only too well what was happening. The pull of the rope was bowing her forwards, forcing Nula's clitoris even harder against the metal teeth of the mare, doubling the agony. From across the courtyard Monique could see the straining, quivering tension in the girl's outstretched legs as she lifted herself so desperately onto tiptoe. Silence fell, only the girl's frantic panting breaking the stillness of that hot, cruel place. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the slim, quivering figure straddled over the mare's toothed back. One minute... two... the trembling of Nula's legs became worse then... 'Nuuuhhh... uh....uh.... naaaaaarrrgggh! The Emir grinned wetly, clapping his hands in delight as he saw the girl's muscles relax and heard the first desperate cries as she lowered herself fully onto the bar. Only a few moments passed and she was rising again, legs shivering as she fought the cramping pains to lift her body even fractions clear of the teeth. Monique pressed her own legs together, remembering the agony of the morning... She saw her maid sinking down once more, her face contorted with pain as she cried out in her torment. Nula was now locked into the horrible rhythm of the torture, riding up and down on the rail as long as strength remained in her legs. Up at full stretch... until the cramps became unbearable... then down until the agony of the metal teeth drove her upwards again to yet another straining effort. 'She rides well, almost as well as you,' the Emir giggled. 'No need for my pets to tickle her just yet...' He looked at the ominous leather belt, the Emir's corset, lying on the courtyard stones. 'Now it is time for you to embrace a new garment.' He clapped once, softly and the guards hurried Monique forwards. 'Kneel... as you saw your maid do!' Eagerly, excited by the thought of the torture to come, the women hurried to Monique's side. They pressed the young Frenchwoman down onto her knees in the middle of the wide leather band. 'Forwards, just a little forwards...' Ria whispered in her ear, her soft, oiled hands caressing the nineteen year old's body as she made Monique shuffle forward until her knees were resting on the rim of the leather band. 'Sit back, right back...' their hands pulled her back to sit on her heels... then she was being bent forwards at the waist, forced down until her breasts were squashed against her thighs. Now the guards took over, wrapping the supple, oiled leather round Monique's body, folding the sides over her back to keep her in position and confining her bound arms. All Monique could see was the ancient grey stones of the courtyard and the feet of her torturers grouped round. The leather held her folded in a 'Z'... no pain yet, just a constant pressure and a sticky, growing heat as her body sweated in its tight casing under the desert sun. Mena cupped the young girl's scarlet face in her hands. 'Now prepare... breath only a little,' she laughed, 'it will soon be impossible for you to do more...!' A sudden, awful thudding impact and a grunt of effort from the guards and the leather tightened like a vice, gripping her body in an awful crushing squeeze. Monique's cries became a series of rapid, panting groans as she tried to cope with the increasing pressure 'Huh, huh, nuh, puh, puh, p-please... nuuuuuuh!' Her grunts of protest ended with a sudden gasp as one of the guards knelt even harder on her back whilst the corset's straps were tightened again, each buckle fastened to secure the girl immovably within the leather hoop. Then, like some sore of obscene parcel, Monique Desalle was carried to the edge of the courtyard where two thick ropes, each ending in a polished steel hook, dangled from a crossbar. Working with the speed of long experience the guards lifted the bound girl, slid the hooks through the rings on either side of the torture corset, and let her swing freely. For Monique the world revolved in a circle as she spun between the ropes. Gradually, the movement stopped until she hung, upside down, heels pointing skywards and her head pointing to the stones. Fighting dizziness she tried to control her breathing, her face reddening still more with the horrible compression of the corset and her head-down position. Her view was suddenly filled by the oiled curves of Mena's body then soft lips touched her own. 'Now you will learn of the Corset's true torment...' the woman's hands steadied the ropes and Monique gasped as she felt Ria's fingers on her bottom. It was that touch that told her just what an awful position she was in... for with her body compressed within the confines of the belt, only her buttocks jutted out beyond the leather rim. Not only that but she now realised that the position meant that the tender opening of her anus and her already sore and swollen genitals were quite clearly displayed between the taut, parted cheeks of her bottom. Even worse, she was quite incapable of moving to shield herself in any way. Ria's clever fingers teased the wet furrow unmercifully, one fingertip tickling and probing the wrinkled, sensitive rosette guarding Monique's anus. The only response the bound nineteen year old could make was a gasping grunt of surprise at the sudden stimulation and a futile heaving spasm that made the ropes and the oiled leather creak softly. Ria's fingers moved higher between the French girl's tautly stretched and parted thighs, stroking and caressing the full, pouting lips of her shaven cunt, spreading the slippery wetness of her unwilling arousal and forcing Monique to respond to her insistent masturbation with frantic mewing noises. After a few minutes she looked across to where the Emir sat in the coolness of the veranda... Her master bobbed his approval so she leaned forwards into the scented, moist warmth to touch her lips to the girl's labia. Using her fingertips she parted the swollen lips to reveal the pink inner folds and then flickered her tongue into the wetness. 'Yyyyiiiiiiiiaaaaaaah, ah, aaaaah, hah, hah, y-yes... n-no, no, nooooooo!' Monique's breathing raced, hissing and bubbling as she panted and gasped for air. The leather corset creaked and groaned as she fought to flex her muscles; to draw a full breath, even to be able to move just a little as the woman's tongue stimulated her beyond bearing. Then, as her head flailed wildly in her rising excitement, her world became a hot, wet darkness as Mena's thighs straddled her head. Now there was only the hot copper tang of the woman's arousal and the oily pouting lips of her cunt filling her vision. Mena shivered in delight as the young Frenchwoman's frantic panting breaths caressed her genitals She looked up dreamily, sharing the ecstasy of the moment with her lover, waiting until Ria's fingers had taken their victim almost to the brink of coming... Ria lifted her head, her face glazed and sticky from Monique's juices and smiled back before bending her head once more. This time her mouth nuzzled deeper, her lips spreading those delicate folds until she could flicker her expert tongue against Monique's prominent clitoris. Mena jerked in response to the sudden spasms as Monique jolted with excitement. She bent her knees, pressing down so her labia parted allowing the girl's tongue and lips to work against her core. The two torturers joined their hands as they worked Monique to a cruel orgasm within her corset of pain. Ria's face was buried in the cleft of the nineteen year old's bottom as she licked and nibbled the oily pebble of the girl's clit. Mena, gripping the girl's head between her thighs, rocking rapidly to and fro, her body arched backwards in excitement as she neared her own peak. For Monique her orgasm was now sheer agony as she wailed and squealed at the maddening sensations that she was unable to release in any way. As her heart rate increase so her body demanded more and more air. Air that was simply not available to lungs compressed by the leather corset and a nose and mouth half smothered by the wet oily folds of a woman's cunt. Monique's desperate efforts to breathe, her wild cries and the jerking spasms of her mouth acted as an extra stimulant to the woman riding her face and Mena screamed with pleasure as she reached her climax, drenching Monique's face with the sharply scented flood of her juices. Caught in the bucking spasms of her own release, Mena sank to the stones of the courtyard gasping with the effort and the pleasure of her orgasm. Ria lifted her face, coated and shiny with Monique's wetness, looked at Mena and brought both hands down between the splayed thighs before her. Two fingers of her right hand speared into the girl's anus whilst forefinger and thumb of her left hand slid between those slippery lips to pinch and flick the tender stub of her clitoris in a merciless, driving rhythm. Monique Desalle squealed like mad thing as her devilish tormentor took her to more and more agonising peaks of pleasure, forcing her to come and come again whilst the leather corset kept any relief or movement so cruelly confined. It was only after long, torturing minutes, when the young French girl went limp with exhaustion, that the woman pulled her hands free. She kissed the young Frenchwoman's cunt lips for one final time before walking back to join her lover in the shade and leaving Monique swinging gently between the two ropes. The Emir watched the dangling figure for a few moments before summoning the towering figure of the Captain of the Guard forwards. The heavily muscled Nubian salaamed deeply. 'Master...?' 'You may take her, Nahib... turn her so she rides on your manhood... I wish to see her face as you begin...' The heavily muscled Commander of the Guard grinned at the Emir's words and stripped off his loose linen trousers, posing for a moment so his master could admire his magnificent physique, especially the size and length of his purplish-black penis. The thick, ridged shaft jutted out like a fleshy tusk, curved up so the wide domed head bobbed and danced with every movement. Nahib peered at the semiconscious figure and stroked his fingers round the curving shaft, flexing his muscles so the Emir could see his readiness to meet his master's command. Grabbing a handful of her lank blonde hair in one hand and one protruding foot in the other, the massively built Nubian turned the semi-conscious figure over, spinning her round on the two hooks clipped to the rings riveted into the leather belt. Groaning and grunting with the sharp pain of those fingers wrenching at her scalp Monique Desalle slowly came back to full consciousness to find she was held as though kneeling in mid air, still gripped by the awful pressure of the corset but finally able to draw shallow breaths without the awful pounding pressure of being head down. The Guard Commander's fingers tightened and her head was slowly forced back until she was staring straight at the heaped silken cushions and the toad-like, grinning bulk of the Emir. 'You see how considerate I am, Miss Desalle, allowing my guests to take their pleasure first. But now you must repay that kindness... Show her that you are indeed a man Nahib... let our honoured guest,' the words were soft but dripping with cruel enjoyment, 'see the spear of flesh she will ride for my delight before she mounts the saddle.' Nahib need no further command. He moved round until Monique was staring at the flaring helmet of his penis, dark purple and already gleaming with the seepage of his excitement. His big hands closed on the shorter, finer hair behind her ears holding her head in position so he could press the meat of his cock head against her lips... lips already wet and sticky from Mena's juices. Her eyes strained upward trying to see further than the solid muscles of the guard commander's belly and the thick wiry triangle of hair at his groin. The hands moved in her hair, twisting so hard that she felt her scalp lifting; the rubbery dome of his glans pressed insistently against her teeth. Through the sharp, stabbing pain the Emir's voice was faint but clear. 'Open your mouth... accept him or I will have your cunt skinned as you hang there...' Monique shivered, knowing the threat was quite real. She swallowed and opened her mouth. Still panting rapidly she gagged and dribbled helplessly as the pungent, thick meat filled her mouth and she tasted the salty slime of his seepage. Nahib used her hair like two handles to move her head up and down, working his cock into her throat and grinning at the wonderful stimulation of her busy tongue and lips. The movements were slow, deliberately drawn out to increase her discomfort... and also to ensure his master had the best possible view of the thick, black shaft being caressed and mouthed by the full pink lips of this foolish infidel. He stood posed like a polished ebony statue for long minutes, only his hands moving as they rocked the young Frenchwoman's head up and down. 'Enough, Nahib, enough...' The Emir called, tiring of watching his servant's pleasure, 'take her now... show her I am master here.' Nahib pulled the gleaming black shaft of his erection free and signalled one of the guards to hold the girl in position for him. He moved round her strapped and bound body, standing close to Monique's jutting buttocks and rested his big hands on the brass buckles holding the corset closed. The slippery head of his penis nudged into the offered cleft, just sliding along the taut sensitive flesh between her anus and vagina. He looked at the Emir, waiting for his master's whim... 'Take her as you would a boy, Nahib... we must leave something for the iron man as well. Slowly, though... let her face show me how an infidel cries to be taken by the spear of a true believer.' Nahib nodded, grinning broadly at the command. He jerked his head for the guard to stand away and then pushed the bundle that was the tightly bound girl forward a little; the ropes creaked and the metal hooks clicked against the rings as she moved. He shuffled on the stones, probing gently until he felt the domed head pressing into Monique's Desalle's anus. He edged even further forwards, pushing her out as though she were on a swing letting her own weight press back on his wide, slippery glans. 'Ah no, mercy Highness... stop him he will split me, please, oh, oh I can't h-hold it p-please. Stop, stop...! Nnnnnaaaarrrrgghhh!' The Emir grinned happily as he watched the growing panic on Monique Desalle's face. The way she twitched as Nahib's manhood touched her just where she was still so ultra sensitive from Ria's ministrations; then the frantic disbelief as the young Frenchwoman reacted to the pain of the plum-sized glans stretching her anus wider and wider. The Emir loved these moments... the victim's staring, bulging eyes; the gaping mouth and those gabbled useless protesting noises; Nahib's patient waiting stance, strutted like a gleaming black statue as the girl's muscles slowly weakened and that final, animal squeal as guard's massive penis popped through the anal ring and she felt him filling her rectum for the first time. A cruel expert at this kind of entertainment, Nahib relaxed his hips, pulling back until held within her body only the tightness of her anal ring gripping him by the wide flange of his glans. He waited, revelling in the pulsing twitches of her muscles around that sensitive rim as she fought to adjust to the massive invader. Then, as Monique relaxed for just a moment, he thrust forwards again, the thick oily shaft sliding deep into her bottom and bringing a second piercing cry from her throat so the Emir clapped and giggled with pleasure at his skill. Now he settled into a long, slow driving rhythm, swinging the girl's body to and fro so she was forced back onto his long, thick penis then forwards again to feel his thickness sliding out until just the domed head kept her impaled. At first the squeals were those of pain and terror... then the first notes of unwilling arousal crept in, panting desperate sounds that signalled her growing lust as the veins and ridges along the length of his cock fretted and aroused her excitement once again. 'Oh no, please no... I don't, oh please stop him, ah please, hah, hah, aaaaaah!' 'Make the maid ride harder! Make her cry to as her mistress is pleasured like the bitch she is...' Warned by the petulant note in their master's voice Mena and Ria scrambled to obey. Each seized one of the thin rattan canes they'd used earlier and hurried over to when Monique's tormented maidservant was still rising and falling with awful deliberate care on the toothed bar of the mare. 'It is time to ride faster... let us see you gallop for his Highness,' Ria said, wiping the girl's tear-stained face. 'It's time to taste the whip across those pretty globes.' Nula's hair whipped across her face as she shook her head madly, but whatever she was going to say was lost in a sudden scream and jerking spasm of pain as Mena brought her cane zipping through the air to brand a single fiery line across the girl's out thrust buttocks. Ria stepped back to give herself room to swing her arm and replied with an even harder stroke that caught the swelling under curve of Nula's breasts just one the edge of her dark brown aureoles, the pain making her jerk her upright so violently that one foot slipped off its stake and she was left sitting with all her weight on the bronze rail. 'Iiiiiiiiiaaaaahhhh!' 'Thwick! Thwuck! Thwick! Thwuck! Thwick! Thwuck! Thwick! Thwuck!' That scream of agony dragged Monique's eyes away from the Emir. She bit her lips as she watched the two grinning women wielding the canes and heard Nula's desperate cries of pain over the regular sound of those thin, flexible rods smacking into naked flesh. Shame washed through her as she realised the Emir's evil plan was working... despite her own torments the sight of her maid's torture was arousing her, turning the pain of Nahib's long slow fucking into a hot, guilty pleasure. She dropped her head, letting her long blonde hair cascade down to cover her growing excitement. The Emir giggled with excitement and mopped his sweat- beaded forehead with a length of green silk, sitting forwards and sipping at a cool glass of fresh lemon juice as he revelled in the scene before him. To one side his women, their copper bronze skins gleaming with oil and perspiration, heavy breasts bouncing and jiggling so wonderfully, flogged the girl strapped astride the mare. He licked his lips as he saw the first sheen of blood on her breasts; blood from where the network of thin agonising weals had repeatedly scored the delicate peaks of her breasts, almost skinning her nipples raw. But the real delight was just in front of his eyes...the tightly bound body of the young Frenchwoman, her face convulsed and contorted with the pleasure-pain of his massively built servant's deliberately slow impalement of her anus. Like her maid she was crying too, gasping wordlessly as she climbed towards her own orgasm once again, feeling the torment of the cruel leather corset holding her cramped in agony; denying any chance of riding the pleasure peaks as she wanted. Even as he gazed at her scarlet, shiny face, lips and chin still sticky with saliva and Mena's thick mucus, Nahib's movements became harder and faster, jerking the young woman back so far that each time she could feel the harsh wiry hair of his groin tickling the cleft of her bottom. In turn, his lust was also being stoked by the sight of the writhing brown body astride the mare, the wonderful screams of pain and the constant bucking movements as the canes lashed her breasts and bottom cheeks without mercy. 'AAAAAAAHHHH!' Nahib's cry echoed round the walled courtyard as he forced his cock even deeper, jerking rapidly and arching back in triumph as he ejaculated in long spurts. He pulled free of Monique's cunt as he came, the wet gleaming shaft still jerking so the last sticky white gobs spattered over the girl's taut buttocks to show his master the evidence of his virility. Those final jolting thrusts had pitched Monique Desalle over the edge as well. Already roused by the women's clever masturbation, Nahib's long, slow invasion of her rectum had worked her to another unwilling climax and she too cried and whimpered in the spasms of her orgasm. Her head flailed wildly as the jerking spasms overcame her, her breath racing in shallow frantic gasps as the corset held her immovable... just the threshing of her head and the desperate curling and uncurling of her toes revealing the agony of yet another enforced orgasm cruelly confined by her agonising bondage. The sound of soft clapping brought all activity in the courtyard to a halt. 'Leave the servant on the mare... let her witness her mistress's fate and then...' The Emir looked at the girl's bleeding, pain-wracked figure still rising and falling on the toothed rail and smiled at his Guard Commander in cruel anticipation. 'You can place her carefully on the stake, Nahib, once her legs are sufficiently weakened by her exercise...' His hot, cruel gaze returned to the dangling figure before him. 'Prepare the infidel woman for the saddle... I have promised she shall mount my iron man and it would be impolite to break such a promise to a guest ...' The Emir's pudgy, ring encrusted hands clapped once more and the guards hurried to obey. The Emir's woman exchanged glances and Ria stroked her lover's flank, fingers curling down and under the curve of Mena's left buttock to tease the warmth and wetness between her bottom cheeks as they padded across the hot flagstones to prepare the saddle. The device was the Emir's favourite torture implement. The saddle itself was metal, cunningly curved and shaped to seat a victim with their thighs apart and the core of their body pressing into the central ridge. The iron phallus jutting vertically from the saddle's crest was hollow, pierced and fretted and decorated with cunningly twisted ridges, and fixed over a round hole in the metal saddle... A hole that was directly over the metal ring positioned between the legs of the torture saddle, a ring shaped to hold the bowl of glowing charcoal that waited on the stone plinth beside the horrible device. Whilst the guards placed Monique on the ground and carefully freed her from the corset's grip, Mena was coating the shaft and exaggerated, bulbous head of the saddle's phallus with palm oil, making the hollow shaft and jutting ridges gleam and glisten in the sunlight. Ria waited by her master's side watching unmoved as the young French girl groaned and cried, writhing on the ground as she tried to overcome the biting cramps and shooting agony from muscles suddenly unbound after such cruel captivity. In her hands was the broad waist belt they'd used on Nula, a belt with the wrist cuffs attached... the Emir's sadistic refinement of torture that left a victim's hands free but so tantalisingly out of reach of being able to do anything at all to stop the agony. Finally, the guards dragged Monique Desalle to her feet and pushed her forwards to confront the Emir once more. They held her arms apart so Ria could fasten the belt, cinching the buckles tight in the small of Monique's back before tightening the cuffs around each wrist and pinning her hands against her hips. Monique raised her head, still moving slowly and painfully from her ordeal, pursed her lips and stared at the bloated figure before her. Lack of water and exhaustion made her voice hoarse but the Emir's eyes narrowed as she spoke and his tongue licked over his full lips. 'Please, no more I beg of you... mercy please my Lord...' She would have fallen to her knees but for the guards holding her arms. 'Not the saddle, please... have mercy.' 'Your fate is already written and your mount is waiting... However,' Monique's head lifted at the hint of hope, 'I will allow you the dignity of mounting on your own.' He smiled in sadistic pleasure. 'Otherwise my guards will carry out my judgement. You have a few moments to decide...' Monique's face crumpled, tears trickling down her cheeks as the last vestige of hope vanished and the eager, grinning faces closed around her. From somewhere she gathered her remaining courage and took the few faltering steps to where the two women waited. Mena had placed a wooden stool on either side of the saddle and Monique was about to step up onto them when Ria stopped her, grinning and holding up a polished wooden bar. 'A moment... just to make sure you are displayed as his highness would wish.' The guards grabbed her upper arms, forcing her elbows back until Ria could slide the bar across her back and through the gaps between arms and body, pinning her elbows back so the wrist cuffs were pulled tight and her breasts were thrust forwards. Giggling to each other at the nineteen year old's involuntary display and just as they had done that morning, the women gripped a nipple apiece... squeezing just hard enough to ensure Monique's obedience as they turned her into position. 'Up you go,' Ria murmured as they both pulled upwards, stretching the tender pink tips as their shivering victim scrabbled to get up onto the stools. 'No, no d-don't I... aaaaah!' Monique cried out again as the women twisted their fingers, their unspoken orders making her straddle the gleaming metal column. The fingers twisted again, cruel, pinching pain that pulled her downwards until the plum sized bulb touched the wet, engorged lips of her labia. 'Nuh, nuh, nooooooo, no please you can't do this to me... you CAAAAAAN'T!' The hopeless cry echoed back from the walls and the Emir giggled with excitement as the women dragged their victim downward by her nipples, her knees bending in submission as the bulb sank into her vagina. The nine-inch metal shaft slowly impaled the sobbing nineteen year old and the Emir wriggled with pleasure as he watched her cunt lips stretching round the oiled invader. Every movement brought new gasps and grimaces of pain as Monique Desalle sank down onto her torture saddle. There was a clatter as the women kicked the stools away; more gasps and cries as Monique felt the metal penis pressing deep inside her body, the domed head nuzzling against the mouth of her cervix. The cunning ridges on the sun-warmed metal scraped and fretted the delicate internal membranes of her body, whilst the wide, hollow shaft held her agonisingly stretched and open. At long last her tormentors released their grip on her breasts and she twisted on from side to side, her high, firm breasts bouncing and jiggling as she tried to relieve the throbbing agony of returning circulation. Each pink teat was jutting out like a little peg, the flesh taut and shiny, swollen from the pinching fingers and the weals of the earlier caning. With the women out of the way the guards cinched the flexible metal straps tight over each thigh. Obedient to the Emir's whispered command they pulled them tight but left her just a little room to lift her bottom from the saddle. Finally, Monique's slim ankles were lifted high behind her, the guards binding them fast to the back of the iron saddle so her weight was forced forwards, the sensitive folds of her cunt splayed apart by the iron phallus to press even more firmly against the saddle itself. 'This is the penalty of failure, Miss Desalle... now you will taste my displeasure. Ria, let her feel the heat she is to bear.' The tall Arab woman picked up the tongs and lifted the small bowl of burning charcoal. Carefully she blew the fine grey ash away so the coals showed dull red in the sunlight and the air shimmered and flickered above the surface. She brought the bowl round until it was near Monique's belly, close enough for the column of heat to caress the tender undersides of the young French girl's breasts. She held it in position for a few moments, watching intently as Monique reared back trying to avoid the searing heat. 'Oh God no... ah, aaah, aaaaaah please, it burns, please... PLEEESSSEEE!' 'Begin' Everyone moved back into the shade, all eyes fixed on the naked sweat-soaked figures mounted astride the iron saddle. The Emir's chief torturer smiled at her latest victim and placed the little bowl under the saddle. She gave Monique's outthrust breasts a final caress and padded across the stones to join her lover at the Emir's feet. In the silence the hum of insects and the racing pant of Monique Desalle's breathing were the only sounds. Even her maid, still riding the bronze teeth of the mare, was silent as everyone watched the young French girl. They could see her fingers working madly, stretching and curling towards her groin but to no avail. Her fingertips could just touch the crease of her thighs and the swell of her mound but no more... she could do nothing to relieve the coming agony. 'Aaaaaaah!' The Emir chuckled at that first, horrified gasp from the impaled rider. Monique bit her lip, trying to ignore the growing warmth deep inside her body, holding back longer and longer and longer before... 'Arrrrggggh! Its burning me, noooooo, oh God, no, aaaaah aaaaaaah... Iiiiiiiiiaaaaahhhh! Please...pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseeeeee!' As the wild screams and pleas echoed round the courtyard Monique Desalle threw herself from side to side, jerking up and down on the heated metal shaft, her upper body writhing and twisting in a demented dance of agony as the coals heated the hollow phallus so it scorched and seared the most tender flesh of her body in an unending blaze of agony. 'Remove the bowl... let her rest for a moment... to recover before she makes love to the iron man once more...' The Emir's mercy was an illusion. He knew only too well that the pause would bring no relief, just a constant burning agony as the metal cooled so slowly. Not only that but he wanted to enjoy the Frenchwoman's growing panic as she waited for him to order the coals to be replaced beneath the saddle once again. His servants busied themselves with offering sweetmeats and cool juices as the Emir studied the twitching, groaning figure on the saddle. One hand stroked Ria's cheek as she nestled at his feet. 'Use the rod too this time... she should experience every delight before the end...' Ria smiled at her master's words. She walked slowly back to the saddle and cupped the young woman's breasts, thumbs just grazing the swollen nipples. 'Are you ready for the coals again... no, no shhhhh...' she soothed as Monique started to babble, pleading with her. 'It is no use... you must endure it all.' Monique's bulging eyes followed every movement as her torturer used the tongs to pick up the bowl once more so she could blow on the coals to make them glow more brightly before putting the bowl back on the stone plinth beside the saddle. 'You will taste the rod too this time...' Ria held out a copper rod for her to see. Gently curved at the end it was barely finger thickness, tapering down to a fine tip that swelled into a small bulb. The other end fastened into a polished wooden handle that Ria was holding. 'First to warm it...' Monique's eyes bulged even more as she saw the woman used the rod to stir the coals. She was already twitching, somehow knowing what dreadful thing was going to be done to her as Ria withdrew the rod and wiped it free of ash on a damp cloth. The cloth hissed softly at the contact. Ria watched Monique's growing agony... waiting as the terror mounted. 'Front or back...?' She asked. All she heard was a wild, manic screaming in reply. A nod from the Emir and she moved in front of the mounted woman. 'Let us start here then.' Steadily and carefully she slid the rod between the parted lips of Monique's cunt delicately grazing the young Frenchwoman's clitoris with the heated tip. She stroked her own soaking slit with the other hand as her victim arched back and an animal squeal of total agony ripped through the air... 'NAAAAAAAAAAAH!' Cortez All Rights Reserved
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