I wrote this on Friday:
I have a party planned tonight.
There is a stake rammed in the ground at the back of the house. A wooden chair is tied against it. A mix of brushwood and timber is piled around the stake, up to the level of the chair seat. At midnight I shall be led out from the house, naked and handcuffed. I shall be forced to stand on the chair, facing the rough timber stake. Ice-cold chains will be tightened around my body. I shall be shivering with cold, fear, and lust. Then the fire will be lit. Will there be an escape?
My throbbing cock, right now, hopes not.
This is what happened on Friday night:
I was able to get three guys who were relatively local and interested in a bonfire party, with me as the Guy. John and Harris are a leather couple in their forties from Swindon. They style themselves as a couple of executioners. Though they have 'hanged' a few men and 'electrocuted' one, they had never officiated at a burning at the stake. They were eager for the experience. Dai is a quiet Welshman, 27 years old. In our online chats Dai indicated that his interest was in experiencing the stake as victim, but I could not persuade him to join me. Instead he said that this time he would act as executioner's assistant, but, maybe, next time...
I dressed in prison orange, canvas slip-on shoes, no underwear or socks, as agreed. The guys arrived around 8:00pm. John is stocky; Harris is taller and powerful. They have the look and attitude of men with the power of death in their hands. Within moments, even though I was host, they had shackles on my ankles and my wrists in cuffs on a belly chain. I was in my role as the condemned man, and my cock was tenting the thin orange cotton of my prison garb. Dai deferred to the leather men. Dai is thin, but his tight t-shirt and jeans show muscle too. He looks younger than his years. Like me he has buzz-cut short dark hair. He has soft brown eyes and looks like he is always about to smile. He's a great bloke.
I won't bore you with all the details of the evening. There was food and drink, though I took little of either, wanting to be sharp for midnight. We talked. John and Harris spoke of their 'executions'; the way their victims had writhed and jerked from the noose, or shuddered and moaned as the electricity coursed through their bodies. Towards the end of the evening the conversation turned to my impending immolation. Dai showed he had given great thought to the way flames would consume a man. Between the three of them they gave me a detailed description of the shocking pain I would experience, the searing heat, the sizzling and spluttering of the fat burning in my feet and lower legs while I still retained full consciousness. Dai said it could be up to half an hour or more before the blessed relief of death, my still living body hanging in the chains even once my charred legs had failed all support. There were cases he'd read of where men had still been screaming as their guts fell out of their burned bellies.
I guess it says something of my weird mind that by eleven forty-five I was “gagging for it”. The guys dragged me out to the garden (I made a show of resistance, of course) and ripped the prison overalls off me. (The cotton was thin and cheap – it ripped easily, as I'd intended.) The cold of the night on my naked skin was a bit of a shock, but my cock stayed rigid. It bounced awkwardly as they marched me to the stake. A plank was laid to the chair, so I and Harris could easily get over the logs and brushwood making up the bonfire. Harris unfastened my wrists and re-cuffed them so I was hugging the stake. Then he slowly and tightly bound my body with chains, forcing me hard into the slightly damp wood, pressing my erection against my belly. It was not comfortable: I admit I gasped and groaned a few times. I watched Dai and John going around the perimeter of the brushwood, inserting firelighter sticks.
It was a still night, just the merest breath of wind from the east. There was no moon, just the light from the candle lanterns carried by the three men who were now waiting, as agreed for the chimes of midnight. I had maybe seven or eight minutes to contemplate my situation.
I shifted my hips a little, the pressure on my rock hard cock from the rough wood and my warm flesh sending shocks and shivers of lust through my whole body. This was it. I was living the dream, but I did not know if I was about to die the dream too. In all our online discussions I'd made it clear that I wanted to be at the mercy of my executioners. While I hoped to survive to play another day, I fully accepted that I might be burned to death. There was no safe word: the choice was theirs. Having met the men this night I still couldn't tell what might be my fate.
John and Harris gave the impression that they longed to kill for real; Dai was curious, and I thought he might well want to see his fantasy taken to the ultimate.
Now I was helpless, and it so turned me on. Even my taut nipples ached. Distantly I heard the chimes of my grandfather clock: Midnight! The lanterns moved around the perimeter of the fire, dipping now and again as each man lit the bars of paraffin wax that in turn would light the brushwood, and then the heavier branches and logs. I squeezed myself tighter against the stake. It had started.
I'd constructed the bonfire in concentric rings, ranging from dry twigs at the perimeter to heavy greenwood logs at the centre, more or less all at the level of the chair seat. The plan, to slow combustion, did work. I barely felt any heat for the first five minutes. A few flickering flames were all I could see at first. Wreathes of smoke eddied lazily around me in the slow moving air. I was intoxicated by its scent. The fire began to burn in earnest around the edge of my pyre. Flickering red light illuminated the surrounding trees. I could see the grinning faces of my executioners through the moving clouds of smoke. There was snapping and crackling of burning twigs, and I was surrounded by warmth.
I was surprised by how quickly the warmth grew to heat. Flames were still several feet away from me but I was beginning to sweat. Was I afraid? I guess I was, a bit, but I was so excited. Standing there, chained, tightly bound. I still thought that my 'executioners' would soon step in to release me. I gave in to the fantasy, testing the strength of the stake, moving my torso against the wood, moaning with pleasure. I briefly closed my eyes against the stinging smoke, imagining how I must look to my audience: the ruddy light glinting on my sweat slicked body as it moved against the steely hold of the encircling bonds, a naked man fully aware of his approaching doom, rising to a peak of erotic arousal. I sensed a lessening of the heat, a dimming of the light, and I looked out to see the flames lowering. The fire was not going out, but the rapid burn of the dry brash was over, and the thicker timber was now burning more slowly, but soon with more serious heat.
I heard a shout above the clink of chains, the crackle of burning, and the sound of my own rapid breathing. It was Harris saying they were off now, that they'd loot my house and leave me. His last words: “see you in Hell, mate”.
Three figures disappeared from the firelight. I saw the light of the lanterns moving away through the forest, back to my house. I was alone. I was in the centre of a fire with flames slowly eating their way towards me. Soon those flames would reach me and I would begin to burn. I was going to die, slowly, horribly. The game was now real. Waves of panic and horror washed through my mind. Even more strongly, though, I felt a shock of sexual ecstasy. My erection became stronger, stiffer, harder than I could have believed. Time seemed to slow. The world was a place of fire and heat, everything focused on me, and on my cock. I wasn't yet burning, the greenwood around the chair taking its time to dry and catch, but I felt like I was in front of an oven or a furnace, the radiant heat on all sides making my sweat steam. Suddenly I heard a new sizzling sound, and an acrid smell assaulted my nose. I looked down to see the hair on my legs burning, blue-yellow flames jumping upwards, accompanied by a sting of fire on my skin. I think I screamed as my pubic bush flared up, but at the same instant I was shaken by an engulfing orgasm. My cock had pushed out to the side of the stake and my semen hissed as it spurted far into the fire.
I was drained utterly. All that was left for me was to suffer and die. The flames of the wood were still a little way away, but soon they would burn the chair beneath me, then my feet. My torso would soon be hanging from its binding chains as I wept and gibbered in agony, praying that death would release me. Would I have to endure the time Dai had said, listening to the fat of my body splutter and hiss as it melted and burned? Was I going to see the white bones of my feet emerging from blackened flesh? Was this torture really what I had wanted?
Hell yes! This was what I had dreamed of. The experience was far more intense that I could ever have imagined. It was a shame I could never repeat it, but, yes, it was worth it. I closed my eyes to wait for the last act, noting almost dispassionately that my singed cock was rising again, as if it wanted to be ready for the real flames of the fire to embrace it and ring out one last spurt of cum.
Something powerful hit me. I couldn't breathe. I felt like ice all over. Was this the burst of flame, the final immolation, twisted by a merciful mind into cold rather than heat? It seemed as though my flesh were melting, dripping, hissing, flowing. There was a roaring in my ears. I must have blacked out.
I came to on the sofa in my sitting room, wrapped in soft towels. John handed me a whisky on the rocks. The fire of the spirit and the cold of the ice. Nicely appropriate. He explained that they had pretended to leave me; thought it would make for a better experience. It was water that hit me at the last – the fire hose. He reckoned I had about five minutes or so before the flames reached me to do real damage. My leg hairs had been set alight by a stray burning leaf. It looked spectacular, they said, but Dai told them he often burned his body hair without serious effect. As I seemed to be enjoying it they agreed not to use the hose just then.
Anyway, that's the story of the party, and how I'm still here to write about it.
I have a party planned tonight.
There is a stake rammed in the ground at the back of the house. A wooden chair is tied against it. A mix of brushwood and timber is piled around the stake, up to the level of the chair seat. At midnight I shall be led out from the house, naked and handcuffed. I shall be forced to stand on the chair, facing the rough timber stake. Ice-cold chains will be tightened around my body. I shall be shivering with cold, fear, and lust. Then the fire will be lit. Will there be an escape?
My throbbing cock, right now, hopes not.
This is what happened on Friday night:
I was able to get three guys who were relatively local and interested in a bonfire party, with me as the Guy. John and Harris are a leather couple in their forties from Swindon. They style themselves as a couple of executioners. Though they have 'hanged' a few men and 'electrocuted' one, they had never officiated at a burning at the stake. They were eager for the experience. Dai is a quiet Welshman, 27 years old. In our online chats Dai indicated that his interest was in experiencing the stake as victim, but I could not persuade him to join me. Instead he said that this time he would act as executioner's assistant, but, maybe, next time...
I dressed in prison orange, canvas slip-on shoes, no underwear or socks, as agreed. The guys arrived around 8:00pm. John is stocky; Harris is taller and powerful. They have the look and attitude of men with the power of death in their hands. Within moments, even though I was host, they had shackles on my ankles and my wrists in cuffs on a belly chain. I was in my role as the condemned man, and my cock was tenting the thin orange cotton of my prison garb. Dai deferred to the leather men. Dai is thin, but his tight t-shirt and jeans show muscle too. He looks younger than his years. Like me he has buzz-cut short dark hair. He has soft brown eyes and looks like he is always about to smile. He's a great bloke.
I won't bore you with all the details of the evening. There was food and drink, though I took little of either, wanting to be sharp for midnight. We talked. John and Harris spoke of their 'executions'; the way their victims had writhed and jerked from the noose, or shuddered and moaned as the electricity coursed through their bodies. Towards the end of the evening the conversation turned to my impending immolation. Dai showed he had given great thought to the way flames would consume a man. Between the three of them they gave me a detailed description of the shocking pain I would experience, the searing heat, the sizzling and spluttering of the fat burning in my feet and lower legs while I still retained full consciousness. Dai said it could be up to half an hour or more before the blessed relief of death, my still living body hanging in the chains even once my charred legs had failed all support. There were cases he'd read of where men had still been screaming as their guts fell out of their burned bellies.
I guess it says something of my weird mind that by eleven forty-five I was “gagging for it”. The guys dragged me out to the garden (I made a show of resistance, of course) and ripped the prison overalls off me. (The cotton was thin and cheap – it ripped easily, as I'd intended.) The cold of the night on my naked skin was a bit of a shock, but my cock stayed rigid. It bounced awkwardly as they marched me to the stake. A plank was laid to the chair, so I and Harris could easily get over the logs and brushwood making up the bonfire. Harris unfastened my wrists and re-cuffed them so I was hugging the stake. Then he slowly and tightly bound my body with chains, forcing me hard into the slightly damp wood, pressing my erection against my belly. It was not comfortable: I admit I gasped and groaned a few times. I watched Dai and John going around the perimeter of the brushwood, inserting firelighter sticks.
It was a still night, just the merest breath of wind from the east. There was no moon, just the light from the candle lanterns carried by the three men who were now waiting, as agreed for the chimes of midnight. I had maybe seven or eight minutes to contemplate my situation.
I shifted my hips a little, the pressure on my rock hard cock from the rough wood and my warm flesh sending shocks and shivers of lust through my whole body. This was it. I was living the dream, but I did not know if I was about to die the dream too. In all our online discussions I'd made it clear that I wanted to be at the mercy of my executioners. While I hoped to survive to play another day, I fully accepted that I might be burned to death. There was no safe word: the choice was theirs. Having met the men this night I still couldn't tell what might be my fate.
John and Harris gave the impression that they longed to kill for real; Dai was curious, and I thought he might well want to see his fantasy taken to the ultimate.
Now I was helpless, and it so turned me on. Even my taut nipples ached. Distantly I heard the chimes of my grandfather clock: Midnight! The lanterns moved around the perimeter of the fire, dipping now and again as each man lit the bars of paraffin wax that in turn would light the brushwood, and then the heavier branches and logs. I squeezed myself tighter against the stake. It had started.
I'd constructed the bonfire in concentric rings, ranging from dry twigs at the perimeter to heavy greenwood logs at the centre, more or less all at the level of the chair seat. The plan, to slow combustion, did work. I barely felt any heat for the first five minutes. A few flickering flames were all I could see at first. Wreathes of smoke eddied lazily around me in the slow moving air. I was intoxicated by its scent. The fire began to burn in earnest around the edge of my pyre. Flickering red light illuminated the surrounding trees. I could see the grinning faces of my executioners through the moving clouds of smoke. There was snapping and crackling of burning twigs, and I was surrounded by warmth.
I was surprised by how quickly the warmth grew to heat. Flames were still several feet away from me but I was beginning to sweat. Was I afraid? I guess I was, a bit, but I was so excited. Standing there, chained, tightly bound. I still thought that my 'executioners' would soon step in to release me. I gave in to the fantasy, testing the strength of the stake, moving my torso against the wood, moaning with pleasure. I briefly closed my eyes against the stinging smoke, imagining how I must look to my audience: the ruddy light glinting on my sweat slicked body as it moved against the steely hold of the encircling bonds, a naked man fully aware of his approaching doom, rising to a peak of erotic arousal. I sensed a lessening of the heat, a dimming of the light, and I looked out to see the flames lowering. The fire was not going out, but the rapid burn of the dry brash was over, and the thicker timber was now burning more slowly, but soon with more serious heat.
I heard a shout above the clink of chains, the crackle of burning, and the sound of my own rapid breathing. It was Harris saying they were off now, that they'd loot my house and leave me. His last words: “see you in Hell, mate”.
Three figures disappeared from the firelight. I saw the light of the lanterns moving away through the forest, back to my house. I was alone. I was in the centre of a fire with flames slowly eating their way towards me. Soon those flames would reach me and I would begin to burn. I was going to die, slowly, horribly. The game was now real. Waves of panic and horror washed through my mind. Even more strongly, though, I felt a shock of sexual ecstasy. My erection became stronger, stiffer, harder than I could have believed. Time seemed to slow. The world was a place of fire and heat, everything focused on me, and on my cock. I wasn't yet burning, the greenwood around the chair taking its time to dry and catch, but I felt like I was in front of an oven or a furnace, the radiant heat on all sides making my sweat steam. Suddenly I heard a new sizzling sound, and an acrid smell assaulted my nose. I looked down to see the hair on my legs burning, blue-yellow flames jumping upwards, accompanied by a sting of fire on my skin. I think I screamed as my pubic bush flared up, but at the same instant I was shaken by an engulfing orgasm. My cock had pushed out to the side of the stake and my semen hissed as it spurted far into the fire.
I was drained utterly. All that was left for me was to suffer and die. The flames of the wood were still a little way away, but soon they would burn the chair beneath me, then my feet. My torso would soon be hanging from its binding chains as I wept and gibbered in agony, praying that death would release me. Would I have to endure the time Dai had said, listening to the fat of my body splutter and hiss as it melted and burned? Was I going to see the white bones of my feet emerging from blackened flesh? Was this torture really what I had wanted?
Hell yes! This was what I had dreamed of. The experience was far more intense that I could ever have imagined. It was a shame I could never repeat it, but, yes, it was worth it. I closed my eyes to wait for the last act, noting almost dispassionately that my singed cock was rising again, as if it wanted to be ready for the real flames of the fire to embrace it and ring out one last spurt of cum.
Something powerful hit me. I couldn't breathe. I felt like ice all over. Was this the burst of flame, the final immolation, twisted by a merciful mind into cold rather than heat? It seemed as though my flesh were melting, dripping, hissing, flowing. There was a roaring in my ears. I must have blacked out.
I came to on the sofa in my sitting room, wrapped in soft towels. John handed me a whisky on the rocks. The fire of the spirit and the cold of the ice. Nicely appropriate. He explained that they had pretended to leave me; thought it would make for a better experience. It was water that hit me at the last – the fire hose. He reckoned I had about five minutes or so before the flames reached me to do real damage. My leg hairs had been set alight by a stray burning leaf. It looked spectacular, they said, but Dai told them he often burned his body hair without serious effect. As I seemed to be enjoying it they agreed not to use the hose just then.
Anyway, that's the story of the party, and how I'm still here to write about it.
