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I'm so excited!

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Pia said:
I really am so excited! Because tomorrow I am going to be killed. So I am just a little fearful too. But mainly excited.

I should tell you who I am. My name is Ella and I am 26 and I have a BA from one of those nice liberal arts colleges out East. I'm rather pretty (or at least that's what people say), but you can decide on that. I still have the lovely softness about me that girls begin to loose in their twenties. I'm sort of on my own. My parents died in a car crash when I was at college. At first I was sad and cried a lot, but now I think I can see that it was, somehow, liberating.

I'm Bi. And I am a submissive. And I've enough money from my parents, so I don't really need to work. And I can do the things I like. A bit of art and writing and indulging my inner-self. I suppose some people, if they knew what I get up to, would want to have me committed. Especially if I told them that I want to be executed, for real, not as a game, but for real. They wouldn't get it. But I do. We all die, after all. Without death, no life. And I want to really enjoy my death. Not when I am old, or even older, but now, when I am still a lovely looking girl. But you have to decide whether I really am.

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Not the best picture of me maybe, but you'll get the idea. I think I am pretty anyway. And so it's not been too hard to find people to hang out with. And now I'm with him and he's perfect. And so is his other girl. We love each other a lot. And I like the possibilities with him and with her. I like the games we play, and the things they do to me.
And now I've decided that tomorrow they will kill me. Execute me. And I am very very excited.
We've made some plans and some rules. So no safe words, of course.
Tonight we'll eat. Not too much and not too much drink either, but something really good. And we'll have sex. The three of us. All night probably.
Then tomorrow, when the dawn is up, we'll start.
These are the things we've agreed. I think it will be wonderful.
In the morning he will tie me up and rape me, violently.
Then they will do things to me that will hurt.
We've thought about these little tortures:
They will tie me stretched out over a tree stump and torture me with water.
They will lift me up and set me over the old two-handled saw, which they have already hung between two trees, so that it cuts in to my sex.
They will suspend me, first of all on the strappado, then spread-eagled. That's a great position to do lots of things to my body I think.
They will burn me on my breasts and legs and arms with hot irons.
They will tie barbed wire around my waist. Tightly.
They will whip me. This is my favourite part, because it can be done in so many ways, and with different sorts of whips, and I know it's the precursor to the thing I want most.
So, they will whip me, hard and without pity. With the single-tail and with the cat and with the whip he has made with little bits of lead shot on the strands.
And then it will probably be time.
They will take me down and give me water. It will be late afternoon now. I will be bloody, but my face will be untouched, always untouched. Just the sweat and tears and my long dark hair matted with my own blood.
And they will take me to where they have made the cross ready. The cross bar. They will lay me on my torn back and tie my wrists. Then he will sit over me, on me, and she will kiss me, and he will nail me with the spikes he has ready. First my left wrist, then my right.
And then they will lift me to my feet. I will probably be almost passing out by now I think.
And they will haul the cross bar, with me on it, up to the top of the vertical post that is already fixed in the ground. And she will tie my ankles, one foot over the other. He will be ready with the spike and will hammer it through my feet. Through my top foot, through the sole, through my bottom foot, and into the wood. And they will stand and look at me and I will look down over my broken body and look at them.
They will sit down and talk and watch me slowly writhe on my cross.
After a while he will stand up and stroke my sex and take a sharpened stick he has and force it into me. And she will kiss my legs.
And after a further while he will come again with the heated irons and burn my calves and the sides of my body and the tips of my breasts.
And I will hang there in my sublime pain until it is night. Knowing that this is my last day and that my beautiful agony must soon end.
We've talked about this, about how they will kill me before midnight, because that is what I want. I don't exactly know what they will do but I hope that at a certain point, when the sun is down and the fire they have made is sending light flickering over my torn and tortured body, he will come with his baseball bat, one of those metal ones, and smash my shins.
And then he will watch me for a while and before I die, because with my legs broken I will die quite quickly now, he will take his hunting knife, the one with the curved blade and with the saw-toothed end, and will slit me open from the base of my rib cage to my sex and I will look down and see my insides pour down out over my shattered legs and I will gasp and cry and look up at the stars and thank him and thank her and then I will die.
I am so excited. I am so looking forward to tomorrow....
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NO!!!!! Don't please...a beautiful woman like you...you have so much to live for,PLEASE DON'T DO IT!!!!
 
So it was dark when she came to me. For me it was a nice, sweet surprise. We'd all three of us lain together, but now I was alone, half-asleep, dreaming away my final night. And then she came and softly we made love again, slowly. Our bodies entwining, our lips embracing, becoming slick with our own sweat and juices. It was so beautiful and I knew I would miss it so much. Not that the dead miss anything, I thought... And then she wiped me down with that big natural sponge that we'd bought together in the market in Austin. And then she shaved me, every bit of me. Not my long dark hair, but every bit of my skin so I was so beautifully soft and smooth and so ready for the next day. And then she chained me, such a sweet touch, I thought...
I slept, so happy.
He came.
Rough, violent. Not the him I had known, but the him my executioner. He threw me on my front, my chains rattling on my wrists. He forced me apart and shoved himself into me. Again and again. My hair in my eyes. No words. Just his hardness that I had thought so beautiful. Into me. And then he stood and left and I cried just a little and wiped my eyes and the hair from my eyes and waited for the line of pink to come over the horizon and for my last day to begin.
 
I don't think I slept much that night. Just little moments when I dozed or tried to. I felt, you know, that feeling you get on the night before an exam. You've done all the revision, you sort of know the questions that are coming. You're excited and scared and you have that butterfly feeling inside. You don't want it to start, you'd really prefer to lie in bed. But you know it will start and you sort of want it too, and I kept saying to myself, "this time, no safe word." I was so excited, so butterflied, so...
I heard them. Talking outside the barn. The light was coming through the trees and the morning mist, already warm. I could hear a fire crackling and the pop of eggs and the sound of bacon on the pan. And the smells. Not for me. They would come for me soon.
They did. She unlocked the chains and kissed me, holding my chin as our lips met. Then raised me and led me outside. I could see it was all ready. A beam about eight foot high between two crossed poles at each end, a pulley hanging over it. A block, solid wood, like a saw-horse, triangular and quite pointed at the top. Hoops driven into the earth. And beyond, towards the trees, a single post. Waiting for me. When it was time.
He told me to lie with my back over the block. I did. My body bending so my feet and hands lay on the ground. He roped them and looped the ropes through the hoops, then they pulled them and tied them off so my body was lifted and I was stretched over the block, my head tilted back, waiting.
 
So that's what I'm imagining you're imagining. Me (you) stretched out over that rather sharp wooden block, looking up into the blue morning sky, looking up at the beam over my (your) head which seems now to be rather more than eight foot high. High enough to hang me by the wrists from I am thinking (you are thinking). And you're rather wishing you were me, stretched out like Madame de Brinvilliers (but much younger and prettier of course) in that oh so famous engraving that you've always rather liked...
I admit, you would have loved it. That first moment of total helplessness. Knowing that you had no more control, no more, ever. Such a freeing sensation. And the adorable ropes, tight on my wrists and ankles, stretching my body out. Looking up between my breasts at my nakedness. I loved that moment.
And then it was time. And he came from the house with a pitcher of water and one of those plastic funnels that you use for fuel. She stroked my face and hair and he told me to open wide and he pushed it in. "Bite on it" he said.
And it started. He just poured and poured. I had to swallow, although my body fought instinctively not to. I had to. I felt myself vibrating as the wwater went into me. The tension in my whole body was wonderful. But I couldn't breathe. I was drowning. My fingers flexed, my belly gasped at the air that wasn't there.
He stopped and pulled out the funnel and I gasped and coughed and spluttered and water poured from my wide open mouth and he shoved it in and poured again. And he did this until my eyes were wide and staring and my body trembled violently and I was almost dead it seemed to me and the pitcher was empty and by belly was stretched and my ribs were heaving. Then he stopped and I know I vomited over myself and coughed and wretched.
 
You are liking this aren't you? You wish it was yourself, don't you?
Anway, once the water torture was finished, she undid the ropes and he lifted me down from the block and carried me over to where some matting was laid down on the ground. He laid me on my side and I carried on gasping and vomiting and spluttering out water and pissing uncontrollably. I felt utterly wasted and forlorn. The pain in my belly was dreadful. I tried to lift myself up, but couldn't. I felt so terrible. But I had loved it. No control. Drowning. That wild trembling in my limbs and body. The wonderful sensations in my sex. But now it was just horrible. Spewed up water flecked with blood. A terrible nausea.
They left me for a while in the sun, my body a heaving mess. They gave me the time I needed. Then he came over and gave me some pills to quell the sickness. Slowly they began to work. But the pain inside me wouldn't go away that quickly. It was awful, gnawing into me.
But I knew that was just the beginning. I knew it was what I wanted. And I wanted more.
Eventually I sat up and began to breathe more easily.
It was time.
He lifted me again, back to the high beam where he had prepared the pulley. He tied my hands behing me and fixed them to the rope, then he pulled until I arched over and my hair fell over my eyes.
Then a nice touch. She came and wiped my face and pulled my hair back over my ears and tied it into a pony tail which she let fall forward over my left shoulder. That was nice.
I stared at the ground, then felt the pull on my wrists as he began to raise me into the air. The strappado I had dreamed of! How wet I became. I felt my arms pull back and my shoulders rotate and my breasts become taut on my chest. I looked at myself swinging, a few inches, then a foot, then two feet, over the earth. He tied off the rope and left me there and went over to where she was and drank his coffee from his enamel mug. I was so glad I was here and that I had chosen this. The scent of the coffee was beautiful. But I loved my pain more. Much more. You understand that, don't you?
Because this is what you're imagining isn't it? You're wishing it was you who had given away her safe word and was hanging from that beam in that farmstead in that quiet corner of Texas. I know you are. If I was you I would be too. But I was me. I was the lucky one. As you know you will find out...
 
They left me swinging for quite a while. All the time the pain increased, gradually, slowly. Drewl slithered from my lips and over my breasts. It was rather wonderful. Then he came and let me down, suddenly, so I collapsed in a heap on the sandy ground, gasping and trying to catch my breath. They didn't give me long. She brought along the two-handed saw. I could guess what was next. Two ropes over the beam and secured to the handles at each end. But first he had moved the pulley so it was directly over the centre of where the saw now hung. He told me to stand and step over it, so it rested just between my legs, half-way up my thighs. He nodded and she pulled on the two ropes until it rested between the cheeks of my ass. He told me to put my hands behind me and he retied them as he had before and then he hauled me up so my toes rose from the sand and I hung about a foot above the saw.
Now she pulled again so the saw rose once more towards me. And carried on pulling when it touched me, so that it ran into my cunt and my ass crack. I could feel the teeth cutting into me.
Then he came to me and pushed me in the small of my back. I was looking down, my shoulders drawn together and upwards, and watched, just watched, as the saw ran under me and into me and the fire burned in me and my blood trickled down my legs and onto the sand. And he pulled me up by my breasts so the saw sank into my ass hole and then pushed me back again so it sawed into me. I know I screamed.
I was loving this, even if it was destroying me. But that didn't matter really to me. Why should it have mattered? I knew I was cutting into my most sensitive parts. I watched the blood flow from my sex. I felt the torment as I swung. And hauling on my own bonds I swung myself, again and again.
After a little while I became tired, and hung, limp, on the saw, now blood soaked over two feet of its length. He saw it was enough and came to me and slackened the rope that ran through the pulley so that my body was slowly lowered onto the saw, first my belly then between my breasts. He gave the saw one last swing, each tooth cutting me along my body, then nodded to her that she should let me free.
She lowered the saw, and he let me down to the ground.
My cunt and ass were torn terribly.
He opened my legs and took some cream that he slid over the wounds, then she brought a length of linen or cloth or something and he bound it tightly into my crack and wound it around my waist like a loin cloth. It hurt like hell. It was joyous. He told me to stand and to walk a little. It was agony. It was perfect. The cloth began to soak red, but he was satisfied that it would do its job (it didn't need to last for long) and would staunch the majority of the flow.
He asked me if I was alright. I nodded. I was. In such pain. I was alright. I wanted more.
He told me to lie down and rest while they prepared for the next of my tortures.
She came and stroked my cheeks and kissed my nipples and then went to help him.
 
They left me lying there for quite a while. I regarded the birds in the sky. It was impossible to find comfort. My body hurt so much. My shoulders and wrists, my cunt, my ass. My belly, still, from the water. I rolled slowly on the ground. But it was so beautiful. I didn't want this time to stop, but it soon would. Soon they would start, and that would be the beginning of the end. I was sort of sad, but so thrilled at the thought.
 
But then they were ready, and they lifted me up and tied my hands above me with ropes that hung from the frame, my feet firmly on the sandy ground. He asked me if it was ok to start, and I nodded.
First of all he whipped me with a riding crop. Hard over my thighs and belly and breasts. But that was just really to get me prepared for what was coming. My preparation for the cross.
He took a drink of water and wiped his wet finger over my lips and nodded. He had the cat in his hand. He'd made it with fine black rope, not very thick, almost string, and fitted into each strand were little lead fishing weights that I knew would tear holes into my flesh.
He started on my back. I could feel the breeze before the strike that sent me rocking forwards. I could feel my breath pushed from me and the sudden chill of the hit, replaced by a tearing burn with each stroke.
I groaned and spluttered, drewl falling onto the floor, my face staring down at the bloody cloth around my waist.
It was so wonderful.
He came to the front. Striking my breasts and belly from the left, then the right. Until I was lined in oozing red welts. I looked perfect. I was screaming inside in pain. I wanted it to carry on for ever. I loved it. My legs trembled uncontrollably. I could hardly breathe.
And then he stopped and stood back and looked at me and she came and kissed me on the lips.
I was prepared. They had prepared me. That was it. The end was starting, just as I had hoped. More than I had hoped.
 
Pia said:
They had prepared me. That was it. The end was starting, just as I had hoped. More than I had hoped.
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Barbaria1 said:
Hmmmm ... there is a lot of hoping going on here ... and, so far, no disappointments ... :rolleyes::popcorn:
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I suspect the only disappointment might be the actual end, when she has to stop.
Pia makes torture sound like a wistful remembrance of a lost lover.
 
He untied me. She helped me down onto the ground. She wiped my body, wiped my wounds, wiped my lips, stroked my hair.
He made things ready. I watched him. I felt so wonderful. He was making my cross ready for me.
She gave me water to drink. She whispered to me. I smiled. My body was in such pain.
He beckoned to her. It was time. She lifted me to my feet. I was unsteady. I blinked in the sun. My sight was not quite focusing. I blinked again. The cross was waiting for me.
I walked to my cross, to the cross beam. He stood waiting for me. I lay on the ground. He looked at me, as if to ask me if I was sure. I nodded and smiled. I was sure.
She bound my arms to the cross beam. He came to me and felt my body along the side, along the arm, to my wrist. He felt for the hollow in my wrist. She gave him the first spike.
He pushed it into the hollow, a tiny bead of blood forming. I felt the spike in my wrist. It was not pain, not yet.
He pushed harder, breaking the skin, pushing into my wrist. Now I felt pain.
I looked at him. He aimed the hammer. I held my breath. My body exploded. The spike was driven in. My back arched and twisted. I felt the pain so beautifully. I tried to breathe but couldn't. I gasped and shouted. I shouted 'No!' , I shouted 'Stop!'. I wanted him to strike the spike again. And again. Shuddering me into the wood. Shattering me into the wood. I looked down my arm at my bloodied wrist. My beautiful spiked wrist. My crucified wrist. My body.
He nailed me again. I was nailed to my cross beam. My legs beat the air. My body beat the air. My lungs screamed for them to stop. I wanted so much for them to continue.
I wanted them to lift me. To lift me to the post. To drag my heels through the dust to the post. My bloody body, lifted to the post. My hair in my eyes, my eyes staring, my mouth open, my breasts shaking. My legs. My legs. My body. My pain. My beautiful pain. I wanted him to nail me to my cross. To nail my feet to my cross. To crucify me. It was what I had always wanted. I had been so right. It was perfect. The pain made me cry and scream. I wanted to cry and scream. I wanted him to destroy me. I wanted to be on my cross, in my pain, hanging in my beautiful pain. I wanted to be up on my cross, my body nailed to my lovely wooden cross. My naked body. My bloody naked body. Nailed. Tortured to my cross. I wanted it to happen.
He pushed my back to the post. They had steps to stand on. They lifted my beam over me. I felt the nails pull on my wrists. They lifted me from the ground. I hung from my nails. I felt the nails tear into me. I felt my weight hanging. I felt my agony swell. I felt such pain. They lifted the beam to the top of the post and slotted it in and it fell and stopped and my body jerked and swung and I hung and swung and my body was held by my nailed wrists and my eyes opened wide and I looked at the place I was hanging and I looked down my body, down my legs, to where my feet hung in the air. I looked along my arms that stretched out to my cross beam. I swallowed my pain so fully. I wanted more. I wanted more. I felt myself grow wet. I wanted more. My pain was not enough. I wanted more pain. I wanted more. I wanted my beautiful pain.
 
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