by Willow Sears
The Prince was an awfully vengeful man so my guardian had much work to do. Despite his grisly work, he was all I knew. He was my real father’s greatest friend since before I was born. When my father was sent away on blood-thirsty business he would stay at our house and protect us, just as he always had. He was with us as much or more than my real father, and seemed to be just as fond of me and my three older brothers, but especially me. One day news came that my father had committed some transgression against the Prince and was to be condemned to death. As his family, we were to die also. In the desperate minutes before the guard arrived my father begged his friend to smuggle me away and keep me safe, to pretend that I was his daughter. This deception would only work because my guardian had once had a girl of similar age but who had recently died, along with his young wife. He would still have to move from his village, but others who knew of his daughter would never have seen her and so wouldn’t know she was not me. So he granted my father that last wish and took me as his own. He raised me and loved me and I learnt everything from him. It was always us and only us. He never remarried. Sometimes I would see him open the little metal box beneath his bed and kiss the lock of hair inside. I remembered that lock of hair clearly because I was jealous of it: it was jet black just like my mother’s, just like my own. Other than that he gave no love to anyone or anything other than me. He was my world and my idol, the only one I worshipped. I forgave him everything and he did the same for me.
My dream, the memory I held dearest, recalls the moment when we first shared our physical love. His darling, Salcie, in her own words, was a cock-lover just like Ariadne. He was huge and she could barely take him but she lusted after his pole from dawn until dusk, when she would coax it from his trousers. She was too hungry for it though, and he was too weak to say no, and they were caught with her on her knees in front of him, her cheek bulging with his cock. They were thrown in jail, awaiting the sentence from the Prince himself, who demanded to rule on all matters within his own army. I was young and was thus thrown a lifeline: if I claimed that the man they presumed to be my father had put the devil in me and forced me to my knees then I may yet be spared. I refused, declaring my undying love for him. We could not reveal that we were not in truth father and daughter because our previous deception would come to light and I would swiftly be granted a suitably hideous death to match that of my real father’s. And so we remained in prison, separated by the cell walls but still there for each other, awaiting the Prince’s judgement.
There was little doubt what fate awaited us, since the Prince in question was Vlad III, known to history as the Impaler. I didn’t need Harvey to furnish me with the facts about this man: I knew, as most would know, either through their history or through the Dracula legends, that this Vlad was a man who ruled with psychotic fervour. He may have been a Christian, but he dealt with all people he considered ungodly with ferocious zeal. He spared few wrong-doers. Some thieves might have escaped with having their feet skinned and then salted so that goats could lick them clean, but most were killed, either chopped to pieces or burnt so their flesh could be fed to relatives. Or they were impaled. This was his speciality and he made sure he spitted his victims carefully, even oiling the stake to ensure that the passage into the anus, through the body and eventually out of the mouth was easier, so the victim did not die too quickly from shock. The agonizing demise could indeed last for days. This was the sentence eventually passed upon my beloved guardian.
I was given time to consider my future. If I betrayed my guardian then I would be free, or at least I would live as a servant under my beloved’s ex-employer, who would surely fuck me whenever he could. Then it was discovered that I was with child–my own guardian’s child–and so it was apparent that sucking cocks was not my only crime. I was proclaimed a witch and sentenced to suffer the same death as the man who supposedly sired me and whom I loved. I was to be left for three months, on the Prince’s orders, so that the infant may grow inside me and not escape the stake once it was driven through me, since he ordained that all the devil’s seed, even the innocent and unborn, had to feel the Lord’s acute justice. My sweetheart was spared until the day I was to die, but only so that he could see it happen. His former employer took some pity, brokering a deal with him behind the Prince’s back because of his friendship and many years of good service. I would be spared the impalement and be beheaded instead, as long as my sweetheart himself delivered the fatal blow. This he agreed to do, without my knowledge at the time.
All this Salcie relayed to Harvey, and he relayed to me. The doubters amongst you might think it all too convenient. It involved a known figure in history that Harvey could easily have looked up and fashioned a story from based on the dream I had described. Some of you might think that this whole tale has never really been about me but about him: the middle-aged paunchy failed surgeon and pervert who nonetheless manipulated the beautiful but gullible girl and got her to fulfil his dirtiest fantasies. You might think that I have been used all along and that he fed me it all, getting me to believe anything just so that I would give him what he most wanted. You guess that he could make me say anything under hypnosis, even for the purposes of a tape. You know that the unknown language I spoke might be a load of old nonsense that I made up on the spot, and that there is in fact no translator or any story at all. You probably think that he has been putting me under and fiddling with me as I lay blissfully unaware, implanting ideas and unwarranted feelings about Ariadne so that I kept up my chase and became desperate enough to grant his ultimate and unspeakable desire, to have his cock cut clean off by a beautiful Domme. Some of you might think I knew what was going on and played along with him in order to encourage his abuse, or even that I discovered that he had been fingering me as I lay hypnotised, and chopped off his prick as retribution. Whatever you think, you are wrong. I know what he says is true because I feel her soul within me. I know the story is true because I dreamt the final part of it, that very night, after I left Harvey’s.
***
It is cold and grey in the courtyard. I have not been warm for weeks. My gown is dirty and torn, my limbs beneath bare and smeared with muck from the floor of my cell. My feet are numb and grazed by the straw. The crows are calling in the trees somewhere beyond the walls.
Don’t cry, Salcie–I promise it won’t hurt.
That’s what he had said but it was a lie. It hurt because he had broken his promise to let me die like him, to show my love for him. I would not be there at his death like I hoped. He would make me desert him and leave him to go alone, and I was worried that we would never meet on the other side if we went there apart. The three men sat with solemn faces behind the table, waiting to witness my death. I only realised my time had come when they brought me to the courtyard. I only realised it would be him to do it when they handed him his sword. I know he has not betrayed me. He is quick to whisper his reasons and to beg my forgiveness, and I have to grant it despite my fears because I always do. Even now he is trying to protect me as best he can.
He quietly bids me to bend over the bench. It is covered with hay to absorb my blood and the strands push through the thin material of my gown and graze my tiny stiff nipples. I feel the dry grass prick my belly and I am reminded of the life inside me that will never breathe this foul air. It strikes me that he has done this to save me from my greatest upset, of having our child spitted upon the stake before it is even born. Anything else I could have faced. I cannot rest full down because of the swell in my womb, so my bottom must stick up. I do this with pride, pushing it out towards him as I had done with such lust before. He breathes hard, wanting me to be good but proud of my defiance. His blade gleams in the dim light and I know he would have been at pains to make sure it was as sharp as he always kept it. I love him so much, especially now.
He is behind me and I push back to feel his touch one last time. My little bottom presses to his crotch and immediately the spark goes off inside me. I squirm against him and he begs me no. The mumbl
ings of the three witnesses rise, unsure as they are of my behaviour. But I am bitten and I want him, one last time. I reach back and pull my gown up to expose my bare rump and push out towards him even more. No Salcie! he cries but he cannot move away. Instead I feel him stir and press against my bottom. The witnesses are on their feet, pointing and shouting, shocked and outraged by my heathen behaviour. Only now are they questioning the wisdom of handing the biggest man there the largest, most deadly of swords. They have their weapons drawn but none can get near him and they call upstairs for more help as he flashes his blade across them and sends them falling back.
I look over my shoulder and see his flaming eyes. I wiggle my rump and call him to me and he is unable to stand back from me and deny my lust, even at this time. He never could refuse me, not after his first capitulation. I tell him that I want him one last time. I tell him to fuck me and send me to my death impaled upon his cock. He shakes his head but his prick has grown and demands its freedom. His chest is heaving and this tears fall but his huge length is out and he feeds it into me, stretching me to my limits and driving it home. I cry out my love and he fucks me, wriggling to smear his beast with my precious juice, so that he might slap against me without causing me any pain. But I feel no hurt or fright, only the bliss of his beautiful big prick. He flashes his sword across them once more as their insulting clamour grows. Never have they seen such an atrocity before the eyes of God. Never have I felt so free and exhilarated. He pumps against me and I feel and hear my little bum slap and judder. I know it is this he cannot resist; if ever I felt his reluctance I know I only had to bend over.
He drives me quickly towards my finish and I am desperate to feel his spurt. There are more voices and orders barked above the noise of my squelching young puss and slapping bottom. Then he roars and I feel a splash of warmth soaking the fabric of my back. I look around again and see the lance dripping his blood, driven right through his chest. The shock bursts inside me but his eyes burn even more than before and fills me with strength and unutterable joy. We will go together after all. Still he fucks me, even though his mouth drips red and his eyes have clouded. He slams into me and I see the second spear emerge from his chest and splash his warm gore onto my back. But he will not stop thrusting and they have used their weapons. He is so close he cannot stop and neither can I. As his pace falters I thrust out against him and wriggle my arse to wring the explosion from him. As I do so I come, loudly, shouting my love this time, smiling, feeling absolutely elated that I have got my final wish. With him almost done I feel him tense and yell once more and then jet his wonderful hot seed deep inside me. I pant and ride him and coax every drop that I can from his dying body. He whispers to me with his dying breaths that he loves me forever and I open my mouth to reply, but I don’t get to speak. I sense a heavy dull blow to the back of my neck, like he has punched me, then I see dark colours flash behind my eyes, and then there is nothing.
I am still the Executioner’s Girl. You might find me strange or sadistic or even a little deranged, but I know she possesses me and imprints her character upon mine. Whether she is back or whether she never left me at all I know she is there now in all her incarnations. I felt her manic need that night I fucked Ariadne. I felt her breath through me when I had that final dream. I am glad she is back too, no matter that this whole tale revolved around my desperate need to be rid of her. But X has gone, Ariadne is not the Goddess I thought her to be and Harvey is nothing to me, and will remain forgotten until I need to use him again. I am now alone with no-one to love, a single girl in a dirty world with a virgin puss and bum the target for cocks and dildos and fingers wherever I go. I have little with which to defend myself except my nerve and my looks, and the deep-set belief that people should do whatever I tell them to do. The naughty sprite inside me may well bring me trouble, but right now I just might need her more than ever.
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