At page 110, the villain of Ian Fleming's first James Bond novel, Casino Royale, a Russian called le Chiffre, begins torturing Bond's genitals. It's fantastic. I laughed all the way through. The last minute save is nicely done, if for no other reason than it continues the trend of painting Bond as someone without any real control or power over the situations he finds himself in. There's a real palpable sense there and then that Bond is fallible and fragile. The remaining sixty pages never really match that moment, though Bond's concern about if he'll be ever able to fuck again, and it being part of his reason for pursuing the girl, is somewhat amusing.
The next book is Live and Let Die. Wonder if I'll go it?