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Rupert_137

Executioner
Love this picture! It looks a little like Claire from Outlander is being whipped by Sid James dressed for his part in "Carry on Flogging!"

View attachment 1032883
I also like this picture in particular ... of course the landscape does not match the punishment I have described in a marketplace. It looks more like a lonesome whipping here, a kind of personal revenge between a man and a woman... Still, it's a really nice picture!
 
@Rupert_137

Thank you once more for a beautiful and horrifying journey. I do feel for Hildegard much pity and simultaneously want (almost need) to take her place. Your description of the anticipation and then at last the actual branding was exquisite. The description of her experience under each branding carried a strong feeling of authenticity.

Now she is lead to her stake, the shackles at the top of it rings true - all those images of witches bound by ropes seems risky, isn’t there s chance they might burn and a heavily burned, yet alive witch leaps or staggers through the flames to make an unlikely escape? Chains and manacles are so much better - there will be no escape, not even a forlorn hope of it. The manacles will be locked about her wrists with a final inevitability.

I taste her terror and utter despair. A tinge of jealousy as I hope it is me. Very very erotic, the taboo of wishing myself similarly tortured and executed is intensely erotic to my kinky head.

So, once more, I thank you!
 

michael lane

Executioner
@Rupert_137

Thank you once more for a beautiful and horrifying journey. I do feel for Hildegard much pity and simultaneously want (almost need) to take her place. Your description of the anticipation and then at last the actual branding was exquisite. The description of her experience under each branding carried a strong feeling of authenticity.

Now she is lead to her stake, the shackles at the top of it rings true - all those images of witches bound by ropes seems risky, isn’t there s chance they might burn and a heavily burned, yet alive witch leaps or staggers through the flames to make an unlikely escape? Chains and manacles are so much better - there will be no escape, not even a forlorn hope of it. The manacles will be locked about her wrists with a final inevitability.

I taste her terror and utter despair. A tinge of jealousy as I hope it is me. Very very erotic, the taboo of wishing myself similarly tortured and executed is intensely erotic to my kinky head.

So, once more, I thank you!
It could be arranged,you little which!!
 

Rupert_137

Executioner
Chapter IX – At the Stake

My mouth is dry; I can feel my stomach contract; my scorched breasts are still pounding hard. No, I don't want that, I'm innocent, I'm not a witch!

I stumble back, away from the stake, but the guards pull and force me forward. I fight, I try to resist, but I just delay the inevitable a tiny bit. My scorched tits bounce and there is laughter again. A guy climbs the ladder, he pulls the rope around my waist, while another pushes me up from behind.

“Come on witch, to the stake with you! Not only your tits should burn now...“, says the man behind me and pushes me to the ladder.

"The little witch bucks, but that won't help her," calls out one of the crowd. “Little witch, little witch, you must be on fire!” another roars. A woman insults me, “Burn you devil's whore!” Another yells at me, “Make your penance at the stake, witch!"

My bare feet step on the ladder, one step at a time, and after seven steps I'm up. They roughly push me to the stake. The dry wood cracks under my feet and bows a little under the weight of me and the two guards. The branches prick my bare soles. The guards press my back firmly against the thick post and loosen the shackles around my wrists.

I instinctively want to pull my hands in front of me; I want to caress my breasts to ease the pain. But before I can move my hands, they grab my wrists and pull them behind the post. I am struggling to break free, but I am too weak. Two blackened chains with cuffs for my hands hang down from above; they close me tightly and then pull up the chains. I stand at the stake with my arms raised. My tortured shoulders hurt, but that is the least bit of suffering I feel now.

A guard ties my leg irons to very short iron chains at the bottom of the stake, I'm trapped. The other rips my skirt completely open and pulls the remnants apart. He wants to bare my pussy, take away my last honor. When he sees my hairless pussy, he grins and grabs between my legs unabashedly.

"Are you hot by then?" He asks with more grinning. "It seems to me that there is only scared pee... But be sure, the heat will still come between your legs; the flames will lick your pussy."

Finally the man wraps a burned black iron chain around my waist and between my bare breasts up to my shoulders, where the ends of the chain are attached to the stake behind my neck. The chain is so tight that it hurts when I move, even breathing is difficult.

When I groan, he just says: "We want you to be grilled nicely here ... and not fly away on a witch's broom that you pull out of the flames."

I feel the post between my feet, I cannot close my legs completely and I feel naked. The guard at my feet stands up and roughly touches my breasts. I groan with misery when the guy squeezes my scorched boobs and says: "Smells like grilled tits... Soon there will be more grilled meat."

The other says, "Nice brand marks on your boobs... I hope that really hurt... Now show your beautiful scorched tits to all the people, especially to the women and girls here. It should be warning to them not to get involved with the devil."

Finally he pinches my nipples viciously. "Nice, hard buds," he says. "You're lucky the hangman didn't scorch them... Be grateful and show the audience how excited and impatient your witch nipples are waiting for the fire!"

At last the two nasty guys leave the pyre over the little ladder. But another guard climbs up, steps in front of me and blocks my view. His eyes are hard. I can't stand his looks and I lower my eyes. He looks me over and nods with satisfaction. He pulls a finger-thin rope from his pocket and puts it around my neck.

I whisper to him, I ask him to strangle me, to spare me the fire. He puts the rope around my neck; I close my eyes; I feel the rough rope tightening... For a few seconds I think he's doing me this mercy, but he quickly pulls the rope away again. I look at him desperately; he was just playing with me and my fear!

"Now burn and suffer!" With these words the head guard jumps from the pyre and calls to the executioner, to the judge and at the same time to the crowd: "The witch is well prepared and secured in chains. She won't fly away anymore..."

The executioner approaches me once more. He nods to me seriously, but not angrily. Then he says: "I wish you a lot of strength on your way through the fire." It seems to me that he is the only one here who just does his duty and does not hate me.

Now the ladder is being pulled away. I am chained to the stake, alone and helpless. I twist myself in the iron shackles, but the chain is so tight and the stake is deep and tight in the ground. In vain I pull my arms outstretched. I can't escape I can only make fists of my fingers and open them again; it will ease the pain a little. And my breasts are still throbbing.

WTS-09-1tw.jpg
Picture: Chained to the post at the pyre, there is no escape for Hildegard

My breasts are a bit flattened in this position, but they are still beautiful hemispheres with large, dark buds that stick out nicely in the cold ... but my boobs now have two cruel branded marks. And my pussy is completely naked and bald ... for all to see.

“Naughty and dishonorable, she sticks out her witch tits,” someone shouts. “It is a pleasure to see that the witch has received two red-hot irons,” shouts another. A third yells: "It’s time for her boobs to burn properly; there will be a nice fireworks display". I am desperate; people still mock me, even in the greatest need.

My breasts hurt badly and are clearly bloated. So they are even bigger. A black, branded "W" covers the top on the left breast and encloses my nipple at the bottom. The edges of my witch mark are angry purple. On the right breast I see the branded cross. It has been placed a little diagonally, the foot on the inside next to my nipple, the head outwards, at the top of my boob.

The sight of my breasts frightens me, I don't even like to look at them, but many people like what they see. Even now I feel excruciating pain; I'm terrified and I feel tears.

A woman shouts: “What did you do with the hair between your legs, witch? Did you shave your pussy for the devil?” Many people laugh. People are really mean, but I hardly pay any attention to this ridicule.

My eyes wander desperately over the crowd, looking for help. All the people stare back with anticipation and hatred. I can see the hangman under his leather cap, my fear turns into panic. He sticks a torch into the embers, from which dark smoke rises as the tar ignites.

The judge steps in front of the crowd, the priest stands next to him. They proclaim my crimes, my sins, my confession and they declare that there is only one punishment for witchcraft: death by fire. They don't tell about what they did to me in the dungeon, how they hurt me, how they forced me to confess to crimes that I did not commit.

"I hand the witch Hildegard over to the grace of God and the pyre... May the fire devour her sinful body and purify her soul", the priest calls and the people applaud.

On the judge's orders, the executioner takes the blazing torch and the crowd falls silent. I only have eyes for the torch and it is getting closer with every second. The fire flickers over the place of execution, black smoke rises over the flames.

"No, please not!" I sob, more tears run down my face. I want to scream that I am innocent, that I haven't done anything wrong. I only confessed because of the torture. I want to shout that they must not light the fire because it is wrong, because the allegations are just lies. But I am rigid with terror.

I call out with a trembling voice, "Mercy ... I beg your mercy!" But there is no mercy for me as a witch. People shout back, "Burn, witch!" And the priest calls out to me, “Accept your just punishment witch! Your soul can only experience purification through severe pain."

Without the slightest hesitation, the executioner thrusts the torch into the straw, he waits a few heartbeats for the flames to jump over, then circles the pyre and lights it in several other places. I quickly see myself surrounded by flames and smoke.

WTS-09-2.jpg
Picture: The pyre is lit, the fire spreads quickly...

I feel terrible panic. My bladder has already filled up again and is emptying again. There is laughter. I think of Johanna, I feel her fear, her pain and her shame.

I feel nauseous; acidic gastric juice collects in my mouth, my stomach contracts; my heart beats faster, my scorched boobs pound in pain with the beat of my heart. I begin to breathe frantically, my breasts rise and fall.

People are happy about my suffering and they mock me again. "Are you afraid, witch?" "Do you still want to seduce us with your excited tits? It's time that your cheeky boobs are well grilled!"

I am desperate, I am terrified. I can already feel the heat, I hear the crackling of the fire, I smell the burning wood. I look down frantically and see the excited orange tongues of flame curiously licking the dry branches. I see how the flames come closer, how they grow, how sparks and smoke develop. I choke and cough, the smoke thickens; it hurts when I breathe. Then I feel the wind suddenly pushing the smoke away from me, but that only prolongs my agony.

WTS-09-3.jpg
Picture: Hildegard is filled with terrible fear and horror

I hope to be saved in the last moment... "Dear God, help me, please help me," I whisper, but the heat of the flames becomes more intense. I realize what is happening to me, I pull at the chains and continue my hopeless fight.

"Yes, pull at your chains, witch, you won't be able to free yourself... And the devil will not come to your aid," someone calls out to me.

I wriggle and tear the chains on my arms in desperation. It remains a futile attempt to escape, but the chains hold me in their iron embrace and they pull my arms up, there is no escape.

A woman enviously mocks my big tits, which I hold out to the mob. "Your plump tits look very sad, witch. What's left of your proud boobs?" She calls out to me. "I am happy to see your naughty boobs have been severely punished. You really deserved these ugly and painful brands on your witch tits. Be ashamed!" She enjoys my suffering.

I hardly pay any attention to these calls, I'm too scared. Now I can feel the heat at my feet. The flames shoot out of the wood around me, but they don't come straight to my body yet.

WTS-09-4tw.jpg
Picture: Hildegard trapped by flames of the pyre
 

Fossy

Senator
Chapter IX – At the Stake

My mouth is dry; I can feel my stomach contract; my scorched breasts are still pounding hard. No, I don't want that, I'm innocent, I'm not a witch!

I stumble back, away from the stake, but the guards pull and force me forward. I fight, I try to resist, but I just delay the inevitable a tiny bit. My scorched tits bounce and there is laughter again. A guy climbs the ladder, he pulls the rope around my waist, while another pushes me up from behind.

“Come on witch, to the stake with you! Not only your tits should burn now...“, says the man behind me and pushes me to the ladder.

"The little witch bucks, but that won't help her," calls out one of the crowd. “Little witch, little witch, you must be on fire!” another roars. A woman insults me, “Burn you devil's whore!” Another yells at me, “Make your penance at the stake, witch!"

My bare feet step on the ladder, one step at a time, and after seven steps I'm up. They roughly push me to the stake. The dry wood cracks under my feet and bows a little under the weight of me and the two guards. The branches prick my bare soles. The guards press my back firmly against the thick post and loosen the shackles around my wrists.

I instinctively want to pull my hands in front of me; I want to caress my breasts to ease the pain. But before I can move my hands, they grab my wrists and pull them behind the post. I am struggling to break free, but I am too weak. Two blackened chains with cuffs for my hands hang down from above; they close me tightly and then pull up the chains. I stand at the stake with my arms raised. My tortured shoulders hurt, but that is the least bit of suffering I feel now.

A guard ties my leg irons to very short iron chains at the bottom of the stake, I'm trapped. The other rips my skirt completely open and pulls the remnants apart. He wants to bare my pussy, take away my last honor. When he sees my hairless pussy, he grins and grabs between my legs unabashedly.

"Are you hot by then?" He asks with more grinning. "It seems to me that there is only scared pee... But be sure, the heat will still come between your legs; the flames will lick your pussy."

Finally the man wraps a burned black iron chain around my waist and between my bare breasts up to my shoulders, where the ends of the chain are attached to the stake behind my neck. The chain is so tight that it hurts when I move, even breathing is difficult.

When I groan, he just says: "We want you to be grilled nicely here ... and not fly away on a witch's broom that you pull out of the flames."

I feel the post between my feet, I cannot close my legs completely and I feel naked. The guard at my feet stands up and roughly touches my breasts. I groan with misery when the guy squeezes my scorched boobs and says: "Smells like grilled tits... Soon there will be more grilled meat."

The other says, "Nice brand marks on your boobs... I hope that really hurt... Now show your beautiful scorched tits to all the people, especially to the women and girls here. It should be warning to them not to get involved with the devil."

Finally he pinches my nipples viciously. "Nice, hard buds," he says. "You're lucky the hangman didn't scorch them... Be grateful and show the audience how excited and impatient your witch nipples are waiting for the fire!"

At last the two nasty guys leave the pyre over the little ladder. But another guard climbs up, steps in front of me and blocks my view. His eyes are hard. I can't stand his looks and I lower my eyes. He looks me over and nods with satisfaction. He pulls a finger-thin rope from his pocket and puts it around my neck.

I whisper to him, I ask him to strangle me, to spare me the fire. He puts the rope around my neck; I close my eyes; I feel the rough rope tightening... For a few seconds I think he's doing me this mercy, but he quickly pulls the rope away again. I look at him desperately; he was just playing with me and my fear!

"Now burn and suffer!" With these words the head guard jumps from the pyre and calls to the executioner, to the judge and at the same time to the crowd: "The witch is well prepared and secured in chains. She won't fly away anymore..."

The executioner approaches me once more. He nods to me seriously, but not angrily. Then he says: "I wish you a lot of strength on your way through the fire." It seems to me that he is the only one here who just does his duty and does not hate me.

Now the ladder is being pulled away. I am chained to the stake, alone and helpless. I twist myself in the iron shackles, but the chain is so tight and the stake is deep and tight in the ground. In vain I pull my arms outstretched. I can't escape I can only make fists of my fingers and open them again; it will ease the pain a little. And my breasts are still throbbing.

View attachment 1033349
Picture: Chained to the post at the pyre, there is no escape for Hildegard

My breasts are a bit flattened in this position, but they are still beautiful hemispheres with large, dark buds that stick out nicely in the cold ... but my boobs now have two cruel branded marks. And my pussy is completely naked and bald ... for all to see.

“Naughty and dishonorable, she sticks out her witch tits,” someone shouts. “It is a pleasure to see that the witch has received two red-hot irons,” shouts another. A third yells: "It’s time for her boobs to burn properly; there will be a nice fireworks display". I am desperate; people still mock me, even in the greatest need.

My breasts hurt badly and are clearly bloated. So they are even bigger. A black, branded "W" covers the top on the left breast and encloses my nipple at the bottom. The edges of my witch mark are angry purple. On the right breast I see the branded cross. It has been placed a little diagonally, the foot on the inside next to my nipple, the head outwards, at the top of my boob.

The sight of my breasts frightens me, I don't even like to look at them, but many people like what they see. Even now I feel excruciating pain; I'm terrified and I feel tears.

A woman shouts: “What did you do with the hair between your legs, witch? Did you shave your pussy for the devil?” Many people laugh. People are really mean, but I hardly pay any attention to this ridicule.

My eyes wander desperately over the crowd, looking for help. All the people stare back with anticipation and hatred. I can see the hangman under his leather cap, my fear turns into panic. He sticks a torch into the embers, from which dark smoke rises as the tar ignites.

The judge steps in front of the crowd, the priest stands next to him. They proclaim my crimes, my sins, my confession and they declare that there is only one punishment for witchcraft: death by fire. They don't tell about what they did to me in the dungeon, how they hurt me, how they forced me to confess to crimes that I did not commit.

"I hand the witch Hildegard over to the grace of God and the pyre... May the fire devour her sinful body and purify her soul", the priest calls and the people applaud.

On the judge's orders, the executioner takes the blazing torch and the crowd falls silent. I only have eyes for the torch and it is getting closer with every second. The fire flickers over the place of execution, black smoke rises over the flames.

"No, please not!" I sob, more tears run down my face. I want to scream that I am innocent, that I haven't done anything wrong. I only confessed because of the torture. I want to shout that they must not light the fire because it is wrong, because the allegations are just lies. But I am rigid with terror.

I call out with a trembling voice, "Mercy ... I beg your mercy!" But there is no mercy for me as a witch. People shout back, "Burn, witch!" And the priest calls out to me, “Accept your just punishment witch! Your soul can only experience purification through severe pain."

Without the slightest hesitation, the executioner thrusts the torch into the straw, he waits a few heartbeats for the flames to jump over, then circles the pyre and lights it in several other places. I quickly see myself surrounded by flames and smoke.

View attachment 1033350
Picture: The pyre is lit, the fire spreads quickly...

I feel terrible panic. My bladder has already filled up again and is emptying again. There is laughter. I think of Johanna, I feel her fear, her pain and her shame.

I feel nauseous; acidic gastric juice collects in my mouth, my stomach contracts; my heart beats faster, my scorched boobs pound in pain with the beat of my heart. I begin to breathe frantically, my breasts rise and fall.

People are happy about my suffering and they mock me again. "Are you afraid, witch?" "Do you still want to seduce us with your excited tits? It's time that your cheeky boobs are well grilled!"

I am desperate, I am terrified. I can already feel the heat, I hear the crackling of the fire, I smell the burning wood. I look down frantically and see the excited orange tongues of flame curiously licking the dry branches. I see how the flames come closer, how they grow, how sparks and smoke develop. I choke and cough, the smoke thickens; it hurts when I breathe. Then I feel the wind suddenly pushing the smoke away from me, but that only prolongs my agony.

View attachment 1033351
Picture: Hildegard is filled with terrible fear and horror

I hope to be saved in the last moment... "Dear God, help me, please help me," I whisper, but the heat of the flames becomes more intense. I realize what is happening to me, I pull at the chains and continue my hopeless fight.

"Yes, pull at your chains, witch, you won't be able to free yourself... And the devil will not come to your aid," someone calls out to me.

I wriggle and tear the chains on my arms in desperation. It remains a futile attempt to escape, but the chains hold me in their iron embrace and they pull my arms up, there is no escape.

A woman enviously mocks my big tits, which I hold out to the mob. "Your plump tits look very sad, witch. What's left of your proud boobs?" She calls out to me. "I am happy to see your naughty boobs have been severely punished. You really deserved these ugly and painful brands on your witch tits. Be ashamed!" She enjoys my suffering.

I hardly pay any attention to these calls, I'm too scared. Now I can feel the heat at my feet. The flames shoot out of the wood around me, but they don't come straight to my body yet.

View attachment 1033352
Picture: Hildegard trapped by flames of the pyre
The end is very much ... nigh
 

damhouder

Assistant executioner
A wonderfully written and involved piece which took a great effort to compose. As the story explains the former spectator at the execution of witches, Hildegard, becomes a victim herself. Which was very much the historical reality as large scale witch hunts involved more and more members of the community turning yesterday's persecutor into today's victim.
 

Rupert_137

Executioner
Chapter X – Devoured by the Flames

It's so hot; the heat will soon become unbearable. There is no longer any trace of the cold of the wintry day. I'm sweating, the moisture runs in thick drops from my face onto my breasts, it runs from my armpits. My wet hair is gluing on my face. But the fire lets my sweat evaporate quickly, only a fine crust of salt remains. And a little later my skin is burning hot and completely dry all over my body. An inferno is slowly but surely drawing in. And while it's pointless, I still struggle with the chains that raise my arms and press my body to the stake.

It stings when sparks and small, glowing pieces of wood jump up and sit on my uncovered skin on my legs and arms and later on my stomach and boobs as well. The fire has not touched me yet, but it hurts badly. My feet are worse off; they can already feel the heat of the embers. The skin on my feet and legs turns red and makes first blisters. I groan in agony and ask God again for a grace that will never come.

The flames are kindled by the wind. Cruelly I feel the heat on my feet and the raging pain on my scorched breasts. The pain becomes unbearable. My pleading turns into a long, roaring scream that is only briefly interrupted when I draw the hot air over the fire into my lungs. The air quickly becomes even hotter. My breathing becomes shallower, I often cough or I pant like a dog.

WTS-10-1.jpg
Picture: Hildegard's screams can be heard far before the fire takes her away the air to scream

The flames shoot higher and they come closer and closer. When flames touch the torn cloth of my penitent shirt, the fabric turns darker and darker; the dark areas grow larger and larger. I feel cruel pain, fear and despair. The flames reach me, lick my feet and ignite the hem of my shirt, which reaches below my knees. My skirt is starting to burn. I have to scream again.

I am desperately trying to evade the flames, but it is impossible. The chains force me to stay at the stake with my hands up high. The fabric burns up to my waist and the fire licks right on my skin. I can't scream now, just moan terribly.

There is no protection, the pain is unbearable and it gets worse every second. I have to go ... but how? I pull the chains with all my might, but there is no escape, I have to burn alive. The chains are also getting hotter, but they don't lose their hold. I can't stop moaning loudly, my whole body twitching and shaking as I endure the fiery agony.

My feet start burning; the torture was nothing against that. The flesh on my legs turns black, the blisters break open ... the pain is more terrible than anything I've ever endured or imagined... I want to keep screaming, but I can't breathe. I cannot take it anymore...

Nobody deserves to die like this, not even a witch ... especially not a sinner like me. "Please let it end! God, Satan, anyone who can help me..." But there is no answer to my supplication - I must not die yet. I am suffering a slow and indescribably excruciating death. Now I realize that it is the devil himself who is dragging me into perdition, even though I have never served him...

I threaten to suffocate and every cough takes my breath away ... But the devil wants to see me suffer even longer and present people with a cruel spectacle. He lets the wind blow even stronger, which gives me air to breathe and at the same time kindles the fire more and more violently. Still, the air is hot and it dries me up from the inside, my lungs sting. I don't want to, but I have to breathe.

The hot air dries me up from the inside, but I have to breathe. The pain makes me dizzy, I feel like I'm in a fever. This condition alleviates my suffering somewhat but my senses still know exactly what is happening to me. The fabric of my torn shirt catches fire again and burns up to my shoulder. The fabric burns brightly, small pieces of the burnt rag are torn away by the flames and carried upwards. The flames devour me without mercy, I feel them bite my thighs and how they grill my breasts from below. The beat of my heart is still beating painfully in my boobs.

The scraps of fabric crumble, my skin burns, there is no protection from the roaring inferno. A little later I feel the first flames licking my pussy. I screech and one last time it trickles between my legs. But it is not enough to comfort my skin. A little steam rises, then the last cooling that I have inside me is gone.

WTS-10-2tw.jpg
Picture: Hildegard burns in a sea of roaring flames, but the wind still brings some fresh air to breathe, which prolongs her agony...

My whole body writhes, I wriggle in chains, but I can't escape, I'm exposed to the cruel flames that grill me alive. My scream falls silent; I don't have the strength to do so, even if I want to scream endlessly. The wood under my feet can no longer carry me, it breaks away and I sag lower, held only by the chains on my arms stretched out high.

Someone from the crowd shouts, "Dance for us, witch, wind yourself in the fire", but I haven't paid any attention to the people around me for a long time. Still, I squirm in agony at the stake. People call it the 'witch's dance in the fire' and there are even spectators who can enjoy it. I've seen it too, but it filled me with horror from the start … especially when I saw Johanna arch and squirm in the flames.

I feel the fire burn my pussy and ass before it's jumping higher, licking my stomach and breasts furiously. I feel the flames burn me, like glowing knives stab me and tear skin from my flesh and my flesh from my bones.

I cannot think clearly because of the agony, breathing the hot air burns my lungs from within. I only wish one more thing, a quick death; the release from this torment. But I don't suffocate so quickly, the wind keeps blowing fresh air from the side towards me and into the raging flames.

The people around me are frightened, reverent or even joyful, but I no longer see them. There are shouts as the flames lick my breasts and blow bubbles there, but I can no longer hear them. I'm just feeling the pain from my whole body. I've been fatally burned for a long time, but dying in the flames is very slow.

The roar of the inferno envelops me, mute but groaning. I feel my hair smolder and how it catches fire, also burning the skin on my head. I turn my head around but I can't shake the flames off. I can't even breathe without burning my lungs. I look up at the sky: thick black columns of smoke darken the sun, sparks drift upwards like a thousand fireflies... The flames devour me completely.

My eyes become blurry, everything becomes a vague shadow, and the flames that dance in front of me dissolve into an orange mist. Suddenly I feel free, detached from the chains, as if I could fly in the flames and escape the pyre...

WTS-10-3.jpg
Picture: One last vision gives Hildegard the feeling of floating in a sea of flames, detached from her chains

The glaring light of the flames dims before my eyes, it turns into deep red, slowly turns gray and becomes darker and darker. My screams faded away for a long time, and I don't have the air to moan either. It's so burning hot I can't breathe the air anymore. The panicked pounding of my heart calms down and slowly stops. The roar of the flames fades away and becomes quiet...

Even the urge to breathe has suddenly disappeared. I don't feel or feel anything anymore. No heat, no pain, no fear. I drift from the light of the fire into the silent darkness. Hours ago the thought of death filled me with horror, now it is the release from endless torments.

My soul is freed and released from my body, which was once graceful and full of joie de vivre... Under great agony, courage and joy were torn from me, now flames completely destroy my body. For a moment I seem to float outside my body, which is burning in the roaring flames, but all fears are gone, all pain is extinguished. Then I slowly disappear and leave everything behind...


I no longer see the fat of my body go up in bright flames, first on my thighs, then on my buttocks and stomach. Finally my breasts burn in bright, blazing flames that shoot out of my torn skin. They give the audience one last, fiery spectacle, from which my consciousness is spared.

My dead body is still hanging rigid and twisted from the last pain at the post. My remains are slowly charring, burning to soot and ashes; only my raised arms stick out of the fire for a long time. At some point the stake to which I am chained collapses. A thousand sparks flare up, give the audience one last, sad spectacle. The remains of my body fall forward into the embers to completely turn into ashes.

WTS-10-4.jpg
Picture: Hildegard's dead body slowly charred in the flames; soon it falls with the post into the embers of the pyre

Finally the last of the spectators leave the place of my cruel execution. Most went away after my boobs burned or when the stinking flesh of my burned body made them sick.

The fire still glows in the night, slowly it burns out completely. The next day, the chains that held me are recovered from the ashes of the burned out pyre. The ashes and the remains of my bones are scattered so that I will never return. And I definitely won't be coming back! Not in this horrible place...

And what's about the fate of my family, my sisters? I don't want to know it! They have to go their own way. I'm no longer of this world, I can't stand by anyone.


For Hildegard this was the end of all suffering and agony… But there are some interesting points that will be reported in the following epilogue.
 
So moving, I loved it yet I was also moved to compassion for Hildegard’s horribly unjust fate. My sad react is not a criticism but an indication of how this moved me…

And yet I am so depraved and kinky, it also fed my deeply taboo fantasy. Because it is so wrong to enjoy her despair, thinking that also makes it so deeply erotic.. My forbidden lust is so hot for me, the tormented slave who is loinclothslave…
 

Fossy

Senator
Chapter X – Devoured by the Flames

It's so hot; the heat will soon become unbearable. There is no longer any trace of the cold of the wintry day. I'm sweating, the moisture runs in thick drops from my face onto my breasts, it runs from my armpits. My wet hair is gluing on my face. But the fire lets my sweat evaporate quickly, only a fine crust of salt remains. And a little later my skin is burning hot and completely dry all over my body. An inferno is slowly but surely drawing in. And while it's pointless, I still struggle with the chains that raise my arms and press my body to the stake.

It stings when sparks and small, glowing pieces of wood jump up and sit on my uncovered skin on my legs and arms and later on my stomach and boobs as well. The fire has not touched me yet, but it hurts badly. My feet are worse off; they can already feel the heat of the embers. The skin on my feet and legs turns red and makes first blisters. I groan in agony and ask God again for a grace that will never come.

The flames are kindled by the wind. Cruelly I feel the heat on my feet and the raging pain on my scorched breasts. The pain becomes unbearable. My pleading turns into a long, roaring scream that is only briefly interrupted when I draw the hot air over the fire into my lungs. The air quickly becomes even hotter. My breathing becomes shallower, I often cough or I pant like a dog.

View attachment 1033810
Picture: Hildegard's screams can be heard far before the fire takes her away the air to scream

The flames shoot higher and they come closer and closer. When flames touch the torn cloth of my penitent shirt, the fabric turns darker and darker; the dark areas grow larger and larger. I feel cruel pain, fear and despair. The flames reach me, lick my feet and ignite the hem of my shirt, which reaches below my knees. My skirt is starting to burn. I have to scream again.

I am desperately trying to evade the flames, but it is impossible. The chains force me to stay at the stake with my hands up high. The fabric burns up to my waist and the fire licks right on my skin. I can't scream now, just moan terribly.

There is no protection, the pain is unbearable and it gets worse every second. I have to go ... but how? I pull the chains with all my might, but there is no escape, I have to burn alive. The chains are also getting hotter, but they don't lose their hold. I can't stop moaning loudly, my whole body twitching and shaking as I endure the fiery agony.

My feet start burning; the torture was nothing against that. The flesh on my legs turns black, the blisters break open ... the pain is more terrible than anything I've ever endured or imagined... I want to keep screaming, but I can't breathe. I cannot take it anymore...

Nobody deserves to die like this, not even a witch ... especially not a sinner like me. "Please let it end! God, Satan, anyone who can help me..." But there is no answer to my supplication - I must not die yet. I am suffering a slow and indescribably excruciating death. Now I realize that it is the devil himself who is dragging me into perdition, even though I have never served him...

I threaten to suffocate and every cough takes my breath away ... But the devil wants to see me suffer even longer and present people with a cruel spectacle. He lets the wind blow even stronger, which gives me air to breathe and at the same time kindles the fire more and more violently. Still, the air is hot and it dries me up from the inside, my lungs sting. I don't want to, but I have to breathe.

The hot air dries me up from the inside, but I have to breathe. The pain makes me dizzy, I feel like I'm in a fever. This condition alleviates my suffering somewhat but my senses still know exactly what is happening to me. The fabric of my torn shirt catches fire again and burns up to my shoulder. The fabric burns brightly, small pieces of the burnt rag are torn away by the flames and carried upwards. The flames devour me without mercy, I feel them bite my thighs and how they grill my breasts from below. The beat of my heart is still beating painfully in my boobs.

The scraps of fabric crumble, my skin burns, there is no protection from the roaring inferno. A little later I feel the first flames licking my pussy. I screech and one last time it trickles between my legs. But it is not enough to comfort my skin. A little steam rises, then the last cooling that I have inside me is gone.

View attachment 1033811
Picture: Hildegard burns in a sea of roaring flames, but the wind still brings some fresh air to breathe, which prolongs her agony...

My whole body writhes, I wriggle in chains, but I can't escape, I'm exposed to the cruel flames that grill me alive. My scream falls silent; I don't have the strength to do so, even if I want to scream endlessly. The wood under my feet can no longer carry me, it breaks away and I sag lower, held only by the chains on my arms stretched out high.

Someone from the crowd shouts, "Dance for us, witch, wind yourself in the fire", but I haven't paid any attention to the people around me for a long time. Still, I squirm in agony at the stake. People call it the 'witch's dance in the fire' and there are even spectators who can enjoy it. I've seen it too, but it filled me with horror from the start … especially when I saw Johanna arch and squirm in the flames.

I feel the fire burn my pussy and ass before it's jumping higher, licking my stomach and breasts furiously. I feel the flames burn me, like glowing knives stab me and tear skin from my flesh and my flesh from my bones.

I cannot think clearly because of the agony, breathing the hot air burns my lungs from within. I only wish one more thing, a quick death; the release from this torment. But I don't suffocate so quickly, the wind keeps blowing fresh air from the side towards me and into the raging flames.

The people around me are frightened, reverent or even joyful, but I no longer see them. There are shouts as the flames lick my breasts and blow bubbles there, but I can no longer hear them. I'm just feeling the pain from my whole body. I've been fatally burned for a long time, but dying in the flames is very slow.

The roar of the inferno envelops me, mute but groaning. I feel my hair smolder and how it catches fire, also burning the skin on my head. I turn my head around but I can't shake the flames off. I can't even breathe without burning my lungs. I look up at the sky: thick black columns of smoke darken the sun, sparks drift upwards like a thousand fireflies... The flames devour me completely.

My eyes become blurry, everything becomes a vague shadow, and the flames that dance in front of me dissolve into an orange mist. Suddenly I feel free, detached from the chains, as if I could fly in the flames and escape the pyre...

View attachment 1033812
Picture: One last vision gives Hildegard the feeling of floating in a sea of flames, detached from her chains

The glaring light of the flames dims before my eyes, it turns into deep red, slowly turns gray and becomes darker and darker. My screams faded away for a long time, and I don't have the air to moan either. It's so burning hot I can't breathe the air anymore. The panicked pounding of my heart calms down and slowly stops. The roar of the flames fades away and becomes quiet...

Even the urge to breathe has suddenly disappeared. I don't feel or feel anything anymore. No heat, no pain, no fear. I drift from the light of the fire into the silent darkness. Hours ago the thought of death filled me with horror, now it is the release from endless torments.

My soul is freed and released from my body, which was once graceful and full of joie de vivre... Under great agony, courage and joy were torn from me, now flames completely destroy my body. For a moment I seem to float outside my body, which is burning in the roaring flames, but all fears are gone, all pain is extinguished. Then I slowly disappear and leave everything behind...


I no longer see the fat of my body go up in bright flames, first on my thighs, then on my buttocks and stomach. Finally my breasts burn in bright, blazing flames that shoot out of my torn skin. They give the audience one last, fiery spectacle, from which my consciousness is spared.

My dead body is still hanging rigid and twisted from the last pain at the post. My remains are slowly charring, burning to soot and ashes; only my raised arms stick out of the fire for a long time. At some point the stake to which I am chained collapses. A thousand sparks flare up, give the audience one last, sad spectacle. The remains of my body fall forward into the embers to completely turn into ashes.

View attachment 1033813
Picture: Hildegard's dead body slowly charred in the flames; soon it falls with the post into the embers of the pyre

Finally the last of the spectators leave the place of my cruel execution. Most went away after my boobs burned or when the stinking flesh of my burned body made them sick.

The fire still glows in the night, slowly it burns out completely. The next day, the chains that held me are recovered from the ashes of the burned out pyre. The ashes and the remains of my bones are scattered so that I will never return. And I definitely won't be coming back! Not in this horrible place...

And what's about the fate of my family, my sisters? I don't want to know it! They have to go their own way. I'm no longer of this world, I can't stand by anyone.


For Hildegard this was the end of all suffering and agony… But there are some interesting points that will be reported in the following epilogue.
An excellent account. The narrative was most evocative but I have to say that the images accompanying this last part were exquisite. Great work.
 

Rupert_137

Executioner
So moving, I loved it yet I was also moved to compassion for Hildegard’s horribly unjust fate. My sad react is not a criticism but an indication of how this moved me…

And yet I am so depraved and kinky, it also fed my deeply taboo fantasy. Because it is so wrong to enjoy her despair, thinking that also makes it so deeply erotic.. My forbidden lust is so hot for me, the tormented slave who is loinclothslave…
Witch stories always describe a very cruel and terribly unjust fate ... simply because there could be no real witchcraft. (Only some cinema films try to deny this absurdity).
Although the reality is incomprehensible, I always try to write as realistically as possible (even if I'm sure to make a few mistakes). The pyre scene in particular is very depressing to write - as a first-person narrator I have identified too much with the victim and the events move me very intensive. But for this very reason it's always a special challenge for me to write a witch story.
To be honest, taking the executioner's and observer's perspective was less of a burden (The Witch and the Executioner). On the other hand, the perspective of a real victim which suffered and experienced precisely this horrible fate was the worst to describe (The last Witch of Bamberg) - Sometimes I was crying while writing...
 

Rupert_137

Executioner
Epilogue (two sections)

XI – Treason and false Accusations

The world, and even more so the judiciary, were unjust in those times...

Hildegard suspected so, but she never found out for sure who accused her of witchcraft and betrayed her because of the mole on her breast. It was the man who poured her too much wine to abuse the almost mindless woman afterwards in a barn.

The couple was watched and caught. When brought before the judge, the guy tried to save himself. As a man he was threatened with “only” an hour in the pillory and a few strokes of the stick for his act of sin, because he was obviously seduced by the well-built, young woman.

Hildegard, on the other hand, was threatened for her fornication with up to three hours in the pillory; usually punished with twelve strokes of the cane every hour on her bare bum; and at the end even a cruel flogging for seducing the man with her body. At least twenty lashes on her bared upper body, which would be the usual sentence; whether she acted on purpose or without her will is not verifiable and it hardly matters.

WTS-11-1.jpg
Pictures: As an accused adulteress and seductress, Hildegard not only threatens the pillory...

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... Also a harsh flogging (2 variants)

But the man does not want to be humiliated; he does not want to stand bare-chested in the pillory and pelted with rotten fruit and horse droppings; he doesn't want to feel the hard cane on his buttocks even if he doesn't have to take off his pants. He is not interested in the fact that Hildegard has to lift her skirt every hour to receive the vicious cane on her bare ass ... and that she, as the accused seductress and woman, expects a much worse punishment. They always refer to the Bible, where Eve also seduced Adam.

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Pictures: Punishment on the pillory with whip, birch rods and cane (3 variants)

The unscrupulous guy wants to pull his head out of the loop completely. And so he claims that the beautiful young widow bared herself in front of him and enchanted him with her strange wine in order to seduce him completely without will. As proof he reveals the dark mole on her right breast as a mark of the devil on her body. That relieves him of any guilt.
 
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Rupert_137

Executioner
Notes on Chapter XI:

Perhaps it would be interesting to tell this alternative story with punishment, but without the charge of witchcraft. That is why I am adding a few pillory variants here, which offer different possibilities for humiliation and punishment...

Which pillory do you like best for the sinner Hildegard?

WTS-11-P1.jpg
Pillory 1 the classic variant, the upper body bent, neck and wrists locked, the bum stretched out for getting fucked or for a punishment.

WTS-11-P2.jpg
Pillory 2, here too the body is bent low, but the wrists are locked behind the back together with the waist, the tits hang down nicely, buttocks and boobs can be punished well.

WTS-11-P3.jpg
Pillory 3, sitting upright, legs spread, wrists and ankles included, completely exposed to all looks, the unprotected soles of the feet call for a special punishment.

WTS-11-P4.jpg
Pillory 4, crouching humiliatingly on the floor, wrists and ankles locked, but better protected from view and attacks than any other variant.

WTS-11-P5.jpg
Pillory 5, standing upright with legs open, neck and wrists locked, especially painful in the neck and completely unprotected on all sides.

WTS-11-P6.jpg
Pillory 6, the upper body bent slightly forward against a frame, legs spread between a block of wood, wrists and ankles tied. The front body is protected; but the legs, buttocks and back are perfectly aligned for the cane and whips.

WTS-11-P7.jpg
Pillory 7, hanging upright by the arms with a board between the legs, the feet tied – tree and fence used makeshiftly as a torture variant of a pillory, certainly a particularly painful and humiliating variant.
 

Barbaria1

Rebel Leader
Staff member
WTS-11-P3.jpg
Pillory 3, sitting upright, legs spread, wrists and ankles included, completely exposed to all looks, the unprotected soles of the feet call for a special punishment.
Looks like I chose this one :confused:
 

Rupert_137

Executioner
And here is the conclusion (second part of the epilogue)...
Unfortunately, no images can be loaded at the moment, I'll try again later!

XII – The Fate of the Family

The world, and even more so the judiciary, remained unjust in those times...

Soon after Hildegard's execution, there were also accusations against other members of her family that they were witches, especially against the older of the remaining sisters Irmgard and against her mother. Once rumors have started, there will soon be concrete allegations. A rejected, probably quite intrusive admirer of the young woman is said to have testified, “I felt a strange, irresistible urge to touch Irmgard's breasts. But when I reached under her shirt, her tits were not soft and round, but pointed, hot and plump. Startled, I withdrew, but my hands burned for hours, as if I had grabbed a nettle."

There are serious doubts about his statement, because Irmgard says that she pushed the pushy fellow back before he could touch her breasts under the shirt. Nevertheless Irmgard is now exposed to the accusation of being a witch. The incident got around and she gets the attention of people whose attention she never wanted.

A young woman who is suspected of being a witch is considered outlawed... Three guys lie in wait for her; they drag Irmgard into a bush. She fought as best she could, but Irmgard had no chance against three men. She is brutally deflowered and raped again and again. They leave the completely distraught victim behind in the bushes.


Image: Irmgard in the hands of her abusers - "If you submit, nothing will happen to you and we will let you go ..." (two variants)

Her rapists later boast in their drunkenness that they fucked a witch without harm. They admit to having spoken to Irmgard, but they claim that the barely adult girl willingly exposed herself in front of them and let them fuck her with insatiable lust until the three men could no longer ... But they do not confirm the observations of the rejected lover about the girl's breasts of being burning like a nettle.

Nobody seems to care that she came home completely crying with a torn shirt and skirt. The noose begins to close; Irmgard is arrested for seduction and fornication...

Other people also suddenly denounce her anonymously as a witch. Soon there were further allegations, also against the mother and against the little sister Inge. An avalanche starts rolling; the family of the carpenter Heinrich is in great distress. When a nasty drought threatens the harvest, Irmgard is also associated with it as a dangerous weather witch.

Time is pressing to act to prevent further disaster. The inquisitor concentrates on Irmgard; he wants to have her sentenced as a witch and burned at the stake as soon as possible. So he proposes a deal to the parents: If they testify against their own daughter and conclusively incriminate Irmgard, the mother and the youngest daughter will be spared. If not, the whole family is guilty of promoting witchcraft.

The inquisitor threatens to have the youngest daughter tortured with extreme severity in order to obtain incriminating statements. In times of need, there are accusations that weigh heavily on Irmgard. She had repeatedly not been in her bed at night; she had behaved strangely and very indecently...

That's not much, but it's enough for torture. A dark devil's mark above her pussy is said to have also convicted the girl. Half a year after her older sister Hildegard, Irmgard also has to take the cruel walk to the stake. But at least this time the family can still save their mother and the youngest sister Inge.

Like her sister, Irmgard is taken to the market square to be tortured in public as a witch before her actual execution. A particularly painful punishment has been adopted for her from other places; the young woman is bitten on both breasts with glowing hot witch-pliers. The embers and the pain go deeper than with the superficial burn of a branding iron. Irmgard's terrible screams ring out across the square, although only small burns can be seen.


Pictures: Malicious witch pliers with sharpened, split teeth to bite through the skin and with long arches to penetrate deep into soft tissue - with demonstration of the application. When heated, these slim 'witch pliers' have an extraordinarily cruel effect... [The use and effect of these pliers are described in my story 'The last Witch of Bamberg' in parts 4 and 5a/b]

Many people are scared but not really satisfied with what they see. Nevertheless, there are two deep and cruel bites with red-hot tongs, there is no encore.

Marked by pain and rigid with fear, Irmgard has to mount the stake. The fire is lit; she pisses herself and slowly burns to death in unimaginable agony. At least the weak wind is gracious; she suffocates faster than her sister before.


Picture: Irmgard receives glowing hot pliers and burns at the stake as a witch

A few days later, heavy thunderstorms bring the long-awaited rain... A little more than desired, but no one has any doubts that the evil curse of the witch Irmgard was finally broken by being burned at the stake.

But the misfortune clings to the carpenter's family like a curse. Perhaps because all daughters had beautiful, full, or proudly shaped breasts – in which people want to see wicked witch tits that the devil gave to the girls. Or simply because where two witches were up to mischief, others were suspected too. Finally there were the mother and the youngest daughter Inge, who quickly grew into a young woman.


Picture: Proud witch tits: Dangerous for those who let themselves be seduced by her breasts, far more dangerous for the accused witch herself, because those proud breasts stir suspicion.

It is only a matter of time before Inge's boobs get plump as well, which her detractors have been waiting for. It is of no use to her that she flattens her breasts with a chest band. Someone sees it, speaks about it and others hear about it. “She tries to hide her big witch tits from us,” they say.

This is considered highly suspicious and soon there will be further, absurd allegations. One woman claims that she saw Inge giving her breast to a he-goat. The animal suckled wildly until her witch milk squirted out.

Sure, that was just a vivid fantasy, but the credibility of this statement is rarely seriously tested. On the contrary, under severe torture Inge is later forced to confirm the incident with the he-goat and her witch's milk, she has to tell the 'whole truth' about her reprehensible doings with the devil, including how she was breastfeeding him and committed fornication with the devil in the shape of the he-goat...


Picture: Naked witch rides a he-goat, a symbol of the devil

But first Inge is arrested and she has to unpack her breasts, which are large for her age. “Those are witch tits!” The inquisitor exclaims. He spat in her face and hits her two breasts several times with the flat of his hand. "You presented your damned tits to the devil in the shape of a he-goat." So quickly there is a first judgment.

Because she does not want to confess amicably, Inge also has to face the torture, where a comprehensive confession is wrested from her in great agony. Her fate is sealed. And so she follows her two older sisters to the stake two years later. A plea for clemency to strangle her before burning, or at least to spare her the branding iron on her breasts, is refused.

Inge was the third offspring in a trio of witches, she was warned and she has to endure the full suffering and the cruel punishments like her witch sisters, so it is decided.

On the market square, the glowing hot witch-pliers are bitten deep into her right breast, and the witch's mark is burned into her left breast. So Inge has to suffer the combined punishments of her two older sisters, red-hot pliers and branding iron. The audience is satisfied with the judgment and the work of the executioner, they hear Inge’s loud screams and they also see the deeply burned witch's mark.

Then they lead the bared, screaming and crying young witch to the stake to be burned, where she dies in agony like her sisters...

Out of desperation and distress, her mother throws herself off a rock to the sea and to her death. So she barely escapes another arrest on the charge of being the witch mother of her three witch daughters. They say it was the devil himself who pushed her off the cliff...


Picture: The mother throws herself off the cliff and at the same time also to her death because she cannot swim...

The carpenter Henrik dies a few years later of grief and of a broken heart. Only his son Hugo, the brother of the three witch girls and the oldest after Hildegard, remains alive. He moves to an unfamiliar place after witnessing his mother and the three sisters die. In particular, he had to watch how Hildegard, Irmgard and Inge were tortured in public on their breasts with red-hot pliers and branding irons and finally burned alive.


END
 
History is so full of such miserable tales. Just because I’m full of taboo kink doesn’t mean I’d want to actually witness it, or am not touched with great sympathy for these innocent victims’ plight… It was a horrible and totally undeserved fate.

Yet here, on this website, I can also admit to an erotic element as well, in my case a twisted desire to share similar torture! Such a hidden desire which could so easily be misunderstood- yet here I’m able to speak of it to people who can accept this strange desire to suffer…In the same way I accept those here who have the oft hidden desire to inflict such pain to a willing subject. I don’t really wish to die. I recognise I am very fortunate to live in an age when I can freely have such a kink, talk about it and play games with it yet live to tell the tale only to dream of a new scenario.
 

Rupert_137

Executioner
Unfortunately, I still can't upload any pictures ...
Therefore, here comes the closing comment first, which seems important to me to understand the sad fate of Hildegard's family:


Notes on Chapter XII:

The accusation of being a witch could hit anyone back then, whether young and beautiful, or old and ugly ... predominantly women, but also men were accused of alleged sorcery; they were forced to confess while being tortured and burned at the stake. (As wizards, an accused man had rather than witches the chance to be judged with the sword, instead of being burned at the stake. After all, they were more likely to make it plausible that they had no sex with the devil...)

But nothing increased the risk of open or anonymous accusations more than when the grandmother, mother or sister was executed as a witch in one's own family.

Storms, calamities, diseases among humans and animals, or stillborn children repeatedly led to the search for a guilty witch who was up to mischief – And who was then suspected first? The daughter, granddaughter or sister of a witch!

Other people tried to put their own guilt on an alleged witch, whom they accused at the same time. Hate and malicious resentment were further sources of accusation – because it was so easy to express suspicions with serious consequences.

There are historically documented cases where first grandmother, then mother and finally daughter were sentenced as witches over a period of several decades. There were also tragic cases where, similar to this story, the mother and her daughters were burned as alleged witches within a short period of time. Even whole families were wiped out on charges of witchcraft, including father and sons...

The aspect of rampant witch trials – because in some places, but by no means everywhere, confessing witches were tortured and forced to accuse other people they had seen while attending the witch's Sabbath – was deliberately not taken up here. I want to tell a self-contained story, not writing a never ending story.

I assume that the three sisters in this story were 18 years or older at the time of their torture and execution ... even if there were no such age limits for witch hunt at the time.
 
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