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Short Stories and Poems by CF-Members
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Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Well, at least that story inspires to a reply.You also can post this kind of story here if you desire ...
(Short stories or poems ...)
The Angel of Death looks upon you, patiently, indifferent to your suffering.
She has decided that you don’t have your fate in your hands.
She has decided that your pleas will not be heard.
Your begging is in vain,
No one listens to you.
Words from the cross are futile, words in the wind.
Whispers from a living death.
The verdict has silenced you, the nails made your speech incomprehensible.
Too late for redemption! Too late for mercy!
Only the Angel of Death will judge when your time has come.
Since justice can only be served by your endless suffering
She is determined not to sound her buisine.
Before your pain, your suffering,
Your agony, your humiliation,
Will have tormented and tortured you till beyond the bitter end.
You will not hear the redeeming call of the trumpet
Before your blood, your life,
Will have been drained to the very last drop.
Teutoberg Terror
How could it happen?
The pride of Rome
Three full legions
Lured by treason
To that deadly defile
Arminius’ triumph
Fearful slaughter
Assault from all sides
Too confined to form up
No room to fight
Barbarians victorious
Bloodlust up
Roman bodies stripped
Hacked to pieces
Bloodily dismembered
Survivors huddle
Captive, naked
Awaiting their fate
Dishonorably alive
Wishing they were dead
One by one
Each captured legionnaire
Dragged before the
Barbarian priestess
To learn their fate
We women of
the baggage train
Romans one and all
Join the captives now
Terror in our eyes
To each tree
A screaming
Howling
Surviving legionnaire
Is nailed
Crucified
Naked
Bloody
Mutilated
Defiled
Our turn now
One by one
We women
Join
The horror
Stripped
Humiliated
Taunted
I fall to my knees
Before the priestess
She points
To a tree
That bears
A crucified
Blubbering Optio
Flipped upside down
I am nailed
To the Oak
Stretched over him
His chin between my legs
Blood streams
From my shattered feet
My breasts flatten
Against his
Muscular warrior thighs
Head jerked back
Into my open mouth
Severed genitals are thrust
Along with a
Handful of dirt
Oh Gods
Be merciful
Take me quickly
A Roman woman
Dishonored
How could it happen?
The pride of Rome
Three full legions
Lured by treason
To that deadly defile
Barbaria 2016
How could it happen?
The pride of Rome
Three full legions
Lured by treason
To that deadly defile
Arminius’ triumph
Fearful slaughter
Assault from all sides
Too confined to form up
No room to fight
Barbarians victorious
Bloodlust up
Roman bodies stripped
Hacked to pieces
Bloodily dismembered
Survivors huddle
Captive, naked
Awaiting their fate
Dishonorably alive
Wishing they were dead
One by one
Each captured legionnaire
Dragged before the
Barbarian priestess
To learn their fate
We women of
the baggage train
Romans one and all
Join the captives now
Terror in our eyes
To each tree
A screaming
Howling
Surviving legionnaire
Is nailed
Crucified
Naked
Bloody
Mutilated
Defiled
Our turn now
One by one
We women
Join
The horror
Stripped
Humiliated
Taunted
I fall to my knees
Before the priestess
She points
To a tree
That bears
A crucified
Blubbering Optio
Flipped upside down
I am nailed
To the Oak
Stretched over him
His chin between my legs
Blood streams
From my shattered feet
My breasts flatten
Against his
Muscular warrior thighs
Head jerked back
Into my open mouth
Severed genitals are thrust
Along with a
Handful of dirt
Oh Gods
Be merciful
Take me quickly
A Roman woman
Dishonored
How could it happen?
The pride of Rome
Three full legions
Lured by treason
To that deadly defile
Barbaria 2016
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Well you folks are changing this into fine art!!!
windar
Teller of Tales
Tenochtitlan (now Mexico City) 1487
The line must keep moving, a line that stretched as far as the eye could see. Under the fierce sun, thousands upon thousands of our defeated Tlaxcalan enemies, men and women, lined up to be fed to the great god of the Sun, of war, Huitzilopotchli. So that we Mexica, we Aztecs could flourish. So that the Sun would keep shining.
Up the 117 steps to the top of the Great Temple of Tenochtitlan, our capital, seat of our Emperor, one after another. Quickly laid down on the altar. The priest with his obsidian knife in one quick thrust into the abdomen, then up, to the heart. Another thrust to sever the great vessels, blood spurting everywhere.
The heart held up, the gift shown to Huitzilopotchli, the body thrown down the pyramid. And then, without pause, the next one laid down, the line advancing, always advancing. For four days, under the fierce sun.
The line must keep moving, a line that stretched as far as the eye could see. Under the fierce sun, thousands upon thousands of our defeated Tlaxcalan enemies, men and women, lined up to be fed to the great god of the Sun, of war, Huitzilopotchli. So that we Mexica, we Aztecs could flourish. So that the Sun would keep shining.
Up the 117 steps to the top of the Great Temple of Tenochtitlan, our capital, seat of our Emperor, one after another. Quickly laid down on the altar. The priest with his obsidian knife in one quick thrust into the abdomen, then up, to the heart. Another thrust to sever the great vessels, blood spurting everywhere.
The heart held up, the gift shown to Huitzilopotchli, the body thrown down the pyramid. And then, without pause, the next one laid down, the line advancing, always advancing. For four days, under the fierce sun.
Last edited by a moderator:
windar
Teller of Tales
A brief historical note on the Aztecs and the Tlaxcalans. About 30 years later, in 1519, the Tlaxcalans got some measure of revenge. When Cortes landed on the coast at Veracruz they met him, After some initial skirmishes, they ended up allying with the Spaniards against the Aztecs. Their help was crucial in allowing a few hundred conquistadores to capture Tenochtitlan, a city of around 250,000 people, possibly the largest city in the world at that time. Of course, the Tlaxcalans ended up ruled by the Spaniards just as the Aztecs did.
Fox-on-Cross
Great-Cruxinquisitor
Life is suffer and
suffer is life.
+
A girl has the smart:
to be no man,
to undergo the coitus,
to give birth and
to care for family.
+
The crown on her miserable life is
the cross,
+
the row wooden backbase,
her frozen hands and feet,
the smartultime existence,
as reward for life,
to wait for her end,
her completed life.
+
Fox-on-Cross 2016
suffer is life.
+
A girl has the smart:
to be no man,
to undergo the coitus,
to give birth and
to care for family.
+
The crown on her miserable life is
the cross,
+
the row wooden backbase,
her frozen hands and feet,
the smartultime existence,
as reward for life,
to wait for her end,
her completed life.
+
Fox-on-Cross 2016
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
So a story that Pp found while trying to research how He would execute the heretic Barbara He had tortured to her confession here:
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/confession.4411/#post-169570
and in the Forum Archive at:
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/resources/the-confession-of-a-heretic-by-pp-and-barbaria.438/
Pp did not write this and cannot remember where He found it but He can confirm that the author (RoxanneBlue) was not our own Roxie. It is wonderfully written and should be read more widely. Pp would be honoured to meet RoxanneBlue...if only to extract her own confession..... Is she here at all? Does anyone know here from other forums?
I Am Burned at the Stake
By RoxanneBlue
My bare foot touches the cold paving stones of the square. The chain connecting the shackles fettering my ankles clanks sharply. I shiver and my teeth chatter as I am led forward, my head down, two guards on either side of me, strong hands on my arms. As if I can escape. I can see the boots of the guards lining the pathway to the scaffold, holding back the throng. Their words assault me, though, as much as the refuse that they pelt my body with.
I stumble, falling to my knees, my manacled hands scrapping on the stones as I catch myself. The crowd laughs, and the guards who let me fall haul me back to my feet. I glance up, through the cleared passageway to the stake. It rises high from a tall pyre, the bundles of wood neatly stacked, a cart with more kindling beside it. At the front of the cart, a donkey lowers his head and searches the ground for something to graze on.
I look down again, at the thin white shift that I have been forced to wear to my execution. Bits of garbage cling to it now. Soon it will be covered with soot before it burns away. I have tried for days not to think of how I am to die, but it has been impossible. I have seen many people burned at the stake; I’ve heard the screams and cries for mercy. For days I sat on the floor of my cell and saw each face as it contorted in pain before blistering and blackening. Is there anyone in this pitiless crowd who will be haunted by my death? Or will they all enjoy the spectacle of my gruesome execution and reminisce about the fine entertainment I provided. I hate all of them, almost as much as they hate me.
The inexorable march to the stake continues, accompanied by the rattling of my chains and the insults of the crowd. They shout for me to burn in voices filled with self-righteous glee. Not one thinks that they could ever be in my position. But I know better. I was once part of the merciless crowd.
I look up again, the stake close now, looming upwards against the gray sky. It has begun to snow. A wooden ladder rests against the pyre, and the executioner waits atop for me, dressed in black with a hood covering his face. Except for his eyes, grimly resolute on me. The guards lead me to the ladder, placing my hands on the higher rungs for me to climb. The executioner steps forward as they shove me upwards, forcing my feet up. As I rise up, the executioner grabs my arm with a large hand and pulls me up the rest of the way. I kneel on the top of the pyre at the foot of the stake, staring at a log that has been set against it.
Hands grab hold of me again and pull me up, and I realize that a couple of the guards have followed me up the ladder. At the instructions of the executioner, they force me against the stake, my back against the wood. I am lifted slightly so that my feet stand on the log at the base of the stake. As they hold me in place, a chain is quickly wrapped around my waist three times and pulled taut before being crossed over my chest. I hear a hammering as it is secured to the wood. My ankle shackles are unlocked but quickly bound again with cold chains holding them tight against the post. More chains crisscross my legs. Finally my manacles are removed, but the guards immediately grab my arms and pull them behind the post. A smaller chain, freezing cold, is wrapped around each wrist, then pulled tight to bind them together before being nailed to the stake behind me.
Other than my head, I cannot move more than just a bit. The guards and executioner check the security of my bindings as I try to struggle. Satisfied that I’m held fast to the stake, the executioner dismisses the guards, who climb back down the ladder. I look into the face of this man who will soon put me to death, into the dark eyes that show no emotion. He returns my gaze for several long seconds before turning and climbing down the ladder, which he removes when he’s reached the ground. I am alone now at the stake, bound tightly.
Finally I look out at the crowd, my head resting against the back of the stake. The wealthy sit in the grandstands or are gathered on balconies, huddled under blankets and furs. The poor people and the less successful merchants squeeze together in the town square. They have grown quiet now, and I know that they are feeling the erotic thrill of seeing a young, healthy body bound to a stake atop a pyre, ready to be burned to death.
I shake as much as the cold chains allow, my feet and hands almost numb. My breath comes in rapid gasps, visible in the cold air as small puffs. I sniff to keep my nose from running. The executioner places a few small bundles of faggots around my feet, but keeps the pyre well below my knees. He will not burn me quickly. The magistrate takes his time standing at the officials’ platform in the grandstands, but eventually he announces to the gathered crowd that I have been condemned to be burned to death at the stake for my crimes. The crowd roars as he orders the execution to proceed.
The executioner picks up a torch and touches it to a brazier standing by. The torch ignites, and the executioner carries it to the pyre, touching it against the kindling that has been placed among the stacked logs. I see the kindling ignite, and I feel sick. The executioner continues to move around the pyre, touching the torch to several spots of kindling. I crane my neck around to watch him, his progress a sinister fascination for me. I hear the crackling of the dry wood and immediately feel the heat. The executioner, done with lighting my pyre, steps back and surveys his work with satisfaction.
The warmth of the fire feels pleasant for the moment, and the crowd moves forward to take advantage of the heat it gives off. The flames surround me, but they are still low for now. My hands unclasp and my finger stretch out towards the warmth. I quickly tighten them back into fists again. They will be warm soon enough. I can feel the snowflakes fall against my cheeks, and I close my eyes for a moment as they catch in my eyelashes. The acrid smell of burning wood reaches up to my nostrils. When I open my eyes again, it is snowing harder, the white snowflakes falling down as the bright orange embers float upwards.
I wince as the first snap of the flames is felt against my feet. I writhe a bit, uselessly, which incites the crowd crying out for me to burn. The icy breeze comes from my left, pushing the smoke away from my face. In spite of the flames, the crowd can get a good look at me. I suck in my breath, determined not to cry out, as the flames begin to play around my feet. I struggle harder against the chains now, trying to pull my feet away from the blaze.
Tilting my head back as much as I can, I stare up at the gray sky, the snow falling onto my face. I blink several times but concentrate on the cold against my skin. The pain in my feet is agonizing, the skin blistering and the nerves throbbing. This is to give me a taste of the searing torment that I will experience in Hell, a precursor of the eternal damnation of my soul.
I clench my hands and cry out. The blaze grows higher, licking against my chained hands. The faggots around my legs catch and burn, sending fingers of flame up my legs. The thin shift I am wearing catches fire and burns away, scorching my skin. My lower body is in agony. I beg for mercy, for a quick end to my torture, but the executioner grabs a long pole with a hook on it and pulls the burning faggots away from my body. My naked, tormented body is exposed to the crowd, my legs blackened, my skin blistered and red up to my shoulders. Even without the flames, my body is still racked. Smoke wafts up from my skin to my nostrils, and I gag on the smell of my own burnt flesh.
The crowd stares at my mutilated body, and I let my chin fall forward. Charred flesh is what I see below my waist, the blackened chains still holding my legs tight against the stake. My body has become less human, more that of the demon that I am accused of being. I shudder, and look towards the executioner. He stares back at me impassively, giving everyone a good, long look at the half-demon chained to the stake.
Finally he steps over to the donkey cart and grabs several faggots from those piled on the bed. He tosses them on the pyre around my legs, feeding the fire around me again. The flames flare up again, once more consuming my flesh. I scream in agony. Smoke sears my throat and lungs as I struggle for breath. Rapt eyes watch as I writhe against my chains, enjoying my futile struggles. I curse them as my hands and arms burn, and I pray for the release of death as the flames reach my shoulders and burn away my hair. My blood boils in my veins.
My anguished body sags against my fetters and my head falls forward again. I see the chains binding my legs fall away as my legs collapse and disintegrate. I feel nothing now except the hate and anger at those that condemned me and the humiliation of my ignoble death. My singed lips utter their last curses as my eyes grow sightless.
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/confession.4411/#post-169570
and in the Forum Archive at:
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/resources/the-confession-of-a-heretic-by-pp-and-barbaria.438/
Pp did not write this and cannot remember where He found it but He can confirm that the author (RoxanneBlue) was not our own Roxie. It is wonderfully written and should be read more widely. Pp would be honoured to meet RoxanneBlue...if only to extract her own confession..... Is she here at all? Does anyone know here from other forums?
I Am Burned at the Stake
By RoxanneBlue
My bare foot touches the cold paving stones of the square. The chain connecting the shackles fettering my ankles clanks sharply. I shiver and my teeth chatter as I am led forward, my head down, two guards on either side of me, strong hands on my arms. As if I can escape. I can see the boots of the guards lining the pathway to the scaffold, holding back the throng. Their words assault me, though, as much as the refuse that they pelt my body with.
I stumble, falling to my knees, my manacled hands scrapping on the stones as I catch myself. The crowd laughs, and the guards who let me fall haul me back to my feet. I glance up, through the cleared passageway to the stake. It rises high from a tall pyre, the bundles of wood neatly stacked, a cart with more kindling beside it. At the front of the cart, a donkey lowers his head and searches the ground for something to graze on.
I look down again, at the thin white shift that I have been forced to wear to my execution. Bits of garbage cling to it now. Soon it will be covered with soot before it burns away. I have tried for days not to think of how I am to die, but it has been impossible. I have seen many people burned at the stake; I’ve heard the screams and cries for mercy. For days I sat on the floor of my cell and saw each face as it contorted in pain before blistering and blackening. Is there anyone in this pitiless crowd who will be haunted by my death? Or will they all enjoy the spectacle of my gruesome execution and reminisce about the fine entertainment I provided. I hate all of them, almost as much as they hate me.
The inexorable march to the stake continues, accompanied by the rattling of my chains and the insults of the crowd. They shout for me to burn in voices filled with self-righteous glee. Not one thinks that they could ever be in my position. But I know better. I was once part of the merciless crowd.
I look up again, the stake close now, looming upwards against the gray sky. It has begun to snow. A wooden ladder rests against the pyre, and the executioner waits atop for me, dressed in black with a hood covering his face. Except for his eyes, grimly resolute on me. The guards lead me to the ladder, placing my hands on the higher rungs for me to climb. The executioner steps forward as they shove me upwards, forcing my feet up. As I rise up, the executioner grabs my arm with a large hand and pulls me up the rest of the way. I kneel on the top of the pyre at the foot of the stake, staring at a log that has been set against it.
Hands grab hold of me again and pull me up, and I realize that a couple of the guards have followed me up the ladder. At the instructions of the executioner, they force me against the stake, my back against the wood. I am lifted slightly so that my feet stand on the log at the base of the stake. As they hold me in place, a chain is quickly wrapped around my waist three times and pulled taut before being crossed over my chest. I hear a hammering as it is secured to the wood. My ankle shackles are unlocked but quickly bound again with cold chains holding them tight against the post. More chains crisscross my legs. Finally my manacles are removed, but the guards immediately grab my arms and pull them behind the post. A smaller chain, freezing cold, is wrapped around each wrist, then pulled tight to bind them together before being nailed to the stake behind me.
Other than my head, I cannot move more than just a bit. The guards and executioner check the security of my bindings as I try to struggle. Satisfied that I’m held fast to the stake, the executioner dismisses the guards, who climb back down the ladder. I look into the face of this man who will soon put me to death, into the dark eyes that show no emotion. He returns my gaze for several long seconds before turning and climbing down the ladder, which he removes when he’s reached the ground. I am alone now at the stake, bound tightly.
Finally I look out at the crowd, my head resting against the back of the stake. The wealthy sit in the grandstands or are gathered on balconies, huddled under blankets and furs. The poor people and the less successful merchants squeeze together in the town square. They have grown quiet now, and I know that they are feeling the erotic thrill of seeing a young, healthy body bound to a stake atop a pyre, ready to be burned to death.
I shake as much as the cold chains allow, my feet and hands almost numb. My breath comes in rapid gasps, visible in the cold air as small puffs. I sniff to keep my nose from running. The executioner places a few small bundles of faggots around my feet, but keeps the pyre well below my knees. He will not burn me quickly. The magistrate takes his time standing at the officials’ platform in the grandstands, but eventually he announces to the gathered crowd that I have been condemned to be burned to death at the stake for my crimes. The crowd roars as he orders the execution to proceed.
The executioner picks up a torch and touches it to a brazier standing by. The torch ignites, and the executioner carries it to the pyre, touching it against the kindling that has been placed among the stacked logs. I see the kindling ignite, and I feel sick. The executioner continues to move around the pyre, touching the torch to several spots of kindling. I crane my neck around to watch him, his progress a sinister fascination for me. I hear the crackling of the dry wood and immediately feel the heat. The executioner, done with lighting my pyre, steps back and surveys his work with satisfaction.
The warmth of the fire feels pleasant for the moment, and the crowd moves forward to take advantage of the heat it gives off. The flames surround me, but they are still low for now. My hands unclasp and my finger stretch out towards the warmth. I quickly tighten them back into fists again. They will be warm soon enough. I can feel the snowflakes fall against my cheeks, and I close my eyes for a moment as they catch in my eyelashes. The acrid smell of burning wood reaches up to my nostrils. When I open my eyes again, it is snowing harder, the white snowflakes falling down as the bright orange embers float upwards.
I wince as the first snap of the flames is felt against my feet. I writhe a bit, uselessly, which incites the crowd crying out for me to burn. The icy breeze comes from my left, pushing the smoke away from my face. In spite of the flames, the crowd can get a good look at me. I suck in my breath, determined not to cry out, as the flames begin to play around my feet. I struggle harder against the chains now, trying to pull my feet away from the blaze.
Tilting my head back as much as I can, I stare up at the gray sky, the snow falling onto my face. I blink several times but concentrate on the cold against my skin. The pain in my feet is agonizing, the skin blistering and the nerves throbbing. This is to give me a taste of the searing torment that I will experience in Hell, a precursor of the eternal damnation of my soul.
I clench my hands and cry out. The blaze grows higher, licking against my chained hands. The faggots around my legs catch and burn, sending fingers of flame up my legs. The thin shift I am wearing catches fire and burns away, scorching my skin. My lower body is in agony. I beg for mercy, for a quick end to my torture, but the executioner grabs a long pole with a hook on it and pulls the burning faggots away from my body. My naked, tormented body is exposed to the crowd, my legs blackened, my skin blistered and red up to my shoulders. Even without the flames, my body is still racked. Smoke wafts up from my skin to my nostrils, and I gag on the smell of my own burnt flesh.
The crowd stares at my mutilated body, and I let my chin fall forward. Charred flesh is what I see below my waist, the blackened chains still holding my legs tight against the stake. My body has become less human, more that of the demon that I am accused of being. I shudder, and look towards the executioner. He stares back at me impassively, giving everyone a good, long look at the half-demon chained to the stake.
Finally he steps over to the donkey cart and grabs several faggots from those piled on the bed. He tosses them on the pyre around my legs, feeding the fire around me again. The flames flare up again, once more consuming my flesh. I scream in agony. Smoke sears my throat and lungs as I struggle for breath. Rapt eyes watch as I writhe against my chains, enjoying my futile struggles. I curse them as my hands and arms burn, and I pray for the release of death as the flames reach my shoulders and burn away my hair. My blood boils in my veins.
My anguished body sags against my fetters and my head falls forward again. I see the chains binding my legs fall away as my legs collapse and disintegrate. I feel nothing now except the hate and anger at those that condemned me and the humiliation of my ignoble death. My singed lips utter their last curses as my eyes grow sightless.
Last edited:
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
This short story is inspired by this pic, appeared in 'Female Tortures' (page 4) several months ago.
ON THE SCAFFOLD.
“…found guilty by the Court to the crime of premeditated murder…”.
‘Premeditated murder’! Without doubt! Eve’s victim had been the guy who had killed her sister. He had been driving under influence. He rode off from the parking of the inn, and without stopping, he took the main road, where she passed along just that moment. His heavy SUV, reinforced with a bull bar, took Eve’s sister’s car in the flank. She had no chance.
He had been back on the move, after a ridiculously light judicial sanction. He soon resumed his habit of drinking all evening and then driving home. One evening, Eve had confronted him on the parking of the inn. He had laughed her away. He did want he wanted to do! It was only up to himself whether he was still able to drive a car. She could not make him anything, he said, because he had influential friends in the justice system. Then, he drove on and took the main road without even slowing down in order to check if there was any traffic to give way to. Horrified, Eve could see how her sister’s accident had happened. Eve went to the police, but they told her that the case had been closed. It was clear to her that justice would not come into action against him as when he would have caused another fatal accident. Eve got determined not to let it come that far. The next Sunday evening, Eve was back on the parking. They had an argument again. He had warned Eve to stop stalking him, or he would go to the police! She had not said a word anymore, but when he wanted to start his car, she fired three shots into his head, point-blank through the side window. Then she dropped the gun and waited for the police to come.
In court, she was very combative. She showed no regret at all. To the horror of her attorney, she challenged the judge and the prosecutor, by stating that the justice system had been too lenient towards her victim and was in general too slack in preventing deadly accidents such as the one that had killed her sister. Eve boldly stated in court that the justice system was an accomplice in what she called the murder of her sister. Eve declared that she had only acted to save the life of more victims to wait. The conflict ended up into a predictable verdict, guilty, and Eve was condemned to the highest possible sentence, death!
It was a remarkable verdict. The motivation of her guilt apparently emphasized more on her motivation (taking law into her hands as a bold statement of distrust against the slackness of justice), on her conduct during the inquiry (her stubborn refusal to reveal where she got the gun from) and on her conduct in court during her trial, rather than on the mere fact of premeditated homicide properly.
It had taken a few months since the sentence had been pronounced. Eve’s attorney had filed an appeal, but that had been denied. Ten days ago she had been told that the place and time of her execution had been fixed. Ten days to count down. Ten days of contemplation. Ten days to reconcile herself with the prospect of an inevitable end soon to come.
“I will no more see the sun go down, so let it be!” She had said to herself that morning. Obediently, she had herself been brought to the execution place, been led on the scaffold and been prepared. Obediently, she let the executioner’s assistants strip her naked and strap her to the X-cross. From her cross, she kept putting things straight for herself. Obviously, she deserved this, she kept telling herself. She was a murderer. Regardless of her motive, she had caused grief to her victim’s family and relatives, like he had done to hers by driving down her sister. Hence, she tried to ignore the cries of ‘murderer’ some had shouted to her, underway to the scaffold. She was a murderer, she deserved her sentence , so she had made up her mind to behave resigned. Meanwhile, she felt she could keep her head up, because of what she always had considered as the rightfulness of her motive, intended to save lives (and not as an act of revenge). That thought kept feeding her intentions to accept the sentence with pride.
‘BENG!!’ Eve’s contemplations were suddenly interrupted when, with indifferent rudeness, an assistant of the executioner put down a heavy bucket under her spread legs. She knew the purpose of it. The bucket stood there to catch the bodily fluids she would, no doubt, release during her execution. Although she knew she would lose control of her body, as a natural reaction to the treatment she would undergo soon, it suddenly came up as a shameful thought. Suddenly she oversaw the reality of the scene around her. And she realized that she was in the middle of it all. This was to be HER execution.
Meanwhile, she noticed a crowd had gathered around the scaffold. Men and women of all ages, visibly fascinated by the view the executioner and his team preparing their tools, and even much more by the view the bare naked and restrained, Eve, powerless, and helplessly forced to wait what was to come,…
She knew well the mood of such a crowd. Behind the appearance of being there to witness justice being served, they were full of guilty pleasure. Instigated to enjoy the lustful curiosity to see a naked woman brought cruelly to death in the name of justice. Thereby voluntarily horrifying themselves with the view of a fate they absolutely wouldn’t want to happen to themselves. She saw them staring at her naked body, powerlessly exposed in a spread-eagled position. Eve could literally feel rise up their lecherous looks, shamelessly scrutinizing her body, now being a public possession, as well as their impatient eager to see that body soon suffering, shivering and writhing. She saw them staring at her face, trying to grasp any sign of her feelings of shame, fear and terror.
Eve saw the executioner prepare his instruments. She saw long nails and a hammer. She saw irons in a coal fire. She saw a set of sharp tools and blunt tools, apparently designed to penetrate the body. She saw flogging instruments. The executioner held up a torture pear, and gave them to an assistant. He stepped to Eve and forced it into her mouth- not without, for the first time, any resistance from her. Eve knew that was still part of the preparation, not yet the real execution procedure. The pear was intended to muffle any attempt of her to protest, to insult, or to beg for mercy. No last words for her! The pear was intended to subject her fully to the hands of justice. With all her legal means being exhausted after the denial of her appeal, Eve had judicially no more right of speech. The pear would turn all her words into meaningless sounds, and it would amplify her cries of pain into loud roars that would sound all over the square. Nevertheless, the pear soon caused cramps in Eve’s jaws. It felt suffocating, it made breathing difficult. The discomfort made her get tears in her eyes of it.
The scaffold! The pear! The bucket! The executioner! The tools! The crowd! Eve noticed she had all the time been catching the handgrips on her cross by her fists. This had been because hanging to the straps felt uncomfortable at her wrists and ankles. There were foot supports, but these were inclined, making her feeling sliding down all the time. Just hanging caused difficult breathing too, and had already caused cramps and strain over all her body although she had been on that cross for barely ten minutes. She had used the grips to pull up herself all the time. And although the pulling had caused fatigue in her arms and hands, she now caught the grips even more firmer, as she got suddenly overwhelmed by a deep intense fear. She felt naked, completely helpless, lonely, she felt her last hopes run away. Paradoxically, the cross she was strapped on, in order to be brought to death soon, now seemed the only thing left to her to seek protection. The handgrips were the only way to lead away her fears. And she knew, soon, the she would cling even more to the grips, as she would have to fight the pain.
Unbearable pain, soon to come… pain imposed by the court, not for revenge, but to ‘allow’ Eve to ‘reflect and contemplate’ the gravity of her crime, only after which the executioner will garrote her.
The end.
ON THE SCAFFOLD.
“…found guilty by the Court to the crime of premeditated murder…”.
‘Premeditated murder’! Without doubt! Eve’s victim had been the guy who had killed her sister. He had been driving under influence. He rode off from the parking of the inn, and without stopping, he took the main road, where she passed along just that moment. His heavy SUV, reinforced with a bull bar, took Eve’s sister’s car in the flank. She had no chance.
He had been back on the move, after a ridiculously light judicial sanction. He soon resumed his habit of drinking all evening and then driving home. One evening, Eve had confronted him on the parking of the inn. He had laughed her away. He did want he wanted to do! It was only up to himself whether he was still able to drive a car. She could not make him anything, he said, because he had influential friends in the justice system. Then, he drove on and took the main road without even slowing down in order to check if there was any traffic to give way to. Horrified, Eve could see how her sister’s accident had happened. Eve went to the police, but they told her that the case had been closed. It was clear to her that justice would not come into action against him as when he would have caused another fatal accident. Eve got determined not to let it come that far. The next Sunday evening, Eve was back on the parking. They had an argument again. He had warned Eve to stop stalking him, or he would go to the police! She had not said a word anymore, but when he wanted to start his car, she fired three shots into his head, point-blank through the side window. Then she dropped the gun and waited for the police to come.
In court, she was very combative. She showed no regret at all. To the horror of her attorney, she challenged the judge and the prosecutor, by stating that the justice system had been too lenient towards her victim and was in general too slack in preventing deadly accidents such as the one that had killed her sister. Eve boldly stated in court that the justice system was an accomplice in what she called the murder of her sister. Eve declared that she had only acted to save the life of more victims to wait. The conflict ended up into a predictable verdict, guilty, and Eve was condemned to the highest possible sentence, death!
It was a remarkable verdict. The motivation of her guilt apparently emphasized more on her motivation (taking law into her hands as a bold statement of distrust against the slackness of justice), on her conduct during the inquiry (her stubborn refusal to reveal where she got the gun from) and on her conduct in court during her trial, rather than on the mere fact of premeditated homicide properly.
It had taken a few months since the sentence had been pronounced. Eve’s attorney had filed an appeal, but that had been denied. Ten days ago she had been told that the place and time of her execution had been fixed. Ten days to count down. Ten days of contemplation. Ten days to reconcile herself with the prospect of an inevitable end soon to come.
“I will no more see the sun go down, so let it be!” She had said to herself that morning. Obediently, she had herself been brought to the execution place, been led on the scaffold and been prepared. Obediently, she let the executioner’s assistants strip her naked and strap her to the X-cross. From her cross, she kept putting things straight for herself. Obviously, she deserved this, she kept telling herself. She was a murderer. Regardless of her motive, she had caused grief to her victim’s family and relatives, like he had done to hers by driving down her sister. Hence, she tried to ignore the cries of ‘murderer’ some had shouted to her, underway to the scaffold. She was a murderer, she deserved her sentence , so she had made up her mind to behave resigned. Meanwhile, she felt she could keep her head up, because of what she always had considered as the rightfulness of her motive, intended to save lives (and not as an act of revenge). That thought kept feeding her intentions to accept the sentence with pride.
‘BENG!!’ Eve’s contemplations were suddenly interrupted when, with indifferent rudeness, an assistant of the executioner put down a heavy bucket under her spread legs. She knew the purpose of it. The bucket stood there to catch the bodily fluids she would, no doubt, release during her execution. Although she knew she would lose control of her body, as a natural reaction to the treatment she would undergo soon, it suddenly came up as a shameful thought. Suddenly she oversaw the reality of the scene around her. And she realized that she was in the middle of it all. This was to be HER execution.
Meanwhile, she noticed a crowd had gathered around the scaffold. Men and women of all ages, visibly fascinated by the view the executioner and his team preparing their tools, and even much more by the view the bare naked and restrained, Eve, powerless, and helplessly forced to wait what was to come,…
She knew well the mood of such a crowd. Behind the appearance of being there to witness justice being served, they were full of guilty pleasure. Instigated to enjoy the lustful curiosity to see a naked woman brought cruelly to death in the name of justice. Thereby voluntarily horrifying themselves with the view of a fate they absolutely wouldn’t want to happen to themselves. She saw them staring at her naked body, powerlessly exposed in a spread-eagled position. Eve could literally feel rise up their lecherous looks, shamelessly scrutinizing her body, now being a public possession, as well as their impatient eager to see that body soon suffering, shivering and writhing. She saw them staring at her face, trying to grasp any sign of her feelings of shame, fear and terror.
Eve saw the executioner prepare his instruments. She saw long nails and a hammer. She saw irons in a coal fire. She saw a set of sharp tools and blunt tools, apparently designed to penetrate the body. She saw flogging instruments. The executioner held up a torture pear, and gave them to an assistant. He stepped to Eve and forced it into her mouth- not without, for the first time, any resistance from her. Eve knew that was still part of the preparation, not yet the real execution procedure. The pear was intended to muffle any attempt of her to protest, to insult, or to beg for mercy. No last words for her! The pear was intended to subject her fully to the hands of justice. With all her legal means being exhausted after the denial of her appeal, Eve had judicially no more right of speech. The pear would turn all her words into meaningless sounds, and it would amplify her cries of pain into loud roars that would sound all over the square. Nevertheless, the pear soon caused cramps in Eve’s jaws. It felt suffocating, it made breathing difficult. The discomfort made her get tears in her eyes of it.
The scaffold! The pear! The bucket! The executioner! The tools! The crowd! Eve noticed she had all the time been catching the handgrips on her cross by her fists. This had been because hanging to the straps felt uncomfortable at her wrists and ankles. There were foot supports, but these were inclined, making her feeling sliding down all the time. Just hanging caused difficult breathing too, and had already caused cramps and strain over all her body although she had been on that cross for barely ten minutes. She had used the grips to pull up herself all the time. And although the pulling had caused fatigue in her arms and hands, she now caught the grips even more firmer, as she got suddenly overwhelmed by a deep intense fear. She felt naked, completely helpless, lonely, she felt her last hopes run away. Paradoxically, the cross she was strapped on, in order to be brought to death soon, now seemed the only thing left to her to seek protection. The handgrips were the only way to lead away her fears. And she knew, soon, the she would cling even more to the grips, as she would have to fight the pain.
Unbearable pain, soon to come… pain imposed by the court, not for revenge, but to ‘allow’ Eve to ‘reflect and contemplate’ the gravity of her crime, only after which the executioner will garrote her.
The end.
messaline
Crucified Amazon
malins
Stumbling Seeker
I think she was at home on the Dark Spot. She did a lot of writing there, with few exceptions however with male victims
(who the victim is, is actually not so explicit here)
This one I think part of a series where she explored various ways of going. or rather being made to go.
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
Thank you Malin (though don't assume that Pp's thanks extend beyond this reply and so expect deductions for marks made in notebooks or even a more favourable exchange rate between gold paid in return for another currencyI think she was at home on the Dark Spot. She did a lot of writing there, with few exceptions however with male victims
(who the victim is, is actually not so explicit here)
This one I think part of a series where she explored various ways of going. or rather being made to go.
)
She was known for her rather dry humor...I think she was at home on the Dark Spot. She did a lot of writing there, with few exceptions however with male victims
(who the victim is, is actually not so explicit here)
This one I think part of a series where she explored various ways of going. or rather being made to go.
impaler49152
Governor
"911, what's your emergency?"
"Please help me! My name is Cassie! I can hear gun shots and screams all over the students dorms... I think we're under attack!"
"Yes, we are aware of the situations. Theres a large group of heavily armed men in your building. There have been several victims already, as far as I know."
"So? Why are you so calm? Send help, please!"
"There's already several units sourrounding the building, but as long as the invaders are holding students hostage, the units can't move in!"
"So, what am I supposed to do? I can hear them coming closer. I think they are down the hall. I heard screams of other girls..."
"I understand. Those girls are probably getting raped and tortured right now. One of the attackers is actually live streaming the attack on the web. I'm looking at the footage right now."
"Fuck! So, what am I supposed to do? Just wait here to get raped as well?"
"Well, that might be your best option? Are you hot?"
"What?"
"Would you consider yourself attractive?"
"I guess... but why do you want to know?"
"Well, from what I can see in the live stream, they're shooting the ugly ones immediately and force the hot ones to strip and give blow jobs at gun point. Are you good a giving, blow jobs, Cassie?"
"Fuck... what? blow jobs? What do you mean?"
"Don't be naive, Cassie. You'll have to entertain them in order to stay alive. They just shot a blond girl in her crotch because she refused to suck a guy off. But there's a brunette co-ed of yours who really knows what those guys want. She's stripping and playing with her pussy right in front of the attackers. If you have a chance, you should really tune into that live stream. That is so fucking hot... now they ordered her to lie down spread eagle on the desk so they can press their hard cocks against her tits and inner thighs. Wow... those are some huge juicy cocks. Well... no time for foreplay I gues... one of the guys slipped it right inside her shaved pussy and she doesn't look like she minds. In fact she seems to like it... her nipples are rock hard and she start's panting and moaning."
"Excuse me, that's good for her, but what am I supposed to do now?"
"Well, honey.... I suggest you just get ready for getting fucked by the attackers. If I were you, I would strip and rub myself as wet as possible. Look at those huge monster cocks... you certainly don't want one of those guys in your unlubricated vagina."
"So, you want me to masturbate?"
"Sure... why not. Rub you little clitty while you still can. Just 10 minutes ago, they completely mutilated a blond's pussy with a scissor and removed her little clitty, after she failed to cum when they forced her to masturbate at gun point. So unless you want that to happen to you..."
"I understand...."
"That's the spirit. Alright... I think they're almost done, doing that brunette girl. Two of the guys shot their hot sperm already... that might be bad news for you. If they don't feel the urge to inseminate you, then they might just torture and kill you for fun instead."
"Fuck..."
"Yes... on the other hand... they just killed the brunette as well, just because she climaxed without permission. I guess those guys are just some sadistic perverts who love to sexually torture girls like you. So, my advice to you is: Just enjoy your death fuck... and by the way: I think they are about to enter your room. Do you hear them?"
"Shit! They are kicking my door in! FUCK! NO!"
"Ah, I can see you on the live stream! Wow... you really started playing with yourself. Good for you! Now put away that phone and enjoy their cocks! I'm so fucking wet right now, I really have to rub one out while watching your death rape on my phone in the ladies room! Take care, Cassie!"
A
asprn64
Guest
Similar idea more story form:
In the midst of ancient Rome, a small group of Roman soldiers found themselves tasked with leading a male victim to his crucifixion. The designated site for this solemn event was chosen along the serene river, just outside the bustling town. However, as the soldiers and their prisoner arrived at the location, a sudden downpour of rain began to drench the surroundings, as if nature itself mourned the impending tragedy.
The victim possessed a swimmers build, his chiseled physique accentuated by the garment he wore that resembled a speedo. With strong, well-defined abs, he stood as a striking figure amidst the somber atmosphere. Four soldiers, burdened by the frustrations of a long day's work, accompanied him. Their anger at being forced to undertake this duty only added to the tension that hung heavy in the air.
To their dismay, as the soldiers prepared for the crucifixion, they discovered their negligence: they had forgotten to bring the essential nails required for the task at hand. This unforeseen mistake presented an added challenge to their already arduous mission. Nonetheless, the soldiers were resolute in their duty and unwilling to let obstacles hinder their progress.
One among the soldiers, his voice carrying a mix of frustration and authority, declared, "Behold, this man stands naked before you!" With swift and practiced movements, the remaining clothing adorning the victim's body was stripped away, leaving him exposed and vulnerable to the elements and the piercing judgment of the onlookers.
Undeterred by the absence of the necessary nails, the soldiers resorted to their resourcefulness. Utilizing heavy ropes, they meticulously secured the victim's hands and armpits to the crossbeam, ensuring that he would remain in place during the agonizing ordeal to come. The rain continued to pour unrelentingly, further intensifying the already solemn atmosphere surrounding the crucifixion.
As the soldiers prepared to hoist the cross onto the scaffolding, a creak echoed through the air, causing the wooden post to graze against the victim's bare back and buttocks. The sharp sting of pain pierced through his body, a cruel reminder of the suffering he would endure. Yet, with each passing moment, his spirit remained unbroken, as he braced himself for the ultimate sacrifice he was about to make.
It is important to remember that while this story captures the essence of a crucifixion scene, particular details presented here may differ from historical facts. Crucifixion in ancient Rome varied in practice, and the experience of each victim was unique. The story serves as a reminder of the tragic events that unfolded during this period in history, marked by suffering and sacrifice.
(write a story Roman soldiers lead there male victim to be crucified. The Crucifixion takes place along the river outside of town, once they arrive to the site it begins to rain. The victim has a swimmers build wearing what looks to be a speedo and strong six pack abs, there are 4 soldiers to were angary they had to work today and later in the process they forgot nails and the work was more difficult. The soldier says "this man naked before you". they use heavy ropes to tie him to the crossbeam around his hands and armpits and stripped him a few seconds before they use ropes to pull it up on the scaffolding and one of the post for the scaffolding which was made out of wood cause further pain for the victim)
In the midst of ancient Rome, a small group of Roman soldiers found themselves tasked with leading a male victim to his crucifixion. The designated site for this solemn event was chosen along the serene river, just outside the bustling town. However, as the soldiers and their prisoner arrived at the location, a sudden downpour of rain began to drench the surroundings, as if nature itself mourned the impending tragedy.
The victim possessed a swimmers build, his chiseled physique accentuated by the garment he wore that resembled a speedo. With strong, well-defined abs, he stood as a striking figure amidst the somber atmosphere. Four soldiers, burdened by the frustrations of a long day's work, accompanied him. Their anger at being forced to undertake this duty only added to the tension that hung heavy in the air.
To their dismay, as the soldiers prepared for the crucifixion, they discovered their negligence: they had forgotten to bring the essential nails required for the task at hand. This unforeseen mistake presented an added challenge to their already arduous mission. Nonetheless, the soldiers were resolute in their duty and unwilling to let obstacles hinder their progress.
One among the soldiers, his voice carrying a mix of frustration and authority, declared, "Behold, this man stands naked before you!" With swift and practiced movements, the remaining clothing adorning the victim's body was stripped away, leaving him exposed and vulnerable to the elements and the piercing judgment of the onlookers.
Undeterred by the absence of the necessary nails, the soldiers resorted to their resourcefulness. Utilizing heavy ropes, they meticulously secured the victim's hands and armpits to the crossbeam, ensuring that he would remain in place during the agonizing ordeal to come. The rain continued to pour unrelentingly, further intensifying the already solemn atmosphere surrounding the crucifixion.
As the soldiers prepared to hoist the cross onto the scaffolding, a creak echoed through the air, causing the wooden post to graze against the victim's bare back and buttocks. The sharp sting of pain pierced through his body, a cruel reminder of the suffering he would endure. Yet, with each passing moment, his spirit remained unbroken, as he braced himself for the ultimate sacrifice he was about to make.
It is important to remember that while this story captures the essence of a crucifixion scene, particular details presented here may differ from historical facts. Crucifixion in ancient Rome varied in practice, and the experience of each victim was unique. The story serves as a reminder of the tragic events that unfolded during this period in history, marked by suffering and sacrifice.
(write a story Roman soldiers lead there male victim to be crucified. The Crucifixion takes place along the river outside of town, once they arrive to the site it begins to rain. The victim has a swimmers build wearing what looks to be a speedo and strong six pack abs, there are 4 soldiers to were angary they had to work today and later in the process they forgot nails and the work was more difficult. The soldier says "this man naked before you". they use heavy ropes to tie him to the crossbeam around his hands and armpits and stripped him a few seconds before they use ropes to pull it up on the scaffolding and one of the post for the scaffolding which was made out of wood cause further pain for the victim)
Stungiskhan
Magistrate
Great Dragon
I wrote a short story. I hope people like it.There could be other parts, but they are not written yet.
Great dragon
Great dragon lives in a mountain. Once per seven years it awakens and terrorizes nearby villages by burning homes and feasting with people’s flesh. When its eaten it’s stomach full, it just kills for fun. No weapon can harm it and no-one who have went to kill it, have never returned.
Jasmine was six when she first time saw the dragon flying. What a majestic creature with a strong wings, long tail, narrow like a whip, but split like a snake’s tongue, and thick scaly skin what looked like a metal and shined in all rainbow colors. She didn’t understand her mother’s panic and terror as she dragged her into basement and blocked her ears with her hands.
At thirteen, she have heard what the dragon was and what it did for the people. Still she couldn’t stop admiring it when she saw it flying again. Not even after she saw neighboring village burning and they screams could be heard miles away. She knew about the nature that there was hunters and prays and humans just happened to be dragon's pray.
Next morning, when she was at the market buying fresh vegetables, the dragon was seen again. This time it was heading to their village. People were running in panic but she just stayed there in an open and looked.
The dragon saw her, and made couple dives high from the sky, almost whipping the girl half with its tail. The dragon was known to be able to do so, but still the girl didn’t run but admired the majestic thing like some girls admire strong and noble horses.
Then dragon landed, fired some fierce flames towards the girl, but those didn’t scare her either. The girl felt deep in her heart that the dragon wouldn’t hurt her.
The dragon stared the girl and the girl stared the dragon. Finally, with few majestic flaps of it’s wings, the dragon flew over the girl and headed to its mountain. Girls village was spared this time.
Young Jasmine was worshiped as a hero and people told stories how her courage and beauty has tamed the dragon. Then the war broke and her heroines was forgotten.
At nineteen, she was remarkable beauty and chased by every man in the country. She sent them away because she already had find her true love. They were engaged and promised to get married as soon as he could come back from war.
He didn’t, but bad news came. Her loved one was captured and taken into interrogations. They were going to crucify him tomorrow evening when the moon was full. That’s what as done for everyone who was get caught.
Poor Jasmine started to cry from terror but then she remembered the dragon and what one old lady have told her back in time.
“Dragons are cruel and vicious creatures but also highly intelligent and they have born from magic. No human can ever understand dragons, what they do and why. Why dragon have saved you, no-one can tell, but they have their reasons. Dragon can see straight into humans soul, and they can speak too, if they want.”
The girl headed to the mountain, determined to ask the dragon to save her loved one. She climbed whole night and most of the next day until she finally arrived into dragon’s den. The dragon was in a sleep but it opened it’s yellow glowing eye as Jasmine got closer.
“How you dare to awake me from my sleep, human”, it roared. It spoke, but it’s mouth wasn’t moving.
“I… I “, girl started, but was interrupted by the dragon.
“I know why you came here, but the question is, what you can offer me as a payment. I saved you once because you were different, interesting, but it’s not enough this time. You awakened me and the usual punishment is death. You think you can just come here and ask me a favor, but know that my favors come with a high price. Very few human have lived long enough to been able to make one.”
Jasmine was shaking all over, but not just fear. There was one part of pure respect and admiration towards this creature and it's magic abilities but also part of excitement and sexual heat she felt growing inside her loins, It was making her sweat and her external parts tingling.
“I do whatever you ask from me”, Jasmine answered with trembling voice.
“We will see that! Take of your clothes!”, dragon ordered.
All kinds of weird thoughts, even perverse ones started to develop in girls mind and she felt her arousal growing.
“No! I feel absolute no attraction towards human body. It’s your mind what interests me most. Just don’t test my patience and let me wait no longer!”
Jasmine started to strip, piling her clothes on a top of the rock. The dragon was watching her closely and a hint of smile could be seen on its face as the girls bare tits came in to view.
A shiver run through young woman’s body like sparkling bolt of lightning. Next came to her skirt and then her underpants. Stark naked in a moonlight, which was almost full, she waited orders from the dragon. Her pussy was wet and her clitoris was tingling like mad. She felt more naked than ever before. Not only this creature could see what was outside, but it seemed to see straight into her mind.
“Lean against the tree with your legs apart”, dragon commanded.
More lewd thoughts and nervous sweating, but the girl proceeded the order and spread her legs, feeling how the cool morning air caressed her moist heated openings and all the nooks and grannies, which were swelling from the excitement.
The dragon turned around its place, lashed with its tail, bringing the split end right across Jasmine’s bare back. Fleshier parts of the tail had bones but the whippy end was just dense gristle and scales. It cracked like a gunshot on the tender female flesh and immediately left a throbbing welt which already trickled with blood.
Jasmine’s body stiffened and her legs gave out. She wanted to scream so bad but she just held the tree tightly and gasped for air. All kind of sensations were overwhelming her body but all of them weren't just pain.
“Prove your worth and I don’t kill you. If you do well I can even consider your suggestion. Fail to do so and you don’t leave here alive. Take four dozen lashes and these initial conditions are fulfilled.”
Jasmine didn’t say anything but in her mind she prepared herself for a whipping. She had no longer any other choice, but she'd had done it anyway for a sake of her love. She still felt a strange admiration towards the dragon and felt great satisfaction she was able to take that lash without screaming.
Following lashes were brutal and sliced into her her skin all over her naked body. Wounds were opened, making her spill her blood on the ground. She did scream from agony and sometimes she fell on the ground, but she always recovered and presented her naked body for a next lash. In any point of her whipping, she didn’t let unnoticed the throbbing need between her legs and how the each lash made it just grow and change it's shape.
After four dozen, she collapsed on the ground, shaking and sobbing, but happy, because she thought she had passed the test. The dragon turned to her, open its mouth, took a deep breath and then hold it in. Jasmine saw how the blue flame ignited in its throat and with a powerful blow it send the flame towards the helpless girl.
'Did I fail, is this my end', was Jasmine’s thought as the flame surrounded her completely.
It wasn’t her end. This flame didn’t burn girls flesh into ashes. It healed her and restored her strength. After the flame had died, there were no single scratch or mark in girl’s skin. It still burned and throbbing pain was there but that was it all.
"That was impressive. Wouldn’t expect from human. You can go now or make a deal. Hundred lashes, after your love one is saved and hundred lashes in every seven years in a day when I’m set to awaken. The day before the moon is full, you'll turn back to your current form being such lovely and tender young creature. You'll then ascend to this mountain and and submit to whatever whipping I desire to give you. The pain you have to endure, make this whipping feel like child’s play. There won’t be any single spot on your skin that wouldn’t feel the burning lash from my tail. How it is, do we have a deal?"
Jasmine didn’t need much time to think. Her skin was healed and her loins were full of lust, so far insatiable lust, and terrible faith was waiting her loved one. She had one question to ask before she said yes:
“You can feel what I feel, is that what you are after?”
“Yes”, answered the dragon.
“Then my answer is yes”, Jasmine said to dragon.
“Jump on my back and hold on from my neck. We must go now. I already hear your lover screaming like a baby when they whip him. He’s not even nearly as brave as you are.”
Naked, as the day she was born, Jasmine jumped into dragons back. With her thighs around the base of it's neck, she felt the scales on her thighs and short stiff hairs between them tickling her oversensitive private parts. When the dragon moved, she really felt them, but it wasn't bad thing. She was sticking her fingers under the thick scales held tight. With few powerful steps it jumped from the cliff, dived down like an arrow, with it's wings close to it's body, gaining the speed fast and straightening it's dive just before they crashed into rocks. In the matter of minutes, they arrived into enemy’s camp where Jasmines lover was kept as a prisoner. Nailed in a cross, badly whipped but still alive he saw the dragon approaching. Thanking his god from quicker death, he prepared to die. His death never came but all the tents and soldiers around him burst into flames. He watched the dragon attack and naked women riding on it. The woman looked like his own Jasmine.
The dragon landed and the woman ran towards him, and it really was Jasmine. She pulled out the nails and helped her lover down from the cross while the dragon was feasting with remaining soldiers, leaving no-one behind.
Dragon then used his blue flame to heal the man and spoke to Jasmine so only she could hear.
“This was my gift to you. I hope you know how to thank me!”
Jasmine looked her completely healed lover, wrapped her naked body around him and kissed him.
“Go to the village and tell them the enemy is destroyed. I have my debt to pay for the dragon, but I’ll be back.”
Then Jasmine jumped on the dragon and they flew away.
You can imagine what is waiting for young Jasmine, but I can tell for sure it won't be even close to reality. She lived over 90 years, so dozen times she had to submit to be whipped by the dragon, and every time was more brutal and more severe than before. There was also sexual heat and lust involved, and from the first time, Jasmine climaxed under the whip. While her body was again healed, she wasn't the same girl anymore when she came back from the mountain.
Many times during following centuries, a naked girl was seen riding the dragon and evil people were made to pay their sins. What was the price the girl had to pay, no one knows. It's known what was the price of the first favor, but dragons are greedy by nature and the price tends to go up.
Last edited by a moderator:
I added a little illustration and move the stand alone story in this thread. Hope it's ok, @Stungiskhan .
Attachments
Collected for the next Cruxer's Digest.
Stungiskhan
Magistrate
It's ok. Still not familiar with all threads and places