## Archive-name: supermodels_execution

From: marquis <marquis@mailmasher.com>

Subject: Supermodel Yasmeen execution fantasy (story+"rated PG" pic)

Newsgroups: alt.sex.asphyx,alt.torture,alt.sex.necrophilia

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Here's a torture/snuff story involving supermodel Yasmeen. As always, the pic is "on topic" only in context of the story.

Like my stuff? Send me Dolcetts! Or better still, post 'em so that everybody can enjoy 'em.

Coming soon...by request, pop superstar Madonna faces the guillotine. By coincidence, I just saw "Truth or Dare" the other night, so hopefully I'll be inspired to write this one in the next couple of days.

--The Marquis

Yasmeen reported for execution in a striking red bikini. She looked fantastic; the bikini top lifted and shaped her full, firm young breasts, rounding them into twin spheres of flawless mammary perfection. Yasmeen was highly conscious of the effect her skimpy swimsuit was having on the all-male execution staff. She could feel them peeling the bikini off her with their eyes. She was suddenly very grateful to have even the inadequate coverage provided by her bikini. Most female prisoners were executed in the nude; she had been forced to give the assistant warden a blow job to gain even this small concession. As hard as it would be for her to maintain her dignity with nothing but scraps of red lycra over her nipples and cunt, she would feel a hundred times worse if she were nude.
"I'd like to be hanged, please," she informed the head of the execution staff.
He laughed. "I'm sure you would." Slow hanging, while excruciatingly painful, was a lot better than most of the other tortures. Yasmeen had heard of girls lasting as long as twelve hours on the rack. She shuddered to think of it. "I'm sorry, but the gallows are full today. And anyway, we have something special planned for you. Andrews, show this young woman to the waterwheel."
"What? No, please! I...I thought I could request my method of execution..."
"Of course you can. And I just denied your request. You're going to die on the waterwheel."
"But...but what is it?"
"It's a combination torture. Stretching and drowning. I think you'll find it stimulating. Carry on, Andrews."
"Yes, sir. This way, miss." Helpless, Yasmeen let the young officer lead her down the hall, through a door and into a small courtyard. In the courtyard was a pool of clear water; a large, wooden wheel stuck about halfway out of the water. There were steel shackles on the wheel. Andrews signaled to another officer stationed by the pool; he helped Andrews lift Yasmeen up and shackle her wrists to the wheel. As they lowered her body to let her dangle by the wrists, her long, athletic legs slipped into the water. It was ice cold; she felt her nipples grow rock-hard inside the bikini top.
"Where's the leg chain?" Andrews demanded.
"Sorry, sir, it slipped into the pool again."
"Damn it, Johnson, I've told you a hundred times to secure that chain between executions. Fetch it up."
"Yes, sir!" Johnson fished around in the water by Yasmeen's feet; he came up with a thick chain which terminated in twin manacles.
"Get her legs out of the water so I can get this ankle chain on her," Andrews ordered. The other man took hold of a large handle and began to turn; slowly, the wooden wheel turned backwards, lifting Yasmeen's legs out of the water. Andrews snapped the ankle chain into place around her slender ankles. She was now firmly locked into the machine that would slowly kill her.
"Dunk her or stretch her first, sir?" Johnson asked eagerly.
"Dunk her. Take a deep breath, miss. You'll be under for a while." Yasmeen started to protest, thought better of it. Instead she did as he said, filling her lungs with air. The two men glanced admiringly at her breasts; they swelled up mightily as she filled her lungs. The two officers began to turn the wheel the other direction, plunging Yasmeen back into the water. She felt the icy wetness at her crotch, her belly, her breasts, her throat, and then she was under. How long would they hold her here? Long enough to hurt, but not to kill...after all, this was torture; it wouldn't do to let her drown right away. But as the seconds dragged on to minutes, she began to think they had forgotten about her. She began to panic. Her lungs were on fire; they felt like they were bursting! It hurt so much to keep holding her breath...she started to pass out. Maybe it's for the best, she thought. This isn't such a bad death...
And then the wheel was turning and her broke the water and she was gasping for life, desperately drinking down the sweet air. Andrews was smiling at her. "You don't get off that easily." The two men kept turning the handle; the wheel kept moving, pulling her completely out of the water. She felt the ankle chain go taut. Still they kept turning. And finally she understood. This was the second part of the torture. This was a stretching wheel.
They put their backs into it, turning the wheel until she began to scream in pain, then locking it in place. They just left her there to suffer as they watched. The agony was tremendous. Her joints and ligaments were stretched to the breaking point; they had nearly pulled her shoulders and hips out of their sockets. She was stretched so tight she couldn't move at all, couldn't do anything but suffer and scream. She did plenty of both, howling like a wounded beast. She learned a whole new vocabulary of screams as they stretched her, and she delivered all of them in a sexy, sultry contralto voice. They ignored her screams...no, that wasn't it; they listened to them, enjoyed them. She couldn't believe it, but it was true. They weren't just doing a job. They were getting off on watching her suffer.
After an eternity of stretching, they began to turn the wheel back the other way. She gasped with relief as the tension left her chains, but she knew what it meant: she was going back into the water. She used the few seconds between the two tortures to beg: "please, stop..." Then it was time to draw that deep breath again.
It seemed to her that they held her under even longer this time. Or maybe she was just exhausted from being stretched. In any case, she was already in tremendous pain--her shoulders, hips, wrists and ankles. And now her lungs. That was the most insidious part of this double torture, she realized. By taking turns like this, working on different parts of her body, they would make her last longer, and when she finally died, she would have endured a much more thorough torture than any single kind of punishment could possibly provide.
When they finally pulled her back up, she had just enough time to choke down some air before the stretching resumed. This time they stretched her further--they were torturing her to death, after all; the torture might be excruciatingly slow, but it did have to lead there eventually. She heard a popping sound, then another, and a wave of white hot pain tore through her as her shoulders were pulled out of their sockets. Nor did they stop there; they put enough tension into her dislocated shoulders to ensure constant agony.
She had no idea how long they kept her stretched like that. It felt like a million years. The pain transcended anything she had ever experienced or imagined; she had no idea why she was still conscious. She cursed her strong, young body and its endurance. She was ready for death; she welcomed it. Anything to end this agony.
She knew that she was still screaming, but she had stopped listening to herself. She was no longer able to think, or to feel anything but pain. Pain was her world; there was nothing else, and as far as she could remember, there never had been. When they finally lowered her back into the water, the pain softened slightly but did not end--after all, her shoulders were still dislocated. Some misplaced instinct for life told her to draw a deep breath, and she did. Once she was under, she tried to force herself to exhale; she wanted to drown. She couldn't face the thought of going back up again, to face another session of stretching. Yet even now her body rebelled, refusing to give up. She couldn't make herself expel that last breath; her body simply wouldn't obey. She began to cry, her tears mingling with the icy water. But at long last, the men above decided on mercy: they held her under as her breasts burned with the need to breathe, until at long last the air bubbled up, and her sweet lungs filled with water. Breathing that water was the last little torture she had to endure, and she almost savored it, knowing that it meant a blissful end to her pain. When they drew her body up at last, she was still, cold and blue.

Last modified (12/24/96 16:11:28) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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