The Electric Chair

"Objection!" she cried.

"Overruled." He clicked the remote, and the vibrator increased in speed. The warmth inside her grew. Suddenly every point where the zapper had touched her tingled with an electric hangover, a memory of pain awakened by the pleasure of the toy. Her skin crawled, and she let out a shuddering gasp.

"The court has finished with its prosecution," said the judge. "Does the accused have anything to say in her defense?"

"Yes." Anne had thought about what she might say if given the chance. She might have repented, might have apologized, might have promised herself to community service or some charitable act of goodwill (which no doubt would have landed her with a cock in her mouth and a load of cum on her tongue) but this was not that day. On this day her inner brat assumed the driver's seat, and it was her inner brat that spoke: "My husband didn't deserve blue balls - he deserves black balls. I'm not sorry at all for what I did, and if you will find me guilty, then do so and be done with it. I've had enough of this kangaroo court. Do your worst."

Later, after it was all over, she would think back on these last three words and wonder if they had been worth it. For a moment, it seemed they had. Everything she said hit its mark perfectly. The judge's mouth fell open, his face an expression of absolute shock. Her inner brat rejoiced - Success! Nailed it! Got him! - then fell silent as he began to smile. It was the culmination of all the smiles he had given her that day, the smile of a man who has been dealt a winning hand when all the chips were on the table. Anne's inner brat vanished, leaving no trace she'd ever been there, save for the consequences Anne herself would face on her behalf.

The remote clicked. The vibrations grew stronger.

"Very well, Mrs. Richards. It seems you fail to understand the gravity of the situation. But you will."

Another click. A moan leapt from her parted lips.

"Do you think this is going to be enjoyable, Mrs. Richards? We have ways of dealing with wayward sluts such as you, who promise the whole pie but don't share a single crumb." Another click. A seemingly bottomless pit had opened inside her. Anne gasped as waves of pleasure pushed her towards its edge. "By the powers vested in me, I declare you guilty on all charges. For your crimes, you are sentenced to perish in the electric chair. Court adjourned."

He banged his gavel, and the vibrator jumped to its highest setting. Anne heard it screaming inside her, and as her sentence was read a scream of her own rose to meet it as the orgasm pushed her over the edge, and she fell into the abyss.

The execution.

The condemned prisoner was shackled and led down a narrow hallway to her doom. Her legs were unsteady, no doubt weakened from the last round of torture she had endured, and she had to be helped along by the quiet, demure man who served as her escort. He didn't mind lending a hand. If she was to ride the lightning, the least he could do was get her there...and maybe cop a feel along the way.

They went through the door at the end of the hall. It brought them to a small room partitioned by a curtain. In its center stood a large wooden chair. Wires ran from its arms and legs towards a console set up behind it, with two particularly large wires running beneath the seat. The prisoner saw the two metal implements protruding above where they ran and began to babble in her gag.

"Yes, good," said her escort, and not unkindly. "Soon words will be impossible, so get them out while you can."

The prisoner's cries continued, climbing octaves as they crossed to the center of the room. She was stripped of her orange jumpsuit, leaving her naked. Red lines crisscrossed her body where a cane had struck, and her ass bore the purple smudges left by a heavy paddle. None of it had seemed to bother her pussy, which glistened with fresh cum brought on by the beating.

Moving gently, the executioner lowered her onto the chair, making sure the metal shafts found their respective holes. The larger one fit into her pussy easily enough, but her ass had remained unmolested through her ordeal, and took some convincing to swallow the metal plug that was fed to it.

Once properly seated, the prisoner's arms and legs were bound to the chair with thick leather straps. Thinner straps ran above and below her breasts, as well as across her waist, pulling her tight against the chair's back. The parts of her still able to move trembled as the executioner brought over a dozen patches that he placed on her body, two on each breast, a pair under her arms, one on each ass cheek, with the rest scattered across her stomach and thighs. The last one was placed just above where the metal cock entered her pussy, and her cries were renewed as she felt it cover the small mound at the end of her landing strip.

"Hush now," the executioner cooed. "It will all be over soon." He began connecting wires running from the console to the pads covering her body. She jumped each time he plugged one in, as if she could already feel the current running through her. It was all imagined, the machine was off, but it gave a pretty fine preview of what it would look like when the time came to turn it on, how her tits would jiggle, how her muscles would clench. It reminded them of how helpless she was, and in their own, individual ways, each was pleased.

Next to go on were a new set of metal nipple clamps that bit hard on the perky tips of her breasts, made extra intimidating by the wires running from their ends. Finally, a black cloth hood was placed over her head and sinched tight around her neck. The prisoner was ready. The execution could now take place.

But not just yet. There were still a few things left to do. First, the executioner set a camera atop a tripod and took great care bringing his subject into focus. The warden had specifically requested it; later she would view the footage while curled up next to her lover, watching a hapless woman struggle and shriek as they jerked each other off. Then he set up a folding chair across from the electric one, and pulled a bottle of beer from the cooler.

Now it could begin. Buttons were pressed, switches were flipped, and the console behind the condemned prisoner hummed to life. She began to hum with it, a moan that matched the pitch of the machine perfectly, but stopped as the executioner spoke: "Anne Richards. Electricity will now pass through you until your soul leaves your body. Do you have any final words?"

For a moment there was silence, and the executioner wondered if she would forgo her last chance to speak. Then a voice, soft, timid, and full of fear, came from behind the hood. "'lease," it said, "'lease, 'ave 'ercy."

The executioner paused. "Yes," he said. "Mercy." For a moment Anne felt an impossible hope. Then... "May god have mercy on your soul."

He flicked a switch. Anne jerked in her chair as the electrical current danced through her, moving her stomach, breasts, and genitals in time with its insane and endless rhythm.

The executioner looked at the twitching, squealing woman with a tiny smile. There was nothing new to any of this - it happened multiple times a year - but there was something endlessly amusing about the way she always seemed to beg for it to happen, right up until the very end. For his part, he had done what he needed to. Now he sat back, sipped his beer, and enjoyed the show.