thecuriousone
Governor
Your request to get rid of her, or did I hear you wrong? I know I should get a hearing aid, all this heavy metal shows when I was younger did not spare my ears.
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various own work - perils
- Thread starter thecuriousone
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wulf
God-Emperor
Oh my... that wasn't me. It was Lord Wragg, and it was supposed to be just for a few hours while the Riesling inventory was counted.
thecuriousone
Governor
Oh sorry for the misunderstanding. I owe you a new slavegirl.
I get the blame for everything around here
wulf
God-Emperor
Then I will strive to be misunderstood more often.
thecuriousone
Governor
thecuriousone
Governor
She was still convinced to star in a BDSM movie, that we would lower her to the neck and then pull out. After which she would get big bucks. She doesn't know that we don't even have the hoisting equipment on hand for that job. And that the big bucks only end up in our pockets after selling the snuff film on the dark web.
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riwa
Governor
We got her to pose for us. We wanted her on the cover of the DVD that we told her would eventually come out. She gave us a bit of a smile that seemed to indicate she was enjoying what was being done to her.
We gave her our instructions. She nodded that she was ready. Then she bowed her head as though she was asleep or unconscious.
When I called out, “Action!” she slowly raised her head as we recorded the scene from three cameras. She looked all around as though suddenly becoming aware of her situation. They she looked at the main camera as though seeing something that horrified her.
She started begging and pleading. A moment later, the chair began to lower. Ripples emanated outward from her position in the swampy water.
Her legs became totally submerged. She shook her head, begging for her life to be spared. She was giving off a pretty decent performance for an amateur.
The chair continued to lower into the swamp. The water level climbed the straps securing her naked body to the chair. It finally reached the strap across the lower part of her breasts.
She portrayed the proper amount of fear and pleading as she sank lower. The water climbed her chest. Soon, it completely covered her breasts.
Her pleas intensified, her panic becoming more pronounced. We remained silent as we recorded her. The water level rose until the top of her shoulders remained visible.
The chair continued to submerge. I’d told her we wanted the scene done in one take if possible. She was doing her best to give us what we wanted.
The water level reached her neck. She screamed, “PLEASE; NO!” The chair stopped right there.
She sobbed as she begged. She was willing to do anything. She was pretty convincing.
The chair started lowering her again. Water reached her chin and climbed her face. She tried to tip her head back, but was stopped by the headrest behind her.
The chair stopped again as water covered her lips, causing her to inhale and exhale through her nose. Now she had to act without speaking. Her natural, instinctive fear was clearly enhancing her performance.
I motioned for the chair to take her lower. She inhaled through her nose. Then the chair sank even lower into the swampy water.
I had it stop with the water level just below her eyes. Now she had to hold her breath as she looked at us in horror. She said she could give us about a minute before she would need to be brought back up.
She acted with her eyes, showing panic as she struggled in the chair. But she was pretty well secured. She could barely move around, although she was causing the water to ripple outward from the chair.
I motioned for the chair to go lower. It slowly descended until her eyes were submerged, leaving half of her forehead above the waterline. She had been instructed to keep them open wide to show fear and panic. And she had them open for us.
One camera got a close-up of her face. Now she looked to be struggling to hold her breath. I had previously told her this was to be expected and to just go with whatever happened.
I could see her chest start to heave. Bubbles came out of her mouth and nose. Then I motioned for the chair to go even lower.
Her eyes registered growing alarm, which still fit well with the scene. I stopped the chair at the point where her head was totally submerged. But one of the camera’s remained zeroed in on her submerged face.
There were more bubbles. Then she shook her head. That was the signal she was out of breath. Not bad, considering we had not practiced the scene before.
There was a flurry of bubbles. She appeared to thrash about as best she could despite being tightly secured to the chair. Then it looked like she was convulsing and swallowing water.
Bubbles exploded up at the surface. She kept gulping, a look of shock in her eyes. Her spasms grew less and less until she sat there unmoving save for a stray agonal spasm here or there.
The occasional bubble came up, causing the surface to ripple above her. I motioned for the chair to continue downward. It sank until the entire chair was submerged. You could just make out her pale skin below the surface as she remained strapped in.
“Cut!” I called out. “Guys, that’s a wrap. I want it spliced together and ready to post on the Dark Web by next week.”
We packed our things and left, doing our best to make the place look like it had before we got there. But we left her there in the chair. She’d worked so hard on her scene that I was determined to leave her in it as a place of honor.
1-17-24 Inspired by thecuriousone’s manip.
thecuriousone
Governor
I could have known that a pic like this would inspire a great writer like you Riwa. Thanks for the beautiful story. If you like to post some oft hose short stories on your own page (including pics), you have my blessing of course.
thecuriousone
Governor
Police chief to his subordinates: No clue? What do you mean no clue? This is the third body this month and all you morons can come up with is freaking nothing???? Once the press starts to publish about a woman crucified in broad daylight in the park, some heads are going to roll. So you better get some answers really quick, or you all will be writing parking tickets for the rest of your career!
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thecuriousone
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I have not been on cruxforums for almost a week, but I have not been idle. Finally I got this short story completed that has been brewing in my mind, and made a matching pic.
Mortimers suicide machine
I used to have a sister. She was always fun, full of energy and funny actions. But sometimes a little naive, or not thinking things through. But she is no more. And that's the reason why. I can't stand theme parks and fairgrounds. I will tell you about it.
It filled us with grief when we heard the news that our uncle Zed had died of cardiac arrest. Because he lived almost at the other side of the world, we rarely met him in person. But quite often he facetimed with the family, so we did know him quite well. We made it just in time to attend the funeral with a hell of a jet lag. It was attended by us, that means his brother and our father, our mother, my younger 18 years old sister Lilly and me. And there were also a few dozen friends and neighbours, and people from amusement parks and the fairground community, who knew him business-related. He was not the kind of guy that could be happy in an office job. Instead, he was always tinkering and engineering and repairing the equipment used in fairground-attractions and theme parks. He has been married three times, but never for longer than three years, and never had any children. Last time we met him was five years back, when he came to visit us, and some other old friends. He stayed a couple of weeks with us, and when he did not go drinking with our father and other people, he was fun, full of energy and jokes, and loved to go on trips with us. But when he did go drinking, everybody in his company got far too drunk. He liked to live the life to the extreme.
After the funeral we went to bed to get that much-needed sleep. Next morning we were refreshed, and went to the lawyer to be informed of uncle Zed his will. Some possessions went to friends of him, but most went to us, including his house, workshop and everything inside.
After lunch we went to check his place out. It was a nice farmhouse, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. His workshop was in the shed behind his house. A nice place, although the furniture was a bit outdated. The surprise was his workshop. Lots of theme park decorations and ornaments. Moving parts of fairground equipment. Several moving zombies and monsters from a house of horrors. And some equipment that we did not understand what it was.
The strangest thing was a device called "Mortimers suicide machine." It was a weird kind of cage with all kind of equipment attached to it. In my opinion it looked pretty creepy. "I think it belongs to the house of horrors-equipment", Mary said. Lilly read the instruction plate out loud.
"Use at own risk. Enter cage and close cage door. The destruction sequence will start automatically."
She giggled. "House of horrors thingy. I don't know what it does. Must be funny. Can I try it out?"
"Of course not! It looks way too dangerous!" said mother. Lily said: "Oh, pleeease. It is to entertain people. It can't be dangerous." Dad said: "If you find a manual and read it, then we can think about it." Lilly looked a bit sour, but could not go against mom and dad.
We found out there was no coffee, and in general very little food in the fridge. We decided to take a break and drive to the nearest town to get some supplies. Lilly did not want to go with the family, so she stayed at Uncle Zed's place to continue sorting things out. I told mom: "I bet she is looking for the manual of this suicide thing." Mom looked worried.
A good hour later we got all the things that we needed and got in the car to go back to Zed's place. Meanwhile, I opened Zed's notebook, which I had brought with me, and scrolled through the things that were on it. It took not too long to find a folder labeled: Mortimer's suicide machine. In it there was a PDF labeled: operating instructions. I knew that Lily would be happy to read this. Out of curiosity I scrolled through it. Within a minute, I found out that it was definitely not a carnival attraction, far from it! It was the real thing! "Mom, this suicide machine, it is REALLY a suicide machine! We got to warn Lily to stay away from it." "Nice joke, but we have serious business to do. This is not the time for it," she snugged. "No, this is not a joke,"I exclaimed. "Read this!" I showed her the PDF on the notebook. She turned pale, and took her phone. She dialed Lily's number, but Lily did not pick up. By now dad started to get as nervous as me and mum were, and speeded up way beyond the speed limit. Mum kept dialing and dialing Lily's number to no avail.
It took not more than ten minutes to make the hellish ride back to Zed's place, but it felt like the longest ten minutes in my life. It's a miracle that we did not have an accident, but we made it.
Within a split of a second after stopping at Zed's driveway, all of us jumped out of the car and sprinted towards the shed while shouting for Lily. When we got near the machine, our worst nightmare became real. The machine was humming softly. Blood-stained spikes were slowly retracting towards the top of the cage. Inside was what was left of Lily, lifeless. Her blood was everywhere.
Now you understand why I don't visit theme parks and fairgrounds.
Mortimers suicide machine
I used to have a sister. She was always fun, full of energy and funny actions. But sometimes a little naive, or not thinking things through. But she is no more. And that's the reason why. I can't stand theme parks and fairgrounds. I will tell you about it.
It filled us with grief when we heard the news that our uncle Zed had died of cardiac arrest. Because he lived almost at the other side of the world, we rarely met him in person. But quite often he facetimed with the family, so we did know him quite well. We made it just in time to attend the funeral with a hell of a jet lag. It was attended by us, that means his brother and our father, our mother, my younger 18 years old sister Lilly and me. And there were also a few dozen friends and neighbours, and people from amusement parks and the fairground community, who knew him business-related. He was not the kind of guy that could be happy in an office job. Instead, he was always tinkering and engineering and repairing the equipment used in fairground-attractions and theme parks. He has been married three times, but never for longer than three years, and never had any children. Last time we met him was five years back, when he came to visit us, and some other old friends. He stayed a couple of weeks with us, and when he did not go drinking with our father and other people, he was fun, full of energy and jokes, and loved to go on trips with us. But when he did go drinking, everybody in his company got far too drunk. He liked to live the life to the extreme.
After the funeral we went to bed to get that much-needed sleep. Next morning we were refreshed, and went to the lawyer to be informed of uncle Zed his will. Some possessions went to friends of him, but most went to us, including his house, workshop and everything inside.
After lunch we went to check his place out. It was a nice farmhouse, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. His workshop was in the shed behind his house. A nice place, although the furniture was a bit outdated. The surprise was his workshop. Lots of theme park decorations and ornaments. Moving parts of fairground equipment. Several moving zombies and monsters from a house of horrors. And some equipment that we did not understand what it was.
The strangest thing was a device called "Mortimers suicide machine." It was a weird kind of cage with all kind of equipment attached to it. In my opinion it looked pretty creepy. "I think it belongs to the house of horrors-equipment", Mary said. Lilly read the instruction plate out loud.
"Use at own risk. Enter cage and close cage door. The destruction sequence will start automatically."
She giggled. "House of horrors thingy. I don't know what it does. Must be funny. Can I try it out?"
"Of course not! It looks way too dangerous!" said mother. Lily said: "Oh, pleeease. It is to entertain people. It can't be dangerous." Dad said: "If you find a manual and read it, then we can think about it." Lilly looked a bit sour, but could not go against mom and dad.
We found out there was no coffee, and in general very little food in the fridge. We decided to take a break and drive to the nearest town to get some supplies. Lilly did not want to go with the family, so she stayed at Uncle Zed's place to continue sorting things out. I told mom: "I bet she is looking for the manual of this suicide thing." Mom looked worried.
A good hour later we got all the things that we needed and got in the car to go back to Zed's place. Meanwhile, I opened Zed's notebook, which I had brought with me, and scrolled through the things that were on it. It took not too long to find a folder labeled: Mortimer's suicide machine. In it there was a PDF labeled: operating instructions. I knew that Lily would be happy to read this. Out of curiosity I scrolled through it. Within a minute, I found out that it was definitely not a carnival attraction, far from it! It was the real thing! "Mom, this suicide machine, it is REALLY a suicide machine! We got to warn Lily to stay away from it." "Nice joke, but we have serious business to do. This is not the time for it," she snugged. "No, this is not a joke,"I exclaimed. "Read this!" I showed her the PDF on the notebook. She turned pale, and took her phone. She dialed Lily's number, but Lily did not pick up. By now dad started to get as nervous as me and mum were, and speeded up way beyond the speed limit. Mum kept dialing and dialing Lily's number to no avail.
It took not more than ten minutes to make the hellish ride back to Zed's place, but it felt like the longest ten minutes in my life. It's a miracle that we did not have an accident, but we made it.
Within a split of a second after stopping at Zed's driveway, all of us jumped out of the car and sprinted towards the shed while shouting for Lily. When we got near the machine, our worst nightmare became real. The machine was humming softly. Blood-stained spikes were slowly retracting towards the top of the cage. Inside was what was left of Lily, lifeless. Her blood was everywhere.
Now you understand why I don't visit theme parks and fairgrounds.
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thecuriousone
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thecuriousone
Governor
Got inspiration from this pic from the thread "the joy of X"
https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/attachments/0-868-jpg.1444371/
https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/attachments/0-868-jpg.1444371/
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thecuriousone
Governor
I have been working on a short story with a pic that belongs to the story.
Isabella and the whipmachine
Of all the students that got the engineering degree in the class of 2019, all were male except one. The woman, named Isabella, has chosen this line of profession for more than the usual reasons. She had always been fascinated by the idea of bondage and torture. She spent hours reading books and researching online about different methods and devices used throughout history. She never dared to tell any of her occasional dates about her fantasies, too shy for that, and too scared that her reputation would be ruined. But she wanted to take it to the next level, to create something that would truly test the limits of pain and pleasure.
She landed a job that paid good enough to afford her own place, and bought an old house on the edge of town with a large cellar. Once she was settled in, she started converting her cellar into a workshop.
After months of planning and gathering materials, Isabella finally completed her bondage machine. It was a large metal standing frame with restraints for the arms, legs, and neck, as well as a whip attached to a motorized arm that could strike with various strength and at various levels. She had carefully programmed the machine to be able to follow various protocols. For the first real test, she planned to set it to start off slow and gradually increase in speed and intensity, ensuring that the person being whipped would experience a steadily increase level of pain. She set up cameras to record the test.
Despite her extensive preparations, Isabella trembled with anticipation on the day of the real live test, as she opened the door to her dingy basement. The inside had been transformed into a dimly lit chamber, with soft whispers and moans echoing through the cold, damp air. Excited to test out her creation, Isabella stripped down and placed her body onto the frame of the machine. She positioned her arms, legs and neck in line with the automatic cuffs, ready for the 20 minutes test run. A quick glance at the screen of the controller to confirm the correct settings. Then she eagerly pressed the start button, anticipating the intense mixture of pain and pleasure she was about to feel. Click click click and the cuffs sealed around her limbs. Five seconds later the electric hoist switched on and the entire frame, with her strapped on it, was lifted in the air. She held her breath and braced herself as the whipping arm moved backward for the first strike.
Isabella closed her eyes, steeling herself for the first slap of the leather against her skin. As the whip connected with her back, she yelped in pain, her body arching in response. With twenty second intervals, the motorized arm rhythmically swung back and forth, sometimes as high as just below her neck, sometimes as low as her upper legs. Isabella felt her pussy getting moist, as the whipping arm began to steadily increase speed as the intensity of the painful stings grew.
She could hardly breathe, her heart pounding in her chest. The pain was overwhelming, yet somehow it only heightened her arousal. Each stroke sent shivers of pleasure coursing through her, as though she were a creature of pure sensation.
The machine's programming grew increasingly brutal, and Isabella knew that soon she would be unable to withstand the agony. But still, she craved more. Her mind was a whirlwind of desire and pain, her body screaming for release. Then the long anticipated orgasm struck her. Exhausted, she looked at the timer. Only three minutes left before the whip would stop and the restraints would automatically open. About time, her back was really sore.
Then murphy's law entered the game. An undetected bug in the programmming played it's card. The machine malfunctioned, its circuits overloaded and causing it to go into overdrive. The timer stopped at 2.52 but the whip did not stop. Instead, it began to move at an alarming speed, whipping Isabella's back with a force she had never imagined. The pain was excruciating, and she screamed in agony as the whip tore through her skin and flesh.
In the midst of the chaos, Isabella's eyes widened in terror as the machine continued its relentless assault. Against all odds, she tried to yank herself free from the restraints, but her body was immobile and bound so tightly that she could barely move a finger. She screamed for help, her pleas only echoing through the cold, damp basement.
The machine's programming seemed to have reached its maximum setting, the whip striking her relentlessly. The pain was unimaginable, and Isabella's mind raced with fear and desperation. Despite the pain, orgasm after orgasm hit her. She could feel her skin being torn apart, the texture of her back becoming raw and bleeding. Her cries for mercy fell on deaf ears, replaced by the sound of the whip continuing its brutal dance.
Desperately, Isabella pulled to free herself from the restraints again and again, but they were too strong, designed to be inescapeable. She was trapped, at the mercy of her own creation. The whipping continued for hours, each strike more brutal than the last. Isabella's screams turned into gurgles as her back, ass and upper legs became a bloody mess, the skin and flesh ripped away by the relentless whipping.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, something burned through. The machine came to a stop. Isabella's body hung limply in the restraints, her back nothing but a raw, bloody mass exposing her ribs. The pain was unbearable, but she couldn't even scream anymore. She was dying.
Isabella's mind raced with the realization of her fate. She had created a monster, a machine that had malfunctioned and taken her life. Her last thoughts were of the pain mixed with the orgasms, the agony she had experienced and the nightmare she had unleashed upon herself.
In the basement, her soft whispers and moans had stopped. The cold, damp air was now still and silent. Isabella's body swung gently in the restraints as her life slipped away, her once vibrant eyes now lifeless, reflecting the dim lighting.
And so, the bondage machine stood there, its purpose fulfilled in the most horrifying way possible. Isabella's creation had pushed her beyond the limits of pain and pleasure, into a realm of unimaginable torture and death.
She had been tortured to death by her own creation.
Weeks later, her decaying body was discovered.
Detectives were assigned to inspect the scene, their faces etched with a mix of horror and disgust. They carefully documented every detail, documenting the grisly remains of Isabella's lifeless body and the remnants of the machine that had taken her life
As the police investigated Isabella's death, they found her journals and notes about the bondage machine. They also viewed the footage of her cameras, showing a gruesome event that resembled the plot of a snuff film. They were horrified by the level of detail and planning that had gone into it. It became clear that Isabella had intended to use it for only a short session, to get a moderate mild whipping without leaving scars.
They noted the signs of agony and pain that had consumed her, etched into her skin and etched into the machine that had been her final undoing.
Her own twisted creation had turned on her, and she had paid the ultimate price for her obsession with pain and pleasure.
Isabella and the whipmachine
Of all the students that got the engineering degree in the class of 2019, all were male except one. The woman, named Isabella, has chosen this line of profession for more than the usual reasons. She had always been fascinated by the idea of bondage and torture. She spent hours reading books and researching online about different methods and devices used throughout history. She never dared to tell any of her occasional dates about her fantasies, too shy for that, and too scared that her reputation would be ruined. But she wanted to take it to the next level, to create something that would truly test the limits of pain and pleasure.
She landed a job that paid good enough to afford her own place, and bought an old house on the edge of town with a large cellar. Once she was settled in, she started converting her cellar into a workshop.
After months of planning and gathering materials, Isabella finally completed her bondage machine. It was a large metal standing frame with restraints for the arms, legs, and neck, as well as a whip attached to a motorized arm that could strike with various strength and at various levels. She had carefully programmed the machine to be able to follow various protocols. For the first real test, she planned to set it to start off slow and gradually increase in speed and intensity, ensuring that the person being whipped would experience a steadily increase level of pain. She set up cameras to record the test.
Despite her extensive preparations, Isabella trembled with anticipation on the day of the real live test, as she opened the door to her dingy basement. The inside had been transformed into a dimly lit chamber, with soft whispers and moans echoing through the cold, damp air. Excited to test out her creation, Isabella stripped down and placed her body onto the frame of the machine. She positioned her arms, legs and neck in line with the automatic cuffs, ready for the 20 minutes test run. A quick glance at the screen of the controller to confirm the correct settings. Then she eagerly pressed the start button, anticipating the intense mixture of pain and pleasure she was about to feel. Click click click and the cuffs sealed around her limbs. Five seconds later the electric hoist switched on and the entire frame, with her strapped on it, was lifted in the air. She held her breath and braced herself as the whipping arm moved backward for the first strike.
Isabella closed her eyes, steeling herself for the first slap of the leather against her skin. As the whip connected with her back, she yelped in pain, her body arching in response. With twenty second intervals, the motorized arm rhythmically swung back and forth, sometimes as high as just below her neck, sometimes as low as her upper legs. Isabella felt her pussy getting moist, as the whipping arm began to steadily increase speed as the intensity of the painful stings grew.
She could hardly breathe, her heart pounding in her chest. The pain was overwhelming, yet somehow it only heightened her arousal. Each stroke sent shivers of pleasure coursing through her, as though she were a creature of pure sensation.
The machine's programming grew increasingly brutal, and Isabella knew that soon she would be unable to withstand the agony. But still, she craved more. Her mind was a whirlwind of desire and pain, her body screaming for release. Then the long anticipated orgasm struck her. Exhausted, she looked at the timer. Only three minutes left before the whip would stop and the restraints would automatically open. About time, her back was really sore.
Then murphy's law entered the game. An undetected bug in the programmming played it's card. The machine malfunctioned, its circuits overloaded and causing it to go into overdrive. The timer stopped at 2.52 but the whip did not stop. Instead, it began to move at an alarming speed, whipping Isabella's back with a force she had never imagined. The pain was excruciating, and she screamed in agony as the whip tore through her skin and flesh.
In the midst of the chaos, Isabella's eyes widened in terror as the machine continued its relentless assault. Against all odds, she tried to yank herself free from the restraints, but her body was immobile and bound so tightly that she could barely move a finger. She screamed for help, her pleas only echoing through the cold, damp basement.
The machine's programming seemed to have reached its maximum setting, the whip striking her relentlessly. The pain was unimaginable, and Isabella's mind raced with fear and desperation. Despite the pain, orgasm after orgasm hit her. She could feel her skin being torn apart, the texture of her back becoming raw and bleeding. Her cries for mercy fell on deaf ears, replaced by the sound of the whip continuing its brutal dance.
Desperately, Isabella pulled to free herself from the restraints again and again, but they were too strong, designed to be inescapeable. She was trapped, at the mercy of her own creation. The whipping continued for hours, each strike more brutal than the last. Isabella's screams turned into gurgles as her back, ass and upper legs became a bloody mess, the skin and flesh ripped away by the relentless whipping.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, something burned through. The machine came to a stop. Isabella's body hung limply in the restraints, her back nothing but a raw, bloody mass exposing her ribs. The pain was unbearable, but she couldn't even scream anymore. She was dying.
Isabella's mind raced with the realization of her fate. She had created a monster, a machine that had malfunctioned and taken her life. Her last thoughts were of the pain mixed with the orgasms, the agony she had experienced and the nightmare she had unleashed upon herself.
In the basement, her soft whispers and moans had stopped. The cold, damp air was now still and silent. Isabella's body swung gently in the restraints as her life slipped away, her once vibrant eyes now lifeless, reflecting the dim lighting.
And so, the bondage machine stood there, its purpose fulfilled in the most horrifying way possible. Isabella's creation had pushed her beyond the limits of pain and pleasure, into a realm of unimaginable torture and death.
She had been tortured to death by her own creation.
Weeks later, her decaying body was discovered.
Detectives were assigned to inspect the scene, their faces etched with a mix of horror and disgust. They carefully documented every detail, documenting the grisly remains of Isabella's lifeless body and the remnants of the machine that had taken her life
As the police investigated Isabella's death, they found her journals and notes about the bondage machine. They also viewed the footage of her cameras, showing a gruesome event that resembled the plot of a snuff film. They were horrified by the level of detail and planning that had gone into it. It became clear that Isabella had intended to use it for only a short session, to get a moderate mild whipping without leaving scars.
They noted the signs of agony and pain that had consumed her, etched into her skin and etched into the machine that had been her final undoing.
Her own twisted creation had turned on her, and she had paid the ultimate price for her obsession with pain and pleasure.
