Ethan Chapman – The Unconquerable Heart

Ethan Chapman’s Agony – From our book,

‘The Unconquerable Heart’

4 b copy

A Tormented Son’s state of Mind:

It was the summer of 1973; July 4 to be precise. The entire country was submerged in Independence festivities, bursting crackers and lighting up the evening sky. Young Ethan, then a fifteen-year-old, came running into the horse ranch, his home, in search of his mother, to show her the offer letter that he got from a prestigious university. The ranch was quite big and he excitedly shouted out for his mother, searching through the stables, thinking that she might be somewhere in there feeding the studs, their nightly dinner. But he couldn’t find her in any of the stable compartments. He had already checked their meagre dwelling, and she was not there either. Now the only other place, she could be at this time, was the barn where the hay was stacked. Expecting to find his mother there, he ran towards the barn, tightly clutching the offer letter as it fluttered to the wind.

The barn was a huge rectangular wooden structure with a gabled roof, a single big wooden door, on one of its smaller sides and four large grilled windows, on the lengthier backside. Ethan came running to the barn and pushed the door in, but it was locked from the inside, and all of a sudden he heard muffled cries and those cries resembled to be that his mother’s. Young Ethan was alarmed, and he feared for the safety of his mother. In his anxiety, the offer letter, from the University, involuntarily got slipped off his hands, and he banged on the door relentlessly with both his hands and shouted for his mother, but there was no response at the door. All he could hear were more squeals, coupled with the abusive jeering of multiple male voices.

The loud jeering only raised his anxiousness, and he ran towards the grilled windows on the backside to take a look into the barn, but alas the windows were almost eight feet high, making it difficult for him to reach out, so he emptied some of the wooden crates that were stacked with hay, dragged them down to the backside of the barn, upturned them, stacked them one above the other, and climbed them to reach out to one of the windows.

To his horror, he found his mother completely naked and facing the other side of the wall. She seemed to be gagged with some small ball in her mouth, her limbs were parted tightly and tied up against a Saint Andrews cross. A naked Tretan Bliecher, the haughty son of the same man who sired him, stood on an up sided wooden crate behind his mother, pulled her hair tightly and humped her mercilessly, even as she wailed in pain and bled from her crotch. There were five more of his fiendish friends in the barn along with him, and they all were also completely naked, and they sat on upturned wooden crates all around his mother and smoked pot, passing filthy comments, hooting, and goading Tretan over and again to tear the ‘filthy animal’ apart.

Young Ethan was devastated. How could Tretan do this to his mother? After all, even he knew that she was his late father’s mistress. She was more like a mother to him and cared for him as a child and Ethan too knew all that pretty well. Tretan was just a year younger to him and even called his mother ‘Mama’. How could he become so hideous all of a sudden? Pained by thoughts, he shouted, ‘Tretan! Bastard, what the fuck are you doing, man?’

Tretan’s friends looked up at him, ‘The hinny’s back, dude.’ one of them commented. Makayla Chapman helplessly squealed and nodded her head in shame having been spotted by her son in such an embarrassing situation.

‘Let him watch. He needs some fun, too.’ Tretan commented slyly, continuing to hump Ethan’s mother.

‘Tretan, you mother fuckin bastard, leave her now, or I’m gonna rip your balls off.’ Ethan growled tugging on the iron bars of the window.

‘Ungrateful bastard.’ Tretan muttered and turned to his friends, ‘Dick heads, go pin him down.’ he ordered them, even as he continued with his romp. Makayla was pained to hear that her young master was about to hurt her son. She squealed and resisted wildly tugging at her restrained limbs. But alas, the straps were too tightly secured. ‘Shut the fuck up, bitch.’ Tretan snarled at her holding her tightly by her ears and continuing to hump her with no regard for her feelings.

Eager cronies they were, Tretan’s fiends stormed out of the barn, as soon as they received the orders. Ethan was ready for them outside the barn door, he tried to push his way inside through them to save his mother, but five of them were too much for him to handle. They punched him and kicked him hard, until he could take no more, and he fell to the ground rolling himself into a cocoon, trying to protect himself helplessly and crying his heart out for his mother. The naked fiends then took turns to piss on him and young Ethan could do nothing, but just coil up and cover his head with his arms in shame. A while later, which seemed like ages for the heavily bleeding tormented son, the evil scion of the family, his mother served all her life, came out of the barn and stood before him.

‘Pretty big rumps, mama’s got. I’ve been pining for em for a long time.’ Tretan said standing over Ethan, wearing his pants. Pained with the hideous comment, Ethan tried to stand up to fight back, but Tretan’s friends promptly beat him down and put him back in his place.

‘Why? Why did you do all this?’ A subdued Ethan asked painfully covering his head with his arms, in a bid to protect himself from the fiends’ harsh kicks.

‘What do you mean why? Bro?’ Tretan said sarcastically. ‘She’s my slave, ain’t she? I can do as I please.’

Ethan, beaten and torn apart, growled, ‘That’s your mama, too.’

‘Shut the fuck up you bloody hinny.’ An enraged Tretan kicked Ethan in the gut with all his might, ‘I call her mama, it fuckin ain’t mean that big black ass is my mama.’ He roared meanly.

Tretan’s insensitive comment caused his fiendish friends to erupt into wild peals of laughter, and they all finally kicked him once again and left the place.

Ethan rolled in pain on the very offer letter he was so ecstatic about, it got crumpled beneath him. The evening skies slowly darkened but turned more and more translucent and colourful with each passing moment. Independence festivities had already quadrupled. Fireworks pillaged the sanity of the skies, as did despicable thoughts of anguish that run amok inside the consciousness of a teenaged Ethan Chapman, as he rolled in the mud, soiled with the ‘urine of hatred’ that reminded him he was not to be treated an equal even by a brother, who was born of the same sire as him. It was ironical that Ethan Chapman was revealed of this bitter truth by ‘GOD,’ on a day that actually and symbolically stood for ‘Equality and Liberation’ of the human spirit in modern history.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


Sylvia Amdur – The Unconquerable Heart

The Perseverance of Compulsive Love:

Sylvia’s sacrifice – Part -3 – From our book,

‘The Unconquerable Heart’

‘Well, that was expected anyway.’ Tretan sighed loosened himself from Sylvia’s vagina and he walked towards his sofa on the dais, ‘Yahweh, seems to be working here a little bit, but Fuhrer is not gonna relent.’ he declared, swinging his right index finger at her. Though Sylvia could not see his theatrics, she understood the tone in his voice.

Tretan sat back on the sofa, picked up the glass plate again and snuffed the remaining six big lines of cocaine in one go. Six big lines of cocaine in one go was a little too much for a regular like Tretan. His heartbeat raced up drastically and his brain resonated with a thousand drumbeats. He silently collapsed back on the sofa as his body tried to adjust to the abrupt shock. The sudden lull in the room caused Sylvia to wonder what was happening, but then Tretan suddenly choked and vomited on the floor. The sound of the choking vomit, made Sylvia ascertain to herself that Tretan was overdosing.

‘So, where were we?’ Tretan asked wiping his mouth with the hand towel that was already on the table. Sylvia stayed silent. ‘Speak up, bitch!’ Tretan shouted.

‘You said, your Grandpa was an officer at Auschwitz, Fuhrer.’ Sylvia replied.

‘Aah, good gal.’ Tretan poured himself another peg of absinthe and took a sip.

‘So, one fine day,’ Tretan, gulped down a sip and continued the story, ‘this particular middle-aged Jewish lady in the camp offered to make my Granddad filthy rich, in return for a safe exit for herself and her son from the camp.’

Sylvia listened carefully. She already knew Tretan was a sworn hater of the Jewish faith, but then she wanted to know how deep it ran in him.

‘This lady, she was the wife of the wealthiest Jew in all of Poland that time. She was like royalty. My Grandpa, he retrieved all of her jewels from hidden locations. Booty was really big. Fetched him a mighty bomb, when he sold em in the US later on.’

Tretan continued, pausing in between to sip on Absinthe and occasionally stare at Sylvia’s naked rump. He desired a hard on desperately, but it was not coming for him naturally. That day, somehow he was very anxious and doctors had strictly advised him against using Sildenafil when he did cocaine. But then he was not someone who really needed an erection to satisfy himself. He always had other means. His psychotic brain always conjured up wicked and innovative means to deliver him the perfect bliss that equalled a hundred oxytocin shots in one go.

‘Mother fucker, he was not satisfied.’ Tretan broke into wild peals of laughter. He went on laughing wildly for well over a minute and then the laugh slowly spilled over into a chronic cough that resulted in him falling back in the sofa and gasping for breath. He filled himself up with another glass of absinthe. Water was a strict no-no for him and his attendees never placed it near his table unless they were asked to.

Hearing Tretan cough up and fall back into another bout of silence, Sylvia felt pity for Tretan. She concluded that he was too consumed with hatred, that he had lost control over his body altogether. She also concluded, that his mind fed off his body like a parasite and it would eventually lead him to a total breakdown very soon.

Having had enough, Tretan left the half-emptied glass and walked over to Sylvia, ‘This cunt, she had a pious tag attached to her.’ he continued the story even as he walked over to her. ‘His diary said, even at the camp, she prayed almost every day. My Grandpa, he was intrigued and fascinated with her outlook and demeanour.’

Tretan stood over her and looked at her for a wee second and then bent down to look into her eyes. ‘Like I’m with you now.’ he said making a firm eye contact with her. Sylvia looked at him with bland eyes. She tried to understand where he was getting at with the story, but his psychotic mind was beyond her comprehension.

‘You have a soul.’ he said in a diabolic tone maintaining the eye contact. ‘Just like that woman from the camp.’ he mentioned, then suddenly straightened himself up and walked away from her towards the closet. Sylvia still couldn’t understand what he really meant by wanting her soul and how he planned to tarnish it.

‘My Grandpa was hell-bent on unravelling her mysticism.’ He continued even as he walked. ‘So, he proposed. He wrote, and the pious lady readily agreed. Probably in a bid to save her son.’

Tretan picked up a hollow strap on from the closet, ‘Interesting as it may sound, she requested that he never remove her Tichel. Just, no matter what.’ he continued with the story even as he slid his penis into it and then fastened it around his waist.

With the mention of the lady, from his grandfather’s diary, requesting not to remove her Tichel, Sylvia now precisely understood why Tretan had extracted an answer from her beforehand about her devotion to Munna and why he’d commanded her to tie a Tichel.

Tretan had a fetish for pious women and the presence of Tichel, along with the acknowledgement of her devotion to Munna, established that she was, in fact, a pious Jewish woman fiercely sworn to just one true love for eternity.  She now understood what he really meant by saying that she had a soul. It was her soul that he wanted to sully and not her body. But this was something that she’d thought of even before she signed the agreement. Her soul was not with her for Tretan to dip his malicious fangs into. It was already with Munna and there was no way Tretan could even touch it.

‘See, you bitches would do anything to survive, yet you wanna score with the world and your YAHWEH’ he said aloud as he walked back towards her with the dildo dangling by his crotch.

He stood over her and Sylvia got a glimpse of the ten-inch dildo that was about to pillage through her body mercilessly. She was scared, but she assured herself that physical pain was nothing in front of what she was about to achieve. She visualized Munna’s innocent smile and it gave her tremendous tranquillity.

‘My Granpa agreed.’ Tretan said looking amorously at Sylvia’s Tichel. After a brief glance, he stepped backwards and positioned himself between her thighs, ‘In his book he wrote, the Tichel’s presence gave him a monstrous high.’ He positioned the dildo right against Sylvia’s vagina, ‘Whenever he jabbed the pious Jew sow’s holes,’ with those words, he thrust the dildo into her vagina with a big push, and the large, stiff rubber dildo, tore open into Sylvia’s vagina. Blood spilled over and she let out a heart-wrenching shriek. But, for Tretan, the sound of Sylvia’s helpless cries sounded like soothing music and they overwhelmed him with a sense of extreme tranquillity and he mindlessly continued to molest and tear apart her vagina mercilessly.

Meanwhile, outside the suite room, an eerie calm prevailed. The room was properly sound proof and there was no chance of anyone hearing Sylvia’s helpless shrieks. The anti-depressant pills that Miranda took were finally showing up on her. She felt sleepy, her senses dulled, but she forced herself to stay awake. Sylvia’s phone vibrated incessantly. It was Hazeem, but Miranda was in no mood to take the call, she switched it off finally and sat back in the sofa, tapping her feet and biting her nails. There was nothing, she could do except wait until dawn when the time mentioned in the agreement lapsed.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Meanwhile, in the suite, Tretan had had his fill on the spanking bench and gotten Sylvia gagged up and strapped to the upright stocks. Sylvia’s entire body had turned red. The constant slaps and beatings she had at Tretan’s hands had taken their toll and ruffling and pulling at her hair had caused it to turn unruly and shabby. Her face had completely lost its charm and her eyes had gone sore. She just hung in there, bearing excruciating physical and mental pain.

But Tretan was never known to be compassionate. He was in no mood to relent any sooner; he’d just gotten her on the upright stocks and was keen as mustard to get the most out of her from that position. He just humped her, humped her and humped her even more. It didn’t matter which hole the monstrous dildo slipped in, he just humped her. Sylvia was just a meat bag now that needed to be punished. He had gotten his point across. It didn’t matter whether she’d agreed with it or not. He didn’t need anybody’s acceptance. He just wanted their subjugation.

Sylvia, on the other hand, tried hard to focus on the power of her love to give her the courage and the will to tide over those heinous barbaric episodic sessions.


_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


Sylvia Amdur – The Unconquerable Heart:

The Perseverance of Compulsive Love:

Sylvia’s sacrifice – Part -2 – From our book,

‘The Unconquerable Heart’

Meanwhile, back in the Presidential suite room, Tretan had released Sylvia from the cross. He now sat back again on his elevated sofa and looked amorously at his slave who stood before him, helplessly.

‘I admire your foolishness…’ Tretan remarked, observing that Sylvia kept her arms crossed over her naked chest and stood expressionless before him, without bothering to look him in the eye. She wasn’t sobbing anymore or even experiencing the slightest hint of fears. She had turned into a bland emotionless lady, devoid of any sensitivity.

Tretan stirred up another peg of Absinthe, took a swig and placed the glass on the side table and gestured her to come closer to him.

Sylvia obeyed. Tretan made her turn around and unfastened the Velcro straps loosening the skirt to the floor. Now Sylvia was completely naked. Tretan forcedly turned her around and leaned back on his sofa, ‘Now try covering both.’ he said laughing even more wickedly.

Sylvia’s tears had long dried up. She was ashamed but her pain was beyond physical. She only visualized Munna’s innocent smile all the time and it gave her a tremendous amount of solace.

‘Now wiggle ya fleshy cheeks. Strap your filthy body with a fishnet dress and come back to daddy.’ Tretan ordered.

Sylvia promptly obeyed and walked towards the closet. Tretan looked amorously at her fleshy rear as it wobbled up and down with the upward vibration generated by the clanging of her heeled shoes against the wooden floor. She could easily find the fishnet dress in the closet as she’d observed it on her previous visit. It was a short, one piece, knitted see-through dress, woven intricately by elastic threads. When Sylvia put it on, it easily fit her shape. Despite the dress being see-through, her naked body was on complete display. It looked as if she only wore body paint.

She understood Tretan was now ready to unleash upon her the actual act of humiliation. She resolved not to let pangs of shyness or fear, hinder her spirit to persevere through the hellish night. She strode back to the dais confidently and stood before him holding her hands to the front.

‘Hmm, lovely titties.’ Tretan commented pointing his index finger at her, holding the absinthe filled glass. ‘So, that’s what you decided is more precious.’ Tretan said slyly observing her hands held to the crotch. Sylvia stayed silent. Her psychological state had already crossed the boundaries of shyness now.

‘Well, for the big question.’ Tretan leaned forward in the sofa and peered straight into Sylvia’s eyes. ‘I know your answer for sure, but I still want to hear it from you.’ he said.

‘Please ask, Fuhrer.’ Sylvia said looking into Tretan’s eyes.

‘Do you really consider that mute retard your soul mate?’ Tretan asked seriously stirring the half-filled glass.

‘I do, Fuhrer.’ Sylvia replied without exhibiting the slightest hint of offense at Tretan, for having referred to the love of her life as a ‘retard.’ She knew, by reason, being extremely calculative and obedient were the only two things that would see her through that night.

‘How dear is he to you?’ Tretan egged on relaxing back in his sofa.

‘I would carve my heart out for him, Fuhrer.’ Sylvia said. Her eyes turned moist answering something she’d posed to herself a good many times.

‘Good, I like the intensity. Now, wiggle ya ass back there and tie yourself a Tichel[1]. I think you very well know how to do it, don’t you bitch?’

‘I do, Fuhrer.’ Sylvia answered and walked up to the closet, picked up a red coloured scarf and tied it around her hair in the traditional Jewish fashion. She then came back and stood before Tretan.

‘Lovely chubby pig.’ Tretan said. ‘Now, go and straddle that one.’ Tretan pointed at a spanking bench at the far end of the room opposite to his seated position.

Sylvia turned around to find the instrument of her earthly damnation but she didn’t feel the slightest of inhibitions or fears, Tretan had taken off those already. Now she was just a big piece of lifeless meat with no emotions. But Tretan wanted to achieve something more than just pound at that lifeless meat and it was yet to be seen if Sylvia could pass that hell. She meekly straddled the spanking bench. The fishnet dress drew up to her buttocks, as she knelt on the spanking bench and it offered a clear view of her vagina and rectum to Tretan.

Tretan folded up his full hands shirt, picked up a small glass plate and poured himself ten big lines of cocaine powder from tiny glass vials that were already kept on the table. He then picked a long thin tube that was kept in a horizontal holder at the end of the glass plate and snuffled up four of those lines. The cocaine rushed through his nostrils into his bloodstream and instantly gave him a monstrous high. He placed the plate aside on the table and jerked his head sideways letting the cocaine ease his senses. He then removed his shoes, stood up, removed his pants and underwear and walked up to Sylvia.

‘I’m gonna tell you a real story; a story I’ve been intrigued about a long time now.’ Tretan said as he fastened the Velcro strap of the spanking bench on her neck first. The neck strap completely immobilized her head, fixing her right cheek to the headrest. Having tightened the neck strap satisfactorily, Tretan then bent down to face Sylvia, ‘It’s about a pious Jewish woman’s instinct for survival.’ he said sarcastically mimicking a double quote in the air with his fingers.

Sylvia stayed silent and Tretan continued to strap one of her hands, ‘And you will answer me back, bitch.’ he shouted on her face impatiently.

‘I’m listening, Fuhrer.’ Sylvia replied in a modest tone. She wildly speculated that his story was going to be Nazi rhetoric, questioning her integrity of devotion to God, family, spouse or even herself.

‘Very well then.’ He said continuing to clamp down her other arm. ‘My Grandpa was a senior officer in the SS Gestapo and was in charge of a concentration camp at Auschwitz.’ Tretan then strapped up her feet, stood between her parted legs, pulled up the fishnet dress a little upwards towards her waist and inserted his erected penis in her vagina. He gave her one strong pelvic thrust and then it was all over for him. He collapsed on her back grunting and leaking inside her. Sylvia stayed put like a rock; she didn’t expect it to finish so soon, but then Tretan had all the time till seven the next morning and she was sure, he’s not someone who would leave her so quickly.

[1] NOTE: Tichel is a head scarf worn by orthodox married Jewish women in compliance with the codes of modesty as required of them in the Torah – the Holy book of Judaism. Orthodox Judaism states that a woman’s hair is a sensual and private part of her appearance, and hence may only show it to her husband in privacy. This is considered a sign of the bond between husband and wife. And hence married Jewish women are required to cover their hair in public

Continue reading “Sylvia Amdur – The Unconquerable Heart:”

Sylvia Amdur – The Unconquerable Heart:

Sylvia’s sacrifice – Part -1 – From our book,

‘The Unconquerable Heart’

6 a copy
Content is graphic – Not for the faint hearted..

The Perseverance of Compulsive Love:

Tretan had removed his overcoat and tie and he sat idly on a Sofa that was on an elevated dais. He sipped a peg of absinthe –his favourite drink and stared at Sylvia who stood coyly before him, below the dais, holding her hands to her front. She was anxious and her heart palpitated. She wore a sleeveless round neck white top with large black-chequered stripes, black coloured pants and three-inch heeled shoes. It’s been ten minutes since he’d ordered her to stand in front of him and Sylvia’s idle mind conjured up various possibilities of what he could do with her. Tretan was in absolute ‘POWER’

‘Lose those pants.’ Tretan ordered pointing at her holding the glass in hand.

Sylvia coyly removed her pants and stood holding her hands to her front, avoiding eye contact all the while. She no longer harboured the unbeknownst guts that had superseded her psyche when she signed the agreement. It was now all Sylvia Amdur, her normal coy self.

‘Panties, too.’ Tretan hissed maintaining a firm eye contact.

Sylvia hesitatingly proceeded with obliging the orders. She had been prepping herself up for the dark day since a fortnight. ‘After all, it’s not my soul, just my body.’ she concluded the whole time.

‘There must be a hobble skirt. Go get it.’ Tretan ordered.

Sylvia meekly proceeded to the closet and looked for a skirt. While there was no whole skirt, there was just one backless leather skirt, which was just big enough to cover, only the fringes of her backside and it had Velcro straps running all across its backside from top to bottom. Sylvia picked the skirt, proceeded towards Tretan and stood before him calmly.

‘Why don’t you speak up, Sylvia Amdur?’ Tretan asked in a low gruff tone.

‘Mr. Bliecher, I prefer to stay silent.’ Sylvia said.

‘Filthy bitch! Did you forget your code?’ Tretan thundered. ‘You signed to address me as Fuhrer this night, and you will…’

‘Sorry, Fuhrer. I will do so.’ Sylvia said meekly

‘That’s like a good gal. Come hither.’

Sylvia walked up to the dais. Tretan took the skirt from her hand and ordered her to turn around. Sylvia obliged and Tretan proceeded with covering her lower half with the flimsy leather hobble skirt. He held the skirt in place around her waist and fastened the horizontal Velcro straps on the backside one by one. Sylvia’s ass cheeks were clearly visible through the straps.

‘Now go, get me a bull whip.’ Tretan ordered again.

Sylvia understood that she was going to be flogged soon, the thought of a leather lash bruising her delicate body made her shudder in fear. But then she’d signed up for a maximum of six whip lashes and she had to endure the pain no matter what. The hobble skirt really hampered her leg movement and she limped her way to the closet to fetch the bullwhip. Tretan voyeuristically looked at her half naked rear as she limped across the room. The sight of her fleshy rear wobbling out of the tight Velcro straps gave him a high. Sylvia picked a bullwhip from the closet and brought it to Tretan.

‘You know, bitch,’ Tretan said receiving the bullwhip. ‘You’re the cheapest to submit to me.’

Sylvia stayed silent. It didn’t matter what he called her. She’d resolved to stay firm and calm, no matter how much ever he eventually would antagonize her psychologically and physically.

‘Go, stand near the cross, facing the wall.’ Tretan ordered.

Sylvia meekly obeyed, walked to the other end of the room and stood near the St. Andrews’s cross facing the wall. Tretan finished the last sip of his fourth peg of Absinthe and approached Sylvia near the cross. He then fastened her legs and hands to the straps of the cross.

‘You know why I called you cheap, bitch?’ he asked.

Sylvia stayed silent.

‘You will answer me, bitch, or else the agreement doesn’t stand good. You signed it.’ Tretan threatened.

‘Sorry, Fuhrer. Please let me know why you called me cheap.’ Sylvia tried to be obedient as possible as she didn’t want Tretan to go back on his word.

‘You are cheap, coz I paid you only a penny as per our agreement.’ Tretan laughed wickedly. ‘The bout is gonna fetch me millions of dollars, and you ain’t getting nothing, except a little satisfaction, maybe. Your man crawled right up there, but he’s gonna fail for sure.’ he laughed again.

‘He’s not gonna fail,’ Sylvia murmured to herself. ‘-and the satisfaction is more than enough for me, anyways. It’s immeasurable, and it’s me who’s buying here, not you, you sleazy piece of shit.’ She had the perfect answer at the back of her mind, but she wouldn’t dare to utter it as she meant business too. No disparaging comment, however slanderous it may be, was gonna make her answer back tonight whatsoever and it was her firm resolve.

Her silence spiked Tretan’s anger and he unleashed a strong lash upon her frail body.

‘Aaarrrggghhhh!’ Sylvia cried in pain. The whip circled her waist and buttocks tearing apart the lower half of her top and bruising her belly and buttocks. Her delicate skin got ripped wide open and red blood gushed out of the bruised line making it a pitiful sight to watch.

‘How do you feel that, huh?’ Tretan cracked the whip creating a miniature sonic boom. Sylvia’s body involuntarily shuddered at the sound of the cracking whip, but her mind stayed stiff.

‘That’s for making me a demon in front of the whole wide world.’ Tretan then quickly unleashed two more lashes on Sylvia. Both the lashes landed on her upper torso circling and bruising her breasts and back. Her top and bra completely tore apart and fell to the floor exposing her upper half completely.

‘These are for making me lose to that bastard, Ethan Chapman.’ Tretan shouted wickedly even as Sylvia writhed and cried in pain.

Tretan then flung the whip to the floor, neared Sylvia, caught her head by her hair, pulled it back firmly and looked straight into her eyes, ‘Now am gonna be generous with you and forgo the other three lashes, cause you’ve come cheap.’

Meanwhile, outside in the lobby, Miranda sat anxiously on the sofa, she was herself going through a visible living hell. Despite the air conditioner, she sweated profusely – her hands shivered, she’d even gulped down a couple of anti-depressants but they just successful in numbing her senses a little, she was still very much conscious of Sylvia’s ongoing suffering. She repeatedly went through the images of the BDSM equipment, from the room that she clicked on her mobile, and visualized horrific instances of pain Tretan could inflict on Sylvia with the help of those tools. Suddenly her mobile rang, it was Hazeem and she was in no mood to talk to him, anxious and uneasy, she switched off her mobile and completely shut herself off from the outside world.

Continue reading “Sylvia Amdur – The Unconquerable Heart:”

Authors’ Note – The Unconquerable Heart

What is our book all about? Check out the Authors’ Note, to have an in-depth idea of ‘The Unconquerable Heart’s’ true spirit…

‘Possibility’ and ‘Power’:

The easiest way God Chose to analyze the ‘Human spirit,’ of its predisposition towards saintly/ sinisterly activities, was to just plant the ‘Tree of knowledge’ or simply ‘present a POSSIBILITY,’ as we both brothers would prefer to call it, in the ‘Garden of Eden’ or ‘Earth’ as we all refer to it now, and supervise the ‘human spirit,’ on how it would choose to use the ‘Forbidden Fruit’ or simply ‘POWER,’ as we both brothers have analyzed it to be, that arises out of such a ‘POSSIBILITY.’

It is, indeed more or less, the same schema that God employs even today, to analyze and test the ‘inherent angelic and ghoulish tendencies of billions of human spirits’ that continue to dwell, on this materialistic planet. But he continues to be deceptive and increasingly innovative in his approach, and is presenting ‘POWER’ to humans, in innumerable ‘POSSIBILITIES’ that are far beyond a mortal’s comprehension to discover it to be the ‘Forbidden Fruit’.

As per our limited comprehension, ‘POWER’ is a highly relative term and it encompasses a wide gamut of aspects and is presented to humans through infinite ‘POSSIBILITIES.’ Some of those ‘POSSIBILITIES,’ as per our comprehension are…

  1. POWER of possessing better physical strength or just being able bodied,
  2. POWER of being the stronger of the sexes (either by virtue of physique or intellect),
  3. POWER of possessing greater intellect (gained either by virtue of age, experience, exposure to tech/literacy/worldly knowledge etc.),
  4. POWER of owning money or assets,
  5. POWER of occupying an authoritative office position,
  6. POWER of holding a better status in the society,
  7. POWER of owning better infrastructure/facilities/technological know-how/greater military expertise,
  8. POWER of owning better resources,
  9. POWER of being able to help,
  10. POWER of being part of a majority group (that has a synchronous thought process or is possessing similar ideals and goals, and which in turn is part of a society or corporation or a political party or the governing council of a state or country responsible for the rights of the minorities).

Or even for that matter, say, simply the POWER of being born normal compared to someone who’s not… matters too. The list of ‘POSSIBILITIES’ is almost endless and only GOD has the complete scroll.

Time and again, God sees to it that, in some circumstance (read as ‘POSSIBILITY’) or the other, every human being is blessed with greater ‘POWER’ when compared to a fellow human being. He presents this upper hand to every human being at some point or the other in their earthly lives, simply to judge a particular human spirit’s generosity or discretion at using such ‘POWER’ bestowed upon it.

‘Abuse’ and ‘Bullying’:

So, how are you using your ‘POWER?’ We brothers can safely predict that, in all of the Homo sapiens’ existence on this planet, it is and will be mighty hard to spot at least a single human spirit, from among those infinite beings who have dwelled/ is dwelling or is even about to dwell on this mortal planet, who has rightly used/is using or will use his/her ‘POWER.’ Just like Adam and Eve have eaten the ‘Forbidden Fruit,’ humans continue to ‘EAT their POWER’ or simply put, they ‘ABUSE’ it. History is replete with instances of ‘ABUSE of POWER’ by mankind.

ABUSE is again a highly relative term. Majority levels of ABUSE are unnoticeable and pass off as normal functioning of the society. Such levels of unnoticeable ABUSE committed by a ‘human spirit’ will and can only stand for trial in God’s court of law in its ‘life after life.’ But there are some levels of ABUSE that are highly intolerable and are easily noticeable by fellow human beings. We would classify such levels of ‘ABUSE’ as ‘BULLYING.’

Ranging from…

… Acts like name calling, booing and intimidation of women, and individuals of the lesser privileged groups such as people of the LGBT communities, on everyday streets and multiple other walks of life… Combined with a daily dose of sporadic instances of rape of women, child abuse, domestic violence, abuse at work place etc. that affect a particular subset of people…

…To acts like, hazing of freshmen and initiates, at fraternities & sororities of various disciplines that widens the subset…

…To the innumerable debasing acts committed by the insurmountable demons of hatred, prejudice and bigotry that had been/are being unleashed upon the human race through multiple instances of invasions promulgated and adhered to, in the mindless pursuit of colonialist/expansionist policies, by monarchial and democratic rulers alike, over the known, better part of documented human existence – Such as, Racial Supremacism, Racial segregation, Slavery, Apartheid, Mass genocides, Terrorism, Communal violence, Ethnic strife, Civil wars, and Subjective cleansing of ethnic minorities by dictators and democratic governments alike, through ineffectual policing at times of politically instigated civil violence, and Subjugation of minority groups based on gender, sexual orientation, race, region and religion, and Grotesque treatment of prisoners of war and politics, and Rape/sodomy and objectification of women and young boys as trophies of war, etc…

…that have exploded the subset of prejudiced people into a superset, to include just about anyone and everybody…

…are all acts of ‘BULLYING.’

Simply put, ‘BULLYING’ is ‘ABUSE of POWER’ in the most ‘HEINOUS’ of ways. ‘BULLYING’ is so evil that God himself has decided that such acts of ‘HEINOUS ABUSE of POWER’ shall be dealt with an equal and opposite force during its reign on earth itself.

Sir Isaac Newton has famously formulated that, “For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.” This well-established physics law can be attributed to even every day walks of life. Whenever or wherever an act of ‘BULLYING’ occurs, a counter active force keeps simmering within the person or entity that is bullied. This counter active force explodes at the most unexpected of times, from within the most unassuming of persons or entities that were bullied and it destroys or humbles the person or entity that has indulged in such acts of ‘BULLYING.’

In all of the documented history of mankind, no act of subjugation had been completely successful. Such barbaric acts of ‘BULLYING’ may have run rampant over a course of period and may have been partially successful, in silencing a person/group/entity/country for a particular period of time, but over the course of time, Individuals and groups of the subjugated classes have risen above such situations and reinvented themselves back with even much fuller vigor, and have proven to be ‘PHOENIXES OF PERSEVERANCE,’ time and again.

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SYNOPSIS of the Story:


Our story is about Five such unassuming ‘BULLIED’ individuals who have been denied a meaningful life by the society at large and have been at the butt end of ridicules and abuse throughout their lives simply because the ‘majority people around them who were awarded with ‘POSSIBLITIES’ by GOD, ‘ABUSED their POWER’ to the hilt and denied them their rightful place in the society.

These Five individuals persevere in their conviction to survive and collectively battle against all odds to present a ‘Super Winner,’ from among them to the society, placing the very society that has rebuked them in a hall of eternal shame. Their ‘SPIRIT OF PERSEVERANCE,’ in pursuit of their conviction to achieve their rightful ends is what qualifies each of them to be a true…  ‘UNCONQUERABLE HEART’ on an individual basis.

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