**An abuser torments his past victim over the phone by reminding her of her past suffering and humiliation

The Devil's Star (2003) by Jo Nesbø. A policewoman struggles to keep up appearances at work despite having been put through an ordeal of rape, sexual abuse and humiliation in the hands of a higher ranking officer. And despite still having to work with her abuser.

CHAPTER 20

Beate Lønn enjoyed her work. She like the routines, the security, the knowledge that she was competent, and she knew that the others at the Forensics Institute at Kjolberggata 21A knew that too. Since work was the only thing in her life she considered important, it was reason enough to get up in the morning. Everything else was a musical interlude. She lived in her mothers house in Oppsal and had the whole of the top floor to herself. They got on extremely well. She had always been Daddys girl when he was alive; she assumed that was why she joined the police force, like him. She had no hobbies. Even though she and Halvorsen, the officer Harry shared his office with, had become a sort of couple, she was not convinced about it. She had read in a womens magazine that this kind of doubt was natural and that you should take risks. Beate didnt like taking risks. Or being in doubt. That was why she enjoyed her work.

As she was growing up she blushed at the thought that anyone could be thinking about her and she spent most of her time devising different ways to hide. She still blushed, but she had found good places to hide. She could sit for hours inside the worn redbrick walls of Forensics studying fingerprints, ballistics reports, video recordings, comparisons of voices, the analyses of DNA or textile fibres, footprints, blood and an endless number of technical leads which might resolve important, complicated, controversial cases in total peace and quiet. She had also discovered that working was not nearly as dangerous as it seemed. So long as she spoke loudly and clearly and managed to repress her panic about blushing, losing face, her clothes, standing there exposed and full of shame, for what reason she didnt know. The office in Kjolberggata was her castle; the uniform and her professional duties her mental armour.

The clock showed 12.30 a.m. when the telephone on her office desk rang, interrupting her reading of the laboratory report on Lisbeth Barlis finger. Her heart began to quicken with fear when she saw on the display that the caller was ringing from an unknown number. It could only mean that it was him.

"Beate Lønn."

It was him. His words came out in a flurry of blows.

"Why didnt you ring me about the fingerprints?"

She held her breath for a second before she replied.

"Harry said he would pass on the message."

"Thank you. I received it. Next time, you ring me first. Is that understood?"

Beate gulped. She didnt know whether out of fear or anger.

"Fine."

"Anything else you told him that you didnt tell me?"

"No. Except that Ive got the results from the lab on what was under the finger we were sent through the post."

"Lisbeth Barli's? And it was?"

"Excrement."

"What?"

"Poo."

"Thank you very much. I know what it is. Any idea where it came from?"

"Er, yes."

"Correction. Who it came from."

"I dont know for certain, but I can guess."

"Would you be so kind."

"The excrement contains blood, perhaps from a haemorrhoid. In this particular case, blood group B. Only seven per cent of the country has this blood group. Wilhelm Barli is a registered blood donor. He has --"

"Right. And what do you conclude from this?"

"I dont know," Beate said quickly.

"But you know that the anus is an erogenous zone, Beate? In men and women. Or had you forgotten?"

Beate squeezed her eyes shut. Please dont let him start again. Not again. It was a long time ago, she had begun to forget, to get it out of her system. But his voice was there, smooth and tough, like snakeskin.

"Youre good at playing the very ordinary girl, Beate. I like that. I liked it when you pretended you didnt want to."

You know something, I know something, no-one else knows anything, she thought.

"Does Halvorsen do it to you as well as I did?"

"Im putting the phone down now," Beate said.

His laughter crackled in her ears. She knew it then. There was nowhere to hide. They could find you anywhere, just as they had found the three women where they felt safest. There was no castle. And no armour.

*** Innocent governess is helped from the clutches of one bad man just to be raped by another

Rosalie is harassed by a man in dark London streets. Lord Randall Berkeley rescues her - but only with the intention to use her himself. He takes the witless girl to his apartment and, when she comes around the following morning, demands her sexual favors as a thank you for helping her.

Where Passion Leads (1987) by Lisa Kleypas, chapter 2. Exerpt from an eBook.

"Don't," she finally said in a cry that sounded smothered under his mouth, aware that the masculine body so close to hers was powerful enough to break her in two. Inexorably he dragged her to the bed and tossed his robe to the floor. She gave a little squeak as she realized that he was naked. "I am personal maid to Lady Winthrop, companion to her daughter! I—"

"I don't care if you're femme de chambre to the Princess of Wales," he muttered, flinging her across the mattress and spreading her arms wide. Her wrists strained against the confinement of his warm hands until her fingers were numb. Rosalie could feel every detail of him through the thin material of her under­clothes. The solid heaviness of his chest and shoulders was a burdensome weight on her breasts, and she writhed in discomfort. Quaking, she shrank from the taut pull of muscle across his waist and stomach, the resilient strength of the legs that eased hers apart. Most unfamiliar of all was the bold heat that branded her as his hips pressed into the cradle of hers. Fear spread through every pore like a delicate liquid, causing her pulse to rocket, her thoughts to crash against each other.

"Don't do this to me. You could have anyone," Rosalie panted, trying to escape the heat of him between her legs. Rand responded by settling more deeply against her, hard and impatient for the softness of her body. The light feminine scent of her, the young warmth of her flesh caused a hunger inside him that he had not felt in a long time. It was unexpected, the strength of this desire for a reluctant maid. "Please . . . I've never been with a man," she whispered, pulling out her last card, and he stilled. Hazel eyes met brilliant blue in a split second of challenge. Momentarily Rand allowed himself to wonder if what she claimed was true. But it couldn't be. Someone in her position and with her looks would have lost her innocence years ago. Comely housemaids were readily accessible and very desirable targets for men of almost any means and station.

"I don't believe you," Rand replied flatly.

"It's true, damn you!"

Prompted by painful arousal and the inexplicable necessity to have her, Rand closed his mind to the possibility that she was not lying. It must be, he reasoned, that she was afraid he would not recompense her well for her favors, or perhaps she was merely playing the tease to heighten his desire for her. He was well used to that game.

"Then," he drawled insouciantly, "it seems I'm called upon to find proof of your claim." He trans­ferred both of her wrists into one hand. Her fingernails curved into fragile, translucent claws. Desperately Ro­salie fought, but even in her fury there was little she could do to stop him. He stripped her garments off easily, with an offhand attitude that was as much an indignity as a physical violation. Her naked body quiv­ered in reaction to the cool air and the unfamiliar experience of being revealed completely in the day­light. Sickly Rosalie closed her eyes as Rand inhaled slowly. He placed a warm, gentle hand on her finely structured rib cage, his reverent touch drifting upward along the velvet skin to the fullness of her breast. As he took its weight in his palm, the expert caress of his thumb brought the tender softness of her nipple to complete arousal. At the same time he bent over her other breast and took it into his mouth, the heated flick of his tongue sweeping over her again and again. Her soft skin, her quivering flesh . . . was so sweet . . .

As Rosalie struggled against him she realized he was ten times stronger. His body was hard and invulnera­ble, built for aggression, so very different from her own. The hair on his chest brushed against her skin like rough silk, the abrasion feeling unutterably strange. I don't believe it is happening, Rosalie thought, frozen with shame as she pictured the scene from above. Herself, pale-skinned in the morning light, stretched out on the rumpled luxury of the bed, the man devoting his attention to the most private parts of her body as if he owned them. His dark amber hair gleaming immaculately, his large hands cupped around her, one of his legs insinuated between her tense and parted knees. She could barely hear through the labored rushing of her breathing and the drumming of her heart.

"This is disgusting," she choked, and he dragged his mouth up to the fragile line of her jaw, careful not to disarrange the silk kerchief around her neck.

"A wounding observation. Usually my services are more highly recommended," Rand said, his mouth curving in a momentary touch of humor. She turned her face away from him, clenching every muscle in rejection of what was occurring. She merely succeeded in imprisoning his leg more securely between hers. Then her breath caught in her throat as his hand stroked over the lowest part of her abdomen. "If you would relax, I believe this would all be more . . . tolerable to you," he suggested gently, and Rosalie thought she would die of shock as his fingertips drifted in an idle pattern through her soft, light curls. The world was spinning crazily, its humming whirl resonat­ing in her head. The scents of bare masculine skin and sandalwood soap drifted seductively to her nostrils.

"Don't!" she choked, yet still the strange undreamed­of caress continued while she lay under him like a block of ice. It deepened, intensified until he was stroking the snug, shrinking tenderness of her virgin flesh, watching her stiff expression curiously. He continued until two wavering tears of humiliation wound their way down the sides of her face, yet still he did not appear satisfied with her response. "When are you going to stop?" The words fitfully issued from her lips, and Rand's mouth thinned. He discarded all efforts to make the act more pleasurable for her.

"You would prefer a fast-paced finale? I'll endeavor to oblige you," he said, and before she could take another breath he thrust into her, hard and demand­ing, rending her feminine softness without restraint. Rosalie cried out in surprise and pain, her body arching sharply into his in immediate reaction. The disembod­ied feeling returned as she realized that he had pene­trated inside of her, that he remained there and was suddenly still as he stared into her dazed face. Rand whispered something, a trace of some undefinable emotion in his tone. He remained unmoving as Rosalie endured the uncomfortable sensation of being filled, too much and too deep. He held her face between his hands, but she would not meet his eyes or accept the touch of his mouth. She had not wanted to be possessed by him, neither did she want his consolation. Patiently he let her adjust to the feel of his body, allowing the first shock to wear off before he began to ease in and out of her with exquisite care.

As remorse mingled with his desire, Rand's manner changed entirely. He was extraordinarily gentle, trying to soften the stiffness of her body with his touch, brushing the lightest of kisses across her face. Although she lay underneath him like a stone, he continued to make love to her in a way that ordinarily would have given a woman unimaginable pleasure. But she was a virgin, and not only her body but also her spirit was wounded. She felt no gratification from his touch, only degradation.

Rosalie's arms, freed now, drifted down to her sides as she felt the control and the power of his movements echo through her body. Each thrust aggravated the burning discomfort between her legs, and she felt as if she had been scorched by some inner fire. Now I know what it's like, she thought dully, her quivering thighs locked on either side of his. It was just what Amille had predicted it to be, full of pain, embarrassment, the baseness of physical desire. She had been told that women were created to serve man's needs, to give pleasure with their bodies. But how, Rosalie wondered miserably, did a man find pleasure in this? She doubted now that she would ever submit to someone voluntari­ly, not to this kind of invasion, this insult to her innocence, her dignity.

Finally, mercifully, he stopped, tensing as he pressed into the feminine sheath of her, then breathing out with a taut sigh. Exhausted, Rosalie lay beside him in misery, turning away as soon as he moved off her. She could feel rather than see the unnerving gaze that swept up and down her body. Rand glanced at the sheet, shaking his head slightly at the fresh stain of bright red. Even with such obvious proof, it was difficult to believe that she had been an innocent. He had never taken a woman's virginity until now. Baffled and disquieted, he rose on one elbow and contemplated her forlorn figure silently. At age twenty-eight Rand had known a considerable number of women, yet not one of them had provided such acute pleasure as he had just experienced. Somewhere in the midst of possessing her, his lusty enjoyment of her body had changed into awareness of her fragility. How vulnera­ble she was, how delicate the feel of her body clasping him, how crude his pleasure had been in comparison to her tender inexperience. She should not have been used so, and he felt a shame in the realization, a shame he covered up with his customary brusqueness.

"You were telling the truth," he admitted quietly, and as Rosalie quivered with hatred, she refused to look at him.

** A young woman is sexually abused by her new legal guardian

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson, chapters 11 to 14. Exerpts from an eBook. The original Swedish book Män som hatar kvinnor (literally: men who hate women) was published in 2005.

She sent evil thoughts to Herr Bjurman, but then she bit the bullet and called her guardian to explain that she needed money for an unexpected expense. Bjurman’s secretary said that he had no time to see her that day. Salander replied that it would take the man twenty seconds to write out a cheque for 10,000 kronor. She was told to be at his office at 7:30 that evening.

--

    Bjurman came round the desk to show her the statement of her bank account – which she knew down to the last öre, although it was no longer in her disposal. He stood behind her. Suddenly he was massaging the back of her neck, and he let one hand slide from her left shoulder across her breasts. He put his hand over her right breast and left it there. When she did not seem to object, he squeezed her breast. Salander did not move. She could feel his breath on her neck as she studied the letter opener on his desk; she could reach it with her free hand.

    But she did nothing. If there was one lesson Holger Palmgren had taught her over the years, it was that impulsive actions led to trouble, and trouble could have unpleasant consequences. She never did anything without first weighing the consequences.

    The initial sexual assault – which in legal terms would be defined as sexual molestation and the exploitation of an individual in a position of dependence, and could in theory get Bjurman up to two years in prison – lasted only a few seconds. But it was enough to irrevocably cross a boundary. For Salander it was a display of strength by an enemy force – an indication that aside from their carefully defined legal relationship, she was at the mercy of his discretion and defenceless. When their eyes met a few seconds later, his lips were slightly parted and she could read the lust on his face. Salander’s own face betrayed no emotions at all.

    Bjurman moved back to his side of the desk and sat on his comfortable leather chair.

    “I can’t hand out money to you whenever you like,” he said. “Why do you need such an expensive computer? There are plenty of cheaper models that you can use for playing computer games.”

    “I want to have control of my own money like before.”

    Bjurman gave her a pitying look.

    “We’ll have to see how things go. First you need to learn to be more sociable and get along with people.”

    Bjurman’s smile might have been more subdued if he could have read her thoughts behind the expressionless eyes.

    “I think you and I are going to be good friends,” he said. “We have to be able to trust each other.”

    When she did not reply he said: “You’re a grown woman now, Lisbeth.”

    She nodded.

    “Come here,” he said and held out his hand.

    Salander fixed her gaze on the letter opener for several seconds before she stood up and went over to him. Consequences. He took her hand and pressed it to his crotch. She could feel his genitals through the dark gabardine trousers.

    “If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you.”

    He put his other hand around her neck and pulled her down to her knees with her face in front of his crotch.

    “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” he said as he lowered his zip. He smelled as if he had just washed himself with soap and water.

    Salander turned her face away and tried to get up, but he held her in a tight grip. In terms of physical strength, she was no match for him; she weighed 90 pounds to his 210. He held her head with both hands and turned her face so their eyes met.

    “If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you,” he repeated. “If you make trouble, I can put you away in an institution for the rest of your life. Would you like that?”

    She said nothing.

    “Would you like that?” he said again.

    She shook her head.

    He waited until she lowered her eyes, in what he regarded as submission. Then he pulled her closer. Salander opened her lips and took him in her mouth. He kept his grip on her neck and pulled her fiercely towards him. She felt like gagging the whole ten minutes he took to bump and grind; when finally he came, he was holding her so tight she could hardly breathe.

    He showed her the bathroom in his office. Salander was shaking all over as she wiped her face and tried to rub off the spots on her sweater. She chewed some of his toothpaste to get rid of the taste. When she went back to his office, he was sitting impassively behind his desk, studying some papers.

    “Sit down, Lisbeth,” he told her without looking up. She sat down. Finally he looked at her and smiled.

    “You’re grown-up now, aren’t you, Lisbeth?”

    She nodded.

    “Then you also need to be able to play grown-up games,” he said. He used a tone of voice as if he were speaking to a child. She did not reply. A small frown appeared on his brow.

    “I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to tell anyone about our games. Think about it – who would believe you? There are documents stating that you’re non compos mentis. It would be your word against mine. Whose word do you think would carry more weight?”

    He sighed when still she did not speak. He was annoyed at the way she just sat there in silence, looking at him – but he controlled himself.

    “We’re going to be good friends, you and I,” he said. “I think you were smart to come and see me today. You can always come to me.”

    “I need 10,000 kronor for my computer,” she said, precisely, as if she were continuing the conversation they were having before the interruption.

    Bjurman raised his eyebrows. Hard-nosed bitch. She really is fucking retarded. He handed her the cheque he had written when she was in the bathroom. This is better than a whore. She gets paid with her own money. He gave her an arrogant smile. Salander took the cheque and left.

--

    The plan began to go wrong almost from the start.

    Bjurman was wearing a bathrobe when he opened the door to his apartment. He was cross at her arriving late and motioned her brusquely inside. She was wearing black jeans, a black T-shirt, and the obligatory leather jacket. She wore black boots and a small rucksack with a strap across her chest.

    “Haven’t you even learned to tell the time?” Bjurman said. Salander did not reply. She looked around. The apartment looked much as she had expected after studying the building plans in the archives of the City Zoning Office. The light-coloured furniture was birch and beech-wood.

    “Come on,” Bjurman said in a friendlier tone. He put his arm around her shoulders and led her down a hall into the apartment’s interior. No small talk. He opened the door to the bedroom. There was no doubt as to what services Salander was expected to perform.

    She took a quick look around. Bachelor furnishings. A double bed with a high bedstead of stainless steel. A low chest of drawers that also functioned as a bedside table. Bedside lamps with muted lighting. A wardrobe with a mirror along one side. A cane chair and a small desk in the corner next to the door. He took her by the hand and led her to the bed.

    “Tell me what you need money for this time. More computer accessories?”

    “Food,” she said.

    “Of course. How stupid of me. You missed our last meeting.” He placed his hand under her chin and lifted her face so their eyes met. “How are you?”

    She shrugged.

    “Have you thought about what I said last time?”

    “About what?”

    “Lisbeth, don’t act any more stupid than you are. I want us to be good friends and to help each other out.”

    She said nothing. Advokat Bjurman resisted an impulse to give her a slap – to put some life into her.

    “Did you like our grown-up game from last time?”

    “No.”

    He raised his eyebrows.

    “Lisbeth, don’t be foolish.”

    “I need money to buy food.”

    “But that’s what we talked about last time. If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you. But if you’re just going to cause trouble…” His grip on her chin tightened and she twisted away.

    “I want my money. What do you want me to do?”

    “You know what I want.” He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her towards the bed.

    “Wait,” Salander said hastily. She gave him a resigned look and then nodded curtly. She took off her rucksack and leather jacket with the rivets and looked around. She put her jacket on the chair, set her rucksack on the round table, and took several hesitant steps to the bed. Then she stopped, as if she had cold feet. Bjurman came closer.

    “Wait,” she said once more, in a tone as if to say that she was trying to talk sense into him. “I don’t want to have to suck your dick every time I need money.”

    The expression on Bjurman’s face suddenly changed. He slapped her hard. Salander opened her eyes wide, but before she could react, he grabbed her by the shoulder and threw her on to the bed. The violence caught her by surprise. When she tried to turn over, he pressed her down on the bed and straddled her.

    Like the time before, she was no match for him in terms of physical strength. Her only chance of fighting back was if she could hurt him by scratching his eyes or using some sort of weapon. But her planned scenario had already gone to hell. Shit, she thought when he ripped off her T-shirt. She realised with terrifying clarity that she was out of her depth.

    She heard him open the dresser drawer next to the bed and caught the clanking sound of metal. At first she did not understand what was happening; then she saw the handcuffs close around her wrist. He pulled up her arm, placed the handcuffs around one of the bedposts, and locked her other hand. It did not take him long to pull off her boots and jeans. Then he took off her knickers and held them in his hand.

    “You have to learn to trust me, Lisbeth,” he said. “I’m going to teach you how this grown-up game is played. If you don’t treat me well, you have to be punished. When you’re nice to me, we’ll be friends.”

    He sat astride her again.

    “So you don’t like anal sex,” he said.

    Salander opened her mouth to scream. He grabbed her hair and stuffed the knickers in her mouth. She felt him putting something around her ankles, spread her legs apart and tie them so that she was lying there completely vulnerable. She heard him moving around the room but she could not see through the T-shirt around her face. It took him several minutes. She could hardly breathe. Then she felt an excruciating pain as he forced something up her anus.

--

    Salander was allowed to put on her clothes. It was 4:00 on Saturday morning. She picked up her leather jacket and rucksack and hobbled to the front door, where he was waiting for her, showered and neatly dressed. He gave her a cheque for 2,500 kronor.

    “I’ll drive you home,” he said, and opened the door.

    She crossed the threshold, out of the apartment, and turned to face him. Her body looked fragile and her face was swollen from crying, and he almost recoiled when he met her eyes. Never in his life had he seen such naked, smouldering hatred. Salander looked just as deranged as her casebook indicated.

    “No,” she said, so quietly that he barely heard the word. “I can get home on my own.”

    He put a hand on her shoulder.

    “Are you sure?”

    She nodded. His grip on her shoulder tightened.

    “Remember what we agreed. You’ll come back here next Saturday.”

    She nodded again. Cowed. He let her go.

--

    Salander spent the week in bed with pain in her abdomen, bleeding from her rectum, and less visible wounds that would take longer to heal. What she had gone through was very different from the first rape in his office; it was no longer a matter of coercion and degradation. This was systematic brutality.

    She realised much too late that she had utterly misjudged Bjurman.

    She had assumed he was on a power trip and liked to dominate, not that he was an all-out sadist. He had kept her in handcuffs half the night. Several times she believed he meant to kill her, and at one point he had pressed a pillow over her face until she thought she was going to pass out.

    She did not cry.

    Apart from the tears of pure physical pain she shed not a single tear. When she left the apartment she made her way with difficulty to the taxi stand at Odenplan. With difficulty she climbed the stairs to her own apartment. She showered and wiped the blood from her genitals. Then she drank a pint of water with two Rohypnol and stumbled to her bed and pulled the duvet over her head.

** When two young Swedes befriend a pair of border guards, the other girl ends up getting raped

17-year old Vivi and Elna are on an overnight bicycling trip in the summer of 1941. They meet two young border guards near the Norwegian border and the summer night they spend together ends badly for Elna. Later she gives birth to her rapist's daughter.

Daisy Sisters (1982) by Henning Mankell, pages 43-45 of 651. The original book is in Swedish and it has not been translated into English. The following text is my humble attempt of a translation to English from the Finnish translation of Daisy Sisters they had in our local library.

    Suddenly Vivi and Fingers have disappeared to the darkest corner of the barn, and when Elna feels an urgent need to go out into the night to get some fresh air, pale Nils accompanies her eagerly. But why on earth he drags the other sleeping bag with him? Handsome he’s not, but he seems to be suspect to peculiar whims. And why not? They can lie outside a moment in the beautiful summer night. Dew is refreshing and dim summer stars spin like shimmering wasps in the sky. Or are they bolts of lightning in her head, behind her eyelids? She really can’t tell.

    And when Nils tries stubbornly to crawl on top of her, she lets him, assuming it’s something she has to put up with, and she knows exactly at which point she’s going to tell him to stop. But the man isn’t satisfied with hands and head, face and neck. He claws and yanks tenaciously. When he gets his hands under her dress and starts squeezing her breast, Elna has had enough and rolls over on her stomach. It seems like he’s going to leave her alone; she hears him fuss next to her, but why should she care? The grass is moist and cool against her face, actually she should sleep already, she has a hunch she’s going to see a lot of dreams. But then the man is on top of her again. Before she has time to react he has pulled her dress up on her back and yanked her panties down to her knees. She’s furious. She doesn’t want this, but arousal has given him strength and Elna has to flail and struggle a long time before she manages to turn on her back again. She sees that Nils doesn’t have his pants on. His penis juts out from beneath the hem of his shirt, and it’s not pale like his face but purple and engorged. He tears her panties off and forces himself between her legs. When Elna grabs his hair and pulls, the man gives her a hard cuff on the ear and pins her hands down. He pokes and pokes but can’t find the right spot, and Elna twists and turns all she can. She manages to squeeze his testicles, giving him a jolt, but as if the pain gives him more strength he aims true and thrusts himself inside her with an agonized grunt. Elna realizes she’s being raped. Her face still stings from the force of his slap, booze makes everything hazy – upstairs and downstairs. She fights him but can’t get free. He pants and pumps and it feels like he’s up deep in her belly. Then he twitches hard a few times, gasps and drools, and collapses heavily on top of her. When Elna now beats his back with her fists, the man doesn’t care. Elna inches away from under him. He lies stretched out on the ground, huffing. Elna spots her panties in the grass, puts them on and finds her crotch all sticky. She has only one thought, she wants to sleep. She takes the sleeping bag and staggers to the barn wall. She crawls in the bag and zips the zipper close all the way up. She just wants to sleep. What happened didn’t happen. In the morning everything will be better and they still have a long way to pedal.

    In the morning the men are gone. When Elna wakes up Vivi is sitting down making coffee on a portable stove. It’s a beautiful new day. A bumblebee buzzes by her head. Elna’s mouth is dry and she has a throbbing headache.

    - Good morning, Vivi says. – Look at the state of you!

    The state of her? She crawls from the bag and totters shakily into the barn where she has a small mirror in her bag. When she sees her face she remembers Nils hitting her. She has a scratch mark on her cheek and a bruise on her neck. Whether it’s the result of a love bite or a smack she can’t say.

** A young peasant woman is coerced to sex by a lord who holds her fiancé’s lands

Later in the book she gives birth to her rapist's son.


World Without End (2007) by Ken Follett, chapter 28.

     Ralph belched fruitily and sighed. ”What do you care whether Wulfric inherits?”

      “I love him, my lord. Now that he has been rejected by Annet, I hope he may marry me – with your gracious permission, of course.”

      “Come closer,” he said.

     She moved into the center of the room and stood in front of him. His eyes roamed all over her body.

      “You’re not a pretty girl,” he said. “But there’s something about you. Are you a virgin?”

      “Lord – I – I —“

      “Obviously not,” he laughed. “Have you lain with Wulfric yet?”

      “No!”

      “Liar.” He grinned, enjoying himself. “Well, now, what if I let Wulfric have his father’s lands after all? Perhaps I should. What then?”

      “You would be called a true nobleman by Wigleigh and all the world.”

      “The world won’t care. But will you be grateful to me?”

     Gwenda had a horrible feeling that she knew where this was leading.

      “Of course, deeply grateful.”

      “And how would you show it?”

     She backed towards the door. “Any way I could without shame.”

      “Would you take off your dress?”

     Her heart sank. “No, lord”

      “Ah. Not so grateful, then.”

     She reached the door and touched the handle, but she did not go out. “What… what are you asking me, lord?”

      “I want to see you naked. Then I’ll decide.”

      “Here?”

      “Yes”

     She looked at Alan. “In front of him?”

      “Yes.”

     It did not seem much, to show herself to these two men – not by comparison with the prize, winning Wulfric’s inheritance back.

     Swiftly, she undid her belt and pulled her dress over her head. She held the dress in her hand, keeping the other hand on the doorknob, and stared defiantly at Ralph. He looked greedily at her body, then glanced over at his companion with a grin of triumph; and Gwenda saw that this was about showing his power as much as anything else.

     Ralph said: “An ugly cow, but nice udders – eh, Alan?”

     Alan replied: “I wouldn’t climb over you to get at her.”

     Ralph laughed.

     Gwenda said: “Now will you grant my petition?”

     Ralph put his hand to his crotch and began to stroke himself. “Lie with me,” he said. “On that bed.”

      “No.”

      “Come on – you’ve already done it with Wulfric, you’re no virgin.”

      “No.”

      “Think of the lands – ninety acres, all that his father had.”

     She thought. If she agreed, Wulfric would have his heart’s desire – and the two of them could look forward to a life of plenty. If she continued to refuse, Wulfric would be a landless labourer, like Joby, struggling all his life to make enough to feed his children, and often failing.

     Still the thought revolted her. Ralph was an unpleasant man, petty and vengeful, a bully – so different from his brother. His being tall and handsome made little difference. It would be disgusting to lie with someone she disliked so much.

     The fact that she had done it with Wulfric only yesterday made the prospect of sex with Ralph even more repellent. After her night of happy intimacy with Wulfric, it would be a terrible betrayal to do the same with another man.

     Don’t be a fool, she told herself. For the sake of five minutes of unpleasantness, will you condemn yourself to a life of hardship? -- Was it not better to prostitute herself to Ralph one time, for just a few moments, than to condemn her unborn children to a life of poverty?

     Ralph remained quiet while she vacillated. He was wise: any words from him would only have strengthened her revulsion. Silence served him better.

      “Please,” Gwenda said at last. “Don’t make me do this.”

      “Ah,” he said. “That tells me you’re willing.”

      “It’s a sin,” she said desperately. She did not often talk about sin, but she thought there was a chance it might move him. “A sin for you to ask, and a sin for me to agree.”

      “Sins can be forgiven.”

      “What would your brother think of you?”

     That gave him pause. For a moment he seemed to hesitate.

      “Please,” she said. “Just let Wulfric inherit.”

     His face hardened again. “I’ve made my decision. I’m not  going to reverse it – unless you can persuade me. And just saying please won’t work.” His eyes glistened with desire, and he was breathing a little faster, his mouth open, his lips moist behind his beard.

     She dropped her dress to the floor and walked to the bed.

      “Kneel on the mattress,” Ralph said. “No, facing away from me.”

     She did as he said.

      “Better view from this side,” he said, and Alan laughed loudly. Gwenda wondered if Alan was going to stay to watch, but then Ralph said: “Leave us alone.” A moment later the door slammed.

     Ralph knelt on the bed behind Gwenda. She closed her eyes and prayed for forgiveness. She felt his thick fingers exploring her. She heard him spit, then he rubbed a wet hand on her. A moment later he entered her. She groaned with shame.

     Ralph misinterpreted the sound and said: “You like that, eh?”

     She wondered how long this would take. He began to move rhythmically. To ease the discomfort she moved with him, and he laughed triumphantly, thinking he had excited her lust. Her greatest fear was that this would sour her entire experience of lovemaking. In future, when she lay with Wulfric, would she think of this moment?

     And then, to her horror, a warm flush of pleasure began to spread through her loins. She felt her face redden in shame. Despite her profound repugnance, her body betrayed her, and moisture flooded inside her, easing the friction of his thrusts. He sensed the change and moved faster. Disgusted with herself, she ceased to match his rhythm; but he grabbed her hips, pushing and pulling alternately, and she was helpless to resist. She remembered with dismay that her body had undermined her in the same way with Alwyn in the forest. Then as now, she had wanted her body to be a wooden statue, numb and impassive; both times, it had responded against her will.

     She had killed Alwyn with his own knife.

     She could not do the same to Ralph, even if she had wanted to, because he was behind her. She could not see him, and she had little control over her body. She was in his hands. She was glad when she sensed that he was approaching the climax. Soon it would be over. She felt an answering pressure in her own loins. She tried to make her body limp and her mind blank: it would be too humiliating if she, too, reached a climax. She felt Ralph ejaculate inside her, and she shuddered, not with pleasure but with loathing.

     He sighed with satisfaction, withdrew from her and lay flat on the bed.

     She got up and quickly pulled on her dress.

      “That was better than I expected,” Ralph said, as if he were paying her some kind of polite compliment.
     She went out and slammed the door behind her.