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Lionrobe

The Translator

2020
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 Author: Lionrobe aka Gerembeau

Translated from French by Eulalia

E-Book: Madiosi

Produced in Germany
© 2020 www.cruxforums.com

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 The nobility of her features competes with her authentic
appearance as a woman of the people. No hint of artificiality in
the pout of those thick, dark lips. This face of a madonna has
been reshaped by French genius, the domed forehead and
slightly broad chin could have belonged to a partisan, one of
those opponents of all the tyrannies of past centuries. Only the
nose, a little short and slightly too thin, tempers the fervour of a
penetrating gaze, the fire of which is enhanced by a pair of very
full, barely plucked, black eyebrows.
My eyes look away from the file on my desk, I don't want to
worry her or make her feel uncomfortable.
I'm tense, and have to clear my throat before speaking:
“Your prospectus indicated, I quote, 'I translate texts of all
types'. All the same, I would like to warn you that these are texts
of a somewhat special genre.”
She replies without wavering in her composure, but with a
somewhat forced smile:
“Sir, I have only just got established. I take on any texts that
are offered me.”
I rather suspected that - just a hunch - and that's why I chose
you ... but of course these words don't cross my lips.
I let her take in for a few seconds the furniture in my office,
the rare objects that decorate it, so that she can reassure herself
by familiarising herself with my den.
Then I tap the voluminous file filled with sub-folders before
continuing:
“Have you ever translated erotic texts? ".
I put my question with all the professional seriousness I can
muster, so as not to frighten her. She answers me very quickly, as
if to avoid any shadow of doubt,
"Not previously, sir, but that doesn't bother me, they are texts
like any others - well, almost..."
She tried to warm her smile a little more while saying "well,

5
almost", as if to tone down the somewhat sharp liveliness of her
response.
I think I'm loving her already, just because of that nervous
smile that lit up her eyes for a moment.
She's a little puzzled since her survey of my room. No frames
holding photos of my hypothetical lovely family. I pretend to
anticipate a question to create an initial sense of complicity:
“I've dismissed my wife and children. We can work
undisturbed.”
She frowns slightly, to indicate that she does not want to be
concerned with my private affairs:
“I wouldn't have been bothered, sir. Suppose we talk a little
about your lyrics?"
She has leaned forward slightly to add strength to her
proposal, and her neckline involuntarily reveals a cleavage of
which I perceive the depth. I force myself to look away, but she
has noticed . She leans back in the chair and hugs her knees
instinctively. I need to distract her attention fast, I'm not ready.
"Absolutely. First, you must understand that I get paid for
these texts, I do not just write for a hobby. That's why I want to
broaden my audience.”
I've got her attention, I'm no longer a wealthy sex addict
ready to fantasise about her, rather a fellow-writer who earns his
living by the sweat of his pen. She softened:
“It's nice, I like that approach - but you know, it's rare for
anyone to translate this kind of text into another language, you
lose a lot of the erotic potential."
She is trying to stay very professional, but a little glimmer of
fun has filtered under those eyelids, modestly lowered for the
occasion. I decide to take advantage of my lead and risk hinting
further,
“Be warned, these texts are slightly deviant …. "
She lifts her chin, slightly worried. I assess the reaction:

6
 “Have no fear, no paedophilia, bestiality, no stuff of that sort!
Horror movies don't shock you, I hope? ".
Her half-smile darkens slightly:
"Well ... not too much." This nuanced hint of doubt seems to
indicate that it's not very serious, we'll cope with it.
I suddenly want to throw myself on her, but I just tighten my
fingers on the edge of the chair, spelling it out:
"In fact, it's more S-M than gore, you know…"
She relaxes, with a rather sardonic little throaty laugh that
twists in my lower abdomen:
"Oh yeah, those kinky tales of women getting whipped, and
letting things be stuck in their ,,, places?"
The bond is renewed, she's just let herself go more than she'd
have wanted. But I don't take the opportunity to generate sexual
energy between us just yet, I leave that aside in reserve, for later.
"Yeah, they're funny, aren't they? Between you to me, it's like
Funès (Fufu?) in The Land of the Black Masses most of the time.”
There, it's no longer working. She's controlling herself
admirably, sitting upright, her hand holding a pen to give her
poise. Okay, we'll move on.
“Actually, I'm trying to entertain…. another category of
perverts. Hold on, see for yourself.”
She puts her pen on a tray and lifts the thick file with both
hands to leaf through it. I stare at her intently without her
knowing… as I expected, she begins by blinking a little, before
jumping a few moments later. When she remains with her lips
parted for a few moments, I know I've won, she is deeply
uncomfortable and is regretting coming. She looks up and seems
to see through me. She sighs and manages to pause her breath
for a moment before resuming:
"It's very intense, Sir, I don't know if I could render exactly
the nuances you're wanting." She accentuated "Sir" delectably,
lifting away the barrier between us. Girl, I'm going to break you,

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I can't wait any longer.
"Well, how about us homing in on the page in front of you for
a bit? Yes, that one, there, there it is.”
As I get up slightly from my seat to point to the last page of
"The Execution of Catherine" I see her stiffen. I really have to
reassure her. My hand rummages in the inside pocket of my
jacket and I manage to display my wallet triumphantly:
"By the way, I had planned to give you 400 euros as an
advance today."
I count the notes, while looking at her through lowered eyes. I
know she is in the process of calculating the number of fill-ups
and shopping trips to the convenience store that represents.
Another sigh, but she manages to smile at me without showing
that she feels trapped.
"Let's take a look at this beginning of the paragraph."
She blushes, her eyes are a little blank, as if she's trying to
disconnect a part of herself from what she is doing.
“Well, I would say…” She takes the plunge, and writes a few
lines. She looks up and begins to declaim, as if it were her own
prose. She instantly realizes the absurdity, and recommences in a
neutral, subdued tone.
“Uh!” I frown, she looks at me, slightly taken aback:
"Oh, yes ... I told you I wasn't able to translate my texts, but I
can understand English perfectly, especially with a dictionary." I
smile, showing my teeth, like a disgruntled customer.
"But… tell me what's wrong?"
For the first time, she seems to have become a little girl again,
pulled at school for a lesson badly learned.
You translated:
“ Sa main s’empara de sa fourche. Un doigt s’insinua à
l’intérieur de sa chatte. Il ouvrit doucement les lèvres et entreprit
de secouer son clitoris.. Bon Dieu, dit l’un des témoins, regardez-
moi ça, la truie prend son pied. Elle est bien chaude ”

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 by:
“His hand took hold of her crotch. A finger crept inside her
pussy. He opened the vulva slightly, and then fingered her
clitoris. Good God, said one of the witnesses, have a look at that,
the wench is blushing. I think she's quite hot! ”
Well, no, that's not exactly what I meant. Are you really
confused by, er, rude words? You didn't know the equivalents? I
would have written:
“His hand groped at her slit. A finger crept inside her cunt. He
opened the sex-lips slightly, then frigged her clit. Fuck me,
gasped one of the audience, take a look at that will ya, the sow's
blushing. I think she's gettin 'hot! "
My voice rose imperceptibly, like when you're telling your
bank manager you're refusing to pay premium rates, while trying
to control yourself. I can tell she's going to get up and go, and I
immediately relent. With a wink, I add:
"It's no big deal, I'll train you."
She's scowling, looking more and more uncomfortable, if not
Knowing whether she should protest at my hint. I pre-empt her,
looking serious.
"I find it perfectly normal that a well-educated young woman
like you doesn't know everything about a certain specialized
vocabulary."
She softens, and reads what comes next ::
“No, it's wrong, it's wrong!” Poor Catherine was indignant,
crying, although she felt overwhelmed by a strange excitement at
feeling so exposed and defenceless in front of this troop of
sadists, while the man who was to execute her manipulated her
breasts , her nipples. ... and her shaved, er ... cunt. ”
"Listen, here I would suggest: 'No, it's not right, it's not right!'
Poor Catherine was sobbing indignantly, though she was
experiencing a truly strange sensation, from being exposed
naked, helpless, in front of this crowd of sadistic men, while

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having her breasts, her nipples, and her shaved pubic hair
manipulated by the man who was going to execute her. ”
I love blowing hot and cold, but I'm going to press a little less
hard. I lift my shoulders, pursing my lips a little. She is the first
to worry:
She lifts her chin, slightly worried. I assess the reaction:
“Have no fear, no paedophilia, bestiality, no stuff of that sort!
Horror movies don't shock you, I hope? ".
Her half-smile darkens slightly:
"Well ... not too much." This nuanced hint of doubt seems to
indicate that it's not very serious, we'll cope with it.
I suddenly want to throw myself on her, but I just tighten my
fingers on the edge of the chair, spelling it out:
"In fact, it's more S-M than gore, you know…"
She relaxes, with a rather sardonic little throaty laugh that
twists in my lower abdomen:
"Oh yeah, those kinky tales of women getting whipped, and
letting things be stuck in their ,,, places?"
The bond is renewed, she's just let herself go more than she'd
have wanted. But I don't take the opportunity to generate sexual
energy between us just yet, I leave that aside in reserve, for later.
"Yeah, they're funny, aren't they? Between you to me, it's like
Funès (Fufu?) in The Land of the Black Masses most of the time.”
There, it's no longer working. She's controlling herself
admirably, sitting upright, her hand holding a pen to give her
poise. Okay, we'll move on.
“Actually, I'm trying to entertain…. another category of
perverts. Hold on, see for yourself.”
She puts her pen on a tray and lifts the thick file with both
hands to leaf through it. I stare at her intently without her
knowing… as I expected, she begins by blinking a little, before
jumping a few moments later. When she remains with her lips
parted for a few moments, I know I've won, she is deeply

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uncomfortable and is regretting coming. She looks up and seems
to see through me. She sighs and manages to pause her breath
for a moment before resuming:
"It's very intense, Sir, I don't know if I could render exactly
the nuances you're wanting." She accentuated "Sir" delectably,
lifting away the barrier between us. Girl, I'm going to break you,
I can't wait any longer.
"Well, how about us homing in on the page in front of you for
a bit? Yes, that one, there, there it is.”
As I get up slightly from my seat to point to the last page of
"The Execution of Catherine" I see her stiffen. I really have to
reassure her. My hand rummages in the inside pocket of my
jacket and I manage to display my wallet triumphantly:
"By the way, I had planned to give you 400 euros as an
advance today."
I count the notes, while looking at her through lowered eyes. I
know she is in the process of calculating the number of fill-ups
and shopping trips to the convenience store that represents.
Another sigh, but she manages to smile at me without showing
that she feels trapped.
"Let's take a look at this beginning of the paragraph."
She blushes, her eyes are a little blank, as if she's trying to
disconnect a part of herself from what she is doing.
“Isn't that it yet?“
We-e-ell. I use exaggerated English, to make her giggle a
little. Well, there are definitely some subtleties that escape you. I
think I might even say:
“'I won't! I WON'T!' Sobbed poor Catherine indignantly,
although she was experiencing, growing deep inside her
womanhood, a truly strange sensation, aroused by being exposed
naked, helpless, in front of this crowd of sadistic men, while
having her breasts, her nipples, and her shaved cunt
manipulated by the very same man who was going to execute her.

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”
"You see, that's good… 'cunt' ... sorry, but that's I wanted to
talk about, not pubic hair at all!"
"Besides, she's really sexually aroused -thrilled- it's no
ordinary feeling!"
Her face has turned deliciously pink again when she looks up.
"I don't write for a very sophisticated audience, you know. I'm
sorry to inflict this on you, reading these ... horrors".
She bravely faces up to me:
"That's not the problem, Sir, but my vocabulary is not very
rich in this area, that's all."
She hesitates a little:
"Could you please direct me to the bathroom?"
Delicious. This animal urge proves to me that things will soon
be just right.
She stands up. Her cheap supermarket perfume has faded as
the afternoon has worn on. The slight animal scents that
emanate from her warm body dilate my nostrils briefly. I think
she senses that, she pulls back a little brusquely.
Her breasts are full and firm like those of a very young
woman. Their pear shape causes them to fall a bit weightily to
the sides of her narrow bust, and makes them particularly
vulnerable.
When she sits down again, I can see that she has refreshed her
expression as well as her make-up. It's time to get down to
business.
"You'll take a little something? … no alcohol, of course, we
have to keep a clear head!"
She forces herself to smile, but I can sense all the reluctance
in the world as she pours the little bottle of grapefruit juice into
her glass. When she lowers her velvety eyes, I'm sure she has
caught my glance and is sensing something, for she adds very
quickly:

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 "My husband has to pick me up at 8 pm, we'd better get on."
She says this to me so bluntly that I grasp it's not to remind
me of the scheduled termination of our appointment, but to
make sure I have no illusions about her situation. Don't worry,
my darling, we'll have all the time in the world… ..
She picks up the notes on her knees, and I relish her grimace
of horror, she's at the bitter end of Catherine Hayes.
"I… excuse me… I'm a little too hot… I'm too hot… can we
open the window?"
She continues in a sleepy voice, without pausing,
"Hugo grabbed the iron, heated white ... the iron ... what do
you ... have me ... "
She slides gently down the side of the seat, without collapsing
completely. The narcotic will only have a short-lived effect, I
must hurry ...
She is unshaven - thank you, God - wild and natural just as I
dreamed, just as I wanted. She's a weight in my arms, she's a real
woman, not a bag of bones. I strip her without caressing her,
even though her breasts are pressing against my shoulder as I lift
her off the chair.
I make sure not to graze her buttocks on the cellar stairs, I
want that body to be intact when I shoot the first videos.
Four chains hang from the ceiling with their leather
handcuffs. Under the chains, a lectern on which I place my texts,
page by page.
To begin with, I choose to put on a schoolmaster's gown from
the time of the Third Republic, a grey jacket, a Basque beret,
hefty boots from the thirties with iron-studded soles, and of
course a switch in my hand.
I prefer her to wake up naturally, so I don't have to give her so
many injections.
Her head is hanging down below her body, the four shackles
spread wide in the air, her limbs hauled up behind her back, so

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she's suspended facing the ground. I have fun swinging her
gently, pushing her buttocks, so the cameras capture the
arousing spectacle of her breasts dangling gracefully in the void.
I make a tour of my property. It's true that she's been hot, her
moist hairs are matted on her slit. If I dared… yes, bugger it, you
can, even even if you're going to wake her up like that… I only
have to press a button in the wall, and the chains lift her legs up
level with my face.
My fingers comb through the lush bush, my mouth comes
closer. My tongue sweeps for a long time over the fleshy large
lips, with their slightly pungent taste. My moustache, stiffened
with waxing, is caught comically in her fleece. Her quivering
rapidly surprises me. I come round in front of her.
She doesn't recognize me right away, it takes a few seconds
for her to say: “You? " A few more seconds "What's wrong with
me ... ?" She has to make a real effort to keep her nodding head
raised. I help her by gently grasping her hair. The pain is enough
to complete her waking up, her gaze becomes clear, she opens
her mouth to scream ... my hand closes sharply over her lips:
“SHH …… ..shuuuuuuuush …… ..”.
Her big eyes are seized with panic, but I don't give her time to
think.
"Alice, Alice, properly handled, you could have stuck at seven
years old." She looks at me without comprehending. I shake her
heavy breasts streaked with blue veins with both my hands:
"What are we going to do with all this, little girl? Ah, why did you
grow up so quickly?”
At last, she has become fully aware of her situation, of her
nakedness in my power…. She opens her mouth for a silent cry
that overwhelms her. I continue without giving her any break:
"Where's the White Rabbit's watch?" ".
“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? ". She screams as if I was
going to gag her again.

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 I slap her so hard her head touches her shoulder. Tears of
anger and pain trickle down her crimson cheeks, anointing my
hand as I slowly lift her chin.
"Poor little girl. She forgot to learn her recital piece, so she
will be punished".
My hand now caresses her firm, plump buttocks. She screams
"BitchFilthy hound, take your hands off me, take your hands
off!!! », She tries to twist her cute buttocks like a mare shaking
off flies. I walk back to her, shaking the stick threateningly:
"Alice, I'm counting to three."
"But you're crazy, stop, I won't say anything, it's pro…".
A swish of the cane brought her protest to a halt. Twenty
strokes of the switch, one after another, very quickly - to take her
breath away. "Swack! Swack!, Swack!" "Ouch, Ouch, Ouch"
"Swack! Swack!, Swack!". " Ayee! Ayee! AYEEE!"
I contemplate my handiwork tenderly, with the palm of my
hand I stroke the red marks which draw swollen, parallel lines
"A happy un-birthday, Alice ... is every day like that?"
When her sobs have died down, she remains silent for a few
moments and only then discovers the cameras placed on the
cellar-racks, above the dusty bottles with their necks stained with
fingerprints.
She screams, the throaty bellow of a trapped animal, a
visceral fear is overwhelming her. This is the moment I've been
waiting for. I take the axe near the stake and raise it with a
determined gesture:
"Off with her head!"
She tucks her head in her shoulders with a convulsive
movement:
“No, no, no, don't do that, stop, stop”.
The axe whistles through the air and sinks into the dirt with a
dull thud.
« ’Y a plus d’Alice, hélas. C’est là qu’est l’os »

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 I laugh at this joke from an old french movie (La grande
vadrouille) and I know she's suffering from contracting her neck
so much as she tried to protect it. She is on the verge of a nervous
breakdown, sobbing softly. When she sees me pick up the cane
again, she begs me softly
"No, Sir, no..."
"How about we resume our translation?" Would it take such a
little thing to please me, and let you go?"
Oh, a glimmer of hope in her eyes, a little flame that I will
strive to fan and invigorate ..
It's time changed. When I return to the room, I have put on
the uniform of a Neapolitan rifleman from pre-war time, with
the cocked hat topped with an ostrich feather, the blood-red
fleece bands, the white braid, and the belt in shoulder strap. I
put an officer's monocle on my nose, twisting my spiked
moustache villainously.
She looks at me, horror and laughter vying for the right to
cross her lips, and in a sense, she's reassured, which makes it all
the better.
I lower the chains so that the lectern is at her eye level.
'So, Gina, how would we translate this - "il n’ y avait plus
qu’un coup de fouet à donner, et Mbane en asséna un bon"?'
She regains hope with this easy little sentence, she's eager to
satisfy me instantly, and clearly articulates:
"Only one more whiplash remained, and Mbane made it a
good one."
"Good, Gina, good, you're a good girl, keep going…"
I make my way round behind her, my hands grab her sore
buttocks ...
"And now - 'qui dessina une coupure profonde autour des
bouts de seins et tortura les mamelles rouges et dures qui
pointaient.'"
I undo my flies, and, even though she has been expecting rape

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from the start, she winces when my penis starts to brush against
her orifices, as if hesitating. She must be asking herself which is
better, the more painful, or the one that she does not want to
share. My belly falls on her buttocks, my hand slips between her
thighs, greedy, in search of her clitoris. She gasps loudly when
my finger finds it, and starts to sweat. I go on for a long time
until I almost make her come despite her shudders of revulsion,
then suddenly I stop.
"Gina, Gina, we are waiting". "Well?"
She catches her breath "A harsh whistling cut OOOOOh"
I drive sharply between her slack lips. I grip her by her
breasts, and impale her several times without effort, swinging
her on the chains as I go. She could have had no idea that she
could come so quickly with her resisting body, despite the horror
of the situation. She is even more humiliated. She cries softly.
I pull away abruptly and reposition myself in her backside.
My hand grabs a stock-whip and I shake it against her back.
Gina, Gina, I am very displeased! First, did we rob our fine
priest during mass? Then tried to bribe an official? All of this
deserves a little lesson!" I wave high an accusing index finger.
"The whip will not spare a single patch of this guilty body!"
I crack it once in front of her horrified eyes, I want her to take
in its weight, the texture of the leather that is going to smite her
femininity in a carnal dialogue that I can extend at will.
Shoulders first, I want to see them flex. I swing lash down to
the floor at full speed "THWAAACK!".
First she straightens rigid at the shock, her whole body
arches, she simply screams "Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh". When I strike
the floor again, I have the pleasure of seeing her shudder, she
catches her breath "No, no, please, we can get along together, I
won't say ANYTHING TO ANYONE" I wait till she finishes before
throwing my arm back and hurling it with all my strength:
“THWACK!” “YYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

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 Oh yeah, you're in pain, I know, the blow was a quick one, but
so intense the cut it made is bleeding from shoulder to shoulder,
a nice stroke, well played sir! She is sobbing loudly.
"We said, how many hits this time? Oh, I forgot, too bad, that
one doesn't count." I walk past her again. I wipe away her tears. I
smile at her. She can't believe I'm going to continue when I step
back. She yells before the blow, "NOOOOOOOO!"
"THWAAAAACK!" I strike a neat mark across her buttocks
that contrasts with the other blisters. I come back to her "So, are
we starting to count? Up to what number?" "F… .FIVE, my…
my… Sir!"
"Poor, poor scared little girl, come on, let's be serious, let's say
ten?"
I strike the first five blows in very quick succession, I aim for
her pussy, her buttocks again, her breasts - she's grinding her
teeth - shoulders again. Her whole body is roasting, she can't
catch her breath.
Now I take a break, no spot on her body is ready to cope with
the next blow. I stroll around her, cracking my whip like a lion-
tamer. She senses my arm swing up and all her flesh contracts.
"SIX!" I've targeted her desecrated, juicy major labia, I streak
them with the bite of my thong. "SEVEN!" Her slightly curved
belly is lashed from edge to edge, a scar is left. "AAAAAAAAH, ah,
ah, ah ..." She's panting, with deep gasps of denial, but it is only
her chastised flesh that is resisting. ”Stop, please, ssssssssssstop!”
"EIGHT!" The shoulders, across the center, on the bones, the
thin layer of skin splits. "AAAIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEE!". I stand back
beside her, it can only be to catch her breasts with the tip of my
lash. She perceives this, and tries with sharp spasms to get draw
her chest in. "OUUUUCH!" I hit the base of her breasts, driving
her nipples up almost to her chin as the glands cushion the
impact. "NINE!" The thong gives the impression of being
absorbed by the cushion of flesh. I want to check this

18
extraordinary optical illusion, I repeat the stroke, the whistling
whipthong drowns her "NOOOOOOOO!" of pure agony.
Unbelievable. Regretful, I finish with another across her
buttocks, to let her recover.
The time has come for a first injection of a cardiac tonic. She
doesn't feel the jag in her arm, I struggle to find her vein.

Tears and gasps for breath choke her voice when she finally
resumes
"I will… PLEASE let me go".
When she looks up, hey, surprise! Bernard Gui is standing
before her!
I pull down the hood of my Grand Inquisitor's robe, and see
that she is completely freaking out, as she begins to understand
the relationship between my outfit and the punishment she is
facing.
"Esmeralda, Esmeralda, admit that you and your goat have
had carnal knowledge of the Great Goat ACKNOWLEDGE that
you have had dealings with Beelzebub! Confess, ease your
conscience, and name the other witches who accompany you on
the Sabbath!"
"You ... .you are completely ...... crazy! Mummy, mummy, I'm
scared, I'm so scared ..."
I grab the two pincers which are waiting in readiness on a
nearby workbench, along with other materials.
I pinch the base of her nipples. How soft the skin is when I
gather it between my fingers before closing the jaws of the
pincers. I'm proceedings gradually - scraps of skin that redden
under light pressure. The weight of the breasts in my palms, and
the projection of the spikes, stiff with fear, make me hard. I
control her delicate spasms, she is, quite rightly, expecting to be
in much more pain in a few moments and she is striving to
preserve her strength. Her turquoise veins form an interlace

19
which underlines the fragility of these swelling udders. The
pincers have chewed on other areas, to emphasize the relief. A
king's feast, her areolas, which I am tormenting with light
pressings. My hand slips back to her crotch.
I keep masturbating her with one hand. When she comes,
squeezing her thighs, I squeeze the clamp with the same force on
her nipple. “Ooooooooaaaaaaaaaah …… AAAAAAAAAAAAAH”.
The pincer twists around and back again without loosening its
grip. "ASSEEEEEEEEZ, ASSEEEEEEEEEZ, do what you want
with me, but stoooooooooop!"
I was waiting for this invitation. I leave her panting,
exhausted, while I undo my lower garment. I wait a little longer,
she could bite me unintentionally in her condition. After a few
moments, I present my penis oozing liquorous semen under his
nose.
“You can still escape your just punishment by collecting the
holy seed. You have ten minutes, not a second more ”.
She opens her mouth, but I step back, she can only touch me
with her tongue. She realizes that I will remain master of my
enjoyment, offering and withdrawing my member at will. I
present the tip of my penis again, which she is determined to
whisk the astringent surface of her tongue across very rapidly.
"LICK MY PRECUM, BITCH!"
God, it's good she's working so fast, I step back to recover. I
advance again and sink my cock in sharply and violently. She's
choking, but comically trying to suck at the same time with all
the strength she has left. She coughs and chokes,
I look at her smiling, "Time is passing, Esmeralda, time is
passing ...".
She opens her mouth, begging to welcome me again. Good
girl, I'm giving her a second chance. At this distance, she must
stretch out her tongue a long way to touch my meatus. As she can
not control anything, she decides to let her tongue out as far as

20
possible, and now it is I who slide my rod at will on this hot and
humid carpet. I slow down my pace to let deep pleasure flow
from my balls.
"Take, and do not lose a single drop of the divine liquid."
I let the first drops squirt between her lips, then I push with
my contractions which are still hardening my penis, to the back
of her throat. She does not dare to spit, but makes strange noises.
She pulls herself together and sucks hard to drain me. For fear of
letting any spunk escape, her tongue wraps around my foreskin
as it pumps. I sink one last time
“AAAAAAH! Vade retro, Satanas! You are well and truly
possessed by the evil one, now you've sucked me so skilfully! ”
I throw myself back, slapping her brutally.
I resume a normal voice and put my finger onto my text:
"Come, let us resume our translation, young lady."
I wipe her wet face and remove the strands from her eyes. She
seems to think intensely and starts timidly:
“That bisected …… her aching, naked nipples ……… .. and
tortured her hard red teats jutting… .jutting from their centres”.
She tucks her head in as if she's dreading another slap.
I bend down to yell at her, screeching in her ears,
"EXCELLENT! You can see that I've succeeded in making you
a real translator."
She is first happy and surprised - or, rather, very quickly, the
opposite. Then she apprehends what is oging to happen next. I
look at her without saying anything, another syringe in my hand.
"What ... what are you going to do with me?"
" Me? Nothing at all my dear, but he will… hmmm... "
This time, I prick her in the thigh, and disappear behind her
back.
When I return, she comprehends the 'Tucker Telephone', even
though she has never seen one, simply because she recognises my
uniform - a para's beret, fatigues, combat boots. She tries in her

21
poor confused head to remember what was done to women in
Algeria, she cannot believe the worst.
I stroke her perfect back, the rounded birth-mound of her
rump. She passively lets me attach the electrodes to her nipples.
My fingers fumble a little, her clit may be prominent, it slips. I
swear. I've finally got it. The crocodile clip firmly grips the piece
of pink flesh. I add two more for good measure on her labia
majora. Will the hairs burn…?
I belt in my belly, and click the heels of my impeccably
polished boot underneath her nose:
"Farida, Farida… I'm very angry… there are a lot of fine young
lads getting shot by the fellagha, and you're keeping mum."
I sit down next to the generator, and slowly turn the crank,
just to give her a taste of the juice. She arches her back at once,
moaning. They knew how to do it for sure, our heroes. I quickly
manage to adjust the duration and intensity, brief bursts that
force her jaw to lock, her eyes to bulge, her hair to stiffen, her
body to twist - and then to pant for air when I stop. Yes, her
pussy smouldered, for a brief moment ...
"NNNNNNNNhhhhhh"
She's been drooling blood ever since she bit herself.
I let her rest for a moment. My fingers roam over her bristling
skin bathed in sweat. I caress her to calm her.
"Come on, be a good girl. Where's the village where Abdel is
hiding?".
She's giving me a look where madness has begun to take hold.
She's too exhausted to moan. A coherent speech to appeal to my
humanity? She's a million miles now from thinking it through -
inert, docile, broken flesh.
It's time to wake her up with a third injection.
She is in great pain, her limbs stretched and strained, electric
burns, purplish bruises on her mutilated breasts, buttocks and
back almost sliced through by the whip. Muscular contractions

22
form waves along her back.
I light my cigar and breathe a puff right into her face.
"The smoke doesn't bother you, I hope?" She coughs horribly.
“Oh sorry, I didn't mean to be rude”. I take another breath and
blow the smoke aside. I grasp her breast firmly and put the
glowing end on the bottom of it.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH
"It's better like that? Isn't it? You really are being difficult.
How can I manage to work, eh? You tell me!"
How heavy and supple her breasts are. I track them as she
strives with all her might to turn her bust away to the side. I hold
her. Another puff. The magical grain of her skin sizzles for a
moment. Another blister, wreckage of burnt flesh. Burst nipples,
oozing of gory fluids and blood, inarticulate groans from a
hoarse throat, labia majora strewn with black spots that lead
inexorably to her clitoris, ghastly smell of shrivelled skin and
burnt hair. I take two or three long puffs. I show her the glowing
tip.
"Shall we light a little fire in your cunny, eh?"
I press it for a long time on her clitoris. Her crazed scream is
cut short by fainting.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Bucket of water in the figure. A boost from the generator to
wake her up, taking advantage of the conductivity of her wetness.
Cigar that sizzles on wet skin.
I suck her breasts for a long time to get them erect. Cigar that
still sizzles on wet skin. Long puff. That's the end of her tits. I
gouge out an eye with my commando dagger. I masturbate for a
few moments, then push my member into the bloody orbit.
"And now, I'm going to get into your head what a cock means"
She is dead.
I carefully store my equipment in two canteens that I hoist
into the trunk of my SUV.

23
 I am leaving the house. I carefully close the gate of the small
hunting lodge. A few minutes are enough for me to arrive in
town. I park my car in front of a small newsagent's.
" Hello. Do you have an Advertiser?"
"Yes, certainly... this one, it's very good for real estate ads.”
Just outside the town, I stop and quickly check off an ad:
“To rent for your w/e. Country house in middle of forest with
beautiful surroundings. 15 km from train station. Quiet and
remote. Rent according to season.”

THE END

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