Ku Krux Klan

[old slave]

A powerful story Barb, made more so for me because I was there.

Yes I helped cause civil disobediance and took part in protest marches as a student in 1960's Birmingham.

But thank whichever Supreme Being you believe in it was B'ham (Brum) UK. Then we went home for tea. And a pint. The thoughts about "what if I'd been born in USA"? went through my mind as I read your story. Would I have marched in the cause of racial discrimination? The guys in your story were last seen beaten to a pulp, presumably they were killed as well; horribly by the Klan?

Erotic, sexy and thought-provoking: where else could we get such quality?

 

[Barbaria1]

A powerful story Barb, made more so for me because I was there.

Yes I helped cause civil disobediance and took part in protest marches as a student in 1960's Birmingham.

But thank whichever Supreme Being you believe in it was B'ham (Brum) UK. Then we went home for tea. And a pint. The thoughts about "what if I'd been born in USA"? went through my mind as I read your story. Would I have marched in the cause of racial discrimination? The guys in your story were last seen beaten to a pulp, presumably they were killed as well; horribly by the Klan?

Erotic, sexy and thought-provoking: where else could we get such quality?

Thanks Old Slave ... so pleased my story struck a few chords ... and impressed with what you did to fight injustice back in the '60s.

 

[Barbaria1]

There seems to be much writing about the details of crucifixion but few descriptions about burned at the stake. This is despite the fact that thousands of people were burned at the stake during the Middle Ages for many crimes and suspicion of being witches. I wonder why the lack of details of being burned alive. What do you suppose it was like? The victim was probably not naked unless they were greased up enough to burn but it would still be an embarrassing and painful death in public.

Yes, it is curious that more writing isn't done about being burned at the stake, or at least the details of the experience. I am not sure why, but I just don't find the same erotic appeal to that as I do to dying on a cross, or being hanged, or even made to face a firing squad. I always enjoy most thinking and writing about the "lead up" to these executions ... the fears, doubts, public humiliation, horror, etc. as well as the physical suffering and pain. Wouldn't it be the same with being burned at the stake? But, yet it has only limited appeal for me? I do enjoy BATS manips, but yet writing about this has limited appeal for me. Anyway, interesting question, JimO.

 

[old slave]

Yes, it is curious that more writing isn't done about being burned at the stake, or at least the details of the experience. I am not sure why, but I just don't find the same erotic appeal to that as I do to dying on a cross, or being hanged, or even made to face a firing squad. I always enjoy most thinking and writing about the "lead up" to these executions ... the fears, doubts, public humiliation, horror, etc. as well as the physical suffering and pain. Wouldn't it be the same with being burned at the stake? But, yet it has only limited appeal for me? I do enjoy BATS manips, but yet writing about this has limited appeal for me. Anyway, interesting question, JimO.

Ditto for me as a reader Barb and JimO. Maybe something to do with the body being destroyed as it dies. With crux, hanging, even the recent pkin story with breaking limbs and leaving on the wheel, the body (and most of its beauty) is still there to the end. Actually destroying a living being is a step too far?

 

[Barbaria1]

Ditto for me as a reader Barb and JimO. Maybe something to do with the body being destroyed as it dies. With crux, hanging, even the recent pkin story with breaking limbs and leaving on the wheel, the body (and most of its beauty) is still there to the end. Actually destroying a living being is a step too far?

yes, definitely something to that, I think.

 

[Eulalia]

There's no shortage of detail on burnings at the stake in Foxe's Book of Martyrs.
Not erotic of course, at least not intentionally so.
But, for all the novels, plays and poems there've been about witches, the Inquisition, Joan of Arc, etc.
it's not easy to think of or find accounts of actual burnings in English literature.

In my own modest efforts, I think my only attempt is in my 'Eulalia' poem,
and even she is tortured to death by burning, not actually burnt at the stake:

“Legs open!”
“Wider!”
Thighs apart.
Click!

Defenceless now.

Shutting those heavy eyes,
she smells and hears
what they’re preparing for her…

Glowing, the blistering brazier -
men using hooks
place it between her quivering calves.

Searing heat seizes her sensitive skin,
her soft pubescence smoulders,
sautés her girl-sex.
She dances well –
her lithe trunk, supple hips, athletic thighs,
twist, kick, sashay,
young soldiers cheer and jeer.

You can find the whole poem in a pdf in the Archive at
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/resources/eulalias-book-of-verse-parts-9c-10.243/
(it's in eb9c in the zip file that downloads from that page)

 

[Barbaria1]

There's no shortage of detail on burnings at the stake in Foxe's Book of Martyrs.
Not erotic of course, at least not intentionally so.
But, for all the novels, plays and poems there've been about witches, the Inquisition, Joan of Arc, etc.
it's not easy to think of or find accounts of actual burnings in English literature.

In my own modest efforts, I think my only attempt is in my 'Eulalia' poem,
and even she is tortured to death by burning, not actually burnt at the stake:

“Legs open!”
“Wider!”
Thighs apart.
Click!

Defenceless now.

Shutting those heavy eyes,
she smells and hears
what they’re preparing for her…

Glowing, the blistering brazier -
men using hooks
place it between her quivering calves.

Searing heat seizes her sensitive skin,
her soft pubescence smoulders,
sautés her girl-sex.
She dances well –
her lithe trunk, supple hips, athletic thighs,
twist, kick, sashay,
young soldiers cheer and jeer.

You can find the whole poem in a pdf in the Archive at
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/resources/eulalias-book-of-verse-parts-9c-10.243/
(it's in eb9c in the zip file that downloads from that page)

"Searing heat seizes her sensitive skin,
her soft pubescence smoulders,
sautés her girl-sex.
She dances well –
her lithe trunk, supple hips, athletic thighs,
twist, kick, sashay,
young soldiers cheer and jeer."

Unbeatable ... says it all, I think .... so so much packed into so few lines

 

[JimOregon]

There's no shortage of detail on burnings at the stake in Foxe's Book of Martyrs.
Not erotic of course, at least not intentionally so.
But, for all the novels, plays and poems there've been about witches, the Inquisition, Joan of Arc, etc.
it's not easy to think of or find accounts of actual burnings in English literature.

In my own modest efforts, I think my only attempt is in my 'Eulalia' poem,
and even she is tortured to death by burning, not actually burnt at the stake:

“Legs open!”
“Wider!”
Thighs apart.
Click!

Defenceless now.

Shutting those heavy eyes,
she smells and hears
what they’re preparing for her…

Glowing, the blistering brazier -
men using hooks
place it between her quivering calves.

Searing heat seizes her sensitive skin,
her soft pubescence smoulders,
sautés her girl-sex.
She dances well –
her lithe trunk, supple hips, athletic thighs,
twist, kick, sashay,
young soldiers cheer and jeer.

You can find the whole poem in a pdf in the Archive at
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/resources/eulalias-book-of-verse-parts-9c-10.243/
(it's in eb9c in the zip file that downloads from that page)

My fantasies include being burned with glowing irons, candles, branding irons, etc. more so than burning the whole body at the stake. I'm not sure why the difference. Maybe as Old Slave said, it is the destroying the whole body that turns us off.

 

[xso]

16. Satiated and spent, the last of the white-hooded “good ole boys” rolls free of my nude, spread-eagled body to scrabble over to the side of the pickup truck, where he leans back, takes a long swig from a hip flask handed to him by one of his pals, and exclaims "whoeeee, what a fuck that one was!"

View attachment 322368 I lie on my back, bouncing and shaking, as the pickup rattles over a washboard stretch of road. I close my eyes and turn my head away from my tormentors, feeling terribly violated, humiliated and very sore. Puddles of spunk cover the decking beneath my ass; gobs of the stuff hang from my inner thighs and are smeared about on my belly.

Suddenly the road beneath the wheels turns smooth and street lights pass by overhead, one after another. I suspect they have taken me back to the town of Crux Hill, where this whole ordeal began just a couple days ago when I and my friends rode into town on that ill-fated "freedom rider" bus.

Our procession of pickup trucks roars down the main drag, horns honking, white-hooded men leaning over the sides, waving, hollering and whooping. I raise my head to see as best I can where we are headed, but really can’t tell.

At last we come to a stop. My ankles and wrists are released, and I am helped to a sitting position. We appear to be in the city park. Eager hands drag me over the open tailgate to the ground and force me to stand, while my hands are tied behind my back.

A large crowd has gathered, most of the menfolk are clad in white hoods and gowns. In the center of the park, on a low hill, three nooses dangle from a makeshift gallows. A surrounding ring of pickup trucks and a couple of police cruisers, their cherry top lights rotating, illuminate the scene from all sides with their headlights.

The other three girls appear alongside me, escorted by Klansmen from the pickup trucks in which they were riding. They look like they have been through hell already, limping awkwardly as they are shoved along; and judging from the shocked expressions on their faces, they appear … having seen the three waiting nooses … to be just now realizing that far worse is yet to come.

The crowd is revved up. The whole scene has a carnival like atmosphere. They clap their hands and yell things like "nigger lovers" and "Yankee sluts" at us as we are led forward into the lights. I am held off to one side as my three friends are forced to step up onto a long low bench. A noose is slid over each of their heads and pulled tight around their necks.

The girl on the left with the sandy brown hair is a little older … actually not a student like the rest of us, but a young faculty member. She is short and has to stand on her toes to keep the noose around her neck comfortably loose. She seems more curious, a little less scared and more interested in what is happening than the other two. As she glances back and forth, first at me then at her naked companions, I can see that she is erotically excited.

At the other end of the bench, a blonde girl from somewhere out east is berating everyone with one of the most spectacular strings of “truck driver” expletives I have ever heard. What a blue streak! She is normally so sweet … ok, well maybe she can be a bit snarky … but this is over the top and only seems to make the crowd wilder and more incensed.

In contrast, the third girl … the one in the middle … seems resigned and just stares straight ahead.

I am given little time to observe them, however, before the ropes binding my wrists are cut and I am thrown violently on my back atop a heavy wooden beam. Before I can react, my arms are stretched out along a cross beam and pinned down. Cords are wound around my hands and fingers and tied to the beam, while other Klansmen press the flats of my feet down against the heavy wooden beam beneath me, forcing my knees up.

White-hooded figures blur before my eyes as I turn my head frantically in an effort to take in everything at once. They produce nails and hammers. My God, they are going to nail me to a cross!!!

The sharp points of spikes are pressed against the tops of my feet and the undersides of my wrists. I scream and buck wildly as the spikes are driven through, the metallic ring of hammerheads striking nail heads ringing in my ears, unimaginable pain racing through my nervous system.

View attachment 322369 The blonde girl looks down upon me as I raise my head, grimacing in pain as the nails are driven home and yells, "Damn you all; look what you have done to her! Why couldn’t you have just hang us all?"

A Klansmen with a bullhorn introduces one of his comrades to the crowd as the "Imperial Wizard." There are shrill whistles, huzzahs and enthusiastic applause as the Wizard takes the bullhorn and begins to speak.

“Mah fella citizens. I wanna thank ya all for coming out heah tonight to support your Klan. We all know why we are heah! It is to make a statement! We cannot have no white women copulating with niggers! Ain’t that right boys? What’s next; niggers on TV and running for office!”

I protest wearily from my cross that I have never been with a colored man, and that it’s in fact the Imperial Wizard’s own kind that have violated and degraded me.

But the wizard laughs and says, “Then we aim to make sure you never do! Now let’s save the other three from the same temptation!”

View attachment 322370 On his signal, two Klansmen step forward. They kick the bench out from under the girls, who scream in terror, but their cries are cut short as they begin to move their legs as though they are running a race in midair. The nooses bite into their necks and their screams are transformed to anguished gurgles and gasps.

As I watch them flail helplessly about, the cross to which I am so cruelly nailed begins to shudder and move. I am being raised! Applause, laughter, jeers and taunts fill the muggy night air as the crowd celebrates.

My cross slides into a pre-prepared hole and hits bottom with a jolt and then totters and rocks. Drawn by gravity, I slide down along its rough service, bounce as it hits bottom, and swing out wildly, twisting right and left, and screaming at the top of my lungs.

The nails dig in to the sinews and flesh of my crudely pierced wrists, and pain courses like lightening through my outstretched arms. The broken and crushed bones and ligaments in my shattered feet grind against the immovable spikes and exposed raw nerve endings. Rivulets of warm blood run down my arms and between my toes.

View attachment 322373 I know my friends are dancing that familiar dance of death at the ends of their ropes, but I am far too busy wildly writhing about in agony on my cross to pay them any attention. The glaring headlights dance and then swim before my eyes as I weaken. I do less screaming, which ie

I feel the cross begin to shudder and tremble again. Opening my eyes to look down, I gasp in horror at the sight of Klansmen heaping wood and kindling around the base of the stipe. Some of them are waving torches in the air, the flickering flames reflecting off the white of their robes and hoods. I smell kerosene!

I cry, “You aren’t going to burn me!?!?”

The torches are thrown on the kerosene-soaked wood. OMG!!! They are setting my cross on fire! Searing hot flames jump up to envelope my feet and legs! My cross is burning! I am on fire!!!!!!!

FINIS

credit here to Tree for supplying manips and dialogue.

Damm good story B, thanks!

Hope your 'flame' when it comes to writing new stories will burn forever!

 

[slavegirl hiliary]

Breathtaking, incredible, earth shattering stuff! Well done Barb, and well done Tree!

I agree.