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The Right Time?

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Pia

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I’m sure we all think about it, from time to time. Well, maybe not us all. Maybe just me. I don’t know. But I do. Because a little whipping and tying and suspension really isn’t, or won’t be, enough, and I know that the time is coming where I want something more. Something much, much more. Something that will truly satisfy me, something that will give me my ultimate climax. Trouble is, I know it will be my last…so it needs a bit of thought, don’t you think?

And there has to be a right time. Part of me thinks that the whole thing would be so much easier if I went along to the clinic one day and the nice doctor, having poked around a bit, pronounced that he was very sorry to tell me that I had a condition that could not be treated. That they could investigate further, and that there were things they could do, but that it was, almost certainly, terminal. That I had six months left, maybe twelve with treatment. That I would feel well for a while, and then that I would subside very quickly. Of course, that would answer my dilemma. Not a problem. Make the arrangements and sort it, in three months. That’s just twelve weeks. It would be a fix. But I guess it would also be a bit of a cheat, like some supernatural force had made the decision for me. Just too easy really. Job done, courtesy of the doctors. But not really a choice, is it? Not really a hard enough choice. A choice you make between living and dying, when there’s an option to keep on living. Keep on with the day-to-day and the fun and all that. And to give it up for, well, death. Nah, I think it really is up to me to decide.

But when? Leave it too long, and despite looking after myself, trips to the gym, good diet, all those things, those tiny, almost invisible, little signs of getting a bit older will begin to, well, become more obvious. My sexy hard body (if I say so myself), my glittering eyes, my firm boobs without a hint of a droop. They will all start that long, inevitable journey of decline. But I still want to enjoy them so much… I still want to lie with my girlfriend, or the girl I pay for a night or a day of fun when I go off on holiday to the seaside. I still want to go to my favourite dungeon in town and enjoy the whip and their lovely ropes and rack and enjoy the unseen cocks (I prefer not to see them…I just like the hurt of them…) penetrating my ass and my cunt. But sometime, I know, I will have to decide. Sometime sooner than it once was. Otherwise it will be too late and I will have missed the chance and I know I will regret that for ever. It’s a deadly sort of a dilemma. One that I’m dying to get my head around. Ha ha. How funny that is. Literally. But it’s also a delightful sort of a problem. I like to sit back in a chair in the evening and watch the sunset and think about my very special, very lovely, very exciting problem. And as the evenings slip past I know that I will have to make that choice, and the more I think about it, and the more I dip my fingers in my drink and take out an ice-cube and run it over my clit and get wetter and hotter and feel my legs stretching out and trembling and my breasts moving in time with my fingers and my fingers moving the ice over my nipples and my head hanging backwards and my mouth opening wide and that gorgeous gasping sound. And I shout at the ceiling and arch myself and push my hips into the air and my hands pull on my hair and I know that I have to decide.

It’s hard, but the thought of that decision is just too delicious. So I think about it a bit more. The things to do, the choices to make.

First, the planning. My flat is rented and furnished, so that’s easy. I can give notice, just a month, so that’s easy. I can cash my savings and give them to my favourite charity, so that’s easy too. Just holding enough back for necessary expenses. There will be a few of them of course.
I’ll have to find someone I trust, naturally. Because I want it to be fun. You know, a few weeks of play, the usual things. Light torment without too many safe words, or without using them much. Perhaps one day of torment (the exact nature to be agreed, but I am thinking of straddling a horse with my nipples clipped and stretched and my back and belly gently whipped, that sort of thing), and a few days of luxuriating in other pleasures. That’s where the expenses will come in. Long baths, lying on fur-covered beds, a girl that I pick from the photos he’s offered me, a flute of champagne, a plate of smoked salmon and oysters. Not too much to ask really.

And I want a screen so I can be filmed and watch myself being hurt. I am looking forward to that part. And the person I find, the person I can trust, must be someone who will arrange things just so, for the day, when it comes. Someone who I can trust to stick to the plan, not to mess me around, and to dispose of what’s left of me so no-one has to go rooting around causing trouble.

The little things like that matter I think. But I’m sure that they are all do-able. I think it would be quite good fun, making the arrangements. Getting everything just so. Making a list, checking it twice (well, it will be like all my Christmases rolled into one, I’m thinking). And then, when the appointed day and hour comes, I can just wait by the roadside, and be picked up, and I would know that I wouldn’t really have to think about anything ever again apart from enjoying it all. Oh yeah, there would be the small issue of picking the right make-up and buying the supplies for my daily lenses. But that’s not so hard, is it?

And then, of course, there’s deciding how it should all end up. I’ve spent so long thinking about this, probably since I was about thirteen and felt myself coming during that gym lesson, hanging by my arms from the climbing rope and looking at Emily on the rope next to me and how her shirt rode up over her belly and how her skin looked so tight over her ribs and, well, that was that. And a few trips to the library to read some books about things and then a lot of dabbling on the internet. We’ve all done it, haven’t we? But there are so many options, and it’s so hard to decide. So I thought I better list them all out.
 
Pia said:
I’m sure we all think about it, from time to time. Well, maybe not us all. Maybe just me. I don’t know. But I do. Because a little whipping and tying and suspension really isn’t, or won’t be, enough, and I know that the time is coming where I want something more. Something much, much more. Something that will truly satisfy me, something that will give me my ultimate climax. Trouble is, I know it will be my last…so it needs a bit of thought, don’t you think?

And there has to be a right time. Part of me thinks that the whole thing would be so much easier if I went along to the clinic one day and the nice doctor, having poked around a bit, pronounced that he was very sorry to tell me that I had a condition that could not be treated. That they could investigate further, and that there were things they could do, but that it was, almost certainly, terminal. That I had six months left, maybe twelve with treatment. That I would feel well for a while, and then that I would subside very quickly. Of course, that would answer my dilemma. Not a problem. Make the arrangements and sort it, in three months. That’s just twelve weeks. It would be a fix. But I guess it would also be a bit of a cheat, like some supernatural force had made the decision for me. Just too easy really. Job done, courtesy of the doctors. But not really a choice, is it? Not really a hard enough choice. A choice you make between living and dying, when there’s an option to keep on living. Keep on with the day-to-day and the fun and all that. And to give it up for, well, death. Nah, I think it really is up to me to decide.

But when? Leave it too long, and despite looking after myself, trips to the gym, good diet, all those things, those tiny, almost invisible, little signs of getting a bit older will begin to, well, become more obvious. My sexy hard body (if I say so myself), my glittering eyes, my firm boobs without a hint of a droop. They will all start that long, inevitable journey of decline. But I still want to enjoy them so much… I still want to lie with my girlfriend, or the girl I pay for a night or a day of fun when I go off on holiday to the seaside. I still want to go to my favourite dungeon in town and enjoy the whip and their lovely ropes and rack and enjoy the unseen cocks (I prefer not to see them…I just like the hurt of them…) penetrating my ass and my cunt. But sometime, I know, I will have to decide. Sometime sooner than it once was. Otherwise it will be too late and I will have missed the chance and I know I will regret that for ever. It’s a deadly sort of a dilemma. One that I’m dying to get my head around. Ha ha. How funny that is. Literally. But it’s also a delightful sort of a problem. I like to sit back in a chair in the evening and watch the sunset and think about my very special, very lovely, very exciting problem. And as the evenings slip past I know that I will have to make that choice, and the more I think about it, and the more I dip my fingers in my drink and take out an ice-cube and run it over my clit and get wetter and hotter and feel my legs stretching out and trembling and my breasts moving in time with my fingers and my fingers moving the ice over my nipples and my head hanging backwards and my mouth opening wide and that gorgeous gasping sound. And I shout at the ceiling and arch myself and push my hips into the air and my hands pull on my hair and I know that I have to decide.

It’s hard, but the thought of that decision is just too delicious. So I think about it a bit more. The things to do, the choices to make.

First, the planning. My flat is rented and furnished, so that’s easy. I can give notice, just a month, so that’s easy. I can cash my savings and give them to my favourite charity, so that’s easy too. Just holding enough back for necessary expenses. There will be a few of them of course.
I’ll have to find someone I trust, naturally. Because I want it to be fun. You know, a few weeks of play, the usual things. Light torment without too many safe words, or without using them much. Perhaps one day of torment (the exact nature to be agreed, but I am thinking of straddling a horse with my nipples clipped and stretched and my back and belly gently whipped, that sort of thing), and a few days of luxuriating in other pleasures. That’s where the expenses will come in. Long baths, lying on fur-covered beds, a girl that I pick from the photos he’s offered me, a flute of champagne, a plate of smoked salmon and oysters. Not too much to ask really.

And I want a screen so I can be filmed and watch myself being hurt. I am looking forward to that part. And the person I find, the person I can trust, must be someone who will arrange things just so, for the day, when it comes. Someone who I can trust to stick to the plan, not to mess me around, and to dispose of what’s left of me so no-one has to go rooting around causing trouble.

The little things like that matter I think. But I’m sure that they are all do-able. I think it would be quite good fun, making the arrangements. Getting everything just so. Making a list, checking it twice (well, it will be like all my Christmases rolled into one, I’m thinking). And then, when the appointed day and hour comes, I can just wait by the roadside, and be picked up, and I would know that I wouldn’t really have to think about anything ever again apart from enjoying it all. Oh yeah, there would be the small issue of picking the right make-up and buying the supplies for my daily lenses. But that’s not so hard, is it?

And then, of course, there’s deciding how it should all end up. I’ve spent so long thinking about this, probably since I was about thirteen and felt myself coming during that gym lesson, hanging by my arms from the climbing rope and looking at Emily on the rope next to me and how her shirt rode up over her belly and how her skin looked so tight over her ribs and, well, that was that. And a few trips to the library to read some books about things and then a lot of dabbling on the internet. We’ve all done it, haven’t we? But there are so many options, and it’s so hard to decide. So I thought I better list them all out.
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As time goes by ... ;)
 
  • Hanging. A short drop, obviously. Tipped off a ladder with hardly any slack in the rope. I think I would opt to be naked for this, though of course that would hardly ever have been the case back in the day. I rather fancy the idea of the rope tightening and my legs kicking around and some involuntary pissing. The trouble is, from all I can read, that although the whole process might take some fifteen minutes, the chances are I would become unconscious in a matter of twenty to thirty seconds. And that just doesn’t seem long enough to me. It’s over and done before you know it. So, I think that really isn’t the way for me.
  • There are, though, some very nice add-ons to hanging, mostly deriving from the old method of hanging, drawing and quartering. But why bother with the hanging part? I suppose I could, but what if it went wrong and I was too far gone when my sweet executioner cut me down? Better, I think, to leave that bit out and focus on the butchery bit. I’ve thought about this quite a lot. I think there are two options that might be quite nice:
  • Let’s call it the ‘captured student’ version. Imagine I’m involved in some leftish politics and the regime hauls me in to a detention centre. Naturally a bit of rape and bad treatment first, but then they decide that I’m a hopeless case. I’m stretched out naked on an old iron bed frame, my back on what passed for the springs. He’s attached electrodes to my nipples and my labia and fried me mercilessly for quite a while. Then he shakes his head. Better to accept that this one is for her maker. He picks up a knife and slowly removes each breast. (I’m watching this happen to me on the monitor, all the time, of course). He wets my lips with water. Then he holds the knife in front of me, turning it so the light reflects into my eyes. He puts it into my cunt and slices slowly upwards, up towards my ribs. He cuts deeper and deeper then slices across so he can open up my belly and pull my insides out. He lays them over my body. He leaves me there. I watch myself slowly bleed to death in a wonderful agony. Nice, eh? I would quite like that.
  • This is a bit the same, but a bit different, and I think I’ll call it the ‘medieval variation’… and like the ‘captured student’ it can all be done indoors, so not too much of an organisational problem. Down in the basement, it can be pretty quiet. So, how does this one go? Well, he strips me naked and suspends me by the wrists in chains, my toes just scraping the stone floor. Then he whips me. All over. I meaneverywhere. A lot. I twist and turn and the lashes keep coming. Then he pulls my legs open and chains my ankles, so I am a suspended X. Just right for the next bit. Which is a sort of vertical version of (a). He de-breasts me, then opens up my belly and pulls my entrails over my shoulder and leaves me there, hanging, to slowly die. I rather like both these pretty little scenarios. I think I should last through the whole process and maybe for half and hour more, or if I’m really lucky maybe an hour or more before my body gives up. Both seem quite do-able and I think they should give me the hurt that I’m hoping for, and I think I’d like looking at myself on the screen as it all happened. So they are definitely runners.
  • Let’s call this one ‘the slicing process’. We’ve all read about ling-chi, you know, the one we’ve seen the pictures of. Some people say it’s a girl, but I’m pretty sure it’s a guy. They cut off lumps of him from his chest, his arms, his legs. Then they cut off his arms and his legs and he seems pretty tranquil all the way through, which seems a bit odd. Anyway, it’s not quite that version that I fancy. He’d obviously mistreat me quite a bit before he really started, and I’d of course be stripped naked. And then he’d truss me up with ropes and he’d take a really big knife, a butcher’s knife, and he’d slice me all over. Slice into my boobs and my belly and my thighs and my sides and he’d keep slicing until I’m a sliced up bloody mess. And he leave me there, all trussed up, to watch myself die very slowly indeed. Quite fun. Rather beautiful fun I think. I’d look lovely, all cut up and bloody. I really would.
  • Quartering. There are once again two possibilities. The second one adds a few complications, but has huge attractions.
  • Basically this is racking taken a step too far. I’m hoping I’ll get a few rides on the rack during the few weeks of fun, but this will really turn up the heat. He’ll ignore all my screaming and pleading and tighten the ratchet so I’m stretched five inches or more over the machine. And he’ll keep tightening until my tendons and ligaments pop and my elbows and knees dislocate and my shoulders and hips are pulled from their sockets. Then he’ll probably leave me for a while to look at myself on the screen before he comes back to make those extra turns that will, one by one, pull my limbs from my body, until there is just one arm or one leg left attached. I’ll bleed out pretty quickly then, I guess.
  • This is the fun version, or I think it would be fun. A bit more unpredictable. And it has to happen outdoors. Maybe in a riding school, if he can arrange one. And he’d need four animals. Horses or oxen. And some helpers. So it’s all a little bit complicated. But do-able I think. And then, well, you can guess. I’m naked. He sits me on the sand of the school. He ties off each of my ankles and wrists, with the rope going up my arms and legs so there’s no chance of a hand being torn off prematurely. And then the animals are led away from me until I am suspended in the air and then the stretching begins. I guess it could be a bit jerky at times, some pulling, some relaxing. But the object will be the same as in (a). Dislocation, screams, detachment, more screams. And I’d need a really big screen, or maybe more than one screen, so I could see the whole thing happening. It’s a big ask, I know, but I think it has quite a few attractions over the indoors rack version. It would be super exciting I think. Mmmm. I could go for this one I think. For sure. But there are plenty of other methods to consider before I decide (maybe I will need your help with this…it’s all so difficult!)
  • Don’t know where to put this one. It’s a bit of everything. Let’s call it ‘a long night and a long day in the torture chamber’. I guess it could start with a night on the cradle, you know, the one with the sharp pyramid that my vagina is lowered onto, my arms and legs suspended from the ceiling. Then a day of all sorts of lovely allsorts… strappado, rack, burning with hot irons, whipping, the water torture, leg crushers. All those gorgeous things that we all dream of. And I’d sort of be cycled round these delights until, slowly, I just sort of expired. Yummy!
  • Flayed alive. I’ve thought about this one, and it has some definite possibilities, but in the end I think it’s probably not for me. Just too ugly.
  • Burning. Super attractive. And some super options… Three or four at least. I think they could all be pretty wonderful in their own ways. You could probably add a few variations too.
  • The traditional medieval burning. Has to be outside, obviously, for safety reasons. Now mostly these sorts of burnings were performed with a clothed victim. The partial undressing, down to a short, black, sleeveless shift, is part of the performance. Then stepping up onto a trivet, my bare feet leaving the ground for the last time. And the chains being tightened around my ankles, legs, waist, under my arms, my hands chained behind the stake. And that wonderful feeling of initial pain when the stool is removed. (Oh, I should add, I’ve been tortured suitably before all of this…strappado, whips, rack, that sort of a deal). Then that luscious wait while he gets the fire prepared. And the first licks of flame around my feet and legs. He’d burn me very slowly of course, but the shift would be the first thing to go up in flames, introducing my whole now naked body to the fire. The pain would become pretty furious pretty quick I think.
  • Almost the same, but this time I start off naked. It’s a sweet option, because I would look so lovely up there on my stake as he set the fire ready to burn me.
  • And there’s always the choice of the ladder. You know, tie me to it (best if I am naked for this one I think), then slowly lower me into the flames. That would look so good! The thing with all these burnings though is to make it last. I would want at least an hour in the flames before I died. That’s not unreasonable is it?
  • Painted with something flammable, like bitumen. Well, the coating process would be quite stimulating I suspect, and of course this option can be neatly combined with some other possibilities… we’ll come to the cross later on, of course! This route means the flames would really be on me, enveloping me. I think that could look and feel spectacular!
  • Impalement. Now by this I don’t mean that pretty but probably fictional version where the pointy stake goes up through my cunt and out of my mouth. It’s just so unlikely to work. I mean the version that the poor Armenian girls who they said were crucified actually endured. The pointy part isn’t too long. It goes into my vagina, like a bloody rape really, and has a cross-piece on it so it can’t really penetrate further than my abdomen, and certainly can’t get to my lungs or heart. That way it really is a beautifully slow process. I’m naked, naturally, and I am sure that I have been nicely abused first (rape, whips whatever), and I suppose I should have my wrists tied behind my back and my ankles tied to the stake, once I have settled down onto it. A lovely long ride I would think. Probably another one best done outdoors. This is one of my favourites. It would be sad if I couldn’t do it. But I have to choose one. It’s so hard! I am enjoying writing them all down though. Imagine how much fun the real thing will be if I am getting wet just writing the options down!
  • Broken on the wheel…a deliciously awful mode of execution, and one that I think would have to take place, once again (no, not once again, because there can only be one ‘once’), in the sand arena. Now, there’s no evidence, or pitifully little, that this drawn-out death was ever actually practiced on a girl, but hey, so what? I can still opt for it if I want. I’d go for the version (preceded of course by the usual tortures) where I am affixed on my back to a St. Andrew’s cross, my limbs extended, by body naked. Deep notches under my legs and arms afford the executioner the opportunity to make wonderfully clean breaks in my long bones. I’d like him to start with my lower legs, then my fore-arms, then my thighs and then my upper arms. No ‘coup de grace’ please, and no strangulation. I would want to be fully broken, then laced onto the cart wheel and raised up to slowly die. It would be gory and horrible and rather wonderful I think, though it would be hard for me to see the final stages unless a camera and screen were somehow fixed to a drone. Hmmm… I think that might work and I’d really like to see myself on that wheel. Which would also mean keeping the crows out of my eyes (they are welcome to the rest of me…I think my breasts would be a pretty good treat for them to be honest, and would add a sweetness to my agonies…).
  • The mamma and papa of them all. Crucifxion. In all its wonderful drawn-out glory. It could be done indoors, it could be done with ropes…but nah, it has to be outside, in that riding school arena I think. There are options, plenty. But this is the one I would like… First of all, the flagellation. Long and slow. The Roman whip. Those little bits of bone and lead ripping bits of flesh from my belly and breasts and back. Then the nailing. My wrists to the patibulum. Then the raising. My toes scrabbling the sand. Then left hanging and helpless… for a few minutes at least… then one foot over the over and the final nail, just the one, hammered into the stipes. And that’s it. Perfection. My lovely torn flesh, the screen infront of my eyes so I can watch myself dance slowly on my cross. The sun setting over my sweat-coated body. Then the lights coming on. A warm evening… I’d hang there all night. The dawn makes my eyes blink. My hair is slicked to my face and neck. My movements slow. Maybe he smashes my legs sometime around lunch. That last super pain experience. It really works for me. I think it really has to be this one, doesn’t it? I knew I was always going to be a cross-babe, since that first moment at school, all those years ago… Just such a shame I will miss out on those other delectable deaths. And the ones I’ve forgotten to mention… Whipping to death with the knout. Pressing. Being shot with arrows. There have to be more. But can they compare with my lovely, sweet, caring cross? I just don’t think they can. So, unless someone changes my mind, that’s what it will be. Lovely naked me, on my cross, slowly watching myself as my life drains away. One last smile for the camera, then eternal darkness…. Perfection, I think…
So, ten lovely (or you may think not-so-lovely) options. I could go with any of them (apart, I think, from 1 and 6, for reasons already given). And that’s the thing, I will have to choose. Some friendly advice might of course help me, and would be very much appreciated. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I don’t want to start regretting things half-way through! My vote is probably, narrowly, for 10. That’s what drew me into this sweetness all that time ago… But who knows? Some of the others are pretty gorgeous too. As long as I don’t wait too long… It really has to be soon, I am thinking. What do you think?
 
"Likewise, we do not allow videos or images of real people engaged in forms of so-called BDSM which are stupid and dangerous, and could well lead to serious injury or death, or to criminal charges, nor do we allow posts that encourage or assist such activities."

I think you should make it very clear that what you are proposing is simply a daydream.
 
melissa said:
"Likewise, we do not allow videos or images of real people engaged in forms of so-called BDSM which are stupid and dangerous, and could well lead to serious injury or death, or to criminal charges, nor do we allow posts that encourage or assist such activities."

I think you should make it very clear that what you are proposing is simply a daydream.
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Of course it is... why, I love to day-dream... don't you? I think maybe this is my day-dream right now....
1552123792027.png
 
That list of ten pretty much covers all the options. It’s a narrow win, just as you say, but I’d vote for fantasizing about you suffering naked on the cross. Impalement, as you rather deliciously described it, might be a second choice. I’m not saying sure about the more mutilating choices ... they may be slow and excruciating but also not so appealing in their destructiveness.
 
Pia, as a poor homicide detective who just wants to make it to retirement without having to strain my poor brain solving this case, can I put in a vote for natural causes? Be kind to your local constabulary and grow old quietly and get some disease that no one will have to investigate. Thanks for your consideration-Stan Goldman
 
Pia said:
The mamma and papa of them all. Crucifxion. In all its wonderful drawn-out glory. It could be done indoors, it could be done with ropes…but nah, it has to be outside, in that riding school arena I think.
Click to expand...

OF COURSE ! It's the best but in Paris, Place de Grèves , in front of the crowd !!! ( for the wheel, too !) :rolleyes::clapping:

... or perhaps with Messa , at the top of a castle'tower ? :rolleyes:
 

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