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Does anyone have any of the following burning at the stake stories that they could post here?
Angelique's Sweltering Day by Tina de Dance
Death of a Petty but Pretty Traitor
Mary
Thanks
Kari
Angelique's Sweltering Day by Tina de Dance
Death of a Petty but Pretty Traitor
Mary
Thanks
Kari
https://web.archive.org/web/20141214012753/http://www.darkfetishnet.com/knittina/blog/13511/
I didn't want to get up that day. Mother had been busy since the dawn, first milking the cow then stealing eggs from under the hens. The smell of the oatmeal she'd made for breakfast filled the cottage and woke me up hungry. I had to pee and take the chamber pot out, but I didn't want to face the day, so I just pulled the quilt over me, held my water, and tried to go back to sleep.
Father came stomping in from the loom house - he always stomped even when he didn't have to get snow off his boots - and asked where was breakfast and why wasn't I up and around. The loom house was just an add-on to the cottage where Father wove cloth for the village. We were lucky Father had a trade or we'd be on some feudal farm in the county living in a mud and straw shack shared with animals.
"Maid, get up!" he demanded as he threw back the curtain across the entrance to my enclosure. "Don't you know it's a holiday?"
I couldn't help it. I started crying.
"What's this now? You still bawlin' over Angelique? You know she's only gettin' what's comin' to her!"
"You leave the girl alone, Father," said Mother from the other room. "She and Angelique have been friends since they were so high - it's only natural she's so upset."
"She's got no reason to be. The girl did it and today she'll pay with her life."
I couldn't help it, I just cried and cried as I put on my heavy robe, picked up the chamber pot, and headed for the privy. Once inside, I cried so loud they could have heard me two miles north in Nottingham Centre. I peed, and just sat there thinking of all the great times I'd had with Angelique. I'd miss her smart wit and sparkling blue eyes. And I'd miss admiring the lovely, long blonde tresses I always wished I had. There was a lot about Angelique I admired and would have told her so, had I not been afraid she'd get mad at me.
The men in the village who never had a chance with her would miss looking at her long legs, narrow waist, and wide hips. They never had a chance because she was holding onto her virginity, not about to surrender until she wed. Well, hell's paved with good intentions, because one night, easy as you please, she surrendered to Geoffrey de Valeur's charms. The man claimed to have been knighted for bravery - a claim I doubt, but with his great good looks and physique, lots of the girls around here wanted to believe it. It was good enough for me! Geoffrey and I frolicked away more than a few hours in his room over the tavern so, when Angelique told me she'd been with him, I wasn't surprised, although I was saddened. He shouldn't have taken her. She was special.
It was only a few weeks later, it all came to no good. "Sir" Geoffrey was poisoned and Angelique was charged with his murder and found guilty. I'll never forget the Magistrate sentencing her: "And on All Saints Day, the Year of Our Lord 1547, you shall be taken to Execution Hill where you will be burnt to death at the stake. May the Lord have mercy on your soul!"
Angelique nearly fainted at hearing the sentence. I couldn't help but shout, "It was gypsies! Gypsies, Your Worship! No! You can't burn her, please..." The magistrate threatened to have me flogged if I didn't stop.
Somehow I managed to stop crying, finished in the privy, and came into the cottage for breakfast. Mother must have said something to Father for he said no more about Angelique. I finished breakfast, threw my heaviest shawl across my shoulders, and walked to the other side of Nottingham Centre where Helen lived.
Helen was my other best friend. In fact the three of us, Angelique, Helen and I had been inseparable as far back as we could remember. Until Geoffrey appeared, that is!
Then Helen and I climbed Execution Hill. We stopped for a few moments at the permanent gibbet. A rotting corpse dangled from it in chains, eye sockets bare, grinning teeth showing through her shredded lips. Our ravens had been hard at it - the word "ravenous" struck me as I thought of how the birds had pecked away at the thing. She had been a gypsy woman found guilty of theft - theft of the village Elder's copy of the Domesday Book section for our area. No one understood why she stole it. She hanged for that.
Standing beneath that gibbet with Helen, holding her hand tightly, I pulled her arm against mine, stood tight against her, and I asked, "what are you feeling, my dear?"
"I don't know," she replied, glancing at the body. "When that gypsy hanged was the last day the three of us were together. I got that heated feeling inside me when they hoisted her up..."
"So did I," I interrupted.
"And Angelique said she, too, was nearly overcome with those feelings. That was little more than a month ago. Two weeks later, when she was tried and sentenced to this very place, my stomach flipped in anticipation - she was my friend and I should not have such excitement. And I'm getting the starts of those feelings in my crotch again..." Helen's eyes brimmed with tears. "And if I get so heated when they burn her, I'll just hate myself."
Pulling my hand, she led us to the top of the hill where the fresh breeze that blew toward the stake became stronger. Although I must say I wasn't sure the chill I felt was entirely due to the cool air, I pulled my shawl closer around my shoulders. The scene, itself, was enough to send shivers through anyone. Straight ahead was the ten-foot high metal stake that would be Angelique's final destination. The stake had been there for years and had been the end of the journey for so many women - it seemed it almost never really cooled between each one.
About four feet up was a seat she'd be perched on and another foot above that was a chain that would wrap around her middle.
They'd leave her hands and legs free to kick and flail. Around the base and stacked up about two feet was the scrubby wood through which a path had been cleared - a path for Angelique to walk toward her preview of hell. We didn't have much wood around that part of England, but that which could be spared they started chopping before dawn. Helen told me she could hear it from her cottage. It was a sure thing Angelique could hear it from the gaol. Already burning beside the stake was a brazier with smouldering peat bricks.
We strolled around. Quite a few families and their children had already made the climb. Most were dressed in their church finery - well, as fine as they had in our poor hamlet. The events that had befallen our friend had affected some of the people we thought we knew well. Some of them looked at us strangely. Ignoring these undercurrents, we nodded greetings and hugged those we knew well.
Suddenly, a commotion came from the direction of the gaol house and we saw a donkey-pulled cart begin its trudge up the hill. At the sound, people came stumbling out of the public house, many of them already besotted. Chained in the cart, wearing a simple off-white crude flax gown, Angelique sat, eyes downcast, scared, and cringing at the crowd's noise. The cart slowly rumbled up to the place of execution. Two burly spinster laywomen, who were used for odd unpleasant jobs, unshackled the girl. Up close we could see her dazed eyes - quite a change from the vibrant friend I knew from only a few weeks earlier.
Angelique didn't resist as the two dragged her to the stake, lifted her over, sat her on the wedge and, with one turn of the chain, tied her to the stake. Her face betrayed the beginnings of stark terror.
As I'm near sighted, I took Helen's hand and walked us up to a position near the wood pile opposite Angelique's perch, stopping short of where we might be scorched. I asked the priest, "She will be in excruciating pain for up to an hour. Does she really deserve that?"
He looked at me in surprise and, resonantly, said "For her crimes against God and man? Yes! And as you know she has expressed no remorse for what she did. This will give her a taste of what she'll have in purgatory for the long years before she is granted a peaceful ascent to paradise by the ever merciful Lord".
My stomach turned in revulsion at this man.
In the hour before the execution, as the sun broke through and took the chill off the morning, the little area around the hill took on a holiday atmosphere. A juggler tossed balls and peasants sold their fruit and cheese. A large oak barrel was surrounded by villagers who happily poured themselves mug after mug of ale. A mead peddler sold thick brown syrup to all those who had three farthings for it. A young girl at the request of her mother carried a mug of mead over to Angelique who, with a wan smile, took it and downed it in one quaff. Chirping, the girl skipped back to her mother. Men gathered together not far from Angelique and exchanged coarse jokes. The children played with their thin wheels and at hop scotch. One ragged brat stood at the edge of the wood pile and gazed at Angelique. He then ran back to his friends uttering something I couldn't hear. They chortled. Women gathering in small circles cluck-clucked to one another as they stared at the poor young girl.
Helen and I looked sadly at Angelique who was seemingly oblivious to the merriment and to us too, her oldest friends. Her head was bent forwards and she barely moved. As time passed few people stopped to say anything to her. In fact it seemed they were ignoring what was to come. All they seemed to feel was a party - squeals of merriment, smells of sizzling mutton, harps playing and couples dancing with abandon. Geoffrey's sister, a small dark haired woman dressed in a long red gown, red bonnet on her head, black wreath on her right arm, came over and swore at Angelique who remained silent, her head still bowed.
As the sun neared noon Angelique lifted her head, looked at me, and very calmly said, "You know I did not kill Sir Geoffrey, don't you?" I didn't respond and I couldn't look her in the eye. What could I say? Helen stayed quiet too. The case against Angelique was so overwhelming few could doubt the verdict.
At noon with the sun at its peak, one of the laywomen brought over a long brush and a pail of soft black pitch. Angelique trembled and quivered. The laywoman pulled at her dress and ripped it off. She dipped the brush in the pail and began to daub pitch over the terrified girl's lower body streaking it with a pattern of black stripes. Angelique squirmed as the pitch was spread.
Helen had never been at a burning before and asked me "Won't it speed up her burning?"
I answered feeling the first slight throb in my treacherous privates "Not really. They're putting enough on her that the pitch will burn first above her skin. Notice they're keeping it from her face. They don't want her asphyxiating on lack of air too soon".
Angelique's eyes were now terrified, her body shuddering. She tried to push the laywoman away but she just slapped the pitch where she could. In the meantime the other laywoman put several thick branches in the brazier. She then came over, stepped up on the logs, went behind Angelique, and roughly pulled her hands tightly behind the post. The first one then laid more pitch on her breasts, covered them, and then knelt to her crotch.
I murmured angrily to no one in particular. "Look they are trying to have her burn inside. I do not believe it. She is feeling her." I heard a few men chortle. The old woman put pitch on the fingers of her right hand and slipped them into the condemned woman's vagina then seemed to wriggle her fingers. The condemned woman jerked, her legs twitching. The laywoman then took her hand out and dipped it again in the pail. She moved her coated hand deeper under her crotch and dabbed more pitch, this time into Angelique's rectum. The condemned woman struggled weakly, firmly held by the other laywoman. When the woman finally let go, Angelique viciously scratched the one in front of her who didn't move away fast enough. "Good on you, Angelique," I said as I laughed.
The laywoman touched her cheek. Of course, since her hand was covered with pitch, she left a black streak on it. When she took her hand away she saw some blood on her fingers. She yelled something but retreated from Angelique who at last showed the spunk we knew and loved her for. About half of the crowd was laughing. One yelled "Pity I never knew her. She is spirited I must surely say". More laughter.
The priest began to intone a purification ritual. I watched him, disgusted at what religion did to innocents. Being a secret non-believer I just couldn't believe he was sincere about his prayers and attempts to comfort her. I knew what the church has done to innocents anywhere. The reign of Bloody Mary was only recently over and look what she had done in the name of her merciful God.
The priest continued for a few moments as platitudes of "merciful...almighty...., contrition...forgiveness" resounded around the hill. I shuddered as he walked away from our friend and the wood, leaving the shivering girl behind, chained to the stake, her hands feverishly trying to cover her nudity. Several men from the crowd rapidly covered the open path to the stake with brush and wood. A woman cried near me, possibly Geoffrey's sister, "Burn the murderess, burn her!" Angelique broke down and sobbed, tears filling and dropping from her eyes. With a visible effort and clenching of fists, she regained her composure, breathed in very deeply, and exclaimed, "I did not kill him. I loved him too much. And if indeed there is a God, he knows that!" The priest crossed himself in disbelief.
The elder's wife, a matronly black-robed woman, grabbed a burning branch from the brazier and, brandishing it in front of her, came up to the pile. She waited for her husband to nod. After a few minutes obviously relishing the terror in Angelique's eyes, he did. At that signal his wife dipped the burning faggot into the fire- wood. As if on cue, the crowd went silent. A snap was heard and then a crackle as the brush at the edge of the pile and in front of Angelique burst into flame. Hearing the first crackles she screamed and pulled with all her might at the chain that held her, but it was no use. Flames burst up from the damp wood, its smoke rapidly blown away by the breeze. I heard someone say "That beauty will burn, not choke". Since the wood was left outside all night, it was coated with dew. The fire didn't start briskly. It smouldered. It was clearly hot enough to sear flesh, but at its present rate of burn it would mean an even more horrible and slow death for our dear friend than if it were dry. She shrieked as she saw the flames leaping up higher and higher and moving slowly towards her.
She twisted her body, doing all she could to move away from the approaching flames. She tried to climb on her perch, hands over head gripping the post. Soon the flames licked at the pitch on her calves. She screamed with pain as she lifted her knees in an effort to avoid the flames, but then, being burnt on the backs of her thighs, she let them down again. She was not able to hold her feet down in the consuming flames and responded by dancing and stomping trying in vain to lessen the pain.
I stood behind Helen, holding her closely. I felt her lean back into me and we watched, mesmerised. The crowd went silent. A cry was heard, "More faggots, we need more faggots!" and drier wood was thrown onto the fire, though not enough to make a difference. She was certainly fighting - what a horrible way to die. I let go of Helen and put my fingers in my ears as Angelique's howling became louder. The flames danced slowly up the pitch on her legs to her knees. She flailed her hands desperately trying to stop the ripples of flame as they spread above her knees. As the fire enveloped her legs, huge blisters raised then popped with tiny explosions of fat. The flames danced higher and licked her inner thighs. The shocked crowd roared as her public hair burst into flame and burned like a candle fuelled by the grease. I held on to Helen again, leaving gashes on her arm as my nails dug in.
Angelique pushed forward as far as the chain would allow, stretched her neck back and, in sheer torment and utter anguish, eyes flashing, and teeth bared, she let out another long, blood-curdling scream. The perch between her legs became red hot and as much as she squirmed and tried to rise from it, she could not avoid the searing heat that burnt into her c*nt and tender skin. A sudden gust of wind fanned the blaze and blew a wave of flickering flames around the post over the back of the girl's legs and lower back. Her wails and screeches became louder. She was mad with pain as she flailed with her two hands at her burning privates, her flaming legs bobbing and stomping. More blisters swelled over her legs, rapidly blackening, oozing fat lighting up with the burning pitch.
My arms wrapped around Helen, my breasts pressed into her back as, over her shoulder, I watched my old friend burn. I could feel Helen's heat mingling with the fire from the pyre. The sounds of Angelique's screeching, fire crackling and a low hum of the blowing breeze all blended. I cupped Helen's breasts, tugged on her nipples, and pressed my pussy hot against her ass.
Angelique released another blood curdling scream as the pitch in her vagina and anus ignited causing flames to shoot out between her legs. Her abdomen was undulating. I became appalled at my arousal. She screeched even louder as flames kissed her breasts. As Angelique squirmed I saw another burst of flame emerge from behind her and between her butt cheeks. Her scream was momentarily cut off by anguished gurgling. Charred skin began falling off her legs that were still kicking. I could just imagine what must have been happening inside her. A sheet of flame flew up and ignited the pitch on her breasts. Her nipples disappeared under the flames.
"How long can she last?" Helen groaned.
"I'm surprised she hasn't lost consciousness by now," I replied.
"Ah God is punishing her," said the elder whom I hadn't realised was standing just behind me.
His face was so much redder than it had been when he nodded to his wife to start the fire, I was surprised - until I looked at his belly and saw the telltale bulge of a firm erection. But really, was he that much different than Helen or me? Who am I to judge him?
Angelique's roasting odour wafted everywhere. She began jerking and flapping all over as her whole body was afire - from burning pitch and her own fat globules exploding all over. As her screaming now muted, I moaned, rubbed my nipples deeper into Helen's back, my c*nt all moist. Helen turned to look at me and I was startled to see a fiendish look of utter delight in her eyes that seemed to recognise I had the same terrible feelings.
As Angelique's hair burned off leaving a blackening skull, her breasts drowned in flames, shrivelling and charring as tufts of boiling fat and blood peppered her scorched skin as it cracked and fell off. Her eyes remained open staring up away from the crawling fire that slowly reached her neck. She appeared to be expecting some hoped-for salvation. Blackened hands flapped at her bosom as though trying to stamp out the broiling heat. She pounded her breasts until her flaming right arm fell helplessly to her side. Her left hand jerked. Fat, water, and blood oozed out of her finger tips. As, one more, her eyes squeezed shut, she screamed even more shrilly. The squealing went on and on becoming even more high pitched. The erratic wind blew away the flames and then slackened, letting them return, again and again and again.
At one point, where it seemed no one could possibly scream with the intensity the flaming girl mustered, orgasm overwhelmed me. I wasn't aware I was digging my nails into Helen's tummy. Helen's only reaction, as though she, too, was experiencing some kind of moment, was a solid grunt.
Angelique burnt for what felt like an hour, although probably it was just half of that. Thank God for small mercies. Her body did not stop twirling and twisting, pushing forward in the clutch of the chain and then banging back against the stake in a random rhythm. Near the end she rubbed her left stubbed fingers over her eyes and yelled her last words in a cracking voice, "Mercy, I am innocent. I swear I am. Help me, Help me! Mercy! For God's love, good people, let it be over. God, have mercy upon me, and receive my soul!" And these were the last words she uttered. Her mouth blackened; tongue swelled glistening with a bright red and then it erupted in smoking pustules. Her lips darkened and shrunk to the gums.
I continued to hold Helen tightly, aware I was screaming too, panting and sweating, tremours rocking my body. With only a few small flames reaching up and licking here and there, Angelique's head charred black from the heat below it. She bowed forward and my last memory of her wonderful big blue eyes was of their looking at me reproachfully. With two puffs of steam they both suddenly evaporated leaving gaping oozing holes. She convulsed one last time and then went limp, her dead body held upright by the chain.
I felt weak as I let go of Helen, moved beside her, and took her hand. I was certain she was still thoroughly aroused. The crowd slowly dispersed as we silently walked down the hill, and I am a bit embarrassed to say that once down the hill we ran together to a small forest clearing where we were private. The crumbling charcoal human form that was once the bubbly and vivacious Angelique was left behind.
Between eight and nine months later there was an epidemic of babies among the women of the hamlet. Two years later I left for London, knowing it was my hand that, in anger over his taking Angelique's virginity, had put the poison in Geoffrey de Valeur's wine.
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jack cade
jack cade Tina De Dance is one of the great DFN authors of all-time and when she teams with Helen Fromme, the results are extraordinary. Thanks for posting.
July 5, 2022 - like - 1 likes this - Report
Father came stomping in from the loom house - he always stomped even when he didn't have to get snow off his boots - and asked where was breakfast and why wasn't I up and around. The loom house was just an add-on to the cottage where Father wove cloth for the village. We were lucky Father had a trade or we'd be on some feudal farm in the county living in a mud and straw shack shared with animals.
"Maid, get up!" he demanded as he threw back the curtain across the entrance to my enclosure. "Don't you know it's a holiday?"
I couldn't help it. I started crying.
"What's this now? You still bawlin' over Angelique? You know she's only gettin' what's comin' to her!"
"You leave the girl alone, Father," said Mother from the other room. "She and Angelique have been friends since they were so high - it's only natural she's so upset."
"She's got no reason to be. The girl did it and today she'll pay with her life."
I couldn't help it, I just cried and cried as I put on my heavy robe, picked up the chamber pot, and headed for the privy. Once inside, I cried so loud they could have heard me two miles north in Nottingham Centre. I peed, and just sat there thinking of all the great times I'd had with Angelique. I'd miss her smart wit and sparkling blue eyes. And I'd miss admiring the lovely, long blonde tresses I always wished I had. There was a lot about Angelique I admired and would have told her so, had I not been afraid she'd get mad at me.
The men in the village who never had a chance with her would miss looking at her long legs, narrow waist, and wide hips. They never had a chance because she was holding onto her virginity, not about to surrender until she wed. Well, hell's paved with good intentions, because one night, easy as you please, she surrendered to Geoffrey de Valeur's charms. The man claimed to have been knighted for bravery - a claim I doubt, but with his great good looks and physique, lots of the girls around here wanted to believe it. It was good enough for me! Geoffrey and I frolicked away more than a few hours in his room over the tavern so, when Angelique told me she'd been with him, I wasn't surprised, although I was saddened. He shouldn't have taken her. She was special.
It was only a few weeks later, it all came to no good. "Sir" Geoffrey was poisoned and Angelique was charged with his murder and found guilty. I'll never forget the Magistrate sentencing her: "And on All Saints Day, the Year of Our Lord 1547, you shall be taken to Execution Hill where you will be burnt to death at the stake. May the Lord have mercy on your soul!"
Angelique nearly fainted at hearing the sentence. I couldn't help but shout, "It was gypsies! Gypsies, Your Worship! No! You can't burn her, please..." The magistrate threatened to have me flogged if I didn't stop.
Somehow I managed to stop crying, finished in the privy, and came into the cottage for breakfast. Mother must have said something to Father for he said no more about Angelique. I finished breakfast, threw my heaviest shawl across my shoulders, and walked to the other side of Nottingham Centre where Helen lived.
Helen was my other best friend. In fact the three of us, Angelique, Helen and I had been inseparable as far back as we could remember. Until Geoffrey appeared, that is!
Then Helen and I climbed Execution Hill. We stopped for a few moments at the permanent gibbet. A rotting corpse dangled from it in chains, eye sockets bare, grinning teeth showing through her shredded lips. Our ravens had been hard at it - the word "ravenous" struck me as I thought of how the birds had pecked away at the thing. She had been a gypsy woman found guilty of theft - theft of the village Elder's copy of the Domesday Book section for our area. No one understood why she stole it. She hanged for that.
Standing beneath that gibbet with Helen, holding her hand tightly, I pulled her arm against mine, stood tight against her, and I asked, "what are you feeling, my dear?"
"I don't know," she replied, glancing at the body. "When that gypsy hanged was the last day the three of us were together. I got that heated feeling inside me when they hoisted her up..."
"So did I," I interrupted.
"And Angelique said she, too, was nearly overcome with those feelings. That was little more than a month ago. Two weeks later, when she was tried and sentenced to this very place, my stomach flipped in anticipation - she was my friend and I should not have such excitement. And I'm getting the starts of those feelings in my crotch again..." Helen's eyes brimmed with tears. "And if I get so heated when they burn her, I'll just hate myself."
Pulling my hand, she led us to the top of the hill where the fresh breeze that blew toward the stake became stronger. Although I must say I wasn't sure the chill I felt was entirely due to the cool air, I pulled my shawl closer around my shoulders. The scene, itself, was enough to send shivers through anyone. Straight ahead was the ten-foot high metal stake that would be Angelique's final destination. The stake had been there for years and had been the end of the journey for so many women - it seemed it almost never really cooled between each one.
About four feet up was a seat she'd be perched on and another foot above that was a chain that would wrap around her middle.
They'd leave her hands and legs free to kick and flail. Around the base and stacked up about two feet was the scrubby wood through which a path had been cleared - a path for Angelique to walk toward her preview of hell. We didn't have much wood around that part of England, but that which could be spared they started chopping before dawn. Helen told me she could hear it from her cottage. It was a sure thing Angelique could hear it from the gaol. Already burning beside the stake was a brazier with smouldering peat bricks.
We strolled around. Quite a few families and their children had already made the climb. Most were dressed in their church finery - well, as fine as they had in our poor hamlet. The events that had befallen our friend had affected some of the people we thought we knew well. Some of them looked at us strangely. Ignoring these undercurrents, we nodded greetings and hugged those we knew well.
Suddenly, a commotion came from the direction of the gaol house and we saw a donkey-pulled cart begin its trudge up the hill. At the sound, people came stumbling out of the public house, many of them already besotted. Chained in the cart, wearing a simple off-white crude flax gown, Angelique sat, eyes downcast, scared, and cringing at the crowd's noise. The cart slowly rumbled up to the place of execution. Two burly spinster laywomen, who were used for odd unpleasant jobs, unshackled the girl. Up close we could see her dazed eyes - quite a change from the vibrant friend I knew from only a few weeks earlier.
Angelique didn't resist as the two dragged her to the stake, lifted her over, sat her on the wedge and, with one turn of the chain, tied her to the stake. Her face betrayed the beginnings of stark terror.
As I'm near sighted, I took Helen's hand and walked us up to a position near the wood pile opposite Angelique's perch, stopping short of where we might be scorched. I asked the priest, "She will be in excruciating pain for up to an hour. Does she really deserve that?"
He looked at me in surprise and, resonantly, said "For her crimes against God and man? Yes! And as you know she has expressed no remorse for what she did. This will give her a taste of what she'll have in purgatory for the long years before she is granted a peaceful ascent to paradise by the ever merciful Lord".
My stomach turned in revulsion at this man.
In the hour before the execution, as the sun broke through and took the chill off the morning, the little area around the hill took on a holiday atmosphere. A juggler tossed balls and peasants sold their fruit and cheese. A large oak barrel was surrounded by villagers who happily poured themselves mug after mug of ale. A mead peddler sold thick brown syrup to all those who had three farthings for it. A young girl at the request of her mother carried a mug of mead over to Angelique who, with a wan smile, took it and downed it in one quaff. Chirping, the girl skipped back to her mother. Men gathered together not far from Angelique and exchanged coarse jokes. The children played with their thin wheels and at hop scotch. One ragged brat stood at the edge of the wood pile and gazed at Angelique. He then ran back to his friends uttering something I couldn't hear. They chortled. Women gathering in small circles cluck-clucked to one another as they stared at the poor young girl.
Helen and I looked sadly at Angelique who was seemingly oblivious to the merriment and to us too, her oldest friends. Her head was bent forwards and she barely moved. As time passed few people stopped to say anything to her. In fact it seemed they were ignoring what was to come. All they seemed to feel was a party - squeals of merriment, smells of sizzling mutton, harps playing and couples dancing with abandon. Geoffrey's sister, a small dark haired woman dressed in a long red gown, red bonnet on her head, black wreath on her right arm, came over and swore at Angelique who remained silent, her head still bowed.
As the sun neared noon Angelique lifted her head, looked at me, and very calmly said, "You know I did not kill Sir Geoffrey, don't you?" I didn't respond and I couldn't look her in the eye. What could I say? Helen stayed quiet too. The case against Angelique was so overwhelming few could doubt the verdict.
At noon with the sun at its peak, one of the laywomen brought over a long brush and a pail of soft black pitch. Angelique trembled and quivered. The laywoman pulled at her dress and ripped it off. She dipped the brush in the pail and began to daub pitch over the terrified girl's lower body streaking it with a pattern of black stripes. Angelique squirmed as the pitch was spread.
Helen had never been at a burning before and asked me "Won't it speed up her burning?"
I answered feeling the first slight throb in my treacherous privates "Not really. They're putting enough on her that the pitch will burn first above her skin. Notice they're keeping it from her face. They don't want her asphyxiating on lack of air too soon".
Angelique's eyes were now terrified, her body shuddering. She tried to push the laywoman away but she just slapped the pitch where she could. In the meantime the other laywoman put several thick branches in the brazier. She then came over, stepped up on the logs, went behind Angelique, and roughly pulled her hands tightly behind the post. The first one then laid more pitch on her breasts, covered them, and then knelt to her crotch.
I murmured angrily to no one in particular. "Look they are trying to have her burn inside. I do not believe it. She is feeling her." I heard a few men chortle. The old woman put pitch on the fingers of her right hand and slipped them into the condemned woman's vagina then seemed to wriggle her fingers. The condemned woman jerked, her legs twitching. The laywoman then took her hand out and dipped it again in the pail. She moved her coated hand deeper under her crotch and dabbed more pitch, this time into Angelique's rectum. The condemned woman struggled weakly, firmly held by the other laywoman. When the woman finally let go, Angelique viciously scratched the one in front of her who didn't move away fast enough. "Good on you, Angelique," I said as I laughed.
The laywoman touched her cheek. Of course, since her hand was covered with pitch, she left a black streak on it. When she took her hand away she saw some blood on her fingers. She yelled something but retreated from Angelique who at last showed the spunk we knew and loved her for. About half of the crowd was laughing. One yelled "Pity I never knew her. She is spirited I must surely say". More laughter.
The priest began to intone a purification ritual. I watched him, disgusted at what religion did to innocents. Being a secret non-believer I just couldn't believe he was sincere about his prayers and attempts to comfort her. I knew what the church has done to innocents anywhere. The reign of Bloody Mary was only recently over and look what she had done in the name of her merciful God.
The priest continued for a few moments as platitudes of "merciful...almighty...., contrition...forgiveness" resounded around the hill. I shuddered as he walked away from our friend and the wood, leaving the shivering girl behind, chained to the stake, her hands feverishly trying to cover her nudity. Several men from the crowd rapidly covered the open path to the stake with brush and wood. A woman cried near me, possibly Geoffrey's sister, "Burn the murderess, burn her!" Angelique broke down and sobbed, tears filling and dropping from her eyes. With a visible effort and clenching of fists, she regained her composure, breathed in very deeply, and exclaimed, "I did not kill him. I loved him too much. And if indeed there is a God, he knows that!" The priest crossed himself in disbelief.
The elder's wife, a matronly black-robed woman, grabbed a burning branch from the brazier and, brandishing it in front of her, came up to the pile. She waited for her husband to nod. After a few minutes obviously relishing the terror in Angelique's eyes, he did. At that signal his wife dipped the burning faggot into the fire- wood. As if on cue, the crowd went silent. A snap was heard and then a crackle as the brush at the edge of the pile and in front of Angelique burst into flame. Hearing the first crackles she screamed and pulled with all her might at the chain that held her, but it was no use. Flames burst up from the damp wood, its smoke rapidly blown away by the breeze. I heard someone say "That beauty will burn, not choke". Since the wood was left outside all night, it was coated with dew. The fire didn't start briskly. It smouldered. It was clearly hot enough to sear flesh, but at its present rate of burn it would mean an even more horrible and slow death for our dear friend than if it were dry. She shrieked as she saw the flames leaping up higher and higher and moving slowly towards her.
She twisted her body, doing all she could to move away from the approaching flames. She tried to climb on her perch, hands over head gripping the post. Soon the flames licked at the pitch on her calves. She screamed with pain as she lifted her knees in an effort to avoid the flames, but then, being burnt on the backs of her thighs, she let them down again. She was not able to hold her feet down in the consuming flames and responded by dancing and stomping trying in vain to lessen the pain.
I stood behind Helen, holding her closely. I felt her lean back into me and we watched, mesmerised. The crowd went silent. A cry was heard, "More faggots, we need more faggots!" and drier wood was thrown onto the fire, though not enough to make a difference. She was certainly fighting - what a horrible way to die. I let go of Helen and put my fingers in my ears as Angelique's howling became louder. The flames danced slowly up the pitch on her legs to her knees. She flailed her hands desperately trying to stop the ripples of flame as they spread above her knees. As the fire enveloped her legs, huge blisters raised then popped with tiny explosions of fat. The flames danced higher and licked her inner thighs. The shocked crowd roared as her public hair burst into flame and burned like a candle fuelled by the grease. I held on to Helen again, leaving gashes on her arm as my nails dug in.
Angelique pushed forward as far as the chain would allow, stretched her neck back and, in sheer torment and utter anguish, eyes flashing, and teeth bared, she let out another long, blood-curdling scream. The perch between her legs became red hot and as much as she squirmed and tried to rise from it, she could not avoid the searing heat that burnt into her c*nt and tender skin. A sudden gust of wind fanned the blaze and blew a wave of flickering flames around the post over the back of the girl's legs and lower back. Her wails and screeches became louder. She was mad with pain as she flailed with her two hands at her burning privates, her flaming legs bobbing and stomping. More blisters swelled over her legs, rapidly blackening, oozing fat lighting up with the burning pitch.
My arms wrapped around Helen, my breasts pressed into her back as, over her shoulder, I watched my old friend burn. I could feel Helen's heat mingling with the fire from the pyre. The sounds of Angelique's screeching, fire crackling and a low hum of the blowing breeze all blended. I cupped Helen's breasts, tugged on her nipples, and pressed my pussy hot against her ass.
Angelique released another blood curdling scream as the pitch in her vagina and anus ignited causing flames to shoot out between her legs. Her abdomen was undulating. I became appalled at my arousal. She screeched even louder as flames kissed her breasts. As Angelique squirmed I saw another burst of flame emerge from behind her and between her butt cheeks. Her scream was momentarily cut off by anguished gurgling. Charred skin began falling off her legs that were still kicking. I could just imagine what must have been happening inside her. A sheet of flame flew up and ignited the pitch on her breasts. Her nipples disappeared under the flames.
"How long can she last?" Helen groaned.
"I'm surprised she hasn't lost consciousness by now," I replied.
"Ah God is punishing her," said the elder whom I hadn't realised was standing just behind me.
His face was so much redder than it had been when he nodded to his wife to start the fire, I was surprised - until I looked at his belly and saw the telltale bulge of a firm erection. But really, was he that much different than Helen or me? Who am I to judge him?
Angelique's roasting odour wafted everywhere. She began jerking and flapping all over as her whole body was afire - from burning pitch and her own fat globules exploding all over. As her screaming now muted, I moaned, rubbed my nipples deeper into Helen's back, my c*nt all moist. Helen turned to look at me and I was startled to see a fiendish look of utter delight in her eyes that seemed to recognise I had the same terrible feelings.
As Angelique's hair burned off leaving a blackening skull, her breasts drowned in flames, shrivelling and charring as tufts of boiling fat and blood peppered her scorched skin as it cracked and fell off. Her eyes remained open staring up away from the crawling fire that slowly reached her neck. She appeared to be expecting some hoped-for salvation. Blackened hands flapped at her bosom as though trying to stamp out the broiling heat. She pounded her breasts until her flaming right arm fell helplessly to her side. Her left hand jerked. Fat, water, and blood oozed out of her finger tips. As, one more, her eyes squeezed shut, she screamed even more shrilly. The squealing went on and on becoming even more high pitched. The erratic wind blew away the flames and then slackened, letting them return, again and again and again.
At one point, where it seemed no one could possibly scream with the intensity the flaming girl mustered, orgasm overwhelmed me. I wasn't aware I was digging my nails into Helen's tummy. Helen's only reaction, as though she, too, was experiencing some kind of moment, was a solid grunt.
Angelique burnt for what felt like an hour, although probably it was just half of that. Thank God for small mercies. Her body did not stop twirling and twisting, pushing forward in the clutch of the chain and then banging back against the stake in a random rhythm. Near the end she rubbed her left stubbed fingers over her eyes and yelled her last words in a cracking voice, "Mercy, I am innocent. I swear I am. Help me, Help me! Mercy! For God's love, good people, let it be over. God, have mercy upon me, and receive my soul!" And these were the last words she uttered. Her mouth blackened; tongue swelled glistening with a bright red and then it erupted in smoking pustules. Her lips darkened and shrunk to the gums.
I continued to hold Helen tightly, aware I was screaming too, panting and sweating, tremours rocking my body. With only a few small flames reaching up and licking here and there, Angelique's head charred black from the heat below it. She bowed forward and my last memory of her wonderful big blue eyes was of their looking at me reproachfully. With two puffs of steam they both suddenly evaporated leaving gaping oozing holes. She convulsed one last time and then went limp, her dead body held upright by the chain.
I felt weak as I let go of Helen, moved beside her, and took her hand. I was certain she was still thoroughly aroused. The crowd slowly dispersed as we silently walked down the hill, and I am a bit embarrassed to say that once down the hill we ran together to a small forest clearing where we were private. The crumbling charcoal human form that was once the bubbly and vivacious Angelique was left behind.
Between eight and nine months later there was an epidemic of babies among the women of the hamlet. Two years later I left for London, knowing it was my hand that, in anger over his taking Angelique's virginity, had put the poison in Geoffrey de Valeur's wine.
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jack cade
jack cade Tina De Dance is one of the great DFN authors of all-time and when she teams with Helen Fromme, the results are extraordinary. Thanks for posting.
July 5, 2022 - like - 1 likes this - Report
After Angelique
Helen sat and listened to the axes chopping wood. It was a sound she had grown up with. Her father was the woodman of the village and she regularly woke to the sound of him and her brother chopping wood into suitable lengths for burning. Over the years she had grown to hardly register the sound at all...until Angelique that is.
Helen, Tina and Angelique had been friends for as long as they could remember but it was only three years ago that Tina had finally persuaded Helen and Angelique to accompany her to an execution. It was a gypsy woman who was hanged for theft. They tied her hands behind her back, slipped the rope around her neck and slowly hoisted her up. As she kicked, struggled to free her hands and gasped for air while her face contorted and her lips frothed Helen felt herself overtaken by a terrible excitement that reached its climax when the woman made her last desperate thrusts with her legs and then went still, spinning slowly, her eys wide and staring, her tongue lolling from her blue lips. When they spoke afterwards Angelique admitted to feeling it too and they both concluded that Tina who had been attending executions since her early teens felt the same.
It was two weeks later that Angelique was arrested and tried for the murder of Geoffrey de Valois. When the judge sentenced her to burn Helen had felt her stomach flip in anticipation. During the two weeks before the sentence was carried out Helen felt a dreadful guilt about her mounting excitement. She had never seen a burning and although she felt guilty at relishing her friend's execution she found that she could not help herself. On the morning of Angelique's sweltering day she woke early after only a fitful sleep to her her father and brother chopping the wood.This time and for ever after the sound of the axe as it split the logs into burnable lengths made her stomach flip and her privates throb with and almost uncontrolable passion.
Helen and Tina had had a grandstand view as their friend burned to death. She actually only burned for about half and hour but it seemed like a lifetime to Helen. She and Tina hugged each other as their friend kicked and flailed and screamed and burned and she found her arrousal at witnessing this appauling. This horror however did not stop her attending the two other burnings that had taken place following Tina's departure from the village.The first was an older woman. Her husabnd, a notorious bully and drunk hurled a hatchet at her in the main street of the village. It missed by several feet and embedded in the earth. She grabbed it and hurled it back. Her aim was better and she hit him full in the forehead killing him instantly. The trial was short and one week later Helen was in the front row of the crowd as the woman was lifted onto the wedge seat of the iron stake and chained to it by the waist.She was not a beautiful woman like Angelique and some of the men laughed when her shift was ripped of prior to the burning. The two women who carried out the village's executions and other unpleasant jobs painted her with pitch as she squirmed and struggled. In spite of her age she put up a good fight and lasted nearly 15 minutes amidst the flames before her heart gave out and she suddenly slumped forward, her huge, pendulous breasts swinging back and forth in the raging flames. With no Tina to accompany her Helen had taken her younger sister and they had hugged and rocked together as the woman burned, their noses full of the smell and their ears full of the sound of her punishment.
The next burning Helen attended had been of a servant from an outlying farm. The farmer claimed she had poisoned his sickly wife and her vehement denials were ignored. The judge sent her to the castle at Nottingham to be questioned. She went seated astride a pony with her hands tied behind her back. When she returned for execution, having made a full confession of her crime, she was lying in the back of a cart groaning with each bump and jolt. They said that she was nearly six inches taller following her time on the rack and two of the town's men who had been working near the castle while she was there swore that could hear her screams and her joints dislocating outside the walls.Her cries as they lifted her from the cart and carried her to the stake were dreadful. Because of her condition they wrapped a rope around her chest under her arms to hold her upright so she should not die too soon. When they pulled off her shift to apply the pitch it was obvious to everyone that her legs and arms had dislocated and they swung aimlessly as the pitch was applied. She screamed of course as she burned but the damage she had suffered meant that there was no kicking, stomping or flailing as the fire did its work and she died fairly swiftly.Some of the villagers noted that her former employer, whose wife she was convicted of murdering was soon married again to the other servant from the farm, a buxom young thing.
The axes had stopped now. The wood was ready. Helen wondered how much her father had cut. He was notorious for giving short measure and poor quality where he could get away with it and as this load was to burn a woman it was unlikely he would get any complaints if the execution was longer and more painful than it would have been with a full load of seasoned wood.It would soon be time and Helen would be at her fourth burning. This time she would not need to trudge up Execution Hill and then elbow her way to a good position in the front row. Her stomach flipped again at the thought of the stake with its pile of wood at the base and she wondered if the heated excited feeling that was making her body quiver would disapear when they dragged her from the cart, sat her astride the little iron seat and pulled the chain tight around her waist.
The sound of the bolts being drawn back on the door to her cell made her start and she half stood shaking with a mixture of fear and excitement as the door opened and the two burley lay women entered. The first, the taller of the two, had a length of thick cord dangling from her belt and the other held a crude, off white shift over her arm. The taller woman gripped her arms above the elbows, pushed her back against the cell wall and without saying anything began to unlace the bodice of her robe. Swiftly but carefully she undressed the trembling Helen who found herself completely incapable of resisting or helping. She passed Helen’s clothes to her companion who folded them neatly and Helen’s fuddled brain realised that the clothes were probably part of their payment for preparing her. She remembered now seeing a girl from the village wearing Angelique’s dress some weeks after her burning. Helen had wondered at the time how she had come by it. Suddenly her shift was tugged over her head and she was naked. Both women smirked when they saw her hard nipples and the taller one reached out and gave them both a squeeze. Helen winced but her moan was of excitement more than pain and the women seemed to realise this. The execution shift was pulled over her head, her arms were thrust through the sleeve holes and it was pulled down. It barely reached mid-thigh and was split to the waist at the back so it would not get in the way when she was perched on the little wedge seat. The taller woman pulled Helen’s arms towards her and bound her wrists with the cord leaving a length free to pull her along by. Then, with the taller woman pulling and the shorter pushing from behind Helen was half dragged and half carried out of the cell and through the main room of the jail to the street where a cart was waiting for her. As one laywoman tugged on the cord to get her into the cart the other slid her hands under Helen’s shift, cupped her buttocks and pushed her up. Once in the cart she was seated on a bench between them with her arms tied to the beam in front and the slow progress to Execution Hill started. Before they had gone more than a few yards Helen felt the hand of the taller woman on the inside of her thigh underneath the shift. Her body was shaking and she was incapable of speech but she moved her legs slightly apart. By the time they reached to top of Execution Hill Helen was shuddering and moaning and the feeling in her stomach when she saw the stake and its piled wood was like nothing she had ever felt before. They untied her from the cart beam and lifted her out. Realising that she was completely incapable of standing or walking they each gripped her under an arm and dragged her backwards to the stake, climbing carefully on the piled wood to get enough height to haul her onto the iron seat and sit her astride it. Then they wrapped the chain tightly around her waist, untied her wrists and left her sitting there, trembling and moaning head down barely able to recognise the audience of relatives, friends and neighbours who had come to see her burn.
The hour before they started the burning was a stomach churning, body shuddering, emotional maelstrom for Helen as she sat perched painfully on the narrow iron wedge seat. She lifted her head only twice…the first time when her sister Margaret brought her a mug of mead to drink and the second when her mother came to speak to her. Margaret proffered the mug from trembling hands without speaking and, once Helen had drunk it smiled weakly and told her that she would stay until the end. Margaret’s voice quivered as she spoke and Helen wondered how much of her emotion was due to sadness at her sister’s fate and how much to excitement at the forthcoming spectacle. Helen’s mother came briefly to tell her daughter that she had brought shame on the family and that her father had lost a considerable sum by having to provide the wood to burn his daughter without payment. Helen’s mouth was dry with fear in spite of the mead and she did not reply to either of them. Head down she looked at the paltry pile of wood that surrounded the stake and silently cursed her father for his meanness.
At twelve, as the sun broke briefly through the grey clouds the two laywomen prepared for the final act and the crowd started to form into a semi-circle in front of the stake. Children who had been playing ran to their parents and several fathers at the rear of the crowd lifted their offspring unto their shoulders so they would have a clear view. In the front row Margaret, Helen’s sister and several of her female friends gathered together as close to the pyre as it was safe to be. The shorter of the two laywomen put some branches into the peat brazier to start burning and the taller began to stir a bucket of pitch with a coarse brush. Perhaps it was the silence that had fallen over the hill or the anticipation in the air that communicated itself to the poor girl seated on the iron wedge but she lifted her head realising that having spent an hour being ignored by almost everyone she was now the centre of attention. Her body which had been trembling the whole time now began to shake in terror as she saw the preparations. The laywomen had learnt from their experience with Angelique and the shorter climbed onto the pyre and gripped Helen’s arms firmly at the wrists, dragging them behind the stake before her companion ripped the shift off the terrified, moaning girl and began to paint her with thick, oily stripes of black pitch. She covered Helen’s breasts and stomach as the poor girl moaned and gasped, her senses aroused in spite of them-selves by the touch of the brush. Some of the younger girls in the crowd giggled and the older women shook their heads when Helen’s moans turned to a series of squeals as the coarse brush worked up her thighs, covered her pubic hair with pitch and was then slid back and forth between her legs several times. Both laywomen withdrew then their work done but Helen made no attempt to strike at them or to cover her-self as she sat naked astride the wedge. She ignored the priest who came forward through the gap in the wood to chant his incantations and commend her to the mercy of heaven as she continued to gaze upwards gasping and moaning, her breath coming fast and her whole body shuddering against the stake. Some of the women in the crowd tut tutted at this shameless girl’s failure to try and cover herself and Helen’s mother, thoroughly shamed now by her daughter’s behaviour slunk away down the hill. Helen’s father and brother quickly covered the gap to the stake with a little poor wood and then left as well. A woman stepped forward from the crowd carrying a lit branch from the brazier in each hand and waited for the Elder to make a sign. Helen, with her arms and legs shuddering as if she were having a seizure lifted her head to look at her executioner and let out the most terrible scream followed by desperate tugging at the chain that bound her waist. Tina bent slowly with her eyes still looking straight into Helen’s face and thrust the flaming branches into the pyre that surrounded her friend. Helen was tugging frantically at the chain and trying to form words in the dry cracked pit of her throat but nothing would come but terrified screams. The fire built slowly in the damp, poor quality wood that Helen’s father had provided to burn his oldest daughter. For several minutes Helen struggled with the chain and then raised her arms above her head and scrabbled with her feet to try to climb the stake away from the approaching fire. It was a gust of wind that finally blew the flames around the base of the stake and allowed them to lick at the skin of their victim. The pain caused Helen to forget any organised plan to loosen the chain or climb the stake and instead her legs began to stomp and kick and her arms to wave madly as she rent the air with furious wails, screams and cries. The crowd watched in silence and the flames flicked back and forth licking and then searing the flesh of the poor girl. Her calves and thighs reddened then blistered. The blisters burst dripping her fat to add to the fire and then her flesh charred blackened and dropped, charcoal -like from her legs. There was a gasp from the crowd when her pitch coated pubic hair burst into flame and she beat frantically at it with her hands until they too began to burn. She tried to put them out by beating them against her chest but merely spread the flames that were already creeping upwards. The smell of roasting was carried around Execution Hill by the oily smoke coming from the burning Helen and at least two members of the crowd were sick. In the hour the burning lasted the crowd experienced sounds and sites that even the most hardened of them had never endured before. Helen wailed, shrieked, screamed, bucked, writhed, kicked and flailed as the fire slowly climbed up her body until finally her breasts exploded with the heat and she slumped forward with a terrible groan. Her body hung, bent at the waist with the fire licking at it for several minutes and most of the crowd assumed she was dead when suddenly with what must have been a superhuman effort she lifted herself upright, her charred face a horror to behold, and lifted her right arm, charred and burning to point a flaming finger at Tina who stood in the front row of the crowd with her arms around the waist of Margaret, Helen’s sister. Her eyes glazed and melted, running down her blackened cheeks and Helen slumped forward again with a terrible gurgling sound. This time her body stayed down crisping and charring in the flames until her skull finally exploded and the crowd began to disperse. Helen had paid for her crimes and two weeks later her father was rid of the second of his daughters when Margaret left the village with Tina for a new life in the city.
Helen sat and listened to the axes chopping wood. It was a sound she had grown up with. Her father was the woodman of the village and she regularly woke to the sound of him and her brother chopping wood into suitable lengths for burning. Over the years she had grown to hardly register the sound at all...until Angelique that is.
Helen, Tina and Angelique had been friends for as long as they could remember but it was only three years ago that Tina had finally persuaded Helen and Angelique to accompany her to an execution. It was a gypsy woman who was hanged for theft. They tied her hands behind her back, slipped the rope around her neck and slowly hoisted her up. As she kicked, struggled to free her hands and gasped for air while her face contorted and her lips frothed Helen felt herself overtaken by a terrible excitement that reached its climax when the woman made her last desperate thrusts with her legs and then went still, spinning slowly, her eys wide and staring, her tongue lolling from her blue lips. When they spoke afterwards Angelique admitted to feeling it too and they both concluded that Tina who had been attending executions since her early teens felt the same.
It was two weeks later that Angelique was arrested and tried for the murder of Geoffrey de Valois. When the judge sentenced her to burn Helen had felt her stomach flip in anticipation. During the two weeks before the sentence was carried out Helen felt a dreadful guilt about her mounting excitement. She had never seen a burning and although she felt guilty at relishing her friend's execution she found that she could not help herself. On the morning of Angelique's sweltering day she woke early after only a fitful sleep to her her father and brother chopping the wood.This time and for ever after the sound of the axe as it split the logs into burnable lengths made her stomach flip and her privates throb with and almost uncontrolable passion.
Helen and Tina had had a grandstand view as their friend burned to death. She actually only burned for about half and hour but it seemed like a lifetime to Helen. She and Tina hugged each other as their friend kicked and flailed and screamed and burned and she found her arrousal at witnessing this appauling. This horror however did not stop her attending the two other burnings that had taken place following Tina's departure from the village.The first was an older woman. Her husabnd, a notorious bully and drunk hurled a hatchet at her in the main street of the village. It missed by several feet and embedded in the earth. She grabbed it and hurled it back. Her aim was better and she hit him full in the forehead killing him instantly. The trial was short and one week later Helen was in the front row of the crowd as the woman was lifted onto the wedge seat of the iron stake and chained to it by the waist.She was not a beautiful woman like Angelique and some of the men laughed when her shift was ripped of prior to the burning. The two women who carried out the village's executions and other unpleasant jobs painted her with pitch as she squirmed and struggled. In spite of her age she put up a good fight and lasted nearly 15 minutes amidst the flames before her heart gave out and she suddenly slumped forward, her huge, pendulous breasts swinging back and forth in the raging flames. With no Tina to accompany her Helen had taken her younger sister and they had hugged and rocked together as the woman burned, their noses full of the smell and their ears full of the sound of her punishment.
The next burning Helen attended had been of a servant from an outlying farm. The farmer claimed she had poisoned his sickly wife and her vehement denials were ignored. The judge sent her to the castle at Nottingham to be questioned. She went seated astride a pony with her hands tied behind her back. When she returned for execution, having made a full confession of her crime, she was lying in the back of a cart groaning with each bump and jolt. They said that she was nearly six inches taller following her time on the rack and two of the town's men who had been working near the castle while she was there swore that could hear her screams and her joints dislocating outside the walls.Her cries as they lifted her from the cart and carried her to the stake were dreadful. Because of her condition they wrapped a rope around her chest under her arms to hold her upright so she should not die too soon. When they pulled off her shift to apply the pitch it was obvious to everyone that her legs and arms had dislocated and they swung aimlessly as the pitch was applied. She screamed of course as she burned but the damage she had suffered meant that there was no kicking, stomping or flailing as the fire did its work and she died fairly swiftly.Some of the villagers noted that her former employer, whose wife she was convicted of murdering was soon married again to the other servant from the farm, a buxom young thing.
The axes had stopped now. The wood was ready. Helen wondered how much her father had cut. He was notorious for giving short measure and poor quality where he could get away with it and as this load was to burn a woman it was unlikely he would get any complaints if the execution was longer and more painful than it would have been with a full load of seasoned wood.It would soon be time and Helen would be at her fourth burning. This time she would not need to trudge up Execution Hill and then elbow her way to a good position in the front row. Her stomach flipped again at the thought of the stake with its pile of wood at the base and she wondered if the heated excited feeling that was making her body quiver would disapear when they dragged her from the cart, sat her astride the little iron seat and pulled the chain tight around her waist.
The sound of the bolts being drawn back on the door to her cell made her start and she half stood shaking with a mixture of fear and excitement as the door opened and the two burley lay women entered. The first, the taller of the two, had a length of thick cord dangling from her belt and the other held a crude, off white shift over her arm. The taller woman gripped her arms above the elbows, pushed her back against the cell wall and without saying anything began to unlace the bodice of her robe. Swiftly but carefully she undressed the trembling Helen who found herself completely incapable of resisting or helping. She passed Helen’s clothes to her companion who folded them neatly and Helen’s fuddled brain realised that the clothes were probably part of their payment for preparing her. She remembered now seeing a girl from the village wearing Angelique’s dress some weeks after her burning. Helen had wondered at the time how she had come by it. Suddenly her shift was tugged over her head and she was naked. Both women smirked when they saw her hard nipples and the taller one reached out and gave them both a squeeze. Helen winced but her moan was of excitement more than pain and the women seemed to realise this. The execution shift was pulled over her head, her arms were thrust through the sleeve holes and it was pulled down. It barely reached mid-thigh and was split to the waist at the back so it would not get in the way when she was perched on the little wedge seat. The taller woman pulled Helen’s arms towards her and bound her wrists with the cord leaving a length free to pull her along by. Then, with the taller woman pulling and the shorter pushing from behind Helen was half dragged and half carried out of the cell and through the main room of the jail to the street where a cart was waiting for her. As one laywoman tugged on the cord to get her into the cart the other slid her hands under Helen’s shift, cupped her buttocks and pushed her up. Once in the cart she was seated on a bench between them with her arms tied to the beam in front and the slow progress to Execution Hill started. Before they had gone more than a few yards Helen felt the hand of the taller woman on the inside of her thigh underneath the shift. Her body was shaking and she was incapable of speech but she moved her legs slightly apart. By the time they reached to top of Execution Hill Helen was shuddering and moaning and the feeling in her stomach when she saw the stake and its piled wood was like nothing she had ever felt before. They untied her from the cart beam and lifted her out. Realising that she was completely incapable of standing or walking they each gripped her under an arm and dragged her backwards to the stake, climbing carefully on the piled wood to get enough height to haul her onto the iron seat and sit her astride it. Then they wrapped the chain tightly around her waist, untied her wrists and left her sitting there, trembling and moaning head down barely able to recognise the audience of relatives, friends and neighbours who had come to see her burn.
The hour before they started the burning was a stomach churning, body shuddering, emotional maelstrom for Helen as she sat perched painfully on the narrow iron wedge seat. She lifted her head only twice…the first time when her sister Margaret brought her a mug of mead to drink and the second when her mother came to speak to her. Margaret proffered the mug from trembling hands without speaking and, once Helen had drunk it smiled weakly and told her that she would stay until the end. Margaret’s voice quivered as she spoke and Helen wondered how much of her emotion was due to sadness at her sister’s fate and how much to excitement at the forthcoming spectacle. Helen’s mother came briefly to tell her daughter that she had brought shame on the family and that her father had lost a considerable sum by having to provide the wood to burn his daughter without payment. Helen’s mouth was dry with fear in spite of the mead and she did not reply to either of them. Head down she looked at the paltry pile of wood that surrounded the stake and silently cursed her father for his meanness.
At twelve, as the sun broke briefly through the grey clouds the two laywomen prepared for the final act and the crowd started to form into a semi-circle in front of the stake. Children who had been playing ran to their parents and several fathers at the rear of the crowd lifted their offspring unto their shoulders so they would have a clear view. In the front row Margaret, Helen’s sister and several of her female friends gathered together as close to the pyre as it was safe to be. The shorter of the two laywomen put some branches into the peat brazier to start burning and the taller began to stir a bucket of pitch with a coarse brush. Perhaps it was the silence that had fallen over the hill or the anticipation in the air that communicated itself to the poor girl seated on the iron wedge but she lifted her head realising that having spent an hour being ignored by almost everyone she was now the centre of attention. Her body which had been trembling the whole time now began to shake in terror as she saw the preparations. The laywomen had learnt from their experience with Angelique and the shorter climbed onto the pyre and gripped Helen’s arms firmly at the wrists, dragging them behind the stake before her companion ripped the shift off the terrified, moaning girl and began to paint her with thick, oily stripes of black pitch. She covered Helen’s breasts and stomach as the poor girl moaned and gasped, her senses aroused in spite of them-selves by the touch of the brush. Some of the younger girls in the crowd giggled and the older women shook their heads when Helen’s moans turned to a series of squeals as the coarse brush worked up her thighs, covered her pubic hair with pitch and was then slid back and forth between her legs several times. Both laywomen withdrew then their work done but Helen made no attempt to strike at them or to cover her-self as she sat naked astride the wedge. She ignored the priest who came forward through the gap in the wood to chant his incantations and commend her to the mercy of heaven as she continued to gaze upwards gasping and moaning, her breath coming fast and her whole body shuddering against the stake. Some of the women in the crowd tut tutted at this shameless girl’s failure to try and cover herself and Helen’s mother, thoroughly shamed now by her daughter’s behaviour slunk away down the hill. Helen’s father and brother quickly covered the gap to the stake with a little poor wood and then left as well. A woman stepped forward from the crowd carrying a lit branch from the brazier in each hand and waited for the Elder to make a sign. Helen, with her arms and legs shuddering as if she were having a seizure lifted her head to look at her executioner and let out the most terrible scream followed by desperate tugging at the chain that bound her waist. Tina bent slowly with her eyes still looking straight into Helen’s face and thrust the flaming branches into the pyre that surrounded her friend. Helen was tugging frantically at the chain and trying to form words in the dry cracked pit of her throat but nothing would come but terrified screams. The fire built slowly in the damp, poor quality wood that Helen’s father had provided to burn his oldest daughter. For several minutes Helen struggled with the chain and then raised her arms above her head and scrabbled with her feet to try to climb the stake away from the approaching fire. It was a gust of wind that finally blew the flames around the base of the stake and allowed them to lick at the skin of their victim. The pain caused Helen to forget any organised plan to loosen the chain or climb the stake and instead her legs began to stomp and kick and her arms to wave madly as she rent the air with furious wails, screams and cries. The crowd watched in silence and the flames flicked back and forth licking and then searing the flesh of the poor girl. Her calves and thighs reddened then blistered. The blisters burst dripping her fat to add to the fire and then her flesh charred blackened and dropped, charcoal -like from her legs. There was a gasp from the crowd when her pitch coated pubic hair burst into flame and she beat frantically at it with her hands until they too began to burn. She tried to put them out by beating them against her chest but merely spread the flames that were already creeping upwards. The smell of roasting was carried around Execution Hill by the oily smoke coming from the burning Helen and at least two members of the crowd were sick. In the hour the burning lasted the crowd experienced sounds and sites that even the most hardened of them had never endured before. Helen wailed, shrieked, screamed, bucked, writhed, kicked and flailed as the fire slowly climbed up her body until finally her breasts exploded with the heat and she slumped forward with a terrible groan. Her body hung, bent at the waist with the fire licking at it for several minutes and most of the crowd assumed she was dead when suddenly with what must have been a superhuman effort she lifted herself upright, her charred face a horror to behold, and lifted her right arm, charred and burning to point a flaming finger at Tina who stood in the front row of the crowd with her arms around the waist of Margaret, Helen’s sister. Her eyes glazed and melted, running down her blackened cheeks and Helen slumped forward again with a terrible gurgling sound. This time her body stayed down crisping and charring in the flames until her skull finally exploded and the crowd began to disperse. Helen had paid for her crimes and two weeks later her father was rid of the second of his daughters when Margaret left the village with Tina for a new life in the city.
Mary had been sentenced to death for the murder, by poison of her husband. The marriage, to a much older man, was forced on her by her parents whose interest lay largely in his substantial financial wealth.
Sadly for Mary he was not just wealthy but also had some powerful friends in the town so that when she was convicted of poisoning him they insisted that she face the full rigour of the law. Although husband murder was punishable by burning at the stake recently several women had been hung for this crime and in view of her age Mary might have hoped to escape with this lighter sentence. Pressure from friends of her late husband, however resulted in the judge passing a sentence of burning alive at the stake and ordering the sheirff's officers to ensure that the girl suffered the full punishment as laid down in the statute.
Poor Mary was made aware several days before the execution that she would suffer the full fury of the law. No strangulation. No damp wood to suffocate her with smoke. No pitch soaked garments or faggots piled to her waist. No cord at the neck to enable her to choke herself or break her neck with her struggles and no ropes to burn away allowing her to fall into the fire or faint forward thus hastening her end. Mary was to be made an example of for the people of Dorchester and the others who had come from many miles around, even London, to watch this young girl die in agony.
On the night before the execution a stake was set up in a field outside the town. It was a thick piece of hard wood specially cut for the occasion and 6inches square on each side and 14 feet long. A 6 foot deep hole was dug in the field and the stake was sunk into it and surrounded with stones and earth to hold it firm against the struggles of the victim. The earth surrounding the stake was beaten firm and then chains were attached to the back of it with a staple at one end, the other end dangling loose until the condemned girl should arrive to feel their embrace wrapping around her body. Wood was gathered and cut then tied into bundles of faggots and stored overnight in the cart that was to carry it to the place of execution. The cart and its load were carefully covered with a tarpaulin to ensure that the faggots stayed dry. To make sure that there was no risk of the smoke overcoming the victim and sparing her body the full punishment prescribed the wood used to make the faggots was birch brush which burned with great heat but little smoke.
On the morning of her execution Mary rose early after only a fitful sleep and prepared herself with the help of Sarah, her maid who had been allowed to attend her in prison. She removed her nightgown and stood naked while the prison matrons examined her to ensure that she was not pregnant (which would have ment a delay in the sentence until the child was born) and that she had not concealed any gunpowder about her person to speed her death. In an execution at the town of Canterbury several years before a maidservant who was condemned for the murder of her mistress. had managed to fill her vagina and rectum with explosive to hasten her end In spite of her fear as the fire was lit she found herself unable to empty her bowels thereby causing the flames to roar up fueled with the gunpowder and hasten her demise. Instead she suffered terrible torments as the fire ate into her legs and when the executioner, not realising that her loins were full of explosive, added more wood, the heat caused her gunpowder packed stomach to explode blowing off her legs, destroying her lower body and injuring several of the crowd who had come to watch her pay for her crime. Not only did she escape the full measure of justice but she managed to wound nearly a dozen innocent citizens.
When they were sure that Mary was not contemplating any terrible revenge on the innocent people of Dorchester assembled to see her die the prison matrons allowed her to get dressed with her maid's help. Mary first slipped on a short, thin sleveless black shift which had a round neck, fastened with a ribbon and was split to the waist. Over this Mary placed her red bodice which was laced up at the back by Sarah, and a red underskirt. These garments were covered with a full length, white petticoat and finally with her wedding dress which she ensured was adjusted with more care that for her wedding day. The mistress, satisfied with her appearance, allowed her maid to prepare her long blonde hair which was brushed out, coiled and fastened in a magnificent coif on top of her head. The final touch was Mary's wedding cap and veil which were placed on her head and carefully adjusted by Sarah just as she had done on her mistresses wedding day a few weeks before. Picking up her gloves and slipping them onto her small hands with the slender fingers Mary announced that she was ready. Her only complaint was that she had to walk to the stake barefoot and so could not wear her wedding shoes and stockings.
Although the prisoner was ready for execution of sentence on her body the crowd was not. A huge crowd had assembled at the place of execution but still more people were arriving and the authorities were terrified of a riot if the sentence was carried out too soon and people were deprived of the sight of watching this young girl suffer her lawful punishment. It was nearly midday before it was felt that the crowds were ready and the prisoner was finally called for.
With a priest leading the way, her maid at her side and guarded by 8 sheriff's officers the young girl was led out of her cell in the Town Hall and down the main street of Dorchester. At first she expressed surprise that so few people was about but when, after 3 minutes they reached the town gates and she saw the crowd assembled at the execution field she gasped and remarked that she hoped they would not feel their trip had been wasted. The crowd, who until this moment had been focusing on events at the stake where the executioner and his assistant were making ready for their victim turned as one when Mary and her escort appeared. There was an audible gasp as they saw this pert and pretty young girl, seemingly composed and dressed as if for her wedding walking slowly but steadily towards the place of her death. Mary's face was hidden beneath her veil concealing her expression but her step noticably faltered when she first caught sight of the stake and its ministers waiting for her. A word from the priest and a firm grip on her elbow by the one of the Sheriff's men and her slow steady pace towards death resumed sparing her parents and younger sister who were standing close to the stake the sight of their loved one being dragged or even carried screaming and struggling to the instrument of her death.
When the party arrived in front of the stake Mary and Sarah knelt facing it and prayed with the priest for a few minutes as the crowd chattered on. When the prayers were over the priest moved away to the side of the stake and Mary got shakily to her feet. She stood facing the crowd as the sentence was read by the senior of the Sheriff's officers. Her mother was standinf facing her with tears streaming down her face and her younger sister Jane was sobbing audibly.
At the final words from the Sheriff's officer "Mary............prepare yourself for execution" Mary turned slightly to her maid Sarah and nodded. The executioner and his assistant who had moved forward to help their victim prepare for her sentence stood hesitantly as Mary said "I am unused to undressing in such a place with such an audience. At least spare me strange mens hands at this time."
Mary removed the whit gloves from her delicate hands and let them fall. Slowly Sarah removed her mistresses veil and cap and then laying them on the ground next to the gloves began to unbutton her wedding gown at the back. When the gown was unbuttoned to the waist Sarah came to the front andtaking hold of the shoulders she pulled it forward and then down around Mary's ankles. Carefully Mary stepped out of the crumpled gown and immediately Sarah began to remove the white petticoat. She siezed the hem and lifted it upwards whilst her mistress raised her arms above her head as the hem reached chest level Mary dropped swiftly and daintily to her knees enabling the petticoat to be cleanly pulled off her body. Again she stood to a gasp from the crowd, some of whom though she had finally fainted with terror at the prospect of her sentence. Moving swiftly now the maid begand to unlace the red bodice that held her mistresses ample breasts firm. When the lacing was undone Mary shrugged herself forward and the bodice fell to join her other clothing on the ground.
Men in the front of the crowd jostled to get a better view of the young girl whose breasts were pressing firmly against the thin black cloth of her execution shift, her nipples hard with a mixture of fear and cold. Two deft tugs from the loyal Sarah and Mary's underskirt came loose and dropped to her ankles leaving her slim body and shapely bear legs on view. Mary reached out and kissed her maid then turned to face the stake.
Sarah produced a large, folded black handkerchief from a pocket in her skirt and made to place it over her mistresses eyes but was stopped by one of the Sheriff's officers. This girl was not even to be spared the sight of the fire being made ready and creeping towards her. The executioner and his assistant took their places on either side of the victim and holding her elbows firmly led her to the stake where a stool was waiting for her.
When they reached the stake she made as if to sit on the low stool which was barely 3 feet high and remarked to the executioner "It is too low I think". "You are to stand on it mistress not sit on it" he answered and Mary straightened up and apologised for her mistake."I am very sorry. I have never seen an execution such as this before". She climbed onto the stool and stood with her back to the hard wooden stake.
Quickly and deftly the executioner passed the dangling end of a chain around her slim waist and pulled it tight fastening it to the back of the stake with an iron staple which he hammered into place. Mary grimaced as the chain bit into her soft flesh through the thin black shift but said nothing. Moving less quickly now their prisoner was held at the stake the executioner and his assistant began to secure her body more firmly with other chains around her thighs, knees, ankles and finally criss crossed over her chest between her firm breasts. Carefully they checked the chains and then the assistant grasped Mary's wrists and pushed them behind the stake where the executioner fastened them with manacles. He then placed a final chain around the girl's arms at elbow level and secured it tightly causing her chest to thrust forward and the ribbon tying the neck of her thin black shift to part. Finally those firm ample breasts with the hard nipples were exposed to the watchers in the crowd as the shift burst open. A huge cheer rose above the field and unnoticed at the front Mary's mother fainted.
The executioner came round to the front of the stake and stood in front of his victim."I am sorry. I am just doing my duty mistress." he said and removed the stool on which Mary was standing. "AGH!" she gasped her face grimacing anew with pain as the tight chains took her weight.
The assistant was on the cart containing the wood faggots now tossing them down one at at time to the executioner who was piling them carefully beneath the shapely white legs of his victim. Mary watched with rising horror the preparations for her torturous death tears filling her eyes. "I am sorry for what I did" she cried out as the executioner walked to the brazier that contained the glowing coals and lit the torch that would start her agonising death.
The crowd, noisy and raucous until now went suddenly silent. The whole field was quiet as the executioner crossed to stand before the stake and its occupant with the blazing torch raised at shoulder level. "Oh God help me" begged the condemned girl squirming as much as tight chains would allow, her eyes wet and wild with terror now the moment had come. Slowly the torch descended and was thrust into the faggots, once twice, thrice to ensure they burned evenly.
A little smoke rose at first and the crackle of wood could be heard in the still silent field. Suddenly a terrible cry rose up but it was not the condemned girl chained to the stake but her mother who had just recovered from her faint to be met with the sight of her terrified, semi naked daughter, hanging chained to a stake above a fire of dry birch brush faggots. Silence returned as the poor mother whose persistance had brought her daughter to this end fainted away again.
"I meant no harm" the girl at the stake cried. "I do not deserve this death". "My parents made me marry. They knew I hated him". "Please, please help me someone. I did not mean him to suffer. Please help me".
Her strugles were becoming more frantic now in spite of the pain the chains caused her soft flesh for the flames were getting nearer to her naked chained feet and the heat was begining to rise.
"Oh God It hurts! Please, please stop it! AAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHH". Mary's whole body arched rigid in the chains for a moment as the dancing flames licked at the soles of her feet and then it began writhing, bucking, jerking and twisting as the fire advanced slowly up her legs. The white flesh was singed, then reddened, then blistered and finally blackened as the blisters burst dripping fat into the all consuming flames. The cries from the stake were like nothing human. It was hard to believe this young girl had such strength to struggle and gyrate so violently and to scream and shriek so loudly. Crazed with pain she banged her head against the hard wooden stake in a vain attempt to end her sufferings. Her beatuifully coiled hair fell loose partly hiding her face as she twisted and jerked frantically to escape the rigid grip of the chains.
Jane, Mary's sister had become separated from her parents when her mother fainted for the second time and now stood open mouthed with horror as she watched. "Cor. Look at her dance. She's really going". laughed the young man next to her. "Bet you couldn't wiggle your hips like that dear". "And look at those nipples. Hard and sticking out for the fire".
Even as he spoke to Jane, a look of lust in his eyes, the searing flames blazed up consuming the last of Mary's black shift and her pubic hair disappeared, singed away.
"MERCY! MERCY! OH PLEASE HAVE MERCY AND LET IT END GOOD PEOPLE"! But there was to be no mercy for this sinner.
As the field filled with the smell of burning flesh several of the more delicate witnesses vomitted and shortly afterwards as the searing flames reddened and blistered her smooth flat stomach the condemned girl did the same. Her head jerked forward as she vomitted, spewing the contents of her stomach into the roaring fire that danced around her and so she did not choke.
A few minutes later she was still howling and writhing in the chains when her legs finally charred beyond hope crumbled and fell away from her body. Incredibly she seemed not to notice the loss of her limbs which had been without feeling for some time but her shrieks were piteous as the flames kissed her erect nipples and ate into the firm underside of her breasts.
Tongues of fire leapt onto her golden hair and Mary's head twisted and jerked as she banged it against the stake in a desperate attempt to beat out the flames. Her cries were inhuman now, terrible shrieks and howls comming from the barely human wreck chained at the stake. On and on they went interrupted only briefly when first her right and then her left breast exploded with the heat.
Finally about 45 minutes after the executioner had lit the wood the charred and blackened remains of the young girl arched rigid in the chains and as she uttered a last terrible cry her eyes melted and ran down her soot streaked face to drip, sizzling into the flames.
The fire continued to burn for sometime and the blackened carcass could be seen whirling and jerking in the flames as flesh dropped from it but there was no sign of life and the only excitement was when her arms charred and dropped off and when her overheated skull exploded leaving a headless limbless torso bubbling in the flames.
It was when her sister's skull exploded that Jane finally broke from the horror filled trance in which she had been held and turning, ran eyes streaming with tears from the field of death. A few years later her parents married Jane to an older man. Apparently they had learned nothing from Mary's experience. Jane had. She lay quiet and compliant each time he took her, her mind full of the sights and sounds of that terrible field where her sister died.
neocypher
Posts: 154
Joined: Sun Jul 04, 2010 9:21 pm
Thank you indeed.
Does anyone have Death of a Petty but Pretty Traitor or the Burning of Anna Carr? Afraid I can't remember the authors but I found the Burning of Anna Carr on a Russian website some years ago.
All sadly lost in a hard drive crash.
Thanks
Kari
Does anyone have Death of a Petty but Pretty Traitor or the Burning of Anna Carr? Afraid I can't remember the authors but I found the Burning of Anna Carr on a Russian website some years ago.
All sadly lost in a hard drive crash.
Thanks
Kari
I have lost sometime ago a story I wrote in collaboration with Julie, "The garroted ones". Apparently it is stored here: https://darkfetishnet.com/index.php/blogs/1047/606/the-garroted-ones
but I couldn't retrieve it. Can anybody help me to see it again, I would like to post it here. Tx
but I couldn't retrieve it. Can anybody help me to see it again, I would like to post it here. Tx
Well, I've noticed that the access to the stories at DFN is somehow erratic...
I remember it. That was the greatest story I have read! I think I may have it somewhere, pls, wait a while
Here you are:
Story written by Pavel in collaboration with Julie. Illustrations by Pavel
THE GARROTTED ONES
1. CONSPIRING IN THE SHADOWS
The mansion was dark and silent. As soon as the night had arrived, Isabel had
ordered the servants to retire to their quarters, remaining only in the company
of her faithful maid Manuelita in the large hall seldom lit only by a couple of
candelabrums.
Step by step, hiding among the increasing darkness, the other five members of
the group of conspirators arrived to join them.
Speaking animatedly, but in low tones, they dealed with the diverse aspects to
be discussed, from the unavoidable comments about the last atrocities committed
by the Spaniards in their attempt to suppress the increasing uprising among the
criollos, to the diverse tactics possible for each situation in particular.
Before ending the session, Isabel nodded to her maid and Manuelita left the room
for an instant, returning with a large bundle that she opened on the large oak
table.
A murmur of approval rose from the members of the group at the first sight of
the colors of the revolutionary flag.
Some of the men praised the work of Isabel and her maid, who secretly had
embroidered for whole months the banner that would be symbol of the criollo
revolt.
Still in her early twenties, Isabel Arreche had become, in a certain way, the
heroine of the patriots. Daughter of a wealthy Spanish trader, who had left her,
when he died, a respectable fortune, the young woman had showed at once a
strong and independent nature, added to her stunning beauty -which made her very
much admired by the men and also hated by some women, who couldn�t forgive her
for being rich, beautiful and intelligent at the same time.
She couldn�t care less about all that, since all her enthusiasm was oriented
towards the revolutionary movement. Spain had to understand that its colonies
had reached the point where they were mature enough to be independent. If it was
not the case, then it would be necessary to fight and blood would be spilled as
a result.
Isabel was ready to risk it all for the movement. She wouldn�t care to sacrifice
her life in combat if that helped to reach the independence from the foreign
oppression.
But never had passed through her mind that she could die in another way, a much
slower and painful one and, above all, infinitely more degrading. And soon she
will face in person a reality far sinister than the ever thought. The meeting
finished earlier than planned and the conspirators left the house in the same
furtive way they had arrived.
The women remained completely alone, and when they were getting ready to retire
to rest, the sudden noise produced by many loud voices and booted feet, like of
people surrounding the house, preceded the banging of the front door.
Frightened, Manuelita opened the door, finding herself face-to-face with a
Spanish officer, holding a handgun, who pushed her aside violently, entering
into the mansion followed by several soldiers with bayonets ready n their
rifles.
"Where are the others?" shouted almost in the face of Isabel, who had arrived
to see what all that fuss was about holding a candlelight. "Whom are you
talking about?" answered the young woman, trying to conceal her growing fear,
since she suspected that they had been obviously discovered, perhaps by a
delation, and the soldiers had come to arrest them all.
The officer was going say something in return, when one of the soldiers
searching the house returned holding the evidence they were looking for: the
flag embroidered by herself and Manuelita.
That was enough. With one soldier grabbing each woman by their arms, Isabel and
Manuelita were taken, under the amazed eyes of the rest of the servants, already
well awoken, arrested to the military quarters, to be fully interrogated and
sent to trial.
2- IN THE SINISTER PRISON
Even under serious suspicion of belonging to the seditious group, Isabel still
was an important member of the Creole society. With all his ruthlessness,
Colonel Munoz didn�t dare to put a hand on her, at least not until having a
complete confession or undeniable evidence of her complicity with the group.
Young Manuelita was another matter. Nothing more than a simple maid, though very
attached to her mistress, who loved her more like a sister than a servant.
Colonel Munoz decided to strike precisely on that flank and with affected
formality informed the scared Isabel that she was invited to witness her maid�s
interrogation.
That was carried out in the prison�s cellar, a place about which terrible things
were said. Once there, Isabel understood why... It was a large room, of stone
walls and floor, windowless and barely lit by the pale shine of the candles.
Hanging from hooks in the walls and spread here and there, an assortment of
tools that she immediately realized were just instruments of torture waiting for
the moment to be applied on the naked flesh of the victims. Muńoz told her to
sit beside him, telling her that Manuelita was due to arrive soon.
When the girl entered into the torture chamber, Isabel reacted in surprise,
something the cunning Colonel noticed at once.
Manuela wore only a gray cotton loincloth which barely covered the lower part of
her belly and part of her cheeks and was cuffed and shackled. Isabel hadn�t
seen her like that, almost naked, and in spite of the dramatic situation,
couldn�t but admire her splendid body, slender andwell shaped, her cinnamon
skin, her firm , dark nippled breasts and her long legs ended in beautiful
bare feet restricted by the iron shackles. Deeply ashamed, not even able to
cover her breasts, since the chain from her cuffs was linked by a short chain to
the shackles, hindering her movements, the girl waited in silence with her head
bowed and looking down, the unavoidable torment.
"Are you going to talk?" asked her the Colonel.
Manuelita remained silent.
He repeated several times, every one louder than before, the same question,
getting identical results each time.
Then he turned his face to the horrified Isabel and asked her: "And you, young
lady, are you going to confess or not?"
Neither time he got an answer, so with a false sight of sorrow said:
"Since the young prisoner doesn�t want to cooperate, nor does her mistress, I am
forced to sentence her to hang!"
He clapped his hands once and from a darken corner from the chamber
a man appeared who Isabel hadn�t noticed. He was an sturdy man,
wearing a black pair of pants and with his head covered with a black
hood: the executioner.
With fast and precise movements and with the help of one of the
guards, the executioner lead the terrified Manuelita to the center
of the room, were a rope dangled with an strangling noose. Below it,
there was a little stool and they made the prisoner to step up on
it, noosing her with the knot placed on her neck. Then they pulled
the rope until it began tightening around her delicate skin,
forcing her to stand on her toes to reduce the choke.
"Are you sure about not cooperating with us?" asked Munoz once more,
this particular time employing a sarcastic tone.
Having received no answer, he nodded to the executioner, who rapidly kicked off
the stool leaving Manuelita totally suspended.
Horrified, Isabel watched the unhappy girl, who, after a guttural moan of pain,
began to jerk and kick frantically, clanging the shackles. The grotesque grimace
in her face showed clearly the intense pain produced by the rope tightening
around her neck.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
MANUELA: I do not understand what is happening. I do not pretend to understand
politics. I only know Isabel and I focus my thoughts on her. In my heart I know
that I must not answer their questions. I must not give them what they want. My
silence is my gift to my beautiful mistress. I think of her face, the moments of
kindness, the warmth of her smile as I block out the harsh voices demanding
answers from me. They are rough and brutal with me. The men have enjoyed
fondling and abusing me while they stripped me and kept me alone, away from
Isabel. As they dragged me down into this terrible cold and dark interrogation
room their hands were on my nakedness, hurting me, proding and poking at me,
furthering my humiliation and agony, but only strengthening my resolve to
withstand their tortures for my friend. She is all I have left. My devotion to
her gives my pathetic life meaning.
For all my resolve, I am not prepared for their cruelty. I am
stunned when the questioning stops abruptly and I am dragged across
the room and lifted onto a stool. I am trembling, quivering with
absolute terror. I try to call out to Isabel, to tell her I love
her. I see he face in the flicking light of the candle as the men
put a coarse rope around my neck. I struggle on my toes to alleviate
the pressure on my neck. Before I can gain my balance or even let
out a scream, I feel the stool kicked out beneath my feet and I am
dangling. The room revolves crazily as I dangle from the rope,
swinging and twisting. I catch a glimpse of Isabel�s horrified
expression. My heart is pounding. I cannot move my chained hands and
I can only wriggle awkwardly at the end of the rope. I twist around
and see the grinning faces of my torturers. They are the last thing
I see before my world goes black.
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With her eyes bulging out of its sockets and the swollen tongue appearing
through the open lips, the hanged woman contorted in agony for a few more
moments. Obviously everything was planned to make it last as much as possible.
When she began to quiet down, announcing her near end, Isabel, not resisting
anymore, shouted suddenly: "Lower her, for Christ sake! She�s not guilty, but
me! Put her down and I will tell you whatever you want to know!"
Without hesitation, the executioner proceeded to lower the young Creole woman,
leaving her lying on the floor, not in very good shape, but still alive.
"Let�s see..." said the Colonel with a soft voice, "begin telling me about
that flag we found in your house..."
During the following hours, Isabel told everything she knew, avoiding all the
details that could compromise her movement partners, giving only the names of
those well hidden or out of the country. She accused herself of all she could,
praying to be believed, since she knew that she couldn�t stand another session
of torture applied on the poor Manuelita.
At the end, she signed all the notes taken during the interrogation by a scribe.
"Now you will be satisfied!" said disdainfully to the Colonel, "Now that I have
confessed you have enough evidence to send us both to prison!" "You are wrong,
Isabel," he answered with a mocking tone, "now we have enough evidence to send
you both to the scaffold. I never really intended to hang poor Manuelita like
that. The executions must be in public to serve as a warning. According to the
new Royal regulations, all executions will be carried out, not in the gallows,
but with the garrote. I will have the pleasure of garroting you in the main
square, at noon and in front of everyone in town. It would be a waste if the
people miss the spectacle! Don�t you agree?"
Isabel felt her hair bristling She hadn�t taken in account Muńoz�s� cruelty.
They were not going to be imprisoned. They were going to be executed, and with
the garrote...
As most people, Isabel was utterly afraid of the death by slow strangulation
with the garrote. She had once seen execution by that method and had ended
deeply frightened and nauseated at the same time. They had garroted a poor man
who had murdered his wife in a moment of rage; it had been almost by accident,
but the Court had sentenced him to death anyway.
He had been dragged by the streets dressed only with his pants, hands bounded
and his bare feet restricted by leg irons. The crowd shouted when he passed "To
the garrote, to the garrote!"
After putting him, like a sack of potatoes, on the scaffold, where the
executioner waited beside the pole with the iron collar, they had to hold him
strongly, after seeing the deadly instrument, the unhappy man had panicked and
tried to jump, all in chains, head down out of the scaffold. And then...it had
been horrible! The executioner had garroted him slowly, putting him to death
very painfully, in ten or more minutes of terrible agony. Then he had been left
there. Bound to the pole, his face congested and purple, eyes bulging and the
swollen tongue out of the open mouth. By the bulge in his groin it was evident
that the strangling had provoked an intense erection in the poor man. More than
cruel, the punishment had been degrading... And now that very same punishment
would be probably suffered by herself, Isabel Arreche, a prominent member of
the Creole society!..
3. AN ATROCIOUS SENTENCE
The judgment happened in private, to avoid any unnecessary commotion. With
suspicious swiftness, the Tribunal reached the final verdict very fast. The
accused were ordered to stand up to hear their sentences:
"Accused Isabel Arreche and Manuela Vargas; this Court has found you guilty of
the offence of sedition against the Crown, a Capital Offence. It is the
decision of the Court that you shall be lead through the streets, dressed only
with a knee-lenght skirt, barefoot and shackled to the Main Square, where you
will be publicly delivered to the Executioner to be garroted, your bodies
remaining exposed on the scaffold until sundown. Besides that , all properties
belonging to the condemned Isabel Arreche will be confiscated in behalf of the
Crown. And let�s pray the Lord have mercy of your souls!"
Both women were immediately driven to the cell where they would remain until the
end. The execution date was determined for the next day, just enough time for
the carpenter to mount the scaffold and be sure that all the people were
informed of the execution and could gather to witness it.
The women were forced to undress completely, the executioner, as
was customary, confiscating all their clothes, rejoicing at the
thought of the money he could get from the sale of the fancy
Isabel�s dress and shoes. His wife would have to be satisfied with
poor Manuela�s clothes!
After having their their hair cut short with a pair of dented
scissors, they were given the only garment they could wear during
their execution: coarse white cotton smock, loose and knee length.
Then they had their bare feet shackled with the heavy leg irons used
with forced labor prisoners and left them sobbing disconsolately in
the darkness of the dirty cell where they were to spend their last
moments.
At nightfall, the humidity and cold from the stone wall made them to
shiver, forcing them to huddle together to spare the body heat as
much as possible.
For a moment Isabel looked at their tangled legs and feet, thinking
that now they were equals.
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MANUELA:
We were both trembling and sobbing as we were shoved into the cell. We clung to
each other, crying. My throat her terribly. My tongue was numb and swollen from
my near death experience with the noose. I felt grateful, touched and unworthy
of my mistress loyalty. It was such a blur for me. I was barely aware of
anything but my death closing in on me, when I heard my beloved Isabel�s voice
begging them to stop hanging me, blurting out her confession so I could be free.
That she was willing to give up her freedom to save an unworthy wench like me
made me want todie for her.
I feel self conscious being so close to my mistress. After years of serving her,
it embarasses me to see her treated so badly, to be so close to me in these
conditions. It must be so horrible for her.
Somehow, because of her idealism, her class rank, her death is more tragic than
mine. I hate to see her suffer, to be so afraid. At the same I am so scared for
myself. She has always been the most powerful person in my life, using her
wealth and influence to move through society. Her generosity and wealth made my
life better. She is the most important person in my life. Being her maid has
made me special. Just being close to this woman enriched my wretched life. She
is cold.
I hesitate to touch her because it is not my place, but I want to comfort my
lady. I wish that my death could spare hers, but I do not have that option. I
have devoted my life to serving her. This is he woman I most love. She is
everything I am not; blonde, elegant, rich and respected. I wish I was her. To
see her in such wretchedness tears at my heart. I would gladly die to spare her
life. I have always admired her beauty, her courage, her nice dresses and
stunning jewelry. I wish I could save her. I feel so helpless seeing her like
this, I wish I could do something to ease her pain.
This woman whose needs and comfort I have tended to since I was a little girl,
barely old enough to work. Her beautiful blonde hair I brushed every night, the
beautiful dresses I cared for. I envied his woman and ached to live her life.
Secretly when I had a moment�s privacy, I would put on her dress and step into
her elegant shoes to experience what it must be like to be Isabel.
She calls me her Manuelita and tells me she is sorry she has gotten me into
this. One of the proudest moments was seeing the satisfaction in her eyes when I
sewed the revolutionary flag for her and her friends. I do not understand
politics much and I am not a real revolutionary, but I believe in the cause
because it is Isabela�s cause. I am proud to die with her. I stroke her head
and mourn her shorn hair and sing softly to comfort her. She looks at me and
gives me a sad smile that breaks my heart. This powerful, proud woman like this!
So evil. I see the horror in her eyes. My throat hurts. It burns when I
swallow. What a horrid experience. I have tasted death, glimpsed the horror and
pain that awaits my beloved Isabel and me in the morning. I wish they had let
me die. Now I have to experience that terror yet again. There is a horrid dread
in my stomach.
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During their whole life she had being the mistress, Isabel, and Manuela just
her maid. They were very fond of each other, but keeping the distance. She wore
elegant dresses and Manuela the plain servant�s clothes. While Isabel�s shoes
were of the best quality, her maid wore coarse sandals or even sometimes went
barefoot. Now both were in the same condition: plain smocks directly over their
naked bodies, feet equally bare, dirty and shackled with identical chains. And
they awaited a similar fate: each one with an iron collar squeezing her neck,
strangling her slowly. Two women sentenced to the garrote...
And they were both virgins, though the young maid was better informed in
reference to sexual matters because of the continuous coarse jokes and gossiping
the house maids and cooks were so fond of. And as virgins they would die!
Without even being aware they began caressing each other. Slowly and shyly at
first, with more daring caresses afterwards, under the smocks, hen the breasts.
Little by little they began touching mutually their most private parts, their
clitoris, growing more and more excited.
In spite of the cold, they stripped off their smocks, entangling their bodies
passionately, caressing each other with their hands, with their shackled feet,
licking and biting their nipples till they were erect. And they kissed, on the
mouth, tongue, humid kisses until, as of common agreement, they lied in inverted
position, sinking their faces in the other�s pubis, licking their clitoris, the
nose plunged in the black pubic hair, smelling each other�s intimate scents, the
salty flavour of their respective cunts.
Despite their desperate situation, they enjoyed the discovery of their young
bodies for many hours, having stronger orgasms every new time, mercifully
forgetting everything else: the prison, their chains and the sinister shape of
the garrotes waiting for them silently in middle of the square...
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MANUELA: Isabel touches my bruised throat, lightly with her finger tips. I close
my eyes and she kisses my hroat tenderly. Soothing me. My mistress licks my
throat, her tongue wet and soothing the hurt. I feel like a kitten being licked
by her mother cat. I hold myself still, savoring the sensation of my mistress�
tongue on my throat. She is so tender, so gentle, so loving. We hold onto each
other, clinging for the human warmth, the comfort in this horrid evil place. We
kiss. It is an electric sensation. I tingle. In her arms, in her kiss the evil
seems far away. I give her my tongue, open my mouth to her, desperate to deny
the terror of our circumstance for a moment of love.
I feel privileged to be here in this cell with this wonderful woman, to spend my
final moments with her, to share her fate. To die with her, because she chose
to be defiant. She has made me a better person. Isabel presses my head
downward, whispering my name, "Manuelita," encouraging me to kiss her down
there, between her legs. I hesitate. I never disobey this wonderful woman. This
is My Lady! But I do as she wants. I am desperate to please her, eager for a
way to provide her comfort. It is my responsibility. I am her servant, and this
is the only way I have left to serve her. I give her my tongue, licking her,
touching her with the feathery touch that I like for myself. Tears stream down
our faces as we make love in the dark, damp coldness on the stone floor. Her
fingers caress the back of my neck, so tender, as my tongue tentatively touches
her most intimate place. My tears wet her thighs. She turns around so that her
face is between my legs. She kisses me. Her lips touch me there. I am
embarassed. I push her face away. I am undeserving of my mistress�s kiss there.
I am ashamed. She is insistent and her tongue, so light, so gentle, makes me
forget the horror. She touches me and I tremble. I cry out softly, wince. And
relax. For a moment, I have forgotten I will die in a few hours. Just for one
wonderful moment.I do not want to leave her warm embrace. I hate the evil men
who are intent on killing my Isabel. I wish my death could save my mistress, but
at least I am dying with her, my death will have meaning.
4. THE GARROTE
They went for them, as announced, before noon. The priest, an hypocrite, abject
man, addressed them rapidly with a few confused words, feeling relief that none
of the girls payed him any attention, leaving them in the hands of the guards
without remorse.
After having their hands bound with a piece of rope, the unhappy women were
taken in procession, preceeded by a soldier rolling the drum, after him the
priest with his best face of sorrow and then the condemned, surrounded by armed
guards, through the streets to the main square. They walked looking down,
indifferent to the shouts and insults from the mob and their howls : "To the
garrote, to the garrote!", worried apparently just in avoiding stepping on the
sharpest of the paving stones with their bare beet, dragging their chains, not
thinking at all.
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MANUELA: Sleeping was inconceivable, considering our circumnstances. We clung to
each other all night long, caressing, kissing and whispering words of love and
mutual encouragement . Isabel kissed me and licked the tears from my cheeks,
stroking my trembling body while I cried in my terror. It was the longest night
of our lives and the shortest. The men came into our cells and pulled us apart,
making us stand passively while they tied our hands tightly behind our backs.
The men insulted us and called us rude names as they lead us out of the prison.
Isabel is quiet. I watch her, in my fear I do not know how to act. I do not
know what to do. Seeing Isabel makes me so sad. Even with her beautiful hair
shorn off so crudely and her beautiful dress replaced by a crude prison gown,
she still looks regal and beautiful to me. I try to act as she does, quiet and
resigned. It is all so surreal, so confusing. I still cannot believe this is
happening. I walk slowly, following the pace set by the priest and the soldiers.
I try to catch my lady�s eye to give her encouragement, but a soldier steps
between us to deny us even that moment of comfort. My throat is raw and burns
from the rope the day before when the evil prosecutor used my hanging as a trick
to make Isabel confess. I know the pain and horror that awaits us and that makes
this all the more terrifying. I am trembling so much as we walk, my knees are
shaking. I worry I may fall. I have such little strength.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When they finally arrived to the square, realized that everything had been
planned so nobody could miss the spectacle.
The scaffold had been erected well in the middle of it, and in full sight of the
surrounding houses� balconies, where gathered, as all around, a crowd full of
strong emotions.
Over the scaffold were the two garrotes and between them the executioner, bare
chested and wearing black pants and hood, waited patiently the arrival of his
victims.
Each instrument consisted of a vertical wooden pole, about six feet long, with
a little horizontal bench attached and an iron collar for the condemned�s neck.
By means of a simple mechanism which included a long screw and a hand operated
lever, the collar pulled back towards the pole, strangling its victim. On the
upper part of every pole there was nailed a sign with the name of each one of
the condemned and the offense that had brought her to the scaffold .
They climbed up the steps to the scaffold like sleep-walkers, without any
resistance. Before forcing them to sit in their respective seats and after
freeing their hands, with a sudden movement the executioner ripped off their
gowns, lowering them down to the waist, leaving them with their bare breasts
exposed. So they remainded, standing in sight of everybody. A whisper of
excitement escaped from the crowd. Now they were both almost naked, Manuelita
with her full breasts, Isabel with smaller but equally well shaped and firm. The
executioner instructed them to sit and bound their hands behind the poles. Then
he secured the chain linking their shackles to a hook on the floor in front of
each garrote: they were allowed to kick at will during the execution, but
without disturbing his job! After that, he collared them and stepped aside,
waiting for instructions. Through her already wet eyes, Isabel could see that
the best of the Creole society gathered at only a few meters from them, some of
them comfortably sitting on armchairs on the best situated balconies, ready to
fully enjoy the spectacle. She could hardly blame them! Not everyday a couple of
semi-naked women were garroted publicy, among them a well known member of
society, until hen very much respected and envyed!
Some of the ladies looked at them through small theatre binoculars, so they
would not to miss any detail of the grimaces the iron collars would paint on the
beautiful condemned�s faces.
One of them commented with irony to her neighbor: "The way they are,
semi-naked, hairs cut and similary chained, you wouldn�t be able to say who is
the mistress and who the servant!..And they probably will roll out their tongues
in the same way!
Colonel Muńoz nodded, and the drum rolled again. The executioner, standing
behind Manuela�s pole, began to action the lever, garroting her.
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MANUELA: A lifetime of modesty fills me with shame as I sit there with my
breasts naked before the crowd. Even the few times I was with a man, I always
felt embarrased when a man touched or kissed my breasts. Nothing in my life
prepared me for the humiliation of being exposed publicly this way. I cannot
close my eyes to shut out the horror of the crowd calling for my death. I am too
terrified. My eyes are wide and I try begging for someone to save me, to have
mercy on me. It is so incomprehensible to me that these people truly want me to
die�just for sewing a flag. I was sickened by the sight of the people screaming
at me to die as we were marched to the scaffold and I was sickened by the horrid
sight of the killing machine. The sensation of the iron collar closing around
my throat makes my heart race in horror. This is the moment I know I am going
first. No one told us who would be first, but it makes sense that they would
save Isabel for last. She is the main event. I am just a minor character, an
appetizer for the crowd�s passion. I am aware of the voices in the crowd. I can
hear what some of them are saying about us. I hate them all. I would rather be
here, dying at Isabel�s side than with those horrid people. I turn my face to
the left as much as the garote permits, so that I can catch one final glimpse of
Isabel. It pains me to see the horror in her face as she watches me struggle for
breath. The collar tightens around my throat with each turn of the lever. I feel
the pressure in my head, the blood pulsing in my veins. The image of Isabel
blurs. My vision is a red fog, then darker. I feel my tongue swell in my mouth
and I clench my jaws, dig my fingers into the palm of my hands and curl my toes
as I react to the collar tightening around my throat. I bite down, trying to
keep my swelling tongue inside my mouth. I desperately struggle to keep my
tongue in my mouth as I feel the iron squeezing my throat closed.
I do not want to look hideous. I do not want people to remember me that way. The
iron collar closes tighter and tighter. I feel my eyes bulging. The blood is
pulsing. I feel intense pressure in my eyes. I lose my struggle with my tongue.
I am aware of my bladder releasing, but I feel no shame or humiliation. I do not
care.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Feeling the opression of the iron collar in her neck, the poor woman
started to beg for mercy, until she reached the point when her voice
broke in a horrible guttural groan. Her face showed the horror: eyes
widely open, a grimace of intense pain and her mouth half-open. Her
body arched backwards, muscles in tension, projecting her breasts
frontwards, nipples stiffened, while kicking desperately on the
wooden floor. The executioner worked with deliberate slowness and
the unhappy woman�s agony lasted several terrible minutes. Finally,
her tortured body began to relax, and she rolled her eyes back,
tongue out, a spur of thick blood-stained saliva falling from it
down to her breasts.
Manuela had served her sentence!
Now it was Isabel�s turn.
The poor young woman had made the mistake of watching her friend while she was
garroted and seeing the intense suffering she had endured, had lost her control
and alternated spasmodic sobs with terms of repentance and supplications that
nobody heard.
It was useless.
With the same proficiency employed with the other female, the executioner began
to garrote her.
Isabel discovered at once that the pain produced by the tightening collar around
her neck was beyond all she had ever imagined. It was something absolutely
unhuman. The air couldn�t go through her crushed windpipe to her lungs, despite
her frantic efforts, opening her mouth wide, ignoring the fact that now she was
with her salivated tongue out like her friend. "Look, she�s rolling out her
tongue now!" said someone in the mesmerized crowd.
But the executioner had received precise instructions and exactly like before,
retarded her death as much as possible.
When, only after ten minutes of excruciating agony Isabel stopped kerking and
kicking, lowering her head, her body finally limp, a ripple rose from the
crowd, followed by a general applause. Justice had been done. During the
remains of the day, lines of people passed in front the scaffold to watch at
ease the nce handsome faces of the two garroted women, now purple and
congestive, the swollen tongues hanging from their mouths in an almost obscene
way, making some witty comment about their bare breasts and legs.
Most men in general had been aroused by the execution�s evident erotic content,
and that particular night their wives and mistresses enjoyed the spirits the
sight of the two unhappy women had provoked in their men. The idealist Isabel
had wanted to live as a free person. She had ended like a slave, strangled
semi-naked and in irons in some sort of degrading ritual execution.
5. EROTIC EPILOGUE
For a long time the cruel and infamous punishment to both young women was the
subject of public comments.
Many said the the execution had stimulated many spectators and that many among
them had "suggested" their women to wear iron ankle rings and a collar in their
necks, as if they were the garroted ones, since that aroused them the more. And
some also said that the fantasy wasn�t completely out of the taste of many
women either. There were rumours about certain lady�s special order to a
trustworthy blacksmith, consisting in a pair of shackles to wear while making
love with her husband and so doing to dodge the inevitable tediousness
produced, almost constantly, by long years of marriage.
In a well known brothel in town things had gone far beyond. One of the whores
used to walk among the customers with her hair cut short, barely covered with a
short skirt, her breasts bare and dragging shackles in her bare feet, led by
the arm by another girl, dressed with a black pair of pants, alse bare-breasted
and with a black hood. They were the "condemned� and her executioner.
The customer who payed for that bizarre (and expensive) fantasy, followed them
to a special chamber where there was a replica of the garrote. The
"executioner" bound the other girl to the garrote and collared her. Then faked
to garrote her, and the "condemned" began to contort and shake frantically,
rolling out her tongue, as if actually being garroted and in agony.
Tremendously excited, the man introduced then his cock in her mouth, and the
prisoner sucked it with professional skill until the man reached the climax. At
the very moment of the ejaculation, many of them called the name of Isabel or
Manuela, according to that particular moment�s fantasy.
It was also said that since the whore had initiated that macabre fantasy, she
had made a lot of money, and also that she had swallowed liters of sperm...
Some cunning people told as well that the whore had known herself the coldness
of the irons, having been sentenced to several months of imprisonment after
having provoked a scandal in the brothel, in which certain prominent citizen
had been involved. Some even remembered having seen her dressed with her prison
uniform, sweeping the town streets in the company of other female prisoners,
dragging her dirty bare feet heavily shackled, as it was imposed by the
regulations, utterly humiliated. After the unfortunate Isabel and Manuela, many
men and women had climbed up the scaffold to be garroted, but for every body in
town, when there was any reference to the "garroted ones", there was no
confusion and it was about those unhappy patriots so tragically executed when
they were still very young and facing a promising life.
The End
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