Free The Image by Jean de Berg Page B

furiously caressing her her self.
    The girl was lying on her back, knees bent, arms flat on the floor on either side of her head. Claire was on one knee, leaning over her prey.
    Almost immediately the girl began moaning. Soon she lost complete control, crying out continuously from deep inside her throat, her mouth wide open, her face thrown back.
    â€œLook,” Claire murmured, “how beautiful she is when she’s coming, the little slut...”
    In effect, I saw the girl moving rhythmically, turning her head from one side to the other, clutch ing the floor with her fingers. Then, all in one motion, she stretched her legs out and rolled over on her side, bent double, motionless on the black and white floor.
    Claire, standing over her, pushed her with the toe of her shoe, as though she were a corpse.
    However, Claire still wasn’t satisfied. She had to tear off the young woman’s bra, her garter belt and her stockings, leaving only the black band across her eyes.
    With strokes of the whip she made her get back on her knees in front of my chair. She gave the order to begin caressing herself again, adding one little refinement, humiliating, yet pleasurable:
    â€œYou’re to play with your little asshole too, at the same time!”
    Obediently, one of her hands went behind her back. This region must have been very sensitive, for she got excited at once.
    But this time, instead of bringing her work to its conclusion, Claire grabbed hold of the girl and dragged her over to one of the columns where she stood her, back against the stone. In a twinkling she had been tied up, arms and legs spread wide, hands and feet pulled backward.
    I turned the lights in her direction and went closer. Her wrists and ankles were attached to two pairs of rings, diametrically opposed, by means of those flat leather bracelets that are sold in Parisian knick-knack stores and affected by wives whose hus bands love them. The upper rings were just at the right height (about six feet) to stretch the body as much as possible without hurting it.
    Claire had begun her caresses again, savagely, penetrating her victim with such passion that one could no longer tell whether her cries were cries of pain or of pleasure.
    There was no longer any doubt when Claire took up the flagellation again, striking the wide opened thighs and the lower belly. The growing violence of her well-aimed blows, their accuracy and regularity, made the girl writhe in every direction in spite of the tightness of her bonds. Her body was so beautiful like this that my amazement grew as the sacrifice continued.
    Exhausted, finally, Claire gave herself a rest and took a moment to place a gag over her prisoner’s mouth so that her screams wouldn’t rouse the whole neighborhood.
    Then she moved up within easy reach a little alcohol lamp which had been mounted on an iron stand so that it could be used conveniently. Once the flame was lit she propped her various instruments in it, which had special supports for this purpose.
    I admired the long needles, sharpened to a fine point at one end and at the other fitted with wooden handles so that one could hold them with out burning oneself. When the steel was red-hot, Claire undertook the skillful torture of first one breast, and then the other; then she operated on the inside of the thighs, at the very top where the whip hadn’t reached.

    She worked slowly, lovingly meting out the pun ishment: she began by a light touch on the surface of the skin, then, pressing harder and harder, ended up sinking the point about an eighth of an inch into the flesh.
    The girl’s desperate contortions interfered somewhat with her progress, but the groans of agony that could be heard even with the gag more than rewarded her efforts.
    The victim’s tears now flowed freely from under the blindfold down her cheeks. Her panting grew harsher. When Claire came back to the breasts, concentrating on the swelling near the armpit and