for the girl. He stops. He takes one of the brown, erected nipples between his lips, but then turns to his friends:
Those ain't big enough yet.”
“We will have to elongate the things,” replies the monk.
“Very well,” says Barral and he takes a pair of tweezers-the old type used for laundry- and he attaches them to the nipples. The woman screams under the squeezing of her delicate flesh. In vain; they are all admiring the show of that woman with her breasts stretched by the action of the tweezers.
Barral feels a sadistic pleasure in pulling at the wooden things, and stretching the solidly maintained nipples to make the treatment more painful. The woman is moaning, her temples are painful under the blood pressure suddenly increased by the pain in her breasts. Barral takes the tweezers away and watches the color come back to the painful extremities.
“Those aren't really long enough,” says the monk who knows Barral's passion.
“I know a way,” replies Barral. He takes two thin ropes ending with a loop. Quickly he encircles the nipples, and then, squeezing the flesh by pulling at the rope, he tightens his grip on the teats. Holding the ropes, he pulls slowly. The breasts are stretched monstrously; the girl looks in complete horror, at her distended bosom that elongates more and more. Now the breasts are nearly completely horizontal, held by the tips. As Barral pulls harder, the pain gets more violent, and she cries, twisting her tortured torso. But Barral now turns the ropes and the breasts are undulating under the action of his hands, like two puppets.
But now the girl is hollering, and after two more violent shakes Barral leaves the breasts and unhooks the two ropes, deeply pressed into the teats. He sucks at the breasts for a long time, while his hands are caressing the girl's sex, and deeper, between her legs. She quivers. His finger had just touched her virginity. He does not insist, but keeps sucking at the teats, and looks at them.
“But those ain't got no holes in them. I will have to do that right now, or you could not feed your coming sons.”
Horrified she sees him take the needles…
Then one by one, Barral takes the needles, each tipped with an artificial pearl, and he sticks them in the woman's nipples, not deeper than a couple of millimeters. The pain is not too violent for the woman after all the other tortures that her breasts have undergone. But she keeps her eyes closed and sighs slowly. There are already twelve needles in the right nipple. Barral now comes to the other one. There is hardly a drop of blood. He is, doubtless, an expert.
Moving backwards, Barral contemplates his work, and says to the monk, “Now it is your turn to inflict on that young child the last chastisement that she deserves.” And he gives him the cat o'nine tails. Then raising his arm high over his head, the monk gives the bottom a hard beating and soon enough the result comes. She undulates in the most suggestive way. But Barral gets up, and gets a mirror that he places, slightly sideways, under the bridged legs. They can all then contemplate her most intimate parts, offered and distended by the pose that she is obliged to endure, a pretty virgin's slit with the pink lips shaded by the pubic hair, slightly parting in the middle of her buttocks.
And while the whip caresses the bottom, reddening under the correction, the little mouth seems to open and implore in the language of virgin cunts, some mercy from her tormentors.
Little by little, the girl moans and cries, and at last screams. But she resists quite well because it is not the first time that her buttocks are being chastised that way.
The monk strikes across her buttocks, bringing the blood right under the skin. The flesh is squeezed with a flat sound. The lashes whizz, and the strikes strangely enhance the massive and rotund bottom undulating under the whip.
In the mirror, the sex keeps its mute conversation, its twisted mouth opening and closing convulsively.
The girl sighs, and the whip cracks on her tense skin. The ropes are squeaking, or maybe it's the wood of the timber supporting the girl's tormented body.
But the monk realizes that the blood is going to come out of the hurt flesh. He stops tormenting the bottom, and in the sudden silence of the room are heard only the heavy breathing of the men, and the continuous moan of the hanging girl.
Barral, one by one, removes the needles from her breasts. He could not tell whether she expressed pleasure or merely gratitude when she looked at him. He caresses the palpitating breasts, and kisses the consenting mouth.
The monk separates them.
“Not yet, my son. First, she, the sinner, must confess all her sins, and repent.” And Barral sees him take a long supple rod, and place himself behind the girl. He speaks to her:
“How many times did you touch your slit with your fingers?”
The young bride, taken aback, does not answer, but already the rod cracks on her flesh, between her legs, on the exacerbated pubis. The rest of the stick insinuates between the lips of the cunt. Another cry, another convulsion, and the flesh puppet moves in its ties.
“Then?” repeats the monk.
The girl is still hesitating, but the rod lands again between her legs.
“Enough… enough! I… well often.”
“Well, and this week?”
She hesitates, and then feels the stick insinuating between her legs…
“Once…”
“When?”
“The day before yesterday…”
“Who else touched your sex?”
“No… nobody…”
“Liar…” and once again the stick whistles in the air before crashing between the girl's legs, on the dampened pussy.”
“Yes, yes… other people…”
The stick caresses the cunt, softly. She capitulates.
“Who?”
“You, and then the schoolteacher.”
“And a guy from the town, from last year… and my fiance…”
“And?”
“And some girls…”
“On Sunday… and?”
“That is all…”
“Liar!”
Once again the rod…
“Enough, Ooooh… enough, I will tell you everything…”
The monk stopped hurting her.
“Then?”
“My future father-in-law…”
“Ah, now you admit it, little vicious… And in your ass? What nozzles did penetrate?”
He slaps the cunt, and in the mirror, Barral can see the rod that goes between the lips of her intimate mouth.
“Yes. I took some enema…”
“And big fat pricks too?”
She hesitates and the monk hurts her more violently.
“Aouch! Yes… yes… my father-in-law…”
“Often?”
“More than once… and…”
“And?”
“And the schoolmaster. Twice.”
“And? is that really all?”
