Every month, Marc and Tara meet up with a group of friends at a very special club, housed in an old 15th-century mansion.

Le Manoir, as they call it, belongs to an old aristocrat with a passion for history. During the day, visitors from all over the world come to admire its magnificent salons and lose themselves in its French gardens. And, one evening a month, it serves as a playground for a group of people bound by domination and submission.

Another of this aristocrat's passions is historical instruments of torture. He makes a point of acquiring as many as he can, then passing them on to his close friends. The building's cellars, off-limits to the public, have been converted into a place of debauchery, combining modern comforts with medieval instruments of torture.

For Tara, this evening is all the more special as she will be the main attraction. Every month, a submissive is offered to the other members. The “offering” must submit to everyone, without exception.

As she and Marc are relatively new members of the club, this is a first for Tara. Since the beginning of the week, the young woman's mind has been focused on the evening. At any time of the day or night, she can't stop thinking about what's in store for her this Friday evening.

To be as receptive as possible during this event, Marc and Tara refrain from any sexual acts during the week, which creates a certain amount of tension at home. However, they manage to overcome their instincts and contain themselves until that fateful evening.

***

The car turns off the main road onto a long gravel driveway lined with cypress trees. The Manoir is located in open country, at once not too far from town to be totally inaccessible and, at the same time, secluded enough for club members to hold their parties without being bothered.

High stone walls conceal the gardens from curious onlookers. It's only when the two heavy iron gates give way that the building finally comes into view for Marc and Tara.

Built in the purest Renaissance style, the Manoir rises over three levels, with large windows overlooking the gardens and two round towers framing the main body. More than a dozen chimneys dot the roof, giving an idea of the number of rooms.

Marc parks in front of the grand staircase leading to the front porch and they get out of the car. No one is there yet. As the “offering”, Tara has to be the first.

Sir Charles is already there to greet them. A worldly dandy in his sixties, he wears a dark brown tweed suit. Tall and slim, he carries himself with all the poise of an English aristocrat. His graying hair is plastered to his head, and his icy-blue eyes contrast with his tanned skin. His face is angular, with prominent cheekbones and cheeks hollowed by age. Above his pursed lips, a fine, neatly trimmed silver moustache gives him a stern look.

"Good evening," he greets them. "You're right on time, that's perfect."

With a wave of his hand, he invites them to join him. At the top of the stairs, he shakes Marc's hand, then greets Tara with a simple nod. Docilely, the young woman lowers her eyes and bows her head in turn.

"Anna and Emmanuelle will get you ready," he declares to her. "Follow them and do as they say. You must be ready when our guests arrive."

"Yes, sir," Tara replies simply, in a frail voice with a hint of anxiety.

The old man smiles and snaps his fingers. Two young women appear. Neither is over twenty.

Anna's long and thin legs along with her slim, almost skinny, body have earned her the nickname "Grasshopper". Her skin is barely darker than the white loincloth that encircles her narrow waist, highlighting her flat belly. High and proud, her small, pear-shaped breasts end in adorable pinkish nipples.

Her long oval face, with its Greek nose and thin pink lips, is still that of a teenager just entering the adult world. Large, dark lashes bring out the hazel glow of her almond-shaped eyes. Her silky-smooth jet-black hair is pulled back and falls in long strands to the small of her back.

Apart from her loincloth, her only other adornments are leather bracelets, equipped with rings, on her wrists and ankles, and a narrow leather necklace with a silver ring around her neck.

Beside her, Emmanuelle is dressed identically. But there ends the comparison between the two women. Emmanuelle's olive skin contrasts with Anna's pallor.

Smaller, her legs are muscular, chiseled by hours of sport. Her pelvis is a little wider, showing off a stomach with sculpted abs. The dark tips of her firm, round breasts are already taut.

Her medium-length, curly hair cascades heavily over her shoulders, framing a face with square features. Her luscious lips and slightly upturned nose give her a mischievous air, reinforced by her large, dark eyes, that shine with youthful innocence.

Without a word, the two young women take Tara by the hand and lead her into the house. Perfectly docile and submissive, she allows herself to be led.

Anna and Emmanuelle take her upstairs to one of the mansion's suites. There, after undressing her completely, they run a bath and wash her. Tara has to let herself go as the two young women soap and rinse every inch of her body.

Their slender fingers run over her skin, tracing every curve, and sending shivers of delight down her spine.

When they've finished, they dry her carefully and seat her on a wide chair in the bedroom. There, they continue to prepare her.

Tara's eyelids are lightly lined, her lips take on a bright red lipstick, the tips and aureole of her breasts are enhanced with pink. Even her private parts are made up. After checking that her Venus mount is perfectly soft and smooth, Anna and Emmanuelle apply a brush to her lower lips, giving them a dark red tint.

With make-up complete, the two young women imprison Tara's wrists and ankles in bracelets similar to their own. Finally, an identical necklace is fastened around her neck.

Once thus made-up and prepared, Tara is led into a room with red walls and a black carpeted floor. A three-sided mirror, and another mirror behind, allow her to take a close look at herself.

The two young women invite her to sit on a footstool between the mirrors and wait. Docile, she complies. Covered in black fur, the seat stings her slightly. Anna and Emmanuelle withdraw, leaving her alone to face her reflections in the mirrors.

From that moment on, Tara loses all sense of time. And when the two young women return, they are accompanied by a man dressed in a long, knee-length purple cape. His legs are covered by soft leather pants, but as he steps forward, the cape opens at the waist and Tara can clearly see his exposed sex.

Her gaze is immediately drawn to this limb, for the moment at rest, but of a very respectable size. Then her eyes glide over the man's hips and come to rest on the object attached to his left flank: a carefully coiled, braided leather whip that sends a shiver of anguish down her spine.

She observes in detail the solid black leather handle, measuring about an inch and a half in diameter and some ten inches long. A good size for a firm grip, or perhaps some other activity. From this handle, the leather continues for another ten inches or so, tapering to about a quarter-inch diameter at the end. From there, eight or nine strips of leather, each extending over a dozen centimeters. A perfectly designed instrument of torture, undoubtedly intended for her this evening.

Finally, she looks up to see that the man's face is hidden behind a black hood, similar to that worn by executioners in the Middle Ages. Between the flaps of the cloak, she glimpses his muscular torso covered in thick dark fur.

"It's time," he announces simply, in a deep voice.

Anna and Emmanuelle, who had been standing back, next to the door, move towards Tara. Anna comes up behind her and, grabbing her wrists, fastens her bracelets together. Then, Emmanuelle attaches a long red cape to her collar ring and drapes it over her shoulders.

At the man's signal, the young half-breed leads the way and Tara follows, without hesitation, closely followed by Anna. The executioner steps behind the group.

As they make their way through the rooms and corridors, even though she's clothed, Tara feels totally undressed. The cloak covers her completely, but opens with every step, revealing her naked figure for all to see. But they meet no one.

The mansion seems totally deserted as they descend the floors and go deeper into the bowels of the manor.

The beautifully decorated, thickly carpeted wooden staircases soon give way to the cold, rough stone steps leading down to the cellars. Tara follows Emmanuelle along a narrow, dimly lit corridor and, soon, the quartet emerges into a large room with walls carved out of rock and a vaulted ceiling.

A few sconces on the walls cast a bluish glow, plunging the room into a soft, cold half-light. Only a wooden platform at the other end of the room is illuminated by two powerful spotlights. This is where Emmanuelle leads Tara.

The young woman is aware that there are a number of people around her: club members. And that they only have eyes for her body, which reveals itself with every step she takes.

But Tara doesn't care. Ever since she entered the room, her gaze has been drawn to just one thing. The most visible object in the place, and the one that immediately catches anyone's attention: the pillory. Set up in the middle of the stage, directly under the spotlight, it can't be ignored.

Upon seeing it, the young woman's steps visibly falter, forcing Anna to support her by the arm.

Made of sturdy wood, this pillory is the archetypal museum display, with its usual three holes to accommodate the neck and wrists of the supplicant, and a sturdy bar above to hold it all together.

Supported by Anna, Tara follows Emmanuelle to the stage. As she reaches the steps, the dark young woman steps aside to let her pass and takes hold of her other arm. Now framed and held by the two girls, Tara is led to the pillory.

The executioner follows close behind, soon joined by Sir Charles.

The master of the house has swapped his tweed suit for something more appropriate to the situation. He wears a loose white shirt and the same pants as the executioner. The length of his fully waxed penis startles Tara, who finds it hard to look away as he approaches.

From the stage bathed in spotlight, it's impossible to see the audience in the room. However, this doesn't stop Tara from sensing their growing excitement as Sir Charles turns to them.

"Slave Tara. We welcome you this evening. We are happy to welcome such a brave and honorable young woman, who is ready to offer herself to all our members. Thank you for your presence."

He smiles at Tara, who smiles back despite the nervous trembling of her body. Her arms tied behind her back make her breasts stand out with hardened tips, as much from excitement as from incipient anxiety.

"Tonight's program is a historical re-enactment," he continues. "Some time ago, I found in the manor archives an account of a punishment, administered centuries ago, to a young girl. She had disobeyed her master and was punished accordingly. On this very pillory."

He pauses in his narrative, giving the audience time to absorb all the information.

"Tonight, slave Tara, you will suffer double her punishment."

At these words, a murmur runs through the small crowd of spectators.

"You will receive forty lashes from the whip."

Faced with this revelation, Tara feels her legs give way and, without Anna and Emmanuelle's arms to support her, she would have collapsed. The audience, meanwhile, approves with anticipation and excitement.

"As this would have been considered serious punishment even a hundred and fifty years ago, the lashes will be given in two parts. This will allow you to recompose yourself during the punishment."

He pauses, enjoying the crowd's approving reaction.

"However, the girl was not only whipped. She was also given the cane. The same will be done to you. Thirty strokes, just like the ones she received."

Again, Tara is on the verge of fainting. The club members, for their part, applaud wildly.

Sir Charles waits a few moments before asking for silence.

"That's not all," he warns. "The girl, who was a virgin, was also deflowered that day. By four valets and the master of the house."

These words send shivers down Tara's spine. With her eyes, she tries to catch a glimpse of her husband in the crowd, but it's impossible. So she turns her attention back to the master of ceremonies.

"Since you're a married woman with a great deal of sexual experience, ten people, male or female, chosen at random from among our members, will come and abuse you."

This time, a veritable hubbub of laughter and excited discussion shakes the audience. Sir Charles has to wait a few moments before continuing.

"You will be offered to them between floggings," he concludes.

Surrounded by the two girls, Tara is now trembling with fear.

"Executioner. Do your duty," orders Sir Charles, turning to the masked man. "Prepare her," he indicates to the two girls.

Immediately, Anna and Emmanuelle undo the cloak that was still somewhat masking Tara's body, leaving her naked in front of the entire audience. With her hands tied behind her back, she's unable to hide any of her intimacy. Men and women alike delight in observing the delicate lips of her carefully waxed sex and her proudly erect, pointed breasts.

Untying her wrists, Anna and Emmanuelle lead her to the pillory. Opening the top bar, they gently place Tara's head and hands in the spaces provided, before snapping the instrument of torture shut. Then, seizing her legs, they immobilize her ankles in a wooden straitjacket attached to the foot of the pillory.

Within seconds, Tara is completely immobilized. Leaning forward, she can feel her breasts hanging in the air. Her legs are held wide apart, forcing her to arch her back and completely expose her buttocks.

In this position, she knows she's totally vulnerable. Her back, buttocks, and thighs are totally exposed, at the mercy of the executioner. She also feels the fresh air tickling her crotch and the crack of her buttocks. Her sex and anus are perfectly exposed. Open and available to whoever wants to take her.

Her conscience suddenly reminds her that she's about to be whipped and abused! That very thought makes her shudder and she feels her vagina moisten. A wave of desire rises in her loins.

And that whip! The very sight of it excites her. The idea that it's about to come down on her fuels her pleasure even more. She can feel the orgasm growing inside her, but she has no way of satisfying it. Her limbs are hopelessly immobilized.

Leaving the stage to join the crowd of spectators, Sir Charles nods to the executioner.

The whip rises and, without pause, cuts into the skin of Tara's back. The leather straps leave red fingers where they strike. A cry of distress and surprise escapes the young woman's lips.

The arm rises and strikes again, wringing a fresh cry of agony from Tara. But she has no time to recover before the leather burns her skin a third time.

The blows follow each other on Tara's back and buttocks, as she screams and squirms. By the sixteenth stroke, tears are streaming down her cheeks and her cries are nothing more than moans.

At the twentieth blow, she lets out a moan, a mixture of pain and relief. The executioner steps back. Despite the effort, he's barely out of breath. Caught in her wooden prison, Tara is panting and gasping for breath.

Her back and buttocks are covered in crisscrossing red welts. Her skin burns. She's exhausted and, yet, she knows it's only just begun.

As she slowly catches her breath, she feels hands on her body, caressing her back, exciting her breasts, pinching her nipples. Other fingers penetrate between her thighs, titillating her intimacy, parting her delicate labia, and noting the excited state of her vagina. She feels her own secretions flowing down her thighs and these caresses stir up her desire even more.

She begins to moan. Then powerful hands suddenly spread her buttocks and a thick member pierces her vagina.

Without ceremony, without preliminaries, the executioner plunges into her with an irresistible thrust, causing her to cry out in pain. With vigor, his belly pounds her buttocks, sinking deeper and deeper into her.

Trapped in the pillory, Tara can only endure this savage assault without resistance.

For a good ten minutes, the executioner works on her relentlessly, without mercy. His powerful hands grip her hips and bring her bountiful posterior to him. A deep moan erupts from her throat as he orgasms inside her. He waits a few more moments, enjoying the warmth of her vagina, then withdraws, making way for the next.

Still reeling from this first penetration, Tara feels the warm liquid oozing out and spreading down her legs. Now, it's Sir Charles' turn to take his place behind her. Long and slender, his sex is erect like a flesh sword.

He wastes no time in foreplay. Aligning his member with the young woman's drenched sex, he impales her with a sharp thrust. With one swift movement, his sex sinks all the way into her cervix, making Tara jump.

Unlike the executioner, he takes his time, making the most of this young body jerking under his powerful thrusts. Leaning over Tara's back, he kisses the nape of her neck, caresses her breasts. Delicately, he stretches her nipples, rolling them between his fingers, before pinching them fiercely, making the young woman scream.

For long minutes, Sir Charles plows into Tara's intimacy, making her moan with pleasure and pain. As long as possible, he delays. But every man has his limits and he explodes in a scream of rage, releasing his seed into his victim's entrails.

"That was perfect!" he exclaims, slapping the young woman's buttocks. "Next!"

The third man to come forward has the build of a rugby pillar. And his sex perfectly matches his stature: huge and thick. Seeing him approach, Marc has a worried chuckle. He knows what his wife is capable of, but this is reaching her limits.

As he'd suspected, the man is having a bit of trouble getting inside her. He has to try three times before the already tormented vagina deigns to open up to him. But, with a lot of maneuvering and effort, he manages to get the head between the delicate lips. With a powerful thrust, his entire gigantic member slides into the tunnel of flesh.

Tara stifles a scream as she feels the monster penetrate and fill her. But she doesn't have a moment's respite. Like the executioner before him, the third man stirs violently inside her.

The young woman tries to struggle, but to no avail. The pillory holds her firmly in place as the stick of flesh ravages her.

For over a quarter of an hour, the third man tears into her, jerking her in all directions before coming to an abrupt halt. His muscles twitch and he lets out a little scream as he ejaculates inside her.

He withdraws almost immediately, pulling a trickle of fat behind him that stains Tara's buttocks and upper thighs.

As he leaves the stage, Anna and Emmanuelle approach the victim. Kneeling in front of her, Anna gently brushes aside the hair masking her eyes, then tenderly caresses her cheek, wiping away her tears.

Behind her, Emmanuelle gently rubs an ointment over the red marks covering her back and upper thighs. Laying kisses here and there to soften the pain.

The lashes have left some nasty marks, but they haven't bitten deep into the skin. There are no cuts, no blood. Only pain.

The caresses and cares of the two young girls allow Tara to recover little by little from this first torment. But, already, Anna and Emmanuelle step aside and Tara feels other hands on her back. Those of the executioner, inspecting his work and preparing to resume.

Taking his place behind Tara, he cracks his whip repeatedly above her, amusing himself with the young tormented girl's bursts of anguish and anticipation. Then, suddenly, the leather splits the air and strikes the already bruised thighs. This time, the jolt is accompanied by a cry of pain.

The executioner's arm rises and strikes almost mechanically, with the precision of a goldsmith. However, he seems to be holding back compared to the first series.

Tara moans much less as the leather bites into her flesh. On the eighth stroke, standing on tiptoe, she even lifts her buttocks to meet the leather straps.

As the blows follow, she seems to seek out the rhythm of the scathing music. Her feet rise, lifting her buttocks as high as she can so that her bottom hugs the whip at the precise moment of impact.

The leather clatters noisily against the offered flesh, as Tara and the executioner synchronize more and more precisely with each new blow.

At the fifteenth repetition, Tara's eyes suddenly widen before closing again in a delicious shudder. And, at the next stroke, she suddenly straightens her bottom, guessing the precise moment when the whip's straps strike her body.

A bestial scream erupts from her throat at the moment of impact as a burning liquid escapes from her vagina and her whole body begins to tremble from the orgasm that has just pierced her.

In the audience, Marc can hardly believe it: his wife has just orgasmed under the caress of the whip!

Her body spasms as the executioner continues to whip her. Merciless now, the final strokes are delivered with unbelievable speed, aimed solely at her upper thighs and exposed sex.

Tara's screams echo through the room long after the twentieth blow has landed. Her trembling body is held together only by the pillory, and her face is a tear-drenched mask of pain.

But she doesn't have time to recover; already she feels a member insinuating itself between her buttocks. There's nothing human about it, and it's not her vagina it's interested in. It's a plastic phallus that is about to invade her anus.

A tall blonde-haired woman stands behind the supplicant. The latex member lingers for a few moments at the entrance to the dark corolla then, placing her hands on Tara's hips, she forces her to arch her back.

Tara shudders as she feels the penis pressing against her orifice. A tremor that doesn't escape the dominatrix, who savors her omnipotence with a carnivorous smile. Then, slowly, relentlessly, Tara feels the huge shaft make its way inside her.

Her brown corolla widens to let it pass. Her sphincter muscles offer little resistance. When the imposing strap-on is inside her, up to its guard, the dominatrix begins to give big, powerful thrusts.

She takes Tara like a rutting beast, ravaging her savagely, making her howl like a wounded beast. There's no gentleness in her act. She's not doing this to give the young woman pleasure, but to impose her mark on her.

Like a saber, the monstrous plastic cock splits her in two. Equipped with spurs, it furiously raps the inside of her anus, abusing the sensitive flesh.

As the woman violently sodomizes her, Tara feels her breasts rubbing against her back, her breath hot on her neck. With each piston movement, the strap-on pins crash against the dominatrix's clitoris, sending waves of pleasure through her lower abdomen.

Her slender fingers, ending in long, pearly nails, dance along the tortured woman's flanks. Running up and down her back, they claw at the swollen flesh of her buttocks. Tara can only submit to the pain that overwhelms her from all sides.

The dominatrix has sensed her trouble and redoubles her ardor, further accelerating the rhythm of her hips. Tara hears her panting above her. And, suddenly, the woman rears back, letting out a moan of pleasure as orgasm rips through her loins, electrifying her whole being.

But the dominatrix doesn't stop her cavalcade, continuing for several more minutes until a second orgasm overcomes her even more resounding than the first.

By the time she pulls out to make way for the next man, Tara is weeping and moaning in pain.

The two men who follow have no mercy for the sobbing young woman. One after the other, they ravage her vagina with powerful thrusts, leaving her inert after a few minutes.

Breathing hard, her body glistening with sweat, Tara is broken, exhausted, but happy. She feels semen dripping from her vagina down her thighs. And, in her mind, the sensation is one of absolute submission.

"The first part of the punishment is over," Sir Charles announces as he returns to the stage. "We're going to take a short break. To give Slave Tara time to recover from her emotions, and then we'll move on to the next part of the festivities. In the meantime, the bar is open. Help yourself!"

As he joins the club members, Anna and Emmanuelle free Tara from the pillory. Supporting the young woman, they take her to a room behind the stage, out of sight.

There, they make her drink and clean her up with wipes. They also take the opportunity to comfort her and prepare her for what was to come.

After a few minutes, Sir Charles joins them in the small room. When he arrives, they all bow their heads in submission. He settles into the chair opposite Tara and takes her hands in his.

"How do you feel?" he asks.

"It's hard," she confesses.

"Are you ready for what's next?"

She nods in agreement.

"You've still got thirty strokes of the cane and four club members to serve. Are you sure you'll be okay?"

The young woman nods again in silence.

"We've been lucky enough to be able to use the same pillory that was used a hundred and fifty years ago but, for the second part of your punishment, we'll be employing a more modern and suitable device," he explains. "You'll be better immobilized and even more accessible to our members."

A tense silence hangs over the room and Tara swallows painfully, her body suddenly prey to a slight nervous tremor. Sir Charles appreciates her reaction with a delighted smile.

"It's time," he announces.

At these words, Anna and Emmanuelle instantly rise to their feet and, taking Tara by the arms, lift her from her chair. Then, they escort the young woman to the auditorium for the second part of her punishment.

On the stage, a veritable whipping bench now replaces the pillory. The sight of it makes Tara tremble. But, firmly held by the two girls, she can't escape the inevitable.

Aided by Anna and Emmanuelle, she steps over the narrow black leather-padded board, then lies down on it. Kneeling on the bench supports, her feet trapped in stirrups, Tara then leans forward. The convex beam separates her breasts on either side and forces her thighs apart.

The two girls lower her until her intimacy is just beyond the end of the beam. Its thirty-degree incline brings Tara's face to within inches of the floor, forcing her back to arch and bringing out her bountiful buttocks.

Grabbing her wrists, Anna secures them to the foot of the bench. Behind her, Emmanuelle binds other straps around her ankles and thighs. Anna finishes by fastening a wide leather belt around her back, immobilizing her completely against the leather beam.

Her torso securely fastened, head down, buttocks up, her fleshy posterior is ready to receive the cane.

"To administer the cane, it is essential that the victim be completely immobile," Sir Charles explains to the audience. "Executioner, do your duty. Fifteen strokes to start."

Conversation in the audience gradually dies down as the masked man makes his return. All eyes immediately focus on the instrument in his right hand: a bamboo cane, about a meter long, both hard and flexible.

The arm rises and, in one swift movement, falls towards the offered buttocks. Tara jerks her head up, screaming in pain as she feels the wood cut into her flesh. A protruding line appears on her already reddened skin.

The executioner waits a few seconds, giving the pain time to work its way through the young woman's battered body. Then he strikes again. Leaving a new mark just above the previous one, and drawing another cry of despair.

The blows come thick and fast, and it's not long before tears roll down Tara's cheeks. Behind her, the masked man works to change his rhythm, preventing her from anticipating anything, forcing her to endure in total submission.

Despite the pain, in the midst of her heart-rending screams, Tara feels a warmth settling in her lower belly. Despite her tight bounds, she can slide her pelvis back and forth, offering her buttocks a little more to the cane but, also, rubbing her clitoris against the convex beam. This stimulation is essential to her if she is to make it through the torment she is enduring.

The executioner notices her little maneuver and, as a great specialist, gradually adapts to her movements. The cane crashes down on her muscular buttocks just as they rise, pushing her intimate knob a little harder against the leather-covered beam.

Each blow calls for another. Tara's buttocks are covered with vivid marks, making her cry harder and writhe between her bonds. Though unbearable, this pain is what she's been waiting for, what she's been looking for.

The burning that embraces her buttocks is nothing compared to the furnace that now fills her vagina. She feels her intimacy lubricate like never before and a little love juice trickles down her thighs.

The fifteenth blow lands on her posterior and Tara lets out a cry of mixed pain and frustration. She was so close to orgasm! She'd so much like another blow, to be able to abandon herself to pleasure. But no, the executioner stopped, well aware of the torture he is inflicting on his victim.

Tara doesn't have time to dwell very long on her frustration, as two hands seize her face - Anna's hands. She looks up and is confronted by the girl's carefully shaved sex.

Tara needs no encouragement to understand what's expected of her. Docilely, she sticks her mouth to the thin pink lips and, darting her tongue, sets about satisfying the young girl to the best of her ability.

As she applies herself to stimulating her young mistress's clitoris, she feels sharp nails clawing at her bruised buttocks and cruelly spreading her anus. Tara quickly guesses that it's Emmanuelle who is standing behind her.

Soon, the fingers are replaced by a plastic phallus resting on her dark corolla. A long thrust, and her ring of flesh gives way to the latex monster, sinking deep inside her.

Tara can only let out a grunt as she buries her face between Anna's thighs, licking her harder. She's all the more ardent as, with each thrust, Emmanuelle sinks a little deeper into her, making her struggle in her bonds.

Her lips suck greedily at Anna's tender flesh, savoring her perfume, and her tongue works avidly on her clitoris. With each pass of this rasping intruder, the little knob springs up like a bow, sending jolts of pleasure throughout the girl's body. Pinching the tips of her breasts, she soon moans, mingling with Tara's grunts.

Anna arches her back more and more, offering herself to the tongue that delves into her. A wave of irresistible pleasure surges through her. Her breathing becomes jerkier, her hips roll deeper and deeper, her thrusts become more violent.

Opposite her, Emmanuelle loses nothing of the spectacle and accelerates her piston movements. Ravaging a little more of her victim's distended anus, she matches her rhythm to Anna's growing arousal.

Soon, the "grasshopper" closes her eyes and runs her tongue over her lips. The moment is at hand. Suddenly, she tilts her head back.

At that moment, the strap-on sinks deep into Tara's anus. A deep moan escapes Anna's throat as a howl of pain passes Tara's lips.

"You've had your pleasure," Emmanuelle calls out to Anna as she withdraws with a jerk. "Now it's my turn!"

Giving Tara barely a few seconds to recover, the two girls swap places and it's now the slightly hairy sex of the dark girl that presents itself in front of the supplicant's mouth.

Once again, Tara submits, stretching her tongue to part the dark lips and uncover the clitoris, taut with excitement. Behind her, grabbing her by the hips, Anna guides the latex monster into her quivering vagina.

For onlookers, the scene is awe-inspiring. Caught between the two girls, Tara screams and moans in ecstasy. Her hands grip the foot of the bench until her knuckles turn white.

With her hands pressed to Tara’s face, Emmanuelle guides her mouth between her thighs, rolling her pelvis to accentuate the caress. At the same time, Anna pistons frantically the tied-up young woman, stimulating her clitoris with every pass.

At least two orgasms shake Tara before Emmanuelle freezes in a groan of pleasure and Anna withdraws from between her thighs.

When the two girls finally step aside, Tara drops onto the bench, head hanging, panting and moaning. But her respite is short-lived.

Hands lift her head again and a taut sex presents itself to her lips: Sir Charles's. Docile, her mouth opens in a perfect O to welcome the blood-gorged penis.

Her tongue moves slowly over the darted head as her lips move up and down the shaft of flesh, exciting its owner to the highest degree. With a powerful push, he thrusts his member deep into Tara's throat and makes long, piston-like movements.

Surprised at first by this violent penetration, Tara adapts to the monstrous cock that invades her mouth and, after a few moments, swallows the flesh stick greedily. Artfully, she moves the penis back and forth between her lips, as if in a vagina. From time to time, her tongue wraps around the outstretched member and tickles the tip of the head, then she goes back to fervently sucking on the shaft as it stretches her lips.

Sir Charles quickly feels the pleasure rising in him and, taking Tara's face in his hands, imparts increasingly violent thrusts. His sex plunges into her throat, threatening to suffocate her. But, obedient to the end, Tara keeps him in her mouth and lets his hands guide her.

Pleasure ripples through the aristocrat's loins. Between her lips, Tara feels the penis swell under the pressure, then the warm, viscous liquid squirts into her mouth, lining her palate and running down her throat.

His hands on either side of her head, Sir Charles brings her face against his pelvis. He keeps her pressed against him until the last drop of his semen spills into her mouth.

Submissive, Tara dutifully swallows the precious seed as his cock gradually withers in her mouth.

When Sir Charles finally withdraws, the young woman is breathless.

"Excellent," he congratulates her. "Now we can move on to the final part of your punishment."

He steps away from the scene and the executioner makes his return. Cane in hand, he takes up his position. Tara barely has time to realize what's happening before the first blows are already landing on her buttocks and upper thighs.

The rhythm is nothing like that of the first series. The cadence is that of a frenzied metronome. Delivered with force and precision, the blows make the young woman's whole body tremble. Despite this, and the cries of pain she utters, Tara lifts her buttocks to meet the cane that torments her.

At the fifteenth stroke, the explosion rocks her body. This time, the executioner has finished his work. Lightning flashes through Tara's skull. Her whole body buckles between the leather restraints. It's not just a scream that escapes her lips, it's a complete orgasm accompanied by a shower of love juice that drips down her thighs, mingling with the noisy exclamations of the spectators.

This second series has lasted no more than five minutes, and the last member of the club set up to abuse her, is already on stage. Beneath his night-dark skin, his hard, lean muscles resemble those of a long-distance runner. Completely naked, he advances to face Tara.

His lanky stature does not scare the young woman, until her eyes linger on his sex. At that moment, her face freezes and a feeling of anguish fills her gaze.

Still flaccid, the resting penis descends to halfway down the man's thighs, with its circumference barely smaller than that of a baseball bat.

Tara nearly faints as he passes inches from her face, close enough for her to smell his musky, animal scent. As he settles behind her, she feels his fingers insinuate themselves into her drenched vagina.

Long and thin, they spread her labia, prepare her intimacy and quickly stimulate her clitoris. Then it's a burning member, rigid as a steel bar, that presents itself at the entrance of her vagina. A contact that triggers a shudder of anguish and excitement throughout her being.

The man begins by gently rubbing his huge dick, up and down, between the wide-open lips of the dripping slit. A caress that makes Tara moan again and again, louder and louder. Then, slowly, inexorably, he introduces his enormous flesh club into the soaked sex.

The thrust is irresistible and Tara shakes her head, gritting her teeth and letting out little cries as the gigantic phallus sinks into her. Pushing in with all his weight, his hands gripping her waist, the man works his way into the narrow channel, spreading the sheath of flesh to its maximum elasticity.

When he's fully inside her and his belly hits her buttocks, Tara freezes and stops breathing for a moment. Her eyes open wide; she's never felt so full. Suddenly, the man begins to give powerful piston strokes.

For Tara, it's as if an arm is plunging into her with each thrust, and a huge fist is smashing into her cervix.

But as the minutes go by, and the rhythm imposed by her partner continues, the young woman gets used to it, her vagina becomes accustomed to this oversized intruder, and the pain gradually subsides, giving way to waves of pleasure.

With each penetration, her clitoris is crushed against the padded beam, sending electric shocks throughout her body. Soon, her groans of pain are replaced by moans of pleasure.

Sliding more and more easily into the vagina, which is spreading and distending to accommodate him better, the man quickens his pace. Like a wild beast in rut, he rides Tara without the slightest restraint. His belly slams loudly against her muscular buttocks.

The rhythm accelerates until it becomes infernal. Wriggling between her bonds, Tara can do nothing but submit to this sex that plows her mercilessly, screaming out her pain and pleasure.

And suddenly, with one last push, the man thrusts himself deep inside her. Her vagina contracts one last time around the monstrous penis and he lets out a moan of pleasure.

Tara is struck by orgasm the instant long streams of burning sperm flood her sex. Her hoarse cry echoes through the room. The audience stands and applauds in unison.

When he pulls out, Tara suddenly feels empty. Exhausted, she needs all the help she can get from Anna and Emmanuelle. As she gets up, a sticky liquid escapes from her vagina and spreads between her thighs.

Despite the pain and fatigue that assail her, she smiles in ecstasy. Never before has she pushed herself so far. She knows it will take several days for her battered body to recover from such abuse. Still, it was worth it.

Her husband's arms embracing her, his mouth ravishing hers, the members applauding her. This is her greatest reward.