Foreign justice
He woke with a bad feeling about the day. The chains clanked as he shifted on the bare cot in his cell. He knew he’d been tried and convicted, but he had not the local language and understood neither his crime nor his sentence. Interpreters had not been provided, and he felt sure the embassy had not been told.
It had been indecently fast – three days since he was snatched at the airport. Stripped, and roughly searched, he’d been bundled naked into a blacked out van and taken to this prison. He was given a pair of white cotton briefs and nothing else to wear. Tolerable in the heat of the day, he had been unbearably cold at night.
The court sat on the second day, in a chamber in the prison. He’d been on a dais at one side of the room, his arms chained high above his head to a hook in the ceiling, his feet only just touching the floor. He’d been gagged, and wore only the cotton briefs. The court was full of olive-skinned men, some in white robes, some in military uniform, some in business suits. It seemed chaos to him, everyone shouting at once. Three white-robed men sat slightly above the crowd. He guessed they were judges, but there seemed to be little deference shown.
He had no idea whether there was a defence, but whenever he was the centre of attention the speakers seemed to try to outdo each other in rage and fury. Unable to speak, not understanding what was going on, stretched painfully, his mind began to wander. He felt many eyes on his body, and wondered what was going through the watcher’s minds.
He was 28. His light brown hair was cropped short, and there was two-day’s growth of stubble on his chin. His slim smooth body was taut and lightly muscled, and glistened with sweat in the hot room. The white cotton briefs were very brief.
He wondered if anyone in the court was aroused by this sight. As he thought this thought he felt his own cock stir. Even in the hubbub, the shouting and gesticulating, he was aware that more men were staring at him, and he tried, with little success, to control his growing erection.
Fortunately the trial was over in 45 minutes, and he had just escaped the indignity of his cock escaping from the tight confines of his briefs.
Now it was the third day.
There’d been no breakfast.
From the position of the sunlight on the cell wall he guessed it wanted a couple of hours or so to mid-day when they came for him.
He was back in the prison van, in chains, on the floor. In the dim light of a single bulb he could see that the four guards were in a jolly mood, like they were on their way to a party. The van bumped on for twenty minutes or so.
At first the desert light seared his eyes when the door was opened. As he was dragged out he became aware of his surroundings. Flat-roof mud houses defined a dry dusty square. To one side, a single, parched tree gave slight shade to a pair of sleeping mongrels. Dark figures were crowded around the edges of the square, and looked down from the house roofs.
He couldn’t imagine where he was. It seemed like another time, the prison van looking as alien as a spaceship in that context.
The crowd were quiet, thoughtful, expectant.
Then he saw the centre of the square.
A large heap of firewood.
Two rusty iron poles, some fifteen feet apart. One empty; waiting, he understood, for him. At the other was a scared-looking local youth, probably 18 to 20, but skinny, he also wearing only white briefs. His arms already shackled behind the post, he was being secured with more chains around his ankles, thighs, and chest. The rusty metal was pulled tight against the boy’s light brown skin until he gasped with pain.
Then it was the turn of the pale foreigner, the sun-burned iron post hot against the skin of his back. He too felt the tightness of the chains holding his body to the post. Again the exposure of his near-naked body, the helplessness of restraint, and the many eyes watching him had their effect. The front of his cotton briefs strained and swelled, despite his hardest efforts to defeat his arousal.
For a moment, he thought that his punishment was exposure to the harsh sun. Then he saw that guards were mounding tinder dry brushwood around the local lad. A cold wave of fear rushed through his body. Was this youth, was he going to be burned alive?
The other man seemed to think so. He struggled against the chains, though without effect. He jabbered incomprehensibly in the local language until a guard slapped his face with enough strength to daze him. The guards stepped back when the pyre was up to the top of the lad’s thighs, to check its symmetry and firmness.
It looked to the foreigner as if the fire was about to be lit.
Briefly the two men at the stakes exchanged glances of horror and fear that transcended the language barrier.
But the fire was not lit. Instead, one guard stepped on to the mound of wood behind the young man, slipped a rope out of his pocket, and looped it around his victim’s neck. The rope squeezed the slender throat. The body bucked and jerked. The eyes bulged and the tongue swelled. Rivulets of sweat ran down the brown skin, shining in the mid-day sun. Strangulation seemed to arouse the young man, his erection clearly visible beneath the tight cotton.
The young man’s struggles weakened after two minutes. Semen soaked through the white cotton of his briefs, at the end of his engorged cock. His body slumped limp and heavy in the chains.
A guard flicked his lighter and set fire to the brushwood. It flared up. The wood crackled. A brisk breeze swirled smoke towards the foreigner. He smelt first the woodsmoke, and then the burning flesh. Waves of heat from the fire competed with the midday sun. The smoke drifted away, and he could watch the youth’s body begin to burn. The cotton briefs quickly burned away, followed by a brief flare as pubic hair caught light.
Guards fed the fire with more tinder. Flames leapt up. The corpse began to twitch and shudder as flesh sizzled and bubbled. In less than ten minutes the young man was just a blackened form dimly visible through wild flames, being reduced to ash.
The foreigner had watched this with horror, but wholly unable to look away. He cursed the occasional drifts of smoke that obscured his view. Though his mind felt fear, even terror, at watching what he believed would be his fate, his body had reacted differently. His cock was harder now than he felt it had ever been. Held fast in chains, naked but for tight white briefs, believing that he was about to be garrotted and his corpse burnt, his whole being was consumed by erotic lust for the experience.
Guards were now beginning to build his pyre around him. As the first faggots were propped against his legs he felt they were different. The wood was green, damp. There were a lot of green leaves amongst the timber, and there were more larger logs. It was not the dry bushwood used to burn the young man. Where could such greenwood have come from in the desert? It must have been expensive, he thought. It would burn much more slowly and with less heat. Why use it to dispose of his garrotted corpse when there was plenty of fuel for a hot, fast fire?
The guards stood back. The man flexed his body against the chains. He could just feel a piece of timber rub against his balls, and the stimulation nearly drove him crazy. He didn’t want to die, but his cock was screaming for the rope around his neck.
The guards were laughing, and pointing at the straining cloth of his briefs. He saw a guard coming towards him. The guard had a knife. Was he not to be strangled? Was he to be gutted? He drew his taut abs in, trying to back away from the blade.
It was not, however, flesh that the b lade cut. It snicked through cotton and the briefs were gone.
The man was now wholly naked in front of the crowd. His cock jutted out, quivering as his body shuddered. It strained almost impossibly as he felt the rope close round his throat.
The rope tightened.
Blood thumped in his ears. The rope was a circle of fire. The world in front of him became a little darker. He could feel the warmth of his executioner’s body behind him. He could hear the stifled breath croak in his own throat. He could feel himself building to an irresistible climax.
Then, he could breathe. The rope was withdrawn. His first thought was disappointment; he had been on the edge of what must have been an overwhelming orgasm, and it had been denied to him. Then he felt a flush of relief; he was alive. Perhaps this had been his punishment – a mock execution taken to the absolute limit. Perhaps he would soon be free.
But no-one loosened the chains.
A guard grinned at him.
He took out a lighter.
He bent down.
He lit the pyre.
The man chained to the stake bucked. He screamed. ‘No!! I’m alive!’. He looked down at the small flames moving slowly through the heap of wood. The damp timber hissed and wreathes of smoke wafted around his body. For several minutes he felt nothing, the fire taking its time to penetrate the greenwood against his legs. Some dryer branches on the outer layer of the pile burned a little quicker, until small flames reached the man’s butt. At first he only moaned gently, feeling the odd sensation of coolness against his legs against the sharp pain of fire licking his arse. Together the feeling was intensely pleasurable, and his cock responded accordingly.
Slowly, the fire worked its way in towards his legs, the slow growing heat being arousing in itself. When the flames broke through to flesh, he was on the edge of ejaculation. Then a jet of fire played around his balls. His scream and his semen were forced from his body at the same moment. He came again and again as the now strongly burning fire washed around his torso. The hot air carried the aroma of cooking flesh – his own flesh – into his nostrils.
After twenty minutes he was still moaning, still moving slightly, feeling the chain tighten around his chest as his lower body burned away. Though he still had feeling in his upper body, all was numb below his ribcage. He had watched his drained cock laid out on the burning wood. He had watched it blister, bubble, and flame. He had felt his legs and butt being seared and scorched until the nerves had been consumed.
Now, with his eyes drying in the heat of the fire, he could see with the last of his sight the strange view of his guts slowly slipping out through his charred belly. His guts spluttered and sizzled.
He didn’t know why any of this had happened to him. All he did know is that it had been the greatest experience of his life. He wouldn’t have missed it for anything in the world.
With the fire roaring in his ears, he opened his mouth and took in a long, deep breath of superheated air. A flash of searing heat deep inside him was his last thought before eternal blackness.
The audience began to drift away, even while the remains of the prisoner still flamed. The guards began to sweep up the ashes from the local lad’s fire, although one stayed to watch the foreigner. For a few minutes the blackened skull was still visible in place, with flames roaring through the eye sockets and gaping mouth. Then it tumbled into the conflagration.
The guard mused to himself on the difference forty-five minutes could make – from living, breathing man to wind-blown ashes. He remembered how both prisoners had been sexually aroused, and he felt himself growing stiff when he imagined being in their place. Then he was called back from his daydream to his clearing-up duties.
He woke with a bad feeling about the day. The chains clanked as he shifted on the bare cot in his cell. He knew he’d been tried and convicted, but he had not the local language and understood neither his crime nor his sentence. Interpreters had not been provided, and he felt sure the embassy had not been told.
It had been indecently fast – three days since he was snatched at the airport. Stripped, and roughly searched, he’d been bundled naked into a blacked out van and taken to this prison. He was given a pair of white cotton briefs and nothing else to wear. Tolerable in the heat of the day, he had been unbearably cold at night.
The court sat on the second day, in a chamber in the prison. He’d been on a dais at one side of the room, his arms chained high above his head to a hook in the ceiling, his feet only just touching the floor. He’d been gagged, and wore only the cotton briefs. The court was full of olive-skinned men, some in white robes, some in military uniform, some in business suits. It seemed chaos to him, everyone shouting at once. Three white-robed men sat slightly above the crowd. He guessed they were judges, but there seemed to be little deference shown.
He had no idea whether there was a defence, but whenever he was the centre of attention the speakers seemed to try to outdo each other in rage and fury. Unable to speak, not understanding what was going on, stretched painfully, his mind began to wander. He felt many eyes on his body, and wondered what was going through the watcher’s minds.
He was 28. His light brown hair was cropped short, and there was two-day’s growth of stubble on his chin. His slim smooth body was taut and lightly muscled, and glistened with sweat in the hot room. The white cotton briefs were very brief.
He wondered if anyone in the court was aroused by this sight. As he thought this thought he felt his own cock stir. Even in the hubbub, the shouting and gesticulating, he was aware that more men were staring at him, and he tried, with little success, to control his growing erection.
Fortunately the trial was over in 45 minutes, and he had just escaped the indignity of his cock escaping from the tight confines of his briefs.
Now it was the third day.
There’d been no breakfast.
From the position of the sunlight on the cell wall he guessed it wanted a couple of hours or so to mid-day when they came for him.
He was back in the prison van, in chains, on the floor. In the dim light of a single bulb he could see that the four guards were in a jolly mood, like they were on their way to a party. The van bumped on for twenty minutes or so.
At first the desert light seared his eyes when the door was opened. As he was dragged out he became aware of his surroundings. Flat-roof mud houses defined a dry dusty square. To one side, a single, parched tree gave slight shade to a pair of sleeping mongrels. Dark figures were crowded around the edges of the square, and looked down from the house roofs.
He couldn’t imagine where he was. It seemed like another time, the prison van looking as alien as a spaceship in that context.
The crowd were quiet, thoughtful, expectant.
Then he saw the centre of the square.
A large heap of firewood.
Two rusty iron poles, some fifteen feet apart. One empty; waiting, he understood, for him. At the other was a scared-looking local youth, probably 18 to 20, but skinny, he also wearing only white briefs. His arms already shackled behind the post, he was being secured with more chains around his ankles, thighs, and chest. The rusty metal was pulled tight against the boy’s light brown skin until he gasped with pain.
Then it was the turn of the pale foreigner, the sun-burned iron post hot against the skin of his back. He too felt the tightness of the chains holding his body to the post. Again the exposure of his near-naked body, the helplessness of restraint, and the many eyes watching him had their effect. The front of his cotton briefs strained and swelled, despite his hardest efforts to defeat his arousal.
For a moment, he thought that his punishment was exposure to the harsh sun. Then he saw that guards were mounding tinder dry brushwood around the local lad. A cold wave of fear rushed through his body. Was this youth, was he going to be burned alive?
The other man seemed to think so. He struggled against the chains, though without effect. He jabbered incomprehensibly in the local language until a guard slapped his face with enough strength to daze him. The guards stepped back when the pyre was up to the top of the lad’s thighs, to check its symmetry and firmness.
It looked to the foreigner as if the fire was about to be lit.
Briefly the two men at the stakes exchanged glances of horror and fear that transcended the language barrier.
But the fire was not lit. Instead, one guard stepped on to the mound of wood behind the young man, slipped a rope out of his pocket, and looped it around his victim’s neck. The rope squeezed the slender throat. The body bucked and jerked. The eyes bulged and the tongue swelled. Rivulets of sweat ran down the brown skin, shining in the mid-day sun. Strangulation seemed to arouse the young man, his erection clearly visible beneath the tight cotton.
The young man’s struggles weakened after two minutes. Semen soaked through the white cotton of his briefs, at the end of his engorged cock. His body slumped limp and heavy in the chains.
A guard flicked his lighter and set fire to the brushwood. It flared up. The wood crackled. A brisk breeze swirled smoke towards the foreigner. He smelt first the woodsmoke, and then the burning flesh. Waves of heat from the fire competed with the midday sun. The smoke drifted away, and he could watch the youth’s body begin to burn. The cotton briefs quickly burned away, followed by a brief flare as pubic hair caught light.
Guards fed the fire with more tinder. Flames leapt up. The corpse began to twitch and shudder as flesh sizzled and bubbled. In less than ten minutes the young man was just a blackened form dimly visible through wild flames, being reduced to ash.
The foreigner had watched this with horror, but wholly unable to look away. He cursed the occasional drifts of smoke that obscured his view. Though his mind felt fear, even terror, at watching what he believed would be his fate, his body had reacted differently. His cock was harder now than he felt it had ever been. Held fast in chains, naked but for tight white briefs, believing that he was about to be garrotted and his corpse burnt, his whole being was consumed by erotic lust for the experience.
Guards were now beginning to build his pyre around him. As the first faggots were propped against his legs he felt they were different. The wood was green, damp. There were a lot of green leaves amongst the timber, and there were more larger logs. It was not the dry bushwood used to burn the young man. Where could such greenwood have come from in the desert? It must have been expensive, he thought. It would burn much more slowly and with less heat. Why use it to dispose of his garrotted corpse when there was plenty of fuel for a hot, fast fire?
The guards stood back. The man flexed his body against the chains. He could just feel a piece of timber rub against his balls, and the stimulation nearly drove him crazy. He didn’t want to die, but his cock was screaming for the rope around his neck.
The guards were laughing, and pointing at the straining cloth of his briefs. He saw a guard coming towards him. The guard had a knife. Was he not to be strangled? Was he to be gutted? He drew his taut abs in, trying to back away from the blade.
It was not, however, flesh that the b lade cut. It snicked through cotton and the briefs were gone.
The man was now wholly naked in front of the crowd. His cock jutted out, quivering as his body shuddered. It strained almost impossibly as he felt the rope close round his throat.
The rope tightened.
Blood thumped in his ears. The rope was a circle of fire. The world in front of him became a little darker. He could feel the warmth of his executioner’s body behind him. He could hear the stifled breath croak in his own throat. He could feel himself building to an irresistible climax.
Then, he could breathe. The rope was withdrawn. His first thought was disappointment; he had been on the edge of what must have been an overwhelming orgasm, and it had been denied to him. Then he felt a flush of relief; he was alive. Perhaps this had been his punishment – a mock execution taken to the absolute limit. Perhaps he would soon be free.
But no-one loosened the chains.
A guard grinned at him.
He took out a lighter.
He bent down.
He lit the pyre.
The man chained to the stake bucked. He screamed. ‘No!! I’m alive!’. He looked down at the small flames moving slowly through the heap of wood. The damp timber hissed and wreathes of smoke wafted around his body. For several minutes he felt nothing, the fire taking its time to penetrate the greenwood against his legs. Some dryer branches on the outer layer of the pile burned a little quicker, until small flames reached the man’s butt. At first he only moaned gently, feeling the odd sensation of coolness against his legs against the sharp pain of fire licking his arse. Together the feeling was intensely pleasurable, and his cock responded accordingly.
Slowly, the fire worked its way in towards his legs, the slow growing heat being arousing in itself. When the flames broke through to flesh, he was on the edge of ejaculation. Then a jet of fire played around his balls. His scream and his semen were forced from his body at the same moment. He came again and again as the now strongly burning fire washed around his torso. The hot air carried the aroma of cooking flesh – his own flesh – into his nostrils.
After twenty minutes he was still moaning, still moving slightly, feeling the chain tighten around his chest as his lower body burned away. Though he still had feeling in his upper body, all was numb below his ribcage. He had watched his drained cock laid out on the burning wood. He had watched it blister, bubble, and flame. He had felt his legs and butt being seared and scorched until the nerves had been consumed.
Now, with his eyes drying in the heat of the fire, he could see with the last of his sight the strange view of his guts slowly slipping out through his charred belly. His guts spluttered and sizzled.
He didn’t know why any of this had happened to him. All he did know is that it had been the greatest experience of his life. He wouldn’t have missed it for anything in the world.
With the fire roaring in his ears, he opened his mouth and took in a long, deep breath of superheated air. A flash of searing heat deep inside him was his last thought before eternal blackness.
The audience began to drift away, even while the remains of the prisoner still flamed. The guards began to sweep up the ashes from the local lad’s fire, although one stayed to watch the foreigner. For a few minutes the blackened skull was still visible in place, with flames roaring through the eye sockets and gaping mouth. Then it tumbled into the conflagration.
The guard mused to himself on the difference forty-five minutes could make – from living, breathing man to wind-blown ashes. He remembered how both prisoners had been sexually aroused, and he felt himself growing stiff when he imagined being in their place. Then he was called back from his daydream to his clearing-up duties.
Wicked Marky! Another BATS lover on Cute Dead Guys! I'd trade places with the guy getting burned 
I constantly fantasize about getting burnt at the stake nude, I'm glad the executioner cut off the white briefs, I need the whole show. :load
