Helena Robertson - Mousse

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?”

“Yes, I swear it. I swear.”

The young bride let her head drop on her chest, all her muscles aching under her weight.

“You bitch,” hollered the monk, “and you dared to refuse me.”

He takes the cat o'nine tails, and with all his force hits her between her legs. They are watching the horrible flagellation of her intimate parts. The lashes are covering the fleshy and pulpy surface freeing the flesh that reddens, covering it again the next minute. Like a puppet, the body twists in the ropes, and the girl hollers her pain, her eyes wide open. The tip of the lash crashes on her cunt, on her belly, and the monk hits with all his strength, furious to have been deprived of that pleasure, to the benefit of a mere peasant…

At last, after a couple more violent blows that left the girl motionless, he stops.

The bride is unfastened, put on her back on a bench; her thighs lifted up and apart, her knees touching her belly, and they all come to see that tortured flesh, check her virginity, and put a couple of ardent kisses on the burning cunt. Barral sucks at her more deeply, faster, and it gives her such a strange sensation that she cannot restrain a sigh of pleasure. Then he goes on, and little by little the spasm comes in the bride's belly. She gives herself up to him, abandons all resistance. Her belly moves, undulates; she contracts between the hands of the men that are holding her and finally she comes violently.

The men strip, and Janine, through the disjointed panels, can see the erected members of different sizes. One by one the bride must take in her mouth the flesh of the men, and suck at the palpitating pricks, while the others are caressing either her burning ass or the love button of her cunt.

The monk is the only one to let his sperm splurt in her throat, while he presses her breasts, sagging heavily under her chest.

Finally, they pull her to one of the pillars where she is tied, her hands held to the ground by two leather bracelets, her legs similarly attached by two leather bracelets. The mirror is placed under her; she is 20 inches from the floor, and she is revealing under the light of two oil lamps, her large distended bottom and the slit of the sex.

Barral, his prick in full erection, stands behind her. His hands separate more completely the two globes of her buttocks; the head of his tool, reddened by the effort, is posed against the pucked mouth of her ass, opening the narrow passage. Barral breathes heavily; the muscles of his thighs are bulging, contracting. Then he pushes violently with a hoarse cry-another savage cry! The girl, her anus distended, feels the man's balls against her cunt, and the hairy belly glued to her ass. The tool has penetrated her with one single thrust.

Nothing is heard but the gaping breath of the young bride, trying to recover her mind after that odious rape. Barral caresses her sides, then he slowly moves his damp and hard flesh in her warm belly. The others, bending forward, are looking at the movement of the fleshy pole going in and out of her ass. Barral feels the contraction of the muscled little mouth around his tool, and once again Sodom is the master of pleasure. Barral frantically moves his prick. He feels pleasure come while bruising the warm intimacy of the girl. She is gasping, and Barral feels his pleasure rising. He moderates his pace, and moves out of her, then he digs into her again in a brutal rape that has the girl panting and crying with pain. She is crying, and tears are oozing from her closed eyes. The prick, like a piston, goes in and out of the tender sheath, deeper at each move. Once again, the sperm comes to the prick, and this time Barral does not try to prevent its coming-he lets his burning sap spurt in her, while his fingers dig into the flesh of her buttocks.

He finally moves out of her warm and slimy entrails. One of the countrymen is already there, his short and erect prick in his hand. He aims at the sperm soiled asshole and with one move of his powerful loins he sodomizes the young girl pitilessly, not even hearing her cries.

Barral goes to the monk and together they discuss the fornication of the couple in front of them.

“Congratulations father, this is really quite a girl. How did things go at the wedding?”

“Well, everything went O.K. I was sitting right next to the newlyweds, and after giving them too much wine, I succeeded in adding some sleeping powder to the husband's meal. When he fell asleep, they were both carried to their place, and then I told her that one of my benefactors had participated in buying her trousseau, and that she had to come to thank him. She came, quite unconsciously, and in the car she ate an aphrodisiac contained in some candy. It does not seem to have been too efficient, but… too bad.”