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Posted: 23-Mar-2014 - 3 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
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A Toss of the Dice

 

          A million dollars.  A man Theresia had been chatting with on her favorite online fetish site had just offered her a chance to win one million dollars.  There would be a game of chance involved, he had told her.  What did she have to do to win the money, she asked?  And what would she owe him if she lost?  She would have to toss a single dice ten times, and if her score added up to 40 points or more, she would win the million dollars.  If she scored less than 40 points, she asked?  What would she owe him?

          Her life.  If she lost, he would get to hang her the next day in front of a few of his friends.  Theresia found a pair of dice, threw one aside and began to drop the other one onto the table beside her laptop.  Six.  This should be easy, she thought.  Four.  Two.  Six again.  Sweet.  This will be the easiest million I’ll ever earn.  One.  Oh shit, that’s not good.  Five.  That’s more like it.  Six again.  Oh yes!  I can do this, she thought.  Another one.  Oh fuck.  Five.  That’s more like it.  How many points is that?  She paused to add up the figures she had written down.  Thirty-six, and one throw left.  Come on four, five or six.  She tossed the dice and watched the five show up.

          Yes, she thought.  I just won a million dollars.  But she hadn’t yet.  That wasn’t the game that would count.  The man told her to think it over and let him know.  If she decided to try it, they would schedule a time to meet and play the game.  Hopefully, she would win and walk away with a million dollars in cash.  If she lost, though, she would hang to her death the following day.  Theresia was no stranger to hanging.  She had done it once, having a man hoist her up and hold her aloft until she passed out.  It had seemed like she’s been in the air a long time, but it had only been about 10 or 15 seconds, her hangman informed her.  It had been long enough to give her a powerful orgasm, though, and to leave her so aroused and needing more sex that she gladly fucked her hangman when she woke up and discovered she was still alive. 

          She had enjoyed the experience so much, she had already scheduled another hanging with him and had been working on strengthening her neck muscles and reading everything she could find online that she thought might help her to remain conscious longer and prolong the hanging experience and hopefully give her an even more amazing orgasm.  But the man who had challenged her to risk her life playing the game had made it clear that if he got the opportunity to hang her, there would be no recovery.  No one would let her down in time to spare her life.  The rope, instead of being in someone’s hands, would be tied off, and everyone who gathered to watch her would simply sit or stand there and watch her die.  She would be left hanging while the man and his guests enjoyed drinks and appetizers before adjourning to dinner. 

          Theresia’s mind was racing.  Should she do it?  Did she stand a decent enough chance of winning to justify putting her life at risk?  And what if she lost?  She had to admit that she had found her first hanging extraordinary and mind-blowing, and she was eagerly looking forward to the next one, provided that the next one was the one she had already scheduled with the man who had hanged her the first time and who was expected to let her down in time to spare her life.  But what if the next one was the real thing, to the end?  Would it seem much different than her first hanging?   Certainly, the lead-up to it would be much more fraught with emotion and fear, knowing that she was about to lose her life, but would the actual hanging seem any different than the first one?  Somehow, she thought, except for the knowledge that she would not wake up from this one, the actual physical experience of hanging to death must be pretty much the same as what she had experienced hanging to unconsciousness. 

          She had been plenty scared and nervous then, even though she knew she was supposed to survive, but what if something went wrong?  The fear and stress were enough to have her kicking and squirming and fighting for her life even before her toes left the floor.  She wasn’t sure what it was about hanging that had caught her fancy, but she definitely liked it, and the orgasm had been amazing.  But to hang to death, though.  That was something else entirely.  Theresia had been talking to another man online about her fetishes, especially her hanging experience, and she decided to ask him what she should do about the game.  Should she take the risk and try to win the million dollars, or should she let the opportunity slip away?

          She found the man online and told him about the offer she had received.  She explained the simple rules of the game and what she could win and what she might lose, and she asked him if he thought she should agree to play the game.  This man wrote back a few moments later and told her that the highest possible score she could get rolling a single dice ten times was sixty.  Ten times six.  The lowest possible score was ten times one, or ten.  Add them together and divide by two, and you get an average of thirty-five.  In other words, he explained to her, if she played the game a sufficiently large number of times, say a million, her scores for all the games should average out to thirty-five.  The odds, he said, were not in her favor, but he said he thought that because she only needed to score five more points than average, she stood a decent chance of getting lucky and making it.  Should she play the game, she asked him? 

          He said he thought she should take the chance.  A million dollars, he said, was not worth what it had once been worth, but still it was a significant and potentially life-changing sum of money.  But hanging to death if she lost would be a life changing event to, he reminded her, but since she had already hanged once and enjoyed it, he thought it was sort of a win/win situation for her.  If she won the money, great, but if she didn’t, she got to hang, which had already proven to be a mind-blowing orgasmic experience for her.  The only difference was that this time, she wouldn’t wake up.  Other than that one little detail, it should be just as pleasurable as her first hanging had been.  Maybe more, he suggested, since knowing she was about to die would probably make for a much more intense and powerful orgasm than the one she had with her first hanging. 

          Theresia told her friend she was going to do it.  She would play the game and accept the results, win or lose.  She wrote back to the man who had proposed the game and told him she would play.  The next day, she heard back from him and they arranged for it to happen on the 18th of April.  Good Friday.  If she lost, she would hang the next day at 8 pm.  It would take place in Berlin.  She had not expected to have to wait so long to play the game and either claim her reward if she won or pay the price if she lost, but the man said it couldn’t happen before then.  There were things he needed to arrange to make sure everything went smoothly. 

          She wondered what he had to arrange.  How to safely dispose of her body if she lost and was hanged.  A place for it to happen, she imagined.  The game itself would require only a room with a table and chair and a dice.  He had mentioned that a few select “friends” would be in attendance, both for the game and, if necessary, for the hanging, so maybe a larger room for the game, and the hanging would require a place where a rope could be strung and tied off.  She was by no means overweight, but if she was to hang to her death, she thought, it would take longer than anyone could hold her aloft by pulling on the rope.  She had read somewhere that people executed by hanging were typically allowed to hang for an hour after they had been pronounced dead.  This was done to insure that there was no chance the executed person could be revived.  Also, in the days of public executions, it was done to let the crowd have a while longer to ponder the fate of someone convicted of a capital crime. 

          Public executions had at one time been a great source of entertainment for the masses, Theresia knew, and now, if she hanged, her death would serve as a form of amusement for the man who had proposed this game and his friends.  But having to wait until the 18th of the following month meant that she had to wait for twenty-nine days for her chance to win the million dollars or lose her life.  Which would it be?  She would have only one chance to throw the dice ten time.  If she failed to score 40 or better, that was it.  Her dreams of wealth and her life would be over.  She practiced the game over and over, trying to see if there was some way to throw the dice that would insure that it turned up a larger number, but there was not.  He had told her she would have to hold the dice in her palm loosely and toss it just as if she were shooting craps or playing some board game that required the toss of a dice.  She wouldn’t be permitted to hold it in her fingers to try to make it land with a more favorable number.  It was strictly a game of chance, and she had to take her chances and accept the results, good or bad. 

          The days crawled by.  Theresia tried to keep the thought that she might have to hang to death out of her mind by trying to concentrate on imagining what she would do with the money.  She went out looking at real estate, trying to get an idea what sort of house she could afford if she won the money.  She looked at new cars, and not inexpensive cars, either.  She looked at Mercedes and BMW’s and Jaguars.  She strolled past a travel agency and studied all the posters in the windows, imagining herself sunning on some tropical beach, some strapping black Caribbean waiter eying her bikini clad body as he served her drink.  Was there anything else he could do for her?  Anything at all? Of course there was.  She imagined her waiter must have an enormous cock that would feel oh so good when he came to her bungalow that night. 

          Even dreaming of dark and potent Caribbean lovers and masturbating herself to orgasm after orgasm didn’t help Theresia get much sleep.  She found herself lying awake in her bed night after night, her thoughts always turning to the game she had contracted to play.  Occasionally she dreamed that she had won, but mostly, when she did manage to fall asleep in the early hours of the morning, she dreamed that she had lost and was standing there on the chair waiting, always waiting.  She had scheduled a second hanging with the man who had given her the first experience, and she was so nervous and so emotionally upset as she felt him hoisting her off the ground, she began to kick and struggle and try to scream for him to stop.  This second hanging had become for her the one she knew she would have to endure if she lost the game.  She passed out without ever reaching her climax thinking that she was dying. 

          Theresia was almost disappointed when she woke up and discovered she was still alive.  It could have been over with, she thought.  I could still be lying here, dead.   Why didn’t he keep me up just a while longer?  She let the man fuck her, but her heart wasn’t in it, and she only let it happen because she realized that in fucking him so enthusiastically after the first hanging, she had led him to expect more of the same in future episodes.  She came, finally, but not nearly as powerfully as she had at first, and the orgasm did little to soothe her nerves.  Her hangman tried to schedule a third visit, but knowing her date with the game and possibly her final hanging was approaching, Theresia put him off, telling him she had some other things she needed to take care of and she would call him when she needed him again. 

          The days continued to crawl by, but suddenly, it was April 17th, the day that Theresia had booked her flight to Berlin.  Her alarm clock sounded and she sat up in her bed, wakened from a dream in which a man was about to pull the chair out from under her, and suddenly, she remembered what day it was.  Her stomach turned over and she barely made it to the bathroom in time to kneel and allow the contents of her stomach to empty into the toilet bowl.  She shunned her usual shower and instead sat in a steaming hot tub trying to soothe her nerves.  She did her hair and makeup and put on the clothes she had laid out to wear for her flight.  She packed the few articles of clothing she had decided to wear for the game and, if necessary, for her hanging. 

          What am I thinking, if necessary, she mused as she packed.  Oh Christ!  I’m going to lose tomorrow, and Saturday, I’m going to die.  Why the fuck did I ever think I stood a chance of winning that money?  Greed.  Blind, stupid greed, and now if I lose, I’m going to hang to death.  No, Theresia, you’ve got to stop thinking like this.  Positive thinking.  Keep thinking you can win.  You have to win.  You don’t even want to think about the alternative.  But she couldn’t help thinking about the alternative.  Given the odds, there was a better than even chance that she would lose the game and find herself standing on a chair the next night with a noose around her neck and her hands tied behind her back, waiting. 

          Theresia threw up again in a toilet at the airport.  Somehow, she managed to get herself on her flight, and too soon, she found herself disembarking in Berlin.  She had been told that a man would meet her at the airport and take her to the place where the game and, potentially, her hanging would take place.  She had brought only one small bag with her and stowed it in the overhead compartments, so there was no need to claim any luggage.  As she emerged from the gangway into the terminal, she saw a man wearing black chauffeur’s clothes standing there holding a small sign with her name on it.  Did he know why she was here and that there might not be any need to transport her back to the airport when her business here was completed, she wondered.  Probably, she thought, but he gave no indication in his demeanor that he knew he might be chauffeuring a young woman to her death. 

          “Where are you taking me?” she asked when she realized that the grey Mercedes was headed, not into Berlin, but out into the countryside. 

          “I am to take you to my employer’s country estate just outside the city,” the chauffeur said.  “It is not far.  That is where you will play the game.”

          So he does know why I’m here, Theresia thought.  She tried to take her mind off of what she was doing and what the results of her actions might be by watching the passing countryside, but she could not take her mind off of the fact that the next day she would have to throw a dice ten times and score forty points or more, or if she did not, the following evening, at 7:30, she would be stood on a chair.  Her hands would be tied behind her back, and a noose would be slipped over her head and snugged up against her neck, and then she would have to stand there for one half hour waiting for the clock to strike 8:00 pm, when the man would yank the chair out from under her and she would begin to hang.  How long would it take her to die, she wondered?  When she had been hanged previously, it had seemed to last forever, but in fact, her hangman had informed her, she had lost consciousness after only ten or fifteen seconds, and he had let her down, and seconds after he had loosened the noose from around her neck, she had revived. 

          This time, if she lost the game and hanged, she would not be let down the instant that she lapsed into unconsciousness.  This time she would be allowed to hang there until they were certain that she was dead, and even longer, since it was traditional to allow a person who had been executed by hanging to remain hanging for one hour past the moment he or she was pronounced dead.  Theresia wondered if there would be a doctor present to look for signs of life and pronounce her dead when there were none.  Suddenly, she realized that the car had left the pavement and turned onto a brick paved lane.  She looked out the window and saw that they were pulling up in front of an impressive looking Tudor style house.  She had arrived at the place where she would either win one million dollars or lose her life because she had not won the game. 

          The chauffeur got out of the car and opened her door and held it while Theresia stepped out into the sunshine.  It was an uncommonly warm and sunny day for mid-April in northern Germany.  Anna knew she was now several hundred kilometers south of her home in Sweden, but she had not expected such a pronounced change in weather from what she had left behind in her home town.  She had dressed for much cooler weather, and now she was sweating.  The chauffeur fetched her bag from the trunk of the Mercedes and led her into the house.  A man who looked like he might be in his late 40’s or early 50’s was waiting for her in the library the chauffeur took her to.  He excused himself, saying he would leave her bag in her room and left. 

“You must be Theresia99,” her host spoke to her, using the name she had chosen for herself on the fetish site on which she had met him.  “You know me as Dark Destiny.  Yes, I am the man who has proposed this little wager with you.”

          Little wager, Theresia thought.  My life against a million dollars is hardly a little wager, especially not for me.  Maybe he has so much money that a million dollars is nothing, but it’s a huge sum for me, and the chance that I could lose my life is hardly a trivial matter to me, either. 

          “I’m Theresia Larsson,” she introduced herself, then added, “Pleased to meet you.”  It sounded incongruous even as she spoke the words.  She was not at all pleased to meet him.  There was a very good chance this man might be putting a noose around her neck and hanging her to death before the weekend was over.  She would be pleased and thrilled to be saying goodbye to him if she won the game and got the opportunity to leave his home carrying his ten million dollars, but she could not convince herself that she was pleased to be meeting him.

          “I trust you will understand that I do not wish to reveal my true identity to you just yet,” he said.  “If you should lose our little wager, I assure you, I will be more than happy to allow you to know the identity of the man who is about to hang you, but for the moment, you may refer to me as Sir.  Come, let me show you around my home.  I’m sure you must be very curious about where you will play the game and where you will hang if you lose, so let us begin our explorations with those two rooms.”

          He led her into a posh looking room that had been furnished as a small casino.  There were several gaming tables, a roulette wheel, and along one wall, a bank of slot machines.  He led her across the room to a large table with high sidewalls surrounding a bed of plush green felt.  He asked if she was familiar with the game of craps.  Theresia said that she was not, except that she knew the players through dice, but she did not understand the rules or how a person won or lost.

          “This is the table at which you will play the game,” he said.  “Fortunately, the rules of our little game are much simpler than the rules of craps, as I explained them to you.  I can almost guarantee that you have been playing the game ever since, haven’t you?  May I ask, how has your luck been running?”

          “Not as well as I would hope,” Theresia admitted.  She did not want to let him know that the last ten times she had played the game had resulted in ten straight losses.  Her confidence that she stood a fair chance of winning the man’s million dollars was considerably less than it had been when he’d first proposed it, but she had committed herself to playing the game, and to accepting her fate if she should lose, and she was not about to back away from that commitment. 

          “Yes, I expected as much, but you certainly must remember that I warned you that the odds were somewhat in my favor,” he said.  “Now, let me explain the rules in slightly more detail.  You will stand here at this end of the table, and you will throw a single dice at the opposite end of the table.  You must hit the wall at the other end, and the dice must bounce off the wall for it to be considered an official toss.  Do you understand this?  This will insure that you cannot in some way manipulate the dice in your hand to try to make it turn up a higher number.  After each throw, your result will be recorded and a running tally will be kept so that you will know how many points you need to score with your remaining throws to win the game.  If after any throw it is determined that you cannot possibly score enough points with your remaining throws to reach 40, the game will be declared over, and you will have lost?  Is that clear?”

          “No.  What do you mean?”

          “Suppose after your eighth throw, you have scored only 27 points.  You would need 13 points to win, but with only two throws remaining, the most you could possibly score would be 12 points, so there would be no point in continuing the game any further.  I assure you that you will have every opportunity to score the necessary points to win, but once it is clear that you cannot possibly win, the game will be over.  Now, I assume that you would probably like to be sure that I have the money to pay you your prize if you win.  Frankly, I am surprised that you have not insisted on proof the money exists before you agreed to play the game.  Well, it does exist,” he said, and as he spoke, he went to a cabinet against a near wall and opened it, revealing a safe door behind the rich wooden doors.  A few quick twists of the dial, and he pulled a handle on the safe door and pulled it open.  He withdrew an attaché case and laid it on the nearest gaming table.  When he opened the lid of the case, Theresia’s heart leaped into her throat as she gazed on the neatly stacked and wrapped packets of green American one hundred dollar bills.  Her host took one of the packets of bills from the case and handed it to her, revealing that there was yet another layer of packets of bills beneath the top layer.  There were four layers in all, he showed her.  Two hundred packets containing fifty one hundred dollar bills, or five thousand dollars in each packet.  Theresia fanned through the bills in the packet he had handed her.  They were all currency.  He hadn’t stacked a single bill atop a pile of blank paper.  She replaced that packet and picked up another.  It was the same, all currency.  She selected a packet from one of the lower layers, and it too was all currency.

          “It’s all real,” she said.

          “Yes, and you have my word that it is not counterfeit, nor is it stolen money with serial numbers that will set off red flags if you try to spend it somewhere.”  He took the packet she was holding and replaced it in the case and locked the case back in his safe.  “Well,” he said, “now that you have seen what you could win, allow me to show you where you will die if you lose.  Shall we?” he asked, gesturing her toward another door. 

          The next room he led her into was a home theatre room.  A dozen plush black leather reclining chairs faced a wall upon which a giant flat screen television was mounted.  There were speakers mounted discretely around the room, and a rack to one side held an impressive array of audio equipment, but the single thing that caught her attention immediately was a noosed rope hanging from a hook in the ceiling.  It was good,  thick, sturdy hemp rope fashioned into a classic hanging noose.  Beneath it, a wooden chair sat waiting for her to step up onto it.  Beside the chair was a table, and on it sat a small electronic device.  A small circular object with a short tail and wrapped in cellophane lay on the table beside the electronic instrument. 

          “What is that?” Theresia asked, not sure she wanted to know. 

          Her host picked up the cellophane wrapped circular device and placed it against her chest over her heart, and she understood what it was before he explained.

          “This is a wireless transmitting heart monitor, and the other device is the receiver, which also has wireless capabilities.  In addition to keeping a visual record of your heartbeat on that dial, it will emit a slight beep with each beat, but it will also broadcast the actual sound of your heartbeat to this theatre’s sound system so  that you and I and my friends will be able to hear your heart beating as you hang… up to the moment that it stops, at which time the monitor will switch from emitting a series of beeps to a steady tone to signify that you have died.”

          “You seem sure that you’re going to get to hang me,” Theresia said, unable to take her eyes off the noose, her confidence that she could somehow avoid it and walk off with the man’s money rapidly waning. 

          “As I have been very careful to explain to you on so many occasions in our negotiations, I am more than confident of my chances.  I have explained to you that the odds are in my favor, and you assured me that you understood this but that you were confident that you have a reasonable chance of winning, and you do.  Just this morning, I played the game myself and threw 42 points, so it does happen, but more often than not, it does not happen.”

          “More often than not?” Theresia asked.  “Are you telling me you have lured other girls into playing this game?  Has anyone ever won?”

          “You are the first who has accepted my offer,” he said.  “If you win, I don’t know if I’ll do this again or not.  Obviously, even a man of my wealth cannot afford to throw away a million dollars on a game of chance on a regular basis.  If you lose, I think I will probably be inclined to put the money at risk again if I can find another girl willing to put her life at risk.” 

          “There is something else I’ve been wondering,” Theresia said.  “If I lose, how do you intend to dispose of my body to make sure you don’t get charged with my murder?”  

          “Come, let me show you,” he said.  “How do you feel about cremation?” he asked as he led her down a flight of stairs into the cellar of the house. 

          “I don’t know,” Theresia said.  I guess it’s okay, just as long as you make sure I’m dead before you burn me.  Is that how you’re going to do it?”

          “Assuming you lose and I hang you to death, yes,” he said, then gestured across the room to where a heavy steel door stood open.  There was a thick glass window in the door.  He closed the door and pushed a button on a panel next to it, and suddenly, Theresia saw flames erupt behind the door and saw a temperature gauge on the control panel rapidly rising.  Her host pushed another button and the flames vanished and the reading on the temperature gauge began to descend, but it was falling much slower than it had risen. 

          So that was it, she thought.  Once she was dead, and she was gradually becoming more and more convinced that there was a far greater chance that she would end up dead than there was a chance that she would leave this place a rich woman.  She knew cremation left little evidence.  An aunt of hers had died and been cremated, and the woman’s rather substantial body had been reduced to a plastic bag fool of ashes that fit inside a wooden box not quite as large as a shoe box.  A chill went through Theresia as she suddenly flashed on an image of her own dead body being slid into the crematorium and saw through the window the flames bursting to life, enveloping and consuming her. 

          The rest of the tour of his home was not nearly so interesting, or chilling.  Theresia had seen where she would play the game.  She had seen where she would hang to death if she lost, and she had seen where her body would cease to exist if she died.  The tour ended in the room where the bag she had brought with her lay on a bed.  It was a luxurious room with rich furnishings and a bathroom of its own that put to shame the master bathrooms in many homes of people of lesser means.  There were bars on the bedroom windows, and her host assured her that the bathroom window, although it was not barred, was unbreakable glass, and she could see that it was not designed to open.

          “Am I your prisoner now?” she asked him, noticing that there was a deadbolt lock on the door to her room that required a key to operate, and the lock was only accessible from outside the room.

          “Let’s just say that we intend to insure that you will be here and play the game tomorrow,” he said.  “If you win, you will have your money and you will be allowed to leave, but until then, I prefer to make sure you remain as my guest.  My friends who are coming to witness our little game and any subsequent entertainment that might be available to them would be very disappointed if you went missing on us.”

          Subsequent entertainment.  She knew what he meant.  He meant that if she lost, and the odds were looking more and more stacked against her, her host and his friends would get to watch her hang to her death in his home theater room.  Theresia couldn’t help wondering if her hanging and death would be as arousing and exciting to her witnesses as it was bound to be to her. 

          “This whole experience must be very exciting, and dare I say, arousing to you?” her host said, laying a hand on her back.  “I have to confess that I find it very arousing.  Do you find it arousing, Miss Larsson?” he asked, his hand beginning to stroke her back. 

          “Yes, I guess so,” Theresia admitted. 

          “Forgive me if I am being too presumptuous,” he continued, “But I can’t help wondering if perhaps you might be interested in exploring and perhaps alleviating a certain amount of that arousal.  Here we are alone with a bed that would make a marvelous place to allow us to relieve each other’s, shall we say, nervous energy?”

          “You want to fuck me, don’t you?” she replied.

          “Ah the blunt honesty of this younger generation,” he chuckled.  “I(n my youth, a girl would never have been so blunt about such an intimate subject, but I must admit, it would have made life much simpler back then if the girls of my youth had been as frank about these things as you are.  But since you are being frank, allow me to be just as blunt.  Yes, Theresia, I want to fuck you.  Are you going to allow me?”

          “Do I have a choice?”

          “Of course you have a choice.  There is still a chance that you could be leaving here with my money, so I will not do anything to force you.  I was merely hoping that circumstances might allow us to…”

          “Yes,” she said.  She suddenly felt like her body would explode if she didn’t get his cock into her as soon as possible.  Theresia had never been one to turn down a good fuck, and knowing that she was probably going to be dead in less than forty-eight hours had her nerves on edge like they’d never been before.  She turned and grabbed her host and kissed him and began to strip his clothes off him, and he began to rip her clothes off of her.  She opened his trousers, and as she pulled them down, she dropped to her knees and grasped his shorts and pulled them down below his knees, and then she grabbed his cock and took it into her mouth.  It was not the longest one she’d ever had, but it was the thickest by a considerable margin, and it was all she could do to get her mouth around it.  A few moments later, she had him erect.  He pulled her off his cock and raised her to her feet and finished stripping her, then picked her up and threw her onto the bed, and as soon as he had freed himself from his slacks and shorts and shoes, he was over her with his cock in hand, attempting to slide it into her.

          “Ah, my, yes!” he said as she felt the head of his cock begin to burrow into her vagina.  “We are aroused, aren’t we?”  She knew what he meant.  She was already so wet that his fat cock was sliding into her with much less difficulty than she had thought he might encounter because of its girth.  Theresia had never had a really fat cock before.  She’d had plenty of cocks, but none nearly as thick as this, so she had expected him to have trouble getting himself into her.  He was having to take it somewhat slowly, but her plentiful self-lubrication was making his progress much easier than she had anticipated.  Not that it didn’t feel like his thick cock was stretching her narrow little pussy uncomfortably, because it was.  It felt like he was trying to stuff a telephone pole into her, but it was going in in spite of the narrow corridor it was making its way into. 

          He was rubbing her clittie briskly as he worked his cock into her.  Suddenly, she came.  It was at least as powerful as the orgasm she’d had in her first hanging, and it hurt like crazy when her already stressed vagina began to try to constrict itself around that fat piece of meat he had stuffed into her.  Theresia was a pain slut.  She got off on pain, so this was by far the most amazing orgasm she’d ever had, and the pain she was experiencing because of it only made her cum harder and scream more loudly with the increased level of pain.  Fortunately, her host was not a man given to tenderness.  Her screams only made him more eager to fuck her, and he did.  He had finally gotten the full length of his cock into her, and now, after a few quick strokes to make sure he’d gotten her lubricating fluids all along and around the shaft of his cock, he began to fuck her in earnest. 

          It was almost as though she was losing her virginity again, even though that had happened years previously.  But Theresia was no stranger to pain.  She could get off on it.  She liked it so much that she had frequently had herself caned until her ass was so sore she would have to be very careful about how she sat down for the following week.  So she wrapped her long legs around her host and took everything he could give her.  He gave her plenty.  He gave her so much that she forgot for the time being that this was the man who was  either going to pay her ten million dollars if she won the game or, more likely, hang her to death if she lost.  She came over and over until finally, he came, and his cum spraying into her pussy set her off again.  It was a powerful climax and hardly the last one she would have.  Four other men came to her through the night.  It was a good thing she couldn’t sleep anyway, Theresia thought as the fourth man slipped his cock into her. 

          At least this one isn’t doing me in the ass, she thought.  The third man to come to her room had fucked her in the ass with a very long, thick cock.  She did not enjoy anal sex at all, but after her host and the first two of his friends had done their best to her, she was hardly in any condition to resist when the third guest rolled her onto her belly and pulled her up onto her hands and knees.  He was in her ass before she could protest, and once he got himself in there, there was no getting him out until he had filled her ass full of cum.  And now, after several more minutes had passed, the fourth guest was cumming into her pussy.  Five men in one night, she thought.  Oh Christ, my pussy and my ass hole are both so sore, I don’t even want to get up. 

          Finally, though, after the fourth guest left, she was left alone, locked into her bedroom/holding cell, and after having been fucked and sodomized to exhaustion, she fell asleep.  She was just waking up the next day when her host unlocked her door and let himself in.  It was time to get up, he told her and get cleaned up and get dressed.  The remaining guests had all arrived.  As soon as she was ready, it was time to play the game.  Theresia bolted for the bathroom and had just bent her head over the toilet bowl when her stomach let loose.  She vomited what little food she had eaten and probably a fair amount of semen into the toilet bowl.  It was time to play the game. 

          Her nerves were shot.  Even an endless stream of orgasms wrought on her by the five men who had fucked her through the night had done little to soothe them.  As she stood in the shower letting the steaming hot water beat on her, she was shaking as she kept picturing over and over what would happen to her if she lost the game.  It was now early afternoon on Saturday.  In little more than twenty-four hours she could find herself hanging to her death in his home theater room.  Theresia left the shower and went back out into the bedroom to dress.  When she had finished dressing, she sat there alone on the bed for several minutes trying to gather her wits and her courage.  She tried her best to psych herself into believing that she had a good chance of winning the game and walking away with her life and the million dollars.  She couldn’t quite manage it, though, and when she finally went out into the casino game room to meet her host and his friends and play the game, she was almost certain that with a roll of the  dice, she was about to throw her life away. 

          The host took her around the room, introducing her to all of his friends, even the four men who had introduced themselves to her in her bed through the night, and then it was time to play.  He led her over to the craps table and handed her the single dice and explained the simple rules again.  Ten throws.  Forty points, and each throw had to hit the far wall of the table to count.  Also, each throw had to remain on the table.  If a throw bounced over the walls of the table and landed on the floor, it would not count.  He would allow her one hour, if she wanted to take that long, to complete her throws.  Theresia knew she wouldn’t take anywhere near an hour to throw the dice.  She wanted to get this over with and find out if she was about to become a rich woman, or if she was about to die.  She shook the dice in her hand and cast it across the table and couldn’t believe when the dice bounced off the far wall and stopped with the six showing. 

          Oh Jesus, I might have a chance, she thought as her host used the croupier’s stick to shove the dice back to her.  He wrote down six on the chalkboard he had standing on an easel beside the table.  Her second throw was a four.  He wrote the four below the six, and off to the right, in larger characters, he wrote 10.  Theresia could almost breathe again, and her heart had started beating again.  Her next throw was a two, though, and now her hands were shaking again as she picked up the dice he pushed back to her.  He wrote down the two and changed the 10 to a 12.  She rolled another six, and immediately she started thinking of what she was going to do with her winnings.  Immediately, though, her dreams crashed to Earth with her next roll, a one.  Halfway through, she had only nineteen points, one short of half of forty points. 

          Theresia rolled a five next, though, and then another six and a four.  She had thirty-four points and two more rolls to reach forty.  She was going to win.  She just knew it, especially after her ninth roll was a four, which left her only two points shy of what she needed to win.  Her host was trying his best not to show his nervousness, but she could see the thin bead of sweat across his upper lip as he pushed the dice back to her.  Throughout the game, she had tried to ignore the sounds of his friends making side bets as to whether she would win or lose.  Now, very few seemed inclined to bet that she would roll the only number that could make her lose- a one. 

          She had five chances out of six to roll a number that would give her life back and make her a rich woman.  Theresia shook the dice in her hand.  She cast it across the table.  Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the dice seemed to bounce in slow motion across the table.  It bounced off the far wall and rolled back toward her and stopped, and she could not believe that she had rolled the only number on the dice that stripped her of her money and condemned her to die the following evening at the end of a noose.  A one.  She had rolled a one and fell one short of saving her life. Thirty-nine points.  Her life was over.  She was going to hang to her death.  Theresia felt herself going faint, but someone behind her caught her and eased her into a chair. 

          She wished it could happen immediately so she could get it over with and not have to spend the ensuing hours thinking about how close she had come to winning and about what she now must endure as a result of her loss.  She remembered her first two hangings and how much she had enjoyed them knowing that the man hanging her had no intention of allowing her to hang long enough to kill her.  Would this one, knowing that no one would let her down be that much different?  Would dying in the noose be any different than lapsing into unconsciousness with a reasonable amount of certainty that she was going to wake up?  A friend on the Internet had tried to convince her that hanging to death wouldn’t be that much different than hanging to unconsciousness, but Theresia wasn’t so sure, and now, she knew, she was going to find out for herself. 

          A meal was served after the game.  In spite of the fact that Theresia had eaten very little before the game and then vomited everything she had eaten because of a bad case of nerves, she couldn’t bring herself to eat much of anything while her host and his guests ate heartily.  Now that she had been doomed to hang to her death, she was locked back in her room to insure that she could not try to escape the fate she had won for herself.  Her host came to the room with her and let her know he wanted sex again. 

          “I suppose you’ll want to know my name now that you are doomed to die in my noose,” he said as he undressed her.  “I’m sure you remember that I promised to tell you if you lost the game and wouldn’t be leaving here.  “Do you want to k now it now?”

          “Not really,” Theresia said.  She was not sure why she had said it, but it was true.  She didn’t really want to know.  She probably wouldn’t recognize the name anyway, and it wouldn’t make any difference.  She was still going to die.  So he did not tell her.  He made her get on her knees and suck him to erection, and then he fucked her with that thick cock of his again.  She was so distracted by her mind trying to come to grasp with the fact that she was about to die that she barely noticed his fucking.  She came but hardly took notice of the orgasms either.  He left her, and over the hours remaining to her, his friends came to her room and used her body for their pleasure, but she had little pleasure in what they were doing to her.  And then it was time.  Her host came to her room and told her to clean up and get dressed. 

Theresia was numb as she stood in the shower washing away the fluids and sweat of the men who had come to her room to fuck her.  He watched her shower, and before he let her dress, he gave her an enema, filling her bowel with the solution until she could hold it no longer.  After she voided her bowel, he repeated the enema, and this time, the deposit she left in the toilet bowl was practically clear.  She dressed in the same clothes she had worn to play the game, a pleated skirt that rode about halfway down her thigh, and a white shirt.  Her heart was racing as he took her out through the game room and into the theater room where she would hang.  The eyes of all his guests were on her as her host tied her wrists together behind her back.  The clock mounted on the back wall of the theater, right where she would have to stare at it the entire half hour she had to stand on the chair waiting for him to pull it out from under her ticked to seven-thirty, and suddenly, he told her to step up onto the chair. 

Theresia couldn’t do it.  She managed to get her right foot up onto the chair, determined to get this over with as little histrionics as possible, but then her resolve failed her and she collapsed onto the floor, crying, pleading with him not to hang her.  There would be no mercy, though.  Two of his friends picked her up and hoisted her up onto the chair and held her in position while her host slipped the noose over her head and snugged it down close to her neck.  As distraught as she was, she still recognized that he had placed the knot of the noose in front of her left ear.  She remembered what her friend on the Internet had told her, that placing the knot in that position would prolong her hanging by causing the rope to pull away from her neck slightly at that point and allow blood to continue to flow to her brain.  It was the curtailment of blood flow to the brain that caused a hanging person to lose consciousness quickly, her friend had told her, not the strangulation choking off the windpipe. The strangulation would kill you eventually, but it was the obstructed blood flow that made it happen quicker. 

Now Theresia knew that not only was she about to hang, but when it happened it was going to take her longer than she hoped to die.  She could not stand.  Her legs refused to support her, so the host’s two friends had to stand on either side of her and support her for several minutes until she had found her strength and could stand on her own.  She was still crying and begging for her life, trying to persuade anyone who made eye contact with her to help her.  Each successive tick of the clock on the back wall sounded like a bomb going off in her brain.  She was trying to free her wrists, but could not, and her host had pulled the noose snug enough that she could not slip her head out of it.  All she could do was stand there and wait, whimpering, pleading for her life and listen to the conversations of the men who had gathered to watch her die.  Some of them were placing wagers on how long it would take her to die. 

At five minutes until eight o’clock, her host picked up the cellophane wrapped wireless transmitter for the heart monitor and tore open its package.  He unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse, then pulled away the paper that had covered the adhesive.  He reached the little circular device inside her shirt and stuck it to her chest, and immediately, the racing sounds of her heartbeat filled the room, and Theresia’s ears.  She heard, too, the rapid beeping of the heart monitor.  This was it, she thought.  Just a few minutes now.  Oh fuck!  Why was I so stupid to think I had a chance of winning that game?  MY family.  My friends.  I’ll never see any of them again, and they’ll never know what happened to me.  Oh God, what an idiot I’ve been. 

“Please!” she begged.  “Don’t do this!  I don’t want to die!”

The clock ticked to seven fifty-eight.  As his ten friends moved closer and turned their eyes and attention on her, a hush fell over the room, broken only by the amplified racing beating of her heart over the home theater’s sound system and the matching beeps of the heart monitor.  Her host stepped up behind her and grasped the back of the chair. 

“No, please!” Theresia cried.

The clock ticked to seven fifty-nine. 

“Oh dear God, help me!” 

Theresia felt her already racing heart suddenly speed up even more. 

“Thank you for keeping your word and playing my little game, Theresia,” her host said.  “I’m sure my friends and I are going to enjoy very much the show you are about to put on for us.  “Good-bye, Theresia.”
          Eight o’clock.  She felt him trying to pull the chair out from under her. 

“Noooooo!” she cried until her feet slipped off the chair and the noose suddenly choked off her voice.  She was hanging, and she knew immediately that this was not going to be anything like her two previous hangings.  This time, when she slipped into unconsciousness, there would be no recovery, no waking up and no celebratory fuck with her hangman.  This one was for real, and it was terrifying.  And her friend had been right about the knot placement.  Almost immediately, she could feel that she as not getting light headed nearly as fast as she had in her other hangings.  She realized that she was trying to point her toes to the floor, trying to find something beneath her to support her, but there was nothing there.  The rope was choking her tighter.  It was excruciatingly painful, but this time, she found she could not enjoy the pain. 

Theresia began to kick and twist and struggle, and she could see that her witnesses were getting off on her futile efforts to save herself.  Oh God, please let it be over, she thought.  She did not want to die, but she didn’t want to suffer this agony any more than necessary.  Unfortunately, the placement of the knot in front of her ear was doing just what her friend had told her it would.  She found she could still take tiny wisps of breath, but they were not nearly enough to quench the fire coming to life in her lungs.  The sound of her own racing heart thundering in her ears by way of the sound system was driving her crazy.  Her gyrations as she struggled to save herself had caused her to begin to spin slowly.  As she slowly rotated back around so that she was facing her audience, she managed to take her eyes off their leering faces long enough to see the clock on the back wall click to 8:01. 

Theresia had been hanging for a complete minute, and still, she did not feel that she was anywhere near losing consciousness yet.  In her previous hangings, she had passed out after only a few seconds.  How could she possibly still be conscious after a full minute, she wondered?  Her lungs were burning intensely now, and there was a thunderous pressure in her head, and her face felt hot and puffy and swollen.  She couldn’t close her mouth and thought her tongue must be hanging out.  It felt too thick to fit back into her mouth.  She began to bicycle peddle her legs, not even aware that she was doing it.  Her struggles were causing her to chafe and scratch her neck, but she could not have stopped herself from struggling if she had wanted to, and she did not want to stop struggling.  She had to do anything she could to try to free herself from the noose’s now vise-like grip on her neck.  She would have given anything for a breath of cool, fresh, sweet air, but she had nothing to give. 

The clock had ticked off her second minute in the air before Theresia first heard her heartbeat becoming irregular, slowing.  She finally began to feel light- headed, delirious.  She was still trying to kick and struggle, but her legs felt like they weighed a ton.  It took all her strength to move them at all.  She wasn’t even aware that she had given up the struggle to free her arms or to try to reach the noose and pull it away from her neck.  Something was growing in her belly.  Something powerful and irresistible.  Theresia thought she felt herself smile as the beast in her belly rose to power.  Her final orgasm, she realized, and it was much more powerful than any she had ever experienced before.  Suddenly, it swept over her, and she was astounded to discover that her body still had this much strength to grant her this powerful an orgasm in these last seconds of her life. 

But the orgasm sapped her of her remaining strength, and finally, Theresia slipped into unconsciousness.  It was finally over for her.  She had remained conscious for two and a half minutes before her orgasm carried her into an unconsciousness from which she would never recover.  Her heart continued to beat irregularly for another twelve minutes before it too finally fell silent. 

           

 

 

Posted: 20-Jul-2013 - 7 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
Category:

Execution Journal

 

          My name is…  No, never mind what my name is.  It doesn’t matter.  By the time you read this, if anyone does, I will be dead.  I have spent the past four nights sitting in a kind of cell, waiting.  Actually it is a padlocked room in an old farmhouse.  I have one more night to wait, and then tomorrow morning, a short time before noon, he will unlock my cell and take me out to the barn where I will climb a long flight of stairs to a sort of loft.  There is a trap door in the floor of the loft, and from an overhead beam, a thick hemp rope is noosed and waiting for me.  My executioner took me out there when he first brought me here after I met him in…  No that is not important either.  He brought me out to the barn and made me climb the stairs and he showed me the trap door in the floor.  It works.  When he pulled the lever, it fell open with a loud crashing sound as it slammed against a support beam beneath it. 

          I can’t describe the feeling I had when I saw it open and I realized that in a few days, I would be standing on it with that hemp rope secure around my neck when he pulled the lever to open it.  It sent a chill through me that still gives me goose bumps when I think of it, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since he locked me in my cell.  Yes, tomorrow morning, July 20, 2013, I will be hanged.  Shortly before noon, he will take me from my cell out to the barn.  My hands will already be bound behind my back as I climb the stairs to the loft where his gallows waits for me.  When I reach the top of the stairs, I will have to stand there while he ties straps around my ankles and at my knees and thighs.  Then he will read my death warrant to me and ask if I have any last words before my execution is carried out.  I don’t know if I will say anything or not.  I have been trying to think of something profound to say before I am hanged, but so far, I haven’t thought of anything.  I hope I don’t beg him not to do it.  For one thing, I know it would be fruitless to ask him not to, even though I sought him out and asked him to hang me.  He told me that once I was his prisoner, there would be no turning back.  He could not and would not risk setting me free.  I understood this.  That was the way I wanted it to be. 

          But I digress.  After he reads my death warrant and after I have had a chance to speak my last words, if I can think of any, he will fit a black hood over my head, and then he will slip the noose over my head and pull it snug against my neck and then position it so that the knot and coil are just behind my left ear.  At precisely 12:00 noon, he will pull the lever and I will fall seven and a half feet before the rope snaps taut and breaks my neck.  If it does not kill me immediately, I should at least be rendered unconscious when my neck breaks, and hopefully escape the trauma my body undergoes as my heart and other organs shut down and I die of asphyxiation. 

          Yes, you read correctly.  I was the one who sought out the man who now holds me prisoner and will serve as my executioner tomorrow.  I was the one who asked him to hang me, and I was the one who insisted on a fatal long drop hanging with no chance of escaping my fate once I became his prisoner.  I wanted it to happen this way.  I still want it to happen this way even though the closer my time comes, the more terrified I am of what it will be like to climb those steps and then feel that platform fall out from under me and feel myself falling until the rope and the noose around my neck bring me to a sudden stop.  I guess I need to explain why I have arranged to have myself executed in this way. 

          I am a murderer.  I killed two young men for no other reason than I was too busy trying to read a text message on my phone to bother looking at the road I was driving on.  When I did look up, there they were just in front of me.  I can still see the terror in their eyes before I ran them over and they disappeared beneath my car.  There was a police inquiry, of course.  I was terrified that I would go to jail for my crime.  One of the boys’ family members said I should hang for what I had done, but to my astonishment, the police ruled it was just an accident and I wasn’t punished.  That did nothing to ease my guilt, though.  In fact, if anything, it made me feel even more guilty.  It took me some time, but eventually, I came to agree with the parents who had said I should hang for killing their son.  So I began searching the Internet for a way to get myself hanged. 

          I didn’t want to do it myself.  For one thing, I didn’t think I’d have the courage to step off a chair and hang myself.  For another, I didn’t want to suffer, and I knew a short drop hanging would take some time to kill me and I would suffer pain and strangulation until it had rendered me unconscious.  I wanted to die, but I needed to know it would happen as quickly and painlessly as possible.  And I wanted it to be as much like a real judicial execution as possible.  I needed to feel that I was being punished for what I’d done, not that I was killing myself to escape the guilt I felt and which I still feel.  After 12:00 noon tomorrow, I will no longer feel this guilt.  I will have paid for my crime. 

          I was surprised at first by the number of men and even a couple women who offered to kill me.  After all, it was supposed to be a fantasy website, but after I posted my page and stated that I wanted to be executed by hanging, the offers came pouring in.  Some wanted to execute me by other means.  Run a spit through me and roast me over an open fire, or shoot or stab or guillotine me or gut me or take my head with an axe.  One woman must have missed that I wanted a long drop hanging and thought I was looking for some fetish play with a short drop session that would leave me alive.  She wanted me to rent a lodge someplace so she could meet me there and hang me.  I finally settled on three men who seemed somewhat sincere about their offers to do me the way I wanted it done.  I exchanged messages with them for a while, but only one of the men claimed to have a gallows already at his disposal and ready for my use.  One of the other two said he could build one, but when I asked all three men to meet with me to discuss my hanging, the only man who was willing to show up was the one who had claimed that he already had a functioning gallows. 

          We agreed to meet at the airport in a major city.  I told him to bring photos of his gallows.  I needed to see proof that he really had one and that it would be capable of giving me the long drop hanging I wanted.  I didn’t want to commit myself into an executioner’s control only to find out too late that he intended to short drop hang me.  I flew from my home to the airport where we had agreed to meet.  I had never been so nervous and frightened in my life.  He had sent me a photo of himself, and when I finally got up the nerve to get up out of my seat and leave the plane, there he was.  He was an ordinary looking man, not at all what you might expect someone who was capable of killing you might look like.  He was wearing the clothes he had told me he would be wearing and holding a little handmade sign with my name on it, and he was smiling.  He had a nice, friendly smile. 

          I don’t even remember what the first words I said to him were, or what he might have said to me.  You can’t imagine how awkward and embarrassed and yes, still scared I felt as I stood there in the presence of a man I had agreed to meet to interview him to determine if I could trust him to carry out my execution the way I wanted it to happen.  No short drop hanging.  It had to be a long drop, and I was determined to find out if he understood that I didn’t want to have sex with him and, secondly, I needed to be sure he knew how thick a rope he would need to carry the approximately one thousand pounds of stress my falling body would put on the rope once I reached the end of my fall and the rope snapped taut.  Yes, I had done my homework.  Ever since I had decided to do this, I had been reading everything I could find about execution hanging.  I knew that with my weight, I would have to fall approximately seven and a half feet to generate the one thousand pounds of force it would take to insure that my neck will break cleanly and render me instantly dead.  I wanted to die to pay for my crime.  I didn’t want to suffer any more than was absolutely necessary. 

          We got a couple cups of coffee and found a table off to ourselves.  He showed me the photos of his gallows that I had insisted on seeing.  They showed clearly that it was in fact a gallows with a thick hemp rope dangling over a trap door.  The apparatus was located in the loft of a barn many feet higher from the main floor of the barn than I would need to fall to insure instant death.  A traditional long drop gallows has thirteen stairs leading to a platform about ten feet off the ground.  I would have to climb quite a few more than thirteen steps to get to the platform from which I will fall.  He had already told me over the Internet that he had previous experience hanging girls to death.  I asked him to tell me about those hangings.  I was eager to learn how the girls he’d hanged had acted in the final moments of their lives.  Were they brave or terrified?  What were the circumstances that made them want to hang? 

          He told me that neither girl had wanted to hang.  They were Muslims who apparently found the Islamic code of conduct for women too restrictive, and their families had brought them to him to hang to death for shaming their families.  I was shocked.  I knew Islamic justice could be quite severe, especially in its treatment of women, but we were not in an Islamic country.  Both girls and their families lived in a modern western nation.  When I asked how the hangings went for the girls, he said both girls had been very frightened.  Their families had insisted on short drop hangings to insure that their daughters had time to suffer the consequences of their sins for a while before they died.  Neither girl, he said, suffered for very long.  Both lapsed into unconsciousness fairly quickly. 

          They were the only two girls he’d hanged, though, and he admitted he’d never hanged a man, so that meant he had no experience with the kind of long drop hanging I wanted.  He said he’d been doing his research on the subject too, though, since we’d begun to negotiate this on the Internet, and he was confident that he could do the job properly and that if I let him be the one to hang me, he was certain that he could guarantee that he would break my neck cleanly and that I would die almost instantaneously.  He knew how far I would have to drop to generate the force required for a clean break, and he knew how to calculate how much rope would be needed and where to place the knot to insure a clean break.  It was so weird, and at the same time, so arousing, sitting there arranging my execution with him.  He seemed so calm and sure of himself.  I was trying my best to project a calm exterior so that no one around us would suspect anything and maybe try to overhear our conversation, but inside, my heart was racing.  I was having trouble breathing, my stomach was churning, and my vagina felt so sensitive and wet, I was afraid I was going to have an orgasm there in the airport. 

          I don’t know how I managed not to.  I was in a quandary.  I had hoped to meet and interview all three of the men I had been negotiating with, but the fact that the other two men had stopped responding to my messages and ignored my request for a face to face meeting left me with few options.  I could accept this man, or if I wasn’t sure he was the right one for the job, I could go back home and begin a new search on the Internet for another executioner.  I thought my heart was going to explode.  I told the man he would be the one who could hang me to death if he wanted the job.  He smiled and said he wanted to do it.  Oh God in heaven, I’d done it.  I’d found an executioner and told him he could be the one to hang me.  Now we needed to decide when it would happen. 

          I don’t really think I’m suicidal even though what I’ve done is clearly a suicidal act.  I don’t want to die.  I’d love to be able to go on living and enjoy whatever might have remained of my natural life if only I could find some way of ridding myself of this awful burden of guilt I’ve been carrying around with me ever since I looked up from my phone to see those two boys’ terrified faces disappearing beneath the front of my car.  But I can’t, except in the way that I’ve chosen to do it, and knowing that I’ll never have a moment’s peace until that noose snaps my neck and renders me unconscious, once I decided I had to die to find that relief, I knew I wanted it to happen as soon as possible.  I met him at that airport in very early May.  I figured I would need maybe a couple weeks to go home and take care of a few things I knew I needed to do before I left for my execution.  I thought I would be dead and free of my guilt by mid-May, or at the very least, before the end of the month.  My newly found executioner informed me that he had other business to attend to and couldn’t hang me until July.  I had thought that I would fly to meet him and he would take me to where it would happen, where I would spend one night sitting in a cell or locked room waiting for my execution, which I thought should take place at precisely noon on the following day.  My executioner said that one day wasn’t long enough.  He wanted to hold me prisoner for five days before executing me to give me time to think about the lives I had taken and about what it would be like on the fifth day to be taken from my cell to the barn to climb the stairs and stand there while he bound me and put the hood and noose over my head.  He said I should have to sit there in my cell imagining what it will be like to have to stand there in the solitude and darkness of my hood waiting for the clock to strike precisely noon, at which time, he would pull the lever to release the trap door and it and my life would fall away from me. 

          Five days!  Five days with nothing to do but sit and wait and think about what I had done and what would happen to me on the fifth day.  One night of confinement, he told me, was not long enough for me to suffer the punishment for my crime.  Because the actual punishment, my hanging, would be over so quickly- less than a second from the moment the platform gives way until I reach the end of the rope and it snaps my neck- he thought I needed a longer confinement in which I would have to suffer the anxiety over what I would know was in store for me, and I would be able to think about the young lives I had taken, the grief I had caused their families and friends, and, he had to add this, the grief I would be causing my own family when they discovered that I was dead and how and why it had happened.

          Five days!  Did he not know that I have been unable to think of anything else since the accident?  Did he not know that, having agreed to let him hang me, I would fall through that trap door in my dreams nearly every night of the rest of my life?  I had no choice but to agree to his schedule.  It was either that or go back to the Internet to begin my search anew for another executioner.  I would hang at precisely noon on the 20th of July.  On the morning of the 15th of July, I was to catch a flight into the same airport we were sitting in.  He would meet me there and take me to the place where it would happen.  It was a farm some two hours from the airport.  I would be imprisoned in a room he had specially prepared for hanging victims in the farmhouse.  The windows, he told me, were barred on the inside so that the bars would not be easily visible to someone passing by outside.  He had retro-fitted a small bathroom into the room- a toilet, a sink, a small shower.  The door to the room would lock from the outside, and once locked, couldn’t be opened from inside.  He would bring me three meals a day except on the day of my hanging, when I would only be offered a breakfast.  There would be no TV, no radio or other electronic devices.  I would not have my cell phone.  I would be isolated with my thoughts and fears until he came for me on the fifth day to take me out to the barn to hang me. 

          Once I met him at the airport and followed him out to his car and once I stepped into his car and out of view of anyone else who might be around us, I would have sealed my fate.  I would be his prisoner.  Under no circumstance would he release me.  I would be doomed to hang until I was dead.  That was how I wanted it- an execution.  A prisoner taken from her cell to the place of execution to pay for her crime.  I just hoped that once I fell through the trap door, my death would come as quickly as the very short time of the fall.  Less than a second.  I thought I could do that.  I had read in my research that some medical experts speculated that unconsciousness followed the snap of the neck so quickly that the hanged prisoner might not even have time to feel anything at all before she was gone.  I wasn’t sure I believed that, or if I even wanted to.  I thought I would want to feel my neck snap so that I could have a split second’s awareness that I had atoned for my sins before the darkness envelops me and absolves me of my guilt. 

          Anybody who saw us part at the airport would have thought we were nothing more than casual acquaintances or maybe business associates who had met for a cup of coffee and a little conversation.  When we got up from our table, My executioner walked me back to the line where I had to go through security to get to the gate to catch my return flight.  When I had to move on up the line and others were lining up behind me, he offered me his hand and shook mine as he said goodbye.  I said goodbye to him and then he said he’d be in touch with me on the Internet until it was time for us to meet again on July 15.  There were too many people around us then for him to mention anything about holding me prisoner for five days and hanging me, but I saw the look in his eyes.  I knew at that moment he wanted to kill me, that he would take pleasure in the task I had assigned to him.  He turned and walked away from me, leaving me standing there shaking like a leaf as I watched the man who would take my life walking out of the airport.  I managed to calm down as  I went through security, and by the time I had done that, it was time to board my flight, so I didn’t have much time to think about what I’d just done until I was seated in the plane. 

          I nearly lost it.  I couldn’t believe what I’d  just done.  In a matter of a few hours, I’d met with a man I’d never met before except over the Internet, and I’d agreed  to let him hang me, and it wouldn’t be any recreational short-drop hanging.  He had a real gallows with a real trap door and a rope that looked more than strong enough to allow me to fall seven and a half feet before it snapped tight around my neck, stopping my fall and breaking my neck.  I’d agreed to let him kill me.  The lady sitting next to me asked if I was alright.  What was wrong?  I finally managed to lie to her that I had just broken up with my boyfriend.  Then I had to put up with her trying to console me all the way home.  She even tried to get me to give her my cell phone number so she could have her nephew call me.  He was a very nice young man, she said, and fished a photo out of her bag.  She said I’d like him very much.  I looked at the picture and thanked her as I offered it back to her, and I told her I was sorry, but I wasn’t ready to be going out with any more men yet. 

          A couple nights later, trying to drive thoughts about what I had done from my mind, I went out with some friends for an evening on the town.  I met a man and went home with him.  I don’t know why.  He was very good looking, but I’ve met lots of men before, and I’ve only done that a couple times.  The sex was amazing.  I had one of the most powerful orgasms I’ve ever had that night.  I didn’t dream, at least nothing I can remember.  I didn’t see myself climbing the steeps to the gallows and feel my executioner fastening straps around my ankles and knees and thighs.  I didn’t see the world go dark as he pulled the hood over my head, and I didn’t feel the sense of panic as he put the noose around my neck, and I didn’t wake up feeling myself falling when the trap door opened.  I got the first decent night’s sleep I’d had since I’d decided I needed to die to pay for what I’d done.  The next night, sleeping alone, I dreamed again.  I saw the terror in the eyes of the two boys as they disappeared beneath the front of my car and I felt the sickening bump as I ran over them.  Then I dreamed of the gallows again, and once more, I woke up as the trap door opened and I began to fall. 

          I have that dream a lot.  I can’t get it out of my mind.  I see that vision even during the day sometimes.  If I’m not busy at my job, my mind starts to wander, and there it is again.  The stairs.  The darkness of the hood.  The sickening lurch in my stomach when I fall.  And then I wake up.  I’ve fallen through that trap door so many times in my dreams that sometimes I’m afraid I won’t be able to tell the real thing from the dreams- until it’s too late.  My greatest fears, though were that I wouldn’t have the courage to board the plane on the 15th to bring me here, but I’ve done that.  I was shaking so bad that it was all I could do to walk down the gangway from the terminal gate onto the plane, but I managed it, and somehow, I managed to stay cool enough as I was going through security that I didn’t make anyone think I was so nervous because I was trying to carry a bomb aboard with me.   My one remaining fear other than the fear of death itself is that I will break down either as I climb the stairs or in the moments before my execution when I must stand there while he secures my legs and then places the hood over my head and puts the noose around my neck and positions it and pulls it tight. 

          I’m afraid that finding myself alone on the platform and isolated and blinded by the hood, I’ll lose control of myself when I feel him putting the noose around my neck.  I want to go to my death as bravely as I can.  I know I deserve to die to redeem myself for taking those two boys’ lives, and I want to take my punishment as bravely and stoically as I can.  Sometimes I think that when I’m standing there with the hood and noose already in place waiting for my executioner to pull the lever to hang me, in the darkness of my hood, I’ll see the terrified eyes of those two boys staring at me from beyond waiting to punish me even further when I join them.  I don’t believe in God or an afterlife.  I believe- I hope- that when I am dead, that will be the end of me.  No one living can know what if anything is waiting for them beyond the grave.  It is something we all will have to wait to discover for ourselves.  My wait is nearly over.  I hope I don’t see those eyes, either while I’m waiting to hang or after.

          It was bad enough seeing those eyes disappear beneath the front of my car when I looked up from my phone, and since then, I have seen them staring at me so many times in my dreams and even sometimes when I’m awake and my mind wanders.  If I have to see them staring at me, burning into my soul throughout eternity…  I try not to think about it, but I can’t always help myself.  I don’t know why I was stupid and thoughtless enough to let my phone distract me while I was driving.  I know you’re not supposed to do that.  I read somewhere once that a driver distracted by a cell phone is more likely to have an accident than a drunk driver.  And yet, before the accident, any time my phone rang or beeped signaling I’d received an email or text message, I just automatically reached for it, no matter what I was doing.  It was just a knee-jerk reaction.  Automatic.  I haven’t driven a car since the accident.  I’m scared to death I’ll be driving along and my phone will ring or beep to signal a text message, and without thinking, I’ll reach for it again.  I’m going to my death with the weight of two deaths on my shoulders.  I will not risk adding to that total. 

          Originally, my executioner told me he would take all my electronic devices from me to insure I could not have a change of heart and try to summon someone to rescue me, but I asked if I could have my laptop to keep a journal of my thoughts and feelings as I await my execution.  After disabling his home network so that I couldn’t access his Wi-Fi and checking my laptop to insure it offered me no other means of contacting someone outside, he agreed to let me keep it with me if I agreed to his conditions.  Anything I wrote could not mention him, by name or where he had brought me to await my execution.  He asked if I wanted to publish the journal, or if not, why bother writing something no one would read?  I said I’d like to publish it to the fetish site where I met him.  I thought I would publish it on the morning of my execution.  My last words, I guess, before I am hanged. 

          He said I couldn’t identify myself in the journal or leave any hints that might lead someone who knew me to guess that I was the woman who had published the thing just before she walked to the gallows and her death.  I would have to let him read it and satisfy himself that I hadn’t written anything to compromise his or my identity.  If he was satisfied that I had complied with his demands, he would reactivate his network and allow me to access the Internet with enough time to publish my journal before it was time to take me out to the gallows and hang me.  I have tried to comply with his wishes.  I don’t think I’ve included anything that anyone on a fetish site will recognize and think, Oh yes, that’s…   I had intended to work on this throughout my five day incarceration, but for some reason, I have been unable to get started until tonight, my final night on this Earth, and now I finally have found what I need to say, and I have been typing and editing as I go all afternoon and evening. 

          My journal, though, is not what I had intended to write.  It has come out of me more in the form of a narrative.  A story.  Perhaps this is better, or maybe it is all I am capable of.  I don’t think there are words to portray the raw emotions and thoughts that have flooded my mind ever since the accident, and especially since I have been confined in this improvised cell.  Perhaps some other man or woman awaiting execution someday will be able to find the words to illuminate the dark turmoil of thought and feeling and emotion flooding their heart and mind.  This that I have written is all I can do. 

          As the time passed and I drew nearer to my date with the executioner, I began to feel my courage slipping.  I thought I could be brave and face the executioner and my death with dignity even though I knew I would be scared out of my mind.  Even before the 15th of July, when I boarded the flight that took me to where I would meet him, I began to doubt that I would have the courage to do it.  I was scared out of my mind.  I couldn’t sleep, and when I did manage to fall into an exhausted sleep, my dreams were haunted by visions of me climbing the stairs to the gallows, standing there while he bound me and placed the hood over my head and then the noose.  I would feel him tightening it around my neck and placing the knot just behind  my left ear, and then I would feel him step back from me and hear him read my death warrant, and I would be crying and struggling against my bonds and begging him not to do it, and then, I would feel the trap door fall out from under me, and I would seem to fall forever, even though I know that my real plunge to death will take less than a second, and just when I thought I could feel the noose beginning to seize my neck, before my neck could snap, I would wake up, sitting up in bed, screaming, crying, breathless, grabbing my throat to make sure there was no rope there. 

          I have started so many times now to send him a message to tell him that the deal is off, that I wouldn’t be coming to him to let him hang me, but each time I sat at my computer and started to type the message, I thought of those two boys and their eyes burning into my brain, accusing me, and I couldn’t type the message and send it to free myself of the sentence I have imposed upon myself.  The guilt I feel is so powerful, so overwhelming that it must be even stronger in me than my fear of death and my will to live.  On the 15th, I got on that plane and I flew to him.  He met me in the terminal and I was in a state of shock and denial, I think, as we claimed my bag and he walked me out to his car.  He opened the passenger door and told me to get in.  His voice had taken on a harder, more commanding tone than I had ever heard from him before.  He was no longer the nice man who sympathized with my need to punish myself and wanted to help me relieve myself of my guilt.  Now he was my executioner, and I sensed in his voice that he couldn’t care less if what he was going to do to me eased my guilt.  He just wanted to hang me and see the fear in my eyes as he pulled the hood over my head and then the noose.  He wanted to experience my terror and savor the sight of my chest heaving as I struggled to breathe even though the noose was not yet strangling me.  He wanted to see me tremble and hear me beg him not to do it and finally, to hear me cry out in terror as I fell through the trap door and hear my neck crack at the end of my fall.

          I hated him.  I don’t know why I thought he was my friend, but that sudden realization that he didn’t care anything about me except that he would get to watch me die made me hate him.  Suddenly, I was filled with a determination to deny him the ability to see me quiver in fear and hear me beg him for mercy.  Instead of turning and running for my life, I stepped into his car and told myself that no matter how terrified I will be in those final moments, I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear or hearing me beg.  I should have run for my life.  Now with only hours remaining to me, the fear is stronger than ever in me and I’m not sure I will even have the strength to climb those stairs.  I’m already shaking like a leaf, making so many typing errors, I have to go back and correct so many mistakes that this journal is taking much more time than I thought.  I only hope I can finish it before he comes for me. 

          Those stairs.  There are so many of them.  A traditional gallows is usually ten feet above the ground and has thirteen steps leading up to it.  Thirteen.  The condemned’s ultimate unlucky number.  My executioner’s gallows is built into a loft in his barn that is at least seventeen or eighteen feet above the ground level.  There must be twenty-three or twenty-four steps that I will have to climb or he will have to drag me up to the loft where the noose awaits me.  At one point I thought I would be so ready to hang and experience my fetish and rid myself of my guilt that I would run up those stairs.  Now I don’t know if I will have the strength and courage to set my foot on the first one.  I don’t know how he will get me down from the noose after I have hanged there long enough that there is no chance that I am still alive.  He says I will hang for one hour, as is traditional.  He also says that I will fall seven and a half feet, which is the distance a person of my body weight needs to fall to insure a clean snap of the neck without having the noose rip her head from her neck.  This means that I will still be more than ten feet above the floor. 

          I saw the barn and the loft and the noose when he first brought me here, before he locked me in my cell.  There did not appear to be a means for him to lower me to the ground.  The noose rope is tied around a ceiling beam over the trap door.  With my weight hanging from the rope, he will probably not be able to untie the rope at the top to let me down, so unless he has a tall ladder or some sort of farm vehicle with a high platform that he can park beneath me to be able to reach me to take me from the noose, he will probably have to cut the rope and let me fall the final ten feet or so to the ground.  I know I won’t feel it if he does it that way, but it makes me sick to think my body might be treated with such disrespect after I am dead.  What else might he do to me?  So far, he has not forced me to have sex with him.  I did not want to have sex with my executioner.  He agreed that would not happen, and so far, he has kept his word.  I wonder, though, if he might have something planned for later this morning, just before he takes me out to the barn to hang me, or if he will use my body for sex before he disposes of me.

          And how will he dispose of me?  He says he has a place deep in the woods where he buries his victims, but I wonder if he might not grind me up and mix me into the feed for his livestock.  I guess I’ll never know, and truth to be told, when I decided to do this, what might happen to my body after I am dead was the least of my worries.  Still, now that the time is so close, what he might do to me after my death is nagging at my mind.  Maybe it’s just my way of trying not to think about the things that are going to happen to me in the final moments of my life to transport me from the world of the living to the world of the dead.  Or maybe thinking about what will happen to my physical body after death is my way of trying not to think about what will happen to my soul in the afterlife, if there is one.  If there is, will those two boys I killed be waiting for me ready to exact their revenge on me? 

          As I said, my executioner took me into the barn as soon as we arrived at his farm to show me where I will hang.  The barn is painted red.  It was glowing in the afternoon sun when we arrived.  I saw the house, too, where I am now imprisoned awaiting my fate.  It is painted white, a simple, two story structure with nothing special to recommend it except that it is where I have spent the last five nights of my life.  There will not be another night for me.  Today just before noon, he will take me out to the barn.  I will try to be brave and walk, but I don’t know.  He may have to drag me.  The barn is cool and dark inside and smells of farm animals and grains and fertilizer.  The steps up to the loft are long.  I was relieved to see that there are handrails on either side.  I will be wearing high heels when I go to my execution- a last bit of vanity on my part, I guess, wanting to look as stylish as possible when I am hanged- and my hands will be tied behind my back, so I’m not sure how that will affect my balance in the heels.  The executioner will be behind me, though, and the hand rails should keep me from falling over the side if I lose my balance. 

          I was not wearing heels when he took me up to the loft to show me where I will stand in the last moments of my life.  The trap door is about three feet square, and he has painted an X in the center of it to show me where to stand.  The noose is made of good thick hemp rope.  I was afraid that he might not have used a heavy enough rope to bear the one thousand pounds of force my body will exert on it when he hangs me.  As I mentioned, he has only short dropped girls before me, and that does not put anywhere near the stress on a rope that a long drop hanging does, but I was both terrified and relieved to see that he had done his homework and knew he needed a good sturdy rope to insure that my hanging goes without a hitch. I saw, too, that he had hung the rope with enough of it to allow me to fall the necessary distance to insure that my neck breaks cleanly and gives me a quick death. 

          My hands were still tied when he showed me the gallows, although he had removed the rope around my ankles to allow me to walk and climb the stairs.  He made me stand on the trap door, and then he put the hood over my head.  It was black and left me blind to everything but a little bit of light coming in around the bottom.  I was scared witless.  I was standing on the trap door, my hands bound and hooded.  Was he going to hang me right away and not wait for the 20th?  Then I felt him slip the noose over my head and snug it down and place the knot, and I thought, oh dear God, this is it! He’s going to do it now.  I wet myself a little.  He stepped back from me, and I was sure he must be reaching for the lever to open the trap door and hang me.  I don’t know how long he let me stand there like that.  It seemed like an eternity, standing there, waiting, thinking I was going to be dead any second now. 

          My heart was racing so fast, I thought it would explode.  I couldn’t breathe.  I felt myself shaking and quivering in fear.  Why hadn’t he pulled the lever?  Was it stuck?  Finally, I felt him remove the noose and he pulled the hood up over my head again, and I could see the evil smile on his face.  He said he wanted me to know what I will be feeling like on the day of my execution so that I would have that feeling to think about while I sat in my cell awaiting the day when, instead of removing the noose and taking off the hood, he pulls the lever and plunges me to my death.

          Today.  I can’t believe that the time that seemed like an eternity when we first struck this bargain has flown by so quickly and I now have little more than an hour to live.  He has just come to the door to tell me it’s  time to finish it.  He will take my laptop and give it a quick read to make sure I have not put anything in here that will let someone guess his identity or mine or where this will take place so very soon now.  Then he will allow me to publish it to a website where, hopefully, someone will read it and understand the terror I am feeling now and they will resolve never to do anything as stupid as I did, like trying to read a text while driving and killing two young boys in the process.  This is the only hope I have that my life and death will have some meaning to someone. 

          Probably before anyone can find this and read it, I will already be dead.  Oh dear God.  So little time left.  I hope I can be strong and brave, but I am so scared.  So scared. 

Posted: 18-May-2013 - 5 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
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Dolcett County Meatgirl Registration Commission

 

Notice of Requirement

18 May, 2013

 

To:  Ms Liljessica,  Dolcett Meatgirl # 342769

 

Dear Ms Liljessica,

          You are hereby notified that your Meatgirl number, 342769,  has been selected by our Meatgirl lottery computer.  You are notified to report to the Dolcett County Fairgrounds at 7:00 a.m. on the morning of Sunday, 19 May, 2013.  You have been chosen as one of six meat girls for the annual Dolcett County Meatgirl Barbecue.  Upon arrival, you will report to the Meatgirl Processing building where you will be prepared for spitting and roasting. 

          You are advised to remove all jewelry including any body piercings before reporting.  Upon arrival at the processing building, you will remove all clothing and you will be given an enema to insure that you are cleansed internally.  After this, you will be given a shower, and then all body hair except the hair on your head will be removed by means of an alcohol flamed torch.  If your head hair is deemed too long, it will be trimmed to a more suitable length to insure that it does not catch fire while you are roasting. 

          You are now ready for spitting.  As you may know, our crowds seem to enjoy watching our meatgirls receive their spits, so all spitting is done on one of three Jessica 3000 Meatgirl Spitters that will be mounted on the main fairgrounds stage.  If all three Jessica machines are occupied with spitting other girls, you will be allowed to watch the proceedings until such a time as one of the machines becomes available.  At that time, you will be strapped onto the Jessica machine, and when the operators have insured that you are securely strapped in and completely immobilized, a spit pole will be fed into the rear of the machine, and the machine will be turned on and allowed to move the pole forward to the point that it has entered and filled your vagina.  The machine will then be paused for a moment. 

At this point, you will be asked if you have any last words before your spitting commences.  Many of our meatgirls use this time to say goodbye to their family or friends or perhaps a boyfriend.  Others express a desire that the crowd enjoy their meat.  After you have had this opportunity to speak your final words, the machine will be turned on again.  As you may know, we are using the latest models of the Jessica 3000 which include internal scanners and micro adjustments to insure that the spit pole does not hit any vital organs as it travels through you.  You can rest assured that you will survive the spitting and be reasonably healthy, given your circumstances, and quite lucid when you are placed over the fire pit to roast. 

The Jessica 3000 also features the latest attachments for gutting which will insure that, as your internal organs are removed from your belly, the blood vessels that feed them will be cleanly severed and cauterized to prevent you from bleeding to death.  And once your organs have been removed, the machine will even give you a quick cleansing spray to insure that your now empty belly cavity will be ready to receive the vegetables that will be packed into you to slow cook along with your delicious flesh. 

Of course, the spitting process is an unavoidably painful experience for the young woman being spitted, but we have found that many of our meatgirls take a kind of pleasure and satisfaction from their experience.  Once the spit pole has moved through you completely and exited your mouth, a retaining post/meat thermometer will be fitted to the rear of your pole and inserted into your anal cavity to insure that you turn over the fire with the pole and to let your cooks know when you have reached the proper internal temperature, and then you will be carried to the packing station where your belly cavity will be filled with vegetables and then sewn shut to prevent them from falling out of you.

Once your belly has been packed and shut, nothing remains but to place you over one of the fire pits so that you will begin roasting.  Experience has shown that the longer a girl is alive and conscious as she cooks, the more tender and succulent her meat is for those who have the pleasure of eating her.  This is because the hormones a girl’s body produces as she is suffering her roasting help to tenderize and flavor the meat in a most wonderful way.  We trust that you will strive to remain alive and conscious for as long as possible while you are over the fire.  You will be set high over the fire at first so that the heat infuses itself into you and cooks you slowly.  Only when you are nearing optimal internal temperature will you be lowered closer to the fire to allow it to sear your flesh and turn your skin that lovely, juicy and crispy texture our diners love. 

We trust that you will report as scheduled for your spit roasting.  As you know, there are severe penalties for girls who do not report.  I am sure that as a loyal meat girl you will fulfill your responsibilities and provide your fellow Dolcett County residents with a delicious meal at Sunday’s barbecue.  I am looking forward to having a little taste of you myself.  Let me take this opportunity to thank you in advance for your wonderful service to our community.

Sincerely yours,

Jonathan Dolcett

Director of Meatgirl Acquisition

Dolcett County Meatgirl Provisions Company, Inc.

 

Posted: 16-Aug-2012 - 5 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
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Melissa’s Big Day

            “Melissa, you have been found guilty of the crime of treason,” you hear the judge’s solemn voice as he prepares to sentence you.  You don’t need to hear the rest.  You know what your fate will be.  “It is with great sadness that this court sentences you to death.”  You knew this was coming, but still the words echo and ricochet through your head.  You can’t breathe.  Your heart explodes in your chest.  You can barely stand.  “You will be taken from this courtroom to the place of execution immediately, and there, in full sight of the public so that they may witness your shame and punishment so that they may learn from the error of your ways, you will be hanged naked until you are dead.  Your body will remain hanging in the town square for one full week so that others will learn that treason against the people of this great nation will not be tolerated.  Jailer, take Melissa to her execution.”  His gavel falls.  “This court is adjourned.”

            The jailers’ hands are on you, grasping your shoulders.  It’s a good thing, or you would have collapsed to the floor.  You still can’t breathe.  It’s almost as if you can already feel the noose seizing at your neck, choking you.  The words echo through your brain.  “Death.”  “Hanged.”  “Naked.”  That last word is in some ways the worst for you.  You  knew you were going to die.  You even knew it would happen as soon as you were sentenced.  That’s the way justice is meted out in your country.  When you are found guilty of a crime, you are sentenced and punished immediately.  There is no appeals process.  This is one of the reasons that you joined the Resistance movement.  You have heard of too many people who were sentenced to death and executed who were not guilty of the crimes they died for.  So when you were captured, you understood that the trial would be a quick formality and that your punishment would follow immediately. 

            You thought you were ready for that.  You might even have been able to face the crowd bravely, head held high, knowing that you are dying because you fought for their freedom.  You have always been a very private person, though, and modest in the extreme.  You learned very early in your life that you didn’t like the way men looked at you as you played in the sand on the beach.  You knew what they were thinking when you saw their hungry eyes following you.  Even before your body began to develop, you understood that there was something about you that attracted more of these lascivious stares than any of the other girls on the beach were attracting.  You are an astonishingly beautiful young woman, and now that radiant beauty of yours will be on display in its entirety as you hang to your death very shortly now.  You have to wonder how beautiful you will look when your dead body has been rotting for a week and feeding the birds and other vermin that will no doubt feast on you once you are dead. 

            You are led out of the courtroom, and it is all you can do to keep your shackled feet beneath you.  If the guards accompanying you were not supporting you and propelling you forward, you know there is no way you could force yourself to walk calmly to your death.  The whole idea that you could have walked bravely to your death is just a romantic fantasy that has exploded into the cold, hard reality of your imminent execution.  You are still finding it very difficult to breathe, and you know that only your death will slow your racing heart.  You are sweating profusely, too, and the sweat is running into your eyes, burning them and mingling with your tears.  Brave?  You are anything but brave now as you are being half-dragged, half-led down the corridor from the courtroom. 

            You plead with your guards to let you go.  They shove you into the elevator.  You feel the floor of the elevator fall from beneath your feet for an instant before your body catches up with the elevator as it descends.  It was almost like what you will feel when the platform falls out from under you and you are hanging- that sickening seizing feeling in your belly.  The elevator stops.  You are not on the ground floor where you could be dragged out to where the gallows and a swelling crowd of your fellow citizens await you.  The guards have brought you to the basement of the court house.  As the elevator door sweeps open, you see another door standing ajar opposite you.  Your guards drag you out of the elevator into the room across the corridor.  A hard looking woman wearing a white nurse’s uniform is waiting for you.  The guards close the door behind you and remove your shackles. 

            They order you to strip.  You refuse.  It is no use, though.  The two guards and the nurse are practiced at this and very strong.  In no time, you have been deprived of the last shred of modesty you will ever know.  They force you down onto your belly over a table and secure you to it by your wrists at one end and tie your ankles to the legs of the table at the other end.  This pulls your legs apart, leaving your most intimate places exposed to them.  You have suspected that both of the guards are lesbians.  Now, they prove it to you.  One of them is stroking your pussy, laughing to her partner that you are dripping wet.  A rough finger slips into you and finds your clitoris.  She rubs it roughly.  You are already so wired with the knowledge that you are about to die that you cum immediately, crying out uncontrollably as the most amazing orgasm you have ever had rips through your body.  The second guard comes around in front of you.  The table is short enough that your head is hanging over the end of it.  She hikes up her skirt and thrusts her pelvis against your face, and as her partner continues to torment your pussy, she grinds her pussy against your head and reaches beneath you and grasps your breasts in her hands and begins to massage and squeeze them.  Her fingers torment your nipples.  She tells her partner she wishes she were a man so she could shove her cock down your throat. 

            The first guard continues to play with your pussy, and given your state of arousal and nervous tension, you cum again powerfully.  You are sobbing and begging them to stop.  Finally, the nurse orders them to allow her to prepare you.  The two guards stand in front of you watching as the nurse begins your preparation.  You feel her hand on your ass smearing something around your ass hole, and then a finger pierces you there.  It hurts and forces you to cry out.  The shame and pain of having your dark center violated is more than you can bear, and the worst of it is yet to come.  The guards are laughing, enjoying your shame.  One tells the other that she loves the way your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when the nurse stuck her finger up your ass. 

            “You’re going to love this, honey,” the other one says, laughing, and then your ass erupts into pain again as you feel the nurse stuffing something up into you. 

            “Ouch!” you protest, reacting to the pain as her finger pushes whatever it is farther up into you.  “What are you doing!?”

            “She’s shoving cotton balls soaked with petroleum jelly up your ass to make sure you don’t shit yourself while you’re hanging,” one of the guards tells you, and you can see that she is relishing your shame as you can’t help picturing your bowels voiding themselves as you hang from the noose.  “Lots of cotton balls.”

            “You’ve got a hell of a crowd out there waiting to watch you dangle, honey,” the other guard adds.  “Probably the largest crowd we’ve ever had for a hanging.  We let the word out to the news media that a really hot little traitor is going to hang naked today, and half the men in the country must have showed up to watch you dance.  That hot ass of yours and those nice little boobies and that pretty face and your blond hair and bush are going to have every guy out there blowing his load as he watches you dance.  Honey, I’m probably going to get off myself when the floor falls out from under you.”

            “Me, too,” her partner says as the nurse shoves yet another greasy wad of cotton up your ass.  “We wouldn’t want you shitting yourself out there and stinking up the place and driving all those witnesses away with the smell would we?”

            “You fucking bitches!” you scream at them as still another wad of cotton gets shoved up into you.  Already, you have lost track of how many there are, and many more follow them until you are stuffed so full that it feels like your gut is about to explode.  You try to expel the wad of cotton and petroleum jelly that now overfills your colon, but you cannot.  The nurse wipes off the gel from around your ass.  She helps the guards loosen the restraints that have secured you to the table, and now you are on your feet again.  The pain in your belly is more than you can stand, but you have no choice in the matter.  It feels like you are stuffed and constipated, like something you ate has proceeded through your digestive system and is now a massive, solid ball of shit in your gut that is far too large for you to expel. 

            Your guards quickly get you back into your shackles.  You had forgotten for a moment that you have been sentenced to hang naked until they refused to let you reach for your clothing and shackled you again without letting you dress.

            “Ready to die, sweetie?” one of the guards asks you.  “Let’s go see what kind of reaction you get from your audience out there.  I know they’re all dying to watch the hot little traitor get what’s coming to her.”

            They push you out of the prep room back across the corridor into the elevator.  The nurse follows and rides along with you.  She wants to watch you die, too.   The elevator stops and the door sweeps open.  You are on the main floor of the courthouse now, and already, you can see the light pouring in through the glass front doors and hear the noise of the crowd waiting for you.  Your heart is exploding in your chest again, and once more, it feels like the noose is already around your neck choking off your breathing.  You are crying again, begging them not to take you out there.  They drag you to the door, and even before they push it open, the crowd can see you through the glass.  They erupt into cheers and jeers.  The noise is deafening the instant the guards push the double doors open.  They thrust you out through the open doors, and immediately, you can hear individual epithets being hurled at you.  A man breaks through the line of security guards lining your path to the gallows and spits in your face and calls you a whore before he is forced back behind the line of guards. 

            The moment you look out ahead of you and see the gallows structure, you realize that this is going to be even worse than you had imagined.  It is not built nearly high enough to allow you to fall far enough so that the momentum of your fall will snap your neck and render you immediately unconscious when the rope snaps taut at the end of your fall.  Then, as they propel you forward, closer to the structure upon which you will die, you see that the rope that will take your life has been strung so that you will not fall at all.  When the floor is dropped from beneath you, you will be left hanging where you were standing.  There will be no merciful broken neck, no sudden ending to these proceedings.  You will hang there choking and gasping for breath for however long it takes the noose to strangle you.

            You know it won’t be quick.  You were with another member of the resistance one night when he overpowered and strangled a guard at a munitions storage facility.  It took him a long time to strangle the man into unconsciousness and make sure he was dead.  Far too long.  You know you are going to die.  There is no escaping it.  You just want it to be over.  The guards push you forward until you reach the last stairs you will ever climb.  You are more alive and aroused than you have ever felt before.  Every nerve is on high alert.  Your skin feels the rough touch of the guards’ hands.  Your feet savor every pebble and stone beneath them as you realize they will never feel the earth beneath them again.  You feel the warm breeze caressing your skin, feel your nipples stiffen and swell as the breeze teases them.  You see the men’s eyes fixed on them and know that each man is imagining himself suckling them. 

            Your feet leave the ground for the last time.  They are on the wooden steps, and even though you make no effort to climb the stairs, you are dragged up them.  The crowd roars its approval as you are led to the noose.  The hangman stands there waiting where the noose is dangling, waiting for you.  The judge who sentenced you to this is already seated in a chair there on the platform with you.  You see him lick his lips as his eyes feast on your nakedness.  Your shame knows no bounds now.  All these disgusting men with their eyes fixed on you are imagining themselves doing god knows what to you.  People are taking pictures.  Several TV news crews have their cameras trained on you.  You have no idea how your legs are managing to remain beneath you. 

            The noose is directly in front of your face now.  It whispers to you.  Your eyes can’t look away from it.  You see the coarseness of the hemp fibers and can already feel them scratching your neck.  Your heart is in your throat, pounding insanely.  You wish you could believe in a god to pray to save you from what is coming, or at the very least, receive your soul into his arms when the worst of what is to come has past.  You don’t believe, though.  The executioner takes the noose in hand and slips it over your head.  You feel yourself cum again as he snugs the noose down and positions the knot just behind your left ear, and now, your shame is magnified a thousand fold as you feel your urine stream release.  You haven’t even begun to hang yet, and already you are losing control of your bodily functions.  Now you are thankful for the great mass of cotton and petroleum jelly that has your ass blocked.  Your feet are wet with your own urine as the judge stands and reads your death warrant.

            “Melissa,” he intones, playing to the crowd, “you have been found guilty of treason against this great nation and you have been sentenced to die by hanging.  Do you have any last words?”  He waits a moment.  There is so much you want to say, but you can’t even speak.   You want to shout out to the crowd that you are proud to die as a martyr to the struggle for freedom, but you are not feeling particularly proud just now.  Your urine stream is still trickling from your pussy and dribbling down your leg.  You have never felt so shamed and terrified at any other time in your life.  “Very well,” the judge intones.  “As is the custom in our great country, your sentence will be carried out immediately.”  He turns to the executioner.  “Proceed with the execution.”

            Your heart stops.  You halfway expected the floor to fall out from beneath you immediately, but it doesn’t.  Now that you are noosed, the guards who have brought you here remove the shackles from your hands and quickly bind your wrists behind your back.  You have been trying with little success to cover your breasts and pussy with your arms and hand.  Now there is no hiding any part of your nakedness from the world.  When your hands are secured, they remove your ankle shackles.  One of the guards whispers in your ear.

            “Now you can dance and twist and we will be able to watch you flash that pretty little pussy of yours to the crowd in your struggles to be free of the noose,” she tells you.  She and the other guard step back off the platform that will drop from beneath you.  You stand there, your body tensed, waiting.  It seems an eternity, but just when you are certain there must be some delay, the floor is gone from beneath you.  It crashes against the structure of the gallows with a loud bang that startles the crowd nearly as much as the noose seizing at your neck startles you.  You are hanging.  You feel yourself trying to tense your neck muscles to protect your airway and the blood vessels that feed your brain.  The world spins dizzyingly around you as you twist madly trying to save yourself.  Already, your neck is on fire, chafed by the coarse hemp rope.  You struggle to raise your hands, first to one side, then the other, to try to grasp the noose to pull it away from your neck and let yourself breathe, but you cannot reach it.  You kick and dance and forget your shame as your gyrations reveal your pussy to the crowd. 

            Will it never end?  If this had been a long drop hanging, you would be unconscious by now, if not already dead.  But the judge hasn’t granted you that mercy.  He wants the crowd to see you suffer for as long as possible.  Maybe they will be so shaken by what they see you endure that they will think long and hard before joining the resistance.  Your neck isn’t the only thing burning.  Your lungs are on fire.  You are surprised to discover that you can still breathe somewhat, but the tiny wisps of air you are able to suck into your lungs aren’t nearly adequate to fueling your body’s desperate struggle for survival.  Your face feels hot and flushed.  It is turning a reddish purple as the rope traps blood in your head.  Your heart can still manage to pump blood up into your head because the arteries are deeper inside your neck and better protected than the veins that are constricted and unable to return the stale blood to your body. 

            Your head feels like it will explode.  You are crying and trying to cry out for mercy, but the only sounds that escape you are a kind of choking, gurgling sound.  You spin around and see the judge who sentenced you to death sitting there in his chair, his lascivious eyes watching you, devouring you.  He sees you watching him and licks his lips to let you know what he is imagining himself doing to you.  Your bowels are trying desperately to void themselves, but that isn’t happening.  The massive wad of cotton balls and petroleum jelly have you so blocked up that even if you were to be let down from here and allowed to walk away, you would probably still die when your intestines exploded.  The churning pain in your gut hurts almost as badly as the fire in your lungs and the rope trying its best to crush your windpipe. 

            Over the noise of your own blood rushing past your eardrums, you can hear the screams and taunts from the crowd.  The obscenities and oaths they hurl at you cut deep into your heart like a knife.  Don’t they understand that you are dying because you fought for their freedom?  You continue to struggle, to kick and dance and twist, but you can feel yourself getting weaker.  Your legs feel like they weigh a ton.  You have no idea how long this is taking, but it feels like an eternity.  You are weakening, though, and the world spinning around as you twist and turn.  The lack of oxygen makes you feel light-headed, dizzy. 

            Your eyes are wide, but your vision is getting dim.  Your mouth is open as you try desperately to take in breath.  Your tongue lolls out of your mouth.  Drool runs down your chin and drips onto your breast.  You sense that you are nearing the end.  Something is stirring in your belly.  Something other than the mass of cotton and petroleum jelly that prevents you from emptying your bowels.  It is rising quickly, seeming to sense that you have little time left to experience it.  Your struggles have slowed, become more difficult and deliberate as death creeps up on you, but now your body is suddenly bucking and seizing wildly, dancing obscenely, your hips thrusting your pelvis out as though you are pushing yourself up off the mattress to take a lover’s cock deeper into yourself.

            The most massive orgasm you have ever had or ever will engulfs you and tosses you about like a leaf on a tumultuous sea.  Wave after wave of the most incredibly intense pleasure you have ever known surge through you.  The orgasm is even so powerful that it manages to push an audible scream up out of your lungs through your constricted windpipe and out of your mouth.  The orgasm has one other beneficial effect.  It allows you to leave the earth bathed in the most intense pleasure you have ever known, but it has also sapped every ounce of strength you had remaining and channeled it into your final orgasm.  As the orgasm passes, a dazed smile comes across your face, and then, the darkness envelops you. 

Posted: 1-Aug-2012 - 5 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
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Fulfillment of a Dream

 

                You’ve finally done it.  When you first signed onto the fetish website, you swore to yourself that it was just something to amuse you, that you would never let your fetishes drive you to actually experience any of them in real life.  And yet, here you are now, little more than a year later, sitting in a plane staring out at the clouds beneath you, wondering what in the world you were thinking when you told him you’d do it.  But you did tell him you would, and you even picked up the plane ticket he purchased for you- the one-way ticket- and boarded the flight, and now you are on your way to meet the man you met on the fetish site who has promised that he will end your life in the particularly grizzly and no doubt extremely painful way you have told him that you fantasize that it will end. 

            In less than an hour now, your flight will be landing, and the man you have agreed to meet will be standing in the airport terminal waiting to take you God knows where to subject you to the torturous end you have imagined for yourself ever since you were a little girl.  In less than an hour, you will step off the plane to meet a man whom you have never met before- a man who has told you he will run an impaling pole through you from your pussy up through your body until it rises through your esophagus up into your throat and exits your mouth.  He has done this to other women before you, he has told you, and he knows how to guide the pole through you so that it will not pierce your heart or lungs and you  will still be very much alive and in great pain when he has it all the way through you. 

            This was important to you.  You had to know that you would still be alive and reasonably strong after the impaling, because that is only the first part of your fetish scenario that you finally decided you couldn’t put off experiencing any longer.  You needed to know that you would be alive and conscious and reasonably alert to experience the second part- the gutting.  After you are impaled, he has promised that he will cut open your belly and allow your intestines and stomach and other organs to spill out of you.  He even emailed you a drawing of what you will look like when he does it to you.  In the drawing, you are impaled on a pole and standing, aided by a crossbar beneath you that keeps you from sliding further down the pole.  When you were surprised to see this feature and asked him about it, he explained to you that past experience has shown him that a woman who has been impaled usually will not have enough strength left to remain standing without some assistance, so to keep her from sliding on down the pole until she is on her knees, he has added the crossbar, which will serve as a kind of seat or brace to hold you up in a standing position even though your legs won’t have the strength to support you. 

            In his drawing, he is standing facing you, a bloodied knife in his hand.  He has just cut you open, and your intestines are hanging from your opened belly, dropping down into a tub of some sort that you are standing in.  It was the drawing that finally convinced you to go ahead with it.  It put an image into your head that you haven’t been able to shake.  In your dreams, you see the drawing, and then it comes to life and you see yourself impaled and standing there with your guts spilling out of you into that wash tub.  You can almost feel the pain, and although you have been pain shy all your life, you know you can no longer escape this horrible fate that something deep in your twisted psyche has imagined for you.  You exchanged messages with this man for a couple months, teasing yourself with the possibility at first, telling yourself that there was no way you could be crazy enough to actually allow something like that to be done to you. 

            But the drawing and the images it has burned into your brain were the final straw.  You could no longer deny yourself the fate you have craved since you were a little girl.  It has always been a powerful force in your life.  So much so that when you got around to having sex for the first time, you tried to deal with the pain of losing your virginity by imagining the boy’s cock was a knife plunging into your belly, ripping you open.  It almost felt like it, briefly, but then, the pain wasn’t nearly severe enough to convince you that he was killing you, and after a few moments, sex actually started to feel pretty good, and caught up in this new adventure, you forgot, for the moment, your pain fetish. 

            The pain fetish never left you, though, and your introduction into the world of sex only complicated the fantasies, made them more powerful and added new possibilities to their eventual fulfillment.  Now that you had become sexually aware, your fantasy killer didn’t just impale you and gut you.  No, before he ever got around to that, he held you prisoner for an extended time, using you sexually in so many deviant and wonderful ways before he granted you the fulfillment of your ultimate fantasy.  The man who will let you experience your fetish in real life and death hasn’t said he will accommodate this other part of the dream, but he has told you that your impaling and gutting will not happen immediately.  He has no intention of taking you directly from the plane to the killing ground and dispatching you.  No, that wouldn’t be half as much fun as allowing your fetish to play out at a more relaxed pace. 

            You can only hope and imagine that a man who knows you want him to kill you and that you won’t be around to testify against him will certainly want to use you sexually at least for a while before he kills you.  At least you hope so.  The experience of your fetish will be so much more intense and arousing, you think, if the man who is going to kill you has been your lover.  Each thrust of his cock into your pussy will mimic and foreshadow the surge of the impaling pole into you and then the thrust of his knife into your belly.

            A flight attendant stirs you from your reverie when she tells you the plane is about to land.  You need to fasten your seatbelt.  Landing already!?  Oh God, am I ready to do this, you wonder?  You wait until the plane is nearly empty before you force yourself up out of your seat and take your bag from the overhead compartment.  You are amazed that you have the strength in your legs to stand.  You make your way up through the plane and out the boarding tunnel into the terminal, and there he is.  You recognize him from the picture he sent you, and he is dressed as he had said he would be, and he is holding a cardboard sign with “Julie K” printed on it in magic marker.  He is an ordinary looking middle aged man that no one else who saw him would imagine would be capable of killing.  He has a rather alarmingly pleasant smile on his face, and when you force yourself to approach him, he gives you a light kiss on the cheek and takes your bag. 

            Anyone who witnessed your meeting would take no notice of it.  No one could possibly imagine that the nice man who gave you the harmless kiss and took your bag was anything more than a friend or relative.  Not a single witness would be able to testify that there was anything sinister about him or about your meeting unless someone picked up on your nervousness and ill ease.  You’re pretty sure you had that masked, though.  You were too numb and stunned by what you were doing to show much emotion.  Your heart is pounding, though, as you follow him out of the airport.  Your mind is screaming at you to turn and run back into the crowded airport and catch the next flight home.  Don’t let him do this.  Your fetish has control of you now, though.  You couldn’t turn and flee if you wanted to. 

            He leads you to a grey minivan with tinted windows, and your heart nearly stops when he opens not the passenger door but the side door and tells you to get in.  He has spoken very little, but when he has, until now, his voice has been pleasant and friendly.  Now it is hard edged and commanding.  When you hesitate, he pushes you into the back of the van, and he is deceptively strong for his age and physique.  He climbs in behind you and pulls the door shut and makes you sit down.  Before you can react, he has a handcuff on your wrist and the other cuff locked around the armrest of the seat.  Another pair of handcuffs secures one leg to the frame of your seat.  You ask him why he is doing this, but the only answer you get is a ball gag forced into your mouth and secured.  He blindfolds you and then he moves forward and slides into the driver’s seat and turns to look at you.

            “Yes,” he says, “You’ll be amazing.  Beautiful girl.  Nice body.  Can’t wait to get you out of those clothes.  I hope you didn’t think this was some sort of amusing role playing adventure.  It’s not.  You’re really going to die, and you can’t possibly have imagined anything close to how painful it’s going to be.  I think we’re going to have ourselves a little fun first, though, aren’t we?  At least I will.”  He looks up and down your body.  “If you’re half as hot as you look, darling, I think you’re going to have some fun, too.”

            Suddenly, the reality of your fetish sets in on you.  You have committed yourself to this thing, and now you no longer have any control over whatever remains of your life.  As you sit in the back of the van, blindfolded, ball-gagged, handcuffed to your seat, you are aware that the life you should be able to think of in terms of years or decades can now be only measured in days or maybe even hours, and before it is over, getting to the end of it is going to be a horrifically painful and terrifying journey.  You suddenly realize that you have finally become something you have fantasized becoming for so many years- a piece of meat being led to the slaughter, and now that it is happening, you cannot imagine what you ever thought could be so arousing about it or what there was about the idea that drove you to flush your life down the toilet like this.

            The van slows and turns onto what must be a gravel road.  The ride is bumpier now, and you can hear the sound of the tires crunching against the gravel.   After a short time, it comes to a halt.  You are so frightened and nauseous, you are afraid you are going to throw up and drown in your own vomit because the ball gag will force it back down your throat.  Somehow, you hold your gorge down, though, and a pair of rough hands release your handcuff restraints, pull you out of the van and drag you away from it.  Briefly, you feel the warmth of sunshine on your face and arms and get a glimpse of light from beneath your blindfold, but then, you are in someplace cooler and dark. 

            He handcuffs your wrists again and roughly forces you to bend over something hard- a table, maybe, or bench, and then you feel that your cuffs have been secured to something.  Your arms are stretched out in front of you and you can only move your hands a matter of a few inches in any direction.  You have been wearing a dress that zippers down the back to the waist.  Now, though, you feel him standing behind you grinding his hips against your ass as he lowers the zipper.  He can’t remove the dress, you think, with your arms stretched out in front of you, but then you feel something cold and hard against your arm and hear fabric ripping as he uses a knife to cut the sleeves open from the hems to the neckline.  You feel the dress fall off your shoulders, and a second later, you hear and feel the knife cut through your bra straps, and when he unfastens it, it too falls away from you.  He pulls the dress down from beneath you and pulls it down off your hips and lifts your feet one at a time to pull the dress out from under you, and then you feel him pulling your panties and pantyhose down over your hips and thighs and calves.  You are naked.  He pulls the bra away from beneath your breasts and then his rough hands force themselves between the surface of whatever it is he has you bent over and your breasts.  He cups one in each hand and squeezes and grinds his hips against your now bare ass. 

            You’re about to get fucked.  For a few seconds, you hear the sounds of him loosening his belt and opening his pants, and then you feel his bare flesh against your ass, and a frighteningly sizeable cock is resting in the crack of your ass, and he is rubbing it up and down between the cheeks of your ass, bringing himself to erection.  One hand is still on a breast.  With the other, he reaches beneath you and begins to rub your pussy, but the first rape you suffer at his hands won’t be to your pussy.  You’ve never let a man put a cock in your ass before, and you shiver and shudder and squeal in protest through your ball gag as he smears something cold and slippery around and into your ass.  The finger he thrusts into you clear up to the last knuckle hurts bad enough.  You don’t even want to imagine what that long, thick cock is going to do to you. 

            He gives you little time to imagine it, though.  You feel the head of it against your anus, and then, suddenly, he thrusts powerfully into you and the lubricating gel does its job.  The head of his cock pops through your anal sphincter, and the full length of it surges deep into your gut as you scream in agony through your ball gag.  It is pain unlike anything you have ever felt before.  Getting your cherry popped was a tickle compared to this, and this pain isn’t about to go away any time soon.  He works his way as deep as he can get and holds himself there for a moment, and with your anus stretched wide by the thickness of his cock at its base, it feels like someone is pouring molten lava into your gut.  You haven’t stopped squealing and crying, and you won’t until he is done. 

            To your dismay, that takes a lot longer than you were hoping, and the intensity of the pain and the shame of knowing you are being violated in the dirtiest way imaginable makes the several minutes it takes him to achieve his climax seem like several hours.  Finally, though, he thrusts deep into you and holds himself there, and you can feel his hips jerking against your ass cheeks as he continues to thrust with these short, powerful jabs until he has emptied his balls into your ass.  All the while, he is groaning and crying out, “Take that, you bitch.  How do you like this spit pole, you worthless meat?”  You could feel his semen erupting into your tortured bowel.  There was a lot of it, and now, as he withdraws from you, you can feel the puddle of it being drawn back out of you by the suction of his cock leaving you. 

            Sobbing, gasping for breath, you collapse onto whatever surface you are bent over.  Your legs feel weak and rubbery, unable to support you.  If it were not for the handcuffs that are secured to something out in front of you, you would slide off this thing you’re bent over and fall to the floor.  He smacks both of your ass cheeks hard with his open hands.  Even though he has withdrawn from you, there is still a powerful aching pain clear up into your gut. 

            “That wasn’t part of my fantasy!” you sob when he removes your ball gag. 

            “Oh, but it is of mine,” he says as he removes your blindfold. 

            “Take me back to the airport,” you tell him.  “I don’t want to do this anymore.  I won’t tell anyone, I promise.  Just let me go.”

            “Like that’s really going to happen.  Every woman I’ve ever brought here to experience whatever their fantasy might be has come here voluntarily, like you, knowing that I have told them I will kill them in keeping with their fantasies.  They were all told, like you, that once they were in my hands, there would be no going back.  They were doomed.  Virtually all of them have tried to back out of it at some point or other before the end.  Need I tell you that none of them were allowed to?  They all died in the manner that their fantasies dictated, and you will too, when I’m ready to do it.”

            “When?” you ask. 

            In a few days, but I intend to have a little fun with you first.  It’s not like you’re going to survive this to be able to charge me with rape or anything.  You’re not going to live long enough to testify against me, and over the years, I’ve become very good at hiding the evidence of my misdeeds.  As far as the rest of the world is concerned, you might as well be dead.  Nobody else is ever going to see you again until I sell your snuff video, and I have a very select clientele who will pay for that and see you die.”

            “I never agreed to let you do me in a video,” you protest. 

            “Again, this is, how do you say, not my problem.  You have no control whatsoever over what happens to you from now until the moment I impale you.  By the way, would you like to see the pole you will be impaled on?  No?  Too bad,” he says as he frees your handcuffs from the clip that has held you in position for your anal rape.  It was a table he had you bent over.  He grasps your handcuffs and pulls you up off it.  He fits a dog collar around your neck and attaches a leash to it and drags you out of the room you are in back out into daylight.  The bright sun blinds you momentarily.  Then you see it, and your belly churns from your pussy up through your guts and chest as you imagine that gleaming, menacingly sharp tip surging up through you. 

The pole is some kind of metal, stainless steel or brushed aluminum gleaming with the sunlight reflecting off it.  It is not quite as thick as you had imagined it would be, and not quite halfway to the top from the ground, a more slender metal rod has been run through a small hole drilled in the pole.  That, he tells you, will serve to prevent you from sliding all the way down the pole and leave you in a standing position so that he won’t have to stoop or bend over to be able to gut you after your impaling has been accomplished.    He tells you that it is four centimeters thick and two meters tall.  Another meter is anchored in concrete in the ground. 

There is a wooden structure that looks strangely like a gallows standing beside it and maybe another two meters or so taller than the impaling pole.  It is built of sturdy wood posts that he tells you are twelve centimeters thick, and at the top, a triangular brace supports an arm that juts out directly over the impaling pole.  A rope with a hook attached to the end of it dangles from a pulley attached to the overhead beam and is tied off to a cleat mounted in the upright post.  The overhead pulley is a block and tackle arrangement that will allow him to easily raise you up over the impaling post and then let you down onto it. 

It is hard to take your eyes off the pole you will be impaled on and gutted on and left to die on, but you can’t help noticing, too, the rather pronounced bulge in the man’s pants.  He is getting an erection again, apparently imagining himself doing all the things to you that he is describing to you.  He unlocks one side of your handcuffs, loops them around the pole with you facing the pole and then snaps the open cuff back onto your wrist.  He moves behind you again and just as you are thinking he is about to rape your ass again, you feel the head of his cock probing your pussy lips. 

He remarks on how wet you are there, and then he thrusts his cock deep into you, and you feel his hands grasping your hips as he thrusts into you hard and fast.  Still, it takes him forever to climax, and you were already so aroused by the sight of the pole you are going to die on that you cannot hold back the orgasm he forces on you.  He laughs and tells you he thought you would be a hot one and a great fuck.  Ashamed, you cannot keep yourself from climaxing again and again before he buries his cock in you and spews another heavy dose of his semen into you.  Now your pussy is as full of his seed as your ass is.  You don’t want to think about it, but you know it’s just a matter of time before your belly gets an equal dose, via your mouth. 

“Where are we?” you ask as he leads you back inside the building.  It is an ancient looking structure, but seems well maintained.  Your flight landed in Prague, but the ride to this place was so long, you could be in any of several countries surrounding the Czech Republic. 

“You are in the last place you will ever be,” he says.  “That is all you need to know.”

He locks you into a room.  There is no bathroom, and he tells you that you will have to use the intercom on the stand by your bed to let him know if you need the bathroom.  You do need the bathroom, and when he takes you to it, you are relieved to discover that, in spite of the age of the house, the plumbing fixtures are relatively modern and clean.  You are not relieved to discover that you will not have even a moment’s privacy in the bathroom.  He removes your handcuffs and stands at the open doorway and watches you relieve yourself.  When you are finished, the handcuffs go back on. He takes them off, though, before he locks you back inside your room.  There is a window, but it is heavily barred, and it’s a long drop to the ground if you could get past the bars.  

After three days, it’s hard for you to call what he’s doing to you rape anymore.  He’s fucked your pussy and ass and mouth so many times that you no longer make any effort to resist him.  When he comes into your room, you ask him how he wants you and then put yourself into position to receive him.   It is such a strange and frightening thrill to feel the cock of the man who is going to impale and gut you running through you that you can’t help cumming, even occasionally when he is fucking your ass.  He has taken to whipping you, too.  Sometimes with a birch rod, and sometimes with a multi-stranded short whip he calls a cat-o-nine-tails.  The first time he did it was with the birch rod, and he blindfolded you first and had you bent over that table where he first sodomized you, so you had no idea what was about to happen.  You lay there bent over the table expecting to feel his cock probing your ass or pussy, and all of a sudden, you heard the sound of something whistling through the air, and then your ass erupted into flames.  There was a loud crack as the thin rod stung your ass cheeks.  It hurt so bad, even that made you cum, too, as your body jerked reflexively to the pain seared across your ass. 

He had abandoned the ball gag after the first day, telling you he likes the sounds you make- the moans and orgasmic cries when he fucks you and the groans and cries of pain when he takes you in the ass.  And he loves your screams and sobs with each stroke of the rod or the whip.  On the fourth day you are there, he hangs you.  He has a gallows out in his “killing ground” as he calls it.  When you see that he is leading you to the gallows, you begin to scream and plead with him and fight him, but it is no use.  He is too strong, and he already has your hands cuffed behind your back, and when he hauls you up the steps to the gallows, he gets the noose around your neck, and then you have no choice but to step up onto the chair as he pulls on the noose, putting strain on your neck. 

This is not how you wanted to die.  You have considered hanging, but it was never one of your favorite fetishes, and now it looks like the man who promised he would impale you and gut you is going to deny you the realization of that fantasy and let you hang to your death.  He pulls the rope tight so that you won’t fall very far, and then he ties it off to a cleat mounted in one of the uprights.  He comes around in front of you and adjusts the noose until it is snug against your neck but not impairing your breathing yet, and he slides the knot around so that it is just in front of your left ear.  Your heart is racing so fast it feels like it will explode.  You are sweaty and having trouble catching your breath even before the noose chokes you.  You curse him and tell him this is not what he promised you.  He laughs at you and you spit at him, and then he yanks the chair you are standing on away.

You are hanging.  Immediately, the rope seizes your neck and tightens its grip on you.  You find you can still manage tiny wisps of breath, but they are not nearly enough to feed your oxygen starved body.  A pressure is building in your head.  Your face feels hot and flushed.  He takes a picture with a small digital camera, and when he shows it to you later, you will see that after only a few seconds, your face was turning a hideous red.  Your mouth was open and your tongue starting to protrude as you struggle to breathe.  Your lungs are on fire.  You kick and twist and try to reach for the rope, but it is useless to try.  He is taking more pictures.  You wonder if your naked hanging body is going to end up in some gallery on DFN.  Why in the name of God did you ever log onto that stupid fucking website in the first place?  If you’d never found it, you’d still be at home in Denmark with your friends and family instead of out here in the middle of God knows where dying at the end of this rope. 

You have no idea how long it takes.  It seems like forever, and then, when you begin to feel yourself weakening, not nearly long enough.  Your legs grow heavy.  It seems to take more and more of your strength to lift and kick them.  And then, something you have been trying to ignore swells to power in your belly.  An orgasm unlike any you have ever had before sweeps through you and in its wake, it leaves you too tired and exhausted and spent to care what happens to you anymore.  You think this must be how it will end as you lapse into unconsciousness. 

As soon as he notices that you have lost consciousness, though, he loosens the rope from its cleat and lowers you to the floor of the gallows and loosens the rope from around your neck.  A moment later, you regain consciousness, coughing and choking and gasping for breath, feeling the fresh air rush into your tortured lungs to put out the fire burning there.  You are light-headed and have a monstrous headache, but you feel a sense of euphoria, too, and you are so sexually aroused that when he rolls you onto your back and mounts you, you grab hold of him and fuck him like a long lost lover, cumming over and over as he rides you to his conclusion.  Then you lie there beneath him clinging to him, crying softly, wondering why you are glad that you are still alive.  It could have been over.  You had already lost consciousness.  For all it mattered to you, you were already dead.  If he had left you hanging for a few more minutes, you would have been dead and you would no longer be looking at dying a much more agonizing, grizzly and gruesome death in a few more days. 

Two days later, after he comes into your room and fucks you, he tells you it’s time.  Just like that.  He was actually being rather nice about the fucking, too.  He didn’t just tell you what position to get into and mount you.  He came in and sat beside you on your bed and chatted a while, and then, he started to kiss and fondle you, and before he got around to entering you, he actually had you wanting him.  And then, as soon as he had come into you, when you wanted to lie there feeling him inside you enjoying the aftermath of your orgasms, he pulled out of you and handcuffed your hands in front of you and put your dog collar around your neck and told you as calmly as though he was telling you it was time for lunch that it was time for him to take you back out to the killing ground and bring your fantasy to fruition. 

He asked you if you were excited that it was finally going to happen.  Excited?  Excited doesn’t begin to describe the emotions that are rushing through your mind.  You are terrified.  Your body, so recently calmly basking in the aftermath of your orgasms, is suddenly on high alert again.  You feel your heart racing, the adrenaline being pumped into your veins and arteries.  Just like that, in a heartbeat, he has gone from being a pretty decent lover to the man who is about to kill you in the hideously painful manner your twisted psyche has imagined for you and driven you to find this man to do it to you. 

As he leads you by your leash out to the killing ground, you can’t believe that this is happening.  From the first moment you were alone with him after your flight, he has made it very clear to you that it will happen, but your mind has refused to come to grips with the reality of your situation, and now there is no escaping it.  The sun shines down on you.  It is far too beautiful a day for someone as young and beautiful as you  to die in, but you are about to die.  You’re not sure how your legs are managing to support you as he makes you stand next to your impaling pole and wait for him to pull the hook down to where he can loop your handcuffs over it.  When he has done that, he pulls you up just far enough that you are barely on your toes and can’t possibly unhook your cuffs while he removes your dog collar.  The block and tackle overhead must have some sort of mechanism that prevents you from falling back to the ground when he releases the rope.  You notice that there is a second rope leading up to it that runs down to a lever mounted on the upright wooden post.  That must be the release mechanism that will let you drop onto the pole when you are in position over it, you guess. 

You try to struggle, but it is too late for that.  You watch the ground falling away beneath you and see the very sharp tip of your impaling pole go past your face as you rise, marveling at how little effort he has to exert to pull you up thanks to the block and tackle.  When you see that your crotch is almost certainly above the tip of the pole, you see him release the rope and feel the safety mechanism stop you from falling.  Now you see him take the release lever in one hand, and with his free hand, he grasps one of your legs and maneuvers you into position.  He pulls on the lever and you slowly begin to descend, and just as you feel the tip of the pole touch your pussy lips, he moves you slightly and you feel the tip of the pole rising slowly up into your pussy. 

At first, there is no pain.  It slides into you as easily as his cock did so few minutes earlier.  It goes deeper, and then you feel the first stab of pain.  You cry out as the tip finally forces itself against something up inside you.  You cry out as you feel your cervix resisting the thrust of the pole, and then you scream as you feel your cervix give way and let the pole up into your uterus.  You thought your first anal rape on the first day he brought you here was horrifically painful, but this is several magnitudes beyond what you felt as his cock violated your ass for the first time.  You can’t stop screaming, and you can’t imagine what dark insanity made you even remotely think you could possibly want to experience this. 

Something inside you drove you to this, though, and now you are doomed to see it through to its excruciating, bloody conclusion.  He has let go of your leg now that the pole is securely inside you and making its way farther up into you.  Not that you are anywhere near coherent enough to notice, but the release lever can control the tension on the line holding you up there, and therefore, the speed with which it allows gravity to assert its power over you.  He is holding the lever in a position that keeps enough tension on the line to insure that you remain suspended vertically over the pole as you slowly sink down onto it.  Each new centimeter that it tears up into you is another centimeter of the most intense pain.  It is so far beyond anything you have imagined you could experience that you marvel that the pain alone hasn’t already killed you or at least rendered you unconscious. 

You have not stopped screaming since the tip of the pole first ripped through your cervix.  Your voice is getting raw, your throat sore, but still you are screaming and squirming and fighting for your life, trying to use what strength you have in your arms to pull yourself up off the shaft of pain rising through your belly.  Each time it seems that you are succeeding though, just as you feel the shaft receding a bit, below you, he pulls the tension lever a bit further to let you fall a bit faster and allow the impaling pole to take back the territory you had stolen from it.  You have no idea how long this is taking except that it is far too long.  He is toying with you, deliberately using the tensioner on the block and tackle release to slow your plunge onto your impaling pole and draw out the length of your torture. 

Still screaming, you feel a burning sensation.  The tip of the pole has just pierced the wall of your stomach, and stomach acid is leaking down into your abdominal cavity.  Even though you know you are already doomed by the injuries you have already sustained, you are begging him to stop this, to spare you, but the pole surges further up into you slowly, irresistibly.  You are too weak now to even try to pull yourself up off it.  Suddenly, you feel it ripping up through your chest, and you pray that it will pierce your heart and end your misery.  It does not.  Your heart is still hammering away, and your lungs, too, seem unaffected as it rises through your chest.  It has hit your esophagus and followed that tube safely past your heart and lungs. 

Suddenly, it is in your throat, and it cuts off your ability to scream.  You are still trying, but all you can manage is a squealing sound.  The pole rises from your throat to fill your mouth and force it open, and a second after you feel the tip push its way past your lips, you see the bloody tip coming up out of you, pointing skyward as you slowly slide down over it.  He doesn’t even release the tension on the line to let you fall freely until you feel your weight settling onto the crossbar beneath you.  It is done.  You have an impaling pole run clear through you from your pussy up through your belly and chest and throat and out your mouth, and astonishingly, you are not just alive, you are conscious and alert and suffering pain far beyond anything you could possibly have imagined your body could endure. 

Now there is no shadow of a doubt in your mind that you are doomed.  You no longer want to survive.  You just want to die as quickly as possible.  The possibility that someone could stumble on this scene now and rescue you and try to save you is something you don’t even want to contemplate.  The pain is too intense, and you know anyone trying to save you would only prolong your suffering.  At least the gutting should be coming now, and he has told you in his messages to you that the gutting will be what kills you and ends your suffering. 

He releases the tension on the rope that has lifted you and pulls the hook down to free your handcuffs.  He quickly pulls the rope up out of the way, and now he releases one wrist from the cuffs, only long enough to pull your arms behind your back and snap the open cuff back onto your wrist.  You can’t ask why he has done this because the pole in your mouth has insured that you have already spoken the last word you will ever speak, but he tells you anyway that he secured your arms behind you so that you wouldn’t be able to block the knife he will use to gut you or try to hold your organs inside you once he opens you. 

With the pole run through you, its traverse through your throat and mouth has forced your head back leaving you looking skyward.  The crossbar brace that is holding you up has you at eye level with him, but you can only see him in your peripheral vision.  He asks you if you enjoyed your impaling and tells you to blink once for yes, twice for no.  You blink twice. 

“I didn’t think you would, but that was what you asked for, so that was what I gave you.  How does it feel now?  Still painful?”  You blink once.  “Do you want me to end your pain?”  Again, one blink, even though you know what that means.  “Are you ready to let me gut you?”  Let him?  How on earth does he think you’re going to be able to prevent him?  One blink.  “Alright, then, let’s do this,” he says. 

He pushes a wash tub up against the pole beneath you.  It pushes your dangling feet back out of its way, but he lifts your legs and lets your feet down into the tub and tells you he wants to let you feel your toes squishing through your own guts.  He caresses your breasts and suckles each nipple, and you feel his hand on your pussy, his fingers strumming your clitoris.  You are astonished to feel yourself aroused, and even more amazed when you have the last orgasm you will ever have, and in spite of the pain, you feel yourself writhing in orgasmic ecstasy on the pole you are impaled on.  It is as if you have been fucked by a monster cock clear through you.  He smiles when he sees that you are cumming, and he moves a bit to one side to let you see him lick your bloody juices from his fingers, and then he shows you the blade he will use to cut you open. 

You expected to see a knife with a long blade that would plunge deep into your belly, but it is not a knife at all, but a kind of razor with a very short, but very sharp blade.  The blade is long enough to slice through your skin and the layers of muscle and belly fat.  It will open you, but it will not plunge deep enough to cut any major blood vessels and speed your journey into oblivion.  No, your death will not be that easy.  He bends forward and kisses you on the side of your head, and then he moves around in front of you again.  You wait, terrified.  You are about to die.  Your undamaged heart is pounding in your chest.  You want desperately to die as quickly as possible to end this agony, and yet, this is it- death, the end of everything you have been or might have been.  Or is it.  Does some even more horrific torture lie waiting for you on the other side.  You don’t believe in God or heaven or hell, but knowing that you are about to discover the truth or the lie of your beliefs is not at all reassuring. 

You feel the first slice of the blade across your upper belly just below your ribcage.  It stings, and you feel a tickling sensation as blood seeps from the wound down over your belly.  The second cut is down the length of your belly from just beneath your breast bone until the blade strikes your pelvic bone just above your pussy.  Now you feel his hand on your belly holding it closed until he makes the final cut.  It is across your lower belly from hip bone to hip bone.  He releases his hand from your belly, and you feel it open.  You can’t see it because your head is tilted back, but the cuts have opened you up like a pair of barn doors, and now you can feel your intestines slipping out of you, sliding down over your lower belly and legs, falling into the tub beneath you.  They are slimy and wet and hot against your feet.  Disgusted, you try to raise your feet away from them, but you are too weak.  He was right.  After impaling, you would have been far too weakened to stand on your own.  You only manage to raise your feet far enough that you now have your intestines underfoot and can feel them squishing up between your toes. 

He has to do some selective cutting here and there to free your organs from their connective tissues, and he also has to cut some away from around the impaling pole.  It has pierced your stomach and liver, and he has to cut them away from the pole and let them drop with a sickening plop into the pile of stinking guts already lying in the tub.  He cuts away your kidneys and bladder and drops them into the tub.  He pins back the flaps of your belly that his cuts have made so that you remain open and exposed, and when he takes one of the video cameras that have been recording your experience, he slowly pans from your face where the pole still protrudes from your mouth down over your body revealing the open abdominal cavity.  The only thing remaining inside you is the major blood vessels that carry blood from your heart down to your lover extremities and back to your heart.  He has left your sexual organs in place.  The impaling pole went right through your pussy and cervix and uterus.  Your insides look very much like any other slab of meat one might find hanging in some butcher’s cooler. 

He pans on down to the steaming mess in the tub and then slowly back up over you, pausing to let his future viewers enjoy the sight of the blood dripping from your pussy down the shaft of the impaling pole, and then he pans on back up to your face, rests the camera there for a while and then pans on up to the tip of the pole bloodied against the clear blue sky before he fades the shot to darkness. 

You are not dead yet.  You are still in incredible pain.  You see him walking away from you and are horror stricken to realize he is simply going to allow you to hang here as long as it takes you to lapse into unconsciousness and die.  Your hope that the gutting would include your heart and lungs and insure a quick death is dashed.   Oh dear God, your mind cries out.  What have I done?  How long will this take?  Why haven’t I died yet?  The pain is too severe to bear.  Oh God, please let this be over.  Take me.  Let me die.  Please let me die.  Please let me die.  Please let me die.

He has disappeared inside the house, but he reappears carrying a bottle of beer.  He sits on the floor of the gallows a few meters from you and sips his beer as he watches for signs that your experience of your darkest fetish is over.  Please let me die.  Please let me die.  Please let me die…

Posted: 21-Jun-2012 - 7 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
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The Journal of My Hanging

By Maryann Thompson

Addendum by Hangman

 

June 1

 

                Oh my God!  I did it!  I just told him I want him to hang me!  Oh fuck!  Am I out of my mind?  Ever since I saw a man get hanged in a movie when I was twelve years old, I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind.  I keep wondering what it would be like to be standing there with a rope around my neck waiting for the trap door to fall out from under me and to feel the noose seize around my neck and start choking me.  What would it be like to know in advance that you’re going to die on such and such a day at such and such a time?  What would it be like to sit in a cell waiting for it to happen?  What would it be like to stand there perfectly healthy, my heart and mind racing, my breathing fast as I try to take in as much air as I can before the noose chokes off my breathing?  Perfectly healthy one minute and seconds later, dying. 

            I’ve been trying to hook up with a guy to do it to me ever since I turned eighteen.  A couple weeks ago, I started exchanging messages with this guy on a website called Dark Fetish Network.  He calls himself Hangman.  He says he can do it and he’s been looking for a girl.  He made me send him a couple naked pictures.  I guess he liked what he saw because he said he’d do it, and he warned me that once I agreed to it, there wouldn’t be any backing out.  I don’t want to back out.  I’ve been dreaming about this and playing it out over and over in my head since I was twelve, and now I get to do it.  I’ve read so much about it, I can’t wait.  Oh fuck!  I hope I get that really huge orgasm at the end.  I want to go out cumming my ass off.   That’s going to be so cool.   The last thing I’ll feel is my pussy going nuts. 

            I’m scared shitless.  I mean, I’m not stupid.  I know I’m going to end up dead, but it will be worth it if this turns out to be even half the experience I think it’s going to be.  I mean, my life isn’t all that great when you stop to think about it.  I’m just some nobody who’s never going to be anything special.  I wasn’t that great in school.  I don’t have any special talents.  I’m never going to be rich or famous.  So what does that leave?  I fall in love with some guy and get married.  A couple kids.  He’ll probably be fucking his secretary while I ferry the kids around to soccer games.  Maybe he’ll divorce me, or I’ll leave him.  What then?  More of the same with some other guy?  I get old and watch my body falling apart like my grandmother is doing now.  Arthritis.  Half blind.  Going senile.  No thanks.  I’m not going out lying in my own shit in some nursing home bed.  I’m going out cumming my ass off.

            God, I wish he’d message me back with the final arrangements.  Final.  Oh fuck, this really is final if he comes through for me. 

 

June 2

 

                No word from Hangman yet.  I didn’t even see him on DFN today, and I’ve been checking it all day.  Doesn’t he realize how strung out I am over this?  Come on, Hangman.  Don’t keep me waiting.  I’m liable to get cold feet and back out of this.  I’m already having second thoughts about it.  Did he find someone hotter than me who wants him to hang her?  I told him if he’d do it, once I’m with him, he can do anything he wants to me as long as I’m alive and healthy when he puts the rope around my neck.  Since he wanted naked pictures, I figure he’ll probably want to fuck me first.  That’s cool.  I haven’t done that a lot, but it’s not like I’m a virgin.  Sex hasn’t been all that hot for me.  Billy Jameison just doesn’t seem to know how to make it work for me, so fuck him.  Maybe it will be hotter fucking a guy who’s going to kill me.  I saw a picture on DFN of a guy fucking a girl while he was hanging her.  That would be so hot.  If he does me that way, it would probably take some pressure off my neck when he lifts me up enough to get me onto his cock, so I’d probably last longer, and getting fucked while I’m hanging should guarantee I’ll have that big orgasm at the end. 

            I’m writing this on my laptop.  I’m planning on taking it with me and making entries in here right up to the last minute.  Maybe I’ll ask him to publish everything I write on DFN so people there will get an idea of what it’s like for a girl to go through the whole process of hanging- making the choice to do it, finding the right guy to do it, going to him and then waiting for him to do it, and going through whatever else he decides to do to me before he puts the rope around my neck and drops me. 

God, I hope he doesn’t tie my legs.  I want my hands tied behind my back.  I need to feel the helplessness, and I don’t want to be able to try to grab the noose and pull it away from my throat.  I do want to be able to kick, though.  My air dance.  I hope he videotapes me and puts it on DFN.  Before he hangs me, we could shoot a scene of him taking me down and reviving me so no one will think he really hanged me to death.  

            Oh Christ, why hasn’t he messaged me to let me know what’s next?

 

June 3

 

                It’s all set!  Oh fuck!  It’s going to happen!  He sent me a message to meet his private jet at an airport near here.  Christ!  He must be rich!  No wonder he’s not afraid of getting his ass I trouble for killing me.  Rich people can get away with all kinds of shit.  Tomorrow morning, I have to meet his plane.  He said that once I step onto the plane, I’ll be his prisoner headed to my execution.  There won’t be any turning back, no matter if I change my mind or not.  When I get on the plane, I’m as good as dead.  Oh holy fuck!  I can’t believe I’m doing this!  I’m so fucking nervous, I tossed my breakfast the minute I read his message.  I don’t know how I’m going to be able to keep this bottled up inside me and not let my parents know I’m up to something. 

            After I cleaned up and calmed down a little, I messaged him back and told him I’d be there.  I know where the airport is he told me to be at.  I’m sitting here reading his message over and over, and I’ve been masturbating like crazy ever since.  I’m having the wildest orgasms.  You wouldn’t believe what it feels like.  Billy Jameison never got me off like this. 

            I asked Hangman how long I’ll have after I get there before he does it.  He said it won’t be right away, but he didn’t give me a definite time either.  He says it will be more exciting for me if I don’t know when it’s going to happen until he takes me to the gallows and does it.  That way, every time he comes for me, I’ll be thinking this time is going to be it.  I guess I know now that he’s planning on fucking me.  If he wasn’t, he’d probably do it the minute we get back to his place.  Oh shit!  I just realized he might want to fuck me in the ass.  I told him I’d let him do anything.  Fuck!  I hope he doesn’t want that.  I let Billy do me that way once, and it hurt like a sonofabitch.  I nearly beat the crap out of him after he got off and pulled out of me.  Too late to back out now.  Besides, a little pain in my ass is probably the least of my worries.  I mean, I’m not stupid enough to think that getting hanged to death by my neck isn’t going to hurt.

            I’ve read stuff.  They say your lungs feel like they’re on fire.  The rope is crushing your windpipe and leaves a hell of a burn mark because you can’t help struggling against it.  Someone said your head feels like it’s going to explode.  Fuck!  Why do I want to do this?  I gotta be nuts.  I wonder if you feel your heart stop beating?

 

June 4

 

            I’m at the airport.  Fuck, I’m really doing this.  I can’t believe I didn’t have a massive panic attack yesterday.  I couldn’t sleep a wink last night.  My pussy is sore from all the masturbating I’ve been doing.  I got up and showered and all that shit this morning and put on my Burger King uniform, but I changed out of it as soon as I found a deserted parking lot to stop at.  My folks must be totally zoned out.  I don’t think they have any idea that anything unusual is going on in my life.  What’s left of my life, I should say.  I’m never going to see them again. 

            Where’s that damned plane?  I wonder how much time I have left before he does it?  How long will he keep me around, and what does he have planned for me before he finally kills me?  I’ve been wondering about that ever since he messaged me to be here to catch his plane.  I don’t see him keeping me around much longer than a week or so.  Maybe two at the most.  I mean, he must get off on hanging girls big time to be willing to risk getting caught and ending up in jail or getting executed himself.   I wonder if the state he lives in has the death penalty.  Has he killed before?  He told me he’s hanged other girls, but he wouldn’t tell me whether or not he let them down in time. 

            Oh shit!  What am I going to do if he lets me down before I’m dead?  I blew off my job at Burger King, and my parents will be pissed as hell if I just disappear for a week or so and then show up again with a rope burn around my neck.  They’d have me in the nuthouse. 

            There’s a plane coming in!  Oh fuck!  Is this it?  Oh God, please let me be strong!  Is it him?  Small white jet.  Red stripe down the side.  Oh fuck!  It’s him!

 

*****

 

            I can’t believe I did it!   I’m as good as dead.  He told me there wouldn’t be any turning back once I boarded his plane.  He wasn’t playing around either.  I thought my heart was going to explode when I went aboard the plane.  The minute I was inside, he handcuffed me and ball-gagged me and cuffed one of my ankles to a seat.  I’m really this guy’s prisoner.  It was a pretty long flight.  I have no idea where I am, except locked in a room somewhere.  There’s a window, but it’s a long way to the ground, and there’s no one around as far as the eye can see.  Well, Maryann, I hope you’re really sure you wanted this, because it sure looks like you’re going to get it.  I can almost feel the noose closing in around my neck already.  Oh shit!  Somebody’s coming.

 

*****

 

            I was right.  He’s going to fuck me.  He just did, and man, what a fuck!  Billy Jameison, eat your heart out.  You could never do me like he did if your life depended on it.  He never said a word to me.  He just came in, locked the door behind him and pushed me down onto my knees.  I was already naked.  He took away my clothes the minute he brought me to this room.   Something tells me I’ve worn the last clothing I’ll ever have on.  I knew what he wanted.  It’s what all guys want.  He took out my ball gag and shoved his cock in my mouth.  Christ, it’s huge.  It’s at least twice as long as Billy’s and half again as thick.  There was no way that thing was going down my throat, I thought.  I was wrong.  I don’t know how I managed not to puke.  He grabbed my head and fucked my face, and that huge cock was going up and down my throat. 

            I must be one huge masochist.  I mean, I let him bring me here knowing he intends to hang me to death, and I know that’s not going to be quick and painless.  He told me right from the first that he uses a short drop so that the girl takes as long as possible to die.  That’s the way I wanted it.  And then, I was actually getting off while he was fucking my throat.  I came!  Do you believe that?  And when he pulled it out of my throat and threw me down onto the bed, he shoved it into me as hard and deep as he could, and I started cumming like a race horse.  He gave it to me as hard and fast as he could, and it still took him forever to get off, and when he came, Christ, it felt like Niagara Falls shooting into me. 

            Oh fuck!  I’m not on any birth control!  He’s probably going to knock me up if he hasn’t already.  It’s not like I’m going to live long enough to even begin to show that I’m pregnant, but still, when I decided to do this, I never thought I might be taking someone else out with me.  A baby!  Wow!  Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now.  My pussy and my throat are both sore as hell, but I tell you what, even if he never hangs me, getting fucked like that made this worth my trouble. 

 

June 5

 

                Oh man, am I sore.  I ache all over, especially my throat and pussy and ass.  I was right.  He did me in the ass.  Oh, fuck!  You talk about pain!  I’m exhausted, too.  I mean, I didn’t sleep at all the night before I had to meet his plane.  Nerves, big time.  And last night, every time I started to drift off to sleep, he was back and fucking me again.  I may not live long enough to hang.  This guy is going to fuck me to death. 

            This morning, he brought me down to breakfast.  He hooked my ankle cuff to a chair and let me eat.  The food wasn’t bad.  Then he took my laptop and checked it out, and he read everything I’ve written in my journal.  I was afraid he would be pissed and wouldn’t let me have it back, but he liked it.  He said I can keep writing.  He insisted that I keep putting my thoughts and feelings down, right up to the end, when he comes to take me to the gallows.  He even said he’d finish it for me.  After he hangs me, he’s going to tell about how I get through it, and he promised to publish it on DFN.

            Then he told me how it’s going to be for me, sort of.  He let me know I can expect him to come to my room and fuck me whichever way he wants whenever he feels like it.  I expected that.  The man does love to fuck.  He wouldn’t tell me what else he has planned for me, but he did let me know that he’s going to do other stuff to me besides hang me.  He wouldn’t say what. 

            After breakfast, he took me down into a cellar and showed me where I’m going to die.  He’s got a real fucking gallows!  It’s not just a rope thrown over a ceiling beam or attached to a hook in the ceiling.  It’s a real gallows, trap door and all.  I freaked.  He made me stand on the trap door and he put the noose around my neck, and I swear to God, I almost shit myself when he put his hand on the lever that releases the trap door.  Then he took the noose off me and made me step back off the trap door, and he pulled the lever.  I fucking came.  A few seconds earlier, I had been standing on it with my neck in the noose.  If he had pulled it then, I’d have been hanging.  I could almost feel the rope jerk tight around my neck.  God, I wanted it to happen. 

            The trap door is a two door setup.  The gallows floor is only about three feet above the floor, so I guess he used two doors so that there’s a wide enough hole in the floor to allow the condemned- meaning me- lots of room to kick and swing around without getting her feet back up onto the gallows floor.  The condemned.  I really am condemned, and seeing that gallows I’m going to die on really got to me.  Then he put the noose around my neck again, but he loosened the other end of the rope so that it couldn’t hang me.  He took me back down to the floor level and bent me over the edge of the gallows and fucked me from behind.  While he was doing me, he kept pulling the noose tight around my neck choking me.  He must know how much a girl can take before she passes out because, every time I felt like I was about to go out, he loosened the noose and let me breathe a little.  He kept fucking me, though, and pretty soon, he had it tight around my neck again.  Christ, if the orgasms he gave me then are any indication of what I’m in for when he hangs me, he can take me right back down there and do me now.

 

June 6

 

            More fucking, but I’m not complaining.  I’ve got, at best, a week or so left to get all the fucking a woman would normally get in a lifetime.  I know I’m never going to get a whole lifetime’s worth of fucking before he hangs me, but I’ll take everything he gives me, including in the ass.  He’s done my ass a couple more times.  It still hurts like a bitch, but not nearly as bad as that first one.  I actually got off on it the last time he did it to me that way. 

            Today, he let me know that I’ll have a little bit of a notice before he hangs me.  There are some preparations we have to do first, he says.  He told me that I’ll be getting an enema before he does it.  The day before it happens, I’ll get a light breakfast and lunch, and that will be the last food I get to eat.  He says he’s going to hang me in the evening, but the morning it happens, he’ll give me the enema.  It’s the heavy duty kind they give to people who are getting a colonoscopy.  I remember my grandfather got one a couple years ago.  They gave him these pills to take- a big overdose of a laxative, and then he had to drink an amazing amount of Gatorade.  Then he spent the rest of the day on the john.  He said he never knew a human body could hold so much shit. 
            I asked Hangman why I had to do that.  He said it would make sure I didn’t shit myself while I was hanging.  He said that, to be safe, he’d shove a butt plug up my ass before he does me, too, and to make sure I don’t piss myself, he’s going to put a catheter into me and attach it to a bag he’ll strap to one of my legs to catch my piss.  I don’t have Internet access here in case I try to have somebody try to find me and save me, so I had to ask him what a catheter is.  It’s a skinny tube that they stick into a woman’s pee hole or a man’s cock and push it up through them until it gets up into their bladder.  Then someone who is bedfast or who can’t make it to the bathroom can let it go and it will go out of them through the tube into a collecting bag.

            I don’t think I have to tell you I’m not looking forward to that at all.  I never even stopped to think about all that stuff.  I didn’t even know that a person being executed by hanging or any other method will often piss or shit until Hangman told me. They even put diapers on them sometimes to make sure they don’t make a mess.  I’m not at all crazy about what he’s going to do to me to make sure I don’t shit or piss myself, but the last thing I want is for my ass or bladder to cut loose on me while I’m hanging.  I do not want the last thing I smell to be my own shit, and when he cuts me down, I do not want to end up lying in a pile of my own shit. 

June 7

 

            He whipped me today.  He took me down to where the gallows is and tied my hands together and tied them up over my head to this pole.  I thought he was going to fuck my ass again, but he put a blindfold on me, and then I stood there waiting for a minute or so wondering what the hell he was going to do to me.  And then, the first lash hit me.  Oh mother fucking Christ!  It was a cat o nine tails, he told me after he gave me several lashes.  I lost track somewhere up in the twenties, and it kept on going for quite a while after that.  It’s a short whip with a lot of strands that sting like a sonofabitch and leave hideous welts all over your ass and back.  I was crying and screaming and begging him to stop.  The worst part was being blindfolded and not knowing when they’re coming.  They just hit you out of nowhere, and he wasn’t keeping any kind of rhythm.  He did that deliberately to keep me off my guard.  He’d give me a couple quick hard ones, and then, just when I’m thinking maybe that’s it, wham!  There’s another one.  Then he gives me a couple lighter ones, or brushes the strands across my flaming ass and then whales me with it again. 

            Then the sonofabitch grabbed me by the hips and fucked me in the ass.  It was the first time he did my ass without any lube.  Oh fuck!  I mean, it’s already on fire from the whipping, and now, he just spits on his cock and shoves it in there, and then he’s fucking me as hard and fast as he can.  I fucking passed out.  The pain was worse than anything I ever felt before.  I couldn’t believe I came just before I passed out.  I remember hoping I was dying.  I have welts all up and down my back from my shoulders to my knees.  I look like a fucking red and white zebra. 

 

June 8

 

            More fucking.  Hangman isn’t a young guy.  He must be in his fifties.  He’s obviously in amazing physical condition, but how the hell does a man of that age do it?  At first, I was trying to keep track of how many times he fucks me before he gets tired of it and hangs me, but I lost track a couple days ago.  I’m getting laid at least four or five times a day, and we’re not talking five minute fucks here.  He lasts forever, and he comes like a high pressure fire hose.  Believe me.  He’s been fucking my throat from the first, but today for the first time, he didn’t pull out and shove it into my pussy or my ass.  For the first time, he fucked my throat until he came.  Oh my God!  I thought he was going to drown me.  It was all I could do to keep swallowing it on down into my belly until he was done.  I felt like I’d just had a full meal.  Maybe I’m weird, but I like the taste of his cum. 

            I keep wondering how much longer I’m going to be here before he does it.  It’s been almost a week.  Every time he takes me down to the dining room to let me eat, I keep wondering if that’s the last food I’m going to get.  It’s weird.  I’m not in a big hurry to die.  The longer I wait for it to happen, the more I keep wondering if I didn’t make a huge mistake.  I still want to experience it, though, all the way through to the end, but I can’t help wondering if it’s really going to be worth sacrificing my whole life to do it.  I just turned nineteen a couple weeks ago.  My grandmother is over eighty and still going strong.  If I hadn’t done this, I’d probably have another sixty years or more.  As it is, I probably don’t have more than a week left at the most, and given what he’s put me through over the past few days, God knows what the rest of my time is going to be like. 

 

*****

           

            He whipped me again tonight.  Oh fuck!  Why can’t he just hang me and get it over with?  My ass and back and the backs of my legs are so sore, it hurts to sit down.  At least he didn’t fuck me in the ass this time.  He used the blindfold again, though.  You can’t imagine how terrifying it is to be totally in the dark and not know when or where the next lash is going to hit you, and they hurt so bad.   Oh God, please don’t let him whip me before he hangs me or while I’m hanging.  Since I was twelve, hanging has been the entire focus of my life.  Now that it’s going to happen, don’t let him ruin it by whipping me or finding some other way to distract me from the experience of dying with my neck in a noose.  I really need that to be my sole focus when it happens.  No other distractions. 

            Well, maybe one last fuck. 

 

June 9

 

            I hate sitting here waiting.  I’ve never been any good at waiting.  I’m probably the most impatient person in the world, and now, I just have to sit here in this room and write in my journal and wait for him to come in and fuck me or take me down to the dungeon- yeah, it really is a dungeon down there where the gallows is waiting for me.  He told me this is some old castle, and they really used to torture and kill people down there.  So I guess that means we’re in Europe somewhere.  He had the windows in the plane covered, so I couldn’t see that we went over any ocean, but I knew it was a pretty long flight. 

            I’m going to die hanging from a real gallows in a real dungeon in a real castle somewhere in Europe.  I couldn’t have planned this any better if I’d tried.  It all sounds kind of romantic, doesn’t it?  But I’m scared shitless.  I guess I knew all along that I would be, but now that it’s finally real and the clock is ticking down, I don’t know if I have the guts to go through with it.  Not that I have any say in the matter.  I’m going to hang to my death when Hangman decides he’s ready to do it, and there’s no getting around that.  Ever since I was twelve, though, I’ve pictured myself going bravely to the gallows like the guy in that movie did.  Now, I’m scared to death he’s going to have to chain me up and drag me down there, and I’m going to be crying and fighting him and screaming my guts out right up to the instant the platform drops and the noose silences me for good.  Oh fuck, I don’t want it to be like that.  I just hope I can be strong enough to do it the way I want it to happen.

 

June 10

 

                I’m freaking out big time.  I watched a girl die today.  I had no idea he had other girls here.  I guess she was like me, except her fetish was that she wanted to die by being impaled in her ass on a thick stake.  She met Hangman on DFN, just as I did, and when she revealed her fantasy to him, he told her he could make it happen.  He told me he never had anyone jump at his offer as fast as she did, so he sent his plane for her and brought her here, and today, she got her wish.   It was horrible.  He fucked her first.  She was a virgin, and she gave him her cherry in exchange for his impaling her.  He said she was happy to let him fuck her in the ass or throat, but she had wanted to die with her virginity intact, but he had held out, telling her that was the price he wanted from her for taking the risk of impaling her and having to dispose of her body without getting caught.  She hesitated a couple days, he told me, but when she realized she had little chance of finding anyone else who would be willing to do her, she agreed to let him have her virginity.  He could fuck her one time just before he impaled her, she agreed. 

            Like me, she didn’t know what she was letting herself in for.  He fucked her senseless.  By the time he finally got off on her, she could barely stand.  He had a two and a half inch thick wooden post anchored in the floor.  It tapered to a very sharp tip about seven feet above the floor.  At first, I couldn’t figure out how he was ever going to get her up onto it, but after he had her wrists bound together, he took a remote control and pushed a button on it, and a line with a hook on it dropped down from the ceiling directly over the stake. 

The girl was still kind of out of it as he looped the rope binding her wrists onto the hook and pressed the button on his remote.  I could see blood stains on her thighs and pussy lips- her virgin blood.  Then I saw her face.  There was a kind of crazed, happy look on it.  I guess she was thrilled that she was finally experiencing her dream.  The hoist raised her far enough to let her crotch clear the tip of her spike, and then Hangman pushed another button, and as she slowly descended , he grasped her legs and made sure the tip of the spike entered her ass.  He stopped her, leaving her hanging there in midair with maybe an inch of the highly polished stake into her. 

She started wiggling around, making the stake move in her.  He lowered her another inch or two, and right away, the look on her face was changing.  Her eyes  opened wide as she felt the sharpened, polished tip go deeper into her.  I couldn’t understand her when she spoke.  I think she was Italian.  Reddish hair.  Slender, Nice little breasts.  Fair skin.  Very beautiful.  She just spoke a couple words.  Later, Hangman told me she told him to do it.  He pressed the button and let her descend several more inches.  As the part of the shaft going into her broadened, her eyes got wider and wider, and then the tip must have gotten far enough up into her that it started doing some damage.  She started squealing and squirming and crying out in Italian. 

It didn’t take a doctor to know she was in some serious pain.  I know practically no Italian, but “no” is no in any number of languages, and there’s no doubt in my mind that she was begging him to stop.  When I realized how he was going to kill her, I made a point of noting where the tip of her spike was against the background so I could tell how far it had gone up into her.  She was flailing her legs around and trying to press her feet against the pole to use it as leverage to push herself up off it, but the pole was highly polished.  She couldn’t get enough of a grip on it to do herself any good.  I could tell the tip was up into her past her belly button almost to her breasts.  It had to have ripped through her colon and must have been up into her stomach. 

The broadest part of the shaft was into her now, and Hangman was having to let her down a few inches at a time to make sure she stayed vertical and kept the post inside her as her weight pushed her down onto it.  She was very slender, and she couldn’t have weighed very much, so she wasn’t sinking down onto it very quickly.   The further up into her it went, the more she squealed and struggled and begged him to stop.  I don’t know how it happened, but it must have missed her heart and lungs and went from her stomach up through her esophagus into her throat.  Suddenly, she wasn’t squealing anymore.  She was still very much alive and in horrible pain, but the shaft had gotten so far up into her throat that it cut off her ability to cry out. 

I know that girl must have been into pain in a big way to have thought that was the way she wanted to go out, but the look on her face with that shaft so far through her told me she couldn’t possibly have experienced or imagined anything that severe before.  As thick as the shaft was, it must have ripped her esophagus and throat apart as it went through her.  I wonder if she knew it was going to go clear through her and that she would still be alive and conscious when the bloody tip came out of her mouth.  It was so gross, I nearly puked.  The tip of the spike was covered in blood and God knows what.  Blood was dripping down over her cheeks from her mouth.  Blood streaked down the pole from where it had gone into her ass. 

It took her forever to die.  Most of the night.  She was conscious most of that time.  Hangman made me stay with him and watch until she was dead.  He fucked me in front of her while she was still conscious and could see us.  I saw something in his eyes that has probably been there all along, but I never noticed it till then.  A hardness.  There was not the slightest bit of concern in his eyes for that girl who was dying in horrible agony right before us as he fucked me, and I don’t expect I’ll see any concern or sympathy when it’s my turn. 

 

June 11

 

 

            I’m still freaking out over watching that Italian girl get impaled.  I can’t imagine why anyone would want to die that way.  But I guess most people wouldn’t understand why I want to hang to death.  I always thought I was some kind of freak until I joined DFN and started finding other people like me.  Lots of them.  I guess there are just some people in the world that something has flipped a switch inside them and sent them off on a different course than what everybody else takes.  For me, it was seeing that guy hang in that movie when I was twelve.  I know it was faked.  I’m not that stupid.  Besides, I saw the same guy die in a couple other movies after that one.  But for me, at twelve, it was so real that I haven’t been able to get it out of my head ever since, and now I’m about to experience it for real myself. 

There won’t be any safety harness.  No one is going to let me down before it’s too late.  Once that trap door drops away from beneath me and the noose goes tight against my neck, it will just be a matter of a few minutes before I’m dead- probably even fewer minutes before I lose consciousness and the experience is essentially over for me.  I wonder how long it will take for me to pass out?  How much longer before my heart stops?  I read somewhere it can take up to twenty minutes.  I wonder if you can feel anything happening to you after you pass out.  I don’t think so.  Do you dream? 

He took me back down to the dungeon and whipped me again today.  Again, I was blindfolded and couldn’t see when the lashes were coming.  God, I hate that.  At least he told me that’s the last whipping I’ll get.   Thank God, but does that mean he’s going to hang me soon?  Oh fuck!  Am I ready?

The impaled girl’s body was gone from the stake she died on.  Everything was cleaned up.  You couldn’t tell anyone had ever died with that thing stuck up through their guts.  I wonder what he did with her body?  He wouldn’t tell me, and he won’t say what he’s going to do with me after I’m dead, either.  I don’t even want to think about it. 

After he whipped me and fucked me in the ass again, Hangman stretched me out on my back on this table he had down there in the dungeon, and he had my ankles tied to either side of the table to keep my legs spread apart, and he pulled my hands up over my head and tied them off at the other end, and then he brought out this little metal box and some wires and what looked like a chrome dildo.  There were some dials and control knobs on the front of the box and places on the back to plug things into it.  He plugged a wire into the back of the box and then he plugged the other end of the wire into the back end of the dildo thing and shoved it up my pussy.   There were straps and a belt attached to it that he used to secure it so it couldn’t come out of me.  Stupid me thought it was some kind of industrial strength vibrator that he was going to use to give me a huge buzz.  I guess I was sort of right. 

Next, the sonofabitch took these little needle things and stuck them through my nipples.  Oh fuck, did that hurt!  Then he plugged two more wires to the back of his metal box and attached one to each of the needles in my nipples.  I knew the needles were too skinny to be vibrators.  I was just beginning to figure out what he was going to do to me when he plugged the box into a wall socket and turned it on.  At first, it was like this pleasant tingling sensation going through me from my tits down into my pussy. 

My nipples were already erect from getting the needles stuck through them.  When the current started flowing, they got even harder fast.  Then he turned it up a little.  It was a little uncomfortable then, and scary.  I mean, I had no idea how much power that thing could put out.  But it got me off.  My body was flopping around on that table like a fish on the dock.  Then he turned it up some more.  Oh fucking Christ!  I thought the whip and getting fucked in the ass hurt.  It was like two lines of fire from my nipples down to my pussy, and I kept cumming. 

He shut it off.  The minute I started to get my breath back, he turned it on again, low power at first, but the minute he had me cumming again, the power shot up again, and it was like I was on fire inside.  I don’t know how many times he did that to me.  As usual, I lost track of the count because the experience was too intense to allow me to concentrate.  All I know is it hurt like a sonofabitch every time he hit me with the juice, and it made me cum like crazy, and when he was done and he pulled the needles out of my nipples and took the dildo electrode out of my pussy, I couldn’t stand up.  My legs were like rubber.  He had to fireman-carry me back up to my room or cell or whatever you want to call it.  I hope the fact that he took the needles out of my nipples means he’s not going to do that to me again.  When he got me back to my room, he dropped me onto the bed and climbed on me and fucked me, and then he left me lying there sprawled on my bed, his cum dripping out of my pussy onto the sheet. 

 

 

June 12

 

            I think my time is about up.  Breakfast this morning was a single egg and a slice of toast and a glass of juice.  He usually feeds me more than that.  I remember he told me that when he decides to do it, the day before, I’ll only get a light breakfast and lunch and no dinner, and the next morning, I’ll get the enema and hang that night.  Oh God, if I’m right, I’ve got less than two days to live.  Am I ready to do this?  Shit!  I don’t think so, but I’m going to do it whether I’m ready or I want to or not.  Whether or not it happens went out of my hands the moment I stepped onto his plane.  I knew the minute he cuffed me and ball-gagged me that he wasn’t playing around.  I could see it in his eyes.  I was just as good as dead as if I’d stuck a gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger.  It was just going to take me a little longer to die. 

 

*****

            Oh fuck!  I think this is it!  Lunch was just as skimpy as breakfast.  Oh God, it’s going to happen tomorrow night.  I know it.  I asked him if he’s going to do it tomorrow.  I reminded him about what he’d said about me getting a small breakfast and lunch the day before he does it, but he wouldn’t tell me.  Shit!  I hate not knowing for sure.  But what would I do if he came right out and told me I’m going to die tomorrow night?  Do I really want to know that far in advance?  I can’t do anything about it.  All I can do is sit in this room and wonder what it’s going to be like, and I’ve been doing that every second he’s left me alone in here ever since I got here.  I’m so fucking scared now, my stomach is all tied up in knots.  I couldn’t eat dinner now even if he gave it to me.

*****

            No dinner.  Oh fuck, I knew it!  He came up to my room after he ate and he fucked me, and then he was laying over me with his cock still in me, and he told me.  It’s tomorrow.  Oh God!  Why did I get myself into this?  It’s so weird.  Now that I know it’s going to happen, I still want it just as bad as I always have, and I can’t wait to feel that noose around my neck, and I can’t wait to feel the trap door give way under me and feel the noose grab my neck, but Oh dear God, I’m scared out of my mind that it’s not going to be anything like I expected.  I just know I’m not going to be able to walk down there and let him tie my hands and put the noose around my neck the way I wanted to do it.  I’ll be so fucking scared, I’ll be on my knees begging him not to do it.  Oh Jesus, I don’t want it to be like that. 

            And what if there’s no big orgasm?  I’ll be giving up everything I could have been for absolutely nothing.  And what’s the big deal about that big fucking orgasm anyway?  I mean, he’s given me so many unbelievable orgasms already, so how much more powerful can that last big one be, and is it worth giving up my whole fucking life to get it?  Jesus!  Am I nuts or what?

            If there’s an afterlife, I’m in serious trouble.  How the fuck am I supposed to explain to St. Peter or whoever the fuck is there at the gate deciding who gets in that I got my ass hanged to death just so I could see what the fuck it was like and have a monster orgasm?  Oh Christ, I hope somebody up there has a fucking sense of humor, or my ass is toast.

            It’s not bad enough the sonofabitch is going to hang me to death tomorrow.  He’s already fucked me a couple times today, and he just came back up here a while ago and fucked me in the ass again.  I wonder if he’s going to keep that up all night, getting all the fucking he can out of me before the big day.  I don’t suppose he’ll be able to fuck me after I take those enema pills tomorrow.  My grandpa told me after he took them for his colonoscopy and drank the Gatorade, he was on the john every five minutes shitting his guts out.  I don’t suppose Hangman will want to risk getting shit on.  It definitely takes that man longer than five minutes to do me.  A lot longer. 

 

June 13

 

            June 13th.  Christ, you might fucking know he’d end up doing me on the 13th.  My big fucking lucky number.  I’m amazed it didn’t turn out to be a fucking Friday the 13th.  I’m so fucking scared I can’t see straight.  My nerves are a total disaster.  My hands are shaking so bad I can barely type.  It’s just so fucking bizarre that sometime tonight, I’m going to die.  I won’t be here tomorrow.  I’ll be rotting away in some unmarked grave somewhere I guess.  I don’t have any idea what he intends to do to get rid of my body after he hangs me, and I don’t really want to think about it. 

            It’s a good thing there’s a bathroom in my room.  He made me take those pills this morning for my enema, and he sat here and watched me down a couple liters of Gatorade, and I didn’t even get the last of the Gatorade down before I had to rush to the toilet.  Oh fuck!  My grandfather was right.  I couldn’t believe how much shit came out of me, even after he practically starved me yesterday. 

            There’s so much stuff I want to put in here on the last day of my life, and there’s so little time, and it doesn’t help that I have to go running back to the fucking toilet every five minutes, practically.  

            My brain is so fucking scrambled, I can’t think straight.  Where do I start?  Hell, I don’t know.  Am I sorry I did this?  Fuck yeah, I’m sorry.  I’m scared out of my fucking mind.  Would I do it again?  Knowing me, probably yeah.  I mean, as bad as it is knowing I’m going to die tonight, this is all part of the process, you know?  The fear and excitement?  Some smart guy said once that we’re never more alive than when our lives are on the line, and God was that guy ever right.  You wouldn’t believe what it’s like, and I don’t think I have the words to tell you.  I look out my window, and I see the same fucking thing I’ve seen ever since he locked me in here, but looking out there today, I’m seeing it like I’ve never seen it before.,  I’m picking up on so many little details that were just so what every other time I looked out there.  The way the morning sunlight plays across the fields.  The way the wind makes the grass move. 

            I turned on the radio he has in here, and there was an orchestra playing some classical symphony.  I’ve never been much of a fan of classical music, but I heard that symphony like I’ve never heard any other music before.  The way the instruments played off each other, and how their individual sounds all meshed to make the music sound so beautiful.  It made me cry. 

            A lot of things have made me cry today.  I’ll be sitting on the toilet shitting, and I’ll start bawling like a baby.  Speaking of toilets, sitting on one shitting my guts out is definitely not how I figured I’d be spending my last day on Earth, but guess what, folks.  I’ve been at it for hours, it seems.  Thank God it seems like I’m finally getting to the end of it, though.  I’m not having to run off to the can as often now, and everything that comes out of me is practically clear.  After all this time, I don’t see how there can possibly be anything left in me.  God, I could really use a pizza right now. 

            Don’t know if I could hold it down, though.  My nerves are still a wreck.  I wonder what’s going on in the world.  I haven’t seen or heard anything from the outside world except that symphony I listened to earlier since I got here.   I wonder what my parents think about me being gone?  Surely someone has found my car at that airport by now.  Nobody at home, my parents or friends knew anything about my hanging fetish or about DFN and Hangman.  All that stuff was on my laptop, which I brought with me.  They probably just figure I ran off with someone. 

            Hangman just came in and fucked me again.  Thank God I seem to be past the enema shits now.  He scared the fuck out of me when he came in.  I thought for sure he was ready to take me down to the dungeon and do it. 

            I don’t know why that movie got to me so much that it finally drove me to do what I’m about to do.  I guess it just happened along at the right time in my life when I was most impressionable and susceptible to something like that, and seeing it pushed all the right buttons and set me off on a tangent all my own.  I’ve seen that movie a couple times since, and the acting is so bad, and the hanging scene so fake, I can’t believe it grabbed me so hard when I was twelve, but it did, and in a few more hours, it’s going to have me for good. 

            I read somewhere once that a dying person goes through several emotional stages before they die.  I can’t remember all of them, but I do remember denial, anger and acceptance.  The article was talking about people at the natural end of their lives or dying of some disease, but I guess it applies to someone in my situation, too, because I think I finally hit the acceptance phase. 

            I mean, I’ve known since I stepped on that plane that I was going to die and there was nothing I could do about it once I made the choice to board the plane, and in a sense, I guess I sort of accepted my death them, but this is different.  The closer I get to the hour when he comes for me to take me down to the dungeon and put that noose around my neck, the more ready I feel like I am to let it happen.  Is that weird, or what?  I would have thought that the closer to it I got, the more panicked I’d be, and up until a little while ago, that’s the way it was.  I was sure he’d have to drag my ass down there and I’d be fighting him until he managed to get me noosed and my hands tied and yank the lever to drop me.  Now I know I’m going to be strong enough to do it the way I’ve wanted it to happen right from the start. 

            That doesn’t mean I won’t fight the noose once he drops me. I know we all have a will to live, and the minute I’m hanging, I know I’m going to have to go through all these stages again, but that’s okay.  I expected that.

            Hangman just came in and let me know it’s time to do it.  Oh wow!  My heart just jumped from my chest right up into my throat.  I didn’t expect that, but I’m ready.  I think.  Okay, let’s do this.  Good-bye Journal.

 

The Hangman’s Tale

 

            I promised Maryann that I’d write the final entry in her journal and publish it on DFN for her so that her friends there could know how she went out.  In a word, she was spectacular.  I’m sitting here in the dungeon where she died on my gallows.  Her body is still hanging there just a few feet from me.  So beautiful, even in death.  She was, without doubt, the most beautiful young woman it has ever been my pleasure to hang, and one of the bravest.  She put up a truly inspiring fight, and when the end was near for her, I’m absolutely certain she had an orgasm massively more potent than any of the ones I gave her having sex with her.  I’ve never seen a body twist and contort and shudder so powerfully that late into a hanging before.  I thought she was nearly unconscious when it hit her, but she came for at least two more minutes before her body went limp again.  She lasted much longer than I had expected her to.  The orgasm didn’t hit her until just after the five minute mark, and she didn’t fall still until after seven minutes.  Her heart stopped at 17:47. 

            I guess I should go back to the beginning and take you through her final moments from when I first entered her room and told her it was time for her to hang.  I never know what to expect when I go to a girl’s room and tell her it’s time for her to face whatever means of execution she has chosen for herself.  I do everything in my power to make sure that a young woman is absolutely certain that she wants to die in whatever way she chooses before I agree to accommodate her.  Still, even though a girl has chosen her means of death and put her life into my hands, there is nothing stopping her from changing her mind and wanting out of the arrangement.

            Of course, once I’ve brought a girl to my castle, I can’t very well risk letting her go knowing that in spite of my best efforts to keep her in the dark as to my identity and where I have brought her, she might have picked up on some little clue as to who I am or where I can be found.  That is why I make very clear to the young women who come to me that once they step onto my plane, there is no turning back.  Of course, many women over the years have had a change of heart and come to regret their decision, but they all knew, as Maryann did, that I could not and would not release them from our agreement.

            But this is Maryann’s Journal, and I am merely here to write her final chapter, not to justify my position.  As I said, I can never know what to expect from a girl when I go to her to let her know that it is time for her to face the fate she has chosen for herself.  Maryann faced it with strength and courage and a remarkable sense of calm.  Oh, I know she was frightened.  Anyone would have been, knowing they were facing what she was, but she was able to master her fears and summon the strength to walk with me to the dungeon to meet her destiny. 

            Before I took her from her room, I shackled her, wrists and ankles, as I do with every young woman at that time.  It is such an emotionally charged time in a young woman’s life, knowing that life is very nearly over and that the means of ending it will be difficult and painful to some degree.   I can’t risk having a woman try an escape and maybe manage to get out of the castle.  Maryann allowed me to shackle her without objection.  When I told her to, she walked out of her room and went as calmly as can be expected with me to the dungeon.  I could see that she was nervous and frightened, and like all the other women I have hanged, once I brought her into the dungeon, she couldn’t take her eyes off the noose that would end her life. 

            There were a couple unpleasantries that had to be taken care of before I could hang her.  I had told her I would be inserting a butt plug into her rectum to insure that she did not defecate during her hanging.  I do this with each woman I hang, even though the enema they have been given has almost certainly made the butt plug unnecessary.  It is just a little extra precaution that I like to take to make sure there are no accidents.  No woman wants to defecate while hanging.  The embarrassment would be too much to bear at such an emotionally charged time.  I use a rather large plug, I am afraid, and I cut the base off of it so that the entire plug can be pushed up into the woman’s rectum and not show in any of the videos I make. 

            Maryann cried out briefly when I inserted her butt plug.  It would have been a much more torturous procedure for her if I had not given her so much anal sex during the time she was with me to loosen her anal sphincter and make the plug’s insertion a little easier and less painful.  On a side note, Maryann was one of the few women who have come to take some pleasure from having anal sex with me.  I am, as she has mentioned, rather well endowed, and I require quite a lengthy and vigorous workout to achieve my climax, so most women find my efforts to loosen them up for their butt plugs not much to their liking.  That Maryann did come to have some pleasure from anal sex with me is another one of the many facets of her extraordinary personality that made her stay with me such a wonderful experience for me.

            She endured the insertion of her catheter through her urethra up into her bladder with the same dignity with which she accepted her butt plug.  Although she cried out with the pain of the plug’s insertion, she never once tried to struggle free of me.  It was the same with the catheter.  For a woman who hasn’t had to have a catheter inserted before and who is about to die, the nervousness of the moment makes it a difficult few moments.  As I said, though, Maryann endured it all with uncommon grace and dignity.  That done, I taped the collecting bag to her left thigh and inserted the catheter tube into the bag.  All that remained was to affix a self-adhesive wireless heart monitor sensor to her left breast just over her heart so that I would be able to know when the end had come for her.  I had the monitor receiver plugged into an amplifier so that she could hear her heartbeats as she hanged. 

            At this point, Maryann was still shackled.  I never remove a woman’s shackles until she is secured to whatever implement is about to take her life from her.  In Maryann’s case, I led her up onto the gallows and showed her where to stand.  I have footprints painted on the floor of the trap door to show the woman where to stand until it falls out from under her.  Maryann hesitated a moment, looked down at the trap door, then up at the noose.  She was trembling.  She took a deep breath and stepped onto the trap door and put her feet on the painted marks.  She didn’t resist as I released her wrists from the shackles and tied her hands behind her back.  Her eyes went wide as I grasped the rope and lowered it over her head.  I pulled her hair free of it and snugged it down tighter around her neck and moved it around until the knot was just in front of her left ear. 

            In a long drop hanging in which the intent is to have the noose snap the condemned’s neck at the end of her fall, the knot is usually placed behind the left ear.  This insures a sharper, cleaner snap of the neck at the instant the rope goes taut, and the condemned is almost always rendered immediately unconscious sparing them the agony of their body’s death throes.  Maryann wanted a short drop hanging, though, so that she would have a few moments to experience the hanging before she lost consciousness and died.  I placed the knot in front of her ear because I have found that this pulls the rope slightly away from the neck at that point and thereby allows the woman to breathe a bit more than she would be able to if the knot were placed anywhere behind her ears.  The fact that Maryann lasted just over seven minutes before she lost consciousness is ample evidence that my placement of the knot gives the young woman at least a few extra seconds, if not a couple minutes, to enjoy her hanging. 

            At this point, Maryann’s heart was racing wildly.  You could hear it quite clearly over my sound system.  She knew the final scene was only a moment or so away.  I pulled the rope tight enough so that she wouldn’t fall far and secured it on the cleat on the gallows upright.  The only thing remaining between Maryann and her moment of truth was the removal of her shackles from her ankles.  I knelt and did this, and then I stood before her and gave her a kiss on the forehead.  I stepped back off the trap door and grasped the handle of the lever that would release the door.  I asked if she wanted a moment to pray before it happened or if she had anything she wanted to say.  She didn’t want to pray.  These are her final words:

            “There are so many things I need to say to so many people, but none of them are here.  No, I’m ready.  Let’s do this.”

            She started to cry out as the floor fell out from under her, but I had the noose so snug, she had little time- maybe a fraction of a second- before the noose drew tight and cut off her cry.  After that, all you could hear from her were some gurgling noises as she struggled to breathe.  I leaped down from where I’d been on the platform to pull the lever to hang her.  I always watch my girls hang.  They all have a look of shocked surprise on their faces at first, and Maryann was no exception.  And then, they usually get a look of panic as they realize that it’s not a fantasy anymore, that they’re really hanging to their deaths.  Then comes a look of gritty determination as they struggle to stay alive. 

They all struggle in some way or other.  They kick and twist, and even though their hands are tied securely behind their backs, they all try to reach for the rope to pull it away from their throats.  You’d be amazed how far some of them are able to reach.  I wonder that they don’t pull one of their arms out of its socket sometimes.  Mostly, they kick.  That’s why I never bind a woman’s legs, even if she requests it.  I love to watch the lovely dance they perform, and I’ll never bind a woman’s legs and deny myself the pleasure of that spectacle.  Maryann performed such an exquisite aerial dance that I am almost certain that she must have had classical ballet training.  It was a joy to behold.  I’m glad I captured the entire performance on video. 

Do not get your hopes up.  I will not be posting the video on DFN.  I have a very select, very discreet clientele who will pay richly for the privilege of viewing that video.  I am not about to cheapen the video or Maryann’s final moments by posting them on DFN where anyone can view them who is willing to pay the pittance DFN charges for a few months’ access to their videos.  Only those who truly appreciate this kind of thing and who can afford to pay richly for the right to view it will have that rare privilege. 

Maryann fought a valiant fight, but she was doomed to lose that struggle.  Still, it took the noose longer to claim her than it has ever taken to claim any of my other clients.  She danced and kicked and struggled for nearly five minutes before she finally began to weaken, and then, just when I thought she had been beaten, she experienced that amazing rejuvenation that caused her to put on such a spectacular finale.  I’m certain she must have been climaxing very powerfully throughout that final outburst of energy.  The way her body moved, and the look of astonishment on her face were all the evidence I needed to confirm my suspicion, and when it was over, her body still twitched involuntarily for a few seconds until it was finally still. 

I am going to miss Maryann.  She was an incredible sex partner.   She suffered the other tortures I subjected her to with uncommon dignity and valor, and when the end came for her, she faced it bravely and without complaint, and she put on such a spectacular show throughout her hanging that I fear I will never see her equal in my dungeon again.  I have read here in her journal that she thought I have no feelings for the women I execute, but that is not true, especially in her case.  I realize what a rare opportunity it was for me to be the one to help her realize her fantasy, and I sincerely hope and believe the experience was everything she was hoping it would be. 

           

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted: 1-Mar-2012 - 7 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
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Hanging Aniko Matele

            “Aniko Matele, you have been found guilty of the crime of treason,” you hear the judge’s solemn voice as he prepares to sentence you.  You don’t need to hear the rest.  You know what your fate will be.  “It is with great sadness that this court sentences you to death.”  You knew this was coming, but still the words echo and ricochet through your head.  You can’t breathe.  Your heart explodes in your chest.  You can barely stand.  “You will be taken from this courtroom to the place of execution immediately, and there, in full sight of the public so that they may witness your shame and punishment so that they may learn from the error of your ways, you will be hanged naked until you are dead.  Your body will remain hanging in the town square for one full week so that others will learn that treason against the people of this great nation will not be tolerated.  Jailer, take Miss Matele to her execution.”  His gavel falls.  “This court is adjourned.”

            The jailers’ hands are on you, grasping your shoulders.  It’s a good thing, or you would have collapsed to the floor.  You still can’t breathe.  It’s almost as if you can already feel the noose seizing at your neck, choking you.  The words echo through your brain.  “Death.”  “Hanged.”  “Naked.”  That last word is in some ways the worst for you.  You  knew you were going to die.  You even knew it would happen as soon as you were sentenced.  That’s the way justice is meted out in your country.  When you are found guilty of a crime, you are sentenced and punished immediately.  There is no appeals process.  This is one of the reasons that you joined the Resistance movement.  You have heard of too many people who were sentenced to death and executed who were not guilty of the crimes they died for.  So when you were captured, you understood that the trial would be a quick formality and that your punishment would follow immediately. 

            You thought you were ready for that.  You might even have been able to face the crowd bravely, head held high, knowing that you are dying because you fought for their freedom.  You have always been a very private person, though, and modest in the extreme.  You learned very early in your life that you didn’t like the way men looked at you as you played in the sand on the beach.  You knew what they were thinking when you saw their hungry eyes following you.  Even before your body began to develop, you understood that there was something about you that attracted more of these lascivious stares than any of the other girls on the beach were attracting.  You are an astonishingly beautiful young woman, and now that radiant beauty of yours will be on display in its entirety as you hang to your death very shortly now.  You have to wonder how beautiful you will look when your dead body has been rotting for a week and feeding the birds and other vermin that will no doubt feast on you once you are dead. 

            You are led out of the courtroom, and it is all you can do to keep your shackled feet beneath you.  If the guards accompanying you were not supporting you and propelling you forward, you know there is no way you could force yourself to walk calmly to your death.  The whole idea that you could have walked bravely to your death is just a romantic fantasy that has exploded into the cold, hard reality of your imminent execution.  You are still finding it very difficult to breathe, and you know that only your death will slow your racing heart.  You are sweating profusely, too, and the sweat is running into your eyes, burning them and mingling with your tears.  Brave?  You are anything but brave now as you are being half-dragged, half-led down the corridor from the courtroom. 

            You plead with your guards to let you go.  They shove you into the elevator.  You feel the floor of the elevator fall from beneath your feet for an instant before your body catches up with the elevator as it descends.  It was almost like what you will feel when the platform falls out from under you and you are hanging- that sickening seizing feeling in your belly.  The elevator stops.  You are not on the ground floor where you could be dragged out to where the gallows and a swelling crowd of your fellow citizens await you.  The guards have brought you to the basement of the court house.  As the elevator door sweeps open, you see another door standing ajar opposite you.  Your guards drag you out of the elevator into the room across the corridor.  A hard looking woman wearing a white nurse’s uniform is waiting for you.  The guards close the door behind you and remove your shackles. 

            They order you to strip.  You refuse.  It is no use, though.  The two guards and the nurse are practiced at this and very strong.  In no time, you have been deprived of the last shred of modesty you will ever know.  They force you down onto your belly over a table and secure you to it by your wrists at one end and tie your ankles to the legs of the table at the other end.  This pulls your legs apart, leaving your most intimate places exposed to them.  You have suspected that both of the guards are lesbians.  Now, they prove it to you.  One of them is stroking your pussy, laughing to her partner that you are dripping wet.  A rough finger slips into you and finds your clitoris.  She rubs it roughly.  You are already so wired with the knowledge that you are about to die that you cum immediately, crying out uncontrollably as the most amazing orgasm you have ever had rips through your body.  The second guard comes around in front of you.  The table is short enough that your head is hanging over the end of it.  She hikes up her skirt and thrusts her pelvis against your head, and as her partner continues to torment your pussy, she grinds her pussy against your head and reaches beneath you and grasps your breasts in her hands and begins to massage and squeeze them.  Her fingers torment your nipples.  She tells her partner she wishes she were a man so she could shove her cock down your throat. 

            The first guard continues to play with your pussy, and given your state of arousal and nervous tension, you cum again powerfully.  You are sobbing and begging them to stop.  Finally, the nurse orders them to allow her to prepare you.  The two guards stand in front of you watching as the nurse begins your preparation.  You feel her hand on your ass smearing something around your ass hole, and then a finger pierces you there.  It hurts and forces you to cry out.  The shame and pain of having your dark center violated is more than you can bear, and the worst of it is yet to come.  The guards are laughing, enjoying your shame.  One tells the other that she loves the way your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when the nurse stuck her finger up your ass. 

            “You’re going to love this, honey,” the other one says, laughing, and then your ass erupts into pain again as you feel the nurse stuffing something up into you. 

            “Ouch!” you protest, reacting to the pain as her finger pushes whatever it is farther up into you.  “What are you doing!?”

            “She’s shoving cotton balls soaked with petroleum jelly up your ass to make sure you don’t shit yourself while you’re hanging,” one of the guards tells you, and you can see that she is relishing your shame as you can’t help picturing your bowels voiding themselves as you hang from the noose.  “Lots of cotton balls.”

            “You’ve got a hell of a crowd out there waiting to watch you dangle, honey,” the other guard adds.  “Probably the largest crowd we’ve ever had for a hanging.  We let the word out to the news media that a really hot little traitor is going to hang naked today, and half the men in the country must have showed up to watch you dance.  That hot ass of yours and those nice little boobies and that pretty face and your blond hair and bush are going to have every guy out there blowing his load as he watches you dance.  Honey, I’m probably going to get off myself when the floor falls out from under you.”

            “Me, too,” her partner says as the nurse shoves yet another greasy wad of cotton up your ass.  “We wouldn’t want you shitting yourself out there and stinking up the place and driving all those witnesses away with the smell would we?”

            “You fucking bitches!” you scream at them as still another wad of cotton gets shoved up into you.  Already, you have lost track of how many there are, and many more follow them until you are stuffed so full that it feels like your gut is about to explode.  You try to expel the wad of cotton and petroleum jelly that now overfills your colon, but you cannot.  The nurse wipes off the gel from around your ass.  She helps the guards loosen the restraints that have secured you to the table, and now you are on your feet again.  The pain in your belly is more than you can stand, but you have no choice in the matter.  It feels like you are stuffed and constipated, like something you ate has proceeded through your digestive system and is now a massive, solid ball of shit in your gut that is far too large for you to expel. 

            Your guards quickly get you back into your shackles.  You had forgotten for a moment that you have been sentenced to hang naked until they refused to let you reach for your clothing and shackled you again without letting you dress.

            “Ready to die, sweetie?” one of the guards asks you.  “Let’s go see what kind of reaction you get from your audience out there.  I know they’re all dying to watch the hot little traitor get what’s coming to her.”

            They push you out of the prep room back across the corridor into the elevator.  The nurse follows and rides along with you.  She wants to watch you die, too.   The elevator stops and the door sweeps open.  You are on the main floor of the courthouse now, and already, you can see the light pouring in through the glass front doors and hear the noise of the crowd waiting for you.  Your heart is exploding in your chest again, and once more, it feels like the noose is already around your neck choking off your breathing.  You are crying again, begging them not to take you out there.  They drag you to the door, and even before they push it open, the crowd can see you through the glass.  They erupt into cheers and jeers.  The noise is deafening the instant the guards push the double doors open.  They thrust you out through the open doors, and immediately, you can hear individual epithets being hurled at you.  A man breaks through the line of security guards lining your path to the gallows and spits in your face and calls you a whore before he is forced back behind the line of guards. 

            The moment you look out ahead of you and see the gallows structure, you realize that this is going to be even worse than you had imagined.  It is not built nearly high enough to allow you to fall far enough so that the momentum of your fall will snap your neck and render you immediately unconscious when the rope snaps taut at the end of your fall.  Then, as they propel you forward, closer to the structure upon which you will die, you see that the rope that will take your life has been strung so that you will not fall at all.  When the floor is dropped from beneath you, you will be left hanging where you were standing.  There will be no merciful broken neck, no sudden ending to these proceedings.  You will hang there choking and gasping for breath for however long it takes the noose to strangle you.

            You know it won’t be quick.  You were with another member of the resistance one night when he overpowered and strangled a guard at a munitions storage facility.  It took him a long time to strangle the man into unconsciousness and make sure he was dead.  Far too long.  You know you are going to die.  There is no escaping it.  You just want it to be over.  The guards push you forward until you reach the last stairs you will ever climb.  You are more alive and aroused than you have ever felt before.  Every nerve is on high alert.  Your skin feels the rough touch of the guards’ hands.  Your feet savor every pebble and stone beneath them as you realize they will never feel the earth beneath them again.  You feel the warm breeze caressing your skin, feel your nipples stiffen and swell as the breeze teases them.  You see the men’s eyes fixed on them and know that each man is imagining himself suckling them. 

            Your feet leave the ground for the last time.  They are on the wooden steps, and even though you make no effort to climb the stairs, you are dragged up them.  The crowd roars its approval as you are led to the noose.  The hangman stands where the noose is dangling, waiting for you.  The judge who sentenced you to this is already seated in a chair there on the platform with you.  You see him lick his lips as his eyes feast on your nakedness.  Your shame knows no bounds now.  All these disgusting men with their eyes fixed on you are imagining themselves doing god knows what to you.  People are taking pictures.  Several TV news crews have their cameras trained on you.  You have no idea how your legs are managing to remain beneath you. 

            The noose is directly in front of your face now.  It whispers to you.  Your eyes can’t look away from it.  You see the coarseness of the hemp fibers and can already feel them scratching your neck.  Your heart is in your throat, pounding insanely.  You wish you could believe in a god to pray to save you from what is coming, or at the very least, receive your soul into his arms when the worst of what is to come has past.  You don’t believe, though.  The executioner takes the noose in hand and slips it over your head.  You feel yourself cum again as he snugs the noose down and positions the knot just behind your left ear, and now, your shame is magnified a thousand fold as you feel your urine stream release.  You haven’t even begun to hang yet, and already you are losing control of your bodily functions.  Now you are thankful for the great mass of cotton and petroleum jelly that has your ass blocked.  Your feet are wet with your own urine as the judge stands and reads your death warrant.

            “Aniko Matele,” he intones, playing to the crowd, “you have been found guilty of treason against this great nation and you have been sentenced to die by hanging.  Do you have any last words?”  He waits a moment.  There is so much you want to say, but you can’t even speak.   You want to shout out to the crowd that you are proud to die as a martyr to the struggle for freedom, but you are not feeling particularly proud just now.  Your urine stream is still trickling from your pussy and dribbling down your leg.  You have never felt so shamed and terrified at any other time in your life.  “Very well,” the judge intones.  “As is the custom in our great country, your sentence will be carried out immediately.”  He turns to the executioner.  “Proceed with the execution.”

            Your heart stops.  You halfway expected the floor to fall out from beneath you immediately, but it doesn’t.  Now that you are noosed, the guards who have brought you here remove the shackles from your hands and quickly bind your wrists behind your back.  You have been trying with little success to cover your breasts and pussy with your arms and hand.  Now there is no hiding any part of your nakedness from the world.  When your hands are secured, they remove your ankle shackles.  One of the guards whispers in your ear.

            “Now you can dance and twist and we will be able to watch you flash that pretty little pussy of yours to the crowd in your struggles to be free of the noose,” she tells you.  She and the other guard step back off the platform that will drop from beneath you.  You stand there, your body tensed, waiting.  It seems an eternity, but just when you are certain there must be some delay, the floor is gone from beneath you.  It crashes against the structure of the gallows with a loud bang that startles the crowd nearly as much as the noose seizing at your neck startles you.  You are hanging.  You feel yourself trying to tense your neck muscles to protect your airway and the blood vessels that feed your brain.  The world spins dizzyingly around you as you twist madly trying to save yourself.  Already, your neck is on fire, chafed by the coarse hemp rope.  You struggle to raise your hands, first to one side, then the other, to try to grasp the noose to pull it away from your neck and let yourself breathe, but you cannot reach it.  You kick and dance and forget your shame as your gyrations reveal your pussy to the crowd. 

            Will it never end?  If this had been a long drop hanging, you would be unconscious by now, if not already dead.  But the judge hasn’t granted you that mercy.  He wants the crowd to see you suffer for as long as possible.  Maybe they will be so shaken by what they see you endure that they will think long and hard before joining the resistance.  Your neck isn’t the only thing burning.  Your lungs are on fire.  You are surprised to discover that you can still breathe somewhat, but the tiny wisps of air you are able to suck into your lungs aren’t nearly adequate to fueling your body’s desperate struggle for survival.  Your face feels hot and flushed.  It is turning a reddish purple as the rope traps blood in your head.  Your heart can still manage to pump blood up into your head because the arteries are deeper inside your neck and better protected than the veins that are constricted and unable to return the stale blood to your body. 

            Your head feels like it will explode.  You are crying and trying to cry out for mercy, but the only sounds that escape you are a kind of choking, gurgling sound.  You spin around and see the judge who sentenced you to death sitting there in his chair, his lascivious eyes watching you, devouring you.  He sees you watching him and licks his lips to let you know what he is imagining himself doing to you.  Your bowels are trying desperately to void themselves, but that isn’t happening.  The massive wad of cotton balls and petroleum jelly have you so blocked up that even if you were to be let down from here and allowed to walk away, you would probably still die when your intestines exploded.  The churning pain in your gut hurts almost as badly as the fire in your lungs and the rope trying its best to crush your windpipe. 

            Over the noise of your own blood rushing past your eardrums, you can hear the screams and taunts from the crowd.  The obscenities and oaths they hurl at you cut deep into your heart like a knife.  Don’t they understand that you are dying because you fought for their freedom?  You continue to struggle, to kick and dance and twist, but you can feel yourself getting weaker.  Your legs feel like they weigh a ton.  You have no idea how long this is taking, but it feels like an eternity.  You are weakening, though, and the world spinning around as you twist and turn is working with the lack of oxygen to make you feel light-headed, dizzy. 

            Your eyes are wide, but your vision is getting dim.  Your mouth is open as you try desperately to take in breath.  Your tongue lolls out of your mouth.  Drool runs down your chin and drips onto your breast.  You sense that you are nearing the end.  Something is stirring in your belly.  Something other than the mass of cotton and petroleum jelly that prevents you from emptying your bowels.  It is rising quickly, seeming to sense that you have little time left to experience it.  Your struggles have slowed, become more difficult and deliberate as death creeps up on you, but now your body is suddenly bucking and seizing wildly, dancing obscenely, your hips thrusting  your pelvis out as though you are pushing yourself up off the mattress to take a lover’s cock deeper into yourself.

            The most massive orgasm you have ever had or ever will engulfs you and tosses you about like a leaf on a tumultuous sea.  Wave after wave of the most incredibly intense pleasure you have ever known surge through you.  The orgasm is even so powerful that it manages to push an audible scream up out of your lungs through your constricted windpipe and out of your mouth.  The orgasm has one other beneficial effect.  It allows you to leave the earth bathed in the most intense pleasure you have ever known, but it has also sapped every ounce of strength you had remaining and channeled it into your final orgasm.  As the orgasm passes, a dazed smile comes across your face, and then, the darkness envelops you. 

           

Posted: 26-Feb-2012 - 5 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
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Shocking

 For Stacy

            For so many years, you have been sitting in this cell, waiting.  Always waiting, never knowing if you dare to hope that you will escape your fate.  You spent your twenty-first birthday being processed into Death Row at the women’s prison.  Nobody believed your claim that the man you killed was trying to rape you.  It didn’t help your case at all that he was rich and powerful and you were a nobody.  It didn’t help that the county prosecutor was running for state’s Attorney General and personally prosecuted your case to make a reputation for himself of being tough on crime.  Your public defender lawyer wasn’t much help, either.  She meant well, but she was fresh out of law school and hopelessly outclassed.  The prosecutor made her look like an idiot and made you look like the embodiment of all things evil. 

            Still, you couldn’t believe you were hearing things correctly when you heard the jury foreman announce, “We find the defendant guilty of murder in the first degree.”  Weren’t they listening to a word you said in your testimony?  Why couldn’t they believe you?  And you were even more stunned when you stood before the judge at your sentencing hearing and heard him sentence you to die in the electric chair.  “May God have mercy on your soul,” he said.  Yeah, right.  These people don’t want to see you get any mercy.  They want to see you fry, and then they hope you’ll burn in hell. 

            The waiting is the worst part.  You almost wish it were over, that you were already dead and buried.  Your attorney keeps promising you that she is almost certain she can get your sentence overturned.   It doesn’t happen, though, and the appeals process takes so long.  Your original execution date has come and gone, and still you are sitting in this cell waiting.  A second date has passed, too.  One by one, though, your chances for a reprieve are slipping away.  Slowly, inexorably, you are closing in on your date with destiny.  Or more to the point, it is closing in on you.  The governor has made it clear that he has no intention of commuting your sentence.  The man you killed was his friend.  He wants you dead.

            One by one, the appeals courts either uphold your sentence or refuse to reverse it.  Now, six years later, your lawyer is standing in your cell telling you that the state and federal Supreme Courts have both refused to hear your case.  Suddenly, it hits you.  Finally, there is nothing standing between you and your execution.   You rack your brain trying to remember the last date that was set for you.  It is only two days off.  Two days.  Your life can now be measured not in decades, as it should be, or years, or even months or weeks.  Less than two days remain to you.  It is late in the evening of February 26, and your execution is set for 8:00 a.m. on the 28th. 

            Your heart leaps into your throat as you realize how little time you have remaining.  Your lawyer lays her hand on your shoulder and apologizes to you that she has not been able to get your conviction overturned or even get your sentence commuted to life in prison.   She is in tears as she leaves your cell.  You are too stunned to feel anything.  After all this time of sitting in your cell waiting to be taken down the corridor to the holding cell where you will spend your last few hours waiting to be taken into the execution chamber, you cannot believe that the waiting is finally almost over, that in so few hours, it will happen.  These prison matrons who have been so sympathetic and friendly toward you will lead you to your death- or drag you to it if you force them to do that. 

            It feels so weird that it is finally about to happen.  The time alternatively crawls and flies.  The clock on the wall outside your cell seems not to move at all, and then suddenly, several hours seem to have evaporated.   It is night, but you cannot sleep.  You try, but it is useless.  Too soon, you will sleep forever.  You can’t keep yourself from trying to imagine what it will be like.  The matrons try to reassure you that it should be fairly painless, but you see from the looks in their eyes that they don’t believe that.  You don’t believe it.  Before you were imprisoned, you read an article about it on the Internet.  It was anything but painless or humane. 

            Breakfast is brought to you.  You try to eat some of it, but your stomach will have none of it.  What you do manage to get down comes right back up.  Your nerves and stomach are in even worse shape when lunch is brought.  You don’t even try to eat.  They ask what you want for your last meal.  You can’t imagine eating anything, but the emptiness in your stomach nags at you.  You ask for a pizza and a beer.  When it is brought to you, you try to eat the pizza, but can’t manage more than a few bites.  You do manage to drink half of the beer.  It tastes good.  It has been far too long since any alcohol has touched your lips.  You savor the taste of it, but soon enough, your nerves make even the beer unappetizing. 

            You tell the matrons they can have the pizza, and then you are told it is time for you to be moved to the holding cell where you will spend your final hours waiting for your execution.  Execution.  It sounds so cold and clinical and institutional.  You are shackled and moved down the corridor to the holding cell.  When they have you in the cell, they remove your shackles.  You can see the door that leads to the execution chamber.  Now only two doors separate you from the room in which your life will end- the holding cell door and the door into the execution chamber. 

            Because you got no sleep the night before, you are exhausted.  You lie down and manage to sleep, but it is a fitful, restless sleep full of horrifying dreams of what is to come.  Still, you are sleeping when they come for you at 6:00 a.m. to begin your preparations.   You are startled and terrified when they bring you out of the cell.   The matrons are not nearly so friendly this morning as they have been in the past.  They are cold and professional, distancing themselves from you emotionally.  You are told to remove the orange jumpsuit that identifies you as a Death Row resident.  Then your panties.  You have no bra.  You might have been able to use that to hang yourself to end your life on your own terms. 

            Somehow, you are able to function enough to do as you are told.  You are numb.  None of this seems real.  It is almost as if you are watching it happen to someone else.  The enema that follows shakes you back to reality, though.  You have had no idea that this would be forthcoming.  One of the matrons explains that it is to prevent you from voiding your bowels during the execution.  Three times, your rectum is flooded with a caustic solution, and when you cannot hold it any longer, you are allowed to sit on a toilet and eliminate it.  The third time, before the toilet is flushed, you see that the liquid you have expelled is clear. 

          Now you are made to bend over a table and your wrists and ankles are quickly secured to it.  One of the matrons begins to insert cotton balls heavy with petroleum jelly into your rectum- further insurance that you will not make a mess in front of the people who have come to witness your death.  For them, at least, your execution will seem clean and sanitary and humane- you think.  A catheter is inserted into your urethra after you are allowed to urinate one last time.  A plastic bag is taped to your inner thigh, and the catheter tube is attached to it.  You halfway expected a diaper, but not this.  You weren’t expecting to be given a formless smock to wear to your execution, either, instead of another jumpsuit like the ones you have worn since your arrival here.  You wonder why this is so, but you don’t ask.  Something tells you that you don’t want to know.  No panties, either- another detail that tells you something is not going to happen as you have assumed it would. 

            Now it is time for you to discover what will be different about your execution.  One of the matrons orders you to pull up the hem of your smock above your waist.  You are puzzled but too numb to argue with them.  You do as you are told, and then you see it.  Another matron is smearing a clear gel onto a metal object that has straps and a heavy gauge wire attached to it.  She kneels in front of you and makes you stand with your legs apart.  Now you are told that you will be the first female prisoner executed in this state with the new vaginal electrode inserted instead of the traditional electrode that would have been strapped to your left leg.  Before you can react, she shoves the electrode deep into you and quickly fastens the straps around your waist so that the electrode cannot come out of you. 

            Now you are panicking.  It is bad enough that you are about to die.  Now you learn that they intend to kill you by passing the electricity not from your head down through your left leg as has been the case up until now, but through your vagina, the seat of your sexuality- the most intimate and sensitive and private part of your body.   You begin to cry and shake uncontrollably.  Someone puts a wooden chair behind you and forces you to sit down.  The electrode in your vagina is big and hard and unyielding and uncomfortable- so much so that you are so distracted by it that you don’t notice that a matron has begun to shave your head to prepare it for the electrode that will be affixed to it once you are seated in the chair.  The matron who inserted the electrode in your vagina tells you that it will insure a more efficient, and therefore, hopefully, a quicker and less painful execution than an electrode strapped to your leg would have afforded you.  The clear gel, she informs you, was a lubricant to make the insertion easier, but it is also a conducting gel to allow the electricity to flow through you more efficiently.

            You are surprised to see hair falling in front of your face and landing in your lap.  It is too late to do anything about it, though.  Not that you could have done anything, but now you are shaved bald- completely bald, and the preparations for your execution have been completed.  The clock on the wall in this room shows that you have precious few minutes remaining.  One of the matrons slips a pair of slippers onto your feet.  They tell you to stand.  It is time to enter the execution chamber.  You cannot stand.  Your body refuses, even though you try. 

            For six years, you have been trying to psyche yourself up for this moment, telling yourself that you want to be strong and walk bravely to the chair.  It isn’t going to happen.  The matrons lift you out of your chair.  One of them brushes your hair off of your smock, and now they drag you into the execution chamber.  It is not a great distance- just from one room into the next- but they shackle you again, hands and feet, and the shackles along with the electrode in your vagina and the wire dangling from it between your legs insure that the matrons have to drag you into the execution chamber. 

            The first thing you see is the chair.  You can hardly take your eyes off it as they drag you to it.  They turn you around and force you down into it, and only after they have you secured to it with the chair’s straps do they remove your shackles.  Before any further preparations are made, the warden steps forward and reads your death warrant to you.  He steps back and you see a phone mounted on the wall next to where he is standing, and you know it is not going to ring for you.  Your heart is racing.  A clock is mounted on the wall directly in front of you just over the window through which your witnesses will be able to watch you die. 

            They must already be seated, you think.  You cannot see them, though.  A curtain is drawn over the window and will not be opened until the final preparations are completed.  The matrons set to work, silently, solemnly.  A wire lying on the floor at your feet is attached to the one dangling from your vaginal electrode.  A wet sponge is slopped onto your bald head, and immediately, you feel water from it running down into your eyes.  Immediately, the metal cap you will wear is pressed down onto your head, and a strap under your chin secures it.  You hear the clank of metal and feel someone behind you screwing the lead wire for the skull cap into place.  Now a leather mask is placed over your face and a piece of it is inserted into your mouth.  This is to prevent the convulsions of your facial muscles under the influence of the electricity to cause you to break your teeth or bite your tongue off.  The eye pads on the mask are pressed back against your eyes and a strap is wrapped around them and around your head to prevent your eyeballs from popping out of their sockets during the execution. 

            The last thing you see before the mask makes your world go dark is the clock.  Three minutes until eight.  Your heart is pounding so hard and fast that you think the matrons must be able to hear it.  Your breathing is rapid.  You suck in great quantities of air, but they won’t save you.   You can feel a burning sensation as you feel your bladder release and the urine flows through the catheter to the bag strapped to your thigh.  You feel your vagina seizing around the penis shaped electrode within her.   Your clitoris is throbbing.  You have never felt so alive and so aroused in your life, and in a matter of moments, maybe just seconds now, your life will be over. 

            You hear a swishing sound and think it must be the curtain being drawn back to allow your witnesses to see you die.  You hear the warden speaking, addressing the witnesses.  He tells them that you have been prepared for execution and that you have been read your death warrant.  Then your heart explodes in your chest and you have the most massive, incredible orgasm you have ever had as you hear him order the executioner to do his duty.  You expect the current immediately, but there is a delay.  A few precious, terrifying seconds, and then the lightning strikes you. 

            Your body leaps from the chair as far as your restraints allow.  It twitches and writhes and you are crying out with the pain.  It is as if someone has lit a blowtorch inside you.  You are on fire.  2400 volts of electricity flow through you.  Unfortunately, the  human body is not a terribly good conductor of electricity.  The skull, especially, offers more resistance than you would hope just now.  Instead of frying your brain instantaneously, the current flows down around the outside of the skull making its way toward the rest of your body.  You are still conscious and more or less alert, and you can feel the current dancing around the perimeter of your skull. 

            Oh God, take me, you pray.  You are still cumming, too, and your vagina seizes wildly around the electrode nested inside her.  It is the most potent, effective penis she has ever known.  You can feel your clitoris spurting your sexual fluids.  You feel like you are on fire.  You have read that electrocuted bodies are so hot that they must be allowed to cool down before anyone can touch them.  Bodily fluids can boil inside the body.  It feels like it is happening to you.  Suddenly, the current stops. 

            Is it over?  It can’t be.  You’re not just still alive.  You’re still conscious.  You’re stunned and delirious, but you still know who you are and where you are and what they are doing to you.  You hear yourself moan, and you try to move, and you hear someone gasp and cry out, “Oh my God!  She’s still alive!”  You feel something against your chest.  The doctor who will pronounce you dead is pressing a stethoscope against your chest, being careful not to touch you so that he doesn’t burn himself against your hot flesh. 

            You feel yourself taking a breath.  Your lungs are on fire, but they hungrily suck in the air.  You can smell the stench of your own flesh burning.  You know there will be another jolt. There has to be.  Nobody is going to take you out of this chair, heal you and let you live.  By now, that would probably not be possible.  So why isn’t the second jolt forthcoming?

            Execution protocol requires a thirty second delay between pulses of electricity.  The second wave will not be nearly as powerful as the first, either- only 240 volts.  You have read that somewhere, but the fact that your second dose of electricity will not be as powerful as the first and the reason why this is so escape you now.  It will be longer though.  2400 volts have flowed through you for thirty seconds, and still you are alive, moaning and crying and shaking in the chair.  Now, 240 volts will rip through you for a full minute. 

            The second jolt hits you, and again, reflexively, your body leaps as far out of the chair as your restraints allow.  You feel your vagina seizing spasmodically around the electrode again.  You hear yourself letting out a muted scream as the electricity rips through you.  The fires inside you burst to life again.  The smell of your flesh burning is becoming unbearable.  You twitch and buck and writhe in agony, and still, you cannot lose consciousness.   The pain is more intense than anything your wildest nightmares have prepared you for.  It seems like an eternity, and you begin to wonder if you haven’t already died only to find that this is how you are going to spend eternity in hell. 

            Suddenly, just when you think you are beginning to feel yourself slipping away, that it’s almost over, the current ceases and allows you to slump back into the chair.  It takes a few seconds, but you manage to cough and gasp and let out a soft moan.  “Jesus Christ!  She’s still not dead!”  The voice you hear sounds vaguely like the warden.  A woman standing not far from you- one of the matrons who have dragged you in here to be tortured and tormented like this- is crying, sobbing to you that she is sorry.  Another matron sounds like she is retching.  You can’t blame her.  The stench is ungodly.  You think you smell smoke, too, and know it must be coming from you.  Has some part of your body caught fire? 

            Again, you are amazed that you can feel the stethoscope against your chest and hear the doctor’s disbelieving voice confirm to the warden that you are still alive and will need another surge of electricity.  The next jolt will be another big one- 2400 volts again- and this time, you hear the warden telling the executioner to let you have it for two minutes.  By now, you wish they would give you ten thousand volts and get it over.  You can’t believe you still have some shred of consciousness and mental capacity left to you.  By now, though, you are beginning to wonder if even another surge of 2400 volts for a full two minutes will be enough to kill you. 

            You sit in the chair waiting for it, praying that it will finish you.  You can’t stand the stench and the pain and the fires burning in you.  Then it hits you, and again, your body leaps out of the chair to dance and writhe and shudder with the current flowing through you.  Again, it seems like even this third surge will not be enough, but finally, eventually, you begin to feel yourself fading.  You lose consciousness.  A moment later, your heart stops.  The current continues to force your body to convulse and dance, but you no longer feel it, and when it stops, your body is still when it slumps back into the chair.  Someone tries to put out the fire that has erupted from beneath your mask.  Your eyeballs haven’t popped out of their sockets, but they have melted in them.   The doctor pronounces you dead.  All but two of your witnesses have had to leave the witness room because they couldn’t bear to watch your agony. 

            The execution chamber smells of smoke and burning flesh and vomit.  You sit inert and slumped in the chair for nearly an hour before anyone dares touch you.  The prison undertaker is unable to remove the vaginal electrode from you because your flesh is seared to it.  They decide to leave it in you.  You are placed into a plain wooden coffin, nailed into it and buried in the prison cemetery.  A few weeks later, the public defender who was no match for the prosecutor in trying to defend you is so distraught that she hangs herself to death.  She was one of the witnesses who watched you die and can never stop blaming herself for the agony you suffered.

            Word of the horror of your execution slowly sleeps into the public consciousness.  It hits the Internet first, but soon, the major networks and newspapers and news agencies are full of the story of how long and how terribly you suffered.  The governor who would not commute your sentence has served out the two terms he was eligible for, but he is defeated in his bid to become a U.S. Senator.  The county prosecutor won his bid to become state’s Attorney General, but after the news of your grizzly execution becomes common knowledge, he is crushed in his next reelection bid.  None of this matters to you, though.  Your agony is over.  What was left of you lies in a wooden box in an isolated graveyard, rotting.

Posted: 13-Jan-2012 - 2 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
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Amber

 

            You are walking down the street when you meet the coach of the soccer team that your team beat for the national college championship the previous season.  You scored both your team’s goals in the tight, hard fought battle that ended in a 2-1 victory for your team.  At first, you feel a little awkward, but he is pleasant and congratulates you for your game, and then he tells you he has been hired as the coach of a women’s professional team and would like to sign you to play for his team.  He invites you to come to his office to discuss the matter and promises that he can probably get you a nice, fat contract deal from the team’s owners. 

            Job offers haven’t exactly been forthcoming since you graduated, and the thought of playing pro soccer appeals to you in a big way.  He gestures to a red Jaguar parked nearby and tells you to get in and he’ll drive you to the office and bring you back here later.  He holds the door for you and you step into the car and ease yourself down into the soft leather seat.  Nice, you think.  If I get a nice fat contract to play for his team, I’m getting myself a car like this.  What had been an ordinary day now seems sunny and bright and full of promise- for the moment.  A very brief moment. 

            The coach slides into his car, and as you think he is pulling his seatbelt around himself, he suddenly reaches across the car and has a sickly sweet smelling handkerchief held tightly over your nose and mouth.  You try to resist, but you feel yourself weakening quickly, and darkness envelops you.  When you awaken, you are not in any office. 

            You have a headache when you wake up.  You have no idea where you are or how long you’ve been out.  When you try to push yourself up from the cramped position you find yourself in, you discover you are strapped tightly and securely onto some sort of device.  You are on your knees, and there is a brace under your ribcage just below your breasts.  You are, you discover to your horror, stark naked.  Your legs are bound at the knees and ankles.  Your wrists are secured to the sides of whatever it is you’re mounted on.  Straps across your waist and upper back have you tightly secured so that you have virtually no room to move whatsoever.  Your chin rests in some sort of cradle that keeps your head tilted back so that you can only look straight ahead.  Another strap around the back of your neck and padded braces on either side insure that your head can’t move.  

            “She’s waking up now, Coach,” an oddly familiar female voice calls.  “Can we spit her now?  I’m getting hungry.”

            Spit?  Hungry?  You were at a pig roast once, and you suddenly remember someone at the roast using the term spit to refer to the pole that had been run through the pig to hold it suspended over the hot coals over which it had been slow-roasted all day.  You remember how delicious the pork had been.  Full of juices, so tender it seemed to melt in your mouth and make love to your taste buds.  Panic sets in as you begin to realize that you are about to be the roast pig at someone else’s back yard barbecue, but whose?

            A group of girls is gathering around you now, laughing and joking and talking excitedly among themselves, and they are speculating on how good you will taste and which part of you they will eat.  Your heart nearly explodes in your chest as you recognize a few of the faces you can see and realize that the team you scored those two goals against to win the national college championship are about to have their revenge on you. 

            You are wide awake now and terror stricken, crying out for them to release you.  Suddenly you feel something hard and pointed and cold against your pussy lips.  You can’t see it, of course, since your head is immobilized, but the captain of the team you beat has just slid a spit pole through the machine you are mounted on and locked it into position.  A couple girls move a full length mirror into position in front of you, and now you can see your own terror-stricken face.  The mirror is positioned so that you can also see back along your right side.  There is a ramp of sorts extending from beneath your belly and angling downward.  Beneath it sits a steel washtub.  You don’t even want to know what that is for.  Because of your limited view, you can’t see the blade that is poised to move upward and forward and slice your belly open.  Your guts, as they spill out of you, will slide down that ramp to fall into the washtub. 

            “Can I turn the machine on now, Coach?” a familiar voice asks.  It is the captain  of the team your two late goals stole the championship from.  “I can’t wait to see this bitch squirm when this pole starts through her.”

            “Do it,” the coach says, stooping to bring his face down into your field of view. 

            “Are you sure she’ll still be alive after she’s spitted?” another voice asks.  “I’d hate for her to miss roasting alive after the way she stole our championship from us. 

            “She’ll be very much alive,” the coach says, his eyes locked on yours as he continues to explain, for your benefit as well as the other girls.  “The salesman assured me that this model has all the latest features to insure that the girl who gets spitted will still be very much alive and alert and able to feel the heat of the coals slowly roasting her to death.  It even has a laser to cauterize all the blood vessels that are severed as her guts spill out of her to make sure she doesn’t bleed to death.”

            “Do it, Jilly,” another female voice you vaguely recognize says.  “Push the button.  Spit her.”

            Jilly, the other team’s captain, comes around in front of you and holds a wireless remote control in her right hand just in front of your face so that you will see her press the button and know she has sealed your fate.

            “This is for making me look like a fool when you got by me to score that winning goal, you fucking whore bitch,” she says, and she stabs the red button on the remote with a ferocity as powerful as the terror you feel as you hear the machine beneath and behind you suddenly whir to life and feel the spit slowly, inexorably moving forward, parting your labia and sliding into your pussy.  You have been too terrified to notice that you have also become extremely aroused at the thought that a metal spit pole is about to enter your pussy, that the last fuck you will ever know will be from a machine that is preparing you to be roasted to death.  You come.  Spectacularly.  It is the most intense orgasm you have ever had.  The slowly moving pole is just touching your cervix as the orgasm subsides.  “She’s cumming, Coach!” Jilly exclaims, a look of astonishment on her face that you can only guess must match your own amazement.  “This fucking whore bitch is getting off on this!  Goddammit!  She’s not supposed to enjoy it!”

            Suddenly, there is nothing pleasurable about what is happening to you.  The tip of the spit pole is forcing its way through your cervix, forcing open a ring of very powerful muscle that was never intended to be opened in this way.  The pole is up into your uterus.  The pain is excruciating.  You are screaming and crying out at the top of your voice, begging them to stop this, to take the pole out of you, to set you free.  You plead with them and tell them you are sorry you scored the winning goals against them and took away the championship they all thought they had in the bag.  They will not release you.  A new pain, even sharper than the first and further up inside you signals that the spit pole has just pierced the upper wall of your uterus and is making its way into whatever else it encounters on its path upward through you. 

            “Die, you fucking bitch,” someone calls out to you.  “Suffer.”

            “You cost me a $100,000 bonus when you kicked in that winner,” the coach says.  “How does it feel to be a winner now, Amber Hoit?  How do you like it now?”

            The pain of the pole rising through you is gradually making its way up through your gut.  You know now that you are doomed and you have begun to pray that God will take you quickly and spare you all this agony.  God isn’t listening.  God must have been a fan of the other team, and now he’s having his revenge on you, too.  And a new pain has just begun to make its presence felt as the gutting blade rises from beneath you, stabs into your belly just above your pelvic bone and begins to slice you open, gradually moving forward at the same pace as the pole rising through your belly.  You look at the mirror in front of you in horror and see the first of your intestines beginning to fall out of you and sliding down that tray toward the washtub.  Everything is still connected, though, so it dangles over the edge of the end of the ramp and hangs in space, slowly descending toward the tub as more and more of what used to be you slowly falls from your belly. 

            You feel a burning sensation as the spit pole tears into your stomach and acid leaks into your abdominal cavity.  You feel like you’re going to throw up, but just then, the pole finds your esophagus and blocks anything else from rising through it as it continues to make its way up through your diaphragm, slowly ascending through the esophagus, leaving your heart and lungs untouched so that they can keep you alive until the heat of your roasting finally overcomes you.  You can’t believe how much intestine has fallen out of you, and now you are feeling sudden burning sensations as the machine’s laser carefully and precisely cuts away connective tissues and severs and cauterizes blood vessels to insure that you don’t bleed to death.  The gutting blade comes up through you as far as your breast bone, then plunges deeper into you to cut your stomach and liver away from around the spit pole so that they can fall out of you. 

            The gutting process empties your belly of everything but your vagina and cervix and the portion of your colon that rises from your rectum.  The laser is still busy searing and cauterizing all the myriad blood vessels that connected to your abdominal organs.  The only blood vessels left intact are the main artery that carries blood to your lower extremities and the major vein which returns the blood to the heart.  The spit pole is slowly making its way up through your esophagus.  You have been praying that it will pierce your heart, but you can tell that is has come far enough up into you that the tip is now safely past your heart and lungs and will not inflict a mercifully fatal wound on you.  You are in this for the duration, and something tells you that these girls and their coach, vicious and savage in defeat, will do everything in their power to insure that you endure their revenge on you for as long as possible. 

            The spit pole has made its way into your throat, and now it is forcing its way up into your mouth.  You instinctively open your mouth wide, no longer able to scream, but still finding that you can manage a tiny, whimpering sound that in no way reflects the intensity and severity of the pain you are experiencing.   The last of your guts have fallen into the washtub.  The pole slowly emerges from your mouth, and you can’t take your eyes off the reflection of it coated with your blood as it continues to move forward through you.  The girls who have been standing around you laughing and joking about your misery and taunting you as you were spitted suddenly erupt into an enthusiastic cheer as the pole finally emerges from your mouth. 

            “Let’s stuff the bitch and cook her!”  one of them shouts to enthusiastic cries of agreement.  First, though, you need to be secured to the pole so that you will turn with it over the coals that await you.   Pins are run through your wrists and ankles and through the pole to secure your arms and legs.  The goalie you scored against is given the honor of stuffing the retaining post up your ass that will make sure you turn with the pole.  She is not gentle as she rams it into you.  Of course, your belly is empty now except for the length of colon that was left just for the purpose of holding the retaining post.  Still, It hurts to have it rammed into you so forcefully. 

            Now that there is no way you could possibly escape them, they release the straps that have held you in position on the machine.  You try to move your legs, but all you can do is push yourself back and forth a bit on the pole running through you, and you discover very quickly that you do not want to do that.  The coach and Jilly lift you off the machine and set you down on a stand that has been designed to hold you suspended on the pole.  They turn you so that you are face up and the coach takes a knife and makes two more cuts in you across your belly.  One is just below your ribcage, and the other just above your pelvis.  He folds the flaps back that he has created, leaving your empty belly exposed.  Two girls take it upon themselves to hold the mirror that is there over you for a moment so that you can gaze up into it and see what has become of you.  It is a sickening, terrifying sight.  You can’t believe you’re still alive and alert in spite of the fact that you now have a metal spit pole running through you and all your abdominal organs have been removed and now lie steaming in the hot sun in that washtub. 

            The coach uses a garden hose to rinse out the bits of blood and flesh that remain in your gut.  They have turned you back over face down so that everything can drain from you.  Now, you are rotated back around to face up.  Jilly folds the flaps of skin open again, and the girls take turns dropping vegetables and spices and herbs and whole sticks of butter into you.  One of the girls from the other team is a pre-med student, and now she is given the honor of performing her first medical procedure.  She sews the flaps of skin over your belly shut again to hold the other food items inside your belly so that they will roast along with you.  Several of the girls praise her work and tell her that she has done such a fine job that you almost look human. 

            “Roast the pig!   Roast the pig!”  The girls all take up the chant now.  Again, you are hoisted on your pole, the coach at your head, Jilly at your feet.  They are not being particularly gentle in handling you.  Each step they take toward the barbecue pit sends new shockwaves of pain through you.  You can see the bed of coals that awaits you, and when they set you down over them, you see that you are on one of the highest supports for the pole, as far from the heat as possible.  Still, it is very hot, and the heat very quickly becomes uncomfortable, even though you have been set this high above the coals to roast slowly and die slowly.  Immediately, a couple girls are slathering liquid butter on your body as you slowly rotate over the coals.  

            “Make sure you keep lots of butter on her pussy,” the coach tells them.  “And her breasts,” he adds.  “I can’t wait to taste that cunt filet, and I want it nice and moist and tender.  I want it to melt in my mouth.”

            “You don’t need to cook me to make my cunt melt in your mouth, Coach,” a voice says.  It is Jilly, and in your field of view, she presses her hot, lithe body against her coach.   “Let’s go inside and have some fun while she cooks.   I’m so horny from doing her, I could scream.”

            You can see the coach slipping his hand down the back of Jilly’s shorts as he leads her into the house.  The heat is becoming unbearable.  The girls who are basting you are living up to their promise to keep your pussy nice and moist and tender.  They spend a lot of the time slathering melted butter onto it.  You are cooking.  They are going to eat you.  Not that it would be much consolation to you if you knew, but next weekend they are going to give their goal tender the same treatment you have received because she let those two goals past.  And Jilly has no idea yet, either, but the coach has some special plans for her, as well.  After all, she was the one who couldn’t stop you as you nursed the ball down the field toward that last second goal.  She will pay for her incompetence, too, but for the moment, the coach is satisfied with munching away on her uncooked pussy while he waits for yours to be cooked to his specifications. 

           

           

Posted: 21-Dec-2011 - 3 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
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Julie

 

            She didn’t think much about the van slowing down as it passed her.  Julie Klitgaard was a very beautiful young woman.  She didn’t think she was, but she had gotten used to men staring at her.  It was something she’d had to deal with even before her body began to develop with the onset of puberty.   Even when the van pulled over and parked just ahead of her, she didn’t think much about it.  It was a fairly busy street, after all.  He could be making a delivery or a service call.  She walked on, her mind preoccupied.  The holidays were coming, and she had no idea what to buy for her family for Christmas.  She was so lost in thought that she didn’t even see or hear the van’s side door slide open.  She didn’t see the dark-clothed, hooded figure leap from it either, and she wasn’t at all aware of him until he grabbed her from behind, one arm around her chest, the other hand clamped against her mouth to keep her from crying out. 

            He was so strong, and Julie had no warning, and before she could even try to struggle, she felt herself being dragged into the back of the van.  The door slammed shut, and even before her captor had her secured, she felt the van lurch and heard tires squeal as it pulled away from the curb.  Her captor wasn’t working alone.  He had a partner who had been behind the wheel of the van waiting to drive away from the scene before anyone could notice that the pretty young woman who had been walking down the street had vanished.

            A rag stuffed into her mouth silenced Julie’s cries.  Pinned on her belly on the floor of the van, she tried in vain to resist as her captor tied first one wrist and then used the rope to bring that one to the other one so that he could tie her hands behind her back.  He used the same technique to bind her ankles together, then forced her to bend her knees and tied her wrists and ankles together.  She wasn’t going anywhere except wherever that van was taking her.   Wherever that was, she was almost certain it wasn’t somewhere she wanted to be. 

 

            Julie could feel her heart racing, her breathing rapid and shallow.  She was sweating profusely and scared out of her mind.  For years, there had been reports of girls disappearing all over Denmark, but somehow, those reports always got buried and forgotten.  None of the missing girls’ bodies had ever turned up- not so much as a bone fragment.  There were rumors that they were being kidnapped and sold into the harems of oil-rich Arab princes or into prostitution in America, but no one had ever found any concrete evidence as to what was happening to them, and now, Julie was terrified that she was the next girl who would very soon see for herself what had happened to the missing girls who had preceded her and was now about to happen to her. 

            She tried to struggle against her bonds, but it was futile, and the rag stuffed in her mouth made crying out or even talking impossible.  Julie could only lie there on her belly and wait.  It was a long ride.  Too soon, the man who had dragged her into the van and bound her and was still riding with her there in the back began to fondle her.  He rolled her onto her side and opened her coat and undid her blouse and played with her breasts for a while, and then, he reached up under her skirt and began to stroke her pussy.  Tears streamed down her cheeks.   Julie had already come to the conclusion that, barring a miraculous escape, she was not getting out of this situation alive.  Now she was beginning to understand that she wouldn’t be getting out of it dead until she had been raped and abused and humiliated until her captors were tired of her.

            She thought she was going to get raped there in the van, but the way her captor had bound her and her clothing pretty much prevented that.  Still, the man’s hand had found its way to her pussy, and the things he was doing to her were having an effect on her that she didn’t appreciate at all.  Julie was ashamed to feel herself becoming aroused.  She winced with shame and embarrassment when the man who was groping her announced to the driver that she must like what he was doing because her pussy was dripping wet already and felt like it was trying to swallow his fingers. 

            She came.  She hated herself and her vagina for succumbing to his manipulations, but she couldn’t help it.  Julie had always been easily aroused, always came easily when she had sex with a boy she cared enough for to want to share herself with him in that way.  She had never imagined that her body could give itself just as eagerly to a rapist.  She had never imagined that she would ever really be raped, though.  She lived in one of the safest towns in Denmark.  Crime was almost unheard of.  Almost all of the girls who had disappeared had come from Copenhagen or some of the other larger cities in Denmark.  Julie was not at all thrilled to be the first girl from her town to be “disappeared.” 

            Ever since she was a little girl, Julie had fantasies and dreams of being kidnapped by pirates or other evildoers who would kill her in some hideous manner.  As puberty enveloped her and she began to feel her body preparing itself for the womanly duties and pleasures it would afford her, her fantasies took on a sexual nature.  Now the evil men who captured her used her sexually before they killed her, and the fantasies’ grip on her grew even stronger.  She loved her father but could never stop imagining him as the most evil of all her imaginary captors, and as her body developed, one night, she had her first orgasm touching herself while imagining her father was raping her.  After that, he became a regular fixture in her fantasies, and as he took center stage in them, she became more and more orgasmic with each fantasy dream.  It got to the point that, before she turned sixteen, she couldn’t get through a night without having some dream or the other that her father was using her sexually, and she would awaken in the morning to find her pajama bottoms damp and sticky with the nocturnal products of her fantasies.

            Then Julie decided to give her virginity to a boy she was dating.  She hoped that seeing for herself what sex was about- what it really felt like- would tame her fantasies.  It didn’t work.  Even before her boyfriend entered her, she was cumming, and even the considerable pain of losing her virginity didn’t dull her sensitivity to the pleasure that was there.  It hurt enough to make her cry, but the boy was gentle and considerate, too, and Julie’s own natural sensitivity to sexual feelings overwhelmed her.  She came over and over before the boy spilled his seed into his condom, and the results of her first sexual experience were not at all what she had hoped for. 

            Actually having sex with a boy, while she hoped it would be pleasurable and something she would want to continue doing, was supposed to put sex into some sort of perspective for her.  Instead, the opposite happened.  Her imagination fueled with the amazing reality of her first sexual experience, Julie’s fantasies became even more powerful a factor in her life.  Now she couldn’t keep them out of her waking consciousness either.  She would be sitting in some boring class in school, and her train of thought would derail itself, and before she knew it, she would find herself imagining that she was being hanged by the neck naked in front of her classmates for some trivial offense, or being run through with a barbecue spit from her pussy up through her mouth and then being placed still alive over a bed of hot coals to roast to death to feed a crowd of her family and neighbors at some summer holiday barbecue.  She imagined herself using what little strength remained to her to push herself back and forth on the spit pole to stimulate herself, and she came sitting there in the classroom.

            It was all horribly embarrassing, especially because her boyfriend, the one who’d just recently claimed her virginity and knew what she sounded like when she was cumming was in the same class with her.  He was waiting for her after school and teased her about cumming in class.  He asked if she had been thinking about him.  She hadn’t been, but Julie lied and said she had been.  He told her his parents weren’t going to be home until later that night and said it sounded to him like he needed to take her to his house and do something about her sexual hunger that was so powerful it had her cumming in class.  He took her home and up to his room and fucked her four times that afternoon, and her pussy was so sore it was all she could do to walk home from his house, and still, that night when she went to bed, the fantasies were, if anything, stronger than ever. 

            Gradually, though, Julie began to come to grips with her fantasies and learned to control them, somewhat.  She couldn’t eliminate them, but she did manage to keep herself from losing control of them to the point that they were making her cum in public places.  She found a website called Dark Fetish Network and discovered that she wasn’t the only person in the world who was so powerfully afflicted by these perverse thoughts.  Indeed, some of the people she encountered there seemed even more disturbed that she thought she must be- far more disturbed.  She saw pictures of women hanging there and could almost feel the rope tightening around her own neck.  She saw pictures of women with their breasts bound so tightly that they were turning purple, and the women were being lifted off the ground by their breasts.  She saw a picture of a naked woman with giant hooks through her breasts, and a man had hold of the ends of the hooks and was using them to pull her closer to make his thick cock go further down her throat.  She saw pictures of women secured in guillotines about to lose their heads.  She saw obviously manipulated pictures of women whose heads had already been severed by the guillotine or who had knelt over a chopping block to have their heads removed with an axe or sword.  She saw pictures of women having sex with dogs and horses. 

            Julie loved the site.  She couldn’t stay away from it.  She found herself spending hours alone in her room staring at her computer monitor, masturbating herself to climax after climax as she imagined herself the victim of the atrocities being perpetrated on the women on her screen.   Somehow, though, this orgy of indulgence seemed to help her begin to cope with the dark forces at work within her.  She couldn’t help enjoying the fantasies for what they were, fantasies, but she had been feeling like she was dangerously close to allowing herself to be snared into a real life exploration of her fantasies until she managed to satiate her need to experience them somewhat on DFN. 

            Now that she thought she had finally managed to get control of her fantasies, though, they had suddenly become very real, and although she had to admit that being kidnapped was very exciting, the reality of it was not at all as pleasurable as lying in her bed and dreaming about it.  Nor was the unwanted hand stroking her pussy as entertaining as imagining herself being fondled by some rapist would have been, although, again, she had to admit it was exciting in its own way.  Julie came.  She couldn’t help it.  She had been trying to fight the feeling rising in her belly from the moment the man first touched her there, but he was very skillful, and she- well, she never had been able to keep herself from cumming when someone touched her there.   

            Not that it was at all pleasurable to lie there in terror on the floor of that van being molested and fearing that her life was probably very nearly over.   But an orgasm was an orgasm, after all, and she could do nothing but surrender herself to its power as it washed over her.  Usually, with a boy she wanted to fuck, an orgasm left her feeling tired and relaxed and happy and satisfied.  This one left her feeling dirty and abused and ashamed of herself for not being able to resist it.  The man who was fingering her and the driver were joking about how easily she came and how she was going to love what lay in store for her.  Julie didn’t see anything funny in her predicament.  The man kept fingering her, and she came two more times for him before they reached their destination.  Each time made her loathe her body for betraying her as much as she loathed the man who seemed to have such a wonderful time getting her off. 

            Finally, the van came to a halt.  Julie heard what sounded like a garage door opening, and then the van moved forward again, but only briefly before it came to rest again and the driver hopped out of the van.  The side door swept open, and the two men dragged Julie out of the van and carried her, one on either side of her, through a large garage and up a short flight of stairs into what looked to be the stage of a theatre.  A large curtain was draped across the front of the stage obscuring the area where the audience would be seated. Smaller curtains on either side of the stage were hung to obscure the wings of the theatre.  A bare brick wall was opposite the main curtain. 

            Julie did not like the looks of the things she saw on the stage.  The first thing to catch her attention was a gallows with a noose dangling maybe two meters above the floor.  A small set of portable folding steps was positioned beneath it.  Julie had no doubt that, before her life was over, she would find herself standing on the topmost step with the noose around her neck.  There was a table with a ramp angled down from one side of it and a large metal tub positioned beneath the ramp.  Over the table, a mirror was suspended.  Anyone lying on the table could look up and see their reflection, she thought.  She was almost certain she saw some sort of video camera mounted up there, too.  There was another narrower, padded table with what Julie had to assume were restraining straps dangling at the four corners.  Julie figured she’d be spending time on that table, too, and it didn’t take much imagination to figure out what she would be doing on it- or more precisely, what would be done to her while she was strapped to it.  There was what appeared to be a large barbecue pit, too, with an exhaust vent overhead to draw off smoke and noxious gasses.  What were they going to do, Julie wondered?  Cook her?

            Her pussy was already wet, her panties soaked because of her captor’s efforts on her behalf in the back of the van.   Now, Julie was disgusted with herself to realize that her pussy was already flooding itself in anticipation of the time she would spend tied down to that table.  There was also a large wooden reel that looked like it must have at one time held electrical power cable or maybe television cable.  Now it was just sitting there with restraining straps fixed to it.  Julie was liking this less and less, and the more details she noticed as she glanced around the stage, the more she was convinced that she had been brought to the last place she would ever visit.  There was no way she was getting out of this alive, or even in any condition that any part of her body would someday be found to at least give her family some closure and some part of her to bury. 

            No trace of any of the other girls who had disappeared had ever been found, and this had been going on for years.  Julie understood that whatever was about to happen to her would leave no trace of her to be found anywhere.  She had just become the latest disappearing Danish girl.  Her captors had set her down on the padded table.  One of the men disappeared briefly off into the wings of the theatre.

            “Did you tell him we have her?” His partner asked when he returned moments later.

            “Yes.  He’s notifying the others.  They’ll all be here shortly.  He wants us to get her ready.”

            With that, the two men proceeded to cut her clothing from her.  They didn’t bother to undo her restraints first.  They just cut around them and had her naked in a matter of moments.  Julie was crying and trying to scream for help, but the rag stuffed in her mouth reduced her cries to inarticulate, muffled grunts.  The two men pulled her up- so that she was in a kneeling position, sitting on her legs.  They held her there by her shoulders for a moment, and each man, one on each side of her, began to fondle a breast.  Her nipples, already erect, grew even stiffer and more swollen.  The one who had been fingering her in the van reached down and forced his hand between her thighs again and began to stroke her pussy. 

            “Jesus, she’s soaked down here!” he boasted to his friend.  “Oh, Christ, I’d love to be the first one to nail this little bitch.  You heard her cumming in the van when I was fingering her.  She loves it.”  Just then, her pussy betrayed Julie once again, erupting into one of the most powerful orgasms she had ever had.  “You see!?  Oh fuck, man!  Is she ever going to love what we’ve got in store for her?  Fuck!  She’s liable to cum herself to death!”

            “Don’t even think about doing her now,” his partner warned him.  “You do, and we’ll both end up dead.  You know the old man always gets the first fuck, and I know he’s been looking forward to this one for a long time.  We’ll get our shot when it’s our turn.”

            “You put in a bid for her, too?”

            “Yeah,” the man who had been her driver said.  “I got spot number 18.”

            “Eighteenth out of 20,” the man fingering her said.  “Shit, man, there won’t be anything left of her by then.  I cleaned out my savings when I heard she was the girl for this show.  I got spot number 6.”

            “You lucky bastard.  If I’d known this one was coming up, I wouldn’t have bought a spot on the last girl,” the driver said.  “She was okay, but nothing like this hot little bitch is going to be.  Still, eighteenth is better than sitting out there in the audience whacking off while some rich old bastard gets off on her.  Maybe I’ll do her in the ass when it’s my turn.  There probably won’t be more than four or five in front of me who will want her ass.”

            “You know the old man will.  He gets them in all three holes.”

            “Lucky bastard.  I’d kill to be Grand master someday,” the drivers said, then reacted to a sound Julie heard, too from beyond the curtain.  “Sounds like we’re getting an audience already.  We’d better get this fine young piece of ass ready for her big show.  Come on, honey.  We’ve got work to do.” 

            The man who had been fingering her put a collar around Julie’s neck and attached a leash to it.  He kept a firm grip on the leash as they loosened her bonds and made her stand.  Her body felt stiff and sore, her legs cramped from having been bent up behind her so severely for so long.  She managed to stay on her feet, though, and the two men dragged her off into the wings.  They brought her to a bathroom of sorts.  There was a toilet there, but a pole standing next to it held a plastic bag of clear fluid suspended at eye level.  A flexible tube dangled from the bag nearly to the floor.  The two men made Julie stand astride the toilet and one held her bent over it while the other worked behind her.  Both of these men were very strong.  Even when only one was holding her, Julie couldn’t struggle free of his grip.  The other smeared something cold and slippery around her ass and then, a finger penetrated her and brought more of the slippery stuff up into her rectum.  His finger alone caused her more pain than she cared to deal with.  She didn’t even want to try to imagine what a man’s cock would feel like in there, but she couldn’t help imagining it.  Suddenly, she felt something entering her.  It was the flexible hose attached to that bag of liquid, and he pushed it as far up into her as he could.

            Julie felt a sharp pain up in her belly.  She knew from pictures she had seen in her doctor’s office, that her colon rose pretty much vertically from her rectum until it reached the top of the abdominal cavity, and then it bent and looped across the top of the abdomen to where it joined with the small intestine.  It felt like the end of the hose had reached the point where her colon bent and butted up against the wall of the colon.  The man told her to clench her ass.  She wasn’t sure why, but she did as she was told.  A second later, she felt the liquid from the bag flooding her colon.  As she felt it rush into her, she tried to convince herself that if she hadn’t obeyed him, he would only have made matters worse for her.  Maybe, she thought, but she was still ashamed of herself for submitting so passively to his will. 

            The man holding her pulled the rag out of her mouth and told her to hold the liquid inside herself as long as she could.  Already she could feel her bowels churning.  She held the liquid in her until it felt like she could hold it no longer.  She told the men she was about to lose the contents of her bowels.  Suddenly, she felt the tube with drawn from her, and the man holding her forced her down onto the toilet.  Her bowels let go, and a mighty surge of the liquid and whatever else had been in there came rushing out of her.  The smell of her feces filled the room. 

            “Oh Christ, you stink!” the man working behind her proclaimed.  He flushed the toilet even before she had finished emptying herself, and then, he flushed again as soon as the toilet had refilled itself.  The embarrassing odor subsided somewhat.  They flushed her colon with two more bags full of the enema solution before taking her to the shower.  The shower head had been replaced with a hose like the one that had filled her with enema.  The man who had run the enema hose into her now spread a thin layer of lubricating gel on the shower tube and forced it up her ass.  He turned on the water and the sudden blast of cold water rushing into her was like a bomb going off inside her.  Gradually, though, the water warmed up.  The man held the hose in her and let it flood her for several minutes. 

            There was no way she could hold this inside her.  The water flooded back through her and sprayed out of her ass, coursing over the hand and forearm of the man holding the hose in her.  After three large bags of enema had already flushed her out, though, the water rushing out of her and going down the drain beneath her feet looked clear enough to drink.  Finally, the man turned off the water and withdrew the tube from Julie’s rectum and handed her a towel.  When she had dried herself, they led her by the leash back out to the stage.  She was expecting them to tie her down on the padded table.  Instead, they bound her on her back to the cable reel. 

            “It’s show time,” one of her captors taunted her.  “Ready for your big surprise?”

            The two men left her there tied bent around the cable reel, naked.  She saw them disappear into the wings, and then she heard a voice addressing the crowd waiting to witness her shame and degradation.  The voice was muffled because it was coming to her through the thick curtains hanging from the proscenium, but it had a disturbingly familiar ring to it, and then, as the curtain began to open, the voice became clearer and shockingly familiar. 

            “…and now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for.  Ladies and gentlemen, I am extremely proud to introduce to you our guest of honor for this evening’s entertainment and dining pleasure… my daughter, Julie Klitgaard!  Let’s have a big round of applause for Julie.  Let her know how much we appreciate the sacrifice she is about to make for us.”

            Julie’s heart leaped into her throat and nearly stopped beating.  Tears streamed down her face.  She let out a great cry of protest.  Her own father!  How could the one man who should have given his life to protect her from harm be a party to this hideous spectacle? 

            “Papa!  No!” she cried.

            “Oh but yes, my sweet child,” he replied, then turned again to address the audience.  “As you know, it is my right as Grand Master of this chapter to have the first use of our guest.  I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for this moment.  Julie,” he calls back to her, “are you ready to show your dear old Papa how much you love him?”

            “Papa!  Please!  No!  You can’t do this to me!  How can you leave me exposed like this in front of all these people?”

            “I can do it, and I intend to take a great deal of pleasure in it,” he said as he kicked off his shoes and peeled down his trousers.  His cock sprang out, a rather impressive looking thing. It wasn’t a real monster, but it was a bit bigger than any Julie had felt inside her before.  “Open wide, darling.  Papa wants you to suck his nice cock.”

            “No!” Julie insisted and clamped her mouth shut as he leaned forward over her and touched the tip of his cock to her lips.

            “Julie, don’t embarrass your father in front of all these people, child,” he warned her.  “There are some very important people out in that audience.  The Prime Minister and his wife are here, for God’s sake.  Now open up and let me put my cock in your mouth.”  Julie wasn’t about to open her mouth to speak for fear that her father would try to shove his cock into it.  She very vehemently shook her head no.  She wasn’t about to let him humiliate her any further than she already was.  “Very well, child.  You leave me no recourse.  I was really hoping you’d be more accommodating.  I know this is difficult for you, but I’m your father.   Do as I say, or you’ll regret it.  Now open your mouth and take my cock, or else.”  Again, Julie refused, her mouth tightly clamped shut.  “Very well then,” her father said.  He walked away from her toward the wall at the back of the stage and returned carrying a pair of lethal looking large meat hooks.  “I’m really sorry I have to do this, Julie, but you leave me no choice,” he said as he raised the hooks, one in each hand, to either side of his head.  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

            Julie was too stunned to react.  She couldn’t believe her father could possibly do what it looked like he was about to do with those hooks.  She was bound too tightly to protect herself, anyway.  The hooks flashed through the air in a deadly arc.  Julie screamed even before she felt the metal rip into her breasts.  The look on her father’s face was more terrifying than the pain and the site and feel of the hooks ripping into the undersides of her breasts only to reappear erupting through the flesh just above her nipples.  She had never known pain anything like this before.  Her mouth flew open as she cried out against the torture, and before she could react, her father used the hooks through her breasts to yank her closer to him and stuff his cock into her mouth. 

            It felt like he had ripped her breasts right off her chest, but they were still attached.  She couldn’t see it because her face was now pressed too close to her father’s crotch, but blood oozed from all four wounds, entrance and exit.  The hooks felt like red-hot irons piercing her.  Her father’s cock was choking her.  He had it as far down her throat as he could get it, and she was forced to swallow to try to keep her gorge down.  Her father began to stroke himself back and forth through her mouth.  She felt him getting hard, growing with each new trip  down into her throat. 

            “Take that, you little bitch,” he swore at her under his breath.  “I warned you not to disobey me.  How do you like it this way?” He asked, yanking again on the hooks.  A new explosion of pain ripped through her breasts.  She managed a gasped cry in spite of the cock in her mouth.  “It could have been so much easier, you stupid little child.  All you had to do was open your mouth and take my cock, just like you do for your boyfriend.”  Julie managed another gasp of pain and shame.  How could he have known about that?  Had he read her text messages or personal diary entries on her computer?  “You thought I didn’t know, didn’t you?  Why do you think I offered you as tonight’s guest, child?  You soiled yourself with that boy, and now you’re paying for it.”

            With that, he yanked his cock from her mouth.  It stood out from his belly hard and proud.  He let go of the hooks through her breasts but left them dangling there, their weight pulling painfully against her tender flesh.  He released her from the cable reel but dragged her over to the padded table and forced her down onto her back on it, pulling her arms back over her head and securing her wrists to something at that end of the table.   He roughly pulled her legs apart and tied one, then the other to hooks on the side of the table that were positioned to leave her lying on her back with her legs spread and knees bent. 

            Now it begins, Julie thought as she watched her father climb up onto the table and position himself between her parted legs.  He stroked himself a few times and then leaned forward over her, and she felt him rubbing the head of his cock along her slit, gathering her moisture for lubrication.  Of course, she realized, ashamed to admit it to herself, her pussy was wet and ready and eager for what was to come.  The head began to sink into her.  Oh God, let me die now, she prayed.  Please don’t let this be happening to me.  But it was happening.  She turned her head to the side to avoid her father’s leering stare deep into her eyes.   Unfortunately, she turned her head to the side that allowed her to see her audience watching her intently.  Her father’s cock surged through her.  She knew it wouldn’t be long at all now before she would begin to cum.  Already, she could feel the turmoil stirring in her belly- a billion butterflies testing their wings, preparing to take flight. 

            She tried to see who was in the audience that was as important as her father had indicated.  Oh my God!  It is the Prime Minister, she thought.  She saw his young, beautiful wife sitting beside him, staring intently, a look of pure hunger on her face.  The mayor of their town was there, and so was the Chief of Police.  Julie recognized one of her professors  and prayed he wasn’t one of the twenty who would have her.  She had so admired his brilliance in his lectures, she didn’t want to know this darker side of his character.  The audience was mostly male, but Julie was surprised by the number of women present.  She was especially disturbed that most of the women, including the Prime Minister’s wife, were all watching her intently, seeming to relish her pain and shame, and could they possibly be fantasizing themselves in her position?  It certainly looked that way.  Julie felt her pussy explode into orgasm.  It caught her off guard, even though she had felt it building in her only a moment earlier.  The Prime Minister’s wife seemed to recognize what had happened to Julie.  She seized her husband’s arm tightly and whispered something to him, and then, as Julie tried to collect her wits, she saw the Prime Minister’s wife slip her hand up under her short skirt.  Seconds later, the expression on the woman’s face began to change and she seemed to slump down in her seat and scoot forward to give herself easier access to her treasures.

            Julie’s father was fucking her hard and fast, plunging his cock deep into her with each stroke.  She came again, and yet again moments later, and suddenly, her father yanked his cock from her.  He dismounted the table, but only long enough to retrieve a wedge shaped pillow from beneath it.  He shoved it beneath Julie’s ass, raising her hips up off the padding of the table, and then he was up on the table with her again, leering down at her.   She knew what he was about to do.  She had his cock in her mouth and in her pussy, and still he had not cum into her.  She understood why she had been given an enema to clean out her ass.  Her father grasped her knees and forced them apart.  He leaned forward over her again, and she felt the head of his cock touch the entrance to her ass.  It felt slippery.  She had been too stunned that her own father had so brutally violated her to notice that he had now smoothed a lubricating gel onto his cock to aid in the assault on her ass. 

            “Papa, no!” she pleaded.  “Please!  Why do you shame me so?”

            “Shame?” he reacted angrily.  “You are ashamed of me?  I will show you what shame is!”  And with that, he thrust into her.  The head of his cock popped through her anal sphincter.  Julie screamed in agony.  It hurt almost as much as the hooks ripping through her breasts had hurt at the moment he had thrust them into her flesh.  He grabbed the hooks again and Julie could only cry out again with the renewed pain in her breasts as his cock surged up into her feeling like a red hot iron rod moving ever deeper into her.  She had never known such pain, but the physical distress was nothing compared to the horrible aching agony of knowing that this was her own father- the man she had idolized and loved all her life- who was causing her this awful torment.  “Now do you understand what shame is, my daughter?  Now do you understand the shame I felt when I read your diaries on your computer and discovered that you gave yourself not just to one boy, but to four!?  Four boys knew you!  My lovely little daughter, the love of my life is a whore!  Now do you understand what shame is, my slut of a daughter?  Four boys!  Well, since you love having a cock in you so much, tonight you shall have twenty of them, and that is only the beginning of what we have in store for you.”

            He thrust into her harder and harder.  Julie couldn’t believe how long it was taking him to bring himself to climax.  She could only lie there and suffer his abuse.  Her ass was on fire.  Her breasts were on fire.  Suddenly, her father yanked his cock out of her ass and lunged forward over her, and as she opened her mouth to cry out in surprise, he thrust his cock into her mouth and down her throat, and she could feel his cum flooding her throat.  Julie had to swallow it or risk drowning.  There was so much of it.   She couldn’t believe he had taken his cock straight from her ass and shoved it into her mouth and down her throat.   She would have thrown up if she could have.  His cock tasted no different coming out of hert ass than it had at first.  Evidently, she thought, the two enemas and water rinse in the shower had removed any hint of fecal material.  Her father remained for a moment with his cock down her throat, then withdrew it enough that only the head and first few centimeters of it were in her mouth.  He told her to lick and suck it clean and kept it there in her mouth until she had no choice but to do as he had ordered.  He climbed down off her and calmly put on his pants and leaned back against the table Julie was tied down on and seemed to catch his breath for a moment.  The audience sat there in silence for a moment, stunned by the violence and brutality with which he had taken his own daughter, then suddenly erupted into applause.  In seconds, they were all on their feet giving him a standing ovation.  It went on for more than a minute.  There were cries of “Bravo!” and “Yes!” 

            Her father stepped forward and bowed, basking in the audience’s approval.  Julie lay still sprawled on her back, her body racked with pain.  She was crying, sobbing uncontrollably.  She let her head roll to the side and saw him standing there, arms outstretched to accept the adoration of his audience.  He began to gesture to them to take their seats, and gradually, the applause died down and the audience began to return to their seats.   

            “Tonight,” her father began, speaking over the rapidly diminishing crowd noise, “we are truly honored to have our illustrious Prime Minister and his lovely wife in our midst to share in our celebration.  As many of you know, the Prime Minister is one of the founding  members of our little organization, and tonight, he is the highest bidder for my daughter’s favors.  I also understand that his lovely wife wishes to join him in enjoying Julie’s favors.  Prime Minister, if you and your wife would come forward now, please feel free to use Julie in whatever manner pleases you.  Ladies and gentlemen, let’s have a big round of applause for the Prime Minister and his wife.  That’s it.  Give it to her good, Sir.  She likes it hard and deep.  That’s what she wrote in her Internet diary.”

            The Prime Minister stepped up to the platform where Julie lay waiting for him to join the ranks of those who would abuse her before the evening was over.  His wife stood next to Julie’s head and leaned over her and kissed her on the mouth.  Julie was stunned that the Minister’s wife’s tongue shot so quickly into her mouth and seemed to seek out any of her father’s semen that remained there.  The woman grabbed the hook through Julie’s breast closest to her and gave it a tug.  Her mouth left Julie’s mouth and closed down over her nipple, suckling it.  Then she bit down hard.  Julie reacted with a startled cry.  The Prime Minister’s wife looked at her and grinned, licked her lips, and then she bent over Julie again and began to lick at the blood that had dried on her breast.  Her actions diverted Julie’s attention from the Prime Minister long enough that he had removed his pants and was now up on the platform between Julie’s parted thighs.  His wife took his cock in her mouth and sucked him for several minutes until he was erect.  She stepped back and smiled down at Julie as her husband slipped his cock into Julie’s pussy.   

            The Prime Minister’s cock was not quite as long as her father’s, but it was thicker.  He didn’t fuck her anywhere near as hard and fast as her father had, and when he wasn’t kissing his wife while he fucked Julie, he was gazing down into Julie’s face, smiling at her.  Finally, she felt him pick up the pace of his fucking, and then he was cumming into her.  Julie had an orgasm, too, one of too many to count that she would have before they were done with her.  The night she had her first orgasm with a boy she loved and wanted to fuck, she could never have imagined that she would learn to loathe such a wonderful experience.  As the Prime Minister withdrew from her and she watched his wife lick him clean, she couldn’t imagine that she had ever enjoyed having that feeling erupt within her and overwhelm her. 

            The Prime Minister’s wife was finished licking her husband’s cock clean, but she wasn’t finished with Julie.  She climbed up onto the end of the platform and bent down over Julie and began to lick and suck her pussy, drinking down what she could of her husband’s and Julie’s mingled fluids.  Julie had never had a woman go down on her before.  The mere thought of it disgusted her, but her body didn’t care where the stimulus was coming from.  She came again.  The PM’s wife let herself down off the platform and came to the head of it to bend over Julie again to kiss her and give her a mouth full of the fluid she’s suckled from her pussy.  

            Her father was back on stage again as the Prime Minister and his wife returned to their seats to a hearty round of applause.  He silenced the crowd and addressed them again. 

            “We have yet another distinguished guest with is tonight, an American!  He is the founder and Grand Master of our society’s first American chapter.  They have been in existence for only a little more than a year, and already, they have over fifty members and have claimed the lives of fourteen beautiful young ladies.  Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a hearty welcome to a man with the deceptively benign alias of Baby Huey.  Baby Huey, would you come up here, please?  As our special guest this evening, you are entitled to enjoy my daughter next.”  A heavy set balding man stood up in the middle of the auditorium and began to make his way forward.   He wore glasses, and even from a distance, Julie noticed something that made her heart race.  He had a formidable bulge in his trousers. 

            She overheard her father speaking to the man in English but couldn’t make out what he was saying.  Normally, her English was much better than her father’s, but the things she had endured thus far, and the things she feared that lay ahead of her had her mind so scrambled that she couldn’t concentrate on what her father was saying.  The big American shook her father’s hand and then came to where Julie lay bound waiting to see what he was going to do to her. 

            “Your father told me you were beautiful when he invited me here for tonight’s meeting and told me you were the guest of honor,” the man said, gazing down on her, taking in her nakedness.  “You really are a beautiful young woman, even with those hooks through your breasts.  I can’t believe he volunteered you for this.  I don’t think I could do that to my daughter if I had one, but under the circumstances, I’m glad he did.  I can’t wait to feel my cock in you.  I’ve been sitting back there watching your father and the Prime Minister fuck you, and I couldn’t help noticing how many times you seem to have cum for them.  I hope you’re going to cum for me, too.  I love making a young girl get off.”

            Julie could only stare at the man in disbelief.  Could he possibly imagine that she was enjoying this?  She hated her body even more now for betraying her and cumming time and time again as the two men fucked her.  She couldn’t help herself.  It just happened.  It was a normal physical reaction to sexual stimulus- nothing more.  It didn’t mean she was enjoying being fucked and shamed in front of this audience.  And now this fat old bald American asshole was pulling down his pants and getting ready to climb on her and expecting her to cum for him and thinking she was going to love every minute of it.  Julie was about to close her eyes and try to force herself to remain immobile and mute through whatever he might do to her when she saw something that made her heart stop.  As he kicked off his pants and pushed his shorts down, she got her first glimpse of the cock she was about to deal with. 

            It was enormous.  It was every bit of twenty-five centimeters long, and it was even thicker than the Prime Minister’s cock had been.  Her heart had stopped, but now it was off and racing at top speed.  She watched him climb up onto the platform with her, and before she knew it, he was sitting astride her chest, and his weight on her made it almost impossible to breathe even though she could tell he had not settled all his weight down onto her.  He leaned forward over her, and the pain of him sitting on the hooks, pulling on them, made her cry out.  As soon as her mouth opened, he thrust his cock into it, and the cry of pain that had been on its way out of her mouth became a choking sound as he forced his cock further into her mouth. 

            “Mmmphh,” was the only sound Julie could manage, and she kept repeating it with each thrust of his cock deeper into her mouth.  Fortunately, he seemed to realize there was no way he was going to get it down her throat, and he wasn’t really trying to, but she was getting a mouthful with every thrust forward.   He was getting hard.  Julie almost wished he would finish in her mouth.   She wanted no part of that long, fat cock in her pussy, but she had no say in the matter.  He withdrew from her mouth and scooted back down over her.  He sat there poised on his haunches looking down at her, and she could see that he was looking at the hooks through her breasts.  He reached for one, and she screamed in agony as he pulled it back out of her breast.  The tip was not barbed, but it still felt like her breast was being ripped from her chest, and with the hook withdrawn, she began to bleed more profusely.  He pulled out the other one, and now her agony was magnified.

            “That looks better,” the American said.  “Bloody mess, but still better than having those hooks hanging off your tits.  It’s too bad you forced your father to use them on you.  Looks like you had a nice pair of tits there before he wrecked them.   Well, this is getting us nowhere, isn’t it?  And from what I understand, there are seventeen more men behind me waiting their turn on you.  Let’s not keep them waiting any longer than necessary, shall we?”  She felt the head of his cock at the entrance to her pussy.   “You don’t talk much, do you?” he said as his cock entered her.  It didn’t slip into her.  Slip was not a word to describe how it felt as his cock forced her pussy to accept it.  It felt like he was ripping her apart. 

            Deeper and deeper it went into her, stretching her and forcing her organs aside as it made its way into her.  All the while, he was leaning forward over her, the strain of his effort to force himself into her showing on his face.  Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and dripped down into her eyes, burning them, mingling with her tears.   Julie had begun to cry out the moment the fat head of his cock squeezed its way into her.  The further he got into her, the louder and more shrill her cry became.  It broke down into short, sharp gasps of pain with each further surge deeper into her.  There was no way, she thought, that her pussy could contain the whole of it. 

            “Hang in there, honey, we’re almost there,” he grunted and urged himself a bit deeper.  “Oh fuck, baby!  Oh shit, I wish I could take you home with me.  Oh Christ, you feel good.  How do you like it, honey?  Your Daddy says you like it big and hard.  You must love this.”

            “OH God!  Please stop!” Julie managed to cry out.   “It hurts!  Take it out!”  He didn’t.  Somehow, he managed to get the entire length of it into her.  Julie had no doubt that he had probably ripped her vagina apart to make room for his cock.   This phase of her nightmare had just begun, though.  He began to move himself back out of her, but immediately, when only a few centimeters had withdrawn, it began to surge back into her, slowly at first, but more quickly once her traitorous pussy had lubricated itself as much as possible to make him move more easily through her.  She came, and the orgasm was unlike any other she had ever had.  This one was an explosion of pain erupting in her belly and radiating out through her extremities.

            “Oh fuck, you are hot!” he gloated, recognizing her orgasm, and he thrust a little harder and deeper into her, making matters even worse for her.   “Such an amazing body, and so responsive.  Cum for me, Baby.  Let’s do it.  Let’s make you cum again.”

            He thrust into her harder and faster, and Julie was helpless to resist what was happening to her.  It went on and on, and she came over and over.  She passed out because the pain was too intense to bear.  When she came to again, he was out of her and crouched between her legs getting ready to force his cock into her ass.

            “Oh God!  Please!  No!” Julie cried, squirming and writhing as best she could to try to protect her tiny asshole from the intruder preparing to force his way into her.   At first, it felt like his cock was going to be too thick to get into her.  “Aaaaahhhhh!” she squealed when it finally popped through her sphincter and began to surge into her ass.  “Oh!  No!  Oh God no!  You’re killing me!” 

            Julie had no concept of how much time might have passed.  She knew he was lasting a long time, though, and she knew her poor ass was ruined.  It would never be the same again.   Finally, though, the fat American thrust his cock deep into her ass, cursed and held himself deep inside her, pumping his semen deep into her.  She could feel each successive jet of his semen spurting into her.  He collapsed over her, and now, she couldn’t breathe.  He seemed to realize her peril, though, and seconds later, he raised his weight off her although he remained prostrate over her while his penis twitched and continued to spurt his semen into her.

            Julie lay beneath him limp and spent, sobbing quietly.  She had long ago lost track of all the orgasms he and her father and the Prime Minister had wrought on her.  She wished she were dead.  It was going to happen sooner or later anyhow.  She was certain of that now.  There was no way they would be treating her like this if they had any intention of letting her live and maybe testify against any of them.  She was just the latest disappeared girl.  Like the others before her, no trace of her would ever be found.  So why couldn’t she just die now and have it over with?  She wouldn’t care what they did with her body once she had vacated it and no longer had to suffer the abuse heaped on it. 

            Seventeen more men, she remembered.  There was no way she was going to live through all of them.  At least none of the men remaining could possibly do to her what the American had, and now that he was finished with her, Julie had to wonder if she would even notice any of the remaining men when they were in her.  She thought she must be stretched and ripped so wide open that nothing poking around down there now could affect her.  The American kissed her and thanked her.  The man had just subjected her to the most violent, brutal rape any woman could have experienced, she thought, and he kissed her and thanked her for letting him have her.   Could he really think she had submitted herself to this torture voluntarily? 

            At least that is over, Julie thought as she lay there, dazed, exhausted, watching the American tuck his massive cock back into his trousers and fasten them.  Seventeen more men to go, though, she realized, but she couldn’t imagine that any of the men remaining could inflict anywhere near the agony on her that the American Grand Master who called himself, oddly enough, Baby Huey, had wrought on her.  Her jaws ached from having been forced wide enough to take his cock into her mouth.  Her pussy felt as though she had just been raped by an army battalion, and her ass was on fire with the pain of having been ripped wide enough to accept his cock, and It felt like he had left a large enough discharge of his sperm in her to impregnate every woman of childbearing age in Denmark. 

            Her father came back to where Julie lay bound to the table and leered down at her.  He shook the American’s hand and thanked him and congratulated him for giving her such an amazing fuck.  The American thanked him for the privilege and said Julie had given him the best fuck he’d ever had. 

            “I’m sure my little slut of a daughter enjoyed it, too, didn’t you, Julie, my child?” her father said, turning an evil gaze on her once more.  “Where are your manners, Julie?  Aren’t you going to thank our guest for the wonderful fuck he just gave you?”  Julie turned her head aside, not wanting to look at either man?  Suddenly, her father thrust his thumbs into the holes in each of her breasts and pulled as hard as he could.  “I said thank the man, Julie!” he growled at her over her scream of pain. 

            “Thank you, Sir!” Julie cried out, newly astonished by the seemingly endless nature of the evil in her father’s heart.  This was nothing like the man she had thought she knew and loved so dearly all these years.  Her father yanked his thumbs out of her breasts and licked her blood off of himself before shaking the American’s hand again and leading him away from her bed of shame. 

            One by one the remaining seventeen men came to her and vented their lust on her.  Julie couldn’t imagine how they could possibly look at whatever remained of her and be aroused enough to want to climb on her, but they did.  After the American was done with her, her father had someone use a small suction device to vacuum the accumulated semen of her first three fucks from her pussy and ass.  There was almost no semen in her pussy.  Her father and the Prime Minister had finished in her mouth, and the American had discharged his load of semen into her ass.  The clear receptacle jar on the suction device was practically empty after the man using it removed the suction hose from her pussy.  The jar was nearly full when he had finished suctioning the American’s discharge from her ass.  After three more men had fucked her, Julie was delirious and nearly senseless as she lay there feeling the suction of the vacuum device cleaning her pussy and ass out again. 

            The orgasms kept coming.  Julie had no idea how or why her body was still responding to this brutal, shameful assault, but she had given up trying to fight them off halfway through the American’s turn on her.  Even if a man took her only in the ass, she would cum.  Eventually, she even lost track of how many men had taken their turn on her.  Somewhere late in the count, though, her body stopped responding to them.   Julie was hardly alert enough by then to notice.  At one point, she was surprised to see that a different man was fucking her than the one who had been on her.  The first man had finished and the second one had mounted her and was nearly through with her before she even realized that she had picked up a new rider.  She felt the new man cumming in her ass, and then, another man was there ready to mount her. 

            Julie didn’t even realize that the twentieth man was finally finished fucking her.  Her entire body throbbed with an intense aching pain.   Her pussy and ass were both raw from the abused they had taken.  Her jaws and throat ached, and her stomach was so full of the semen of so many men that she thought she probably couldn’t have held another drop.   She lay there for a while, waiting for the next man to mount her, wondering why it was taking him so long, and then she heard her father addressing the audience.  She was too dazed to make out what he was saying, but the audience suddenly exploded into applause.  It was over- at least this part.  Julie knew she was not getting out of this alive.  By this time, she was not sure she would have wanted to survive.  Still, the realization that she was one step closer to her grave sent a chill through her. 

            She didn’t know how they intended to kill her or what they would do with her body to insure that, like the other girls who had disappeared before her, no trace would ever be found of her.  Julie was beginning to realize her ordeal of forced sex must be over when two men began to undo her restraints.  She was still too dazed to realize that they were the same two men who had kidnapped her and brought her here- the sixth and eighteenth men who had fucked her.  One of them held her down while the other used the suction device on her one last time to clean out her ass and pussy.  They lifted her off the raping platform and had to support her, one on each arm as the y brought her forward to where her father stood. 

            Julie couldn’t have stood on her own if her life had depended on it.  She couldn’t even feel her legs beneath her.   Her father stood there eyeing her up and down her naked body.  He shook his head as though he disapproved of her appearance and then moved around behind her and spoke softly in her ear.  

            “Look what has become of you,” he said.  “Do you see what you have done to  yourself by whoring around with those four boys?  Four of them!  One was not enough for you?  Do you understand now the shame you have brought on yourself and on your family?  I certainly hope you enjoyed fucking those four boys, Julie, and I hope you loved fucking me and the Prime Minister and our American guest with his big cock.   You must have loved him, didn’t you?  And all the other seventeen men who have vented their lust on you, I hope you enjoyed them all, because they are the last twenty men you will ever know.  Julie Klitgaard, you have shamed yourself and your family.  You have shamed me, your father.  For this, you are hereby sentenced to hang.  Gentlemen, take her to the gallows.”

            Hang!?  Suddenly, Julie was very alert.  She tried to struggle, but she was much too weakened by the marathon ordeal of fucking she had just endured, and the two men holding her were much too strong.  They dragged her back to the gallows and lifted her up onto a small footstool and made her stand there facing the noose dangling in front of her and facing the audience.  They still had to support her, one on each arm as her father stepped in behind her.  He took her hands and bound them behind her back, and then he reached forward and grasped the noose and pulled it back, slipped it over her head and snugged it down around her neck. 

            After what she’s just endured, Julie was more than a little surprised that she was so terrified of hanging to her death.  She knew she was going to die, and she had been wishing through the greatest part of her rapes that she could die and end the shame and pain, but now that it was about to happen, her body had begun to exercise its own free will again.  It didn’t want to die.  Her heart was racing.  She could feel the adrenaline surging through her veins, rousing her from the stupor hours of unwanted sex had forced on her.  At least this means it’s all over, she tried to console herself, but her rebellious body would have none of it.  Without even thinking about it, she realized she was still trying to struggle against the men holding her up on this stool.  She felt her arms and wrists struggling against the cord binding them behind her, and she felt herself sucking in as much air as she could to try to last as long as possible before she ran out of air.  She felt the muscles in her neck tensing, preparing to try to protect her throat from the crushing grip of the noose when it came. 

            Her father pulled her hair free of the noose and moved the knot around to just behind her left ear.  He stepped In close behind her and ran his hands up her thighs, over her hips and belly, up to her bloodied and painful breasts and squeezed them.   Julie saw her blood on his hands as he pulled them away from her breasts.  

            “Papa!  Please don’t do this!” she begged him.

            “You have been such a disappointment to me, child,” he said, then added, “Goodbye, Julie.”

            He kicked the stool out from under her feet.  The noose seized her neck and began to choke her.  The two men who had been supporting her on the stool stepped away from her.  Julie was hanging.  She kicked and twisted and tried to extend her toes to find the floor beneath her, but there was nothing there but air.  She tried to breathe and discovered she could still suck in tiny wisps of breath, but not nearly enough.  Already, a pressure was building in her head.  Her heart was racing wildly, still apparently able to pump blood up into her head through arteries deeper inside her neck, but the veins, the return path, were blocked, causing the pressure to mount.  She tried to cry out to her father, to anyone, to save her, but the only sound she could force out of her mouth was a kind of raspy gurgling noise. 

            I’m dying, Julie thought.  Oh God!  I’m dying.  As she twisted and turned and kicked and struggled against the noose and the cord binding her wrists, she could see the audience, all eyes riveted on her.  The pain was unbearable.  The noose was like a ring of molten iron around her neck.  Her head felt like it was about to explode.  Her lungs were on fire, and she still had the pain in her pussy and ass from her rape session.  Julie felt herself weakening.  Already weakened by the marathon fuck session, she wasn’t lasting long on the rope.  Something was stirring in her belly, though.  Her pussy and ass had suffered the last several fucks without the relief of even a single orgasm, and now, sensing she was close to death and they would soon be unable ever to have one again, they were summoning every bit of strength they could steal from her struggle to survive and pouring that last bit of strength into the turmoil broiling in her belly. 

            Julie came.  It was such a powerful orgasm it managed to force a cry up through her constricted throat and out of her mouth.  It exploded through her, radiating out from her belly, her pussy and ass, her clitoris, all joining in a cosmic sea of pleasure unlike anything she had ever known before.  Julie felt herself melting, becoming the sea, her entire body surging with power and energy and far greater, more intense pleasure than she had ever known.  It was too intense to bear.  Her body danced and jerked spasmodically on the rope now, not fighting it, but embracing this final moment of ecstasy that would not end until darkness had enveloped her.   Julie felt herself slipping away.  Thank God it’s over was the last thing she thought before the sweet darkness enveloped her, relieving her of the last of her pain, and swallowing her pleasure.

            It took a while after she woke up for Julie to realize she wasn’t dead.  She lay there on her back on some sort of hard surface and when she opened her eyes, she saw herself hovering overhead.  For an instant, she thought she was seeing her soul leaving her body, floating off to wherever souls went.  Her “soul” looked much too battered and abused to be ethereal, and then the pain was back and Julie was amazed to realize that for whatever reason, she couldn’t possibly be dead.  Dying might hurt like a bitch, but you weren’t supposed to feel anything once you crossed over.  Her hands were bound again, too, tied at the wrists to either side of the table she was lying on.  So were her feet when she tried to move her legs.  Her eyes began to focus better.  The reflection of herself overhead cleared up, and she realized a man was standing to one side of her dressed in what appeared to be surgical scrubs.  Her heart began to race again.  He was holding- what was that?  A scalpel? 

            Oh fuck, Julie thought.  Now what?  She could still feel pain, so she knew she hadn’t been anesthetized.  “What are you doing!?” she cried.  “Let me go!”

            “Surely you realize by now that no one is going to release you,” the man standing over her said.  “We’re going to roast you and eat you, but first I have to prepare you for cooking.”

            “Nooooo!” Julie cried.

            “Oh, but yes,” the man replied calmly.  He spoke with a soft, almost soothing voice.  “We need to remove most of your internal organs so that they don’t spoil the taste of your flesh,” he said.  “Your heart and lungs will remain inside you to keep you alive so that you can enjoy the remainder of your sacrifice to us as much as possible.  You will be alive when we place you over the coals to roast, so you’ll be able to savor the feeling of the heat from the coals penetrating you, slowly cooking you.  Now, though, I need to get rid of all that nasty stuff in your belly that would spoil your flavor.  We wouldn’t want that to happen, would we?...  Ready now?  I’m going to make three cuts, here, here and here,” he said, drawing lines with his finger across her belly just beneath her ribcage, then down the middle of her belly from her ribcage to her pelvis, and then the last line across her lower belly just above the hips and pelvis.  Julie noticed more men standing behind him.  The man who was about to open her up said that her liver and kidneys would be removed in a manner that allowed them to be transported to three different sites where patients who needed them and had paid handsomely for them would receive them.  There were long waiting lists for livers and kidneys all over the world, and some people who were wealthy or powerful enough to pay for the privilege would pay any amount necessary to move themselves to the head of the list.  Already, her three recipients were being prepared at a secret facility right there in Copenhagen to receive Julie’s unwillingly donated organs. 

            The man standing over Julie was a surgeon of some renown.  She wasn’t sure, but she thought he was one of the men who had fucked her earlier.  He lowered his scalpel to her belly and pressed the blade into her flesh.  It was very sharp and easily penetrated her skin and sliced through the thin layer of fat and muscle as he moved it across her belly from beneath her left breast to her right.  Julie raised her head to look and saw blood ooze up out of the cut.   A kind of a stinging, burning sensation followed the scalpel blade across her belly.  Julie couldn’t believe she was watching a doctor open her belly without benefit of anesthetic.  He swiftly, skillfully ran his blade down the length of her belly, from breastbone to her pelvis.  Again, a thin red line of blood oozed up out of the incision.  Her heart was beating wildly now.  She thought it must be preparing to leap out of her chest once the doctor peeled the flaps of skin back that his incisions were creating.  The final cut was from one hip bone to the other across her lower belly. 

            Julie couldn’t bear to look, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the unfolding horror of her own dissection.  She let her head fall back onto the table and watched her reflection in the mirror suspended over her.  The doctor folded back one of the flaps of skin he had created and then the next.  The inner lining of those flaps was a marbly looking yellowish thin layer of fat.  Julie felt her eyes go wide with disbelief as she looked up into the mirror overhead and saw her abdominal organs lying exposed in her opened belly.  She saw the doctor pick up another instrument and go to work pulling her small intestines out of her belly.  He worked swiftly, but not haphazardly, and she could see him using the scalpel to cut away connective tissue, and when he stuck the other instrument down into her belly, wherever it touched she felt a fiery burning sensation as the instrument cut her intestines away from the blood vessels feeding them and at the same time, seared the blood vessels shut to make sure she didn’t bleed to death.   As he pulled her intestines out of her, he let them fall over the side of her opposite where he stood, and she saw that they were sliding down a ramp mounted on the side of the table and dropping into a large metal tub sitting on the floor beneath the ramp.  The plopping sound they made as they dropped into the tub sickened her as much as the sight of her organs being disposed of as so much garbage. 

            The doctor had nearly all of the small intestine out of her now.  Julie couldn’t believe there had been so much of it all curled up and looped back and forth over itself until the doctor lifted it out of her.  The large intestine came next, but the doctor cut it just at the bend after it rose from her rectum and bent to the side to loop across her belly to where it connected with the small intestine.  He left the lower section of colon in place.  With her intestines removed, the empty abdomen left a ghastly view of the remaining organs.  She saw her kidneys lying against her back down around her hips, and then had to watch as the doctor carefully cut them loose from her and handed them one at a time to his assistants.  The other men carefully packed each kidney in a plastic bag and set it in a small chest full of ice to be transported to wherever its recipient lay prepped and ready to receive it. 

            The liver came out, and with equal care, was readied for transport.  Julie wanted to cry out to the men leaving with her liver and kidneys to bring them back.  She still needed them.  She barely managed a moan, though.  The pain was too intense.  The doctor removed her stomach and let it slide down the ramp into the tub of guts on the floor.  Julie felt a burning sensation where some of her stomach’s contents spilled into her open belly cavity.  Her bladder was the last thing to go.  The doctor left her vagina and uterus in place.  He finished cauterizing the last of the blood vessels that had fed her organs and taken nutrients from them to nourish the rest of her body.  She wondered how long she could live now without any way of feeding herself. 

            A chilling thought crossed her mind.  Even with her abdominal organs removed, they could probably keep her alive for quite a while feeding her intravenously.  Oh God, please don’t let them do that to me, she thought.  She gazed up into the reflection of her open belly and saw her spine running down her back and the main blood vessel, the aorta which brought blood from her heart down through her body.  The doctor began to clean her out now.  He was using a small hose to rinse out her insides with hot water and suctioning it away with another hose.  When he had finished, he used some sanitary towels to dab the last of the moisture from her.   Julie couldn’t help thinking that her exposed insides now looked like any other cut of meat she might have seen hanging in a butcher’s cooler.

            Meat, she thought.  That’s all I am now.  What did I do to deserve this?  Even a cow or a pig gets to die before it is butchered and cooked.  Am I less than a cow or a pig?  The doctor’s work was nearly done.  Julie had been gutted, and to her deep distress, she was still very much alive, still in horrendous pain.  More was coming.  The American was there again, carrying a long stainless steel pole with a sharp pointed tip at one end.  The pole seemed to be hollow.  From about 30 cm back from the tip to nearly half the length of it, it looked like it had hundreds of small holes in it.  Her father had been so impressed with the American guest’s efforts when he fucked her that he had given the foreigner the privilege of running the spit through Julie.  The doctor let her see the lethal end of the spit and explained to her that the fact that the spit was hollow and had all those tiny holes in it would allow her to continue to breathe once the spit pole had been inserted and run up through her esophagus into her throat and out her mouth.  He made some adjustment to the table she was lying on, and suddenly, the section of the table her head had been resting on fell out from under her and left her head dangling over the edge of the table. 

            Julie raised her head to see why the support beneath it had been lowered.  She did not like what she saw.  The American had lifted the spit pole and now had the sharp-pointed end of it aimed at her crotch, just centimeters from penetrating her.  He moved it closer, and in spite of all the other pain consuming what was left of her body, Julie felt a shiver go through her as the cool tip of it touched her pussy lips and slid through them.  He did not thrust it into her sharply, but slowly urged it into her, moving it back and forth as if he was fucking her with it, but letting the pole go a bit deeper into her with every forward motion.  She felt a sharp pain as the tip hit her cervix.  The tip backed away ever so slightly.  Now the American thrust the pole powerfully into her.  The tip ripped through her cervix and forced it open.  As weak as she was, Julie still found strength to cry out against this new, intense pain. 

            She felt the pole moving through her pussy, squeezing through her cervix, up into her uterus, and then yet another new pain told her the tip of the pole had reached the roof of her uterus.  Again, the American backed the pole off a centimeter or two, then thrust it into her powerfully again.  Overhead, she saw the tip rip through the top of her uterus into the open abdominal cavity.  She watched the mirror over her in horror as she saw the pole advancing until the tip of it disappeared into the short bit of her esophagus that remained below her diaphragm.  She felt the pole rising through her chest cavity now, safely encased in her esophagus so that it could not accidentally penetrate her heart and end her misery.  It came up into her throat, and she managed to gag and cough once before the pole rose into her mouth.  She felt and tasted the metal sliding across her tongue, tasting her own blood that it had brought with it.  She felt it force her mouth open and slip past her lips. 

            The American continued to force the pole through her until maybe a meter of it protruded from her mouth.  Julie couldn’t see her reflection overhead anymore.  The pole coming up into her throat and mouth and then exiting her mouth had forced her head back, and now she could only see the floor and off into the wings of the theatre.  She had been completely gutted without the benefit of any anesthetic and had a spit pole run through what was left of her from her pussy and out of her mouth, and still she was far more alive than she any longer wished to be.  She knew she would be dead soon.  She just wished it could happen now and relieve her of the awful pain and shame and humiliation she was already experiencing and spare her the further agony of being roasted to death. 

            It wasn’t about to happen yet, though.  Her agony was far from over.  She felt someone, probably the American, working behind her, and then, she felt another metal pole slide into her ass and fill the length of colon the doctor had left in her.  It was a stabilizing post meant to insure that her body would turn with the spit pole as she slowly roasted over the flames.  Next, a sharp pain pierced one ankle.  She felt a strong hand grip her ankle.  Julie couldn’t see and didn’t know that the American was sliding the pin he’d just run through her ankle through a hole in her spit pole.  She felt his grip force her ankle against the metal of the pole, and then, he grasped her other foot and before she could try to resist, she felt it being forced onto the same metal pin.  He let go of her feet, but not before some sort of clips had been secured to the pin through her ankles.  She tried to pull them off the pin, but she couldn’t.  The American came around in front of her and secured her wrists to the pole with a pin through her wrists that also fed through the spit pole.  Clips on either end of the wrist pin insured that she could not pull her wrists free of the pin securing them.  

            “Excellent job, my friend.”  It was her father’s voice congratulating the American for a job well done. 

            “Thank you.  It was my pleasure,” the American replied.  “Thank you for your hospitality- for inviting me here in the first place, and for allowing me to fuck your beautiful daughter.  That was a pleasure the memory of which I will carry to my grave.”  He bent over so that his face came into Julie’s view and spoke to her now.  “Julie, I know you didn’t consent to any of this and probably wish it was me on that pole now instead of you, but I have to tell you, girl, you were, without doubt, the most amazing fuck I’ve ever had.  You came so easily and so often.  I love that in a woman.  Your pussy and ass both felt like they were sucking my cock.  I never came so hard in my life.  I thought it would never stop, and I didn’t want it to stop.” He leaned closer and gave her a kiss on the cheek.  “Thank you for everything, Julie,” he said.  “Your father has granted me the privilege of having your cunt steak.  I’m going to savor every delicious mouthful of that little delicacy.”

            Tears were streaming from Julie’s eyes.  She could feel someone packing something into her belly.  She had no idea what it was.  Chefs had moved in and were packing her full of vegetables like potatoes and onions and carrots, a virtual stew of ingredients.  They were adding salt and pepper and large quantities of butter and other spices.  When they had filled her abdominal cavity to overflowing, the doctor stepped in again to finish his work.  He pulled the flaps of skin he had created back together and sewed Julie’s belly back shut so that the vegetables now packed within her wouldn’t escape and would roast along with her flesh and be ready to feed the crowd assembled to enjoy the meal she was about to provide them. 

            As the doctor finished sewing her shut, she heard the American invite her father to America to perform the same tasks on the American chapter’s next victim that her father had allowed the American to do to her.  Her father accepted the invitation gladly.  The doctor had finished sewing Julie’s belly shut again. Someone was smearing a thick jelly-like substance into her hair.  She heard them say it was a fire retardant to insure that her hair didn’t burn off while she cooked so that her head could be displayed at the carving table when she was served.  It was time for the final stage of her disgrace and ultimate death.  The same two men who had kidnapped her now lifted her off the table where she had been prepared for roasting.  One of the men joked to the other that she was a lot heavier now than she had been when they’d first kidnapped her.  Julie felt heavier.  The vegetables packed into her belly must have weighed much more than the organs the doctor had removed.  She felt her weight hanging on the pole as they lifted her off the table. 

            She tried to beg them not to put her on the fire, not to let her roast alive, but with a metal spit pole filling her throat and mouth, no words came out, just a muffled, terrified scream.  The fire had burned down to a bed of glowing red-hot coals.  Julie felt the heat of them even before they set her down onto the rack over them to begin to roast.  As she began to rotate slowly over the coals, someone stuffed carrots into the holes in her breasts.  She heard that person tell another that the carrots would keep her breasts from losing too much moisture through the holes her father’s meat hooks had left in them. 

            “Yes,” the other person responded, laughing easily.  “You know this bunch certainly love their breast meat.  They’re liable to cook us if we let these two titties dry up and burn.  We’d better keep her well basted.  I know they’ve been looking forward to dining on this little cutie for a long time.”

            Julie had been mounted on one of the highest positions on the rack over the coals so that she would roast slowly and her meat would be more tender and delicious.  At first, she was surprised that the heat didn’t seem as bad as she had expected, but very quickly, the radiant energy penetrating her body began to have its effect on her.  Two women were working with her, constantly basting her flesh with what tasted like liquid butter when some of it dripped onto her lips.  Out in the audience, an orgy had erupted.  The American had the Prime Minister’s wife bent over a chair and was fucking her, and from the sound of her delighted screams, it seemed to Julie that he probably had his cock in her ass.  The Prime Minister had another young girl who couldn’t have been eighteen yet on her back at the front of the stage, and he was fucking her furiously.  She didn’t look like she was entirely in agreement with what was happening to her.  Julie saw that her father had another young woman on her knees in front of him sucking his cock.  All over the theatre, men were fucking or getting sucked by the women in attendance.  Since there were far more men than women here, other men were standing in line waiting to take their turn on whichever woman became available next. 

            All of this sex unfolding as she roasted distracted Julie only briefly from the horror of her situation.  She had been spitted and gutted and was now roasting to death over a bed of coals that were seeming to get hotter by the second.  Several men had gathered on the stage and were watching her turn slowly over the coals.  They were amusing themselves by speculating among themselves a little too loudly as to which part of her they would like to eat.  She realized that all of their speculation was for her benefit, of course.  They were there to heckle her and savor her reactions to the pain and shame of her final moments of life, and the heckling was only meant to make her feel even more shamed and degraded than she already did. 

            It worked.  She hoped they would all choke on her flesh and die and burn in a hell a thousand times hotter than the heat roasting her.   Julie felt her skin beginning to sizzle and shrink.  The two women basting her slathered on more butter to keep her from burning to a crisp.  It sizzled and dripped from her, and her own fat melting and dripping from her incisions sizzled and burst into flame as it dripped onto the coals.  She began to smell herself roasting.  Julie had thought the smell of burning human flesh would nauseate her.  She had no stomach now to disgorge its contents, though, and her esophagus was too stuffed full of spit pole to allow anything to rise out of her belly, but beyond that, the smell of her own flesh roasting made her mouth water.  She smelled delicious.

            Julie was beginning to realize that the end was near for her.  Her pain seemed not so bad now, muted.  Her mind wandered away from the reality of her present circumstance.  She felt someone lower her from the highest bracket to a lower one closer to the heat.  From somewhere in her memory, she remembered her father telling her once that roasted meat tasted better and was far more tender if cooked very slowly until nearly done.  Then you should turn up the heat to brown and crisp the skin.  She wondered if he had been talking back then about cooking young women.  How long had he been doing this?  Had he intended to cook her from the day she was born? 

            She felt lighter.  Now it seemed she wasn’t suspended on a spit pole over a bed of coals. There was no more pain.  She was flying.  A sweet darkness enveloped her.  Julie was gone.  Everyone present complimented her father on what a delicious meal she had been.

Posted: 15-Nov-2011 - 2 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
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Dear Butterball Simulated Turkey Girls,

                Congratulations on having been selected for processing to become Butterball Simulated Turkeys.  You have been chosen from millions of candidates based on the quality and quantity of meat your processing will make available to our customers.  We sincerely hope that you will feel a certain pride in having been selected.  This memo is intended to give you an idea of the procedures we use and what will be required of you once you arrive at our processing plant. 

 

                Upon arrival, you will immediately be directed to a room where you will be instructed to disrobe.  You will be required to remove all jewelry, too, including any body piercings.  This includes tongue and clitoral hood piercings.  We would not want any of our Simulated Turkey consumers biting into anything metallic on Thanksgiving Day.  You will be given a bag into which you will place all of your clothing and other belongings.  Butterball will see that these items are returned to your family, as you will have no further use for them.  As you leave this room for the next step in your preparation, you will be checked for body hair.  Any body hair below the neck will be burnt off of you.  This is not nearly as painful as it sounds because we use a low temperature alcohol flame. 

                The next step in your preparation will be a very hot shower to insure that you are clean.  From the shower, you will be directed to the grading room.  If you receive less than an “A” grade, you will be directed to the processing line in which you will be processed into ground meat for turkey burger and turkey salad.  An “A” grade will send you to the premium processing line in which you will be processed into our newest product, Simulated Turkey.   If you have any religious beliefs, it is best that you make your peace with the deity of your choice before you arrive at the head of the processing line.  There will be very little time for prayer once you arrive there.  You will be directed to lie on a table.  Our prep team will then bind your ankles, and as the next hook on the processing line’s conveyor system comes by, you will be attached to it by your ankle restraints.  As you begin to move along the line hanging upside down by your ankles, your hands will be bound behind your back and suspended from the ankle restraints so that your arms remain at your side pointed upwards at your feet.  This is necessary to insure that the blood in your arms drains from you along with the rest of your blood when you are beheaded. 

                The next station along the processing line is the beheading machine.  Sensors mounted ahead of it will adjust the cutting blades to the proper position to insure that your head is cleanly and quickly removed at the proper position on your neck.  As you pass through the beheading machine, a set of very sharp blades will slice through your neck and cause your head to separate from the rest of your body.  As you must certainly understand, within a matter of a very few seconds, you will be unconscious, and brain death will occur within minutes.  Rest assured that you will not suffer.  We have even taken the additional step of providing a thick layer of padding beneath the beheading machine to insure that your head, should it still be conscious after separating from your body, will not suffer any further harm when it falls to the pad.  You will be further relieved to note that we do not treat our turkey girls’ heads as common industrial waste.  Your head will be tagged and held until such a time as we can determine whether your family wants it so that they can give you a funeral and burial.  If they do not wish to deal with it, Butterball will dispose of it in a dignified and considerate manner.  It’s the least we can do for the girls who give their lives to insure that America’s families have a delicious Simulated Turkey dinner this Thanksgiving.

                Not that the rest of the processing procedures should be of any concern to you, since you will be dead once you pass through the beheading machine, but as your headless body proceeds along the processing line, the next step in the process is gutting.  As you pass through the gutting station, one of our skilled employees will swiftly slice your belly open and remove your digestive and sexual organs.  Another worker will crack your chest open and remove the heart and lungs.  Portions of these organs will be reserved for processing into giblets.  Your intestines will be emptied and scalded clean and used for turkey sausage.  We hope our girls will be pleased to note that precious little of the bodies you sacrifice will go to waste. 

                Once your body is gutted, the next step is skinning.  Our skilled skinners will quickly and precisely peel your skin away from your flesh.  A skilled skinner can completely remove a headless girl’s skin in just over one minute.   After skinning, your body will proceed to the fileting station.  Our filetists will remove your meat from your bones and place it into the pans in which it will move to the seasoning and forming stations where you will be processed into the final product that looks and tastes so much like a real Butterball turkey that most customers and even food critics cannot distinguish it from the real thing.  Your bones will then be taken down from the conveyor and placed into a pan to go to the sculpting room.  In this room, our workers form human bone into a very convincing turkey skeleton on which the processed meat and skin can be reattached to form a Butterball Simulated Turkey.  A package of giblets processed from your own organs will be packed into each of the turkeys we are able to create from the meat you have so generously given to us and to several American families. 

                This memo has been prepared to give our Butterball Turkey girls some idea of the procedure they will undergo as they transform from young women into Butterball Simulated Turkeys.  We at Butterball do not want our girls going into our conversion process with no concept of what is about to happen to them.  We understand that the early stages of their processing will be unfortunately but necessarily traumatic to them, and we want our girls to know that everyone here at Butterball is dedicated to getting them through the preparatory stages of their processing up to the point of their beheading as quickly and humanely as possible so that they suffer as little emotional and physical trauma as possible. 

                I would like to take this final opportunity to thank all of our Butterball Simulated Turkey girls for the great and generous sacrifice they are making to insure that America’s families have a Butterball Simulated Turkey on their Thanksgiving dinner table this year.  We here at Butterball are truly humbled by your courage and selflessness. 

Sincerely yours,

David Smith

Director of Product Procurement

Butterball Corporation of America

Posted: 18-Oct-2011 - 0 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
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The last thing you remember is a hand over your mouth, a cloth against your mouth and nose smelling sickeningly sweet, then, feeling your body go limp as darkness envelops you. You awaken in some sort of barn. Your head aches and you are still groggy, but it doesn't take you long to figure out that you are naked and tied over some sort of padded platform. There are padded rails on either side of you. You are standing, sort of, but bent forward from the waist and sprawled over this platform at about a forty-five degree angle. Your arms are extended out in front of you, and leather straps secure your wrists. More straps at your knees and ankles that also feel like leather hold your legs spread apart.

A rough, powerful hand is rubbing your pussy. Coarse fingers penetrate you and torment your clittie. You are about to be raped, and there's nothing you can do about it. You try to calm your wildly beating heart and get control of your emotions. Stay calm, you tell yourself. Don't panic, and maybe you can get out of this alive. At least you're not a virgin, thank God, and even though you've just now woke up, the guy already has your pussy throbbing, dripping with the juices that will hopefully let his cock slide into you instead of tearing at the tender tissues there. Suddenly, the hand is gone. You hear a horse whinnie and snort somewhere behind you.

This place must be a horse barn, you think, and at first, your mind doesn't make the connection. Then, you hear the sound of hooves and a closer snorting sound, and you are only beginning to realize what is about to happen to you when, suddenly, the horse is up over you, his forelegs resting on those padded rails on either side of you, and the head of a cock far, far bigger than anything you have ever known or have ever hoped to know is there at the entrance of your pussy, pushing against your labia. You feel them start to yield, and suddenly, pain greater than you could ever have imagined explodes into your pussy along with that enormous, fat horse cock. You are screaming, pleading for someone, anyone to help you. The pain surges deeper into you, farther up into you than any man's cock has ever been, and you've had a couple pretty impressive cocks in your time. Even that big black guy you fucked when you were fifteen didn't hurt anywhere near as bad as this does.

Eighteen, you think, and you've got a horse cock in you that's so fat it can barely squeeze past your ass cheeks to even get to your pussy, and yet, there it is, so far up in you that you know and it feels like he must have done some terrible damage deep inside you. You are amazed to find, though, that in spite of the pain, you are strangely excited by this, and your clittie is throbbing with the sensation of that horse flesh rubbing against her, and the horse hasn't even begun to pump you yet. Now he does that. He must sense that he has gotten as far into you as he will be able to go, and he is thrusting into you with all the power and strength in his massive body. You explode into orgasm. The pounding continues. You are dizzy with the pain and awesome pleasure, and when you come again, you pass out, only to wake up God knows how long later to find the horse still thrusting his cock deep into you.

It feels like he's getting even deeper into you now. The pain is great enough that you can believe he has thrust right through the wall of your pussy into God knows what part of your body, or has he merely stretched you to make room for himself? You are still screaming and crying and cursing, but you are no longer begging for it to stop. You are coming almost constantly now, and you need to see this thing through to its conclusion more than you've ever needed anything else in your life. You don't care if it kills you. You sense that when that horse comes, you are about to get the biggest injection of sperm into your pussy that it has ever known. You remember the big black guy again and how his coming felt like someone had shoved a high pressure fire hose up your cunt. This will be even more powerful than that.

You are coming yet again, and suddenly, the horse thrusts so powerfully into you, and a geyser erupts into you. There must be liters of it, it seems, and it is flooding you so powerfully, you feel your belly swelling, and in spite of how tightly his cock fits into you, you feel his come squirting back along the length of his shaft to flow from your distressed cunt like a river. It feels thick and hot and plentiful as it drips down your thighs or clings to your pussy lips. You are feeling light-headed again. You struggle to stay awake to experience every sensation of this thing that is happening to you, but it is too powerful, and once again, your body surrenders itself to the darkness.

When you awaken again, the horse is gone from you. Your pussy is still on fire with the pain of what the horse's rape has done to you, but it is on fire, too, with a hunger and desire more powerful than anything you have known before. You know that no man will ever satisfy you again. Your pussy feels like it is gaping open. A slight breeze rustles through the barn, and you can feel it whispering up into you. You hear a horse whnnie and snort somewhere off behind you. It sounds familiar- your horse- but it sounds like he's back in his stall now.

Amazingly enough, as sore as your pussy is and will be for days, it doesn't feel like the horse has done any permanent damage. When the man who kidnapped you releases you from the platform you were horse-bred on, there is no puddle of blood beneath where you stood- only a puddle of thick, white horse cum. He says nothing to you, but when you are still not quite able to walk, he helps you over to the cage he has prepared for you and drops you into it and locks you into it. This is not so bad, you think. He's going to give me to the horse again. At least, you hope so.      

   

 

Posted: 3-Oct-2011 - 0 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
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Julie Klitgaard’s Hot Wedding Night

 

            “Julie, my child, come sit with your Papa here for a moment before we go downstairs to get you married off to that handsome young man of yours.  I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news to share with you before we can let the wedding proceed. “

            “What is it,Papa” Julie asks, hurrying to sit at his side and take his hand.  “Is something wrong?   Is it Mama’s heart again?  Oh no!  It’s not Sven, is it?  Is something wrong with my Sven!?”

            “No, Child, it is nothing like that.”  Her father hesitates.  She looks into his sad eyes and sees that he looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.  “Julie,… you know our family business has not been as strong or profitable as all of us have hoped it would be.  These are hard economic times, Child, and in spite of that, I have tried my best to give you the most beautiful wedding I can afford.  I know we’ve had to cut corners here and there to pull this thing together for you, but I think you have to agree, we’ve done a pretty good job of making this a very special day you’ll never forget.”

            “Yes, you have, Papa,” Julie says, squeezing his hand and leaning forward to give him a light kiss on the cheek.  “I think it will be even nicer to get married here in our home instead of in that big old dark and musty church, and our back yard is such a lovely site for my reception, and the weather for it today is just perfect.  I know the caterer must be very expensive, and I really appreciate the sacrifices you are making to make my wedding day so beautiful and so special.”

            “That’s the bad news I need to share with you, Child.”  Her father says, and now he takes her hand and gives it a squeeze.  “Julie, the caterer says he can’t feed all the guests we are expecting for the amount of money I have to spend.  He says that he can only do it for that price if we supply him with the meat he can prepare to feed all our guests, and you know how many guests we have coming in from all over the country to see you and Sven share your vows, so we need a lot of meat.”

            “What are you saying, Papa?” Julie asks.  “We cannot have my wedding reception?”

            “No!  No!  Julie, we must have the reception and feed our guests after they have come all this way to see you married to Sven.”

            “Can’t you buy the meat for the caterer with your credit card, Papa?”

            “I wish I could, Child, but my card is all maxed out paying for your beautiful dress and all the other expenses of your wedding.  Even doing it at home here and holding the reception in our yard has been a very expensive proposition.  I even asked Sven and his parents if they could possibly see fit to share some of the expense of this wedding, but they are very traditional people and believe that it is the responsibility of the bride’s family to bear the cost of the wedding.”

            “What will we do, Papa?” Julie cries.  “How can we possibly feed all our guests today?  Oh, this is just awful, Papa.  I wish I had never agreed to marry Sven.  I love him so, but this has turned into such a huge burden for you.”

            “And for you, my child, I’m afraid,” her father says, and now he takes her other hand and squares himself to her to look directly into her beautiful distressed face.  “There is a way, though, that we can feed all our guests and save our family’s honor.  Julie, I know this is going to be very disturbing to you, but I can think of no other way to feed our guests today.  Already they are flooding into our home downstairs to watch you and Sven share your vows, and they are going to be very hungry after the wedding.  Julie, my child, please forgive me for this, but you are going to have to be the one to feed our guests today.”

            “Me, Papa!?” she reacts.  “Papa, I don’t have that kind of money.”

            “I don’t mean with your money, Child.  God forgive me for this, but there is no other way but to feed them with your body.  You must be the meat that will satisfy our guests’ hunger this evening.”  Julie sits there dumbfounded, her eyes and mouth open wide in disbelief.  How can these words be coming out of her dear Papa’s mouth?  “I have spoken to the caterer, and he thinks it is highly unusual, but he has agreed to spit you and roast you over our barbecue pit so that you can feed all our guests tonight.  He says he has roasted young women before.  In fact, it is a specialty of his, but he has never roasted a bride before to feed her to the guests at her own wedding.  I showed him a picture of you- that one of you in your bikini that your sister took of you at the lake this summer.   He says you are very beautiful and look like your meat will be quite delicious for our guests, and he says there should be more than enough of you to feed everyone.”

            “Papa!  It’s my wedding day!?  How am I ever supposed to enjoy the pleasure of satisfying my husband’s needs of me on our wedding night if I am roasted and fed to our guests?”

            “I have thought of that, Child.  I know you are a virgin and have been looking forward to this day for so long when you could finally know Sven’s love.  I spoke to the caterer and to Sven, and they agree that you will be able to come up here immediately after your wedding ceremony, and you can have one hour with him to give him all the love you can in that time, and take from him all the love he can give you before you have to go back down to the yard to meet the caterer so that he can get you spitted and put you on to roast over our barbecue pit.”

            “Spitted?  What does that mean, Papa?”

            “I really don’t want to have to tell you this, but you have a right to know, my child,” her father says.  “Spitting is the process of running the pole through you that will support you over the pit as you are cooking.  The caterer will insert the pointed end of the pole into you, either into your rectum or your vagina according to your wish, and he will push it up through you until it comes out of your mouth far enough that your arms and legs can then be secured to it out in front of you and behind you.  When that is accomplished, he will rest you with your spitting pole going through you on a pair of braces that will allow him to reach beneath you with a knife and gut you.”

            “Gut me, Papa!?”

            “Yes, my child.  It pains me to have to tell you of these things and to see them happening to my little princess in my imagination, but this is the way the caterer says that you must be prepared to insure that your flesh is as moist and tender and of the highest quality for our guests.  You cannot be cooked with your intestines and other internal organs still in place.  Our caterer assures me that would spoil the taste of all of your meat, so once you are spitted….”

            Julie’s father goes on to tell her everything that will happen to her as she is prepared to be roasted and served to her wedding guests.  She sits in mute, stunned horror listening to him tell her those details and then explaining that he had thought of giving her younger sister to the caterer, but he had thought that there would not be enough of the younger girl to insure that everyone would be fed sufficiently.  Also, her father says, it would not be fair to her sister to expect her to bear any of the expense of Julie’s wedding.  Her mother’s health is not good enough to allow her to serve as dinner for everyone.  She has lost a lot of weight recently, and now, her flesh will not be sufficiently marbled with fat content to provide the tender, delicious meat their guests will be expecting.  He also tells her that Sven has agreed, reluctantly, that Julie should serve as the main course for the wedding dinner, but only on the condition that he have the hour after their wedding ceremony to have the virginity from her that he has been dying to have since they were little more than children, and then, when she is roasted and carved to be served, he and only he will have the honor of tasting and enjoying that part of her that the caterer has referred to somewhat crudely as her “cunt steak.”  Most of her breast meat he will share with others, but her nipples, too, he wants reserved for him alone. 

            Julie’s father tells her that Sven had been so upset at the prospect of marrying and then having to lose his new bride in the span of a few hours that her maid of honor and the other bridesmaids- even her sister- have promised him that they will be available to him in any way that he needs them to help him overcome his sorrow and grief at the thought of becoming a widower on the same day he becomes a groom.  Her father says that he knows she must be upset at the thought of Sven finding comfort in someone else’s arms but her own, but he tells Julie that she really needs to stop and consider his feelings in this and how profoundly he will be affected by having to marry her and lose her all in the same day. 

            “You should be happy for Sven and grateful to your bridal party that they are so happy to give him the comfort he will need when you are gone.”

            “What about me, Papa!?” Julie asks.  “Who will comfort me?  Do I have any say in this?  What if I refuse to allow myself to be cooked and eaten?”

            “I’m afraid you really have no say in the matter now, Julie,” her father says, his voice still soft but taking on a slightly harder edge.  “Everything has been put into place.  Al the arrangements have been made.  Please don’t embarrass your mother or me by being petty or selfish about this.  I hope you realize we have gone to considerable expense, considering our current financial straits, to make this day as special for you as we can in spite of the cost-saving measures that have been forced upon us by circumstances entirely beyond our control.  I love you, Julie, but there really is no other way around this situation, so please…”  He rises from the sofa and extends a hand to her, then continues, “…let’s go downstairs now.  Put on your best smile for me, Child, and let’s go get you married to Sven so the two of you can sneak back up here and you can finally know the feeling I know that both you and Sven have been dying to know for so long of having his flesh moving so powerfully through yours…  There, now I see by that little flush on your cheek that I have you thinking of something other than the darker things that are going to happen to you this afternoon.  You can feel the anticipation of it stirring something down there in your belly, too, can’t you?”

            “Papa!  You are so naughty to speak to me of these things like that!”

            “Yes, but I have given you something good to look forward to, so while you still have this thought in your mind and that little thrill down there in your belly, let’s go downstairs and give you away to that handsome young man who is so eager to get you back up here after your wedding vows to make a woman of you and finally know the physical pleasure of the love you have shared for so long.”

            “It’s going to be very hard to make love to Sven knowing he agreed with this plan of yours, Papa,” Julie says as she allows her father to lead her out of her bedroom toward the stairs down to the main floor of their house.  “How can I enjoy giving myself to a man who will be eating the part of me I must let him put his penis into?”

            “I know this will not be easy for you, Julie,” her father says, “but when the time comes to be with him after your vows, try to put everything else out of your mind and think about only the love you share with him.  That one hour is all you will have, and you deserve to have that time with the man you are marrying.  I would not want to know my daughter gave her life without ever knowing the pleasure and joy of being with a man.”

            The wedding ceremony, Julie thinks, might have been lovely and a wonderful experience if it were only just a normal wedding and not also her death sentence.  The weather is warm and sunny with a light breeze.  The back yard garden where she stands with Sven and the minister is awash with color.  The scent of the flowers carries to her on the breeze.  Butterflies and an occasional bee flit from one bloom to the next.  Julie is so distracted she barely hears the minister’s words.  Somehow, she manages to repeat her vows until she chokes on the final phrase, “till death do us part.”  She chokes on those words, but manages to get them out when the minister repeats them again.  Within minutes, it seems, as soon as Sven lifts her veil and kisses her and they process back down the aisle through the crowd of friends and relatives, Julie finds herself alone in her bedroom with her new husband. 

            Not long after he proposed to her and their engagement was official, back before the economy and the family business went sour, Julie bought herself a lovely negligee to wear on her wedding night.  Now, though, there will be no wedding night for her, only a wedding afternoon, and Sven is much too eager to have her to allow her the time to change into the negligee.  He hurriedly strips her wedding gown from her and leaves it lying in a heap of satin and lace on the floor as he attacks her underwear.  There is no time for romance, he tells her.  They have only one hour.  Too soon, he has her on her back on the bed and she feels the penis she has waited for and dreamed of knowing for so long.  Sven is between her legs and presses his flesh into her.  Suddenly, he thrusts himself deeply into her and she is no longer the virgin bride he married.  It hurts far worse than Julie has anticipated because he takes her so quickly with no chance for her to get into the mood.  She can’t help crying through the entire hour she has with him.  When he has come into her for the first time, he withdraws and makes her take him in her mouth to get him hard so that he can have her again before their time is up.

            Julie is almost relieved when there is a light rapping at her bedroom door and her father’s voice calls through the door to her that it is time for her to get Sven to finish in her so that she can get back downstairs and out to the garden to meet the caterer.  She feels Sven thrust one last time into her and feels his penis jerking inside her flooding her with another loads of his sperm.  He rolls off her and lies on his back looking pleased with himself.  Julie wishes she could feel pleased by what he has been doing to her for the past hour, but she cannot.  In his haste to have her as much as possible before it is time for her to die, he has turned what she has dreamed for so long would be a night of love and passion into an hour of pain and shame.  Her husband, the man she has loved since they were children, has turned what should have been an hour of shared love and communion into not much more than a forcible rape. 

            Julie crawls out of the bed in which her husband has managed to shatter all her illusions about him.  She looks at the rumpled, formless pile of satin and lace lying on the floor at the foot of the bed.  There is not much point in putting it back on, she realizes.  All the hopes and dreams that wedding dress represented to her lie in a tattered heap there with it.  She finds a pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt and slips into them, puts on a pair of slippers and as she descends the stairs to go out to meet the man who will do the things that need to be done to her to turn her into the evening’s dinner for her guests.  She pauses in the doorway leading out into the yard and looks back to the stairs and sees her maid of honor and her bridesmaids, even her sister, ascending the stairs to fulfill their promise to try to console Sven over his loss.  What about my loss, Julie wonders?  He is losing a bride.  Already I have been stripped of all my hopes and dreams, and now I am about to have my life taken from me.  Her pussy is still sore from the loss of her virginity, but the pain in her heart is even greater.  She feels a strange calm settling over her as she realizes there is only one way remaining to her, only one man who can help her have her revenge on Sven for turning what should have been her night of love into a torture session.  She wonders if the caterer would be interested in running something besides his spit pole through her.

            Already, she thinks, Sven is probably in the arms of one or more of her wedding party, enjoying the solace they have vowed to offer him.  She knows her sister is still a virgin, and she hopes Sven takes her as violently as he has done to her.  Julie sees the caterer’s van parked behind a line of shrubs a discreet distance from where her guests are mingling in the garden, chatting among themselves.  Her heart is racing faster and faster as she approaches the van.  It nearly explodes in her chest when she comes around the back of the van and sees him standing there.  He is in his forties, maybe, with dark hair and eyes.  Slender streaks of silver grace his temples.  He is powerfully built, athletic looking.  The muscles rippling in his arms tell Julie he will have no trouble running his spit pole through her.  He looks up from what he is doing and smiles.

            “I’m Julie,” she somehow manages to speak.

            “Yes, I recognized you,” he says.  “I was watching the ceremony earlier.”  His eyes wander up and down her body, then lock onto her face again.  “I understand that they let you have an hour with your husband to consummate your marriage,” he says.  “You’re looking a little worse for the wear.  How was it for you?”

            “Not what I expected,” Julie says.  “I thought our wedding night would be a time of tender romance and love.  He was so eager to have all he could of me in that short time, it was more like a rape for me.”

            “I’m sorry to hear that,” the caterer says.  “I couldn’t believe that I was going to have to spit and roast a bride at her own wedding, and now for your husband to have been so violent with you…   Well, I guess this day hasn’t been at all what you hoped it would be.”

            “No, it hasn’t,” Julie says.  A young boy, no more than four or five years old, comes around from the other side of the van.  “Who is this?” she asks.

            “My son,” the caterer says.

            “I’m his assistant,” the little boy pipes up proudly, then asks with the complete lack of tact that only a child can manage, “Is this the girl we’re going to cook, Daddy?”

            “Yes, but not just yet,” his father says.  Why don’t you go play on that swing set over there for now?” he suggests.  “I’ll call you when I need you.”

            “Your assistant?” Julie asks as she watches the child run off towards the swing set.

            “My father broke me into the family business starting at about his age, so I thought it would be good to get him started into it, too.  He seems to like it so far…  Well, I know this is hard for you, but we need to get started.  Are you ready?”

            “How can you be ready to let a man kill you by running a steel pole through you?” Julie asks. 

            “The pole won’t kill you, Julie,” he says.  “I suppose it would in time, but I’m very good at getting the spit pole through my girls without damaging any vital organs.  I need to make sure you live through the preparations and are still alive when we put you over the coals to roast.  I’m sorry,” he says, seeing the look of horror in her eyes.  “Your father told me he explained all this to you.”

            “He told me everything you would have to do to me,” Julie says.  “He didn’t tell me I’d have to live through it all and feel myself cooking.”

            “I’m sorry.  Julie, you’re looking rather tense.  Why don’t you step up into the back of my van, here, and let me help you relax a little and loosen up.  We wouldn’t want your meat to be too tough for your guests to eat, now would we?”

            No, we wouldn’t, Julie thinks, feeling the strength of his arm as he helps her up into the van.  He pulls the door shut and turns to her. 

            “I’m sure you realize you need to be naked for this,” the caterer says.  “I’m glad you didn’t come to me in that wedding dress.  Why don’tyou slip out of those sweats and let me give you a nice massage to work the kinks out of you?”

            “I,… umm… I think I’d like you to take them off of me,” Julie says.  “I’m feeling very tense.  I don’t think a massage is going to be enough to help me relax.  My husband used me for an hour and he didn’t give me an orgasm, so you can imagine how tense I must be.  I was hoping you could do for me what he was in too much of a hurry to do.  Could you do that for me?”

            “I can’t let a lovely young lady like you die without ever knowing the sweet relief that only and orgasm can give her,” he says as he takes her into his arms.

            The man who has come here to spit her and gut her and roast her to death over a bed of hot coals in her father’s barbecue pit is so much more kind and tender and considerate of her needs than her husband has been, and he is so much better equipped to satisfy those needs.  He is at least half again as long and half again as thick as Sven’s penis was, and he is in no rush to take her.  He tells her her guests will just have to wait, that her flesh will be more than worth the wait, and when he finally enters her, he has her wound so tight, like a violin string tuned past its limits, that the moment she feels his long, fat cock easing its way into her, that string snaps and Julie is rocked by the force of the orgasm that surges through her, causing her body to dance and jerk and buck beneath him so powerfully that he has to cling to her to keep her from throwing  him off. 

            And this is only the beginning.  He takes her in long, slow strokes, each one of which sends new shivers of the most intense pleasure radiating out from her pussy to her furthest extremities.  It seems to last forever.  One orgasm after another surges through her, each seemingly more powerful than the last until it begins to seem that, instead of riding these waves of pleasure, she has become the waves, losing herself.  She is no longer Julie.  She has become a churning, orgasmic sea.  At last, as yet another even greater orgasm engulfs her, she feels him thrust himself deep into her and feels him flooding her with his seed, and for an instant, she is sane enough to hope he won’t wash his deposit out of her, that when Sven is served her cunt steak, it will be seasoned and flavored with the caterer’s own special sauce.  And then, that thought dissolves as the full force of both their orgasms consumes her. 

            Why couldn’t Sven have loved me like that, Julie wonders as she sits naked in the open door of his van watching the caterer set up his portable spitting platform.  He has called his son back from the swings, and now the boy approaches her.  He stands before her and she sees his eyes wandering up and down her body, and she is still so dazed from her tension relief session with the boy’s father that modesty is the farthest thing from her mind.  The little boy’s eyes fix on her breasts, and suddenly, he has reached out and is squeezing one of her breasts.

            “What are you doing?” Julie asks him.  She isn’t embarrassed or angry with him, only surprised that he could be so bold, not to mention so interested in a woman’s anatomy at his young age. 

            “I need to see if your meat will be tender,” he says as he continues to knead her breast.  He shows promise that he may someday be as skillful at this as his father has been. 

            “And?” Julie asks.  “Am I going to be tender enough?”

            “I think so,” the boy says.  Still, his hand is softly squeezing her breast.  Julie can’t help but be amused and a little aroused, in spite of the fact that the boy’s father is nearly finished setting up the table upon which he will impale her on her spit pole.  Already, the pole is glistening in the sun as it rests propped against the side of his van. 

            “Maybe you’d better check the other one, too,” Julie says, taking his other hand and resting it against her other breast so that his palm covers her nipple.  She feels his tiny hand moving, squeezing, and then, two tiny fingers suddenly pinch her nipple, just as it is becoming erect. “Ouch!” she reacts, but she does not pull away from him.  “Why did you do that?”

            “This part isn’t so tender,” the boy says.  “It’s getting hard.”

            “That part is supposed to get hard,” his father says, and Julie looks up from the boy to see the caterer standing over her.  He takes his son’s arm and pulls him away from her.  “I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes for the boy.

            “It’s okay,” Julie says.  “I thought it was kind of funny and sweet in a way.”  She sees in the caterer’s eyes that it is time.  “I guess you’re ready for me now,” she says and extends a hand to allow him to help her up from where she is sitting. 

            The spitting platform is a long, narrow table that has a board at one end of it that is tilted slightly downward.   Some sort of a roller device is sitting on the table.  Given its position, Julie guesses what its purpose is.  There are a series of leather straps along either side of the table and another at the head of it and a bracket that will not allow her head to move out of alignment.  A vertical hand grip not unlike a bicycle or motorcycle hand grip is positioned at either side of the head of the table.  The caterer helps her climb up onto the table, and she is rapidly coming out of her post-orgasmic fog now.  Her heart is racing again, the fear mounting in her as the caterer helps her onto the table.  He tells her to kneel at one end and lean forward until her hips rest over the pelvic brace, he calls it.  She understands its purpose, but he explains to her anyway that the brace will allow her to lie with her ass elevated at the proper angle to receive the spit pole.  She leans forward over it and is glad the roller part of it that supports her is somewhat pliant and yields a little under her weight.  He tells her to reach forward for the handgrips and rest her chin on the angled support board at that end and he adjusts and tightens down the bracket to hold her head in the proper position, and then he has her stretch her legs out behind her.  She watches as he shows his son how to fasten the straps that will prevent her from trying to pull away from the spit as he forces it through her.

            She can only see the boy fastening the straps around her wrists because the head brace won’t let her turn her head to watch them do the ones further back at her elbows, knees and ankles.  I feel like a piece of meat, she thinks as she feels the boy snugging down an ankle strap, and then she realizes that she is, or at least she is about to become just that.  The spit won’t kill her, and neither will the gutting procedure, and she will still be alive for a time over the coals to feel herself slowly roasting and being converted from Julie to a roasted slab of meat.  Not that she needed telling, but the caterer comes around in front of her now and picks up the spit pole and leans over in front of her so that she can see his face, and he tells her to hold onto the handgrips as tightly as she can and try not to struggle too much against the pain she is about to experience. 

            “You’ll only make things worse for yourself,” he says.  “Now, you need to tell me where you want me to start the spit into you.   Do you want it in your pussy, Julie, or would you rather I put it into your ass?”

            She tells him she wants him to put it in her pussy.  Nothing and no one has ever been in her ass before, and she would prefer to keep it that way.  She knows that with the spit pole going into her through her pussy, there will be another pointed spear that will go up her ass.  It is an anchoring post that will insure that her body will turn with the spit pole as it rotates over the coals.   She has seen the anchoring post, already.  The caterer already has it affixed to the spit pole near the blunt back end of it.  The anchoring post is much more slender than the spit pole and will slide more easily and less painfully into her as yet inviolate ass than the spit would.  There is that sharp point at the end of it and the fact that it looks considerably too long to go its full length into her without doing some painful damage somewhere up inside her, but that would be unavoidable either way.   He seems to be hesitating momentarily.  Julie wonders if he has decided he won’t spit her.

            “Well,” he says finally, “we need to get this done.  I’m sorry, Julie, that I have to do this to you, especially on your wedding day, but given what you told me about how your husband treated you when he deflowered you, I don’t think you had much of a marriage to look forward to anyway. “  He runs his hand down across her back and over her ass cheeks and finds her pussy still dripping wet with his semen and her own fluids.  A shiver of pleasure surges through her with his touch.  “Having sex with you was wonderful for me,” he says.  “You’re such a beautiful, responsive lover, you deserved so much more than what you got from your husband.  I hope making love to me helped make your wedding day a little more pleasant for you.”

            “It did,” Julie says.  “I just wish I had married you instead of Sven…  Well, I guess this is it.  It’s going to hurt a lot, isn’t it?”

            “Yes, I’m afraid it is.  Are you ready?”

            “No, but do it,” Julie says.  She grips the hand grips tightly and tenses her body to take the spit pole and the pain it will give her.  “I have a wedding party to feed.”

            Julie turns her head forward again to be in the correct position to receive the spit pole.  She doesn’t see the caterer signal the DJ who is playing music for her friends and family to turn the volume up to full to mask the sounds of her screams, but she hears the music suddenly blaring so loud it hurts even her ears several meters away from the partygoers.  The music is so loud she can barely hear the caterer telling his son what to do behind her.  She can’t make out what he is saying, but she is aware that the little boy is up on the table behind her.  She feels his small hand touch her pussy and rub it briefly, and then she hears him say something she can’t make out because of the volume of the music.  The caterer has his son up on the table to let him think he is guiding the spit into her pussy.  He wants the boy to see how gently and carefully he pushes it into her until it is far enough up into her that it won’t go any further without beginning to rip through her flesh and cause her excruciating pain.  She feels the cold metal of the spit move into her.  It is fatter than Sven’s cock, and even fatter than the caterer’s more substantial one, and it fills her pussy with an aching sensation that would not be entirely unpleasant if it were something other than a metal spit pole giving her that sensation. 

            Julie is terrified.  She has begun this day thinking that by this time, she would still be a virgin, but she would be married to Sven and dancing and laughing and eating and enjoying being the center of attention at her wedding reception.  Now she has nothing more to look forward to but a long and agonizingly painful death.  She wonders which of her bridesmaids is comforting her groom in his time of grief over the loss of his bride.  As it happens, in one of those delicious little ironies of circumstance, just at the moment Julie feels the first stab of pain as the caterer shoves his spit pole forward into her, her sister is upstairs beneath Sven feeling the first stab of his cock into her virgin pussy.  He takes her every bit as hard as he took Julie’s virginity, and she screams nearly as loud as Julie does as the spit surges forward into her.  And Julie is screaming and crying out, begging the caterer to stop, to pull it out at the top of her lungs as he slowly, steadily, irresistibly drives the steel pole deeper into her.  The tip of it forces its way through her cervix, and a moment or two later, it rips through the upper wall of her uterus into God knows what organ it finds itself next. 

            First, her husband, whom she loved and trusted so completely, signed off on the plan to make her not his life partner but his dinner and then turned the only sex she would ever know with him into a violent rape.  Now, the caterer, who had been so much more gentle and considerate and even, she had allowed herself to believe, loving- now, he was no longer the tender lover he had been so recently.  Now he was the ruthless, heartless butcher preparing her meat for roasting.  The spit pole surged further up into her, and along with it a column of pain so severe that her entire body tried to seize up around it.  She clung so fiercely to the handgrips and tried to struggle with all her failing strength against her restraints, but it was futile.  Her throat was already hoarse and sore from screaming as she felt the tip of the spit pole in her chest and realized it must have missed her heart.  It was moving up her esophagus, and then, suddenly it was in her throat, choking off her cries.  She tries to close her eyes because she does not want to see what will happen next, but as the tip of the pole forces her mouth open, she can’t help herself.  Her eyes are open wide, straining to focus down just beyond her nose, and then, there it is.  The tip and the shaft that follows it out of her mouth are now bloodied, and she can taste her own blood and God knows what else in her mouth. 

            The pain is now a long, thick column rising from her pussy all the way up through her belly and chest, up her throat into her mouth.  Suddenly, the music volume drops to a more tolerable level.  The caterer has signaled the DJ that it is no longer to mask her cries.  Julie is still squealing and trying to beg for mercy in spite of the pole in her mouth and throat, but because of them, her pleas cannot be heard by the crowd enjoying her reception.  Inside the house, upstairs in Julie’s bedroom, her sister’s cries are not as loud now, either.  She is still in pain, too, still impaled on a different kind of shaft, but she is beginning to discover that she rather likes what the shaft she must endure is doing to her.  Soon, she will be crying out every bit as loudly as Julie has, but they will be cries of orgasmic pleasure.  In spite of the fact that several feet of spit pole have brushed past her clitoris on their way through her, there has been no orgasm for Julie.  And now, with the unrelenting pain of her spitting now guaranteed to be with her until she is dead, the next phase of her preparation is about to give Julie yet another reason to pray for her death to come swiftly.

            It will not.  The caterer loosens all the straps that have held her in place and lifts first the back end of Julie’s spit pole and rests it on a rolling cart with an upright brace for the spit.  Then he comes around to her front and wipes her blood off the front of the pole before lifting it to rest it on a similar cart.  Now, with her weight fully suspended on the pole running through her, the pain is even greater.    She squeals and struggles as she feels him grasp one of her ankles and a sharp, piercing pain goes through it.  Seconds later, she feels the same pain in her other ankle, and when he releases them, she can feel that a pin running through her ankles now has her ankles bound  together so that her legs will hang suspended on the spit pole.  She squeals with pain again as she has to watch him pin her wrists so that her arms will now be supported by the spit pole, too.  She feels him lifting the back of her spit pole, and a few seconds later, something sharp is entering her ass- the anchoring post she had forgotten to expect.  He pushes it in slowly until she feels the tip of it hit something painful up inside her, and then he suddenly shoves it as deep into her as it will go, and she can feel him securing it and locking it into position.  She squeals again as he rolls her out from over the spitting table and places a large metal tub on the ground beneath her.  She knows what is coming next.  First, though, he has a portable generator, and he starts it up and plugs an extension cord into it, then plugs into that a device that looks a little like a soldering iron.  Julie is not at all thrilled that he leaves the device hanging on a hook on the front cart that now holds her up and she has to watch the tip of it slowly begin to glow red hot.  For the moment, though, she has more immediate problems. 

            The caterer selects a long knife- one of several knives of varying sizes hanging from a bracket on that cart.  He runs his hand down from her head over her back to her ass, squeezes the ass cheeks gently, then brings his hand up to the small of her back, and as he suddenly presses down hard on her back with that hand, he reaches beneath her and she feels a sharp blow to her lower belly just above the pelvic bone.  He has thrust that long knife deep into her there, and now he rips it up through her belly with a suddenness and strength that surprise her.  He rips her open all the way up to her breast bone, then makes a crosscut from her right to her left just beneath her ribcage.  She squeals anew with the sudden pain and terror of feeling her guts spill out of her belly into the big tub beneath her.  He switches to a smaller knife, and she can feel him quickly making precise small cuts inside her, severing connective tissues to allow her intestines and other organs to fall free and empty her belly cavity. 

            Suddenly, he rotates her over so that she is facing upward, and he sets aside his knife and picks up the instrument with the glowing hot tip, and he is quickly at work in her cauterizing and sealing the blood vessels that have fed her internal organs to keep her from bleeding to death prematurely.  A few moments later, he is hosing out her empty belly, and then, he rotates her onto her back, and he and his son are packing her full of potatoes, onions and other vegetables.  He deftly sews her belly shut again, and Julie is amazed that she is still alert and able to know what is happening to her.  She has never imagined her body could be capable of tolerating such pain.  How can she still be alive and alert, she wonders, suffering such great pain after she has been impaled on a spit pole that runs into her pussy, up through her body and out her mouth.  How can she still be alive and conscious with her guts lying steaming in a metal tub and her belly stuffed full of vegetables and sewn shut again?

            Julie is alive, though, even though she is already in so much intense pain and knows that now that her preparations have been completed, she is about to experience yet another level of pain that will finally put an ends to her suffering, but how long will it take?  She has always been afraid of fire.  She thinks dying in a fire is absolutely the last way she would choose to die, and now, that is the method her own father has chosen for her.  Direct flames will not consume her flesh, but the searing heat from a bed of glowing hot charcoal will roast her, and that, she is terrified to consider, is going to be even worse than burning to death.  At least the flames would consume her in a moment or two at most.  God only knows  how long the radiant heat from the charcoal will take to kill her. 

            “Can I play with her titties, Daddy?” Julie hears the caterer’s son ask his father.  “She let me play with them before.  She even put my hand on one of them.”

            “Yes, I suppose you can do that while I go find someone to help me carry her over to the barbecue  pit,” the caterer answers his son, “but be gentle.  She’s already suffering enough, I think.”

            “Does it still hurt her now, Daddy?”

            The boy has his hand on her breast now, gently playing with her nipple.

            “I’m sure it does, son.  That’s why we need to get her over the coals as soon as possible.  The cooking will hurt her even more, but it’s the only thing now that will end her suffering.  You go ahead and play with her titties.  Maybe that will take her mind off the pain a little bit while I go find someone to help me carry her.”

            The boy crawls beneath Julie so that he can reach up and play with both her breasts.  His hands are small and soft and gently rub and squeeze her nipples.  Julie feels them becoming erect in spite of all of the pain and fear of knowing she is about to die by being roasted over a bed of glowing coals.  Then, she feels a little mouth on one of them, sucking at it.  The caterer was right.  His son’s attention to her breasts comes to her as a tiny bit of pleasure afloat in a sea of pain.  The caterer is back soon, though, with a young man she vaguely remembers is a distant cousin.  She sees how the young man stares at her naked, spitted body and feels a new wave of disgust that she is about to become a spectacle to all her guests.  As the caterer and her cousin carry her toward the barbecue pit and the party, she is aware of all her friends’ and relatives’ eyes pouring over her naked body.  Young boys come running to get their first glance at a naked female.  Young girls stare at her open-mouthed, fear in their eyes as they imagine themselves the victim of the horror Julie is enduring.  She can feel the heat of the coals even before she is set down onto the spit rack over them.   She can hear a sound like an electric motor running, and the instant she is set down onto the support that will hold her suspended over the coals, she feels herself beginning to rotate slowly as a gear wheel that the caterer has locked onto the back of the spit pole engages another on the rotisserie drive unit that will keep her turning slowly and roasting evenly until she is ready to be carved and served.

            The heat from the coals takes a few seconds to penetrate her and let her know its power.  She feels herself beginning to sweat instantly, and she doesn’t want to give these people watching her the pleasure of seeing her suffer as she slowly becomes their dinner, but she can’t help herself.   The heat is intense as it sears her flesh.  Julie squirms and squeals and cries, and the only movement she can make is to extend and contract herself along the spit running through her.  She can only move herself a few inches back and forth, but it is enough that, as she is beginning to feel herself weakening, she feels something stirring in her pussy.  The movements are rubbing her clittie against the pole, stimulating her.  She moves more quickly and discovers she can press her clittie a little harder against the pole.  A fire begins to burn within her, joining with the flames now licking at her from beneath her as her fat and juices melt and drip from her to burst into flame when the droplets hit the coals beneath her.  Julie comes.   Her husband’s forcible furious taking of her couldn’t make her come at all.  The caterer did when he made love to her before he spitted her, but this one is even more powerful and more beautiful than that one he gave her was.  This one is so powerful, she is at first tossed around by it like a leaf riding its waves of pleasure, but then it is so powerful that she becomes the waves, and the churning sea of orgasmic bliss she has become extinguishes the flames burning within her and relieves her of the agony of the searing heat of the coals beneath her.  Julie lapses into unconsciousness and dies believing that no other bride has ever had an orgasm on her wedding night as powerful as the one that has transported her to a place beyond the pain and shame and sense of betrayal that were her wedding day.

Posted: 28-Sep-2011 - 5 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
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Suzan’s Visit to Club X

 

            Suzan knew when she signed the slave contract with her master that it would come to this someday, and she fervently wanted this part of her slavery and service to her master, but the time had flown so quickly and it didn’t seem possible that three years had passed and only the final clause of her commitment remained to be honored.  She believed she had been a good and faithful slave to her master.  She never failed to give him her best efforts to please and satisfy his slightest whim.  She suffered his whippings and abuses and thanked him for his attention.  She serviced his sexual needs, giving him her virginity, even. She had deliberately saved that for the man who would become her master when she decided at the tender age of thirteen that she could never be happy or satisfied outside a life of submission to someone, and so, when she finally met her master online a few days after her sixteenth birthday and then ran away from home to meet him in real life and sign his contract to become his property, when he finally granted her the privilege of servicing his cock for the first time, she felt so proud of herself that she was giving him this gift of her virginity that she didn’t even mind too much when he whipped her afterward for staining his sheets with her maiden’s blood. 

         

   Suzan had been nervous at first about surrendering herself to her master’s every whim.  This idea of utter servitude went against the grain of everything her mother had tried to teach her about respecting herself and working hard in school to gain an education that would empower her to be everything or anything she wanted to be.  The only problem was that Suzan craved nothing more than the absolute submission to a master’s will, right up to the moment when the only pleasure she had left to give him was the satisfaction of watching her suffer her death.  She soon forgot her nervousness and any doubts she had about her choice.  She told herself that she really had no choice, that this was the life she was born to, and she was blissfully happy to find herself in a situation that required her to service her master’s every little sexual peccadillo.  She didn’t even mind when he tired of paying for her birth control pills and had a doctor come in and tie her tubes to insure that she would never get pregnant.  She didn’t even mind when her master made her pay the doctor for his services by allowing him the use of her body in any manner he desired for a period of one week. 

            Suzan was never more happy, though, than when her master sent for her and had her returned to his home and promptly spent the next week making her tell him how much she loathed the doctor’s touch.  She loved it when he called her a liar and whipped her until her ass was covered with painful welts, accusing her of enjoying the times the doctor fucked her.  She did enjoy those times, but only because her master had ordered her to service him.  It helped, too, though, that the doctor had a fine, large cock and knew just how to use it.  Her master made Suzan confess her shameful lust with the doctor and whipped her repeatedly to teach her that she was never again to enjoy sex of any kind with any man but him.  And so it was for her.  He promptly brought a man in and gave her to him and sat there watching him fuck her, and each time she showed the slightest sign of pleasure, her master made the man stop and get off her and he whipped Suzan severely to punish her wantonness, and then he made the man get back on her and ride her even harder until she began to weaken and show further signs of pleasure.  Another stop, another whipping, and then the man was back on her, riding her harder yet, and slowly, Suzan learned to deny her body the pleasure it so desperately wanted to know when anyone but her master was fucking her. 

            He used the same techniques to teach her to be more demonstrative of her appreciation for his efforts when he was fucking her in any manner.  If he thought she wasn’t responding quite enthusiastically enough, he would stop and whip her and make her finger herself, and the whipping would continue until she was screaming in pain and orgasm.   Then, he would mount her again and continue to fuck her, either to his satisfaction or until he decided again that she was being less than enthusiastic.  

            Her servitude to her master involved so much more than giving him sex in any manner he desired.  He knew that sex and death are the two great forces powering the universe, and he knew how to use the threat of death to enhance the sexual experience.  Suzan was amazed and terrified when after only one week into her life of submission, her master summoned her, telling her to come to him naked and ready to die.  She had not imagined in her wildest fantasies, that he would require the ultimate sacrifice from her so quickly, but she knew she had signed her life away, and if he wanted to enjoy her death this soon after taking her into his service, she tried to tell herself that she was ready to fulfill the contract she had signed.  She stood before him naked and trembling with fear, unable to take her eyes off the noose dangling before her.   He ordered her to mount the little stool on the floor directly beneath the rope.  Somehow, her heart pounding in her chest, her legs like rubber, threatening to give out from under her, she found the strength to step up onto the stool.  He told her to kiss the rope, and she did so and felt the coarse fibers of the hemp against her lips.  He came to her, and his hands were all over her body, and he told her that he wanted to memorize every little curve and nook and cranny before he had to dispose of her corpse.  He kissed her, and then, he had her arms behind her, binding her wrists together, and then he slipped the noose over her head and let her feel the touch of it against her neck.  Tears were streaming down her face now.  Suzan asked permission to speak.  

            “Of course,” her master granted her wish.  “The condemned is always allowed to say a few words before she is executed.  What is it you wish to say, child?”

            “Master, have I not pleased you thus far in my service to you?  I know I am a worthless slut, but have I not tried to please you in every way that you have asked of me?”

            “Yes, child, you have been a very good slave.  One of the best I have ever had serve me.”

            “Why does master want to kill me so soon after I have just begun my service to him?   Would you not prefer to allow me to serve you at least a while longer before you take my life?  My contract was for three years.  I know that I gave you the right to take my life at any time, but I thought if I was a good and faithful servant, you would want to enjoy my services much longer than one week.”

            “There is an escape clause in your contract.  Do you wish to exercise it now?”

            The words cut through her heart like a dagger.  If she exercised her escape clause, she would have to leave his service immediately and she could never contract her services to another master at a later date.

            “Master, I could never do that.  I love you and I love my service to you,” Suzan cried. 

            “Then you must prepare yourself to enjoy the ultimate fulfillment of that service, my child,” he said as he jerked the noose tight around her neck, startling her.  She felt him move the knot around behind her left ear.  “Are you ready to give me everything that I require of you, child?” he asked.

            Her voice came out of her in barely a whisper.

            “Yes, Master.”

            He smiled and kissed her and kicked the stool out from beneath her, and Suzan was hanging, feeling the rope seize at her throat and begin to choke her.  She kicked and twisted and struggled to try to free her hands to reach for the rope tightening its grip around her neck, but nothing she could do could save her.  She was in agony.  Her lungs were on fire.  Her head felt like it would explode.  The rope burned her neck as it cut into her flesh.  The room spun around her dizzyingly as she twisted and turned struggling to free herself.  It seemed to last forever.  How long, Suzan wondered, could her body endure this torture?  And why had he chosen to claim this final duty from her so early in her service to him?  Had she displeased him?  That was possibly the worst part of this whole episode, thinking she was dying and thinking that she had somehow failed to please the master who had been so good to her to take her in and accept her service.  The pain and fear and anguish kept building in her.  She felt herself slowly weakening.  Her body felt heavier.  She could barely lift her legs, and her weight seemed to pull the rope tighter around her neck.

            And then she felt something growing down in her belly, radiating out from her pussy, but slowly, irresistibly working its way up through her.  It had only been one week since Suzan had lost her virginity when her master claimed his first fuck from her, but she had already had enough orgasms to recognize what this was growing in her and that it was going to be, by far, much more powerful than any that had preceded it.  And then, it took her.  It erupted from her and through her, and the power of it gave her renewed strength to kick and buck and jerk and twist on the rope, but in doing this, it sapped the last of her strength from her, and Suzan felt herself slipping into darkness.

            She thought she was dead when she woke up to find herself lying on the floor and she thought the arms holding her and caressing her must be the arms of some angel or of God himself.  She wasn’t dead.  She found herself in her master’s arms, and it wasn’t the only time she would face a near-death experience as part of her service to him.  Hangings and garroting became a regular part of her service, and she learned to love them as much as any other duty he required of her.  She learned to approach each one in the belief and hope that he would not take it far enough to kill her, that she would wake up to find herself still in his debt, but she approached each one, too, with the full and terrifying knowledge that this one could be her final ride, her final massive orgasm before Death overtook her and made her His slave.  She was, of course, one of several beautiful young women in her master’s service, and one night, when he summoned one of the other girls to him and required his entire staff to be present, as was his usual habit whenever he hanged or garroted Suzan or one of the others, he kissed the girl and fucked her in the ass in front of all the others, and then, as he snugged the noose tight around her neck, he whispered something to her that Suzan or none of the others could hear, and the smile on her face was suddenly gone, replaced with a look of surprise and disbelief, and then he kicked the stool out from under her, and Suzan had never seen that girl struggle quite that powerfully or come quite that amazingly at the end, and she had never seen her master allow a girl to hang there so long after her struggles and orgasm subsided.  It seemed an eternity until he finally went to her and laid a finger against her neck, then squeezed her breast before he felt for a heartbeat Suzan had known he would not find after allowing the girl to hang that long.  There was no heartbeat.  Suzan had just seen a fellow slave die at the hands of her master.  It was a powerful and chilling experience she would never forget.  She knew that, sooner or later, she would share that girl’s fate. 

            What would it be like to die at his hand, she wondered?  Would he tell her in advance that this was the time their play was for real, or would he just hang her as he had so many times before and simply leave her there in the noose too long?  Would she even know she had been killed?  He always left her hanging until she passed out from the lack of oxygen, so if he simply left her in the noose long enough, would she somehow know, even though unconscious that this time was different, final?  He had whispered something to the girl he allowed to die just before kicking the stool out from under her, and Suzan had recognized in the girl’s suddenly changed expression that she knew that she was about to die.  Would he let her know right at that final moment so that she could savor her death in the full knowledge that it was upon her?  Would he even hang her to death when her time came, or would he choose another method?  Whatever the method, when the time came, Suzan hoped it wouldn’t be quick and painless.  Hanging was fine.  She loved the terrible pain in her neck and the pounding in her head and the fire in her lungs, and she was gradually training herself to tolerate them all longer and longer before her body finally gave out and she lost consciousness.  She secretly worked on deep breathing and holding her breath as long as possible to prolong the delicious agony, partly because it so pleased her master to see her suffer it for so long, but also because she loved the suffering of it so much herself- a secret she kept from him for fear he would see that he could cause her even more distress by denying her this thrill. 

 

            Her master began to take Suzan to a very exclusive private club called Club X.  It was a club that catered to the whims and peculiarities of the very rich, very particular clientele who shared her master’s penchant for dominating and controlling beautiful young women and inflicting a wide variety of painful and dangerous tortures on them.  Suzan was amazed and thrilled on her first visit to think that a worthless slave like herself could belong in such a posh, luxurious setting.   She was shocked and disturbed first visit to discover that, as soon as she entered the club with her master, he told her that all female guests were required to be completely naked, and only slaves contracted to a master were permitted entrance, and only when accompanied by their master.  It was a bit disturbing, too, when, after she had undressed, her master ordered her into a room off the foyer where several beautiful young women, also naked except for the sexy spiked heel shoes that they all wore, were standing in line waiting to receive, her master informed her, their identification tags.  At first the line was too long for her to see what was happening, except that she could see the feet and legs of the girl who was apparently receiving her tag.  She would hear a snapping noise and the girl lying back to receive her tag would let out a little yelp, and then she would get up and thank the person who was applying the tags and exit the room through another door that didn’t allow Suzan to see where the identification tag had been affixed to the girl. 

 

 

            Eventually, though, the line grew short enough, and Suzan had heard enough yelps of varying degrees of distress to figure out for herself where the tags were being applied, and sure enough, after one more girl let out a particularly shrill cry, then struggled to her feet and Suzan could see tears in her eyes as she thanked the applicator before she exited, she saw that the girl had a circular ID tag attached to her by a metal ring piercing one of her labia, and a little spot of blood clung to the flesh and the ring.  The tag was white with black characters.  Suzan managed to see the number on that girl’s tag, but not too much else, as she turned and hurried out of the room too quickly to give Suzan enough time to read what else was on it.  The girl was number 7386.  Two girls remained ahead of Suzan, and then it was her turn to lie back and raise her legs and spread them in that terribly embarrassing position and reveal to everyone present what only her master and his other slaves had seen so clearly before.  The man applying the tags reached into a box and searched through it, then brought out a little plastic zip bag and opened it and dumped its contents into his hand.  Her tag- number 7389. 

            Suzan promised herself she would not cry out as she watched the man position her tag and its as-yet-open connector ring in his applicator- a sort of pistol shaped device.  He didn’t bother to speak.  He reached down and pinched her right labium between his thumb and forefinger and pulled it away from her pussy as far as he could.  He lowered the applicator into position, slipping the outer guides of the gun around either side of her labium, and Suzan squeezed her eyes closed and gritted her teeth and heard the loud snap and felt a sharp stinging, burning sensation as the metal ring pierced her flesh and was bent into a completed circle to insure the tag remained in place and would not fall off.   She let out a squeal, in spite of her best efforts to control herself.  There were a couple tiny drops of blood.  Someone handed her a tissue, and Suzan used it to dab the blood away from her skin.  She lowered her legs to the floor, sat up, stood, and thanked the man who had just pierced her labium with her new ID tag, and it was still stinging mightily as she walked out of the tagging room, her heart full of pride that she was now an officially tagged sub-member of Club X.  She found her master standing at the bar with another distinguished though fat and rough-looking gentleman, and approached them in the classic submissive position, her head bowed, eyes on the floor until her master spoke to her. 

            She felt a flush of pride and happiness as he admired her new ID tag and told her he couldn’t wait to fuck her and feel the edge of the ring and the tag brushing against his cock.  He took a deep inhale of the big cigar in one hand and exhaled that in a white cloud of smoke, and then he sipped from the brandy snifter in his other hand , and all the while, Suzan was aware of her master’s companion eying her nakedness, a certain lust in his eyes.

            “She is a fine one, James,” the man said.  “You are a lucky man.  I don’t know where you find them so young and so beautiful, and from the look of things, so eager to please.  You don’t suppose…?  No, it would be such an imposition.”

            “What, Reginald?” her master asked.

            “I was just wondering….  No!  No!  I couldn’t ask such a thing.”

            “You want her, don’t you?” her master said, and Suzan couldn’t believe what she had heard.  What followed shocked her even more, even though he had on a few occasions, loaned her services to other men of his acquaintance, most notably the doctor who had sterilized her.  He had never loaned her out on the spur of the moment before, though, or at any sort of public gathering or party.  “You do still have your private suite here, don’t you?”
            “Yes, of course,” the man said, his eyes feasting on Suzan now, sensing that he was close to having her.   

            “You know the rules, Reginald.  You must use a condom at all times, even in her mouth.”   Her master turned to her and saw the look of shock on her face.  “You know my rules, too, Suzan,” he reminded her that she was not allowed any pleasure in what was about to happen.  “Go with Mister Farnsworth and service his needs as you would my own.”

            “Yes, Master.”

            “You have two hours, Reggie.  Enjoy her, but have her back here to me in time for dinner tonight.  I have a little something special planned for her then.  And Reggie, next week, make sure you have that little Nubian princess with you that you were telling me about.”

            “But, James, I haven’t even broken her in yet,” Master Farnsworth protested. 

            “You have a week to prepare her.  Look at this one, Reggie.  Isn’t that worth a shot at your little Nubian?”

            For a flickering instant, Suzan held out hope that Farnsworth placed too high a value on the Nubian girl to allow her to be used by another man as he was about to use Suzan thanks to her Master’s generosity, but her heart sank when she saw the way Farnsworth’s eyes were devouring her. 

            “Damn, you drive a hard bargain, James!  You’re right.  I’d give more than my Nubian for what I’m about to do to this little piece.  Come on darling, let’s go up to my suite.”

            Suzan glanced up at her Master to make sure she had his permission, and when she saw in his eyes that he was enjoying her discomfort and her loathing of the thought that she was being loaned out like a book to another man, she understood that he wanted her to service his associate in whatever manner the man chose.  It sickened her to feel so worthless at first, and then she realized that this was a part of her servitude that she should embrace with the same joy that she gave herself to her master, except that she was not allowed to enjoy or display the slightest sign of pleasure at whatever Farnsworth might do to her.

            It was hard not to allow the man to affect her.  He had a huge cock, even bigger than her master’s, and he knew how to use it.  Before he fucked her, though, he handcuffed Suzan and hooked her cuffs to a post in his suite and told her to spread her legs and bend over with her ass stuck out.  Suzan did as she was told.  He was behind her, and she felt him poking and prodding her back there, and felt his fingers go up her pussy and ass hole.  She heard him muttering comments to himself about what an amazing ass she had, and how good her pussy and sphincter felt as they clung to his fingers.  She heard him mutter to himself that he was certainly going to enjoy fucking her in the pussy and the ass, but first, she needed tenderized.   Suzan knew what tenderizing was.  Her master used the same term to let her know she was about to be whipped before he would fuck her.  He almost always whipped her before mounting her from behind, whether he was taking her in the pussy or the ass.  He explained to her the first time he did it that it was to make the sex better for her by increasing the level of pain she felt as his belly rubbed against her freshly whipped and welted ass cheeks. 

            Farnsworth used a horsehair whip on her.  With each stroke, thousands of stinging fibers lashed across her bare ass.  This type of whip didn’t leave pronounced welts like a regular whip  or cane, but it was just as painful, and Suzan knew as she took each stroke that she was going to have a very difficult time indeed sitting through dinner with her master.   When he had given her fifty strokes, Suzan had not cried out once.  Farnsworth was angry, but too eager to fuck her to waste any time whipping her any further.  He took her first in the ass right there where she was still handcuffed to the whipping post, and it took every ounce of strength Suzan could muster to fight off the urge to cry out or moan her response to the pleasure and pain his cock was giving her.  The longer he fucked her without getting any response from her, the angrier he got, and the angrier he got, the harder he fucked her.  Suzan’s ass was so sore, both inside and outside that she thought she might faint from the extreme pain.  Somehow, she did not, and eventually, Farnsworth could not hold off his orgasm, and it exploded into the condom he was wearing. 

 

 

            He called her all sorts of names and told her he couldn’t understand why her master praised her and prized her so highly when she was such a lifeless corpse of a fuck.  This pleased Suzan immensely.  She disliked Farnsworth and was glad she’d been able to deny him the pleasure of knowing her response to his fucking.  The greatest thrill, though, was that he had revealed to her that her master thought so highly of her that he had praised her to Farnsworth and told the man he valued her above all his other slaves.  Suzan would have been shedding tears of joy if that would not have let Farnsworth know that something he had said or done had affected her.  She was determined that the man she loathed would have to return her to her master thinking he had wasted his time fucking her.  Only her true master deserved to know the degree of her pleasure or suffering at his hands.  Farnsworth made it difficult to resist his efforts, though.  As soon as he pulled out of her ass, he put on a fresh condom and made Suzan suck his cock.  She didn’t like the taste or the feel of the condom in her mouth.  Her master, of course, never used one on her in any of her holes.  She took his cock, though, and made short work of getting him erect again, and then, he grabbed her arm and yanked her up off the floor and threw her down onto his bed and was on her and in her almost as quickly as she could open her legs for him. 

            “Ah!  So you do like this!” he gloated when he realized how wet she was and how easily he slid into her, but Suzan lay there motionless.  He might as well have been fucking a stone, except a stone would not have felt so wet and slippery and hot inside as Suzan knew she must feel to him.  He soon saw that his efforts were not raising so much as a heavy breath out of her, though, and this infuriated him even further.  He slapped her hard across her cheeks and fucked her even harder, and she could see in the strain on his face that he was trying with all his might to hold his climax back until he could get at least the slightest acknowledgement from her that he was having some effect on her.  She showed him nothing more, though than the wetness and heat of her cunt, and those things were beyond her control.  Finally, he came.  His orgasm was so powerful and so fulsome that it felt like he was in danger of blowing out the receptacle tip of his condom.  Fortunately, it held its contents, though.  If it had blown out and spilled his seed into her, she would have been useless to her master.  He would never again have used her in that way, and it would have probably been her fate never to return to his home from Club X.  Farnsworth was furious with her.  He got off her and got dressed and took her back down to the bar where her master was waiting.

            “I sure as hell don’t see what you think you have in this worthless little cunt,” Farnsworth said as he turned her over to her master.  “I could have sworn I was fucking a corpse.”

            “Sorry you feel that way, Farnsy,” her master said, giving Suzan an approving wink.  “I find her quite satisfactory, thank you.  Quite satisfactory.  Suzan here knows when she’s allowed to feel pleasure and when she’s not.”

            “You trained the little bitch to lie there like a stone!?” Farnsworth exploded. 

            “Only when I loan her out to someone,” her master said.  “With me, she knows she can be as demonstrative as she wants to be, and she wants to be very much, don’t you, Suzan, my dear?”

            “Yes, Master, but only with you, Master, until you order me to be that way with one of your friends.”

            “That’s my girl,” her master said, slipping his arm around her waist as Farnsworth turned to storm away angrily.  “Oh Farnsy,” he called after the departing man, “ don’t forget to bring that little Nubian next week.”

            “You’ll have her,” Farnsworth grumbled, then added, “but I swear, James, if she shows you the slightest hint of pleasure, I’ll have her spitted and roasted right there on the spot, and you can have her for dinner.”

            “I’ll be looking forward to that,” Suzan’s master called out to his departing friend, then turned his attention to Suzan and kissed her.  “Apparently, you acquitted yourself quite nicely this evening, my dear,” he said.  “Remind me when we get home to give you a nice fucking to help you release all that tension I know he must have built up inside you.   Farnsworth is legendary for his ability to pleasure the most reluctant woman.  I’m proud of you for denying him that pleasure from you.”

            “I knew my Master would not want me to give him the pleasure of seeing his effect on me,” Suzan said.

            “Did he affect you, Suzan?” her master asked.  “Did he make you cum?”

            “No, Master, you have trained me well.   It was not easy.  He was very determined to get a response from me, but I managed to deny him and myself.”

            “Excellent.  Well, after dinner, we’ll retire to my suite here, and I’ll be delighted to allow you to experience the release of all that tension that you must be holding inside you, my child.  I think I must be just as tense and eager to release that tension as you must be.  You can’t imagine what it was like for me to stand here at this bar and imagine that pig of a man crawling all over you, defiling you.”

            “If you don’t like him, why did you allow him to have me, Sir?” Suzan asked.  

             “Because it was the polite thing to do.  Masters often share their slaves in polite society.  Besides, I had faith in you that you would make it a miserable evening for him, and apparently, you’ve done just that, and next week, I get to rub salt in his wounds when he has to let me have his Nubian.  I’ve seen the girl.  She’s very young and not nearly so experienced as you are now, my darling, and I’m certain I’ll have her writhing in pleasure and exploding into orgasm in no time.  You know how good I am at that, don’t you, my dear?”

            “Oh, yes, master, and I can’t wait to feel you doing it to me again and again and again.”

            “Very soon, but first, I have a very special dinner planned for you tonight, child.”

            He led Suzan into the dining area and tipped the beautiful, naked young hostess generously, and she led them to a small, very private dining room just off the main dining room. Only the wait staff would interrupt them, and they were very discreet.   Not that her master would be all that upset if one of them would come in and find him fucking her.   He liked an audience, and often gathered his entire staff of slave girls around him to watch him fuck or discipline one or the other of them.  After they were seated and left alone for a moment, her master told her that he had ordered a very rare, very expensive and exceedingly delicious meal for them.  It was something, he said, that he was sure she had never tasted before, and it was something he was sure she would love as much as he did, and when the meal was brought to them, Suzan was indeed thrilled and delighted by the delicate, piquant flavor of the meat on her plate.  It was enhanced all the more by a delicate sauce that helped to bring out its natural flavors.  She ate every bite of the food on her plate and begged her master to tell her what it was.

            “We’ll let that remain a mystery for the moment,” her master replied.  When we’re through here, I’ll take you down to the kitchen and let you watch them prepare this delicious food.”

            After a light dessert and an after dinner brandy, her master took Suzan down to the kitchens of the sprawling Club X facility.  She was not at all prepared for what she saw.  This was much more than a mere kitchen.  This was a complete food processing facility, from killing and butchering right through several different cooking processes right up to the final plating of the finished meal just before the waiter took it to serve to his guests.  What excited and disturbed Suzan the most about this facility was that the food it was designed and constructed to prepare was beautiful young women.  Dozens of live girls huddled in cages awaiting their fate.  In a walk-in cooler that gave Suzan goose bumps for more reasons than that she was naked and it was cold in there, she saw several other already dead young women hanging by hooks run through their ankles.  Suzan’s first visit to ClubX happened only two days after she had watched her master hang to death one of his most faithful and beautiful slaves, and it chilled Suzan to the bone when she recognized the girl hanging upside down by her ankles, her belly cut open and cleaned of its contents, and her neck slit from ear to ear. 

            “Master!” Suzan gasped.  “That is Dulcinella!”

 

 

            “Yes, child.”  He went on to explain, “When a master who is fortunate enough to belong to this club disposes of one of his slaves, he can have her remains brought here, and she will be butchered and prepared and served to the guests.  The club then credits the master’s account based on the amount and the quality of the edible meat that her body provides.  That delicious meat you and I enjoyed this evening was human flesh, my dear, from some lovely young slave much like Dulcinella here, or like you, Child.”

            “Does master intend to send my body here when he ends my service to him?” she asked, shivering now because of her nakedness and the cold of the meat locker and because of her fear at the thought of someone carving up and cooking her body and serving her to others to eat.”

            “Not exactly, Child,” he said, then put one arm around her to hold her close to him to warm her.  “You’re freezing in here.  Come.  I’ll show you the very special end I have in mind for you.  You will definitely not be as cold as our little Dulcinella.”

            He led her out of the cooler back out into the room where they had passed several quite live, astonishingly beautiful young women in cages, and as they stood there looking at the caged young women, seeing their expressions ranging from abject terror to a sort of quiet resignation, her master explained to her that these girls were probably all their masters’ favorites, and that, as such, they would face a somewhat different ending.  These girls, he explained, were slated to be spitted and then roasted alive over a bed of hot coals.

            “Spitted, master?” Suzan wondered.

            “Yes, child.  Each girl will be given drugs to make her empty her bowels and intestines.  Then she will be given an enema.  You know what an enema is.  I’ve had one administered to you each time I’ve desired to have your ass.”  Suzan couldn’t help noticing that several of the caged girls were listening as intently as she was as her master continued.  Could they not know the full horror of the death that awaited them?  “Once she has been prepared in this manner, just before she is spitted, any body hair except for what is on her head is burned off her.  It sounds painful, but it’s not, really.  They use an alcohol flame.  Alcohol burns at a fairly low temperature, and the depillitators are careful not to sear the skin and just burn away the pubic and underarm hair if there is any.  I’m told the girls may experience a slight stinging sensation.  Nothing more than that.”

            “That is spitting, master?”

            “No, the spitting comes next.  When your time comes, after you are cleaned out and had your body hair removed, you will be placed on a table on your belly, just as this young woman is over here.  You see the pelvic support beneath her hips that keeps her ass slightly raised, and the slightly angled chin support board at the head of the table that keeps her head and mouth in alignment with her ass.  You can also see that her wrists are bound and secured to the sides of the table, and so are her ankles, and that strap around her neck will keep her from moving her head and causing the spit to injure her in a way that it is not supposed to.  There is a machine called the Jessica 3000 which does all this automatically once the girl is strapped into it, but I’m afraid I’m a bit old school.  In this, at least, I prefer the old ways, and…  Ah, yes!  Here comes Andrew now with this young lady’s spit pole.”  A tall, muscular man approached carrying a shiny metal pole that was several feet longer than he was tall, and one end of it had been machined to a very sharp, menacing looking tip.  Suzan saw the girl restrained on the table flinch and saw fear in her eyes at the news that her spit pole was being brought to her.  She lay secured to the table facing away from the direction the man called Andrew was approaching, and her neck restraint prevented her from turning her head far enough to see him approaching.  Suzan saw her arms and legs struggling against their bonds, too, with no success.

            “Now, now, Alice,” Andrew chided the girl.  “You know your master would be so disappointed in you if he saw you were trying to escape the fate he’s chosen for you.  Good evening, Mister Timsdale,” he greeted her master.  “What brings you down to our kitchens tonight, and who is this lovely creature you’ve brought with you?  Someone who needs my attention, I hope?”

            “Someday, Andrew, but not today.  You’re not thinking of retiring any time soon, are you?  I definitely admire the quality of your work, and I want to be sure you’ll be the one to take care of my lovely little Suzan, here, when it’s her time.  Suzan, say hello to Andrew.  When I decide your time with me is due to come to an end, Andrew here will be the one who gets you started on your journey toward the death I have in mind for you.”

            “Hello, Andrew, sir,” Suzan managed.  She couldn’t help noticing the way Andrew was looking over her body from head to toe. 

            “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Suzan,” Andrew said.  “I must say, Mister Timsdale, I’ll certainly be looking forward to the day you have this lovely young lady delivered into my care.”

            “Oh, I won’t be having her delivered,” Andrew,” her master said.  “This young lady is very special to me.  When the time comes to say goodbye to her, I’ll personally bring her here to watch her as she feels the spit for the first time, right up until she finally loses consciousness over the coals.”

            “You certainly are a kind and considerate master, Mister Timsdale,” Andrew said, “and Suzan here must certainly be an exceptional slave to have won your devotion to her.  I guarantee you, Sir, that when you bring her to me, I’ll be sure to be at the top of my game and give her my very best effort, and if you like, you and I can each take an end of her spit and carry her over and set her down over the coals.”
            “Andrew, that sounds wonderful.  Thank you!  I would like that very much,” her master said, and Suzan couldn’t believe that she was standing there listening to how these two men were arranging for her to be spitted and roasted.  No one had yet clearly explained what spitting was, but seeing the young woman bound in the position she was in and seeing that long and very sharp pole, Suzan didn’t really need to have anyone explain to her what she was about to see happen next.  “Well, Andrew,” Her master spoke again, “I guess we’re holding you back from your work.  I’m sure this young lady must be getting impatient to have this over with.  She can’t be very comfortable in that position on that hard table, are you, my dear?”

            “No, sir,” the young woman replied. 

            “Well, then, Andrew, don’t let us keep you from your work.  Miss… Alice, wasn’t it?”

            “Yes, sir.”
            “Alice, would you mind terribly if my young friend and I watch Andrew run your spit through  you?  Suzan will be lying on this very table one of these days, and I want her to spend the rest of her days with the image of how she will die burned into her memory.  Would you be too upset if we watch Andrew spit you?”

            “No, Sir,” the girl replied.   In spite of her earlier pretty much reflexive struggles, she was a good slave, Suzan thought.  Obedient and submissive until the end.  Suzan hoped she could lie there that calmly and accept her fate when it was her time.

            “Thank you, so much, Alice,” Suzan’s master said. 

            “Thank you, Alice,” Suzan said, then added, “Ummm,… good luck.”

            “You’re both welcome,” Alice said, then turned her head to look straight ahead to align herself properly for the path the spit would take through her.  Andrew asked if she had decided in which entry point she wished to receive her spit.  This matter would have been her master’s prerogative, of course, if he had specified how he wished it to be done, but since her master apparently hadn’t specified a preference, the choice fell to Alice.  Suzan’s master whispered to her that, if Alice was unable to decide in a reasonable amount of time where she wished to receive the spit, the choice would be left to Andrew.  After a few seconds’ hesitation, Alice told Andrew that she thought she wanted to have the pole started into her through her pussy.  Suzan and her master stood to one side where they had clear views, both of where the spit would enter her and of her face so that they could see her reactions to what was about to happen to her. 

            To say that Alice was not exactly thrilled by what transpired over the next several agonizing minutes would be a gross understatement.  Andrew applied a healthy dose of lubricating fluid to the tip of the pole and lifted it.  It was every bit of eight feet long and from the look of the effort he put into lifting it, fairly heavy.  He brought the tip of it down to her pussy and very slowly began to work it into her.  Alice gave a little yelp and flinched as it first touched her pussy lips, but then she lay there still and silent except for her labored breathing, as the tip disappeared into her.  Suddenly, though, when Andrew had worked only a few more inches of it into her, she flinched again and let out another little yelp.

            “Your cervix?” Andrew asked.

            “I,… I think so, Sir.  It hurt, Sir.”  Alice replied. 

            “Yes, well, now it’s really going to start hurting you, Alice,” Andrew said.  “Feel free to scream or cry, Child.  I haven’t done one yet that didn’t cry out some.  Ready now?”

            “Oh God, no! I mean,… I guess so, Sir.  Please make it happen quickly.”

            “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Alice,” Andrew said.  “I take pride in my work.  I never rush any girl.”

            “Yes, Sir.  I’m sorry for being such a baby about this.  Please don’t tell my master I was scared.”

            “All girls are scared when they come to me,” Andrew said, then looked at Suzan.  “Suzan here will be just as terrified as you are when it’s her turn, won’t you, Suzan?  Maybe even more so, because she will have had the pleasure of witnessing your spitting and maybe a couple years to let these images simmer in her mind and in her anticipation of this point in her life.”

            Suzan looked to her master for his permission to respond.  He nodded.

            “Yes, Sir,” she replied.  “I am sure I will be terrified, but I hope I have the strength to lie there as calmly as Alice and accept my spit as bravely as she is.”

 

 

            Alice’s bravery was about to abandon her, though.  Her pussy was already as full of the tip of the spit pole as it could hold.  The point of it, Suzan realized, must be poised just a fraction of an inch from her cervix, ready to force its way through that powerful ring of muscle that guarded the entrance to her uterus.  Andrew pushed the pole forward into her, and she began to scream and writhe on the table to the full extent that her bonds allowed her to move.   It wasn’t much, but Andrew had to maneuver the spit pole around to keep it aimed in the right direction to work its way up through her.  As it got deep enough into her that Suzan thought it must be approaching the tortured girl’s chest cavity, Suzan noticed that Andrew was maneuvering the pole slightly to the right side of her chest, and she remembered reading somewhere once before becoming a slave that the human heart resided slightly left of center in the chest cavity.  Apparently, Andrew successfully navigated the spit around poor Alice’s heart.  She was still alive and strong and screaming as he continued to shove it further up into her.  Suddenly, though, her eyes, which had been squeezed closed in her attempts to deal with the pain, were wide with fear and astonishment, and her scream was suddenly choked off into a sort of gurgling noise.  Her mouth suddenly opened wide, and the bloodied tip of the spit pole emerged from her mouth and moved out from there.  Her scream became a kind of squealing sound.  She was still obviously in agonizing pain.  Suzan could almost feel it herself in her own guts.  She could almost feel the pole choking her in her throat, and she instinctively opened her mouth with Alice just before the instant the pole emerged from the spitted girl’s mouth. 

            Suzan felt dizzy.  Her pussy was wet.  She knew she’d had an orgasm.  Alice’s spitting wasn’t quite over.  Andrew pushed the pole on through her until only slightly more of it still extended back from her pussy as now stuck out of her from her mouth.  He picked up yet another shorter sharp-tipped metal rod affixed to a locking ring and slid the locking ring over the end of the spit pole and slid it forward until the tip of this second, more slender pole was only inches from her ass hole.  The bracket affixing this pole to its locking ring was designed to allow its angle of entry relative to the spit pole to be changed as necessary.   Andrew loosened all the fastening screws on it and touched the tip of it to the little rosebud of Alice’s ass.  Suzan marveled at how tiny and pristine it looked.  Her master must not have been a fan of anal sex, Suzan decided, or if he was, it must not be a high priority for him.  She remembered what her own ass hole now looked like when she held a mirror down there to have a look at it after one of her more recent bouts of anal sex with her master.  Once as pretty and tiny and pristine as Alice’s, now Suzan’s ass hole was much looser and looked every bit as used as it really was.  Her anal sphincter had been breached often and the bouts of anal sex were never brief.  Now, her master could enter her ass almost as easily as his cock could slip into her pussy, and the pain of having him there was not nearly so severe as it had been at first. 

            Andrew got the retainer post started into Alice’s ass and carefully pushed it deeper into her, and when it was in position, he tightened down all the locking screws so that it would insure that Alice’s body would turn with the spit pole as it rotated slowly over the bed of hot coals that was probably about ready to receive her.  With that in place, Andrew released Alice’s ankles from their restraints.  The poor girl tried to struggle, but she was too weakened by what she had just endured, and Andrew was too strong.  He lifted one of her legs and ran a thin long skewer through her ankle, then brought her other leg up to run the skewer through that ankle, and when he let loose of her legs, they extended behind her now suspended on the pole by the skewer he had run through her ankles.  He repeated the process with her wrists, and soon, Suzan thought Alice must be ready to be put over the coals to cook, and the girl was still very much alive and alert, very much in agony- an agony that would only increase once she began to feel the heat of the coals searing her, cooking her flesh while she was still alive.  The final act of the actual spitting process was when Andrew slid a geared wheel onto the blunt end of the spit pole down past Alice’s feet and tightened its retaining screw to fix it into place on the pole.  This wheel would engage a drive gear on the motor at the roasting pit that would cause her to turn slowly and cook evenly.

            Alice wasn’t quite ready to roast yet, though.  Andrew slathered some sort of gel in her hair, and Suzan’s master explained that it was a flame retardant gel to prevent her hair from burning as she roasted, and it would be washed out of her hair once she had finished cooking.  Then, Andrew brought in two wheeled carts, each with an upright pole with a kind of cradle at the top.  He lifted the front end of the pole and rested it on the cradle of one of the carts, and then, he did the same at the other end, and now Alice’s weight hung fully suspended on her spit pole.  He slid the pelvic support out from under her and then rolled her out away from the table where he had just insured that a perfectly healthy young woman would soon be dead.  Andrew rolled Alice over to a place where Suzan noticed that she was hanging over a pit in the floor.  The two carts that supported her barely cleared the pit, but there was a curb around it to prevent a cart being accidentally steered into the pit.  Andrew bent over in front of Alice so that she could see his face.

            “I’m going to gut you now, Alice,” he said.  Suzan heard Alice’s squeals get louder.  “Do you understand me, Alice?” Andrew asked.  Blink once for yes, twice for no.  You’re doing real good, Alice.  We’re almost done.  It won’t be much longer before you feel the heat of the coals, and then, it won’t be more than maybe another twenty minutes before you lose consciousness.  I’ve never seen a girl last much more than half an hour.  Hang in there, girl.  Not that you have any choice in the matter, but you can do this.  OK, Alice, let’s get you gutted and get you cooking.  I’m sure your master and his guests tonight are dying to dig into you.”

            Andrew took a long, lethal looking knife that had been hanging from a hook on one of the carts supporting Alice.  He ran his hand down her back and gently caressed the spitted girl’s ass cheeks, and then, in a blinding flash, he shoved the knife into Alice’s lower belly and jerked it forward to her ribcage, and Suzan nearly vomited as she watched Alice’s intestines come tumbling out of her.  Andrew set aside the big knife and suddenly had a much smaller one in his hands.  Alice was squealing almost as loud as she had screamed during her spitting, in spite of the fact that her spit pole had her mouth full and made any kind of speech impossible.  Suzan watched him reach beneath her and up into her and quickly and efficiently cut away any remaining connective tissues that were keeping her internal organs from falling free of her abdominal cavity.  When nothing remained to plunge from her insides into the garbage pit, Andrew turned Alice over and, now, he had some kind of hot iron in his hand, and he was bent over her, moving the iron around inside her.  Suzan couldn’t see or imagine what he was doing.  Her master explained that Andrew was using the hot iron to cauterize all the blood vessels that had supplied Alice’s internal organs so that she would not bleed to death before she could be brought live to the pit where she would roast. 

 

 

            Andrew finished quickly and then rotated Alice back over to an almost face-down position, and then, he brought a hose to where she hung impaled on her spit, and he made equally quick work of hosing out her abdominal cavity with very hot high pressure water.  That done, he rotated her over face up again and rolled her over to another prep table where a very scantily dressed young woman helped him pack Alice’s now vacant belly full of potatoes, onions and other vegetables.  When they had filled her as much as possible, the young woman made quick work of sewing her up again so that the vegetables packed inside her would not fall out of her during her roasting.  Suzan stood there, spell-bound, shocked, and unable to believe what she had just seen.  In the space of maybe half an hour, Alice had gone from a perfectly healthy, very beautiful young woman to a full course meal ready to be set over the coals to slowly turn and roast to perfection.  And somehow, in spite of having been impaled on a metal pole running from her pussy up through her body and out her throat and mouth, and in spite of having had all her internal organs removed except the vital ones- her heart and lungs- and in spite of having her vacated belly packed full of vegetables, she was still very obviously and very painfully, alive.  And now, she faced the additional torment of cooking to death to feed the master who had submitted her to this torture and his assembled friends.

             Suzan’s mind was racing as she followed her master trailing Andrew as he wheeled Alice toward the roasting pits.  Her knees felt weak, and her heart was racing as she remembered that her master had promised her that when it was her time to die, this was how it would happen- spitted, gutted, packed with vegetables and sewn shut again and then roasted live over a bed of searing hot coals.  For her part, Alice had been considerably weakened by her ordeal, but she was still conscious and alert, and as she felt the heat from the several roasting pits as she was wheeled into the roasting room, she began to squeal and struggle again more forcefully. 

            “Try to calm down, Alice,” Andrew spoke to her.  “You’re only making things harder on yourself, Child.  I know you’ve still got the worst part of this ahead of you, but there’s no avoiding it now that you’ve been spitted and gutted.  It would be such a waste of such a fine piece of meat if we didn’t go ahead and roast you now that you’ve gone through all the preparations.  What are we supposed to do?  Push you over into the corner and let you die?  And what would your master and his guests have for dinner tonight?...  Ah, here we are, Alice.   Pit number seven.  This one is yours.  Are you ready?  Well, I’m sorry honey, but it’s time to start cooking.”

            Suzan’s master had pushed her forward enough that she had a clear view of Alice’s entire spitted body, especially her face, as Andrew and the young woman who had helped him pack her belly and sew her back up each took an end of the pole and hoisted Alice up over the red hot coals and set her down over them.  The braces that supported her pole held her about two feet above the coals.  She began to turn the instant Andrew set his end down and let the gear wheel engage the drive gear on the pit’s motor.  Suzan couldn’t help shuddering as she saw the look of terror and pleading in Alice’s eyes as she began to feel the heat radiating into her flesh.  There was nothing to be done to help her now, though, and Suzan would not have dared to try to help her if she could have.  Only one thing would ease Alice’s suffering, and it was the thing that was going to cause her the most suffering.  She had to endure being roasted to death.  How long, Suzan wondered, could Alice linger before she slipped into the merciful oblivion of unconsciousness and death?  How long would she- Suzan- have to endure this same agony when her master decided it was time for her to do so?

            Suzan could not sleep for several days after her first visit to Club X in spite of the fact that her master took her to his bed as soon as he brought her home, and he and another one of his slaves spent the greater part of the rest of the night making love to her to try to relieve her of the sexual tension she had built up in her body while trying to deny Farnsworth the pleasure of seeing her react to his sexual efforts on her.  Suzan came often and powerfully.  Her master could be, at times, a gentle and considerate lover, and the slave he chose to join him in tending to Suzan’s needs was one of her favorite sex partners.  She had an amazingly long tongue, and she was quite expert at using it to its best advantage on Suzan.  Still, when they finally let her try to fall asleep she had vivid nightmares, seeing Alice impaled and gutted and roasted in her dreams, and always, the girl getting the spit run through her or having her guts spill out of her open belly or roasting over the searing heat of the coals morphed eventually from Alice into Suzan herself.  Her master even held a little hanging party in her honor one evening, summoning all his slaves and letting Suzan hang considerably longer than she ever had before.  When he let her down from the rope, she was barely breathing, but she had had a truly massive orgasm, and that night, after another incredible lovemaking session with her master and three of his other slaves, Suzan slept peacefully and undisturbed by troubling dreams throughout the night and late into the next morning- so late that her master had to whip her for her laziness and neglect of her morning duties.

 

 

            Her master did take Suzan back to Club X the following week to help him enjoy the young Nubian girl whose temporary service Farnsworth now owed him because he had allowed the man to fuck Suzan.  The girl was very pretty and had a wonderful body, and it was clear that Farnsworth had never loaned her out to anyone before.  It was also pretty clear that she was very new to any kind of sexual contact.  Farnsworth must have fucked her for the first time in the intervening week to insure that Suzan’s master didn’t get that prize from her.  The dark-skinned young thing was so terrified as she meekly followed Suzan and her master to his private suite at the club to allow him to know the same pleasures of her that Farnsworth had thought he would be enjoying with Suzan when he agreed to the bargain to have her favors.  The Nubian girl was under the same orders from her master that Suzan had been under when she’d been with Farnsworth the preceding week.  Show no sign of pleasure with him or you are finished in my service.  The Nubian girl, though, had the added warning that she would not live out the evening if she did not live up to her master’s expectations of her.  She did not.  Suzan felt sorry for the girl, knowing she would never see another sunrise, but the little Nubian was lovely, and Suzan was only too eager to please her master by diving into the pink interior of the black girl’s pussy to enjoy the delicate flavors of her love juice and the musical sound of her soft moans and cries as she helplessly responded to Suzan’s efforts.  It was just as pleasurable for Suzan, when she had brought the young Nubian to near the peak of her crisis, to move aside and allow her master to plunge his long, fat cock into the little Nubian’s still tight pussy.  She came immediately, and she could not hold herself back from cumming throughout the entire two hours that Suzan’s master was allowed to enjoy the young doomed slave girl’s treasures.  And she was so delicious when Suzan and her master feasted on her later that evening, after she had been spitted and roasted.  Suzan’s master was so thrilled with the fact that she had withheld her pleasure with Farnsworth and that she had helped him demolish the little Nubian’s resistance that he allowed Suzan to enjoy both the Nubian girl’s nipples as an appetizer while he savored the girl’s delicate cunt steak. 

            Her master began, shortly after her first visit to Club X, to hang Suzan more frequently than any of his other slaves, and Suzan couldn’t help noticing he was leaving her on the rope longer and longer each time, almost as if he was training her for something.  She found out what his purpose was several weeks later when he took her back to Club X for her third visit.  This time there was no visit to the kitchen facilities to watch their meal being prepared.  That image had already been burned deeply into Suzan’s memory and would not leave it until she someday suffered the same fate as beautiful, doomed Alice or the terrified but lovely little Nubian girl.  Her master had another surprise for her this visit.  As soon as they arrived and Suzan had disrobed, he told her he had entered her in the Club X dancing competition.  Fifteen girls had been entered by their masters into the competition.  All fifteen girls would hang simultaneously, and the master of the girl who outlived all the other entrants would win a brand new Rolls Royce. 

            “You can win this thing,” her master told her when he saw the stricken look on her face after he told her that she was going to hang, and that only outliving all the other contestants would save her.  “Why do you think I’ve been hanging you so frequently and extending your sessions so far beyond what I dare hang any of the other girls?  Do you realize you’re now lasting a good five minutes longer than it took Dulcinella to die?  And that girl was no stranger to a rope, Suzan.  She was nearly as good as it gets at keeping herself alive while hanging, but you’re light years ahead of her best efforts.  Most of these girls are rank amateurs compared to you.  Probably a third of them have been entered because their masters want to see them die but they aren’t man enough to do it themselves.”

            “Master, I will do this as you wish of me,” Suzan said, “but I am so afraid that I will disappoint you and shame you if I lose.”

            “Suzan, I would not have entered you if I wasn’t absolutely sure you’ll be victorious.  You already know how I intend for you to die, and this isn’t the way.  Do you think I’d risk the chance of seeing you spitted and roasted and tasting your live roasted flesh if I wasn’t certain you’ll win this thing for me?”

            “No, master.  I have absolute faith in you,” Suzan said.  “It is my own abilities I fear may not be up to the task you have given me.  Master, if… if I should die, what will become of me?  Will I end up hanging by my ankles in that meat locker with all those other girls?”

            “Yes, Suzan, but don’t even think about that.  You’re going to win this thing for me.  Now, go on up there and make me proud of you.”

 

 

            There were fifteen girls to hang three to a gallows from five gallows.  They were arrayed in a semicircle on the stage in the grand auditorium, and when Suzan introduced herself to the man who was overseeing the contest, he told her she was contestant number seven and would hang from the left noose of the central gallows.  It would be the noose to the left as the audience viewed the stage, he made his point clearer.  Suzan asked how they could be certain that all fifteen girls would begin to hang simultaneously, and he explained that the release mechanisms for the platforms that the girls would be standing on were all wired into a single controller.  They had been repeatedly tested and had never failed to release the platforms simultaneously.  Even the noose heights had been adjusted according to the heights of the girls who would occupy them so that no girl would fall any further than any other and even the few microseconds a slightly longer or shorter fall might give a contestant had been eliminated.  Fifteen nooses would seize fifteen necks simultaneously.  Suzan’s would be one of them.  She looked around to survey her competition and try to determine which of the other girls would be her greatest challengers.  How could you know that, though, she wondered?  It wasn’t like she’d ever had a chance to socialize with any of these girls and get to know any of their strengths or weaknesses.

            She thought her master had probably been right in his judgment that maybe as many as a third of these girls had been entered in the contest as a means of allowing their masters to be rid of them.  Suzan saw abject terror in a few of the girls’ eyes.   It was pretty obvious they had either never been hanged before or had not handled it very well when they were.  She thought she saw death in their eyes.  She looked away quickly, not wanting to dwell on the other girls’ misery.  She had enough problems of her own to worry about, she thought as she took her place at the rope she had been assigned to.  Some of the girls didn’t want to look at their ropes.  Suzan made herself stand and gaze straight through her noose out over the crowd now beginning to take their seats in anticipation of the evening’s main event.  Those assembled here were about to watch at least fourteen beautiful young women die by hanging, and before they  were all dead and a winner was chosen, there would be all that exquisite, tortured dancing as the girls struggled to stay alive while their ropes tried to choke them all to death. 

 

 

            Suzan began the breathing exercises she had found would help to oxygenate her blood and the cells in her body and help her, hopefully, to outlast her competition.  This was not a game.  It was a form of warfare, and each girl’s only weapons were her personal strength and stamina, her tolerance of pain and will to live.  Suzan did not want to think that her survival would, in effect, kill her opponents as surely as their nooses did.   She had nothing against any of these girls and would have wished none of them any harm if it were not for the fact that she would have to die to allow any one of the others to live.  She was not prepared to do that.  The contest was about to begin.  At each of the five gallows, an attendant stood ready to deal with the three girls who would hang from that gallows.  Each attendant made sure each girl under his charge was noosed properly with nothing shielding her bare neck from the noose.  The attendants made sure each girl’s hair was pulled up off the neck until the noose was snugged down around her neck to the proper tension.  Each attendant was responsible for making sure the knot was placed properly behind the girl’s left ear.  This was done carefully to make sure that no girl had an advantage of having the knot placed so that her noose would not grasp her throat as tightly as the others.  Each girl’s hands were bound by a satin cord behind her back so that she could not reach her noose and try to pull it away from her neck.  A judge went from gallows to gallows to make sure each girl’s noose was properly placed and that the tension of her rope was as it should be. 

            Suzan knew the greatest aid in keeping herself alive as long as possible was to remain calm and not allow her body to use up its oxygen supply too quickly.  The final step in the preparations was for each girl to have a heart monitor sensor affixed to her chest with adhesive.  The sensors would broadcast each girl’s heartbeat to a bank of monitors at the judge’s tables.  A girl would be judged dead when her heart had not beaten for thirty seconds.  By this time, the girl in question would have been unconscious for a few moments, and it wouldn’t matter that she might possibly be revived if she were brought down and resuscitated.  The girl would not be resuscitated.  She would be allowed to hang and suffer brain death a few minutes after her heart had stopped.  When only one monitor still signaled a beating heart, the winner would be declared.  As Suzan stood there waiting, she knew her heart was beating considerably faster than it would normally, but she knew too, judging from the looks of panic and fear on some of her fellow contestants’ faces, that hers was beating at a much more relaxed pace than theirs were.  She surveyed the crowd searching for her master and saw him sitting in one of the front row seats that had been reserved for the masters who had slaves entered in the contest.  He smiled at her and gave her a thumbs-up sign.  A large digital timer was mounted on the floor out at the front of the stage, intended to allow the girls to see how long they had been hanging.  It read 00:00. 

            “All of the contestants are properly prepared and ready to hang,” the judge announced who had made the final inspection.

            “All heart monitors are working and displaying readings properly,” the judge sitting at the monitoring table announced. 

            “Platform drop system is armed and ready,” a third official announced.  Contestants, on my mark, you have five seconds to prepare yourselves to hang,” yet another official announced.  “Ready,… Mark!... four… three…two… one and drop!”

            With a loud bang, the five platforms the fifteen girls had been standing on dropped out from beneath them at exactly the same instant.  Suzan felt her heart begin to race as the familiar feel of a noose seizing her neck caught her by surprise, as it always did.  There was no way you could ever prepare yourself to experience that instant without a surge of adrenalin rush.  She quickly got control of her emotions, though, and tried to breathe to see how much air she could still take in.  It wasn’t much, but she hadn’t expected it to be.  Already, she could feel the noose constricting her windpipe, and she wondered if her previous experience at this might work against her, having already weakened her airway to the point that it would collapse and cut off what little airflow she was getting faster than it would happen for some other girl who had less or no experience at this deadly sport.   She tried to remain as still as possible to minimize the further tightening of her noose that she knew would occur as she began to struggle.  She felt good, though, relatively speaking.  She was as calm as a hanging victim can be and she was still quite alert and able to control to some extent her body’s urge to struggle for survival. 

            Suzan wondered how her competitors were doing.  She gently, carefully twisted herself to her right to survey the competition on that side of her.  Six girls were in varying stages of dealing with their circumstances.  One younger girl was already struggling furiously, kicking and twisting and trying desperately to extend her legs to reach the floor that was much too far below her to allow that to happen.  She was crying and turning her head back and forth trying to free herself of the noose, and a kind of gurgling noise was coming from her throat as she tried to cry out for someone to release her from her torture.  Suzan knew this girl, as small and light as she was, would probably be one of the first to die.   She was expending the energy and strength she would need to fight for her life much too quickly.  Two others were also fighting their nooses much too vigorously at this early stage of the hanging to have much chance of lasting anywhere near long enough to win.  One girl looked like she must have had a considerable amount of experience at this.  She seemed to be making herself as comfortable as possible in these trying circumstances and forcing herself to the best of her ability to pace herself and preserve her strength for as long as possible.  This girl frightened Suzan.  It was going to be hard to outlast her.  She turned herself slightly toward Suzan, saw her watching her and smiled a kind of daring smile.  A go on, see if you’re woman enough to beat me, kind of smile.  Suzan’s heart turned to stone.  That girl, she thought had been through this before, probably as many times as Suzan had hung.  Could it be that she might be a surviving champion of a previous competition?

  

 

          The remaining two girls to that side of Suzan were doing better than the three to her right that Suzan expected would die early.  They, too, though, were beginning to struggle against their nooses and showing signs of panic in their eyes.  It would not be long before they, too, would surrender to the urge to struggle too hard to survive.  She nudged herself back around the other way to survey the girls to her left, and as she came back past center, facing the audience, her eyes were immediately drawn to her master’s face, and then to the big digital display mounted in front of and below her.  2:36 it read.  Little more than two and a half minutes had passed, and already, Suzan could feel the fire in her lungs heating up, the pressure in her head threatening to explode all the blood vessels in her brain.  She could feel, too, the beginnings of an urge to move her legs, to kick and fight the futile battle for survival.  She forced herself to refocus and take her mind off her own distress by nudging herself on around to survey the eight remaining girls to her left.  Girl number fifteen at the far end was one of the ones Suzan had thought earlier had little or no experience of hanging and would not last long, and it seemed now that her guess had been correct.  The girl’s eyes were bugging out of her head.  Her mouth was open wide as she struggled to gasp for breath she could not hope to force past her noose down into her lungs.  Her tongue lolled out of her mouth and drool ran down over her chin and dropped onto her breasts.  She was kicking and twisting furiously, but it seemed that each successive motion was diminished from the one that preceded it, and soon, as Suzan watched her to take her mind off her own need to struggle for her life, the girl down at the end slowly went limp and then shuddered through her orgasm and looked to have lapsed into unconsciousness.  It was over for her, except for the announcement of her death, and that came a moment later.

            “Contestant number fifteen deceased.  Thirty seconds past final heartbeat.  Time,… four minutes, seventeen seconds.”

            No effort was made to remove the dead girl from her noose.  That would not be done until one hour past the time that all the girls except the lone surviving champion had hung dead in their nooses for a full hour past the runner-up’s death.  During that time, the masters and the other guests would be allowed to come up to the gallows to see the effects of a hanging death on a young woman closer up.  One by one, the girls began to drop out of the competition.  The next to go was a girl to Suzan’s right- one of the ones she had correctively surmised was using up her strength and energy much too quickly.  Suzan could feel herself getting light-headed from the dearth of oxygen as, one by one, her competitors gave up the struggle and surrendered to the inevitable.  She forced herself to stay focused on saving her strength as much as possible, limiting herself to feeble kicks when she needed to satisfy her body’s need to fight for its life.  This was not truly a dance contest, she knew, in spite of its name, and she wasn’t going to win it with her gymnastic dancing ability.  It was a battle to the death with fourteen other young women, even though none of them would ever so much as touch each other. 

 

 

            Suzan slowly came to realize that the girls remaining alive were her enemies.  They had to die to allow her to live, and her only weapons she had against them were her stamina and the conditioning and training her master had given her and her will to live.  She found herself beginning to struggle more vigorously now, her body yielding to the urge to fight the rope.  One by one, more girls were called dead.  Finally, only three remained.  Both of the girls hanging with Suzan on her gallows were dead, their agonies ended, their limp bodies gently swaying as Suzan’s struggles rocked the gallows.   Then there were only two left as a judge called out, “Contestant number five deceased.  Thirty seconds past her final heartbeat.  Time,… fifteen minutes, twelve seconds.  Two contestants remain.  Contestant number three and contestant number seven.”  Contestant number three was the one girl Suzan had feared would most likely challenge her for the championship and   the right to live.  She knew she was in trouble as she turned herself to her right to see how her only remaining competition was doing.  The other girl was in trouble, too, but didn’t look anywhere near ready to give up the fight.  Suzan was trying her best to ignore the digital clock in front of and below her, but she couldn’t help seeing it as she turned herself to her left so as not to have to see or be seen by the only other surviving girl.  20:07.  Suzan tried desperately to force her doubts that she could win and survive out of her mind, but she could not.  She could feel her strength waning.  Her legs felt heavier than they ever had before, and it was all she could do to bicycle pedal them in the struggle she could no longer postpone.  She was losing, she knew it as she felt her greatest enemy rising up within her to finish her off.   The orgasm welling up inside her now, getting ready to strike the fatal blow, would sap her of what strength she had remaining and send her careening into unconsciousness and death.  She felt a sense of shame.  The orgasm engulfed her and tossed and tormented her like no other she had ever had before.  She had failed her master, she was sure, as she slipped into the fog of unconsciousness that enveloped her and stripped away all the pain and shame.

            The only contestant for whom any effort would be made to revive her if it was necessary would be the winner.  Suzan suddenly felt herself hurtling up out of the blackness and bursting into the light, and she lay there gasping for breath, feeling the burning sensation still around her neck but quickly leaving her tortured lungs as the fresh air surging into them put out the flames that had been burning inside her.  She was alive!  She had won!  It didn’t seem possible, but lying in her master’s arms beneath where she had been hanging until she’d been released from her noose, she looked off to the right and saw the limp body and hideously purple face of the girl who had proved her most serious competition still softly swaying from the end of her rope.  Suzan’s head still pounded mercilessly, and she’d seen her reflection in the mirror often enough after a hanging at home to know that she must look almost as hideous as the girl who had nearly beaten her.  Her face felt flushed, and although her tongue was now back in her mouth where it belonged, it felt swollen, and she knew it must have been protruding from her mouth before she regained consciousness.

 

 

            “Thank God you’re still alive,” her master said.  “They’ve been working on you for the last five minutes.  I was so afraid I was going to lose the most incredible slave I’ve ever owned.  Suzan, I swear I’m never going to put your life in that much jeopardy again until it’s time for you to meet with Andrew down in the kitchen when I decide it’s time for us to part.  As soon as you recover, Child, you and I are going to feast on that young woman.  Halfway through the contest, when it was becoming clear that you and she were the most likely to challenge each other for the victory, I made a wager with her master.  If his slave won, he would have your body to feast on with her this evening, but if you won- and you have, my sweet little slave- you and I would have the pleasure of dining at their expense.”

            Still too weakened by her ordeal to walk, Suzan was carried into the Club’s infirmary and examined by a doctor to make sure she hadn’t suffered any permanent damage.  The doctor told her that he had never seen anyone hang anywhere near as long as she had, twenty-five minutes and forty-three seconds, to be precise- and survive.  He said he was amazed that her windpipe was not completely collapsed by the noose’s choking hold on her neck.  She must have very strong neck muscles, he said, to have been able to keep them flexed that long to protect her windpipe from the noose.  The airway was dented and partially obstructed, to be sure, he told her, and he informed her master that if he wanted Suzan to live out her contract with him, he should not plan on hanging her anymore, but the airway was open and serviceable.   Her breathing, she noticed, now came with a slight whistling sound as the air rushed past the partial obstruction in her throat. 

            The doctor put an oxygen mask on her and applied an ointment to Suzan’s rope burn and rubbed a soothing lotion into the skin on her face to relieve the stinging sensation of all the tiny burst blood vessels that had turned her face a vivid crimson.  Suzan complained of a reddish tint in her vision, and the doctor looked into her eye with a special instrument and told her that there were some burst blood vessels in there, too, but that they should not impair her vision, and the reddish tint should disappear in a few days.  He ordered Suzan to lie there in the infirmary and rest for a while.  Her master kissed her and promised to come for her in time for the lovely meal they would soon enjoy feasting on the flesh of the girl who had very nearly beaten Suzan in the dancing competition.  When he came to collect her to take her to dinner, Suzan was still very weak and light-headed, but she could feel her strength returning as she walked leaning heavily on her master’s arm at first, toward the private dining room where they would enjoy the flesh of the girl who had nearly beaten her. 

            Her master was so grateful that she was still alive and so penitent that he had put her life in such jeopardy, he had the dead girl’s cunt steak served to Suzan as a reward for her very special service to him.  It was delicious, served in a light au jus that the chef said was flavored by pussy juice they had retrieved from her Cowper’s gland.  Suzan had never tasted anything so exquisite.  They ate until they could eat no more, and then her master told the chef to take the considerable remains of the dead girl’s roasted body out to serve at a carving table at the club’s buffet so that the other guests that evening could enjoy what remained of her.  He also told the chef to reserve a portion of the dead girl’s most prime flesh for her master.  When they left Club X that night, Suzan’s master told his chauffeur to drive them around for a while just to give him time to make love to Suzan and allow her the honor of being the first to service his needs in the back of his brand new Rolls Royce.  He was so thrilled that she had won him the car and so grateful that she had survived the dancing contest that he only gave her three lashes for staining the soft ivory leather seat of the Rolls with her pussy juice, and then he told her he had no intention of having the stain removed.  It would be there as long as he owned the car, he said, to remind him of what a faithful slave and what an amazing fuck she was.

            Suzan was disappointed to learn that her master intended to heed the doctor’s warning that she should no longer be subjected to hanging because her airway was already partially obstructed by her experience in the dancing competition.  Every wheezy, whistling breath she took, though, served to remind her that the doctor was probably right.  If she hoped to live long enough to last the length of her contract and give her master her life at the end of it in the manner in which he’d shown her it would happen, hanging by her neck was definitely not something she should be allowed to do, even though she loved the experience so much.  But did she really want to have to face what her master had planned for her at the end of her contract, or whenever he decided it was time to do that before then?  Did she want to suffer the terrible agonies of spitting, gutting and roasting that she had seen both the slave girl Alice and Farnsworth’s young Nubian girl endure? 

            As the months of her servitude wore on, her master found new ways of exacting pain and fear from her to replace the hanging they had both come to know and love.  He knew with her compromised windpipe, she probably would not survive another ride on the noose, and he seemed determined to keep her alive and sentient until the moment when he would require the last great sacrifice from her.  Occasionally, he would take her to Club X, and they would dine on the flesh of some slave who had come to the end of her service to her master.  When one of her master’s slaves, Carmella, gave her life to her master a few weeks before her contract was due to expire, he took Suzan with him to allow her one more time to observe Carmella’s spitting and roasting.  Carmella had been Suzan’s favorite lesbian sex partner of all of her master’s slaves.  Whenever her master desired to watch her perform with another of his slaves, Suzan always prayed that Carmella would be the partner he would choose for her.  She never dared to reveal her preference to her master, though, for fear that he would take too much pleasure in denying her the pleasure of sharing herself with the lovely Carmella.   She always accepted and performed with whichever of her sister slaves he chose for her, but it was always so much more wonderful when it was sweet Carmella’s musky pussy pressed against her face, and Carmella’s expert tongue diving into hers.

            So it was with some sadness that Suzan stood and watched with her master as Carmella met the same fate as the slave Alice and Farnsworth’s Nubian slave had shared before her.  Carmella was very brave, but in the end, the pain of the spitting and gutting and roasting got to her, and like Alice and the Nubian, she screamed and squealed and showed every sign of being in intolerable pain right up to the moment she lapsed into unconsciousness over the coals that were roasting her to perfection.  Before her spitting began, Carmella begged her master to share a portion of her cunt steak with Suzan when they dined on her later.  She said that Suzan had given her pussy so much pleasure in the times they had been allowed to know each other that she hoped Suzan could have the pleasure of tasting her this last time.  Ever considerate of his slaves’ needs and desires, their master granted Carmella’s wish and even went so far as to tell Suzan to lick Carmella’s pussy to orgasm one last time before the doomed girl had to submit herself to Andrew’s spit.  As he had promised Carmella, their master gave Suzan half of Carmella’s cunt steak.  It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted- even more delicate and flavorful than the dancing contest runner-up girl’s had been.  Suzan had always loved the taste of Carmella’s pussy and her love juices, and now that her pussy had been cooked to perfection by a world-class chef, it was even more delicious, and so tender that it dissolved on Suzan’s tongue and made love to her taste buds, even in death. 

            It was very difficult for Suzan to watch her friend Carmella give her life to satisfy her contract with their master, because he had taken this last gift from her a few weeks before her contract was due to expire and he would have been required to take it if they did not choose to renew the contract.  Also, Suzan knew that her own contract with her master was due to expire all too soon.  Her time with her master had been filled with delicious pain and loving obedience and the most incredible sex she never could even have imagined before she became his slave.  Her service to him had opened up a world of pleasure and pain and extreme erotic delight that she could never have experienced in any other manner but as the slave of this incredible master.  And now, she knew, the time would all too soon be upon her when she would have to pay for all the pleasure and pain and love she had known in his service.  So far as she knew, her master had never extended the contract of one of his slaves, so Suzan had no real hope of continuing in his service past her swiftly approaching deadline.  And when he called her to him one day to introduce her to his newest young recruit and to tell her to introduce the rookie to the joy of lesbian sex, Suzan knew deep in her heart that she was beginning to help her master train her replacement.  She devoted herself to the task selflessly, determined that she would help the new girl prove every bit as satisfactory to their master as she hoped she had been.

            Less than a month remained in Suzan’s contract when her master called her to him one morning and she found the new girl, Cherish, there with her master waiting for her.  Her master made love to her, and as she lay in his arms afterward, while Cherish so sweetly and deliciously licked the master’s seed from her pussy, he told Suzan that he had never intended to take her final gift from her until the very end of her contract with him, that he had even for the first time in his life considered extending a slave’s contract, but something had come up, and now he was being forced by circumstances to require her final service to him two weeks earlier than he had hoped to have it from her.  He had some very important clients flying in for a crucial business meeting.  Billions of dollars were at stake.  He had to curry their favor in every way possible, including serving them a fabulous meal that would fatten their bellies and loosen their wallets so that he could profit immensely by winning these clients lucrative business, and he was so sorry he had to require this of her, but she would have to serve as the entrée for the feast that would hopefully win their business for her master’s company.

            A knife had just been thrust through Suzan’s heart.   Even when she had known he would end her service to him by having her spitted and roasted and served to him to eat, she had never imagined anyone other than him enjoying her flesh, except maybe his other slaves and a few close friends.  Now, she was to serve as nothing more than a business enticement.  Her heart was broken.  She knew better than to show her master her grief, and she promised him that she was ready to accept his decision and allow herself to be taken at his convenience.  Her master promised her that even though she would be eaten by strangers, business clients, he still intended to reserve her cunt steak and both her nipples for his own pleasure, and he would still be with her through the final preparations and steps that would lead to her death.  In addition, he promised her that his newest recruit, the girl she had been training so well over the past few months, would join them so that she could see how Suzan gave her life in service to her master and how she would be required to give herself to him at some future date.  Suzan promised both her master and Cherish, the newest slave, that she would do her best to be worthy of the honor it had been to serve him for the past not quite three years.

            Her master brought Suzan to his bed on the night before he would take her to Club X to have Andrew spit her and roast her to serve to his very important business clients.  He had Cherish there with him, too, and when he wasn’t making love to Suzan himself, he had Cherish keep her occupied.  Cherish had been a very good student under Suzan’s tutelage, and she helped their master make Suzan’s last living night on earth a memorable one, to say the least.  It was for her an almost constant orgasm from the moment Cherish first dipped her tongue into Suzan’s pussy to begin preparing her to receive her master’s cock until sometime in the early hours of the morning,  when she passed out from exhaustion and slept blissfully through the rest of the night.  All night long, knowing it was her last, Suzan strove to extract every ounce of pleasure she could from her master and from Cherish, and she strove to give every ounce of her devotion and her passion to both of them so that her master would know that she had given him everything she had to give and withheld nothing from him. 

            The next morning, her master himself served Suzan a light breakfast in token of his appreciation of her loving service.  He had Cherish and all the other slaves help prepare Suzan for her final journey to Club X to meet with Andrew and begin the agonizing process of dying in the manner her master required of her.  They gave her an enema, even though she would receive another at the club as part of her preparation.   Cherish didn’t want Suzan to have to feel embarrassed by the smell of the contents of her bowels when Andrew or one of his assistants administered her final one.  After cleansing Suzan until the fluid escaping her ran clear, Cherish filled her again with rosewater and had her hold it inside her as long as she could before expelling it.

            “That will help to make you smell nice and sweet as you are roasting,” Cherish said, “and I hope it will give a subtle extra flavor to your flesh when we eat you tonight.  You must be so excited that Master has chosen to accept your final gift to him today.  I can’t wait to give my life to him.”

            Naïve little Cherish still had no concept of what it would feel like to know her life was about to end in horrifying agony, Suzan realized.  She was only just beginning to come to grips with the idea herself now, and already, the preparations for her own death had begun.  Suzan wished she still had the two remaining weeks of her contract she should have had remaining to her to try to come to grips with the fact that her service to her master and her life were now nearly at an end.   She needed those two weeks, she thought, to prepare herself properly emotionally for the coming ordeal, but now that precious extra little bit of time had been denied her.  Cherish took Suzan into her master’s bed chamber to allow him to give final approval of Suzan’s preparations and her appearance.  The other slave girls had done her hair and painted her nails and applied just the lightest touch of makeup because their master was not a fan of more dramatic makeup application.   He wanted his girls looking fresh and natural and unspoiled.  The master approved.  He made Suzan come to his bed and mount him and sit astride his hips and fuck herself to climax.  One last time, he told her, so that he could better remember how wonderful her service to him had been.  When she had brought herself to orgasm and collapsed over him, he made her get off of him and ordered Cherish to come to him and finish relieving him with her mouth. 

            Cherish was proving to be an eager and enthusiastic and quite skillful cock sucker, Suzan thought as she watched the newest slave finish off her master and greedily swallow the fulsome discharge of his climax.  He had warned her to save some of his seed in her mouth and give it to Suzan.  The younger slave did so, happily pressing her mouth to Suzan’s lips and opening it to allow Suzan to dip her tongue into her mouth to take her last taste of her master’s wonderful sperm.  Cherish helped to push the contents of her mouth into Suzan’s with her own tongue, and the two girls stood there lapping the last of their master’s gift from their faces until he told them it was time for Suzan to take her last ride to Club X and allow herself to be spitted, gutted and then roasted so that she could give her final service to her master of serving as dinner for his very important business associates.

 

 

           Suzan’s heart was hammering away in her chest as she glanced out the back window of the Rolls Royce and saw her home for the past three years receding from view behind her.  She would never set foot in those halls again, never know the joy of service to her master, the pleasure of the sting of his lash or the thrill of his noose tightening around her now permanently weakened throat, or the ecstasy of his penis filling her pussy or ass or her mouth and flooding her with his wonderful seed.  All that was behind her now, and only this long last ride to Club X to submit to the irresistible force of Andrew’s spit and all that lay beyond that- only these things were left to her.  Her heart had only begun to calm down to something approaching normal when they pulled up outside the gates of Club X.  Now, suddenly, it was racing again.  Not a word had been spoken on the trip from their home.  Suzan’s master, she thought, seemed to feel a sense of loss that he had been forced to deny himself the final two weeks of her service so that he could offer her as the main course in the dinner he had planned for his clients.  She herself had her own immediate and very short future weighing heavily on her mind.  Would she be brave and willingly mount the spitting table as Alice had, to allow herself to be restrained so that she could not move in her struggles to the point that she might inflict some injury to part of the meat that should be served at the dinner that evening, or would she embarrass herself and her master by fighting and struggling against Andrew’s efforts to get her secured to the table to take her spitting?

            Inside the club, Suzan and Cherish disrobed immediately.  Suzan had been given only a full length hooded cape to wear over her nakedness and protect her from the early autumn chill.  Cherish was more traditionally dressed in the uniform of sorts that their master required of his slaves.  Stockings and garter belts.  No bra or panties, a very short black maid’s uniform completed the look that Suzan had worn so proudly in service to her master.  The skirt of the uniform was short enough that the slightest movement in it gave fleeting glimpses of the treasures beneath it, and the bodice was cut low enough that not much of the wearer’s bosom was left to the imagination.  Suzan had been to the club often before, and in spite of the fact that she knew this was her last visit, she felt comfortable in her nudity.  This was Cherish’s first visit, though, and the first time her lovely, lithe body’s wondrous treasures had been on display to anyone but her master and her sister slaves.  She was embarrassed at first and nervous, especially when she realized that she had to receive her Club X sub-membership tag in the same manner that Suzan had received hers on her first visit. 

            Cherish was evidently a little more sensitive to pain than Suzan had been.  She came out of the tagging room with tears streaming down her cheeks and walking slightly bent over and hobbling a bit as she tried to deal with the fresh pain of the new metal ring she now wore through her right labium to carry her Club X ID tag.  It was nice to see Cherish suffering for a while.  It took Suzan’s mind for a moment from her own imminent, much more intense suffering.  It was time to go down to the kitchens to begin her preparations.  Suzan, Cherish, and their master rode an elevator down into the bowels of the ancient palace that was the home of Club X.  Andrew was waiting there for them, and he rose to greet them as they approached his desk.  Andrew greeted her master and Suzan, then inquired as to the identity of the master’s latest acquisition.  Her master introduced Cherish to Andrew and explained that she was there to observe Suzan’s spitting so that she would know throughout her service to him, as Suzan had known, how she would fulfill the final clause of her contract of slavery to him.  And now, her master let Andrew know that he had brought Suzan to him so that she could fulfill her last duty to him.  It felt so odd to be standing there listening to them discuss her like the piece of meat she would very shortly become.  Andrew asked if Suzan was ready to begin.  She was not ready.  How could she possibly be ready to die at the age of nineteen?

            “I am ready, Sir,” Suzan said, and her heart exploded in her chest as she realized that she had just consented to her own death.

            “Excellent,” Andrew enthused, stepping out from behind his desk.  “Shall we begin, then?  I know this is a very emotional time for you, Child, and the best way to get through this is just to take it one step at a time and allow events to unfold as you already know they will.  Come, let’s go get you your enema so that we can get on to the more challenging parts of your preparation.”     He led Suzan back to the enema station and had her stand over an open sewer pit in the floor and bend forward.  There was a support there for her to lean on.  Andrew allowed her to watch him lubricating the tip and a considerable length of the slender hose he was about to insert into her rectum.  “Have you eaten anything recently?” he asked. 

            “Only a very light breakfast this morning,” Suzan’s master answered for her.  “A few orange slices and a small muffin and a small glass of orange juice.  Other than that, I haven’t allowed her to eat since breakfast yesterday.”

            “Excellent,” Andrew replied. Suzan heard water running and realized he must be adjusting the water temperature before he slipped the hose into her.  “OK, we’re ready to begin,” Andrew said.  He had turned the water off for the moment. “As soon as I shove this hose into you and work it up into you as far as I can, I want you clamp down on it as hard as you can and hold the water inside you as long as you can.  When you can’t stand the pressure anymore, let me know, and I’ll withdraw the hose and you can release your bowels.  Here we go, Suzan.  Your first step on your way to becoming a delicious meal for your master and his guests tonight.”

 

 

            Andrew flooded Suzan’s colon with water three times, even after he remarked that her first expulsion was practically clear enough to drink and Cherish piped up proudly that she had helped to give Suzan an enema at home so that she wouldn’t be embarrassed when she had to get one from Andrew.  With the enema complete, Suzan’s heart was hammering away in her chest as she knew what should have followed- mounting the spitting table and having the spit run through her.  Things didn’t go quite as she had expected, though.  After she was allowed a brief shower, Andrew remarked to her master that Suzan was undoubtedly the loveliest girl he’d ever had the pleasure of spitting, and he said that, in the past, a few masters had been kind and generous enough to allow him to know the girl he was about to spit intimately before her spitting progressed to the next stage, and he knew it was being highly presumptive on his part to ask this of her master, especially since Suzan was his favorite and so special to him, but he wondered if her master could be so kind as to allow him to know Suzan in  the carnal sense one time before he had to spit her. 

            “I feel so much better about spitting a girl, and I know I can do a much better job of it if I’ve had the chance to know her intimately and can gauge her reactions to being penetrated by doing her with my cock before I have to put the spit pole into her.  Do you think you could be so kind as to allow me to know Suzan in this manner?” Andrew asked her master.

            She couldn’t believe Andrew, a mere employee of the club, had been so bold as to ask her master for permission to fuck her.  She thought it must be a social affront something akin to a court jester asking the king if he could fuck the queen.  Her master’s answer stunned her even more and drove a knife through her heart. 

            “Andrew, over the years, you have done me such great service hand spitting my girls with a care and professionalism that is sadly lacking in today’s world.  I would be delighted to allow you to know Suzan here in the hole she chooses to be spitted in.  And Andrew, since Suzan will not be providing this service to me anymore, you may have her without a condom if you so desire.  And Suzan, since I will no longer be knowing the joy of exploring your lovely body, and since we have come to the last few hours of your life, you deserve and you have my permission to know and enjoy and be demonstrative of every bit of pleasure Andrew here can give you.”

            “Oh, you certainly are a kind and generous man, Sir,” Andrew reacted to the news that he was about to enjoy giving Suzan the last fuck she would ever know.  “Suzan, if you’ll just come right over here to this cot I keep here to catch a nap when I can…  Tell me, Suzan.  Which hole are you going to want to take your spit pole in?”

            “In my, pussy, I think, Sir,” Suzan said as she followed Andrew toward his cot.  She had been considering having him give it to her in her ass because she thought it might not be quite as painful going into her there, where it could plunge deeper into her before it started ripping through her internal organs.  He master’s decision to allow Andrew to have her had angered her, though.  She now saw that her master who had treated her so wonderfully throughout her service to him had now in effect divorced himself from any emotional bond with her.  She was no longer his favorite slave.  Suzan suspected that Cherish had usurped that role.  Suzan now knew that, as far as her master was concerned, she was nothing more than the main course for the meal he would serve his business clients later that evening.  She needed to see how he reacted to seeing her reacting to another man’s bare cock sliding into her body.  It wouldn’t be hard to put on a good show, she thought.  As tightly wound as her nerves were as she faced the last hours of her life, she wouldn’t have any problem coming often and explosively if Andrew was any kind of lover at all.  He was.  She came almost constantly as Andrew lay over her and drove his cock through her.  It was not the largest cock she had ever had, but he was one of the best her master had ever allowed to have her at using it to make her experience of him one of the most incredible fucks she had ever known.  The experience was even more powerful and satisfying for her because her master and Cherish stood there watching in open-mouthed wonder as she reacted so powerfully to his efforts.  Just a few weeks into her service to her new master, Cherish had already learned that it would not be wise to ask him if he would allow Andrew to fuck her like this when it was her turn to take the spit, but Suzan saw in the younger girl’s glistening eyes and hungry look that she was hoping and praying to share Suzan’s fate in her time.

 

 

 

            This did little to ease Suzan’s nervousness, though when Andrew had finally come so explosively into her pussy and left her filled with an incredible volume of his semen.  Suzan could feel it running down her inner thighs as she let Andrew help her over to the spitting platform.  She needed his help because his efforts had left her legs so rubbery she could barely stand.  It was a good thing, she thought, that once she mounted the spitting platform, she would never have to stand again.  She would leave that platform suspended on a spit pole run through her from her freshly fucked pussy up through her and out her mouth.  In spite of the fact that Andrew had so thoroughly and magnificently exhausted her with his fucking, her heart began to race again as she settled into position on the platform with the pelvic brace beneath her hips to prop her ass up and leave her at the proper angle to receive the spit.  This was it.  The moment Andrew began to push the tip of that spit pole into her, her dying would have begun.  Suzan’s master preferred his slave girls shaved, and before leaving the manor that morning, Cherish had shaved Suzan to make sure she was as bald around her pussy as she could be, so there was no need for Andrew to singe her pussy hair or underarm hair off of her because there was none.  Suzan was glad she wouldn’t have to have her body hair burned off of her, but that meant that the next step in her preparation was the actual spitting.  As he was beginning to secure the bonds that would hold her in place while he ran the pole through her, Andrew membered something. 

            “Oh, my, I was so anxious to get my cock into Miss Suzan and fuck her, I nearly forgot to ask if she was given the chemicals to clean out her digestive tract.  Forgive my haste, Sir.  Did Suzan have this mandatory treatment?”

            “Yes, she has, Sir,” Cherish said when her master prompted her to speak with a nod of his head.  I stayed with her and watched her drink the whole container of them myself, and Suzan spent a very long time on the toilet before we were able to give her her enema.”

            “Excellent,” Andrew said.  “I don’t think the little bit of food you gave her this morning will be any problem at all.  Well, Suzan, as soon as I finish securing these restraints, we’ll be ready to begin.” He went to work finishing the job of securing Susan’s ankles and wrists and making sure the brace that held her head in place would not allow her to move her head out of the spit’s path.  She lay there trying to calm her shattered nerves, determined not to embarrass herself or her master on this, the last day of her service to him.  Somehow, she managed to resist the urge to attempt to flee.  There was no point in it, she knew.  She would never have gotten out of the spitting area, let alone managed to escape the Club X grounds.  And even if she had managed to escape, what could she have done?  Go back to her parents and beg them to take her back after she had spent three years lovingly giving her services to her master?  Go back to school at nineteen and take up her education again so far behind all her former friends, who would have graduated by now and gone on to college or begun the search for some sort of career.  How could she do that, Suzan wondered as she waited to feel Andrew beginning to insert her spit pole into the pussy he had so recently and so wonderfully fucked and flooded with his seed?  Already, she had worked out her career choice, and now, while her former friends were still trying to prepare themselves for theirs or beginning a career, Suzan was being forcibly retired from hers.

 

 

 

            There would be no escape.  Already Andrew had Suzan’s bonds secured, and he had gone off to somewhere behind her to fetch her spit pole.  She could see her master and Cherish standing to one side of her, watching her.  She thought her master looked a lot less concerned for her than she had hoped to see.  It was his idea that she die this way, but still, she had hoped to see something in his eyes that she was not seeing.  Cherish looked, if anything like she was eager to see how Suzan was going to react to the insertion of the spit into her.  Suzan thought she saw a sort of hungry look in Cherish’s expression.  She had expected and hoped for a little something more from her young apprentice, too.  After all, Suzan had spent the final two months of her life training young Cherish to be everything her master expected her to be, and Cherish had seemed to take great pleasure whenever their master allowed Suzan to make love to her.  Couldn’t she have displayed the slightest bit of sympathy or sorrow that she was losing such a wonderful mentor and lover?  Suzan was jarred out of her self-pitying reverie by the sound of approaching footsteps behind her.  Andrew was coming back to her, and she didn’t need to be able to see him to know that he was carrying the spit pole he was about to begin to run through her.  

            “Suzan, are you ready to allow me to spit you now?” he asked as a matter of courtesy.  Suzan had never had any say in this procedure from the day she signed her name to the contract that made her a slave and gave her master the right to require this service of her.  Andrew had come around in front of her and stood where she could see him holding and leaning on the pole that would carry her to her death.  She had hoped not to have to see it until the tip of it erupted from her mouth.  She took a deep breath and tried to still her racing heart and gave the answer she knew her master expected of her.

            “I am ready, Sir,” she said, and as she saw Andrew moving back around behind her carrying the pole, she wondered where she had found the courage and the strength to speak the words that signaled her acceptance of her death sentence. 

            “Are you ready, Mister Timsdale, to see Suzan spitted and prepared for her roasting?” she heard Andrew speaking behind her now, and remembering the times she had watched Alice and the Nubian girl spitted, she knew that Andrew was probably applying a lubricating fluid to the first few feet of the spitting pole.  He would apply more later as needed as he worked more and more of it into her.

            “I am ready, too, Andrew,” her Master said, and Suzan noted that his voice sounded flat, devoid of emotion.  “You may proceed,” he added.

            “Miss Cherish,” Andrew addressed the young slave girl, “are you ready to watch your sister slave here accept her spit and then be further prepared for the roasting that will finally end her life and provide your master and his guests with a splendid meal this evening?  Remember, your master has let us know the fate you are about to see Suzan endure will be yours one day too.”

            “I am ready too, Sir,” Cherish said.

            Suzan heard Andrew take up the spit, and a second later, she felt the cold tip of it touch her pussy lips.  She flinched and let out a little chirp of surprise and felt her body tensing as he began to push the spit pole forward into her pussy.  Slowly, the cold stainless steel filled her, and then, the tip hit something up inside her.  The spit was thicker than any cock she’d ever had.   Even Farnsworth’s hadn’t been quite as imposing as the metal post that was about to rip through her.   The tip of it bumped against something painful deep inside her pussy.  Again, Suzan tried to jerk away from the pain and let out a yelp of surprise at the strength of the pain.

            “Is that your cervix?” Andrew asked.

            “I think so, Sir,” Suzan replied.  “It hurt, Sir.”

            “Yes, I know Suzan,” he said.  “I hate to have to do this to you after you gave me such a wonderful fuck, but I wouldn’t want to disappoint your master, and neither would you, I think.”

            “No, Sir,” Suzan lied.  She was angry and disappointed that she had been deprived of her final two weeks of servitude so that she could serve as the main course at some dinner party, and she was deeply hurt that her master’s cold, emotionless visage showed not the slightest bit of tenderness for her or concern that she was suffering.  Her entire term of service to him had been about nothing but pain and obedience, but there had always been a tender, caring side to him, too, and that side of him had gone missing now that Suzan needed to see it the most to know that her ultimate sacrifice to him, her final service, was appreciated.

            “It gets even more painful from here on out, Suzan,” Andrew said.  “I’ve been looking forward to this moment since your master first brought you to me,” he said.  “Are you ready to take your spit, dear?”

            “Yes, sir,” Suzan said.  “Run it through me, Sir.  Do a good job, please.”

 

 

            “I’ll do my best, child,” he said, and he began to force the spit into her.  The tip of it hit her cervix dead center, and Suzan couldn’t help but scream as it forced the tough, fibrous ring of muscle open to gain admission to her uterus.  Suzan cried and squealed and struggled against her bonds as the shaft of pain slowly, irresistibly worked its way up into her.  When Andrew had a  little more than maybe a foot of it into her, she felt him pause, and somehow, in spite of the torturous pain, Suzan was able to remember that when Andrew had spitted Alice and the Nubian girl, he’d had to pause several times to rub lubricant on another short length of the pole that was about to enter its victim.  She knew what little of her life that remained to her would be nothing but a fog of extreme pain and humiliation as her body was run through with this spit pole that had only just begun its journey through her.  And then there was the gutting, when Andrew would rip her belly open and let her guts drop into that garbage pit yawning open in the floor directly ahead of her.  Then he would use a red hot cauterizing iron to sear all her blood vessels closed that had once fed her internal organs to keep her from knowing the relief of bleeding to death before she could be brought live to roast and end her life in a searing ordeal of intense heat.  After the gutting and cauterizing would come perhaps the most humiliating part of her entire ordeal, when Andrew would hose out her abdominal cavity and he and his assistant would stuff her full of vegetables and sew her belly back shut like a common farm animal being prepared for the roaster. 

            It chilled Suzan to the bone to realize that she really was nothing more than a farm animal being slaughtered in an admittedly unique way to prepare her to serve as the evening’s meal.  She was no longer Suzan.  She was dinner.  There would be no grave for her, no memorial service.  Her fate was to pass through the digestive tracts of her master and his guests and then be returned to the earth as so much shit being flushed down any number of toilets and processed through some sewage treatment facility before being dumped into some landfill or flushed into a stream or river somewhere.  Andrew began to push the spit deeper into her.  Suzan really was trying to hold back her reactions to the pain, but it was so much more intense than anything she had known before, it was impossible to remain stoic and silent as her spit made its way up through her.  She wished she knew more about female anatomy so she could know what particular pain came from which organ being breached.  She felt another sharp pain and guessed that the tip of the spit pole had just ripped through the roof of her uterus.   She had no idea what lay between there and the spit’s eventual entrance into her stomach to find the way up her esophagus into her throat and finally out her mouth. 

            What lay in the spit’s path was an incredible amount of the most intense, exquisite pain Suzan had ever experienced.  She didn’t need to know which of her organs was being violated to know that each successive centimeter the spit made its way up through her brought even more intense pain all along the hard column slowly rising through her.  She felt yet another sharp pain as the spit breached the wall of yet another organ, and a burning sensation in her belly told her the spit had probably found its way into her stomach, and now her stomach acid was leaking into parts of her body not designed to deal with it.  She felt Andrew advance the spit a few centimeters and then pause and seem to be probing, poking it gently until he found a spot that offered least resistance.  He’d found her esophagus.  That pipeline that had brought her food from her mouth down to her stomach would now give the spit pole its safe passage past her heart and lungs as it made its way on up toward her throat and mouth.  There would be no early relief for her from this terrible agony- no accidental piercing of the heart to put a sudden end to her ordeal. 

            As Suzan felt the spit pole begin to move up through her again, surging upward slowly but steadily through her esophagus, she knew she was doomed to experiencing the full horror of her spitting and roasting to death, just as Alice and the Nubian girl and so many other girls had before her.  She was not Suzan any longer, but roaster number 7389 on her way to being cooked and served to Mister James Timsdale and his guests.  She was still squirming against her restraints, still crying out and even screaming as the shaft made its way through her, but in spite of her struggles, Andrew managed to do his usual excellent job of keeping the spit in the proper alignment to insure it did minimal damage to Suzan on its trip through her.  The whole point of spit roasting, after all, was to prolong the subject’s agony so that she and any who had gathered to share her experience of her distress could enjoy the show for as long as possible.  If a girl was slow-roasted- placed over the coals at a higher position at first to allow her to cook more slowly and insure that her meat was as tender and juicy as it could possibly be- she might live for hours before succumbing to the heat slowly cooking her.  Some girls had been known to live until they were lowered just before serving to a position closer to the red-hot coals to brown and sear their skin to a crispy, delicious perfection.

            The spit pole was nearly through her now.  Suzan was still screaming with the intensity of the pain, but it was suddenly in her throat and cut off her scream as it surged up past her fragile windpipe.  Instinctively, as it entered the back of her mouth, Suzan lifted her head and opened her mouth and felt the tip of the pole fill her mouth and then move out past her lips.  Her mouth was full of the taste of her own blood, and the pole made it impossible for her to swallow. And then, her eyes forced themselves to focus on a point just beyond her nose where the bloodied tip of her spit pole suddenly appeared in her field of view.  If Suzan had held out any hope that she might somehow survive this, that her wounded body could be repaired if her master suddenly decided that she was more important to him than his business clients, those hopes were now demolished by the sight of the bloody spit tip moving on out ahead of her until enough of it protruded from her mouth to allow her arms to be stretched out and secured to it.   There would be even more of her spit still protruding from her pussy, Suzan knew, so that an anchor post could be slid over it and shoved into her ass to make sure that her body rotated smoothly and cooked evenly as the spit turned over the coals.  She felt Andrew lifting the back end of her spit pole, and a second later, she felt him shove the sharp anchor post into her ass.  He guided it slowly at first until he felt that the tip of the post had reached the point where her colon made a nearly right angle turn to loop across her abdominal cavity to receive the end of the small intestine. 

            Suzan felt a sharp pain up in her ass.  It suddenly faded as Andrew withdrew the anchor post an inch or so, but then he suddenly shoved it as deep into her as it would go as powerfully as he could, and in spite of the pole filling her mouth and  throat, Suzan still managed to squeal loudly, tears running down her cheeks as her body reacted to the shock of this sudden new pain.  She felt more movement back there as Andrew deftly locked the anchor post into position, and yet more as she felt him releasing her ankles from their restraints.   He grasped one ankle, and Suzan felt a sharp pain pierce it as he ran the pin through it that would keep her legs extended out behind her and not allow them to fall into the coals.  He seized her other ankle and she felt the piercing pain in that one, too, and when he let loose of her there, she felt the pin through her ankles come to rest against the spit pole.  Yet another lifting sensation back there, and she knew he was attaching the drive gear that would engage another gear attached to the motor at her roasting pit to begin turning her slowly as she began to cook.  Andrew was in front of her now, and she had to watch him release her wrists from their bonds and run the slender pin through them to let her arms rest out in front of her supported by the spit pole.  An attendant was suddenly there, as if on cue, and began to smear the fire retardant gel into her hair to insure it wouldn’t burn or be damaged in any way during her roasting.  Her master had told Andrew that before she was served, he wanted her head brought to the table to serve as a centerpiece so that all his guests would know who had given her life to make her body available for their delicious meal. 

 

 

            This phase of her preparation was complete.  The next phase promised to be even more painful.  Andrew wheeled the carts into position at either end of her that would support her and her spit through the next phase of her preparation.  He lifted the front of her pole and slid the cart beneath it and let the pole down to rest in the support cradle, and then he was behind her moving the second cart into position back there.  Suzan now hung for the first time with her weight fully suspended on the pole running through her body on which she would very soon be roasting to death.  A new surge of pain rocked her body as it settled down onto the spit.  Only the pelvic support remained beneath her, and now Andrew slipped that out from beneath her, and Suzan cringed as she felt and saw herself being wheeled over toward the gutting pit.  She was not at all pleased that she could see the assortment of knives hanging from a bracket on her front support cart.  She was grateful, though, that the angle her spit was holding her head up didn’t allow her to see down into the gutting pit as she was moved into position over it.  The awful smell rising from it was bad enough.  She could feel her wounded stomach trying to disgorge its meager contents, but it couldn’t because her spit pole now obstructed her esophagus.  No matter, she thought.  My stomach and its contents are about to fall into that stinking pit, along with everything else in my belly.

            “You’re doing wonderfully, Suzan,” Andrew reassured her.  “I’m sure your master is very proud of you, aren’t you, Sir?”

            “Yes, Andrew, very proud,” her master spoke, but his voice lacked any sense of sincerity. 

            Suzan didn’t feel like she was doing wonderfully.  She’d been screaming and squealing her agony from the first instant that the tip of her spit breached here cervix.  The pain down there just inside her pussy was still every bit as intense as the pain all along the rigid, thick shaft of steel now carrying her weight as she hung suspended over the gutting pit.  She was not at all looking forward to this next part.  There was something about gutting that Suzan knew would complete her transformation from slave girl to menu item.  She was, or at least she felt she was for the moment, still human- a very severely wounded and doomed human, but nonetheless, a human.  Once her belly was opened and her guts fell out of her into that pit beneath her, she would no longer be human, only a less than human animal in the process of being slaughtered.  Andrew stood beside her now.  Suzan saw him reach for a long, lethal looking knife and take it into his hand, and she saw him test the weight and feel of it in his hand.   She felt a gentle hand on her back sliding down her spine to her ass.  He caressed her ass cheeks, then slid his hand back up to the small of her back, just above her waist, and she tensed as she felt his gentle hand suddenly press down hard against her back as a sudden new pain ripped into her belly. She felt the blade go deep into her just above the pelvic bone and then rip upward until it met the resistance of the bottom of her breast bone.  Suzan ‘s body jerked violently in the only way it could, stretching out and then contracting itself along the length of the spit running through it.  She felt her intestines sliding out of her abdominal cavity, dangling down into the pit.  The knife raped her anew, cutting across her just below her ribcage, and the flaps of her belly flesh fell open to allow even more of her guts to fall free of her belly.  Andrew had taken another smaller knife now and was working inside her belly now, swiftly, expertly cutting away connective tissues and severing and clamping blood vessels to allow her guts to fall free.  Suzan couldn’t see, but she thought she heard the sound of Cherish disgorging the contents of her own stomach.  It gave Suzan a sense of relief, however slight, to know that Cherish was now beginning to understand what she had gotten herself into when she’d signed her life away to her new master.  She hoped Cherish was now experiencing the terror she could remember experiencing as she watched Alice meet her fate and knowing that it would be her fate too, all too soon.

 

 

           Now it was her fate.  The stench rising from the pit now was overwhelming, and it was her stench, the smell of her organs joining whatever else might be rotting down there in that pit.  Suzan felt herself suddenly spin around until she was hanging on her spit face up.  She was grateful that no one had thought to put a mirror on the ceiling over this spot to allow the gutted victim to see the reflection of her opened, empty belly.  Andrew was quickly back at work over her inflicting fresh points of pain each time he unclamped a blood vessel and seared it shut with his cauterizing iron.  Why, Suzan wondered, can’t I slip into unconsciousness and escape this horrible, unending pain?  Was one of the pills my master made me take at home this morning something to insure that I couldn’t fall into unconsciousness and avoid some of this pain?  Now, he rotated Suzan onto her side so that she faced him, but tilted slightly face down.  He had a hose in his hand now and quickly washed her belly cavity clean with steaming hot high pressure water.  The position he had turned her to allowed most of the water and blood and bits of unwanted flesh remaining in her to wash free and drop into the pit.  Finished with her internal cleansing, Andrew rotated her face down briefly to allow anything left in her belly cavity to escape.  Finally, he turned her back over face up and rolled her over to the table where his attendant waited to help him pack Suzan’s belly full of potatoes and onions and other vegetables and herbs.  Suzan felt bloated, stuffed, almost as if she had eaten far too much, when the assistant had finished sewing her belly shut again.  Andrew rotated her back to face down position.

            “There we are, my dear,” Andrew said, bending over her a bit to let her see his face.  It’s ll over but the cooking now, and you were a truly delightful young lady to spit.  And Suzan, thank you so much for that beautiful fuck you gave me.  I’ll remember that until the day they lower me into my grave…  Well, as you know, all that’s left for you now is the roasting.  Are you ready to begin cooking, child?  Mister, Timsdale, is it still your desire to help me hand carry Suzan here over to her roasting pit?”

            “Why, yes it is, Andrew,” her master replied.  “Thank you for reminding me.  I had quite forgotten that little promise I made to Suzan.”

            He hefted the tip of the pole out beyond her head onto his shoulder as Andrew shouldered the other end of her spit, and Suzan felt her weight hanging on the pole being bounced uncomfortably with each step they took.  As they entered the roasting room, she felt the heat of the several pits coming out of the room to greet her.

            “Ah, here we are,” Andrew said.  “Pit number three.  “Mister Timsdale, if you’ll just set her down onto the next to highest brace, there,… yes, that’s perfect, and now, I set her down back here, and there she goes,” he said as Suzan felt the pit motor grab her drive gear and begin to turn her.  Even as high above the coals as she had been placed to insure she roasted slowly and would provide the most tender and juicy meat, she could feel the powerful heat of the coals beneath her penetrating deep into her.  It wouldn’t be long before the accumulated effect would be intolerable.   Her master stood there and watched her turn until she came to a position that allowed him to bend in over her and kiss her cheek. 

            “Thank you so much, Suzan, for all the pleasure you’ve given me in your service to me,” he said.  “You truly have been the finest slave I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I’m going to miss you dearly.” It almost sounded sincere, Suzan thought before he added, Well, goodbye, my dear.  It’s time for you to roast, and unfortunately, I have a very busy schedule today.  Cherish, I’m feeling very tense and in need of some relief.  I think you need to follow me up to my private suite here and let me get rid of some of this tension and excitement that’s built up in me watching our lovely Suzan here being prepared for our dinner tonight.  I think I’m going to have to whip and fuck you quite vigorously to rid myself of this tension.  Come, child.  You have some very strenuous work ahead of you.”

            Cherish glanced at Suzan, and as Suzan’s face rotated past, a little hint of a smile flickered across Cherish’s mouth.

            “Yes, Master.” She said.

 

Posted: 19-Sep-2011 - 3 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
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Daja’s Rough Night

 

You awaken to find yourself feeling groggy and hung over and disoriented.  You are flat on your back, spread eagle, and you are naked, and worse yet, you are tied to the bed you find yourself in, bound at the wrists and ankles by ropes secured to the bed.  As you gradually come to your senses, you realize that your pussy feels wet and sore and, well, recently used.  You remember nothing.  The last thing you do remember was leaving that fraternity party and staggering across campus alone headed back to your dorm, promising yourself you'll never let yourself get that drunk again. 

Then, nothing, or do you vaguely remember the feel of someone behind you grabbing you and pressing some sort of sickly sweet smelling cloth over your mouth?  That must be a memory, you think, and not a bad dream, or you wouldn't be in the situation you find yourself in now.  Your eyes are beginning to focus in spite of a raging hangover that probably has as much to do with the sickening smell of that cloth over your mouth as it has to do with all the alcohol you consumed. 

Suddenly, your heart stops and leaps into your throat and is immediately racing as you see something that tells you that you are in a lot more precarious position than you had imagined.  A noosed rope is hanging from the ceiling at the foot of the bed.   A chair is beneath it.  You don't need anyone to tell you that rope has your name on it.  You start to scream for help.  You have no idea where you are, though, and it soon becomes clear that there is no one around who might be inclined to help you. 

There is someone there, though.  A giant of a man comes into the room and stands over the bed and leers down at you taking in your nakedness.  Is this hulking giant the reason your pussy is feeling so sore and well used this morning?  Even the muscles in your thighs and belly ache today, and the way they are aching suggests to you that you must have had a lot of hellacious orgasms when whoever he is did whatever he did to you.  Now you are momentarily disappointed that you were apparently unconscious when you were raped.  None of the handful of boys you've had sex with before have ever managed to bring you to climax while fucking you.  One was kind enough to finish the job orally when he realized he was leaving you not quite as satisfied with his efforts as he was with yours, but this is apparently the first time a cock moving through you has gotten you off, and you missed it. 

Have no fear, though.  You're about to get a repeat performance before the rest of this ogre's plan comes to fruition.  He smirks and laughs and stands over you as he removes his shirt and pants, and the sight you behold takes your breath away and makes you momentarily forget the noose hanging there so menacingly, waiting for its occupant.  He kneels, not between your spread thighs, but over your chest.  When he presses his massive cock to your lips, you press them shut and turn your head away from him. 

"Do you see that noose?" he asks you.  How could you not see it?  "The longer you amuse me, the longer your pretty little neck stays out of that noose.  Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

You understand.  You debate with yourself for a few seconds whether you'd rather die right away or try to appease this bastard and stay alive a little longer, maybe long enough to figure out a way to escape.  You turn your head back and open your mouth, and it is immediately full of by far the biggest cock you have or will ever know.  He reaches down and has his hand behind your head, and he lifts your head and pushes your mouth further onto his cock.  There is no way you can take the whole thing.  You tried to deep throat a guy with a normal sized cock once and gagged on that.  This one must be every bit of a foot long and twice as thick as a normal cock.  The man is deformed.  Pretty soon, your jaws ache as badly as your pussy does. 

He is erect now, though, and he jerks his cock from your mouth and moves back down between your thighs, and with your own saliva as lubricant, plus the remains of what he has done to you the previous night, he shoves himself into you.  You cry out with the pain of it.  This is definitely the reason your pussy is so sore this morning.  No gentle lover is this creature.  He slams his monster cock into you, thrusting deep and powerfully with each stroke.  Now you begin to wonder if you wouldn't have been better off letting him hang you instead of trying to postpone the inevitable.  He's going to do it anyway.  You know he is.  At least you could die with some shred of your dignity left, but now, you feel it growing in your belly.  Something is stirring inside you the likes of which you have never known.  It is far more powerful and urgent than any orgasm you've had before, and it is not to be denied.   You try to hold it off as long as you can, trying to deny your rapist the satisfaction of knowing he has done this last humiliation to you.  Then it goes off in you, like a nuclear explosion in your pussy.  You have never had an orgasm that was even a shadow of what this one is.   Your entire body is caught up in the obscene dance you perform beneath him as his cock still slams home into you. 

It will not stop.  In other orgasms you've managed to give to yourself, you've felt like you are being tossed about by wave after wave of pleasure.  With this one, it is not so much that you're being tossed about on the waves.  You are the waves.  Your body has become a powerful orgasmic churning sea, and it goes on and on and on.  The guy is not only huge, he has immense staying power, too, and he is using every ounce of his strength to hold himself back as long as he possibly can to prolong your shame and agony.  Your body surrenders itself to his dominance blissfully.  Your mind and soul hate what is happening to you, but your body loves every second, every powerful thrust into your tortured pussy.  And then it happens.  Suddenly he is coming, and he jerks himself from your pussy and lunges up over you to plunge his spurting cock into your mouth again to shoot jet after thick, hot jet of his semen into your mouth, keeping his cock wedged in there until you have no choice but to swallow his offering.  

"How did you like your last meal?" he asks, laughing, when he finally senses that you have swallowed his semen.  He withdraws from you and squeezes one more jet of his cum out across your chest.  "OK," he says.  "We've had our little morning workout.  It's a good day for dying, don't you think?"

He gets up off of you and goes over to where his rope has been secured to the wall on some sort of bracket.  He loosens the rope at that end and brings the noose down and slips it over your head and snugs it down around your neck.  Your body is still jerking and shivering through the remains of your most recent orgasm as he begins to loosen the bonds that held you prisoner.  Your heart is racing even faster now than it was while he was raping you.  He loosens first your hands and then your feet, and the moment you are free, you don't know where you have found the strength to do it, but you leap from the bed and try to run, but a sudden jerk at your neck puts an end to your escape.  He has grabbed the rope and is pulling it tight.  You can't go anywhere without choking yourself. 

The adrenalin surge that gave you the strength to try to flee abandons you now, and you collapse to the floor, crying, begging him for mercy, telling him anything you think he wants to hear that might keep you alive.  You tell him you want to feel his big cock in you again.  You tell him you've never had one in the ass and you want his there.  He has other plans for you, though.  By pulling on the rope, he forces you to get to your feet, and then to climb onto the chair, the last thing your feet will ever feel beneath them.  Keeping the rope taut so that you can't pull it loose from your neck, he goes back to the wall and secures that end of it again and gives it a tug to make sure it will hold your weight when he pulls the chair out from beneath you.  Now he comes back to you carrying a length of cord and makes short work of binding your hands together behind your back.  You are crying, screaming, pleading with him to spare you as he calmly puts his clothes back on.  He opens a black canvas bag that has been sitting on the floor and retrieves an expensive looking video camera from it.  He mounts it on a tripod and aims it at you, fusses with it for a moment and then slips the remote control for it into his shirt pocket.  Now, he produces an equally expensive looking digital SLR camera and snaps a picture of you standing there waiting for the end.  He moves in closer and tells you to smile and snaps a close-up of your face.  This close to death you still can't help wondering how awful you must look.  Makeup destroyed, hair a disaster, cum dripping from your chin.   He turns the camera around to show you the picture in the viewfinder.  It is worse than even you have imagined. 

"Don't worry," he taunts you.  "You'll look even worse in a few minutes."  And with that, he suddenly kicks the chair out from beneath you, and you are hanging.  Your scream is cut off by the rope suddenly seizing at your throat.  You hear the chair go skittering across the floor.  There is nothing beneath you now but the floor several inches past where your toes can reach it.  Your heart is racing even faster.  It feels like it is going to explode.  Your neck hurts where the rope is cutting into it, the coarse hemp fibers scratching at your skin.  Your windpipe is obstructed, but you can still manage to suck in tiny wisps of air.  They are nowhere nearly enough to satisfy your body's sudden craving for it, though.  You are kicking and twisting and struggling to free your hands, hoping to be able to reach the noose and pull it away from your neck, but he has bound you too tightly.  You are dying, and there is nothing you can do about it but dangle there and wait for it to happen.  Still, your body can't not try to save itself, even though it is futile to try and the effort is only making things worse for you.  Each twist and kick snugs the noose a little tighter around your neck.  Your lungs are on fire, unable to expel the stale air or take in nearly enough fresh air to satisfy your body's craving for oxygen. 

How long is this going to take, you wonder?  Each agonizing second seems like an hour.  Your eyes search around the room as you twist and spin, searching for- for what?  A savior?  There will be none.  You spot your captor calmly taking pictures of your death struggle and can't help noticing the little red light on the front of the video camera that tells you it is recording your torment.  What is he going to do with the video and the pictures?  Sell them on the Internet to sick bastards who are willing to pay to see young women die?  Are you the first he has done this to?  Will you be the last? 

You feel yourself weakening.  Your skin up from where the rope has seized your neck, is hot and flushed from all the blood trapped there.  Tiny blood vessels in your skin are bursting under the pressure of all that blood the heart has pumped up into your head that can't get back down to the rest of your body.  Your head aches and your eyes are bloodshot, too.  Your face is a purplish red color.  

When you try to kick and struggle, your legs are feeling heavier and heavier.  It takes every ounce of strength you can muster to lift them.  It won't be very long now, you realize, but not very long is too long.  You know you are as good as dead and you just want and need this agony and shame to be over.  You don't even want to think about all the sick bastards who will be masturbating to this video or drooling over the still pictures he is still taking of you. 

Something is happening now, though, and it is not nearly as agonizing as every other aspect of this has been.  Something is stirring in your belly, and you recognize it immediately and know that this one is going to be even more overpowering than the ones you just had while he was raping you.  It grows larger and more powerful, and there is no holding it back.   Suddenly, it erupts within you and as it has you in its grip, it washes away all the shame and all the pain and horror that have been yours, and it is magnitudes more powerful than the ones your rapist inflicted on you.  Your body finds strength you no longer had to buck and shake and jerk through its final orgasm, and as you hang there, limp now except for a few final involuntary orgasmic twitches, you feel a sweet, calm and soothing darkness settle over you.  You slip into unconsciousness, and a moment or two later, your heart beats its last beat. 

Posted: 8-Sep-2011 - 2 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
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Katharina

 

Glad you like the drawing of you about to be executed. Care to experience it? How would it be for you to stand there while that woman slowly goes through the prescribed ritual of preparing you to be suspension hanged to death? Your hands are bound behind your back. She opens your shirt to affix the heart monitor's sensor to your chest. and leaves the monitor itself dangling outside your shirt. You've already had the enema and been allowed to empty your bladder as much as you can. An anal plug has been inserted in your ass and you are wearing a diaper under your dress to catch the inevitable release of your urine stream as you hang. You can hear the clock ticking away the final seconds of your life. There isn't much time left now.

This woman likes you. She doesn't think your capital sentence is fair given your crime, but she has a job to do. She gives you a little kiss and tells you she is sorry she has to do this and that they won't let her long-drop hang you so that you won't suffer so much. You thank her for her kindness. She slips the hood over your head and pulls it down into place so that it covers your neck. You are panicking now. You can't see anything, and you can barely breathe, even though the noose hasn't even been put around your neck yet. Then, there it is. You feel her hands slipping the noose over your head and sliding it down to your neck.

You are trying hard to be brave. You like her and don't want to make her job any more difficult than it already is, but you can't help yourself. You are crying, and you cry out as you feel her snugging the noose around your neck. You feel yourself peeing into your diaper already, too, even though you tried your best to empty your bladder as much as you could. The anal plug is pretty big, and the longer it is in you, the worse it hurts. You don't know how you are managing to stand there and allow this to happen to you. You can't see to run anymore, but you know you are standing directly beneath the winch in the ceiling that will lift you off your feet once she attaches the noose to it. You can't believe your legs haven't collapsed.

You feel her body against yours as she steps closer to reach up to attach your noose to the wire from the winch. She is carrying out her duties as quickly as she can, not because she is eager to see you die, but because she wishes to spare you as much of the agony of waiting for it to happen as she can. She knows even better than you that there will be no last minute call from the governor to spare you. Not in this state. The governor is probably watching the proceedings on closed-circuit TV, savoring every second of your agony. Your noose is attached to the winch now. Nothing remains to be done except the final step, and you know she must already have the control box for the winch in her hand, her thumb on the "UP" button. You feel her arms encircle you as she hugs you briefly. You feel her lips on your forehead through the hood.

She kisses you lightly and whispers to you, "Goodbye, Katharina. Please forgive me, child." You feel her release you from her embrace and hear the winch motor come to life. You take a deep breath and your heart explodes in your chest as you feel the noose pull tight against your neck. Suddenly, it is choking you and lifting you. You point your toes down to cling to the floor for as long as possible, but as slowly as the winch is lifting you, choking you, the floor is too soon gone from beneath your feet. You are hanging. You know that you are dying. You want it to happen quickly to spare you this awful, painful, terrifying ordeal, but it will not happen quickly. Nearly fifteen agonizing minutes later a massive orgasm slams through your belly like a freight train, and in its wake, you slip into unconsciousness. Your body continues to twitch through the remainder of your orgasm and your death throes for several more minutes, but you are not aware of any of it now.

Seven minutes later, the heart monitor's tone switches from an erratic beeping to a soft, solid tone. Your heart has stopped. Your executioner makes note of the time of your death in your file and sits down to recover from her own emotional ordeal. Execution policy requires that you hang for one hour past the time of your death. She sits with you the entire time. When it is time to lower you, she wheels a cart into place beneath you, and presses the "DOWN" button on her control box. She gently guides your body into place on the cart as the winch lowers you, and when she has removed the noose and raised the winch out of her way, she removes your hood and gasps at the sight.

She has done this so many times before, she is surprised by her reaction to the sight of your face in death. It is flushed a reddish purple color because of all the tiny burst blood vessels in your skin above the line around your neck where the noose strangled you. Your eyes are open and bloodshot, your fear still showing in them even though they no longer see. Your mouth is open and your tongue is swollen and protruding, and drool clings to your chin and soaks the hood where it was against your mouth. She has seen all of these marks of death so often before that the sight of them no longer bothers her, usually, but you were special. You were such a beautiful young woman, so young and so naive, and your sentence was so unfair.

She is a lesbian, and she secretly loved you and dreamed that she could get you pardoned, and that you would be so grateful to her for your life, you would fall in love with her and give yourself to her eagerly to show your gratitude. There was no pardon, though, and she was too much the professional to allow anyone other than her to be your executioner. If it had to happen, she wanted to make sure it happened as humanely and mercifully as possible. She wanted to be there, too, to see and hear you experience that final, massive orgasm that sent you spiraling off into infinity.

Posted: 23-Aug-2011 - 2 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
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Tania

 

            It has been an exhausting day.  Classes all day long, and then the owner of the tavern where you normally only work weekends insisted you come in to work for another girl who called off sick.  You have always hated the girl who called off.  You know she is nothing but a cheap whore who probably isn’t sick at all.  She probably made a date with one of her customers from the night before, and now she’s probably in a nice soft bed somewhere making a few extra Euros getting herself fucked senseless while you’ve had to drag your tired body and trays full of drinks around the tavern all night and put up with the groping and propositions from all the men in the tavern.  One man in particular was especially obnoxious, and you were glad to see him leave shortly before closing.  The bastard didn’t even leave you a tip.  Now, as you make your way home through the darkened, deserted streets of your village, you can’t wait to fall into your bed and get some rest, even though you know you should stay up all night to do the reading assignment you would have finished hours ago if you hadn’t had to work. 

            As you make your way through the empty streets, you begin to feel a sense of dread that someone is following you.  You look back over your shoulder and see no one and laugh at your paranoia.  The sense that someone is following you doesn’t go away, though, so you quicken your pace.  You hear a sound that startles you into crying out sharply, but again, when you turn to look behind you, you see nothing but the empty street.  A tomcat out prowling for a little female companionship must have knocked something over somewhere, you figure, and again you laugh at your paranoia.  Suddenly, before you can turn around to continue your walk home, strong arms grab you, and a powerful hand presses some kind of cloth against your nose and mouth.  You smell something sickeningly sweet, and you barely have time to notice that your heart is racing as darkness envelops you and you feel your body going limp. 

            You awaken with a raging headache.  You are in a dark, confining space, and you seem to be moving.  The boot of a car, you think as your senses slowly come back to you.  Your hands are bound behind your back, and your ankles are tied, too, and your legs have been pulled up behind you, and the ropes at your wrists and ankles are either all one and the same or they are secured to each other so that you cannot straighten yourself out.  You try to cry out but can only manage an “Mmmmmmmmpphhh,” sound because some kind of adhesive tape is covering your mouth.  It is wrapped clear around your head.  More of the same stuff seems to be wrapped around your head covering your eyes.

            You panic.  You are sure now that you are trapped in the boot of an automobile, and it seems to be traveling very quickly.  Why have you been taken, and where is he taking you?  You know it must be a man.  You remember the power and strength of his grip before whatever he held to your mouth knocked you out.  What does he intend to do to you when he gets you to wherever he is taking you?  You realize you probably don’t want to know, but you can’t help imagining all sorts of horrors.  You will almost certainly be raped, you think, unless the man is impotent, and if he is, you don’t even want to think about how he might vent his rage on you.  You thank God that you finally got around to losing your virginity a few weeks earlier and have been enjoying a fairly active sex life ever since- at least as active as your busy schedule has allowed.  You do not even want to contemplate what it would be like losing your virginity to a rapist.  It was traumatic enough losing it to a boy you liked and wanted to do that with.  You really liked Paolo and were only too happy to give your chastity to him, and to keep on giving yourself to him at every opportunity after that first terrifying and wonderful night with him.  You were so frightened that it would be much too painful, but he was so gentle and loving, and it wasn’t nearly as bad as you had feared, and you were so grateful to him for making it so much better than you had expected that you allowed him to have you over and over that night and you thanked God that you had found a boy who seemed like he was going to be able to satisfy this new hunger you now knew any time you felt the need of him.

            Now, you can’t help wondering if you are ever going to see Paolo again, and if you do, will he still want you after you had been despoiled and disgraced by your unknown captor?  Will you ever want even your lover Paolo to touch you again if you manage to live through whatever now lies ahead of you?  Somehow, you can’t help thinking that is the least of your worries.  More and more, as you think about your situation and your fears and deepest dreads seize you, you wonder if you are even going to survive this ordeal.  If he does kill you, how will he do it?  What is it like to die?  What will it be like if he rapes me?  Will my body react in the same way as it does when Paolo loves me?  Will I come over and over as I do with Paolo now that he finally has figured out how to make that happen to me?  Oh God!  If I do come for him as I do for Paolo, I’ll be just as bad as Lucia, that whore.  I hope that bitch catches AIDS from whoever she’s with tonight and dies a slow, horrible death.  It’s all her fault I was even out there tonight walking home that late alone.  If she had worked like she was supposed to, I would have been with Paolo in his bed and she’d be the one who is about to get herself raped.  That bitch of a whore would probably love every second of it, you think. 

            The thought that it was you who were captured walking home late from the tavern and not Lucia makes you start to wonder if the man who has kidnapped you was in the tavern tonight.  Did he sit there drinking all evening sizing you up knowing he was going to kidnap you when the tavern closed?  Was it that rude and arrogant man who was such a pain in your ass all evening long?  He did leave just before closing, you recall now.  It would have given him time to hide himself somewhere along your route home and be ready to pounce on you as you passed.  But how did he know which way you would walk, or even that you would be walking and not driving home?  Has he been stalking me, you wonder?  Has he watched me for a while to learn my habits and figure out how best to capture me? 

            You have no idea how long you have been trapped in the boot of this car or how far you might have been driven away from your home village.  It seems like a long time, though, and you realize you could be hundreds of kilometers from home by now.  The car slows and turns, and the sound of the tires on the pavement changes.  Your heart begins to race as you realize you are traveling slowly now on a different kind of road surface and might be nearing your destination.  You have guessed correctly.  The car comes to a halt, and your heart leaps into your throat as you wait to see who has kidnapped you and what he intends to do with you.  You feel yourself being lifted out of the boot of the car and hoisted onto his shoulder.  It is disorienting and dizzying because you cannot see where you are being taken.  You hear a door open and feel yourself brushing against something- the frame of the door, maybe.  Panicked, you feel yourself being carried up stairs.  The man carrying you must be very strong.  Your weight added to his own hardly slows his progress up the stairs, and you can’t even hear him breathing much harder than normal.    You know you are in serious trouble.  As strong as he must be, he will be able to do just about anything he wants to you, and you will be powerless to resist his strength.  Another door, and suddenly, he tosses you off his shoulder, and before you can brace yourself to hit the floor, you fall onto something soft.  A bed?  Oh God!  He is going to rape me, you think. 

            Rough hands release you from your bonds, but only briefly.  You try to struggle to free yourself from his grip, but he is much too strong for you, and it doesn’t help that you are still blindfolded by that tape wrapped around your head that covers your eyes.  You can’t even try to bite him because of the tape over your mouth.  As soon as he has freed you from the bonds that held you until now, he is binding you again.  Now you lie on your back on a mattress or something equally soft, and your arms are sprawled out to either side of you above your head, your wrists secured to some sort of framework beyond your head- a headboard of some kind?  You are crying and struggling as he secures first one ankle, then the next and you find yourself spread-eagle on whatever you are lying on.  It must be a bed, you think.  At least you are still clothed, but that is about to change, and he doesn’t bother to release you from your bonds to make you get undressed.  It doesn’t take you very long at all to figure out that he is somehow getting you out of your clothes.  He is cutting them off of you!  Your skirt is gone, and then your top.  You bought that outfit to attract Paolo, and it worked so well, it was worth the nearly two hundred Euros you paid for those two items.  Now, although you can’t see it, you know it must be in ruins.  Your thong panties are ripped away from you, and then the bra, and now you lie naked and bound and defenseless, and you still have no idea who has done this and what he intends to do next. 

            It doesn’t take him long to relieve you of your suspense.  There is a moment’s delay, and then you feel the bed giving as his weight joins yours on it.  He is kneeling between your spread legs, and when he moves in closer, you feel his naked hairy thighs against your own smooth, soft skin.  You are crying and struggling against your bonds, and your heart is racing so fast you fear it will explode.  Your pussy has known only one penis until now.  She has known it a lot over the past few weeks, but now you feel her readying herself for the assault of another man’s penis, and you can’t believe she is pumping out your love fluids as eagerly as she does when she knows she is about to have Paolo’s beautiful cock inside her.  Your clitoris is throbbing with anticipation, and your labia are already swollen and sensitive and gorged with blood, ready to take on the assault you know is coming.  Your breasts are swollen and sensitive, the nipples hard and erect and eager for someone, anyone to touch them.  You can’t believe you’re about to be raped, and you can’t even see who is going to do it to you.  Will he ever let you see who he is? 

            Suddenly, something butts up against your pussy, and as you feel it rub against you gathering your fluids to lubricate things, you realize that the cock that is about to violate you is bigger than the only other one you have known- sweet Paolo’s beautiful cock.  This one is a lot bigger.  You sense it the moment it forces its way past your labia and sinks ever so slightly into your pussy.  Oh God!  It’s immense!  You squeal with terror as it slowly stretches you and forces its way up into you.  It feels like it must be at least half again as thick as Paolo’s, and that is just the head and beginning of the barrel of it.  How much fatter can it be down at the base where even Paolo’s thickness still stretches you a little uncomfortably, and how much longer is it than Paolo’s?  Very much longer, you soon discover.  It is deeper into you than Paolo has ever gone, and still this man is pushing himself into you, stretching you painfully.  It hurts worse now than it did the night Paolo took your virginity, and this is not the same kind of pain that is going to diminish quickly as it did once Paolo managed to tear through your hymen and get himself into you.  It takes him a few strokes, but finally, it feels like he’s gotten himself completely into you.  The shaft of pain rising from your pussy up into the deepest recesses of your belly tells you that your rapist must be nearly twice the length of Paolo’s cock. 
            He holds it deep inside you for a while, and he settles his weight down over you.  You feel his breath against your ear and his weight pressing you deeper into the mattress.  Now, his rough hands are on your breasts, and you could hardly call what he is doing to them fondling.  More like tormenting, you think.  He pinches the nipples hard.  You are being raped.  You have a huge man’s cock in you that you do not want to be there, and the worst part of all of this is that you can’t see who is doing this to you or read his eyes for some clue as to what he might intend to do with you once he has fucked you to his satisfaction and left your tortured pussy in tatters.  Your bonds don’t even allow you to struggle against him with any effectiveness, and given the strength you feel in his body, you have to wonder why he felt he had to tie you down to be able to have his way with you.  He proved to you when he was tying you down to the bed that you are no match for his strength. 

            His cock begins to move in you.  The pain is every bit as enormous as the shaft of meat must be that is inflicting that pain on you.  He is inflicting more than pain on you, though.  It only takes you a few moments to realize that something is going to happen for you that you have only in the past week become comfortable enough in your relationship with Paolo to experience with him.  As wonderful as sex with Paolo has been from the first, it has only been in the past few times you’ve been with him that he’s been able to make you cum while he is inside you.  Already, you realize you are going to come soon with this man inside you, and he has only just begun to thrust himself into you with any vigor.  You are still crying and moaning against the pain of the massive cock ravaging your pussy, but in a matter of a moment or two, another kind of sound manages to squeeze past the tape sealing your mouth.  You are coming, much more powerfully than you ever have with Paolo.  You are ashamed that your body has betrayed you like this.

            Your orgasm only inspires the man.  Now he is thrusting that long, thick cock of his into you harder and faster.  The pain in your belly is unbearable, but so is the pleasure as that thick cock rubs constantly against your most sensitive spot- your clitoris.  You’ve lost all track of how long this has gone on.  It seems like it’s taking him forever, easily many times longer than Paolo ever managed to last in you, and you have been coming over and over, so much that the muscles in your belly and ass and legs beg for relief from this new exercise regimen they are being subjected to.  With your mouth taped over, your nose can barely keep up with your tortured body’s craving for oxygen.  Just when you think you are going to lose consciousness, he thrusts deep into you and holds himself there, and it is as if he has thrust a fireman’s high pressure hose into you.  His seed erupts into you with such force, it stings as it splashes against the roof of your vagina, and you count, …four, five, six powerful jets of his cum before the stream weakens to the point that you can no longer feel it.  You have never had a man’s seed in you before.  You have always made Paolo use a condom, and you were going to go on the pill so that you could let him have you without them, but you hadn’t seen your doctor yet.  Now you lie here spent and exhausted and very nearly passed out, and for the first time in your life, you have to wonder if you are going to get pregnant because of what this man has just done to you. 

            Does it even matter?  Are you going to live long enough to feel the stirrings of a new life in your belly?  You find it hard to believe that you will still be around nine months from now to deliver this demon’s spawn.  His cock is still buried in you acting as a stopper to keep his bountiful discharge from leaking out of you.  Suddenly, you feel something cold and hard against your chin.  What is it!?  Oh God!  A Knife!?  OH shit!  He’s going to slit my throat!  I’m going to die with this bastard’s cock still in me.  He doesn’t slit your throat, though.  Apparently, he has seen that you are having trouble breathing, and he swiftly slips the knife between your cheek and the tape and slices it, then rips the tape harshly away from your mouth.  You gasp for breath, struggling to make up the oxygen deficit your nose alone was not able to satisfy.  It takes you several seconds to get to the point that you can speak.

            “You bastard!” you cry when you can.  “Get off of me!  Let me go!”

            “You are in no position to be making demands,” he reminds you.  His voice is deep and cold and hard.  You feel the sharp edge of his knife against your throat.

            “No!  Please!  Don’t kill me!”

            “At least you asked nicely this time,” he taunts you and removes the knife from your throat.  “You’ll get the hang of this sooner or later.  So tell me, how did you like your first fuck with a real man?  I’ll bet your pretty little Paolo never did you like that, did he?”

            “How do you know Paolo!?”

            “I’ve been watching you for a while.  I’ve seen you with him.  By the way, your pretty little boyfriend is dead.  You should have heard him squeal and beg for mercy- just like a little girl.  It was such a thing of beauty to see.”
            “Noooo!” you cry.  “Not Paolo!  You don’t even know where he lives.”

            “Lived.” He corrects you, then gives you the name of the street and the number of Paolo’s address.  “I killed him earlier this evening,” he says, “and by the way, I killed the waitress you had to work for tonight, too.  I wanted you to have to work, so last night at the tavern, I gave her a quick glance at my cock and offered her a few Euros and told her to report off tonight and meet me for some fun.  She loved it, right up to the last second.  She was coming, and so was I as I cut her throat open.  You should have seen the look of surprise on her face.”

            You don’t want to believe him.  You hope he is just telling you these things to torture and frighten you, but somehow you understand that it is probably true.  You know nothing about him except for the size and power of his cock and his cold, evil heart, but what you do know is enough to convince you that he is more than capable of the things he claims to have done.  Now you are sure you will not survive this, and you wonder how long it will go on before he tires of you, and when he does, how will he kill you?  He withdraws from you and gets up off the bed.  You don’t have any idea if he is standing there watching you or if he has left you there alone.  You feel something warm oozing from you, and you pray that it is his semen.  As brutally as you’ve just been fucked by that massive cock, it could be your blood flowing from you.  Your pussy and belly still ache mightily.  You quickly lost track of how many orgasms you had, but you know it was easily more than you managed to have with Paolo ever since the two of you finally figured out how to get you to that wonderful goal, and once you began to come with Paolo, there was no stopping you.  You were in his bed at every opportunity after that, and you made sure there were a lot of opportunities in that too brief a time since your first orgasm with him.  Now, Paolo is probably dead, and sooner or later, you will be too. 

            You have no concept of time.  You don’t know if it’s day or night.  You’re not even sure how much time has passed since your captor tied you to this bed and raped you so brutally.  It seems like a considerable amount of time has passed, but for all you know, it could have been only a few minutes.  He is back, though, and he is working to release you from your bonds.  Again, though, he is only doing this to reposition you.   You try to struggle, but he is much too strong, and it doesn’t help a bit that you are still blindfolded.  He turns you over and forces you onto your hands and knees on the bed, but there is something else beneath you, holding you up- some sort of pillow, you think, but it is big and long and fairly firm and rounded.  It is long enough that it extends from beneath your belly forward between your arms so that you can rest your head on it.  Your blood turns to ice in your veins as you realize why you are being restrained in this position.  You are about to be fucked in the ass, and nobody and nothing has ever been in there before.  Ropes around your wrists and ankles and at your knees hold you in place.  You are screaming and crying and begging him not to do this, but it is useless.  You feel him on the bed behind you.  You feel him move up against you.  You feel his belly against your ass, his cock heavy and menacing resting for the moment in the crack of your ass. 

            His hands are on your hips for a moment, and he rubs his cock back and forth between the cheeks of your ass.  Now, his hands leave your hips and they are on your breasts, squeezing them harshly, pinching the nipples that are already too eagerly erect.  He backs away from you for a moment, and now you feel something cold and gelatinous drip onto your ass, right above the little rosebud that is about to get ripped to shreds.  His fingers smear that cold, slippery stuff around your ass hole, and then, one finger explodes into your rectum.  Just this one finger causes you to cry out in pain.  You try not to think about what his cock is about to do to you.  More of the lubricating gel around and into your ass, and then, there is a pause and you pray that he is smearing more of it onto his cock.  He is, but it won’t matter much.  It will just make it easier for him to force his way into you.

           

 

            As horrible and painful as his rape of your pussy was, it is nothing compared to the terrifying, excruciating explosion of pain in your ass when he manages to force himself through your tortured anal sphincter and thrust himself deep into your bowel.  Your screams threaten to shatter even your own eardrums.  It feels like he has ripped your ass wide open and is pouring molten lava into your gut.  You try to struggle and pull away from him, but the pain is so debilitating, and he is so much stronger than you, it is useless to try to resist him and only makes matters worse for you.  You are pinned between him and that long round, firm pillow beneath you, and his hands grip your shoulders now so that you cannot pull away from his thrusts.  When you can manage to form words, you pray to God and to your rapist to stop this torture, but neither one is listening to you, or if they are, they are both enjoying your suffering much too much to allow it to end.  The fiery pain goes so far up intro your belly, you are sure he must have done some serious damage in there. 

            Suddenly, he grasps your hips and begins to thrust even faster and more powerfully, driving his cock deep into your tortured belly over and over, and then, he pulls back and thrusts so deep into you one last time, and in spite of the pain, you can feel his demon seed erupting into you again, and the repeated jets of it are just as powerful as they were into your pussy.  He grunts and grabs your breasts and lets himself collapse over you, and you can only lie there crushed between him and that pillow sobbing and gasping for breath, waiting for him to remove his cock from your demolished ass.  You cannot believe that the human body is capable of surviving the level of pain you have just and are still enduring.  Surely, the agony alone should have killed you by now.  And what about the damage he almost certainly has done so far up inside you?  Is the only thing keeping you alive now that long fat cock stuck in your ass keeping you from bleeding to death?  When he withdraws it, will your blood come gushing out of your ass in its wake?  You almost hope it will.  This pain is intolerable, and when he does get around to pulling his cock out of you, that’s not going to put an end to it.

            Finally, he does withdraw from you, and again, you feel a river of something being sucked out of you as he pulls his cock back.  As you have feared, the feeling of the head of his cock popping free of your sphincter does practically nothing to ease your suffering.  Still blindfolded, you can’t see, and you’re much too exhausted and spent to try to look even if you could see, but you don’t even want to try to imagine what you must look like back there now.  It feels like your ass is still gaping wide open, ripped apart by the assault it has just endured.  The smell and the sense of shame and helplessness nauseate you, and you are sick, and now you have a pile of vomit beneath you to add to the sickening smell.  Never in your life in your darkest nightmares have you imagined that you could find yourself as you are now, in so much pain, so shamed and degraded and helpless, blindfolded and bound, totally at the mercy of a man you haven’t even seen yet.  You wish you were dead.  Something tells you your captor has only just begun to visit all manner of horrors on you.  You are certain now that you are not going to live through this, but you are just as certain that he is not about to release you from your torment by killing you any time soon.  You have felt the rage in his body.  It will not easily or soon be tamed.

            Finally, your captor slices the adhesive tape he had wrapped around your head as a blindfold and rips it away from your eyes.  Sunlight streaming in from a window blinds you for a moment.  Your eyes have been shielded from the light for far too long.   Gradually, they recover, though, and the first thing you see is the puddle of vomit in front of you.  You throw up again.   You try to look behind you to see how bad the damage to your ass is, but you are still bound and with that long round pillow beneath you, you can’t turn your head back far enough to see what remains of your tortured ass and pussy.  You do see your captor, finally, and it is, as you have suspected, the man from the tavern.  He is standing there over you naked with the knife in his hand that he used to cut the adhesive tape to allow you to see.  It is a very big knife, but his cock is even bigger.  It must be twice the length of Paolo’s you think, and much thicker, and now you understand why it hurt to have him in your pussy even though you were not a virgin, and why it felt like he was ripping you wide open when he forced himself into your ass.  It is covered with blood and a glaze of fluids and lubricating gel, and with shit. 

            He puts a collar around your neck and attaches a leash to it before he loosens the bonds that secure you to the bed.  He lifts you from the soiled bed, and stands you on your feet.  You can barely stand, your legs are so weak, but he grabs the leash just where it attaches to your collar and holds you upright.  If you do not manage to support yourself, you will hang, choked to death by this collar.  Now you can see the destruction at the other end of the bed.  The cover is soiled with your blood, some in one spot from your pussy tinges his semen pink and some more just below that that is mingled with a large puddle of semen and shit.  He drags you by the leash stumbling behind him to a bathroom and shoves you into a walk-in shower.  He follows you in and proceeds to clean you off first and then himself. 
            “What do you want from me?  Why me?” you whimper as you dry yourself off with the towel he hands you.

            “You please me,” he says.  I like the way you scream, the fear in your eyes.”  Being naked in the shower with you has aroused him again.  You can’t help noticing his massive cock is becoming erect again, and he can’t help noticing that you have seen it.  “You really are the slut I thought you would be,” he says, and he grabs your leash at the collar again and forces you to your knees on the hard tile floor of the bathroom, and as you open your mouth to cry out against the pain in your knees, he shoves his long fat cock into your mouth and suddenly has a fistful of your hair in each hand restraining you, holding your head to keep you from pulling away from him as he rams his cock into your mouth over and over.  You are choking and gagging, but he doesn’t care.  You would never have thought it possible, but he is forcing his cock down your throat.  When you gave Paolo oral sex, you gagged and nearly vomited the one time he got a little too excited and pushed his cock a little too far back into your mouth.  This man’s cock is so much longer and thicker than Paolo’s, you can’t believe he has managed to get it down your throat.  You can barely breathe.  He rams his cock into your mouth as hard and deep as he rammed it into your pussy and ass, and it takes him just as long to reach his climax this way as it did earlier.  Finally, though, he shoves his cock deep down into your throat, and you hear him groan, and he is still holding your head by the hair to restrain you, so there is nothing you can do but start swallowing and hope you can take his load fast enough to keep from drowning in his cum. 

            With his cock still down your throat, he drags you by the hair over to the toilet, and when he pulls his cock out of your mouth, he shoves your face down over the toilet, and freed at last of the stopper that has prevented you from disgorging your stomach’s contents, you cling to the toilet and vomit until there is nothing left in you to come out.  Your throat aches horribly.  Your voice is reduced to a scratchy whisper.  You collapse in a heap on the floor next to the toilet, sobbing uncontrollably, wallowing in your shame and fear and degradation.  When he sees that you have emptied your stomach, he grabs your collar and nearly chokes you as he yanks you to your feet.  He allows you to wash the vomit from your face and rinse out your mouth, and then he takes you to a different bedroom than the one he first raped and sodomized you, and he binds your wrists behind your back and forces you down onto the bed and wraps the leash attached to your collar several times around a wooden slat of the headboard and secures it.  He ties cords around your ankles and secures them to the corners of the bed leaving you lying spread eagle again on your back. 

            You think he is going to rape you again, and you marvel at his stamina, but he leaves you lying there.  Very quickly, once he is gone, you discover that you cannot free yourself from your bonds, and soon, you find yourself lying there, your mind racing, thinking back over what has happened to you so far and trying not to imagine what is yet to come before he tires of you and kills you.  You are sure that he will sooner or later.  You are convinced that he has already killed Paolo and that bitch Lucia, and you know there is no way he will ever let you go free when he has tired of tormenting you.  How will he do it?   When the time comes, how will I die, you wonder?  There is much too much hatred and rage in this man for him to allow me to die quickly or mercifully.  He will not shoot me.  No, it will be something that will make me suffer as long as possible.  Hanging?  You have heard that hanging, if it does not involve a long fall that breaks your neck when the rope snaps tight, can take several minutes to kill someone, and it can be very painful, not just to the neck, but the victims lungs deprived of oxygen, can feel like they are on fire.  Some medieval torture device?  This place he has brought you to seems to be some sort of old castle.  True, it has been retrofitted with modern plumbing, but it has the look and feel of something ancient.  Is there a dungeon down in the bowels of this place where any number of torture devices await you?  Will he simply torture you on one or more of them until your body finally can’t take any more and gives out? 

            Or has he somehow discovered your deepest, darkest fantasy?  Could he possibly have seen your profile on that Internet site, the Dark Fetish Network, in which you wrote that you secretly fantasized about being impaled with a thick wooden spike up your ass slowly forcing its way up through your body?  Oh dear God, you think.  Please don’t let it be that.  You can’t even begin to imagine the pain that you would experience if he did raise you into the air and lower you onto an impaling post, making sure the sharpened end of it started up your ass.  You remember reading somewhere that people who were impaled could last for days.  As you remember some of the other fantasies you shared with people on that site, you shudder to think that your captor is one of the people you chatted with and revealed your fantasies to on the Internet.  Does he now have at his disposal the means to let you experience each one of your deepest fears and fetishes?  What will he do to you next?

            For a few days, he keeps you in suspense and does nothing more to you than what he has already done.  He does that a lot, though.  You are getting fucked in one hole or the other five and six times a day, and the sex is always rough and brutal and violent, but you are getting used to it.  You came for him over and over the first time he raped you, and your shameless body has only betrayed you even worse each time since then.  When you are alone waiting for him to return, you find that your body is eagerly awaiting its next assault.  Sometimes, you start thinking about the last time he has ridden you, and you can’t help coming as you relive the shame of it in your mind.  You can’t help, either, that you start coming the moment he touches you, and that you come almost constantly until he spends himself in you and then throws you aside until the next time.  You hate your body for betraying you in this way, for so enjoying and craving this brutal fucking with no tenderness or love, just raw animal lust.  You promise yourself that if you do manage to survive this somehow, you are going to become a nun and deprive your wicked body of the pleasure of ever knowing another man’s cock again.

            You’ve lost track of the days you’ve been here and how many times you’ve been raped or sodomized or had his cock rammed down your throat.  Your voice is almost nonexistent anymore because he has probably severely damaged your throat.  You can’t remember the last time you’ve had anything resembling a normal bowel movement.  He has your ass so stretched out, you have virtually no control over your bowels anymore.  It’s a good thing he’s not securing you to a bed now, just locking you in your room when he has no use for you, and it’s a good thing the little suite you’re being held in has a small bathroom.  You have to head to the toilet the moment you feel the slightest stirring in your bowels or there will be a mess to clean up. 

            Sometimes, when he comes for you, he takes you down to his dungeon.   Yes, you really are being held prisoner in some sort of old castle.  It may have been retrofitted with all the modern accoutrements, like electricity, air conditioning and heating and modern plumbing, but it still retains all its medieval charm and features.  Sometimes he bends you over and secures your head and arms in a pair of stocks and whips your bare ass with a cat-o’-nine-tails, a kind of whip with several strands of rope with a barbed tip at the end of each strand.  Then, when he has raised welts on your ass, he fucks you in either your pussy or your ass, depending on what suits his mood at the moment.  One night when he took you down there, he had a fire going and an iron implement heating up in the flame.  He had you in the stocks before you saw the iron, so there was nothing you could do but scream as best you could and cry out begging him not to brand you when he came toward you holding the red hot iron in his heavily gloved hand. 

            The searing pain as the branding iron plunged into the flesh on your ass cheek was so severe you blacked out, only to awaken to find that he was fucking you in the ass, his hands roughly grasping your ass cheeks right where he branded you.  When he finally came into you, he put some kind of ointment on the brand.  That’s one thing you have to give him credit for.  He has proved remarkably adept at keeping you healthy in spite of the damage he has been inflicting on you.  When you are alone in your room again, you check the brand he has put on you.  It is a stylized dragon. 

            Gradually, he begins to inflict pain on you in some manner more than he is merely fucking you.  You are entering a new, and probably the last phase of your confinement, you realize.  He is tiring of you as a sex partner, although he is still fucking you one way or the other three or four times a day.  He seems now, though, to be more interested in inflicting pain on you for the sheer thrill of hurting you, rather than inflicting pain as a byproduct of his sexual use of you.   It will not be much longer now, you realize, before even torturing you will begin to bore him and he will decide you are no longer amusing enough to him to go on living.  By now, you are praying for death to end this awful ordeal, hoping against hope that the end, when it comes, will be swift and merciful.  You cling to this hope, but you have seen too much and experienced too much of the rage and hatred of women in this man to expect him to let you die with any sense of dignity and without too much suffering. 

            There is a rack in the dungeon.  He ties you down on it and stretches you until it feels like your arms and legs are about to rip out of your hip and shoulder sockets.  You have noticed that there is a gallows, and it is not a modern one with provisions to allow the condemned to fall far enough that the rope drawing taut at the end of her plunge will snap her neck and kill her or at least render her unconscious so that she does not have to experience the agony of dying by strangulation and asphyxiation.  You wonder if that is how he intends to kill you.  Will he hang you and stand or sit there watching you kick and struggle and fight the rope until it inevitably wins?  No, but you will make more than one trip to that gallows and hang from that rope more than once before you die.  Each time, he forces the rope around your neck and tightens it down so that the noose rests just behind your left ear, and you stand there terror stricken, waiting for him to pull the little stool out from under you.  He does, and immediately, the rope seizes at your neck and begins to choke you.  You discover that struggling only makes the noose tighten up more quickly, and you try to hang limp, but you can’t do it.  Your body commands you to try to save yourself, so you twist and turn and kick and try to free your wrists bound behind your back, and all your efforts only hasten the rope’s victory over you.  Sadist that he is, he hangs you so that you can occasionally manage to feel the floor of the dungeon beneath your toe, but it is not nearly enough to relieve the tension on your neck.  Your lungs catch fire.  Your body screams for oxygen.   Your head pounds because your brain is slowly starving, and then, just as you are beginning to pass out, you feel yourself being lowered to the ground.  He loosens the noose and you gasp for breath, flooding your lungs with fresh air.  

            And then you regret that he let you down just when you were about to lose consciousness.  The rest of the ride to oblivion would have been easy if he had only just let it happen.  Four times, he hangs you only to return you to your tortured existence just at the moment when it seems your ordeal is almost over.   Each time he lets you down just in time to deny you what seems to be an orgasm of immense power building within you.  As if the physical and psychological trauma of hanging nearly to your death aren’t bad enough, he seems to realize that what he is doing to you is leaving you desperately unfulfilled, craving that massive orgasm that slowly ebbs from your body once he lowers you and removes the rope from your neck.  He leaves you lying there, your hands still bound behind your back until what could have been the most incredible orgasm of your life has subsided to the point that you will not be able to recall it once your hands are free to attend to your pussy. 

            You aren’t getting raped as often as you were at first, and more often than not, when he does force himself on you, he shoves his cock up your ass or down your throat.  Sometimes, when he is doing you in the ass, he will shove a vibrator up your pussy to give himself a little extra stimulation.  On the now rare occasions that he does fuck your pussy, he shoves either a butt plug or a vibrator up your ass to compound your misery and his pleasure.  You aren’t sure how long you’ve been here now, but you know your period is way overdue.  You are almost certainly pregnant.  Not that he is about to allow you to live to carry his child to term, but you realize you are going to die with his unborn child inside you.  If your body is ever found, the autopsy will almost certainly show the world that you have conceived by him. 

            He almost never speaks to you except to issue brief commands like, “Stand up,” or “Sit down,” or “Lie down,” or “Bend over,” or “Open your mouth,” Or “Hold your ass cheeks open for me.”

            You do as you are told without protesting.  He has long since shown you the error of trying to resist him.  One morning, early, he takes you down to the dungeon and ties you down on your back on a table.  You had thought at one time that you might have your nipples pierced, but you never quite found the courage to have it done.  Now, he does it for you, with fish hooks, and as you scream and squirm in agony, he runs the big hooks not through the nipples, but through the aureole surrounding the nipple.  Your breasts are on fire with the pain of the hooks strung through them, but he is not finished.  He threads fishing line through the eyes of the hooks, then uses the fishing line to pull your breasts up from your body and secures the lines to a metal pipe run through holes in ceiling beams over you.  Now he secures you with another strap across your chest just below your breasts and yet another at your waist.  

            Your breasts are not large.  The size chart on the Victoria’s Secret website told you your 81 cm chest measurement would require a 32B bra when you ordered something special to wear the night you knew you would give yourself to Paolo for the first time.  You have always wished you had bigger ones, even to the point of considering having implants, but Paolo persuaded you with his loving attention to your breasts that he liked them just fine the way they were.   Paolo.  His memory now brings fresh tears to your eyes as you lie there wondering what your captor intends to do to you that required that your breasts be suspended over you with fish hooks and fishing line holding them up over your chest, stretching them to a point instead of allowing them to virtually disappear against your chest as they normally do when you are lying on your back. 

            The man leaves you lying there and disappears for a few moments.  You raise your head the better to inspect the latest damage he has inflicted on you.  There is some blood, but not much.  The barbs on the tips of those hooks tell you that the pain of having them removed will be even greater than what you experienced as they were threaded through your aureole and what you are still experiencing as they hold your breasts up off your chest for whatever his purpose might be.  He returns carrying a cordless power drill.  Instead of a normal drill bit, though, he has mounted on it something you have never seen before.  It is a hole saw.  The tip of a normal drill bit extends up out of the center of it, but it is a hollow tube maybe ten or eleven centimeters long and three or four centimeters in diameter, and the end of it has menacing looking teeth like one would see on a saw blade. 

            He is going to drill a big hole through you, you realize as your heart starts racing.  Tears flood your eyes and you squirm against your restraints.  But where?  And then it hits you.  He is going to drill holes through your breasts.  He stands there revving the drill to savor your reactions, and then he seems to have second thoughts.  He sets it aside, but only long enough to secure you with yet another strap across your upper chest and shoulders.  He has seen how much you were able to move as you struggled against your bonds and decided he needed to immobilize you further.  Now he picks up the drill again and revs it up to full speed. You are holding your head up as much as you can to see where he is going to drill.  He holds the drill just below your left breast.  You are screaming, pleading with him not to do this.  You have to close your eyes.  You can’t bear to watch your breasts being destroyed by his drill.  It rips into your flesh on the underside of your breast and burns its way up through your breast.  As severe as the pain of the hole saw ripping through your breast tissue is, you can still feel the spray of flesh and blood splattering over you, and then the hole saw cuts through the flesh of your upper breast and emerges in a new spray of fatty tissue and blood that covers your face. 

            The drill is still running at full speed as he pulls it back out of your breast.  You cannot bring yourself to open your eyes to see the latest disfigurement he has inflicted on you.  Why, you wonder?  He will show you before the day is done.  For the moment, though, he is cleaning your flesh away from the hollow center of the hole saw blade to make sure it is ready for the second breast.  You have been so weakened and traumatized by the pain and terror the drill has inflicted on you, you lose consciousness before he gets it clear through your right breast.  When you awaken, you are no longer on your back.  The fish hooks and line have not been removed from your aureole, but he has unfastened them from the overhead pipe that held your breasts hostage for the drill.  Your nipples still burn with the pain of the hooks, but this is nothing compared to the agony of the 3.5 cm holes drilled through your breasts.  You find yourself on your belly now, except that something is under your hips propping your ass up for whatever he intends to do to you next. 

            He has turned you over and redone your restraints.  He’s not done with you.  Lying on your belly now, and secured to the table, you can’t raise or turn your head enough to see what he might be planning for you next.  You hear sounds that tell you he is cleaning his hole saw again, and then, you hear the drill racing again.  A second or two later, you discover to your horror what else lies in store for you.  The hole saw rips into the flesh of your right ass cheek just above the back of your thigh.  You scream and cry out again, begging him to stop, but it is no use.  The hole saw burns deeper into your ass cheek until you feel the chuck of the drill against your ass, and then, with it still running at full speed, he pulls it out of you.  He comes around to where you can see what he is doing to clean the hole saw bit this time, and instead of formless fatty tissue, he pulls a tubular length of your ass muscle from the hole saw.  He shows you the bloody red meat and you have to vomit.  He sets the meat aside, and seconds later, the hole saw rips into your left ass cheek.  You pass out again. 

            When you wake up, you have four new holes in your body, one in each breast and one in each ass cheek, and he is about to show you what he intends to use them for.  He loosens your restraints, removes the brace that has propped up your ass to allow him better access to it, and rolls you onto your back.  Moments later, he is up on the table over you, and he is fucking the new hole in your left breast.  He holds the breast up with the fishing line still attached to the hook through your nipple, and his cock is so fat, it takes him quite a bit of effort to get himself into the gaping hole in your breast.  It hurts worse than any of the previous fuckings you have endured at his hand, even the first time he raped your ass.  It looks weird as hell seeing the head of his cock emerging from the hole in the top of your breast with each thrust, and when he comes, he thrusts deep into your breast and out the top and his seed splashes against your face. 

            By the time he is finished with you, he has fucked you in all four of the new holes he has drilled into you, and each time, the pain is excruciating, because the holes aren’t quite wide enough to accommodate his fat cock, and he has to force himself into them, just as he had to force himself into your pussy, ass and throat at first because they weren’t quite wide enough to take him.  Just as it happened when he fucked the hole in your left breast, when he fucks the right one and finally comes, you get a fresh face full of his cum.  You’re used to it by now, though.  More often than not, when he shoves his cock down your throat, he’ll yank it out at the last minute to spray his seed all over your face.  He seems to think that’s more humiliating for you than pumping it down your throat with his balls against your chin, his pubic bush against your nose. 

            It feels so weird when he fucks the news holes in your ass cheeks.  It hurts almost as bad as when he fucks your breast holes, and he drives himself harder into the holes in your ass, and at the last minute, he jerks out of you and rams his cock up your real ass hole to discharge his load of cum into you.  When he has finally fucked all four of your new holes, he tells you to get up off the table he’s had you on all day long.  You can’t, though.  The minute you try to stand, your legs give out under you.  You fall to the floor, and when you try to get up, you discover you have no use of your legs.  The holes he has drilled in your ass cheeks have removed enough muscle tissue to render your control over your legs almost nonexistent.  He has to pick you up and drop you into a wheelchair to roll you out onto the patio to watch him grill the two cores of muscle tissue that his hole saw cut out of your ass cheeks, and then he makes you sit there and watch him eat them along with a salad and some roasted potatoes.  He tells you that they are delicious and offers you a bite of your own ass flesh.  You promptly vomit. 

The next day, he fucks each of your new custom holes again, and once more, each breast fuck earns you a face full of semen and each ass cheek fuck ends with his cock up your rectum pumping his seed into you there.  He tells you that he is lubricating you to make what you will experience later that evening a little easier for you.  You still have next to no use of your legs, and the holes in your breasts and ass cheeks burn as though someone has poured molten lava into them.  He shoves a butt plug up your ass to keep his semen trapped inside you.  Later, he comes back to your room and makes you take his cock in your mouth for a while, but once you’ve gotten him hard, he switches to fucking your pussy.  It’s the first time in several days now that he’s fucked your pussy, and it makes you wonder why.  You already assume your days of captivity are nearly over, that the recent tortures and mutilations are a prelude to your execution.  Is he taking this last opportunity to satisfy his cock in your pussy before he kills you? 

Yes, he tells you, you are about to die.  You are frightened, but not as badly as you would have been if he had told you this at the beginning of your captivity.  Now, the news that you are about to die almost comes as a relief to you.  At least your ordeal is nearly over.  You ask him how he is going to do it.  How will he kill you?  We wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, now, would we, he asks as he lifts you from the bed where he’s just fucked you and maneuvers you into the wheelchair he has been using to move you around since his drill rendered you a cripple.  You’ll love it, though, he says as he pushes you from your room, and this tells you that your suspicions are correct.  He has seen your DFN profile page and knows of your fetish for impalement.  He doesn’t have to tell you.  You know now how you are going to die.  Your heart is racing as you ride with him in the elevator down to his dungeon.  When the elevator stops, he pushes you out into the dungeon, and there it is standing erect before you, the shaft that no woman could survive. 

There are two poles standing parallel to each other, though.  There is the shaft you will die on.  It is about your height, wooden with a very sharp point, and it is even thicker than his cock.  The other pole is also wooden, not quite as thick, but about a meter taller, and its tip is not sharpened.  You haven’t quite figured out what its purpose is yet, but it is standing so close to the shaft on which you will die that you know it will serve some function in your execution.  Your captor lifts you out of the wheelchair and drops you onto the table you were lying on when he drilled the holes in your breasts and ass cheeks.  You try to struggle, but your will to resist has long since been subdued, and the holes in your breasts and ass are still very painful, and the ones in your ass have severely limited your use of your legs.  He doesn’t even bother to strap you to the table.  He binds your wrists together, and then he puts two belts and a collar on you.  One belt is at your waist, and the other encircles your chest just above your breasts, under your arms.  The collar around your neck and the two belts all have large rings attached to them, and the rings are all behind you. 

Now you understand what the second pole is for.  The rings on the belts and collars will go over the taller pole, and it will serve as a guide to insure that you cannot twist your body or lean over in such a way to cause the shaft you will be impaled on to leave your body prematurely.  He feeds a hollow tube through all three of the rings and tapes it into place to make sure it won’t fall out.  Now, all he has to do is make sure the guide pole gets started into the tube, and once he gets the impaling shaft started into your ass or pussy, there will be no way you can contort yourself to cause the shaft rising through you to rip through your flesh and exit your body before it hits anything vital.  There is what appears to be a garage door opener mounted in the ceiling over the two posts, and a control box for it dangles by a wire.  He takes the control box and pushes a button, and a cable with a hook attached to it slowly descends from the ceiling.  He loops your wrist bonds over the hook and presses the “Up” button, and your heart nearly explodes in your chest as the garage door opener lifts you off the table and raises you until you are hanging by your wrists over the two poles. 

This is it.  You are about to die, and as you have known all along, your death will not be quick or easy.  You have no idea how long it will take your weight to press you down over the shaft until it rises far enough into your body to pierce your heart and end your misery.  You’re not even sure it will do that.  You have read stories of people in medieval times surviving for days after being impaled.  Somehow, the shaft missed their hearts and anything vital, and they were left there to suffer helplessly until death finally overtook them.    Oh God, you pray, please don’t let that happen to me.  At least, you try to pray, but you get no comfort from it.  If there is a God, and you’ve never been quite convinced that there is, he has long since abandoned you to this monster.  In spite of the fact that you have wanted this moment for some time now, knowing this was the only thing that would end your suffering and shame, you can’t help but cry out and beg him not to do this.  The will to live is stronger in you than you thought possible after so much abuse. 

You have reached the top of the garage door opener’s cycle.  The motor stops and you are hanging there by your wrists.  Your executioner pulls out a ladder from against the wall and sets it up and climbs it, bringing the control box for the garage door opener with him.  When he has gotten to a point that he can reach the top of the guide pole, he pushes a button on the control box, and you scream as best as your cock-ravaged throat can manage as you feel yourself descending toward the sharpened shaft that awaits its entrance into your body.  Suddenly, he stops you, and you feel him grasping the hollow tube behind you and maneuvering you into the correct position.  He lowers you some more, and although you can’t see it, you know the tube must be sliding down over the guide pole.  You stop again.  You hear him descending the ladder, and he leaves you dangling there while he puts the ladder away back against the wall.  Now he is back beneath you, his control box in hand.  He lowers you some more, and just as you tense, expecting the sharpened point of the shaft to enter you, he stops you again. 

He tells you he would ask which hole you prefer to be impaled in, but he already knows the answer to that because he saw your DFN profile page and has actually exchanged messages with you on DFN, and when he asked, you told him you would want to take the shaft in your ass.  He is only helping you to live out and die your deepest, darkest desires, he tells you, and then you feel him maneuvering you into position, and suddenly, you are descending again.  At the last moment, you feel him push you ever so slightly, and then, you feel the tip of the shaft slip into your ass.  He lets a few centimeters of the shaft enter you, and then he stops your descent again and backs away from you to look up into your face.

“I hope the reality of this turns out to be as enjoyable for you as the fantasy of it was,” he says.  “It certainly has been for me.”

“You bastard!” you scream. 

He laughs and holds his control box up before you where you have a clear view of it, and he pushes the “Down” button.  You begin to descend.  You can feel the pointed shaft rising through your colon.  You try to struggle, but it’s too late.  For a second or two, it rises into you without doing any damage.  It has gone no deeper into you than his cock has been so many times before.  Suddenly, though, a sharp, tearing pain tells you that your execution has begun in earnest.  The pointed shaft has ripped out of your colon and is making its way up through your other internal organs.  It feels like a red hot iron pipe is rising through you.  Nothing he has done to you before this has been quite this painful, and now the pain is accompanied by the certainty that you are dying.   You don’t have any idea how long it’s going to take you, but you know you’re never coming off this shaft alive.  Oh God, please make it quick, you pray as the fiery shaft of pain rises through you as gravity and the garage door opener allow you to sink down onto the shaft. 

You feel it rising through your belly.  It feels like it must be getting close to your heart now.  You tense your body, wondering what it will feel like when it pierces your heart.  Will you suddenly fade into unconsciousness as your brain is deprived of fresh blood, or will it take a while longer for you to lose consciousness?   Suddenly, though, you can feel the shaft of pain rising through your chest, and now, can it be rising into your throat and still you are conscious.  Oh fuck, it missed my heart!   Oh God, no!  Please!  Let me die!  But as you suspected, God, if he exists at all, has long since written you off.  You begin to choke.  The shaft has entered your throat.  Now it comes up through your throat and enters your mouth, forcing your head back and your mouth to open to allow it to exit you.  It is all the way through you, and now that your body has little resistance left to it, you quickly slide down the shaft until you feel your ass come to rest against the braces at the bottom that hold the shaft erect.  Your knees are bent, your feet on the base of the shaft.  You try to stand.  Maybe you can get to your feet and try to tip it over and crawl off it.  Maybe that will allow you to bleed out and die faster. 

It isn’t happening, though.  Your legs were practically useless before he impaled you.  Now, they are even less useful.  Why aren’t you dying, you wonder?  You are, you realize, but it’s taking much longer than you had hoped.  How is it possible that you’ve been run through from your ass to your mouth, and the shaft you’re impaled on has managed to hit not one vital organ and put you out of your misery?  A shiver goes through you as you realize the stories of the medieval impaling victims taking days to die must have been true.  Will that be the way it will be for you?  He releases your wrists from the hook and raises the cable of the garage door opener, and then he loosens the cord binding your wrists and lets your arms drop free. 

The pain is unbearable, but you have no choice but to bear it.  He looks down to where the shaft has entered your ass and tells you he expected there would be a lot more blood there.  He removes the collar and belts from you that have done their job all too well and slides the guide pole back out of the way.  It is no longer needed. You’re not going anywhere.  He reaches down and fondles your breasts, and this only adds to your pain.  The holes in them are still very sore and tender.  He tugs on the fishing line still attached to the fishhooks piercing your nipples and laughs when he sees fresh tears stream from your eyes and hears a muted squeal escape your mouth.  He reaches down to your pussy and begins to finger you roughly.  Just to take your mind off your misery, he tells you.  You can’t believe it’s happening when he manages to give you an orgasm, and then another. 

He takes a few pictures of you and promises to post them on DFN so all your friends can see what it’s like to have a dark fantasy fulfilled, and then, he pulls up a chair, opens a bottle of beer and sits down to enjoy his beer while he watches you die.  It’s taking you much too long, though, and before too long, he is bored with this show.  He says he knows you are as good as dead anyway, and even if someone pulls you off the shaft if they find you in time, you won’t be able to identify him before you die, which you probably will once somebody removes the shaft from you and that allows you to bleed out.  He loads you into the back of a van and drives you back into your village.  It is late on a moonless night when you arrive back in your home village.  The tavern where you worked faces the village square.   There is a little park.  A statue, some benches and a few flowering plants.  The village streets are deserted, as they always are at this hour.  He hauls you, still impaled on your shaft, out of the back of his van, and sets you up, a new, macabre statue for the square, so that you are facing the tavern where you worked.  He takes a few moments to finger your pussy to orgasm one last time, and then he is gone.  You hear his van making its way through the deserted streets, and then, you are alone, and you realize that, in the morning, your friends and neighbors are going to find you here, naked, shamed, impaled on this shaft.  You just hope you’re dead by the time someone finds you.

You’re not, of course.  You somehow lose consciousness and sleep a while, but when you wake up, you are mortified to find that you are surrounded by a crowd of your neighbors, all of them gaping at you with horror stricken eyes.  Because your head is tilted back to allow the shaft to exit your mouth, your vision is limited, but you can hear them talking about you. 

“Is that Tania?  I thought they decided she must be dead by now.”

“Are you sure she’s not?”

“Oh God!  She moved!  She is alive!”

“How can she live with that pole all the way through her like that?”

“Who could have done that to her?”

“Look at those big holes in her breasts!”

“Has someone called the police?”

Fortunately, someone has called the police.  None of the crowd that gathered to gawk at your naked shame and anguish thought to try to cover your nakedness in any way, but a policewoman does.  She wraps a blanket around you and tries to comfort you. 

“Does it hurt much?” she asks, then realizes you are incapable of answering her.  “Blink once for yes,” she tells you.  “Twice for no.”  You blink once.  “Do you know who did this to you?”  Two blinks.  You still have no idea who the man is except that he was in the tavern for a while the night he kidnapped you.  “An ambulance will be here any minute now,” she tells you.  “You must be very strong to survive this,” she encourages you.  “Hang in there, Tania.  Don’t give up on us.  We need you alive to help us catch this bastard before he does this again.”

The ambulance arrives.  There is a brief discussion as to whether or not they should remove you from the pike you are impaled on or transport you to the hospital with it still run through you.  You are almost certain that, if they remove you from it, it will allow you to bleed out and die, finally putting an end to your shame and pain.  You hope they will pull the pole from you and let you die before the doctors can have a chance to prolong your agony by trying to save you.  You have no desire whatsoever to live a moment longer now that you have been so degraded and disfigured and crippled.  You just long for the sweet relief that only death can bring to you now, but you hear one of the emergency medical technicians tell the other that a doctor at the hospital has said you shouldn’t be removed from the pole.  He says they are to bring you in as you are, still impaled on it.  This is not what you have wanted to hear.  You are afraid you will live forever unless someone pulls that pole from you to let you bleed out and die. 

You have no say in the matter, though.  With the pole through your throat and mouth, you cannot speak.  Carefully, the EMT’s tilt you over onto your back and lift you pole and all onto their gurney and load you into the back of their ambulance.  Fortunately, once the doctor at the hospital sees you, he either realizes there is no hope of saving you or sees in your eyes that you do not want to be saved.  He tells you there is nothing they can do to save you, and if they remove the pole from you, you will probably bleed out and die very quickly.  Do you want them to remove the pole, he asks, and again, he tells you to blink once for yes, twice for no.  You blink once.  Do you want him to call a priest to give you the last rites before they remove the pole from you?  You blink twice.  God, if he exists, has long since forsaken you.  You’re not sure why, but you doubt there is much chance he will come for you now.  The doctor asks if you are ready.  You hesitate a moment, then blink once.  He holds you at your shoulders and tells the two EMT’s who have brought you here to pull the pole from you.  It hurts almost as much going out as it did ripping into your body.  The minute it backs out of your mouth and recedes from your throat, you begin to choke and cough up blood, and when the EMT’s finally pull it out of your ass, you feel a rush of something warm and wet there, too. 

Tears of relief fill your eyes.  It is over.  Finally, you feel yourself slowly losing consciousness, drifting off into darkness, and then, you feel nothing.  You are gone.  Someone once told you that hearing is the last sense to go when a person dies.  You hear the doctor pronounce you dead.

Posted: 28-Jul-2011 - 2 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]
Category:

 Charlie’s Bar

 

            Gail’s hanging was a smashing success.  It went off without a hitch, and Charlie didn’t even have to check the cash register to know this had been far and away the most profitable night in the history of his bar.  He couldn’t believe how lucky he was that he’d thought of this when Gail sat at his bar little more than a week earlier complaining that she felt like life had passed her by.  At 42, she thought there was nothing left to live for, and she was trying to think of some way to go out in a blaze of glory.  Charlie immediately thought of hanging.  When she protested to him that hanging alone in her room didn’t sound all that spectacular or glorious, he’d pointed to the gallows over beyond the bar that the Chinese stripper used in her very popular routines.  It was a real gallows, and Gail could hang from it after hours, of course, in front of a crowd of his regular and trusted patrons.  Her death would no doubt spur them to heights of passion, and he told her he’d heard that hanging victims usually had spectacular orgasms right near the end before they slipped into unconsciousness and death. 

            That did it for her.  She confided to him that she hadn’t had a decent orgasm in so long, she couldn’t even remember anymore what it felt like to get really blown away by one.  She agreed to allow herself to be hung, and to Charlie’s delight, she insisted she wanted to do it in the nude.   She was looking forward to seeing the crowd’s reaction to her performance and hoped everyone would get off on it as powerfully as she hoped she would herself.  Before she left for the evening, she told Charlie she had gotten so horny as they’d sat there planning her death that her pussy was screaming for relief.  Charlie had been only too happy to help her.  She wasn’t a bad looking woman in spite of her insistence that the good looks she’d enjoyed in her youth were fading fast.  Sure, her ass was a bit broad, but Charlie wasn’t at all put off by that.  He was 63 to her 42, so even if she thought she wasn’t half the hottie she’d been in her twenties, she was still looking pretty damned good to him.  She felt damned good, too, and the long dry spell she’d apparently endured since her last good fuck made her all the more receptive and responsive to Charlie’s efforts.  It had been a while for him, too, so he took her up to his apartment over the bar and he spent the night fucking her senseless until she finally staggered away from his bed begging for mercy but making him promise her a repeat performance on the night of her hanging.  She finished off the erection he’d hoped to slip into her one more time with a skillful blow job, and she even swallowed his load and wiped the overflow from her chin and licked that off her fingers.

            True to her word, Gail had showed up the following Saturday night, ready to hang, but ready first for her promised final fuck with Charlie, and true to his word, Charlie didn’t disappoint her.  Gail had insisted that he promise her one more thing before she would agree to climb up onto that chair and put the noose around her neck and let him pull the chair away from her.  She made him swear that under no circumstance would he stop her hanging or allow anyone else to, even though she was pretty sure that once she got into it, she would probably be scared shitless and regretting her decision.  Once it started, she wanted to ride it through to the end, no matter what.  She wasn’t about to embarrass herself in front of her friends and the other bar patrons by chickening out of it once the going got a little tough.  Charlie hadn’t been sure how she thought she might be able to let him know she wanted him to save her once the noose tightened around her neck and choked off her voice, but he promised anyway that once she was hanging, she would be in for the full experience, no turning back. 

            Sure enough, almost the instant he pulled the chair out from under her, he could see that Gail was panicking.   She kicked and fought and twisted, and her eyes pleaded with him to free her, but he’d given his word, and Charlie was a man of his word.  In the end, it all worked out rather nicely for Gail, Charlie thought.  She got the massive orgasm she had been hoping for, and he was pretty sure she had taken some comfort near the end in realizing her audience was loving every second of her farewell performance.  She had insisted on hanging naked.  Not that Charlie minded this in the least, but it only helped to fuel the rising surge of passion in the crowd.  They all sat stunned and silent for a brief moment when Charlie finally found no pulse and announced that Gail was dead, and then the crowd erupted into a night long orgiastic frenzy.  It was a good thing that the police commissioner and the head of the liquor control board were in the crowd, or he’d have been shut down for sure.  They both got themselves sucked and fucked several times before the night was over.  Charlie lost track of how many blow jobs he got before the last of the crowd drifted off into the predawn grey mist. 

            One, he remembered quite vividly.  It was given to him by a tall, slender, very beautiful woman with dark hair.  He’d never in his more than six decades ever had a blow job anything like it.  Her mouth and her tongue were so soft and so skillful, and she was the only woman who ever tried to get his long thick penis down her throat, and it slid down there so easily, and she sucked and swallowed at it so amazingly, he came in buckets even though he’d already come so many times before she got to him.  She kept him lodged in her throat throughout his orgasm and kept swallowing throughout the entire thing, and when he was done, she slowly drew him out of her throat and licked and sucked the last of his cum from him, then looked up at him and smiled.  Only then could he finally see her face well enough to recognize her.  Her name was Anna.  She was a regular, and friends with the gang of bikers he’d called in for security for the night and to dispose of Gail’s body after the show. 

            He’d heard rumors that these bikers were cannibals, that they would from time to time grow tired of some young woman in their company and spit roast her over a bed of hot coals and consume her flesh.  He’d even heard that at least one young woman had somehow managed to survive having the spit pole driven up through her from her ass all the way up through her until it came up through her throat and exited her mouth.   Supposedly, she’d been alive and remained that way for quite a while as she roasted over the coals.  Charlie had often wondered how Anna had managed not to disappear although she’d been hanging around with the bikers for quite a while.  Now he understood.  With oral skills like hers to recommend her, they’d probably keep her around well into her old age.  He slipped his cock back into his pants and offered Anna a hand to help her to her feet.  She grabbed him and pressed her mouth to his and kissed him long and hard.  He could taste himself still in her mouth as their tongues danced around each other, but he didn’t care.  He was happy to let her know how grateful he was, and wondered if he’d ever have a chance like that with her again. 

            “That was amazing,” Charlie said.  “Thank you, Anna.  I hope you don’t take this the wrong way.  I mean it as a sincere compliment.  You are one incredible cock sucker, young lady.”

            “Ooooh!  And a lady, too,” she laughed.  “Thank you, Charlie.  I appreciate that.  I wish I’d known a long time ago what you’re packin’ down there.  You and me would have been having us some serious fun, honey.  Just so you know, anything you want, anytime you want, I’m your girl.  I’d love to feel that sucker nail me to the wall.  I was