Incipiunt Vitae Novae Pt. 12: Khalidah's Celebration

A kind one, I was pretty sure. Tani's body relaxed, and as Jen released her lips, she started breathing deeply, then undulating sensuously. Jen would teach her to enjoy the erotic side of being whipped, under the right circumstances. I didn't get to see it, but she'd climax before the class was over. The ribbing she endured from her colleagues who did get to watch her steamy whipping-induced orgasm in the bondage frame was sufficient compensation, Khalidah told me later with a sly grin, for what she'd suffered at Tani's hand.

Jen didn't have to stay in front of her to play with Tani's mind, as I well knew, but as she wandered off to resume her DM duties I heard another sound, definitely from outside my head though penetrating my consciousness just as thoroughly. I couldn't see past the black curtain but the sound strongly suggested that a second stake was being erected.

"What's up with that hammering?" I asked Bev.

She wiggled her butt against mine.

"You'll see."

I had no time to inquire further, since just then Ginny and Marissa arrived. Marissa pressed the vibrator to my aching vulva while Ginny brushed aside the crupper strap tips and gave both my nipples a nasty pinch.

"Totally against the rules," she excused herself with a cruel sister-grin, "but Jen gave me special permission, as long as I contribute two dollars extra."

As I rotated away Marissa handed Ginny the vibrator and dropped four dollars in the bucket. A moment later I felt the familiar grind of Bev's aroused body.

When I came back around, Jillian, back in the chains she came in with except her wrists were shackled to the poles of a medieval tumbril, made her lugubrious way toward us. Joanie, her executioner's outfit still bristling with implements of torture, brought up the rear, swinging a whip long enough to reach over the cart and caress Jillian's back, stimulating her to overcome the limitations imposed by the hobble-chain between her ankles with disciplined enthusiasm.

Once the cart reached us, Ginny spoke.

"So, sis, you thought you could get away with cursing me."

It took me a moment to remember my angry mutterings concerning the crupper strap, which once again dangled infuriatingly over my nipples. But how could she know? Who denounced me?

Ginny stared me down, and then I heard her voice, in my brain.

Ha ha, caught you with your guard down. Better practice your lockout.

She's a quick study, Jen's voice broke in. I've been coaching her for just a week.

Marissa turned to Jillian.

"Say it," Marissa ordered. "Tell the court what you told Kalisha on the spanking bench."

Joanie's whip flicked Jillian's back.

"Owwww. They're witches, both of them. A voice came to me. Kalisha said she wouldn't spank me until I told her exactly what was distracting me."

That was me, I heard Ginny's voice, between my ears. She smiled. Have fun.

"Sorry, sis. Looks like you're going to the stake too," Ginny called, out loud this time, as she walked away. Marissa and Joanie set about unstrapping us, starting by letting down our arms so they could shackle us before we were otherwise freed. Marissa ordered us to climb up into the tumbril while Joanie stood ready with her whip in case we tried to resist. She fastened our shackles to its side rails, one of us on each side. The whip flicked again, and with a jerk we were off to the black curtain. Jillian had to pull a lot harder now.

Once we were behind the curtain and parked to the side of the double row of folding chairs set up in front of the stakes, Marissa detached Jillian's wrists from the tumbril and fastened them behind her back, then the three of them headed back to join the party.

"So, what now," I asked Bev, rattling the rusty medieval shackles binding me to the cart. "Why do you always have to include me in your execution scenes?"

"You know me. I hate being punished alone. And besides, this is only the second one, so why the 'always'?"

I thought back to the night before the first one. I was so frightened. Bev's body, and my sister's, were so warm, so comforting. I wasn't frightened this time, but I was seething with frustration, and Bev, so much more familiar now, stood naked right on the other side of the cart. She must be remembering too, I thought, as she thrust her hips toward me. I twisted myself around and worked my tongue into her cleft. Bev sighed as I lapped at her pent-up libido, circling her engorged clit, wondering what Lady Dimitrescu would do to me if I allowed her to reciprocate. I'd had in mind asking her how, when she tried to enact scenes like this, she went about infusing reality with fantasy, but that could wait.

Indeed, it would have to. Bev was just so close, her flavor told me, when Ginny popped through the curtain.

"Cut that out, you two."

I obeyed instantly.

Bev glared at her.

"Don't think I don't remember what happened last time," she accused us as she produced a pair of ball gags, probably the pair Chrissy and Veronique had been wearing, from a pocket.

I sighed, but I knew it was for the best. I accepted the gag, allowing my sister to tighten it firmly around my neck. Bev resisted, but with her wrists shackled she couldn't really defend herself, so in went hers, and out went Ginny, leaving us staring at each other with as chagrined a look as two ball-gagged women can display.

So much for asking how Bev infused reality with fantasy.

I stared at her, at the cart, at the two stakes standing ready for us. What a near-ludicrous sight, the ancient, rusty manacles clamping our wrists to the rude cart, the pseudo-rough stakes, which clearly harbored no splinters, the club with its techno music and sprinkler system overhead, the cleanliness of our surroundings, our twenty-first century bright red ball gags...

I'd have to imagine for myself how Bev got into these fantasies. We'd be spending whatever time we had left staring helplessly at each other's sex-starved bodies, not so bad, I thought, given that we'd spent the last hour or so able only to feel each other's backsides. Bev looked marvelously fetching in her salacious red ball gag—I'd only ever before seen her wearing black.

We didn't have to wait all that much longer. Tani's shrieks, which sounded more aroused than distressed, had tailed off. They'd been punctuated by howls from Jillian, presumably caused by other guests since Kalisha was busy with the class, but those had stopped too. Several of the chairs in our area were now occupied. Now and then someone came over to squeeze our breasts, pinch our nipples, or finger us, usually commenting on how glorious we were going to look writhing on the stakes as the flames leapt up around us. Bev did seem to be getting into it better than I was. Joanie led Jillian in and shackled her to a back-row chair, then went back out. She returned a few minutes later with Ginny and Marissa.

Marissa sauntered to the furthermost stake and ascended the rear ladder, while Ginny and Joanie released Bev's wrists from the cart, but not from each other, and forced her to climb down. Ginny tore off her gag. Joanie pinched her nipples, hard, and she let out a shriek of pain. Almost all the chairs were full by then, and the group started to chant 'burn the witch, burn the witch,' though there was quite a bit of laughing and giggling and 'go Bev, you gorgeous slut' as well. Before they left Ginny took my gag off too.

No need for this any more, I seemed to hear.

I watched, still shackled to the tumbril and starting to feel just a little bit of the horror, as Ginny and Joanie dragged Bev to the crude wooden ladder leaning against the platform and forced her to climb. Bev struggled against them every step of the way, but not very convincingly, and once they got her up, they didn't seem to have much trouble getting her to turn around so Marissa could unshackle her wrists and reshackle them behind the stake. Ginny returned to her seat.

Joanie climbed part way up the front ladder as Marissa climbed down the one in back and began shuttling between the stake and the stack of accessories off to one side ready to facilitate the execution of our sentences. She lifted out a pole about the length of Bev's legs, with a generously sized dildo fastened on one end.

Anachronistic? Maybe. I hadn't seen anything like it in artistic depictions, but that doesn't mean something like it wasn't ever used. A little lower down, the pole sported a magic wand, taped firmly on, the wand's bulb aligned with the base of the dildo. That was definitely anachronistic, as were the shiny silver stripes gracing the dildo's sides.

A wave of desperation flooded my body. I shuddered and clattered my shackles, forced to acknowledge there'd be no way I could resist the erotic torment of that device and remain chaste for Lady Dimitrescu. As Marissa handed Joanie the tricked-out pole, I pictured myself writhing in orgasm at the exact moment Lady Dimitrescu came in, then suffering the consequences at her hand.

Joanie impaled Bev on the dildo-end of the rude stick with one swift motion. The insertion looked brutal but it couldn't have been too cruel, I figured, as Bev let out a gasp of pleasure, not pain, as the ruthless intruder slid in. Once the dildo disappeared inside, Joanie nestled the wand's bulb between the lips of her slippery vulva. Then she pushed the other end of the pole up onto the platform and slid it back between Bev's feet, setting it into a shallow socket just in front of the stake.

Joanie continued with her executioner's duties just as competently and efficiently as she pursued her vocation in the penitentiary. Impaling accomplished, she moved behind the stake and ascended the rear ladder. Marissa walked over to a wooden barrel, bent over it, fished around for a few seconds, and drew out a soaking wet length of rough, medieval-looking rope. She handed it up to Joanie, who threaded it through Bev's armpits, over her chest above her breasts, then back around, circling Bev and the stake twice. She pulled back hard on the rope and tied it off behind as Bev squirmed and struggled in distress. All a sham, I knew; Bev simply wanted to make it easier for Joanie to get out all the slack and tie her as tightly as possible. Water squeezed out of the soaked rope and dribbled through Bev's cleavage, tiny glistening rivulets dancing in the club's lights as they made their way past her navel, over her impaled snatch, down the insides of her thighs to puddle at her feet.

Were we going to be steamed alive? How much of this followed Bev's script: how much was Joanie's revision, I wondered? I sensed that either way, Bev was pleased at the way the scene was evolving. She turned my way and gave a little grin, a reminder that my turn was coming.

Joanie descended the ladder part way, then took another soggy piece of rope from Marissa. She wrapped it four times around Bev's thighs, squeezing her around the magic wand, hiding it almost out of sight. She tied the rope off just below Bev's buttocks, leaving a couple of feet of extra at each end, which she looped around the stake and tied off behind. Bev would be still be able to writhe pornographically as the flames rose about her, the motion of that part of her body only minimally restricted.

The last length of rope went around Bev's legs. Starting just above her ankles, it spiraled upward in close-wound loops around the rough wooden stake behind her, around the small smooth pole trapped within. Circling six times, it anchored the lower end of her body unequivocally.

I could get into this, I imagined, testing my connections to the tumbril. I like tight bondage, and at that point, Lady Dimitrescu be damned. I wouldn't be able to help coming anyway; I'd soon be writhing lasciviously on the stake as the fan-blown paper flames tickled my body, the vibrator buzzing away at my clit. Before long I'd be wriggling my poor impaled pussy for the crowd's pleasure, and I'd take my well deserved punishment without complaint afterward.

I thought Bev's preparations were finished, but there was more. As Joanie remounted the ladder in front, Marissa lifted a rusty iron chain from the accessory pile. It must have been almost ten feet long: Marissa had to loop it over her arm several times. She climbed the rear ladder and passed the chain over Bev's shoulders. Joanie crossed the chain through Bev's cleavage and passed the ends back to Marissa, who crossed them behind the stake and returned them.

Joanie took up most of the slack as she crossed the chain a second time over Bev, at her belly, then held the ends close together behind her while Marissa secured them, fastening them also to Bev's shackles, with a very medieval-looking padlock-like device. I wondered if that sinister artifact had in fact been tried in the fire a few times. I shuddered to think. Puzzling also was that it didn't seem to lock with a key, just a little twist-knob. If Bev worked at it, surely she could get her shackled hands into a position where, given enough time, she could get its hasp open and free herself.

Bev squirmed in her stringent chain and rope bondage, wiggling her crotch, about the only part from her neck down she could. She rattled her encircling chain and shackles and the viewers cheered, with a few cries of 'burn the witch' mixed in, which Bev acknowledged individually with smiles, since she could still move her head.

Then Ginny came for me.

"Your turn, sis," she laughed, detaching my shackles from the tumbril as Marissa hurried over to help. "I saw how much you enjoyed our execution last time, but for myself, I'll sit this one out, thank you very much!"

Ginny and Joanie dragged me from the tumbril to the second stake; I hardly took any steps at all. I almost lost my balance as I started up the ladder, but Joanie and my sister flipped me around and pushed me up backward while Marissa grabbed me from behind. Between the three of them they lifted me bodily onto the tiny platform, where I finally recovered my balance by grasping the rough wooden pole. Melissa released my shackles and re-closed them around my wrists behind the stake.

Ginny returned to her seat, calling out as she sat down, "Can't wait though, to watch you climaxing up there on your little stage—won't Lady Dimitrescu be pissed!" A moment later I felt the dildo thrust deep inside me, felt the nose of the vibrator nestle against my clit, felt the pole slipping between my legs to drop into its shallow socket.

So much for trying to remain chaste for Lady Dimitrescu. At least the vibrator wasn't on, not yet.

I dropped into subspace as Joanie threaded the first rope twice around me, aligning the loops above my breasts with expert precision even though she was working from behind. She needed no help from me to get the rope almost unbearably tight, forcing my shoulders hard back against the stake before she tied it off. Cold water squeezed from the well-wetted rope, tickling me as it dribbled over my naked belly.

Joanie worked fast so in less than a minute the rest of my ropes were in place, sealing me overtly to my fate. All the same, there was no doubt where I really was, in a club with sprinkler pipes barely visible but definitely there, far up in the cavernous black-painted ceiling. And, I was surrounded by friends trying to have fun, not cruel zealots.

But it was starting to get more real. What would this be like if it were? Surely I'd be terrified, not blisteringly turned on as I was, gazing at Bev, beautiful in identical rope bondage and sporting a rusty medieval-looking chain as well. She grinned back at me and wriggled, rattling it for my benefit. I'd have been jealous, but I could hear Marissa fetching another.

"Enjoying my fantasy?" she called out over the cheering, cat-calling crowd as Joanie and Melissa switched places.

Marissa climbed up behind, clinking with each step. She passed her arms over my head, and then I felt my own chain dangling over my shoulders, heavily and not altogether comfortably. Joanie crossed the two halves between my breasts and leaned in, rasping her stud-encrusted executioner's uniform from side to side across my rock-hard nipples.

"Ohh, how I love this," she cooed, leaning closer to whisper in my ear. "Maybe I'll get to see you in prison one day. How I'd love to prepare your body for the band's caress, watch you struggle between the plastic sheets, listen to you whimper to the shock of the anvil on your clit. If I'd been born five hundred years ago, I'd be doing this for real."

Joanie leaned in further, pinning the crossed chain between us. Without letting go of the ends, which were still plenty long at that point, she reached for her belt and pressed a button on a remote control dangling there.

"Urrk," I gasped, my hips thrashing with the intense electric spasm shooting through my vagina.

"That'll make you struggle more realistically," she snickered. "Amazing how small they can make the controllers now. It's completely hidden inside the pole. Let's test it again, not so high."

I squirmed helplessly as waves of electricity forced me to grind my naked pelvis against Joanie's armored crotch while she pressed her leather-covered bust hard against my bare breasts, squeezing the chain's rusty links painfully into the tight space between. She covered my mouth with hers and sank her tongue deep into my mouth, for a whole minute. Then she stopped.

"Umm, so nice. Too bad you won't be around much longer."

She backed up, passed the chain-ends to Marissa to loop around the stake, received them back, then crossed them over me again. One more time she pressed her body into mine as she held the ends together behind me so Melissa could secure them, but she did not kiss me again.

She locked me in her gaze.

"Wondering what the chain's for?"

I shook my head.

"You'll be dead long before the wet rope burns through, so why bother, you're probably asking."

I wasn't asking, but that didn't stop Joanie from answering while Melissa was busy fastening the ends of the chain together with my shackles behind the stake. I was surprised she didn't pull the chain very tight, especially given how tight my ropes were, and the fastening device sent a ominous ratcheting vibration into my wrists as Melissa twisted its knob.

"You're right, the chain's not very tight," Joanie whispered in my ear. "It's not there to prevent you from escaping your fate."

A surge of dark, submissive, erotic terror surged through my body as Joanie explained the chain's function, one second after I figured it out by myself.

"It's not attached to the stake, and it's heavy. The chain will hold you upright after the ropes burn away, after your body erupts in flames. It will press you down into the fire when the platform at your feet collapses, caress you as your skeleton disintegrates, ensure that your body's completely consumed, just as your sentence stipulates."

She paused for a moment to let that image sink in.

"We'll burn Bev first, so you can watch."

"Ugg," I exclaimed, looking over at Bev, by now buried in a subspace trance. Joanie descended the ladder. She called up from below.

"And no, you can't open the lock, even if you can reach it. You'd need to insert a pin, which you don't have, to release the ratchet."

I struggled against my bonds, partly to test them, partly for real, rattling my chain and shackles. The assembled guests continued calling out 'burn the witches,' but I didn't feel quite like smiling in acknowledgment. Then I felt a hand between my legs.

"Don't pretend you aren't turned on by this," Joanie snickered as she worked her fingers between my tightly bound thighs, finally reaching the vibrator's bulb. "I'd make you taste my finger, but I don't feel like climbing back up. You'll have to take my word for it."

Marissa took away the front and back ladders.