rb1956
Lone Wolf
that is pure evil...i like that.
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I had just as nuns. And that should be used once.
Tree wishes to thank Madiosi for his excellent CMCK thread. It will be a most helpful resource if there is a slave rebellion in 2015...
Tree
Tree
T
The Fallen Angel
Guest
Jan Crossed. To be honest I'd feel a bit cross myself!....what is that old woman doing? Why isn't she at home roasting an ox or gathering in the crops? What is Lana saying to that Roman pig?...I have no idea.
That is the way I pictured Erin in my story.
Quiet Paul
Tribune
What a gorgeous thought ....
Quiet Paul
Tribune
Is she an old woman? Not sure. Might be her sister, with lots of hatred, jealousy, perhaps. Sisters can be nasty...
reminds me of the Sisters of St Mary Magdalen
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/magdalen-devotions.3494/page-2
I did not know that. Very nice!
I wish the sisters: bon appetit!
Condemned to beheading (manip by madiosi)
I entered the convent against my will. It was the fond wish of my family that I become a nun … never mine. I never felt the devotion, the faith everyone expected of me. I just wasn’t cut out for it, but I did try.
As a novice I was always in trouble, but eventually I learned to behave and play the part, until that night. She was so beautiful and we were alone, and one thing led to another, and soon we had dishonored ourselves. We were discovered naked in bed, wrapped in one anothers arms.
Dragged before our Abbess, we confessed our sin, wept and begged to do penance. But she would have nothing of it. She insisted it was I who was to blame, that the devil dwelled within me. She called for me to be taken immediately to the offices of the inquisitors, who had recently set up shop in the town center where they were busy working around the clock to protect the “good” people from any and all forms of evil.
By midday I found myself strung up in the cellar of the town’s fortress-like tower, arms-over-head and naked except for a white loin cloth tied at my hips and a small wooden cross that dangled between my breasts from a thin leather thong tied behind my neck.
The men of the inquisitor’s office … there were three of them … walked round and round me, sticking me with a long needle … first, in the small of my back, then on my butt, and on the fatty bulge of my right thigh just below the hip, and finally on my breast, piercing one of my tumescent erect nipples. I cried and screamed as they hovered around me, poking at me with their needle, drawing blood each time, minutely examining the small wound and muttering excitedly to themselves.
“Recant, cast out the devil; confess your unholy union with the prince of evil!” they demanded of me, waving a piece of parchment in my face. I responded by vehemently and indignantly proclaiming my innocence, arguing that I knew nothing of the devil or his ways, that I merely loved another girl.
My protests were answered with the sting of the whip. I danced under its cruel bite, spinning slowly about, arms stretched high above my head and toes barely able to touch the cold flagstones under my feet. They lashed me everywhere, front and back. After ripping my loincloth away, they even held my feet apart and whipped me soundly between the legs. I still refused to confess.
They brought in my stern, red-faced father….who reproached me for so shamefully disgracing the family name, and demanded that I confess immediately and take my just punishment so he could hold his head high in the town for the rest of his days. I still refused. He slapped me hard across the face, spat on me and stormed off.
Next thing I knew, I was stretched out on the rack. Every sinew in my body cried out to me as the ratchet-mechanism clicked loudly in my ear and the ropes on my wrists and ankles dug ever deeper into my flesh. A rough timber was inserted under my back, forcing it to arch painfully as they stretched me out, ribs sharply outlined, breasts mounded and sloping off to either side.
Leaning across me, one of my tormentors inserted a vaginal pear between my quaking thighs, brutally forcing it deep inside me, turning the screws in its bejeweled handle until rivers of hot blood flowed out around its hilt and pooled beneath my flattened ass cheeks. My pitiful screams echoed again and again off the ceiling until I finally passed out.
When I came to, I found myself sprawled on the straw covered floor of a cold dank cell, an iron collar around my neck. A short chain passed from my collar to an iron bracket on the wall, allowing me only minimal movement. Rats scurried about, feeding on the feces … old and fresh … strewn about on the floor of the oft-used cell. I wrinkled my nose at the awful stench and raised my head to see the first signs of dawn enter through the small window near the top of the wall. Mesmerized by the small shafts of early morning light dancing about on the vaulted ceiling, I waited to see what would happen next.
A key in the lock, the iron door to the cell opened. Heavy robes swishing, the Abbess entered the cell along with two other nuns. “Come my child, bend your head in prayer,” she intoned, “they are coming soon to take you to the town square.”
“No, I cannot,” I shouted defiantly. “To the devil with your false sanctimony! Look what they … No, what YOU! … have done to me. I am innocent of this devil worship to which I have been so falsely accused…innocent…innocent … do you hear me???”
“Barbara, Barbara, my dear misguided child, Lord have mercy on you,” she replied in a soothing, mocking tone; then she turned on her heel and promptly left, the other two hurrying behind her.
Within minutes the executioner and his two henchmen arrived. The collar was removed. They shackled my ankles, a short chain between them. Pulled to my feet I was dragged from the cell, taken out of the tower and marched naked down to the town square. The two henchmen held me tightly by the arms; I could not run, and when I balked after a few hundred paces, I was literally lifted off my feet by these two brutes and propelled along, legs flailing.
People came out of their houses as I passed, shouting obscenities at me. From time to time, my escorts forced me to stand still and face the crowds in the street. I was spat upon, and generally reviled. I felt vulnerable and ashamed in my nakedness. I had no way of covering myself from their leering looks, no way of escaping the humiliation of being paraded this way through town.
We soon reached the square, already filled with people talking and laughing excitedly. Although it was still very early in the morning, it seemed the entire town had turned out for my execution. The place was jam packed. Vendors wove their way here and there, hawking food and drink to sustain the thrill-seeking throng as it jostled for position and settled in for the show.
The early morning sun was just then beginning to illuminate the square, its rays filtering down from above the high gables and towers of the church and town hall, blending with the mists that still hung in the air to give the place an ominously surreal half-lit appearance. Everything seemed colorless and gray.
We approached the scaffolding, the place of execution. The crowd grew expectantly quiet. I reached the foot of the stairs leading up to the wooden decking, and paused. Someone coughed, some woman tittered, and an old hag cried out, her voice ringing above the general hush “Caw, look at the li’l deviltress, naked as can be!” A wave of gleeful laughter swept through the crowd.
The executioner, leaning against a tall wooden pole, looked down on me. I looked up at him … brawny-armed, face covered by a red executioner’s hood. For what seemed like an eternity he held perfectly still, holding me in his gaze; then he stirred, took a step forward and beckoned to me with his index finger.
Before him was a stout wooden block, scarred and splintered from constant use. The wooden planking around the block was strewn with fresh straw, presumably to sop up spilled blood. Buried in the surface of the block was the most wicked-looking curved-blade axe imaginable, and next to the block a small woven basket waited to receive my soon to be severed head.
I began to fidget and then to shake. I looked to my right at the stern, unmoving faces of the Abbess and her two companions who had obviously demanded and gotten a front row view, and began to sob. Overcome with fear and despair, I lost control and a stream of hot urine ran down my leg. The Abbess frowned with displeasure as renewed spasms of laughter and finger pointing rippled through the crowd.
One of the henchmen shoved me from behind, and I began to slowly climb the stairs, awkwardly and halting because of my shackled ankles. In the end I had to use my hands for support, and almost crawled up the steps.
Upon reaching the top, the executioner took me by the arm, jerked me to my feet and spun me around to face the crowd. A skinny man with a long and crooked nose mounted the stairs, stood beside and officiously read my death sentence from a scrap of paper. I tried to cover myself a bit with my hands and arms, but the two henchmen smacked them to my sides.
The crowd hooted and whistled when he finished, shouting my name and screaming insults … mostly crude references to my nakedness, the size of my breasts, or my exposed private parts ...
As I stood there with head bowed, listening to their taunts and jibes, the executioner pulled my arms behind my back and tied my wrists with a length of rope. I winced as he tightened the knot.
Then with an unexpectedly respectful courtesy in his voice, he invited me to kindly kneel and place my head on the block. But when I hesitated, he nodded to his henchman, who grabbed me by the shoulders, forced me to my knees and slammed my head down on the block.
Kneeling there, trembling head to toe, hands bound behind my back, breasts dangling from my heaving chest and swaying slightly, eyes tightly closed, I waited for the end to come. For a moment, as the executioner took careful aim, the sharp edge of the blade touched the nape of my neck. Then he hefted the blade away, and I heard him suck in his breath.
For a second, I felt at peace. Then I shuddered, and shouted out as defiantly and irreverently as I could, “Hail Lucifer!”
Then all went black.
I entered the convent against my will. It was the fond wish of my family that I become a nun … never mine. I never felt the devotion, the faith everyone expected of me. I just wasn’t cut out for it, but I did try. As a novice I was always in trouble, but eventually I learned to behave and play the part, until that night. She was so beautiful and we were alone, and one thing led to another, and soon we had dishonored ourselves. We were discovered naked in bed, wrapped in one anothers arms.
Dragged before our Abbess, we confessed our sin, wept and begged to do penance. But she would have nothing of it. She insisted it was I who was to blame, that the devil dwelled within me. She called for me to be taken immediately to the offices of the inquisitors, who had recently set up shop in the town center where they were busy working around the clock to protect the “good” people from any and all forms of evil.
By midday I found myself strung up in the cellar of the town’s fortress-like tower, arms-over-head and naked except for a white loin cloth tied at my hips and a small wooden cross that dangled between my breasts from a thin leather thong tied behind my neck.
The men of the inquisitor’s office … there were three of them … walked round and round me, sticking me with a long needle … first, in the small of my back, then on my butt, and on the fatty bulge of my right thigh just below the hip, and finally on my breast, piercing one of my tumescent erect nipples. I cried and screamed as they hovered around me, poking at me with their needle, drawing blood each time, minutely examining the small wound and muttering excitedly to themselves.
“Recant, cast out the devil; confess your unholy union with the prince of evil!” they demanded of me, waving a piece of parchment in my face. I responded by vehemently and indignantly proclaiming my innocence, arguing that I knew nothing of the devil or his ways, that I merely loved another girl.
My protests were answered with the sting of the whip. I danced under its cruel bite, spinning slowly about, arms stretched high above my head and toes barely able to touch the cold flagstones under my feet. They lashed me everywhere, front and back. After ripping my loincloth away, they even held my feet apart and whipped me soundly between the legs. I still refused to confess.
They brought in my stern, red-faced father….who reproached me for so shamefully disgracing the family name, and demanded that I confess immediately and take my just punishment so he could hold his head high in the town for the rest of his days. I still refused. He slapped me hard across the face, spat on me and stormed off.
Next thing I knew, I was stretched out on the rack. Every sinew in my body cried out to me as the ratchet-mechanism clicked loudly in my ear and the ropes on my wrists and ankles dug ever deeper into my flesh. A rough timber was inserted under my back, forcing it to arch painfully as they stretched me out, ribs sharply outlined, breasts mounded and sloping off to either side.
Leaning across me, one of my tormentors inserted a vaginal pear between my quaking thighs, brutally forcing it deep inside me, turning the screws in its bejeweled handle until rivers of hot blood flowed out around its hilt and pooled beneath my flattened ass cheeks. My pitiful screams echoed again and again off the ceiling until I finally passed out.
When I came to, I found myself sprawled on the straw covered floor of a cold dank cell, an iron collar around my neck. A short chain passed from my collar to an iron bracket on the wall, allowing me only minimal movement. Rats scurried about, feeding on the feces … old and fresh … strewn about on the floor of the oft-used cell. I wrinkled my nose at the awful stench and raised my head to see the first signs of dawn enter through the small window near the top of the wall. Mesmerized by the small shafts of early morning light dancing about on the vaulted ceiling, I waited to see what would happen next.
A key in the lock, the iron door to the cell opened. Heavy robes swishing, the Abbess entered the cell along with two other nuns. “Come my child, bend your head in prayer,” she intoned, “they are coming soon to take you to the town square.”
“No, I cannot,” I shouted defiantly. “To the devil with your false sanctimony! Look what they … No, what YOU! … have done to me. I am innocent of this devil worship to which I have been so falsely accused…innocent…innocent … do you hear me???”
“Barbara, Barbara, my dear misguided child, Lord have mercy on you,” she replied in a soothing, mocking tone; then she turned on her heel and promptly left, the other two hurrying behind her.
Within minutes the executioner and his two henchmen arrived. The collar was removed. They shackled my ankles, a short chain between them. Pulled to my feet I was dragged from the cell, taken out of the tower and marched naked down to the town square. The two henchmen held me tightly by the arms; I could not run, and when I balked after a few hundred paces, I was literally lifted off my feet by these two brutes and propelled along, legs flailing.
People came out of their houses as I passed, shouting obscenities at me. From time to time, my escorts forced me to stand still and face the crowds in the street. I was spat upon, and generally reviled. I felt vulnerable and ashamed in my nakedness. I had no way of covering myself from their leering looks, no way of escaping the humiliation of being paraded this way through town.
We soon reached the square, already filled with people talking and laughing excitedly. Although it was still very early in the morning, it seemed the entire town had turned out for my execution. The place was jam packed. Vendors wove their way here and there, hawking food and drink to sustain the thrill-seeking throng as it jostled for position and settled in for the show.
The early morning sun was just then beginning to illuminate the square, its rays filtering down from above the high gables and towers of the church and town hall, blending with the mists that still hung in the air to give the place an ominously surreal half-lit appearance. Everything seemed colorless and gray.
We approached the scaffolding, the place of execution. The crowd grew expectantly quiet. I reached the foot of the stairs leading up to the wooden decking, and paused. Someone coughed, some woman tittered, and an old hag cried out, her voice ringing above the general hush “Caw, look at the li’l deviltress, naked as can be!” A wave of gleeful laughter swept through the crowd.
The executioner, leaning against a tall wooden pole, looked down on me. I looked up at him … brawny-armed, face covered by a red executioner’s hood. For what seemed like an eternity he held perfectly still, holding me in his gaze; then he stirred, took a step forward and beckoned to me with his index finger.
Before him was a stout wooden block, scarred and splintered from constant use. The wooden planking around the block was strewn with fresh straw, presumably to sop up spilled blood. Buried in the surface of the block was the most wicked-looking curved-blade axe imaginable, and next to the block a small woven basket waited to receive my soon to be severed head.
I began to fidget and then to shake. I looked to my right at the stern, unmoving faces of the Abbess and her two companions who had obviously demanded and gotten a front row view, and began to sob. Overcome with fear and despair, I lost control and a stream of hot urine ran down my leg. The Abbess frowned with displeasure as renewed spasms of laughter and finger pointing rippled through the crowd.
One of the henchmen shoved me from behind, and I began to slowly climb the stairs, awkwardly and halting because of my shackled ankles. In the end I had to use my hands for support, and almost crawled up the steps.
Upon reaching the top, the executioner took me by the arm, jerked me to my feet and spun me around to face the crowd. A skinny man with a long and crooked nose mounted the stairs, stood beside and officiously read my death sentence from a scrap of paper. I tried to cover myself a bit with my hands and arms, but the two henchmen smacked them to my sides.
The crowd hooted and whistled when he finished, shouting my name and screaming insults … mostly crude references to my nakedness, the size of my breasts, or my exposed private parts ...
As I stood there with head bowed, listening to their taunts and jibes, the executioner pulled my arms behind my back and tied my wrists with a length of rope. I winced as he tightened the knot.
Then with an unexpectedly respectful courtesy in his voice, he invited me to kindly kneel and place my head on the block. But when I hesitated, he nodded to his henchman, who grabbed me by the shoulders, forced me to my knees and slammed my head down on the block.
Kneeling there, trembling head to toe, hands bound behind my back, breasts dangling from my heaving chest and swaying slightly, eyes tightly closed, I waited for the end to come. For a moment, as the executioner took careful aim, the sharp edge of the blade touched the nape of my neck. Then he hefted the blade away, and I heard him suck in his breath.
For a second, I felt at peace. Then I shuddered, and shouted out as defiantly and irreverently as I could, “Hail Lucifer!”
Then all went black.
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Quiet Paul
Tribune
BRILLIANT. FANTASTIC. And full of suspense and gorgeous descriptive writing
xso
Tribune
I am not a fan of the beheading theme, but you B (Barbara the beheader?) managed to make this very intense and hot! Thanks, I think you can keep your head high due to this creative short story!
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Well done Barbaria, Tree sleeps well knowing you deserved to be beheaded...
He will clean his axe tomorrow...
Tree
He will clean his axe tomorrow...
Tree
I took my eyes off this thread on Saturday. Less than a week ago 
Tis the season to be busy, but it has cost me early sight of some utterly fantastic short stories by Barb, as well as some terrific manips!
I need to do a hundred lines
I must not allow Christmas to get in the way of Crux Forums
I must not allow Christmas to get in the way of Crux Forums
I must not allow Christmas to get in the way of Crux Forums
Well, you get the idea. A hundred lines isn't quite so punishing using the 'paste' button.
But we can't paste poor Barb's head back on!
Tis the season to be busy, but it has cost me early sight of some utterly fantastic short stories by Barb, as well as some terrific manips!
I need to do a hundred lines
I must not allow Christmas to get in the way of Crux Forums
I must not allow Christmas to get in the way of Crux Forums
I must not allow Christmas to get in the way of Crux Forums
Well, you get the idea. A hundred lines isn't quite so punishing using the 'paste' button.
But we can't paste poor Barb's head back on!
Does it really matter whether it's clean or not?
Is this like sharpening nails? Tree likes to have things to do with his hands
