In Switzerland there are girls who will do anything, for the right price. But to some men, the compliance of willing whores is not enough. Some men find true pleasure in taking a woman who is unwilling. It's hard to get away with that in a country of order, but Switzerland has many deserted valleys where the darkest deeds can be hidden. In one such valley stands the Schloss Hornberg, an isolated castle where the ultra-rich men of Switzerland act out their most illegal and horrific desires upon the bodies of helpless young women abducted from across Europe.
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EXTRACT
His bride sat pensively upon the bed, her hands behind her head. She
wore a leather collar, covered with a band of pretty white lace. At
the back of the collar was a short horizontal bar, and her wrists were
chained to it, each wrist to the opposite end of the bar, so that her
forearms crossed behind her head. She wore a long white bridal gown
that reached almost to the ground, with only her white shoes
protruding from beneath it. The dress was just the sort of thing which
one would expect a demure young lady to wear on her wedding day. It
covered her breasts completely, leaving only the breastbone bare
beneath her slender neck. But it had no arms, only two shoulder
straps, both of which had little bows on them.
Stark was a man of many appetites. He loved inflicting pain, but his
deepest joy was to humiliate a girl. He knew that for this girl, the
greatest horror must be penetration by a man. To inflict that on her
would be a joy truly worth savouring. And he did not want her to be
distracted by mere physical pain from truly enjoying the sensation of
feeling his male love penetrating her. So he resolved that he would
not beat her until he had known her deep inside.
Dressed only in his quilted dressing gown and slippers, Walter Stark
stepped through the connecting door into the bridal suite. His bride
immediately jumped up and backed away.
'No need to be frightened,' he said soothingly, as though to a small
child, 'Daddy's not going to hurt you.'
'Who are you?' she asked, 'Don't touch me!'
'I'm your Daddy, Natasha. And I have to touch you. It's my right and
my duty to know your body, now that we're married.'
'If you are my father then we cannot be married!' she spat.
'On the contrary, the Pharaohs used to marry their own daughters.
And there's nothing like reviving an old tradition, is there?' he
said, advancing on her.
'Don't touch me!' she repeated, wide-eyed with fear, backed against
the wall.
'Now don't be difficult, Natasha,' he coaxed. 'Be a good girl.' She
shuddered in repulsion as he put his hands on her waist. 'Who's a good
girl? Who's Daddy's little girl?'
'No!' she cried, and tried to kick him in the groin. But the dress
was tight around her legs, making movement difficult. Ignoring her
struggles he took a firm grip on her arms and pulled her toward the
bed. 'No!' she screamed again, 'Get off me! I can't bear it!'
