## Archive-name: ann's_en

It had been a brutal and effective beating, and an incredible, intense session of tender, hard fucking. Over an hour had passed before master and slave had returned to awareness. He was running his finger along her jawline, feeling the bone under her skin, the pulse of her blood. She sighed as his finger stroked her flesh. Every touch of her master was pleasure, a gift that she treasured.

"The Society meets tomorrow for a barbecue. I'd like to have you", he said.

She nodded. Why even ask? Such little things as what and where she ate had been given to him long ago.

He grinned. "No, no... I'd like to have you =as= the barbecue. To eat."

He kept looking right at her, smiling gently, as the breath drained out of her lungs and refused to return. She was surprised at the strength of the trembling that came over her. There was a voice inside her, one that she had not heard speak for a very long time, that was urging her to run.

"Are... you're joking with me?"

"No, dear, I want to serve you to the other Masters for lunch. I want to cook you on a spit over a fire and baste you with barbecue sauce. I mean exactly what you think I mean."

She looked at him, looking for anger, looking for rejection or some emotion that would make what he said mean something, but she saw only love. A wave of turbulent emotion, panic, love returned, enveloped her.

He folded her into his arms, kissing her shoulder, comforting her as the wracking sobs came, whispering "I know, I know you're scared, it's okay, shhh...". She grasped his hand and squeezed his hand and nodded.

"I'm okay, I'm okay... oh, Master, oh, God, I've =never= been this scared before, not even when you branded me. You... you want to kill me?", she asked incredulously.

"No, darling, no, I would never take your life. I want you to give your life to me... as a gift."

"You want... my life?"

"Mmm hmm. And eat you, too," he said, grinning and pinching her shoulder. "This is entirely up to you, sweetheart. We won't do this if you don't want to. But =I= want you to."

"Master... oh, please, I'm so confused. Help me understand -- don't you love me? Don't you want me to stay with you?"

"Yes, darling, I love you deeply, and if you don't want to do this, just say so and we'll speak no more of it. But we are so in tune now, so linked, that I thought this would be a perfect time for you to give all of yourself to me. And, I need lunch for tomorrow."

She aimed a half-hearted swipe at his head. "Master, please hold me for a while. I need to think about this."

"Of course, pet. Think away, and I'll be quiet as a mouse."

She settled back into his arms, feeling the brush of his chest hair against her back, and thought. Give her life to him? Or, less elegantly phrased, kill herself? Oh, =and= be eaten, as if bringing the death element into it wasn't enough over the line.

They had done so much together, so many things that she had never thought that she could bring herself to do at all, much less enjoy and ask for. She thought that she had given herself completely to him, beyond all boundaries, but now here was another boundary. Did she want to cross it? Was giving him everything more important than her life?

"You realize that this is insane..."

"Oh, and so much of what we do is sane, yes? Make a decision on what you want, not what you think other people consider sane."

"Master... is this what =you= want? You'll lose me..."

"No, pet, I'll =always= have you. Yes, I want this."

"Oh, god... if you want my life, Master, you may have it. I can't believe I'm saying this. I don't want to die..."

"Sweet... everybody dies. You get to choose when and how. Every song needs to end."

"Hold me... oh, god, fuck me again. Beat me, please beat me hard, Master, make me scream, make me feel alive... I want to remember being alive."

He woke her early the next morning.

"It's going to take a while for you to cook."

"Oh, god... Master, I don't know if I can do this."

"Well, up to a certain point, you can change your mind."

"Please, Master, don't tell me that, I don't want to change my mind. I don't want to fail you."

"I want this to be a gift from you; you will have to do a lot of this yourself. Go take a shower, I don't want to eat meat all covered with come."

She stuck her tongue out at him and skipped off to the shower.

When she returned, he took her to the barn out back, and showed her the barbecue pit. Her stomach flipped.

"And... this is where I'll be?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Pretty out here. Pity I won't be able to appreciate it. How... how do you want me to kill myself?"

"Oh, you'll still be quite alive at this point. You only have to do some of the prep work on yourself and impale yourself on the spit."

"You're enjoying this entirely too much..."

"Come in the barn and I'll show you."

They entered the barn. She looked around, smelled the straw. There didn't seem much here, just a few pieces of equipment with no obvious purpose. Her Master turned and handed her an electric clipper.

"Master?"

"You hair, dear. All of it. Hair makes such an awful smell when it burns. There's a mirror over here."

Her hair? That didn't seem to be asking much, considering, but it brought her to tears. She looked in the mirror, pulling on her auburn curls, evidently for the last time. "It won't ever grow back", she thought, and that filled her with an inexplicable sadness.

She turned on the clippers and shaved her head, and then her pussy, while her Master watched, sitting on a rail, silent, smiling.

She turned off the clippers and ran an exploring hand over her smooth head as she looked at the stranger in the mirror. Weird... swallowing, she turned and asked, "What is next, Master?"

He handed her an x-acto knife. She looked at it dubiously. "Should I cut my throat now? That seems rather anti-climactic."

"No, sweet, that's so you can give yourself a tracheotomy. The spit goes down your throat, you see, the longest and deepest deep throat you can imagine. With that down your throat, you won't be able to breath, and I don't want you to die from something as mundane as asphyxia."

"Oh, shiiiiit...." She moved back to the mirror. "How do I do this?"

"Place the point of the knife on your trachea, just here. Now press... harder... harder..."

She did as he said, she had done as he had said for so long, even things that hurt and scared her, and he had always been there to reassure her, to tell her that she could, to support her. The point of the knife had passed easily through the skin and was grating against the cartilage in her throat. A bit more pressure and the tough tissue yielded, opening a half-inch slip.

He pressed a small plastic grommet to the opening in her throat, and it popped into the slit, holding it open. "There, dear. Now you can breath with your mouth and nose closed... try."

She did, and the breath whistled in and out of the hole in the grommet. "Weird..."

"And now over here, darling." He pointed out a small platform a foot off of the wooden floor, a pipe protruding through it another two feet into the air. He held her hand as she stepped up onto the platform. "Down onto the pipe, dear, if you please. It doesn't look like you'll need any lubricant".

Embarrassed, she nodded. She had been leaking for some time. She got up onto the platform and carefully kneeled, lowering her pussy onto the thick pipe. It spread her mightily, and she groaned. It was cold. Finally, her knees reached the platform.

"Very good." And he started to turn a handle that lowered the platform.

She gasped as the metal probed deeper inside her.

"The way this works, dear, the pipe has to be up as far as possible."

Unable to speak, she nodded rapidly. He stopped lowering the platform when her knees threatened to lift up off it and her head was whipping back and forth in intolerable sensation.

"Look up, dear," he said, and she did, now noticing the sharp metal rod pointed straight down at her. "You won't be able to speak after this. Any last words?"

"I... I love you master. Thank... thank you for the life you have given me; I'm glad to give it back to you. I hope that I have pleased you, and I hope that this last thing pleases you as well."

"You have indeed pleased me, sweetheart. And thank =you= for all that you have given me, and especially for this. I love you, too. Put this in your mouth."

"What...?"

"It's to protect your teeth. I don't want you to break any when you're spitted."

"Thanks... I think..."

He lowered the rod until it hovered over her. "Tilt your head back, dear, and open your mouth."

She did as he demanded and he lowered the end of the rod into her mouth and into her throat. She emitted a last, strangled gurgle as the rod forced her to swallow it. Despite her extensive experience in deep-throating her master's cock, this rod that was plumbing her depths made her choke and gag, to no effect other than to entertain her master as her hands rose to tear at where her hair would have been. It was a long, cold, rod of steel that forced her to conform to its rigidity. She could now only breath through the grommet in her throat, and the whistling sound that produced was bizarre.

Eventually, she grew accustomed to the presence of the rod filling her throat all the way down to her stomach, and her hands rested on her knees, waiting. Her blood was singing, a sensation familiar in kind, but not in degree. Of a necessity, she stared at the ceiling.

When the rod would no longer slide easily into her, her master stopped. "And now, pet, comes the decision point. For you to be spitted properly, I'll going to have to send this rod through the bottom of your stomach and through the top of your uterus and into the socket of the pipe you are sitting on. It's going to hurt like a bitch.

"And now I'm going to non-consensually give you the opportunity to bail out. You've already done far more that I should ask of you, and you've already experienced something incredible, hmm? So... two squeezes and I'll let you up, and we'll put a bandage on your throat, and I'll fuck you 'till you pass out. What do you say?"

He held her hand in his. Two squeezes, and she'd be free. No, Master, you're not going to trick me like that, she thought. I never want to be free from you.

She wrested her hand away from his.

He looked at her in love and pride for minutes.

"Very well, darling. Prepare." He wrapped his hands about a knurled length of the rod some two feet above her stretched mouth. Her hands rested lightly atop his thighs as he summoned his strength.

And then he hauled down violently on the rod, piercing his slave, his love, splitting her flesh and spitting her on a rod of cold steel. Her body spasmed electrically, her arms flailing without coordination. Her eyes were impossibly wide and piteous and she grasped at him, pleading mutely for some relief from the unprecedented pain and damage she had suffered at his hands.

He held her, kissing the bottom of her lips against the rod, stroking her bristly head and telling her how proud he was of her, and how much he loved her.

She was surprised to find that the sensation tailed off from unbearable into mere agony, although she was conscious of even the most minute motion of her body around the spit. God, she though, penile metaphors aside, it =is= like getting fucked all the way through. And am I fucked...

He raised the platform again, until the pipe in her pussy barely held her nether lips open. "Stand up, dear." After a couple of shaky starts, she did so, sliding up the spit and finding that the pointed end did indeed rest in the pipe on which she had sat.

He disengaged the rod from the socket and led her outside. Her progress was marked by the small drops of blood that were running down the spit and leaving a trail behind her. He made her hold the top of the spit so that it wouldn't drag on the ground and led her to the barbecue pit.

"Lean forward, sweet". She did so and he laid the top end of the spit on the framework there. He went behind her and surprised her when he lifted the bottom end of the rod, and her off of her feet, and bolted it into the iron there. He returned to the front and finished attaching the spit.

"There is one more thing, love. If I left you like this, you wouldn't rotate with the spit, and you wouldn't be evenly done. So..."

She had had little choice but to look forward, and had already seen the collar with the sharp, barbed points, but only now realized what it was for. He took one of her hands, kissed it on the wrist, placed that exact spot upon the barb... and impaled it.

It hurt, it hurt like the devil, but still, not so much as she would have thought. Instead, it fanned the sacrificial spirit she found growing within her. Now that she had made the decision, now that it was irrevocable, she wanted it, wanted to give her body to her master, wanted him to destroy it for his pleasure.

Her other wrist was spiked, and tears of desperate joy fell upon the cold coals of the pit.

Moving to her feet, her master drove them too upon sharp spikes. Each agony now only fueled her passion.

"And now, my dear, lovely, excellent slave, one last thing I require of you." He pressed a control into her hand, which could only grip it feebly. "Press this button, and the pit will ignite, and the motor for the spit will start. Oh, and don't think that you will die instantly, either. It might take as long as an hour."

She had already pressed the button by the time he had finished. She felt the rush of heat below her, felt the welcome pain as the spit started to rotate and pull on her bleeding wrists and ankles.

He ran his hands over her, her stomach, her back, her breasts. She was greedy for every feeling now, every sensation. He bit her nipples, he tickled her clit. She was in a transport of feeling, either incapable of coming or incapable of stopping. The heat from the fire pulled her skin taut, as if she were laying at the beach in midday, the smoke stung her eyes, her master touched her everywhere. It was heaven.

He brushed her with thick sauce, which eased some of the heat until it began to dry and blacken. Her nipples became especially bothersome, being burnt, until her master thoughtfully bit them off, which propelled her to an incredible peak. "I've always wanted him to do that..."

The sauce covered her, eyes, ears, shutting out all the bothersome senses but enhancing the one she was most interested in, touch. Feeling. The lick of flames on her ass, the flesh browning, the dizzying rotation, the pressure of her weight on the pole that ran her length, and every now and again, her master's hand. All of it receding into the song her blood carried.

She was dimly aware of being prodded, and of other people's voices... "...delicious... ...done... ...hours... ... best..."

And then felt her awareness going, going as it had so many times before, but this time, never to return.

Last modified (12/24/96 16:09:01) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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