Melissa [ED]


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by Ed. All rights reserved.
Illustrations by Stig.

1831, The Transvaal, South Africa

With a noisy creak, the heavy door opened and Kleine Kraal’s head servant, Hlubi, stood in the entrance, large and forbidding, his presence all the girl needed to know that the time for her punishment had come at last. Scarcely a day after Rodger Blore had left for his yearly trip back to England, his son Kyle, now twenty and in charge of the ranch during his absence, had made a pass at the pretty Boer servant girl, Melissa Meuws, he had desired for the past four years. She was demurely cute, with glorious red hair down to her shoulders and freckles across her creamy-white skin. He grabbed her tits once from behind and tried to kiss her, but she had slapped his face and cursed him, beating his hands away. Rodger did not for get – or forgive. Soon after, a search of her single room had been initiated which turned up some gold coins under her mattress. Kyle identified them and accused her of thievery. As the acting Nkosi, laird of the ranch, he had coldly sentenced her to the Whipping Post the following morning. Still protesting her innocence, she was taken to the small house, used for the extra hands during the round up, and locked inside. There she sat all night, trying not to think about the horror morning would bring.

“It is time, missy,” Hlubi said. Resigned to this moment, Melissa stood and took a step toward the door. Hlubi held up a hand, stopping her.

“But first, you are to remove your blouse, missy. The Nkosizana, the little master has ordered that you are to walk to the post naked to the waist. Please, Missy. You have to leave your shirt here. Either you do it yourself, or I have to do it by force. I … I would rather not have to do that. Please, missy, it is time to go and his instructions must be followed.”

The young Boer girl could see both the reluctance and determination in his eyes. She knew that nothing would be accomplished by fighting here-at best, she would only delay the inevitable and at worst, well, there would be two floggings this day and Hlubi had always been kind to her. She stood and her hands rose to the drawstring at her neck. It took only a minute to undo the buttons and husk the well-worn blouse from her shoulders. Beneath it she wore only a simple bandeau of cloth crossing her breasts and tied in back. Her hands reached behind her to work at its knot. Soon it, too, opened and she dropped it reluctantly on the bunk. Melissa was now topless and she saw Hlubi look away in embarrassment. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, but he said, “Hands at your sides, missy. The Nkosizana was very clear. He wants to see you exposed when you walk to the post.”

“B-But why?” she said plaintively, her arms slowly lowering. “Just to finally see me like this?”

Hlubi could not meet her eyes. “I think … I think he means to hurt you.” He gestured toward her chest. “Hurt you there, I mean.”

The pretty redhead’s arms flew back up to cup and hide her bare breasts at his words and a chill ran through her. Oh gods, oh gods, she thought. Of course. She would be facing the Post, she knew, but with her hands tied up high there would be little protection for her titties and the sjambok had a long reach. With the old man gone, there was nothing to stop Kyle from directing the lash around to sting the tender sides of her globes. She had frustrated him and he would not have forgotten. And he was cruel.

“Sorry, missy. Sorry, but we must go now. Try to be strong.”

Melissa took a deep breath, gathered her courage, dropped her arms, and walked past him through the door into the yard. Oh gods!

Just a week past her eighteenth birthday, Melissa Meuws possessed a stunning young female body. She had a heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, eyes of sky blue, and a cute pixieish face often given to smiling. A light dappling of freckles crossed cheeks, nose, and neck before decorating the tops of her proud bust. Not quite five and a half feet tall, she had matured young and filled her blouse and skirt with ample promise of ripe feminine flesh beneath. In the bright sunlight, the glorious rose-cream of her skin seemed to glow. Bared to the waist, the maid’s lovely nude tits thrust out from her torso like two round and perfect cones. The tapered mounds were capped with broad coral-red disks that rose to hardening points. The petite girl stood rigidly erect, the lines of muscle showing clearly beneath her pale skin, highlighting the long concave curves of belly and abdomen. Years of hard work had pared her form of any excess fat, although her curves were still nicely rounded. Carried low on her slim hips, the home-spun skirt rode just beneath the dainty puckered navel.

The sun was very bright coming from the dark room, so she lifted a hand to shade her eyes, unaware of the erotic way the motion lifted her right mound. She saw the estate’s Whipping Post fifty paces away, seven feet of ominous dark wood. The other servants were assembled there already to witness the punishment, as were Kyle Blore and Bette Marlborough, niece of a neighboring rancher. They were both on horseback and watching her intently. Melissa found that the presence of the white girl embarrassed her more than that of Kyle and the black servants. Then Hlubi gently pushed her back, pointing towards the post. Dropping her hand and squaring her shoulders, Melissa Meuws started forward toward the Whipping Post.

* * * * *

Kyle saw movement at the small house. So, the wench had finally come out, standing in the late morning sunshine. One hand was up to shield her eyes from the glare and the man could see that his orders had been carried out-the young Boer girl was totally and gloriously nude to the waist. Even at this distance, he could plainly make out the ruddy disks of her nipples against the creamy chest skin. He shivered in anticipation and felt his sex stirring beneath his trousers. I’ve waited a long time for this, you haughty bitch. The elderly servant touched her shoulder and pointed forward, falling in behind like an escort.

Kyle and Bette watched avidly as the lovely redhead strode towards the punishment ground, eyes straight and shoulders back. She walked proudly, with that sinuous twist all women are born with. Her thrusting white titties jiggled provocatively to each slow step, swaying delicately from side to side. From a distance, the maid looked brave and resolute, but her lower lip was trembling in fearful anticipation of the ordeal facing her. She had witnessed many whippings during her time working at Kleine Kraal and always felt nauseated after they were done and the bleeding victim was left, twitching and moaning against the bloodstained wood. Melissa could see Blore, leaning up in his saddle, and next to him that sweet-smelling tart from the next krall. An audience. Kyle was not going to spare her the least indignity.

Soon she drew near the dreaded Post, a tall mahogany trunk set firmly in the ground. Large iron eye-bolts were buried into the wood at points down its length. The dark hardwood carried still darker stains, memorials from many past beatings. Kleine Kraal’s flogger, a large, muscular Matabele named Mbane, stood waiting beside it, holding the fearful sjambok in his hands, forty inches of cured, supple hippo hide tapering to a split tip.

Once at the Post, Melissa looked up at it with loathing, then she turned towards her accuser. Standing tall and proud as her 5′ 5″ permitted, her beautiful bare breasts thrust arrogantly out from her chest in the hot morning sunlight. Kyle Blore walked his horse up a little and leaned on the pommel.

“Melissa Meuws, you were caught stealing from your laird’s House. As acting laird while my father is away, I order that you receive the maximum discipline allowed: five dozen strokes with the sjambok!”

“You know the truth, Kyle Blore”, she threw at him. “You know I’m innocent, you pig! Just because I wouldn’t submit to your filthy touch-”

“The guilty always lie,” Kyle interrupted blandly. “You only seek to delay your just punishment. Mbane, secure her to the post and begin!”

The large Matabele draped his cruel whip casually over the stunned girl’s shoulders while he locked broad leather cuffs tightly around each wrist. Her two milk-white beauties trembled between her arms. The redhead looked tiny next to the muscular Matabele, even more so as she cringed against the cool touch of the whip against her tender flesh. Once finished, he turned her around and pushed her against the post, the dark wood warm against her chest from the sun’s rays. Raising the captive arms high, he crossed her wrists before tying them off to the top ringbolts with stout cords. Melissa noticed the positioning, but thought that it was just some minor enhancement to her discomfort.

The two Brits nudged their mounts over to get a better view. They stared at her breasts as her wrists were raised and tied, the proud white cones pulling up and back into a pair of high, rounded melons. Kyle’s prick twitched up in his pants at the sight. He had seen them push against her simple blouse and sampled their fullness during his one grope, but now the sight of them naked-and the knowledge that soon they would feel the lash-stimulated him powerfully. The pretty Boer girl’s nipples kept their shape as the tits rode up, sticking out from the two beauties like coral-hued mushrooms. Gads! He had never seen puffy nipples like that on a white woman before and the image stirred his loins.

In a moment, Mbane was done. He dragged the sjambok free from her shoulders and the girl shivered. She had seen what the whip could do, but at least she would be taking it over her back. Just the slick touch of it slithering over her breasts made her feel sick with loathing.

Kyle gestured to the Matabele, eager now for the show to begin. Mbane nodded and shook out his whip. He looked over at the expanse of milky white skin waiting for his whip and chose a spot. His arm went back and then, with a powerful motion, he swept the sjambok forward to deliver the first whistling slash over his captive’s shoulderblades.

“Uhnnnn,” Melissa grunted and her body twisted sharply. She had determined during the night that she would deny Kyle the satisfaction of crying out under the beating, but the sudden, searing line of pain across her back drew the sound unbidden. Maas! No stranger to the switch, she knew the rhino whip would be worse, but the reality of that difference was shocking. The supple lash seemed to cling to her skin, leaving only fire behind. How would she ever withstand sixty such strokes? Her thoughts were brutally interrupted by the next lash, a lightning bolt of fire that cut over her lower back just above the hips, bisecting the pert sacral dimples. The split tip snapped sharply against the exquisitely tender skin of her contoured side, biting a tiny hole in the soft flesh and starting a small drip of liquid scarlet oozing down over her hip. The redhead twitched in response and again held the cry of pain back with great effort.

Kyle grinned hugely at the erotic sight before him. Every time the sjambok sliced over the wench’s back, her lusty white female body would jerk and writhe against the tall post. His eyes kept returning to the dancing white globe of her right breast. It would leap and jiggle like a thing apart of her, the cream color a delightful contrast to the dark stained wood, and he felt his sex swelling against the front of his pants in response. Mbane varied the timing and placement of his strokes, sweeping three rapid cuts to shoulders and then waiting one, two, or three long moments before applying the next, long anticipated, attack to some new soft virgin spot. Brilliant red and rising weals left a vivid testimony to the power of the flogging and small droplets of bloody fluid leaked slowly from spots where the skin abraded or the snake’s-tongue tip had bitten. A fine sheen of agony-sweat coated Melissa’s upper torso now, making the fine feminine curves shine and sparkle in the bright South African sun.

Bette Marlborough was excited as well, her loins hot and wet. The sheer decadence of the show in front of her was stirring in a way she had never dreamed. Her father wouldn’t permit the whip on his ranch, so she was only just discovering this side of her feelings. She had been Kyle’s guest twice before to watch as two natives, a man and a woman, were tied to the Post and their backs flayed. This was special, however, and she had decided to make a play for Kyle Blore soon after it began. Such a marriage would increase her power and also promised a lifetime of diversions such as this. She could see the growing bulge in the front of his trousers. Soon, she thought. Soon, but not yet. She leaned over and whispered into his ear, “That dancing boobie of hers has you entranced, Kyle. Why not see if it’s as sensitive as it looks?”

He looked back at her, pleased by the look of lust in her eyes. “Don’t worry, pet, I haven’t forgotten about those fat titties of hers. Oh no. I have something very special in mind for them, but just to make you happy …” He signalled to Mbane with one hand. The Matabele saw it and nodded.

Mbane leaned forward into the next stroke, slipping the pointed end around to snap viciously against the outside of her right chest melon. Melissa let out a hissing gasp of shock and her narrow back arched sharply in reaction. Damn damn damn, that hurt! Even though she was topless, she had been certain that the whipping would be only on her back, like when they disciplined the servants. True, they sometimes turned a pretty female slave around to lash her front if she was young and large there, but that was just man-play with a darkie. Even though a Boer, she was still a white woman and such things were not supposed to happen. She would soon learn just how far wrong she was.

“Oooo, yes,” Bette said in a husky voice. “I thought that would get her attention. A woman’s titties are very sensitive, almost as much as her-well, you know.” She blushed demurely. “It’s too bad we can’t see her bottom and thighs. I bet they would look pretty wearing stripes, too.”

Kyle grinned back at her. He kicked his horse and walked it up to the far side of the post. Melissa stared at him with hate-filled eyes, shamed by her uncontrollable tears. He glanced down to her chest, stirred by the sight of the two sweat-shiny globes on either side of the pole. He could clearly see the rising red weal curving around the right from behind. Ooo, that must have hurt. Then another stroke crossed her back and the girl lunged against the pole in reaction. Kyle grinned. Another left a line of pain right where her skirt ended low on her loins. There was long delay and then the sjambok flew again, the twelft stroke, and Mbane swept it out long to score the girl’s right globe again, this time scoring it along the full bottom curve. Although shamefully aware of the man’s eyes on her, Melissa just couldn’t control her maddened spasms of agony on the Post.

Kyle moved his mount closer, stopping Mbane with a hand. “Are you ready yet to apologise for slapping me, to ask-no, beg me to take you to my bed? That’s only the first dozen strokes and the sentence is four more. I can stop it now. All you have to do is beg me for a fucking. Come on, beg me to take you to my bed and I’ll stop the pain.”

“Never!” she snarled up at him, chest heaving. “I would sooner die than submit to such a thing!”

“No, you won’t die, bitch. Although you may well be pleading for that before Mbane is finished. First you’ll scream and then you’ll beg.”


The man reined back and glared over at the whipper. “Continue! Whip her some more! I want to hear her wail!”

SWACKKT! SCRACKT! Melissa writhed impotently at the post as the next six strokes carved her back from hips to neck again. Through her tears, she could see Kyle staring at her from the saddle. Mbane made sure that every one of them ended along her tender side. He knew from past experience just how agonizing the lash was there. The split tip left small, painful rips behind, each one soon dribbling thin runnels of blood from armpit to hip. The sixth returned to her right tit, biting like a serpent’s tongue around the ripe curve, but still she remained silent. Kyle called for another break in the beating.

Kyle nudged the horse up closer beside her. “A special target for you now, Mbane!” he ordered. Then, swinging low from the saddle, he grabbed the hem of Melissa Meuws skirt and lifted it high, exposing her bottom. She wore a frayed pair of mid-thigh pantaloons underneath, her only store bought garment. The flimsy cotton did little to hide the fine compact melons shifting beneath. “Six more on her arse now and put your back into it. I want to see her bottom bleed!”

“N-No, you mustn’t. It’s not right. I’m no kaffir wench and this is wronUUNNHH!” The hissing strike of the sjambok stopped the protest in her mouth abruptly. The flogger pulled back at the last moment so only the final foot of his whip struck the taut rounded buttocks. She lurched against the unyielding wood in response to the sudden pain. The slicing stroke with the sjambok cut through her flimsy pantaloons and the flesh beneath like a knife, leaving a shallow tear behind. A bright line of blood started staining the white fabric even before the next lash flew.

The redhead’s cheeks were crimson with shame at the embarrassing exposure, but the searing pain of the sjambok slicing across her bottom brought her back to the immediacy of her predicament. SCRACKT! Another hot whip cut bisected the broadest expanse of the girl’s clenching ass cheeks. Mbane sent each new lash down lower over the firm hillocks, leaving fresh lines of fire behind. Each stroke was delivered so as to slice through the flimsy pantalloons and the top layer of skin beneath. The last of the six carved the tender flesh of her upper thighs just under the round melons and Kyle laughed at the mincing dance of pain her small bare feet performed. Yet she still wouldn’t scream.

The rancher dropped the skirt angrilly. Very well, my pretty, he thought. No lousy Boer slut turns me down. I’ll teach you your place. You’ll beg before I’m through with you! Melissa looked back over her shoulder and saw him talking to the flogger. Mbane nodded, set down the whip, and approached her. Melissa mistakenly sagged against the post in relief. I’ve done it, she thought. Withstood the unjust flogging without breaking. The large Matabele grabbed her arms near the wrists and she reached higher so he could undo her cuffs easier, but instead the maid felt her torso being twisted roughly around so that she now faced out, her aching back pressed against the mahogany.

“W-What are you doing?!” the redhead protested loudly. “This isn’t right! It’s over! Let me go! Let me go! Oh oh oh, not like this! Not on my front! No, it’s wrong! Let me go, I say!”

Mbane didn’t say a word, but quickly moved behind the mahogany pole, reached around and yanked Melissa’s feet out from under her. He pulled her feet back roughly behind it. These he quickly tied sole to sole with a short cord. The girl’s tattered skirt dropped off her hips during the repositioning and now stretched across her thighs, so Mbane took a knife and just cut it away. Now the lovely young redhead’s sole garment was her flimsy, store-bought pantalloons. There were little frills around the bottoms, just above the knees, a sight Kyle found strangely arousing. In back, her bloodied back and ass rubbed against the post, adding to its myriad stains. Kyle walked his horse up again.

“No, my haughty little Boer, it’s not over. Not by a long shot! And I have no intention of letting you go, either. Your plump titties just beg for the whip’s caresses, and they shall feel them! Ever since I first saw them last year when I caught you bathing at the river, I’ve wanted to see them up close and naked, wanted to touch them. But you wouldn’t let me-Me! Soon to be Lord of this entire manor! You’ve remained remarkably quiet up to now, but I want to see how brave you will be when you face the sjambok! You can imagine what that means, can’t you, ‘Lissa? Soon you take the whip on your pretty tits!

“The bitch has three dozen more to go, Mbane! Stripe her pretty belly up well now! There’ll be other targets later!”

Melissa suddenly felt very vulnerable and very very exposed. She squirmed against the dark wood, desperate to somehow protect her soft front, but there was no hiding the arrogant thrust of her lusty young tits and she blushed furiously in shame at the young laird’s lascivious leer. The pretty Boer girl was absolutely helpless, hanging against the Whipping Post with her naked upper torso bared for the lash.

The muscular African picked up the cruel sjambok and resumed his position to her side. His black eyes ate up the sight of the white girl’s lusty bare breasts. Her buttocks were far too small for his liking, but the color contrast of her plump tits was curiously arousing, and the skin there would show the marks of the whip very nicely. The terrified captive looked around her. She could see Kyle sitting his horse next to Bette again, the Englishwoman’s hand busy now over his crotch, undoing the laces holding it closed. All about were the other servants, some shamed, but most enjoying the show along with Mbane. A sudden, cool breeze blew over her naked torso and goose bumps rose across the white mounds, visibly hardening the erect paps in the bright sunlight. All her weight hung from the chaffing wrist cuffs and her mounds had risen high on her chest, the puffy coral nipples pointing pertly up and out. With the wind evaporating her sweat, the teats pinched up hard in their centers, looking like little pink mountains.

She saw Mbane pulling back his arm and then the bloody sjambok flew through the air to slice harshly across her softly rounded belly. Now that she was facing the other way, her untouched left side was available to the split tip. A young woman’s sides are extremely sensitive and Mbane’s cruel tactic of attacking them with the sjambok’s fangs added a shrieking note of intolerability at the end of every stroke.

Lash followed lash and bright red welts appeared over her abdomen, stomach, and ribcage as if painted by a mad artist. Melissa gasped to the whistling strokes and her white form writhed, making the high perched bare breasts wobble wildly just above. As before, the native flogger varied the interval between his cuts, so the helpless wench couldn’t anticipate any set rhythm. Her head twisted and tossed as she worked to endure the whipping in silence, her auburn tresses flying over shoulders and upper chest. Finally, the last of the third dozen raked the maid’s taut ribs and Mbane lowered his arm.

Kyle approached again, looking down at the moaning young girl. A heavy pattern of angry scarlet weals crossed and criss-crossed the curves and planes of her belly and abdomen, highlighting the fine gleaming white globes above. He waved a hand in front of her face to get her attention. After a long moment, she gathered herself and looked back up at him. Despite the tears, there was still defiance there, still contempt. He glanced down again, admiring the superb bust and rounded coral nipples. Melissa followed his gaze and shivered in horror. There were still two dozen lashes remaining and she was very conscious of her protruding chest. Kyle wheeled his horse back to Bette’s side. “Do you remember that special bit I promised? Well, it’s time, pet. Now we’ll see her really squirm!

“Apply your whip to those proud titties now, Mbane! No deep wounds, but make sure the wench feels them! And get her hair out of the way first. There must be no protection for them, none! I want her broken, screaming. Now begin, and make those titties dance!”

The huge Negro took a moment to pull the long auburn tresses behind Melissa’s neck and shoulders. Then, to make sure that she couldn’t shake them back over her tits again, he bound her head to the post with an inch-wide leather strap. Once secured, the girl couldn’t turn it and her sky-blue eyes darted back and forth in helpless fear. The girl couldn’t protest this latest refinement; her anxiety now was complete. Her back, ass, and belly still burned terribly from their beating and now it was time for her beautiful nude breasts to feel the sjambok’s hot kisses and she was absolutely helpless to protect them. From the time they had bloomed on her chest, the proudly capped peaks had proven to be exquisitely sensitive. Just the feel of a boy’s hand fondling her there would fill the junction of her thighs with moist warmth. Now the huge Matabele was taking aim at them with the hideous rhinohide whip, pulling his muscular arm slowly back. How would she ever endure the pain!

There was a dark flash low in her captive gaze. SMACKKT! A sudden line of white hot agony carved both tender bottom curves and tears flooded her eyes again. “UUHHHNN!” she grunted in uncontrolled reaction. She had wanted to remain absolutely stoic throughout the punishment, but oh the pain, the pain! The sweet responsiveness of her poor bare breasts, meant for the thrill of a lover, was now being used to bring her unendurable misery. The girl’s lusty semi-nude body writhed lasciviously under the insanely intense agony in her jutting chest. SWACKKT! A second line cut diagonally over her chest, catching lower right and upper left and the young female’s body contorted again.

From his vantage point, Kyle had a perfect view of the action and was enjoying it immensely. Moments earlier, Bette had deftly unbuttoned his fly and freed the swollen organ inside to the sun and breeze. Now her slim fingers were gently gliding up and down the rigid shaft, playing with him, as they both watched the lurid scene unfold. Mbane delivered a fourth stroke and a fifth, each new lash setting the pointed globes heaving and leaving a bright red weal behind on the milky skin. With wrists, head, and feet bound, Melissa was quite helpless, but her topless form still managed to writhe deliciously. The maid’s desperate motions only served to launch her two high perched globes in an endless dance of suffering. Now the sixth slash embraced the sweat-shiny tits, returning to the two under curves a finger’s-breadth from the aureoles. Kyle groaned with the girl as Bette expertly milked a heavy drop of fluid from his turgid glans. She dipped her head to lick it away just as Mbane swept the sjambok down to both smooth upper slopes and the girl twisted again. He relished the erotic sensations rippling down through his rigid penis under the English girl’s deft attentions, but he was also growing extremely angry with the Boer wench’s stubbornness. There were only eighteen strokes left and the bitch still wouldn’t scream. Very well, he thought, very well.

“Hold your arm, Mbane. I have an idea that will make her more repentent.” He slid smoothly from the saddle and strode to the post, so intent that he didn’t care that his erection was clearly exposed between his legs. As soon as he reached the bound maiden, his hands rose to her breasts. Kyle fondled the nude globes roughly. “I’ve waited long enough to finally get a feel of these naked! They’re soft, very soft-very pretty. I bet the whip really hurts when it kisses them, eh? Bet they’re very sensitive, too.” He drew sharp gasps from the panting girl by tracing the rising red welts with a thumb nail. Soon his fingers were drawn to the pink mushroom cap nipples. Kyle pinched the spongy buttons and toyed with their flinty points. The prisoner on the post could feel his sex pressing lewdly against her right thigh while his hands groped her breasts and shivered in revulsion. His smiling face moved in front of her and, without really thinking, she spit into his face!

The young rancher jerked back as if struck. “BITCH!,” he snarled. He wiped the spit away with one hand while viciously grabbing and twisting Melissa’s left pap with the other. “You arrogant bitch, that little trick just earned you a ride on the Bishop’s Horse! But not yet, oh no, not just yet! Not while the sjambok still has kisses left to give. And I have a little idea that should make those kisses even more painful. This will break your pride, ‘Lissa girl. You’ll scream for me before I’m through. Oh, yes, you will.”

Kyle reached into a shirt pocket and removed a box of lucifers. He saw her eyes grow wide as the realization hit. The girl threw all of her strength at the wrist and foot bonds, fighting madly to somehow escape, but the straps were much too strong and all she managed to do was squirm impotently in the sun. He fished one of the little sticks out and struck it against the box until the tip blossomed into a sulphurous flame. His left hand pushed the cute redhead against the post, holding her torso steady. Cupping the match against the light breeze, Kyle brought the burning end up and began passing it slowly beneath the large coral nipple of her right tittie.

“HUUUUUNNNNNNNNNN! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! S-S-STOP, STOP! AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! OH, IT BURNS! IT BURNS! OH, YOU VILE PIG, STOP IT. OOOOHHHHHH!” The teenager couldn’t keep her cries in check at this unexpected attack. She fought against his hand, but was powerless to escape the savage heat afflicting her areola. The flickering yellow flame licked up at the coral dome, searing the tightly clustered nerve endings. He was able to torture the rigid teat as well before the match reached his fingers. She saw another flash of light and then he returned to the right summit, roasting the upper semicircle this time, holding the yellow flame right against the coral dome. Melissa tried desperately to escape the inhuman pain, but was too firmly held. Before the second match had gone out, he had raised numerous tiny blisters along the flinty shaft of the teat, creating an exquisite agony. Down below, he could feel his penis twitching up vigorously in delight at the girl’s ghastly sexual suffering.

It took three of the mundane, yet horribly effective, implements before Kyle was satisfied with his treatment of the delicate left pap. Tears streamed down the young girl’s freckled cheeks and she was forced to cry out during the burning of her nipple, yet she had still managed to keep from breaking. The teenager cursed him like a voortrekker between her gasps and groans, aggravating him even further. He held the last of the lucifers under her sensitive left teat until his fingertips hurt and he had to toss it down to the ground. Stubborn bitch! Kyle stuck his fingers in his mouth to soothe the pain there. Those pink caps must be really throbbing now. Will you be able to endure the sjambok’s kisses on them now?

He moved behind the post and reached around with his hands to find her seared and aching tittie tips again, thrilling to their hot feel and the pimply spread of aching fire blisters across their bottoms. He moved his lips close to one ear. “Remember the Bishop’s Horse, bitch!” he hissed, “but that’s later. No, it’s what’s coming next that you should be thinking about. Your nipples feel hot, now. I bet the fire really hurt, eh? Well, you’ve got seventeen more strokes from the sjambok coming and I’m going to tell Mbane to aim them all right here where my fingers are playing with you. That’s right, my beauty, that’s right. Now Mbane is going to flog you on your pretty plump nipples with the nasty whip. Now you’ll wish you had given your ripe breasts to me freely.”

His hands left her flesh and he returned to his saddle, rigid phallus swaying. “Whip her pretty tittie tips now, Mbane! I want them to hurt. I want them to hurt bad!”

Oh, no no no. Melissa’s mind churned in panic. Stretched by her weight, back arched by the unyielding post, whipped bare breasts heaving on her ribcage, and her nipples, her poor blistered nude nipples, protruding out and away from their tips as if begging for attention, her every sense was focused on her immediate plight. The pain so far had been almost beyond belief and now the sex pain would be even worse.

There was the briefest of warnings as the sjambok flew through the air and then Melissa Meuws’ world burst into waves of blinding white-hot pain. The Matabele sent his stroke across the very centers of her jutting tits, biting both nude nipples viciously.

“HHHHHUUUUUNNNNNN!” the wrenching young nude barely

kept the full lunged wail of absolute misery behind her quivering lips. Sweat poured down her head and body, glinting in the brilliant yellow sun. The malevolent lash ravaged the cruelly irritated nerves, sending bolts of fiery pain surging through her rosy peaks. Melissa’s sculpted torso heaved to her desperate need for air.

SSSCRACKT! There was no warning at all this time. Mbane sent another crisp cut to the proffered chest, the split tip bursting against the left cap. Only seconds later it struck again, diabolically returning to the same swollen red nipple and shredding open several of the hard little blisters.

It was a scene out of medieval times: A young female, stripped to the waist and hanging with her back to the Whipping Post. Lovely pert globes bared to the hot afternoon sun-and stinging touch of the sjambok. The air split from the whistling slice of leather through the air, then came the loud, moist SMACKT of the lash slapping cruelly home to tender female tits. Finally, the ageless dance of the whip, the frantic, desperate, futile, wild contortions of a young naked woman fighting to somehow withstand excruciating pain, pain barbarously aimed at the most sensitive portions of her helpless anatomy. The great brute swung his bloody whip again to the jutting nude globes and the lurid display of sexual sadism continued.

Bette Marlborough could tell that Kyle was extremely aroused. She leaned over from her saddle and took the young man’s throbbing penis into her mouth and heard him gasp with the new pleasure. Oh so slowly, she slid her lips up and down his shaft, fellating him expertly.

He gripped her hair with his right hand, controlling her motions, but his eyes were glued to the scene at the post. The pretty young Boer was writhing wildly to the scant limit of her bonds as lash after lash curled over her protruding bare breasts. Numerous bright red welts striped their middles, each one crossing some part of the puffy areolas. Clear fluid, streaked with vivid scarlet, oozed down over Melissa’s lower curves. SMACKKT! No interval, the supple tongue of rhino hide striking brutally down on the swelling aureoles before the miserable girl had fully absorbed the previous stroke. With her legs wrapped behind the Post, her back pressed firmly against the wood and there was no give, making the whip strikes over her front sting even more than before. Her eyes were darting wildly in terror and her mouth gaped like a grounded fish’s. Sweat poured down her lithe body from the enormous effort of enduring the savage torture.

SCRACKKT! The pointed tip exploded against the very center of her left pap, ripping a hole open at the base of the teat and drawing the first real blood from the sensitive nipple. At long last, her final reserves of strength exhausted and Melissa finally broke under the prolonged inhuman sex torture.



Kyle was very close to coming in Bette’s warm, wet mouth. There was no way he was going to stop now. “Continue the torture of her breasts,” he yelled to Mbane, hoarse with passion. “She should have controlled her pride sooner. Now she gets the full five dozen! Continue!”



The Matabele crossed to Melissa’s left and swept a vicious backhand cut to her proud right globe and nipple. His aim was true, but it still took a second such stroke before that tit’s swollen cap split and sprayed crimson like the left’s.

“HIEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW!” Now that Melissa’s resistance had cracked, each fresh lash wrenched piercing screams of unendurable suffering from her powerful lungs. After having withstood so much shame and pain proudly, the hideous sensation of having her sensitive nude nipples burned and beaten until they bled had crushed her control. All the pent up suffering so expensively bought over the past hour now burst through the shattered levee with every new touch. Now she wished only for an end to the hideous torture of her tits. She would beg, she would grovel, she would spread her legs like a Bantu bride if it would only stop the intolerable pain!

There was no escape. Mbane moved to Melissa’s front so he could attack the jutting turrets with a pair of snapping vertical strokes to the very tip of each. Loud shrieks of inhuman suffering roared from her throat at the blinding flash of pain that exploded through her seared nude nipples at each one. Kyle leaned back in the saddle to better present his rigid penis to Bette’s imaginative tongue and mouth play as he watched the cruel tit torture go on.




Shiny red rivulets of blood rolled down over both bulging lower curves now, bright droplets flying as the titties danced. Now only three strokes to go and Mbane, back on her right side, applied a full-arm swing that caught both seared aureoles and abraded their upper crescents, drawing yet more blood and yet louder squeals. Finishing with this ghastly focus on such tender portions of her body was inhuman, the agony barbarically sexual in its intensity.

SCRACKT! The Matabele swept another raking slash over the helpless redhead’s bloated nipples, scouring their undersides this time. The miserable teenager shrieked incoherently in pain, her sweaty white female form thrashing on the post, large, whip-wealed titties heaving wildly on her chest. The sjambok burst most of the remaining heat blisters on the swollen areolas with this cut and the pain was awesome.

Bette could sense Kyle’s imminent explosion and was swirling her little tongue around his glans. Her cheeks curved in sharply as she sucked on the man’s throbbing sex. Melissa’s heart-wrenching scream and the sight of her lusty nude body writhing, and bleeding, under the whip, finally triggered his orgasm. He gripped Bette’s head with both hands as the hot liquid waves of pleasure shot up through his spasming penis into her throat. He let out a long, low groan of delight. The young man’s back arched tautly in the saddle as Bette bobbed her mouth quickly over his pulsing phallus.

One more lash remained and Mbane made it a good one, a harsh whistling cut that bisected the aching nude nipples and tortured the hard red teats jutting from their centers. The miserable young girl squealed with desperate abandon, utterly mastered now by her prolonged ordeal. It was several long minutes before Melissa realized that the beating was indeed finally over.

* * * * *

Kyle smiled. The day’s entertainment had already been better than he had imagined-and he had imagined a very enjoyable day, indeed. Melissa Meuws had delivered a superb performance on the Whipping Post, arrogant and stubborn to the very last, prompting Kyle to torture her large puffy nipples with matches and then have the bulging paps scourged until the wench finally broke under the inhuman pain. Bette’s knowledge of “French Play” had come as a marvelous surprise. She had used her mouth to give him a memorable orgasm and even now was gently cleaning his sex with a kerchief. And there was still more fun to come. During a moment of rebellious pride, the silly wench had had the temerity to spit in his face. He immediately added a ride on the Bishop’s Horse to her ordeal. Now it was time for her to mount the cruel rail.

The beaten girl hung against the Post, her heavily welted nude upper torso still wracked by uncontrollable spasms of agony. Mbane cut her feet apart and untied the strap holding her forehead still against the wood. Melissa’s head lolled forward. The Matabele flogger tried to get her legs under her, but her knees kept collapsing and she would dangle from her cuffs. Mbane looked up at Kyle, who nodded. Several buckets waited in the punishment yard for this purpose and he picket one up and unceremoniously doused the moaning girl with its contents.


“Salt water,” Kyle commented to Bette Marlborough. “It helps to prevent infection, but more importantly for this Boer bitch, it stings like acid when it gets into all those little rips and tears in her skin.”

The effect was indeed dramatic. The young redhead had suddenly revitalized, squirming madly and fighting the ropes holding her against the post. Tendrils of blood oozed down her forearms from where the wrists had abraded. Her swollen bare breasts juddered side to side as the strong brine attacked raw, exposed nerves all over her whipped upper body. The new pain was appalling, not only in its fiery intensity, but because the liquid was able to flow over large areas of sliced and swollen skin at once. The pretty redhead’s contortions of intolerable sexual suffering were extremely lascivious.

“That’s better!” Kyle called out. “Good job, Mbane. We want her wide awake for her ride! When she settles down take her to the Horse.”

It took almost five minutes before Melissa’s spastic convulsions died down and she hung whimpering on the Whipping Post. After that, it was only a moment’s work to undo the wrist and ankle cords from the iron bolts. Melissa’s hands immediately flew down to cup her throbbing tortured tits, desperate to soothe them, but Mbane effortlessly wrenched her arms behind her back and strapped them together wrist to elbow. A last rope was looped around her neck and knotted tight to her overlaid forearms. This final binding forced the maid to arch her back to ease the strain on her throat. Mbane spun her around so the two British ranch heirs could get a good look at her.

The cruel back-bending posture had the additional effect of forcing the two whip-streaked chest turrets out high and proud in front of her and the varigated red and purple globes drew the eyes of both Afrikaaners. Her white pantalloons and were soaked from the bucket and splashed with scarlet blotches, making the thin fabric cling to her lithe thighs. Kyle was gratified to see a bit of the old rebelliousness back in her eyes, but she was unsteady on her feet.

“Give the wench a hand onto her mount, Mbane! The way she’s wobbling on her feet, she could use a little rest in the saddle.”

The rebellion gave way immediately to fresh fear. In the relief of surviving the sjambok, she had forgottten about the Bishop’s Horse and now she faced that new horror. Mbane dragged the babbling young redhead over to the ghastly thing waiting nearby. It was such a simple thing: a triangular plank of ironwood, sharp side up, mounted high on a pair of stout posts front and back. Years back, someone had attached the head from a child’s rocking horse to the front, an incongruous bit of whimsy on such a hideous device. A pair of stumps sat on the ground on either side and it was to these that Mbane led her. He placed her left foot on the near stump and swung her body up and over the ridge until she stood precariously on the two supports, her crotch a foot or so above the ridge. Kyle rode over and held the girl upright by her overlaid forearms so the big negro could complete his preparations down below. Small sacks of lead shot were bound tightly about her big toes with twine. They weighed only about fifteen pounds each, but she was a small girl and Kyle did not want her crippled. Still, the bitch would feel it between her thighs well enough. He would have liked to order the big Matabele to peel away the pathetic pantaloons, so the girl could ride the sharp ridge with her genitals naked, but doing that to a white woman in front of all these blacks could bring trouble if it got out. And he knew that the thin fabric would do nothing to ease the coming ordeal.

When Mbane was finished with the bags, Kyle walked his mount around to the front of the horrible frame. Melissa teetered on the stumps, her sculptured nude trunk held erect by the cord connecting neck and arms. She was an arousing sight to the young sadist, whipped and enreddened naked breasts heaving on her slim torso.

“P-P-Please, oh please, don’t do this to me,” the russet-haired beauty begged in a trembling voice. “PLEASE! You win, I’ll do what you wanted. I’ll – I’ll make love to you! That’s what you wanted! Please, just don’t hurt my poor body any more. Please, Kyle, I beg you, please don’t hurt me any more!”

The rancher was enjoying himself far too much to stop now. But for Bette’s sweet fellatio, he would probably have spared Melissa this ordeal, if only to take the edge off his sadistic lust. Watching the pretty white girl stripped to the waist and writhing under the lash was even more erotic than he had imagined it would be, but thanks to his blond companion, he could now afford to wait until tonight to rape the wench. Bette took his hand and he leaned forward to watch. He nodded briefly to the Matabele.

Mbane wrenched powerfully on the ropes and the stumps jerked out from beneath Melissa’s feet. The fall wasn’t far, but all of her weight and that of the lead shot dropped her crotch heavily on the sharp wooden ridge. There was a sound like a falling sack of grain and the wench seemed to bounce a bit, but that was only the lead shot settling. The height of the Bishop’s Horse had been cruelly designed so that the weights wouldn’t rest on the ground and all the weight centered on the victim’s genitals. Kyle saw a look of uncomprehending shock on the Boer maid’s face and then the full, inhuman pain erupted in her sex and the screams roared out across the veldt again. It was hard to believe that such strident noises could possibly emerge from such a small creature.

The two South Africans sat their mounts looking at the tortured girl. Her mouth worked like a fish’s laying on the dock and anguished groans rolled from her throat, interspersed with incoherent pleas and loud shrieks. The brutal flogging had made her pointed tits swell into two taut, empurpled globes heavily striped with numerous seeping red welts. The pretty redhead’s upper body was sweating profusely again from the effort of enduring inhuman agony throbbing through her most private and tender parts.

“What’s next for the slut, Kyle?” Bette asked. “I mean, a little taste of the whip, an afternoon sunbathing–surely the bitch deserves more?”

“Oh, she’ll be taken down when the sun sets and cleaned off. I’ve set up a few toys in the barn. She and I will play some more games tonight. I want to see if the treasure she is sitting on is worth the price she paid for it. Beyond that, I don’t know. Father won’t be back for another two months and my imagination has been busy.”

Bette reached out her hand again to cup his crotch. “I’d like to join you this evening,” she said demurely. “I think the games could be even more fun with an extra woman there, don’t you? And I can tell you all of the worst places to play with a girl…”

Kyle looked over at the blond beside him and saw the glint of sadistic lust in her eyes. Yes, another willing female could make for a more pleasurable night-and little Miss Marlborough here had a very talented mouth. “Yes, of course you can join in. It will be just the three of us. Let’s go in now, I’m hungry.”

Melissa Meuws heard enough to realize that she would still be raped and that the Englishwoman was going to help in her violation. The sharp edge caused an unendurable throbbing ache straight down the middle of her slit, feeling like it was splitting her in two. She squirmed a bit and groaned loudly in pain as the plank attacked her tender sex. Above, the sun beat down mercilessly.

* * * * *

The next five hours seemed an eternity of misery and suffering for the young Boer. The hot African sun baked the front of her naked torso, burning the pale white skin painfully. Cattle flies crawled all over, drinking her sweat and biting her skin, but the veldt wasps were even worse. They smelled the sweet blood oozing from her back, buttocks, sides, and tits. When she first felt their tiny legs scratching over the aching aureoles, Melissa instinctively tried to shake the myriad insects away, but only managed to anger them. In moments, her savagely whipped breasts and nipples received numerous fiery stings all across their sore surfaces. Other stingers pierced her tender abdomen and sides. And then, of course, there was the endless agony throbbing between her straining thighs. It felt as though she was sitting on a red-hot sword that was splitting her up the middle, it’s endless presence grinding up against her loins. She tried to bend forward to protect her tits from the sun, but the neck rope held her upright. With her arms tied behind her back as they were, the poor girl was utterly helpless to do anything to ease the hideous protracted torture in any way.

She drifted in and out of awareness as the day wore on. Once Kyle rode over to check on her and saw her eyes closed. Oh, no, my pretty, you don’t get away that easily. Without warning, he swept a couple of searing lashes over her lower back with his quirt, right across the girl’s cute sacral dimples. Melissa’s sweating body jerked madly to the cuts and a long, keening wail burst from her raw throat as she was cruelly brought back to full suffering consciousness. The uncontrollable reaction to the lash made her loins grind over the sharp edge and increase the sharpness of her genital pain. Kyle was amused to see that the cotton in front of her pantaloons was splotched with red.

“That’s better,” he said to her. “I didn’t arrange all of this for you to take a nap.” He looked up at the sun. “Only a couple more hours, bitch, and then we’ll see how stubborn you still are. Only a couple more hours before you’re taken down and allowed to rest-four hours should do it; after all, we have a rendezvous tonight, remember? You did ask me to fuck you, after all, and a gentleman never keeps a lady waiting!” He laughed and gave her one departing slash across her tortured bare breasts before riding away.

* * * * *

Her next real conscious awareness was waking up in agony. It seemed as if every nerve in her poor bare body was throbbing with different kinds of hurt. She had heard that a body had no ability to remember pain, but she now knew that to be false. Slowly all the hellish memories came back: her stripping and the ordeal hanging from the Whipping Post, Kyle burning her nipples, and then the hours of anguish sitting on the Bishop’s Horse. Even now her skin burned from the long hours in the hot African sun, the whip weals hotter lines of pain across her flesh. Unconsciously her hands roamed gently over her body, trying to gentle and soothe the sorely abused flesh, but having little success. They reached to her abdomen and she started suddenly. Her pantaloons were gone! She was now totally naked!

Melissa looked about her in sudden fear. She was in the barn she saw now. She tried to move and discovered that heavy iron manacles had been bolted to her wrists and ankles, securing her to a stout supporting post. Oh, gods, she thought, it’s not over, IT’S NOT OVER!

The chestnut-haired beauty yanked at her chains with increasing desperation as her strength returned, but she was locked in tightly.

* * * * *

The two young adults worked quickly, wrapping Melissa’s elbows up and over the top rail of the stall and then running the cords attached to her ankles out to hitching rings set into the floor. Kyle pulled powerfully on the ropes, extending the teenaged captive’s slim legs out tautly, one at a time while Bette tied off the ends to the rings. A moment later, they both stood back and stared down at the bound young girl. Although well flushed from her earlier flogging and exposure, her skin still implied the soft cream color beneath. Kyle’s eyes bounced up and down between her stirring, high-perched bare breasts and the plump pink lips that bulged insistently from her auburn pubic patch. The hours spent on the cruel Horse had irritated the Boer’s genitals to a fierce protuberance. The yawning spread of her legs only exposed that most delicate flesh even more to the grim tools Kyle had assembled.

Once again, the imminent anticipation of torturing the nude young woman stirred him and he automatically reached inside his pants to reposition his swelling sex. Bette Marlborough saw his hand and quickly moved to his side. Her small right hand reached down to cup the bulging front of his trousers. She squeezed the bulge and felt it grow beneath her fingers.

“You want this naked when you torture her again, don’t you?” she asked with a husky voice. “I want to be naked as well, with you, when you work on her again. We can have such fun together, you and I.

“Now, let me release this beast of yours. It strains to be free.”

“J-Ja. Sehr gut…”

Bette immediately dropped down to her knees in front of Kyle Blore. Her hands rose to the front of the man’s pants and undid the belt buckle. She seemed almost frantic as her fingers opened the buttons of his fly and yanked the coarse homespun down. Undergarments were rare on the Natal frontier and Kyle wore none. He groaned when the pants slid down to his ankles and his rigid manhood bounced up high and proud from his loins.

Still kneeling, she reached up with one slim hand to gently caress Kyle’s erect shaft. His eyes slitted with pleasure at the sensation as he stared down at Melissa’s splayed nude body. It was time to begin this final act of the day.

He looked down at Bette Marlborough. “It is time,” he said “How do you propose we begin?”

The pretty blond rose to stand beside young Blore, although her fingers never left his throbbing shaft. She formed a circle with her first two fingers and thumb and lightly stroked up and down its length. She felt Kyle shiver in delight at the sensuous touch. “The red-hot rods,” she said cooly. “That’s one torment she hasn’t endured yet.” She pointed with her head. “You already have tools heating in the brazier. I say start with them.”

Both Kyle and Melissa turned their heads to look at the squat bucket of coals with the dozen or so wooden handles sticking out. At their ends were round irons, slim lancets, and keen blades, all heated to a glowing orange-yellow ferocity. Bette felt his sex twitch up in her hand. “Ja,” he said.

The blond finally let him go and went to the brazier. She grabbed one of the handles and pulled out a brightly shimmering red pyramid of iron. She handed it to Kyle, who turned toward Melissa’s spread naked body. He leaned forward and touched the blunt point up into the taut hollow of her left underarm. There was a quick flash of steam and then Melissa’s scream of utter suffering rang out through the large barn. The horses stamped nervously at the ragged sound, but Kyle still slid the red-hot iron slowly down the girl’s tight tender side to the top of her hip. The iron sizzled and sputtered as it left a raw red swath down Melissa’s striped skin.

While Kyle seared the captive Boer’s delicate side, Bette shucked off her dress and camisole. Now wearing only her hose and boots, she squirmed up against Kyle’s naked body, rubbing her chest melons against his chest, and reaching down again for the young man’s bobbing sex. “Touch her again with the irons; her tits this time.”

“Ja. Hand me another instrument, Bette. Those titties of hers do seem to insist on stringent treatment.”

Bette Marlborough tugged another handle from the brazier, this one terminating with a short, hooked blade that glowed almost white-hot. She handed it to Kyle and slid up behind him, rubbing her chest against his back. She reached around in front of him, her right hand tugging the silky skin taut down toward his scrotum while the left teased up and down the rigid shaft. Keeping this young man aroused was the key to having the Boer bitch suffering, and Bette felt a hot, wet thrill grow between her thighs. Kyle was a lusty young man with a definite mean streak, but the pretty young Marlborough girl was truly evil in her relish to watch another’s pain. The feeling of Blore’s erect manhood twitching in her hands only added to the lurid tang of sadism.

Melissa’s large green eyes found the cruelly gleaming blade and blubbered as it came up towards her vulnerable right breast. It dipped low now, hanging just beneath the softly rounded bulge of the female gourd. Kyle dropped the glowing iron and then lifted it up, blade first to carve three shallow cuts into the welted undercurve. Each one was announced by a short, sharp hiss, followed by the stretched redhead’s desperate squeals of agony.

For the next forty minutes they continued that way, Kyle applying fresh red-hot implements all over the captive redhead’s sweating nude body, Bette skillfully masturbating him to the edge of orgasm time and again, backing off just in time, while Melissa could only writhe in desperate suffering as the barbarous glowing tools caressed her most sensitive flesh. Along with her deft genital play, Bette Marlborough maintained a running advisory to the young man. An infernal advisory that promised nothing but ever increasing pain to Melissa.

“Oh look-pliers! You did think of everything! Use them down here, just below where her thighs meet the slit. That’s it-you can squeeze as hard as you like-the jaws are hot enough to cauterize the flesh closed, so she won’t bleed all over. That’s it, listen to her scream!

“Here’s a nice one, a four-pronged needle-head. Just look at them glow! I think that it would work perfectly if you stabbed the tips into the bitch’s aureoles. After Mbane’s whipping-and that marvelous thing you did with the lucifers-they have puffed up quite nicely, don’t you think? Ah, yes. Listen to those wails. Hot steel on the nipples always works.

“Run this one up and down both inner thighs. Make sure you slice the blade over her labia every time. Girls just hate the kiss of hot metal on their lips. Here, I’ll lick around your glans while you burn her.

“Take this one and just hold it against her side. They’re ever so sensitive. Second-degree blister burns are more painful, but charring the skin has a unique pain all its own. Mmm, you taste good. You men like this more than fucking, don’t you?

For the miserable young beauty, the ordeal was pure hell. Under Bette’s cruel instruction, every one of her most private and delicate parts were subjected to the hateful kiss of red-hot steel. By now, her voice was raw from screaming and her lovely nude body was bathed in the shiny sweat of torment. Her naked torso writhed lasciviously in her bonds at each new touch. The marks left by the radiant tools stood out as brilliant scarlet lines over the duller reds of her whip weals and sunburn.

The dark sex play and the blonde’s imaginative teasing had Kyle Blore ragingly erect. The tiny slit in the tip oozed a steady stream of clear pre-come fluid that Bette licked away as it appeared. At the slightest caress, she could feel his turgid shaft quiver with delight. The man, for his part, had never imagined that such levels of pleasure were possible. She herself had already experienced one orgasm, although Kyle hadn’t even noticed, so focused was he between his own legs. It was time, she judged.

* * * * *

She gave her lissome play a short break, pouring both of them a glass of fierce Cape wine. Melissa gradually regained her breath, but the pause would only give her stamina enough for the night’s finale. By the time they finished their drinks, the young man’s penis had softened a little, drooping down, but still thick with blood. Bette Marlborough dipped into a jar of lard and massaged it between her palms to melt it into liquid. Then she stepped up before him and gently reached for Kyle’s sex. He groaned loudly and slitted his eyes as the beautiful nude blond rubbed her slim hands up and down the rapidly rising shaft, lubricating it even as she brought it back to full arousal.

Bette walked backward slowly, drawing the young man along through her delicious caresses. She stepped aside when he neared Melissa’s swollen labia. “Take her now, my love. Here, let me guide you inside the wench.”

She slid her right hand down the rod and gripped the base tightly, drawing the greasy skin tight. Deftly she aimed the hard purple glans between the puffy red genital lips. Kyle groaned out again as his rigid penis slid smoothly up to the hilt into the redhead’s vagina. Once she saw he was buried, Bette moved quickly back to the brazier. This time she chose two of the implements, a long-handled blade for the man and pliers for her. Handing the instrument to him, she said,”Now we continue the torture of her breasts. You work on her left nipple and I’ll pinch the other. I heard her scream when you roasted her tittie tips this afternoon. Now she’ll learn that was nothing. The bitch will likely buck a bit, but you seem to have a good seat in the saddle. Just ride her and you shouldn’t have to do much more. Come, our utensils grow cold.”

“N-No, oh please no,” Melissa babbled when those bloodthirsty words penetrated her mind. “Oh please, no more, no more. Ah, I hurt so much, so much already. Please. PLEASE! Haven’t you done enough? For pity’s sake, don’t burn my poor tits any more.”

There would be no mercy for the auburn-haired teenager. Both of her tormentors were far too excited to stop before the final pain and indignity. Kyle raised his glowing blade and started a series of quick vertical slices across the puffy left areola from outside to inside. Bette Marlborough went straight for the right’s straining erect teat, grabbing the flinty button of flesh between the red-hot jaws. Slowly she squeezed and twisted the clamp on that most tender point.

“By the gods!” Kyle gasped. At the fiendish dual torture of her aching nude nipples, Melissa Meuws’ spongy inner vaginal walls spasmed uncontrollably, the hard young muscles rippling and seeming to milk the embedded male organ. The long, imaginative foreplay his neighbor’s daughter provided already had him in a fever pitch of arousal. The sensations of the Boer’s maddened reactions to the hideous nude nipple torture were exquisite in their sadistic intensity and he felt a rising eruption surge down in his balls and then he crossed the brink and his loins exploded with pleasure.

Kyle managed one horizontal slice across the upper curve of Melissa’s swollen left aureole, adding a crackling hiss as the glowing knife slid across the sweaty nipple. He had scarcely lifted the blade for its second pass across the pap when his orgasm grabbed him. A low, rising moan came from deep inside him and the dull red torment instrument shook in his hand just above the nipple.

Bette saw him start shaking and understood immediately. She squeezed down hard, crushing the tender right teat and twisting it half away. One hand reached up from behind to lightly stroke the man’s scrotum with her fingernails. The blond felt the uncontrollable vibration between Kyle’s legs and her second orgasm ripped through her body. She squeezed until she felt the jaws meet.

Even the cauterizing heat of the red-hot jaws was inadequate to withstand this savage abuse and a bubbling flow of bright red blood started from the torn red teat. At the sight, Kyle’s final inhibition shattered and he ejaculated into the pretty teenager’s quivering vagina with savage force. It seemed as though his entire being was centered between his legs and he gave himself fully to the orgasm. Kyle Blore grunted loudly as each heavy spurt shot out of his sex. It was only a minute or so, but it felt like a delightful eternity before he stopped coming inside the cute redhead. He was surprised to see that he was draped over the girl’s naked body when he came back to the present. Kyle gradually pulled his hips back, slowly withdrawing his penis from the still spasming inner walls. The swollen head came out with an audible wet plop.

Kyle collapsed back into one of the chairs, but Bette wasn’t ready to stop yet. While Melissa whimpered behind her, the blond stepped up over the man’s still erect penis and placed the head up between her labial lips. Once partially inside, she suddenly dropped her hips to imprison his manhood within her. Madly aroused herself by the lurid sadism, the lovely young woman needed only the slightest additional stimulation to reach her third orgasm. This latest physical convulsion came quickly and Bette’s gasping grunts of pleasure reunited with the rising and falling friction of her genitals on the man’s penis to bring the young man to an unexpected second orgasm just minutes away from the first. If anything, this body-shaking paroxysm was even more pleasurable than the one before. His brain boiled over and the sweet spasms drove his prick on relentlessly, spurting his semen deeply into the blonde’s vagina. The young woman’s naked body acted like a milkmaid’s soft hands, vigorously milking the man’s rigid penis as it shot its seed fiercely inside her. The new pleasure was exquisitely delicious and he resolved then and there that his father would never return to the krall alive. Finally, the last hot squirts emerged from Kyle’s sex and he groaned a last time.

Thoroughly spent, Kyle stumbled back into his chair. Bette stood up and off him and staggered to a place beneath Kyle’s legs. Melissa continued to mewl and make intermittent pleas for pity. After all the long hours of ever increasing sex torment, the chestnut-haired girl could barely endure her prolonged naked torture. It was over now, for all she knew, but her sweating nude body still shook from the residual agony.

After ten gasping minutes, Kyle sat up in the chair. Bette Marlborough still lay on the barn floor, jerking in pleasure. “I will have Hlubi take care of her. She will carry some marks until she dies, but that won’t be for long. I want her back on the Whipping Post, fully nude this time, in a week.”


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