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Pia
Guest
The day had come. I knew from the bustle in the corridor of cells. Keys clanking and doors opening and tired voices and cries and moans. Somewhere there was Inma.
They lifted me and removed my chains. Quickly I was washed down and dried. I was to look well for my death it seemed.
I was dressed in a long, thin, white gown that hung from my shoulders.
I was led from my cell and joined a procession. Seven of us. Ahead of me, Inma. She had been so close!
I made to speak but was silenced by the guard. I obeyed.
They bound our wrists and tied us in a line, then we were told to move.
Up the stairs, out, eyes blinking, into the sun.
We waited in a courtyard, within the monestery.
A priest blessed us and urged us to repent our sins.
Another came and fixed tall white pointed hats on our heads, pulling them tight. A devil was painted in black on each.
At a signal the gate opened and we saw the square ahead of us. Crowded with people. We heard the sound of bells and prayers.
They led us out, in our line.
We saw the scaffold. A long scaffold with seven stakes. We were led up the steps and along the planks placed over the faggots that filled the scaffold space. Each towards their own stake.
They chained us. Tightly. Around our ankles and legs and waists. Across and between my breasts. My arms bound behind.
I looked at Inma next to me and we smiled.
I looked forward, towards the monestery wall, where a gallery had been erected.
Slowly the dignatories emerged from another door and took their places.
In the middle our guardian. Wearing the scarlet robes and cap of a Cardinal.
And next to him his new ward.
Young, pretty. Dressed in a yellow gown. White lace around her budding breasts. Blue eyes. Powdered cheeks with a beauty mark in black. A white wig hiding her soft ears, decorated with emerald drops. She cast her eyes down, but he made her look at us.
The executioner and the priest began to move along the row.
'Will you confess your sins?'
The young girl at the end - what had she been accused of? - nodded yes and kissed the proferred cross. The execution took his rope and ran it through the slot in the stake behind her, looping the end onto the stick he had placed there.
Quickly, with strong arms, he turned. And turned again, lifting her from her feet which desperately tried to kick against her chains. Her white shift stained dark. Her young body trembled, her mouth foamed. And then, after a few minutes, she hung limp.
The priest moved along.
The executioner repeated his act of kindness. The second time, third, fourth, fifth.
Now it was Inma.
I looked at her.
'Shall we burn together?' I asked her, in a whisper.
She nodded.
She shook her head to the priest.
He pleaded with her, but she remained resolute.
Then me.
'I choose to burn' I said. 'I have committed no sin'. I looked across at the new Cardinal and his pretty young ward. He looked back at me.
Quickly the priest descended and the executioner and his men removed the planks, leaving us suspended in chains over the faggots.
Five dead penitents and Inma and myself.
Drums rolled.
The Cardinal gave his signal.
The fires were lit.
Flames, almost cold flames at first, stripped us of our flimsy shifts, sending the thin cotton into smoke. Lifted the hats from our heads and blew them over the square.
And then it began.
Seering, tearing, awful, joyful pain. Melting my flesh.
I screamed in agony as the flames rose up my legs, between my legs, over my belly.
I looked to Inma, writhing next to me.
We looked at each other.
We smiled.
And then the flames swallowed us forever.
They lifted me and removed my chains. Quickly I was washed down and dried. I was to look well for my death it seemed.
I was dressed in a long, thin, white gown that hung from my shoulders.
I was led from my cell and joined a procession. Seven of us. Ahead of me, Inma. She had been so close!
I made to speak but was silenced by the guard. I obeyed.
They bound our wrists and tied us in a line, then we were told to move.
Up the stairs, out, eyes blinking, into the sun.
We waited in a courtyard, within the monestery.
A priest blessed us and urged us to repent our sins.
Another came and fixed tall white pointed hats on our heads, pulling them tight. A devil was painted in black on each.
At a signal the gate opened and we saw the square ahead of us. Crowded with people. We heard the sound of bells and prayers.
They led us out, in our line.
We saw the scaffold. A long scaffold with seven stakes. We were led up the steps and along the planks placed over the faggots that filled the scaffold space. Each towards their own stake.
They chained us. Tightly. Around our ankles and legs and waists. Across and between my breasts. My arms bound behind.
I looked at Inma next to me and we smiled.
I looked forward, towards the monestery wall, where a gallery had been erected.
Slowly the dignatories emerged from another door and took their places.
In the middle our guardian. Wearing the scarlet robes and cap of a Cardinal.
And next to him his new ward.
Young, pretty. Dressed in a yellow gown. White lace around her budding breasts. Blue eyes. Powdered cheeks with a beauty mark in black. A white wig hiding her soft ears, decorated with emerald drops. She cast her eyes down, but he made her look at us.
The executioner and the priest began to move along the row.
'Will you confess your sins?'
The young girl at the end - what had she been accused of? - nodded yes and kissed the proferred cross. The execution took his rope and ran it through the slot in the stake behind her, looping the end onto the stick he had placed there.
Quickly, with strong arms, he turned. And turned again, lifting her from her feet which desperately tried to kick against her chains. Her white shift stained dark. Her young body trembled, her mouth foamed. And then, after a few minutes, she hung limp.
The priest moved along.
The executioner repeated his act of kindness. The second time, third, fourth, fifth.
Now it was Inma.
I looked at her.
'Shall we burn together?' I asked her, in a whisper.
She nodded.
She shook her head to the priest.
He pleaded with her, but she remained resolute.
Then me.
'I choose to burn' I said. 'I have committed no sin'. I looked across at the new Cardinal and his pretty young ward. He looked back at me.
Quickly the priest descended and the executioner and his men removed the planks, leaving us suspended in chains over the faggots.
Five dead penitents and Inma and myself.
Drums rolled.
The Cardinal gave his signal.
The fires were lit.
Flames, almost cold flames at first, stripped us of our flimsy shifts, sending the thin cotton into smoke. Lifted the hats from our heads and blew them over the square.
And then it began.
Seering, tearing, awful, joyful pain. Melting my flesh.
I screamed in agony as the flames rose up my legs, between my legs, over my belly.
I looked to Inma, writhing next to me.
We looked at each other.
We smiled.
And then the flames swallowed us forever.
Come on baby light my fire .... 
You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I was to say to you
Girl, we couldn't get much higher
Come on baby, light my fire
Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire
The time to hesitate is through
No time to wallow in the mire
Try now we can only lose
And our love become a funeral pyre
Come on baby, light my fire
Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire
Yeah...
You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I was to say to you
Girl, we couldn't get much higher
Come on baby, light my fire
Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire
The time to hesitate is through
No time to wallow in the mire
Try now we can only lose
And our love become a funeral pyre
Come on baby, light my fire
Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire
Yeah...
Last edited:
P
Pia
Guest
Yeah! Shall we burn baby?Come on baby light my fire ....
You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I was to say to you
Girl, we couldn't get much higher
Come on baby, light my fire
Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire
The time to hesitate is through
No time to wallow in the mire
Try now we can only lose
And our love become a funeral pyre
Come on baby, light my fire
Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire
Yeah...
P
Pia
Guest
Well, that was a long dream.... it seemed to last days.... But the last dream I had, last night (or this morning, half-waking) was much shorter. Shall I tell it to you?
P
Pia
Guest
Shall we make it a three-stake job Messa? I think it would be nice....View attachment 580883 That is what, in French, we say : "Partir en fumée" ... ( get out in smoke )
P
Pia
Guest
Very much. They had shaved me for the second stage of my torture, but my hair had had time to grow back for my execution. That was rather lucky for me, I felt. So sudden and violent an invasion. So meltingly gorgeously painful!A question, Pia : were you enjoying when the fire was burning you intimate fur ? It's one of my deepest fantasy ...
P
Pia
Guest
You're too lovely. It would be really my dream!
messaline
Crucified Amazon
A question, Pia : were you enjoying when the fire was burning you intimate fur ? It's one of my deepest fantasy ...
Attachments
P
Pia
Guest
Mmmm.... lovely.... please will you take the gags away kind mr. executioner, so we can scream properly? It would be much nicer for everyone!
P
Pia
Guest
So Messa, how would you like to die with me next? And you Barbs?
P
Piper Marie
Guest
A wonderful story, thank you for sharing it with us.
P
Pia
Guest
But how? What is your preference? There are so many choices, and I know we want to enjoy them all, really. And together. Lovely!