Incipiunt Vitae Novae Pt. 12: Khalidah's Celebration

Joanie stepped away a few feet, turned to face me, and waggled the pin hanging from her belt.

"Don't want to lose track of this."

Me neither. I squirmed, the weight of the chain by then definitely uncomfortable on my shoulders.

"So generous of Khalidah to cough up the bribe the museum demanded to lend them to us. She didn't want to let us do this at her celebration party, but Bev begged so nicely."

Bev didn't acknowledge the accusation, but I didn't doubt it was true.

"Those chains look so good on you, on both of you."

I gazed at Bev's roped, chained body squirming on the other stake, and couldn't agree more. I wasn't sure if I was glad Khalidah gave in or not.

"I'll be thinking of you as I dig them out of the ashes once they've cooled. Just imagine the stories they could tell, if they could talk."

I gave a little shiver, still trying to imagine how I'd feel if this were real. Bev and I both suddenly shook rather more energetically as Joanie touched her remote. The ancient chains gave out a sinister rattle, as if replying, "yes, we're ready, we're looking forward to getting back to work after so many years cooped up in that dusty museum."

While Joanie and Marissa were attending to my preparation, volunteers from the crowd had been piling papier-mâché faggots around the base of Bev's stake, so by then everything looked just about ready for her immolation. I glanced over and roused her from her revery.

"So, Bev, how much of this was you?"

She seemed a bit miffed.

"Most of it. But Joanie's pretty good at improvising, don't you think? Now excuse me while I get back into the fantasy."

"Sorry, Bev." I muttered. I was still having a bit of trouble getting into the fantasy myself. The bondage was great; I felt thoroughly helpless, and more turned on than I cared to admit. Joanie's deeply erotic, wildly sinister kiss went a long way to bring that about. But I couldn't help thinking, on the one hand, I'm in a club, not a medieval square, and on the other, how brutal this practice must have been. Yes, I'd fantasized about being in this situation plenty of times, but to be bound here on this stake, with this centuries-old chain circling my body after circling so many others, was a peculiar sort of half-way, poised uncomfortably between dark erotic fantasy and dreadful reality. Could Bev navigate that space better than I could? She'd certainly had years more experience. And she certainly looked beautiful up there, bound naked to her stake, awaiting her fate, seemingly deep in prayer.

Faggots.

The idea that the modern derogatory usage came about because gay men often found themselves augmenting the fuel for a witch-burning is pretty much debunked, I reflected, but that doesn't mean it didn't ever happen.

I took a closer look at the stack under Bev, and to the extent I could, the one rising below my own feet. No gay male volunteers there, I convinced myself. Then again, there aren't any men, gay or otherwise here tonight, I remembered. I guess back then lesbians were pretty much ignored, unless they stood up for themselves. Then they were witches, and got a stake of their own. How unfair...

"Hey, Angie, stop overthinking. Even if you aren't getting into it yourself, you owe Khalidah's guests a good show."

"Go away, Michela. I'm not supposed to talk to you."

"Hear her out, Angie."

Jen's voice between my ears that time. Guess I have permission to telepath with Michela, for now.

"Jen's been teaching Ginny to communicate telepathically. She's an incredibly quick study."

Michela's cackle that time,

"Yes, I heard. Maybe it's genetic."

"Thanks for telling her about me last night. Now Jen's given me permission to talk to her. She's really cool. She's read Bev's story, quite enjoyed it. It was her idea to have you burned at the stake too."

"Ginny, you bitch, how could you..."

"Don't bother. She's already better at shutting out telepathy than you are."

I deserve to be executed, I suppose. After all, I did curse her for dangling that damn crupper strap right over my aching nipples...

"Doesn't matter. Point is, I can help you have a better time, if you'll let me."

Just what is she planning, I wondered.

"Just say yes," Jen's contralto voice boomed. "She's really big on consent, and she'd be terribly disappointed if you didn't agree."

Emotional blackmail for sure. But if I were bound at the stake for real, what choice would I have? I squirmed, twisting my torso suggestively, drawing a few catcalls, starting to catch the mood.

"Besides, if you don't say yes, I'll punish you even worse when we get home."

That clinched it. I sent Michela my telepathic assent.

"Yaay!" she cackled.

Oh, oh, what am I in for, I wondered, struggling harder, rattling the chain, grinding myself against the dildo tickling the tip of my uterus. Realism be damned, Lady Dimitrescu be damned. Let my inner witch blossom, for one shining moment.

Still, I had no idea what to expect, really, and for the moment, nothing unexpected happened.

A bell clanged. Joanie reappeared with a long pole terminating in a glowing taper, electric but pretty realistic, and thrust it into the pile now stacked up almost to Bev's knees. A fan buried in the pile started up, and gossamer flames of tissue started to rise. They might have looked silly, but a ring of projectors were arranged to shine on them, and the result was terrifyingly realistic. Given that they also shone on Bev's body, I wondered with a shudder just how realistic this was going to look in five minutes. Would I, would anyone, really, want to watch Bev's body reddening, blisters forming, blackening, her hair shriveling as the flames rose higher. Would she really look like she was bursting into flames, engulfed in fire? Are they going to carry this enactment that far?

Bev gave a little jerk, and after a few seconds began undulating sinuously, then more frantically as the fire got going. The vibrator, I remembered. At the moment when I'm supposed to be erupting in flames I'll actually be erupting in climax. I won't care what I look like.

Bev's body twisted back and forth, side to side in her bonds, her less stringently immobilized pelvis churning, writhing, egged on by electrical stimulation, to the delight of the cheering crowd of medievally-dressed women all around us.

The scene changed suddenly. The club vanished; the ceiling dissolved into a gray, cloudy sky. Two stakes stood in the town square, Bev on one, with fire leaping up around her, me on the other, mine yet to be lit. The square was filled with men and women, but except for a few old crones crossing themselves and praying as they stared at us, everyone seemed to be just going about their business. Was it commonplace and uninteresting for women to be burned at the stake? Did they prefer to pretend it wasn't happening?

Bev couldn't pretend. She screamed at the top of her lungs, over and over, thrashing wildly against the ropes holding her to the stake, rattling the chain in overt agony as the flames rose to engulf her. I squirmed desperately in my own bonds, gasping for breath when the wind blew the smoke from Bev's fire in my direction, but the sodden ropes around me held firm as the rattling of my own shackles and chain sounded out my tocsin.

Oh, the mass of emotions which surged through me as I struggled: terror, of course, but a bizarre acceptance as well, a release from all self-judgement and responsibility. After a few minutes of agony it would all be over. Anyone I'd wronged, any deficiencies in my character, all the problems of the world, war, poverty, disease, none of it would matter any more, not to me. Erotic arousal beyond belief surged through my body as I struggled in the bonds the held me fast, secure in the knowledge that I had no hope of escape. Even the little knob on the chain's lock would not turn, I knew, even if I could get my fingers on it, so I had no obligation to try.

Bev let out one final bloodcurdling scream, then fell silent, her chin falling against the rope still fast about her chest.

Oh Bev, dear Bev.

I looked away. In front of me stood Joanie, torch in hand, motionless.

"Not yet, Angie."

Oh God, how I hated, how I loved that woman, holding the end of my life in her hands. How much longer will she make me wait?

With a roar Bev's body ignited all at once, erupting in flames towering twice the height of the stake. Sweat drenched my body, from my own frantic struggling, and from the almost unbearable heat of Bev's immolation.

Just a minute later Bev's platform collapsed. Just as Joanie described, what was left of her body crashed into the fire, sending up a shower of embers. I watched, no longer terrified, almost relieved, as several landed in the pile of fuel beneath me. Maybe Joanie wasn't all powerful after all.

But she'd anticipated that, and thrust her torch into the other side to ensure an even fire. I felt the first stinging pain as flames leaped up around my feet. How long could I hold out without screaming, I wondered.

"Don't even try," Joanie called up with a malicious grin. "The more you scream, the faster you'll die. Trust me, I've seen it over and over. The ones who hold out, the ones who try to pray silently, they're the ones who suffer the most."

The flames rose higher.

AIEEEEE, I screamed as agonizing pain shot up through my legs. Then I started coughing uncontrollably.

But something was happening. The crowd seemed agitated, looking toward one side of the square. I heard hoofbeats.

Three armored women galloped into the square, Marissa drew her sword, but the first horsewoman knocked her over with a lance. The second swung a ball and chain around Joanie, temporarily disabling her.

The third dismounted, lifted the water bucket and doused the flames beneath me, then tore the pin from Joanie's belt and handed it up to the leader, who rode around behind me. I felt the ratchet releasing, watched the chain fall away, as they cut the ropes holding me to the stake.

They dragged my shaking body over the second horse's back. Its rider leaned over, and just before I fainted I recognised who she was.

"Lady Dimitrescu?"

"Shhhh, you're safe now. Too bad we weren't in time for Bev."

++++

I came to, in a chair, in the club, in Lady Dimitrescu's arms, arms enclosed in impressively realistic medieval costume armor. Her less realistic ball and chain rested beneath the chair. Ginny sat nearby, looking smug, watching Khalidah and Jessica helping a rather wobbly post-orgasmic Bev off her stake. Wobbly, but grinning from ear to ear.

"Wow, wasn't that stunning? Suddenly it seemed so real. I had no idea I could get so engaged."

"Don't say a word," Michela warned me. "I gave her the full experience, but she doesn't know about telepathy or mind control, let alone about me, and we need to keep it that way until Jen says it's OK."

"Uh, if you say so," I replied to Bev.

But what an incredible experience it was, I couldn't help admitting. And since I didn't cum, I didn't have to apologize to Lady Dimitrescu.

She punished me anyway, just as I'd anticipated.