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The Right Time?

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I'm thinking of giving burning a bit of a lift.... drawing on a few fave examples... Clothed, I think the fate of Ann Askew is particularly exciting (hope she felt so too)... racked until all her limbs were dislocated and carried to the stake, where, we may imagine, the seat she was placed on was hardly an arm-chair. Then there's the lovely (I imagine) and young (25) Petronella de Meath, tortured severely then whipped (so at least partially disrobed) around six parishes before going to her stake. Finally, the very slow burning of Alice Arden. She was 'questioned harshly' about her role in the murder of her husband (so we may presume that she was as a minimum strung up and whipped), before being subjected to judicial rape and being fixed (wearing a short, black, sleeveless shift) to her stake with chains, her feet above the ground. It's said her death took at least an hour, wood being added very slowly to the fire. All rather tempting scenarios for me, anyway... but I think the cross still wins!
 
Another fantasy of mine is being strangled and raped . The guy breaks in and uses his belt to choke me and I pass out.He removes my clothes and rapes me .As he does I come too so he strangles me again this time ending my life. He finishes raping my body and then takes me to his cabin in the woods. He chops of my head and roasts my body on an open fire and him and his friends eat my meat.He eventualy mounts my head and displays it on his trophy wall with his other victims.
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Kathy said:
He chops of my head and roasts my body on an open fire and him and his friends eat my meat.He eventualy mounts my head and displays it on his trophy wall with his other victims.
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Ah, that reminds me of one of my fantasies in which I am abducted and transported to a remote, privately owned island (perhaps somewhere off the coast of Scotland), where I and a couple of dozen other abductees are taken out at dawn, stripped naked and told, as we stand shivering in the crisp morning air, that we are the objects of a hunt. We are to be given an hour’s head start before the hunters (rich men and women who have traveled there from around the world to take part in a hush-hush annual ritual event) will attempt to hunt us all down, with the aid of dogs and horses, and armed (sportingly) with crossbows. We scatter, running in terror for our lives, desperate to find a safe hiding place somewhere in the boulder-strewn and heavily wooded landscape. Horns blare and dogs bay. The hunt is on! After a harrowing several hours, and some close calls, it’s all over for me. I am discovered, flushed from my hiding place and take a shaft in the back trying to flee. Wounded and in a state of shock, I am thrown over a horse and taken back to the starting point where I am added to a growing body pile of dead or still living, writhing and wailing, victims. Eventually, as dusk approaches and the hunt has reached its inevitable successful conclusion, I am strung up by the ankles, along with the others, so that the hunters can have triumphant “trophy” photos taken of them standing next to their naked “kill”. Then I am taken down, spitted and roasted alive, to be eaten at the festive outdoor banquet that marks the end of the day and lasts well into the night.

It’s a fantasy that I have written up in my CF story “And the Waters Ran Red”, and for which I must give some inspirational credit to Eul’s fantasies about Scottish linkie hunting..

http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/resources/the-waters-ran-red-by-barbaria.419/

http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/resour...orthern-forest-the-linkie-rug-by-eulalia.423/
 
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Barbaria1 said:
Ah, that reminds me of one of my fantasies in which I am abducted and transported to a remote, privately owned island (perhaps somewhere off the coast of Scotland), where I and a couple of dozen other abductees are taken out at dawn, stripped naked and told, as we stand shivering in the crisp morning air, that we are the objects of a hunt. We are to be given an hour’s head start before the hunters (rich men and women who have traveled there from around the world to take part in a hush-hush annual ritual event) will attempt to hunt us all down, with the aid of dogs and horses, and armed (sportingly) with crossbows. We scatter, running in terror for our lives, desperate to find a safe hiding place somewhere in the boulder-strewn and heavily wooded landscape.. Horns blare and the dogs bay. The hunt is on! After a harrowing several hours, and some close calls, it’s all over for me. I am discovered, flushed from my hiding place and take an arrow in the back trying to flee. Wounded and in a state of shock, I am thrown over a horse and taken back to the starting point where I am added to a growing body pile of dead or still living, writhing and wailing, victims. Eventually, as dusk approaches and the hunt has reached its successful conclusion, I am strung up by the ankles, along with the others so that the hunters can have triumphant “trophy” photos taken of them standing next to their naked “kill”. Then I am taken down, spitted and roasted, barely alive, to be eaten at the festive outdoor banquet that marks the end of the day and lasts well into the night.

It’s a fantasy that I have written up in my CF story “And the Waters Ran Red”, and for which I must give some inspirational credit to Eul’s fantasies about Scottish linkie hunting.
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Very erotic Barb , I need to read that story.
 
I imagine firing squad or beheading by axe or guillotine have been rejected as far too quick and merciful, but I could not pass up the opportunity to share this image, courtesy of Wragg. FSG meets Madame La Guillotine.

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There is, as far as I know, no image of me being beheaded by axe or facing a firing squad. Not yet, anyway.
 
  • 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!
This sounds like an incredible way to go - and perhaps the most long and drawn out. Would you have an audience? Your twisting on the pole and writhing against the crossbeam could go on for days. Perhaps a sign nailed through your nipples stipulating your crime...
 
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