tygavin
Magistrate
My life changed in an instant. Or should I say my life came to an end in an instant. It happened with a phone call. I sat at my desk in the successful gymnasium I had built, while my lovely wife worked outside my office as my secretary. I should have known by her shaky voice who she suspected the caller to be. If nothing else her face should have told me.
My wife, Chloe, has very open features. She is always smiling but if she is nervous, or afraid it is easy to see. That openness was highlighted by her natural beauty. She had long dark wavy hair and dark smoky eye lashes that surrounded her slightly large, blue eyes. Her body was my idea of perfect femineity. She was five foot nine, weighed between 126 and 130 throughout the year and had perfect, soft, C cup breasts. Her skin was smooth, not an ounce of extra weight that wasn’t needed. When I met her our sophomore year in college she had reminded me so much of a famous actress in Italy during the seventies I had admired since I saw her in a freshman film class on Giallo films, Edwige Fenech. The similarities were striking.
Instead of noticing her tells, I was focused on a report in front of me and told her to forward the call to my desk.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Jason. This is Mr. Jones.”
I paused for a moment, wondering if this was real. My subconscious mind knew it was while my conscious mind told me it wasn’t. My subconscious won in seconds.
“Mr. Jones. I wasn’t expecting to speak to you until we arrived on the island in two weeks. I suppose since you are calling, that means you will need both of us sooner?” I asked, proud that I was keeping my voice calm and steady, even though my heart was racing, and I was beginning to sweat.
“Yes, that is correct. My wife and I are in town. We will be at your house this evening at seven to go over details. I assume this won’t be a problem. You do remember your oath, of course?”
I took a quiet breath and steadied myself. Both Chloe and I knew this day could come, even if we didn’t really think it ever would.
“You will have no problems from us, Mr. Jones. We shall see you and Mrs. Jones at seven. I look forward to it.”
He ended the call without a goodbye. He knew my lie. Who could be ready for it? Who could be ready to die? Chloe and I were thirty-two, had a saucerful business and were in our sexual prime.
That was the thrill of being a part of the community though. Twice a year, you knew there was a chance you and your wife could be selected to die for the enjoyment of others.
I said my life ended with a phone call, but the call was simply the culmination of a path laid before us after college, one we readily took.
MY wife and I met our sophomore year and immediately hit it off. It was as if we were fated. We complimented each other. She was a woman who needed to be owned completely and I was the type of guy that needed to own someone completely.
This was not to say we were into a BDSM scene. I didn’t collar her, or spank her, we didn’t call each other master and slave. We hardly ever used toys. I did control her life and she allowed it. I decided what clothes she would wear for the day, what friends she would be around, who she was allowed to talk to. It didn’t start off at once but over our college years it grew. Her friends hated the way I ran her life, but they didn’t understand us. I could understand them and how our relationship might seem like abuse but for us, it was what we both wanted. I respected her. I didn’t fuck around, I didn’t get drunk, I never laid a hand in anger on her and I treated her like my queen. And she understood she was mine. She didn’t leave the house without me. She dressed as I wanted her to dress. If I wanted her proper, she dressed properly. If I wanted her a bit slutty when we went out on the town, she dressed a bit slutty.
We married right after college. Working out had always been a passion of mine along with business, so I opened a small gym. That led to another and another until I had several in the city. I allowed Chloe to work as my secretary and we had a good life.
Though we had in depth discussions about our wants and needs before marriage, it was on our honeymoon that I realized there we had another shared interest. We were drinking wine in our villa, watching a low budget horror movie without subtitles so we had no idea what was going on. As we made fun of the cheesy props and the cringe worthy background music, a woman was stabbed in the belly, over and over again.
Chloe, her inhibitions completely down, moaned and told me how hot it was. When I asked her what she meant, she took off her panties and sat on my hardening cock. It was then she told me she had a death fetish. She had imagined herself killed in a multitude of ways since she had understood what her sexual triggers were.
After a night of intense sex, the next morning she was reluctant to talk about it, even apologizing and believing it made me uncomfortable. It was then I let out my secret. I also had a fetish, though mine was not centered around being a victim, erotic death had always fascinated me as well.
After that, our imaginations took flight, and our sex was even hotter. We watched, simulated snuff videos and found while the movies were cheaply made and had poor acting and cheap props and special effects, the stories and situations were none the less, intriguing. We rad stories together about erotic executions, murders, hanging, electricity, firing squads, beheadings and every other manner of erotic death.
Eventually we sought out more creative ways to explore our passions. We naturally thought of BDSM. Much of the entertainment we read and watched had bondage themes. However, the BDSM lifestyle wasn’t for us. Our tastes ran different, darker. I was fascinated by the culture but we didn’t fit.
A marriage between a submissive wife with a death fetish and a controlling husband who loved to see women killed in erotic fashions could not have gone well. However, ours did. As I said, my wife was perfect and no matter my desire, I would never harm her.
To this day I have no idea how we were found by Mr. and Mrs. Jones. They introduced themselves to us at our gym five years ago. They were in their thirties, good looking. She was a beautiful blonde with kind eyes and an amazing, fit body, dressed in spandex shorts and sports bra that hid little of her form, even highlighting it. He matched my height and build, six foot two, one hundred and eighty pounds and looked to be in tip top shape. We both had dark hair and while mine was a bit more casual, his was more styled.
They introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Jones and asked if we could have lunch with them to talk about an opportunity they thought we might be interested in. All he would say, was it would be an opportunity we would not want to miss out on. Thinking they were attractive, and nice enough we met them at a bar that night.
To this day we do not know what their first names are, and I am sure Jones isn’t their last name.
What we heard that night was too good to be true. We didn’t believe it. They invited us to join them on their private island in one month.
We spent five days there in a large hotel next to his mansion and grounds on their private island with one hundred and fifty other couples. The couples belonged to what was called the Community. Twice a year five couples were chosen to be executed during the gathering. The types of executions would be chosen by the Jones. After five couples were dead, five new couples were inducted into the Community.
It was a hedonistic society and not at all brutal or violent. The victims were treated with honor if not given much in the way of dignity. They weren’t beaten, tortured or raped. They were taken as property of the Community and disposed of in erotic manners, the men and the women.
At the end of the weekend, after watching our fantasies play out in reality we underwent the ceremony, pledging ourselves to the secret society, vowing with blood to never give up the secret, to never speak of the island and most importantly, if called, be prepared to die for the enjoyment of others.
Five years, ten festivals and the thought of being selected had all but gone from our minds. We often thought about what it would be like to be a victim. I was intrigued but much more interested in watching them die. Chloe was insatiable during and after. It was only at these functions did we ever participate in sexual endeavors like exhibitionism, and groups sex. I would not allow Chloe to be used by another man but often the husband of a woman and I would sit and drink together while our wives fucked each other for our entertainment. Chloe and I had public sex during and after the executions. We observed the actions of those about to be dead. All the couples were young and in prime shape. It was if a modeling convention had broken out. The Community was everything we had wanted.
Now it wanted us.
I stepped outside and my look told Chloe she was right. I saw her breath hitch, a spark of fear on her face but also the quickening of breath like she did when about to orgasm.
“Was it him?”
I nodded. “Get you belongings. We are going home.”
At seven on the dot, our bell rang.
Chloe opened the door and let in Mr. and Mrs. Jones. They looked as stunning as ever. Despite my devotion to my wife, I was just a man and my cock stirred looking at Mrs. Jones in that short, tight red mini dress.
We offered them seats and drinks in the living room.
After some small talk where they complimented the house, Mr. Jones got down to business.
“You know why we are here.”
“I do. We have been chosen.”
“And you will fulfill your oath.” He said, not a question. The idea of running never crossed my mind. We had enjoyed other deaths and now they would enjoy ours.
“Tomorrow be at the airport at nine AM, gate one. You will need nothing but the clothes on your backs. Those will be relieved from you when you step on the jet, and you will never need clothes again. Your bodies belong to the Community now. Your deaths will make fine spectacle. This year will be very different. Never before have we executed victims in this manner. You will be crucified.”
Chloe gasped and squeezed my hand.
Mr. and Mrs. Jones found her reaction amusing. I kept a straight face, gave away nothing but they knew how I felt. How else would anyone feel finding this out? Hanging, beheading, even impalement would at least end quickly. This though?
“I understand. We will be at the gate at nine AM.”
To be continued
My wife, Chloe, has very open features. She is always smiling but if she is nervous, or afraid it is easy to see. That openness was highlighted by her natural beauty. She had long dark wavy hair and dark smoky eye lashes that surrounded her slightly large, blue eyes. Her body was my idea of perfect femineity. She was five foot nine, weighed between 126 and 130 throughout the year and had perfect, soft, C cup breasts. Her skin was smooth, not an ounce of extra weight that wasn’t needed. When I met her our sophomore year in college she had reminded me so much of a famous actress in Italy during the seventies I had admired since I saw her in a freshman film class on Giallo films, Edwige Fenech. The similarities were striking.
Instead of noticing her tells, I was focused on a report in front of me and told her to forward the call to my desk.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Jason. This is Mr. Jones.”
I paused for a moment, wondering if this was real. My subconscious mind knew it was while my conscious mind told me it wasn’t. My subconscious won in seconds.
“Mr. Jones. I wasn’t expecting to speak to you until we arrived on the island in two weeks. I suppose since you are calling, that means you will need both of us sooner?” I asked, proud that I was keeping my voice calm and steady, even though my heart was racing, and I was beginning to sweat.
“Yes, that is correct. My wife and I are in town. We will be at your house this evening at seven to go over details. I assume this won’t be a problem. You do remember your oath, of course?”
I took a quiet breath and steadied myself. Both Chloe and I knew this day could come, even if we didn’t really think it ever would.
“You will have no problems from us, Mr. Jones. We shall see you and Mrs. Jones at seven. I look forward to it.”
He ended the call without a goodbye. He knew my lie. Who could be ready for it? Who could be ready to die? Chloe and I were thirty-two, had a saucerful business and were in our sexual prime.
That was the thrill of being a part of the community though. Twice a year, you knew there was a chance you and your wife could be selected to die for the enjoyment of others.
I said my life ended with a phone call, but the call was simply the culmination of a path laid before us after college, one we readily took.
MY wife and I met our sophomore year and immediately hit it off. It was as if we were fated. We complimented each other. She was a woman who needed to be owned completely and I was the type of guy that needed to own someone completely.
This was not to say we were into a BDSM scene. I didn’t collar her, or spank her, we didn’t call each other master and slave. We hardly ever used toys. I did control her life and she allowed it. I decided what clothes she would wear for the day, what friends she would be around, who she was allowed to talk to. It didn’t start off at once but over our college years it grew. Her friends hated the way I ran her life, but they didn’t understand us. I could understand them and how our relationship might seem like abuse but for us, it was what we both wanted. I respected her. I didn’t fuck around, I didn’t get drunk, I never laid a hand in anger on her and I treated her like my queen. And she understood she was mine. She didn’t leave the house without me. She dressed as I wanted her to dress. If I wanted her proper, she dressed properly. If I wanted her a bit slutty when we went out on the town, she dressed a bit slutty.
We married right after college. Working out had always been a passion of mine along with business, so I opened a small gym. That led to another and another until I had several in the city. I allowed Chloe to work as my secretary and we had a good life.
Though we had in depth discussions about our wants and needs before marriage, it was on our honeymoon that I realized there we had another shared interest. We were drinking wine in our villa, watching a low budget horror movie without subtitles so we had no idea what was going on. As we made fun of the cheesy props and the cringe worthy background music, a woman was stabbed in the belly, over and over again.
Chloe, her inhibitions completely down, moaned and told me how hot it was. When I asked her what she meant, she took off her panties and sat on my hardening cock. It was then she told me she had a death fetish. She had imagined herself killed in a multitude of ways since she had understood what her sexual triggers were.
After a night of intense sex, the next morning she was reluctant to talk about it, even apologizing and believing it made me uncomfortable. It was then I let out my secret. I also had a fetish, though mine was not centered around being a victim, erotic death had always fascinated me as well.
After that, our imaginations took flight, and our sex was even hotter. We watched, simulated snuff videos and found while the movies were cheaply made and had poor acting and cheap props and special effects, the stories and situations were none the less, intriguing. We rad stories together about erotic executions, murders, hanging, electricity, firing squads, beheadings and every other manner of erotic death.
Eventually we sought out more creative ways to explore our passions. We naturally thought of BDSM. Much of the entertainment we read and watched had bondage themes. However, the BDSM lifestyle wasn’t for us. Our tastes ran different, darker. I was fascinated by the culture but we didn’t fit.
A marriage between a submissive wife with a death fetish and a controlling husband who loved to see women killed in erotic fashions could not have gone well. However, ours did. As I said, my wife was perfect and no matter my desire, I would never harm her.
To this day I have no idea how we were found by Mr. and Mrs. Jones. They introduced themselves to us at our gym five years ago. They were in their thirties, good looking. She was a beautiful blonde with kind eyes and an amazing, fit body, dressed in spandex shorts and sports bra that hid little of her form, even highlighting it. He matched my height and build, six foot two, one hundred and eighty pounds and looked to be in tip top shape. We both had dark hair and while mine was a bit more casual, his was more styled.
They introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Jones and asked if we could have lunch with them to talk about an opportunity they thought we might be interested in. All he would say, was it would be an opportunity we would not want to miss out on. Thinking they were attractive, and nice enough we met them at a bar that night.
To this day we do not know what their first names are, and I am sure Jones isn’t their last name.
What we heard that night was too good to be true. We didn’t believe it. They invited us to join them on their private island in one month.
We spent five days there in a large hotel next to his mansion and grounds on their private island with one hundred and fifty other couples. The couples belonged to what was called the Community. Twice a year five couples were chosen to be executed during the gathering. The types of executions would be chosen by the Jones. After five couples were dead, five new couples were inducted into the Community.
It was a hedonistic society and not at all brutal or violent. The victims were treated with honor if not given much in the way of dignity. They weren’t beaten, tortured or raped. They were taken as property of the Community and disposed of in erotic manners, the men and the women.
At the end of the weekend, after watching our fantasies play out in reality we underwent the ceremony, pledging ourselves to the secret society, vowing with blood to never give up the secret, to never speak of the island and most importantly, if called, be prepared to die for the enjoyment of others.
Five years, ten festivals and the thought of being selected had all but gone from our minds. We often thought about what it would be like to be a victim. I was intrigued but much more interested in watching them die. Chloe was insatiable during and after. It was only at these functions did we ever participate in sexual endeavors like exhibitionism, and groups sex. I would not allow Chloe to be used by another man but often the husband of a woman and I would sit and drink together while our wives fucked each other for our entertainment. Chloe and I had public sex during and after the executions. We observed the actions of those about to be dead. All the couples were young and in prime shape. It was if a modeling convention had broken out. The Community was everything we had wanted.
Now it wanted us.
I stepped outside and my look told Chloe she was right. I saw her breath hitch, a spark of fear on her face but also the quickening of breath like she did when about to orgasm.
“Was it him?”
I nodded. “Get you belongings. We are going home.”
At seven on the dot, our bell rang.
Chloe opened the door and let in Mr. and Mrs. Jones. They looked as stunning as ever. Despite my devotion to my wife, I was just a man and my cock stirred looking at Mrs. Jones in that short, tight red mini dress.
We offered them seats and drinks in the living room.
After some small talk where they complimented the house, Mr. Jones got down to business.
“You know why we are here.”
“I do. We have been chosen.”
“And you will fulfill your oath.” He said, not a question. The idea of running never crossed my mind. We had enjoyed other deaths and now they would enjoy ours.
“Tomorrow be at the airport at nine AM, gate one. You will need nothing but the clothes on your backs. Those will be relieved from you when you step on the jet, and you will never need clothes again. Your bodies belong to the Community now. Your deaths will make fine spectacle. This year will be very different. Never before have we executed victims in this manner. You will be crucified.”
Chloe gasped and squeezed my hand.
Mr. and Mrs. Jones found her reaction amusing. I kept a straight face, gave away nothing but they knew how I felt. How else would anyone feel finding this out? Hanging, beheading, even impalement would at least end quickly. This though?
“I understand. We will be at the gate at nine AM.”
To be continued