Impalement
sussexfist
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Dec 20, 2008
- Messages
- 172
- Location
- Brighton, UK
Impaling and Other Methods
The thought of being slowly impaled on a sharpened stake makes me sooooooooo.. hard.
Here's a story involving impalement among other methods of execution. I wish I was in Bobby's place!!!!
Bobby’s Final Fuck
Bobby was, one could say, the typical American boy. Except, that his strikingly blue eyes were surrounded by a patch of black instead of golden hair that fell in soft curls down his forehead. His physique was a perfect athlete’s one, smooth muscles covered by silken, hairless skin and he was graced with an 8.5 inch cock and big, low-hanging balls. Still, there was another exception to his being the typical American boy: he was gay. He’d discovered this quite early in his puberty and since he’d grown up in an orphanage, he’d had ample opportunity to enjoy a healthy and active sex life. His good looks had made it easy for him to win over other boys – or men, out on the street. But now he had graduated from High School, just turned eighteen and received a scholarship. The money that went with it, though, he intended to spend on a holiday, at least part of it. He’d never had a holiday in his life so he thought it about time he did. The destination he had chosen was a small country in the Near East, his choice having been influenced by the fact that he had always found Arabian boys the most fascinating and beautiful. Though Bobby knew that in this country homosexuality was a crime, he didn’t think, whatever the case, that being an American citizen anyone would dare harm him. After all, there was always the embassy.
Bobby didn’t know how fatefully wrong he was.
Presently Bobby was sitting in a street side café in the small town of Abd’jell, enjoying the morning sun, a tasty breakfast and strong Arabian coffee. Suddenly Bobby’s eyes fell on a boy sitting just two tables away from him. He was dressed not in typical Arabian fashion but wore an almost American-looking business suit, complete with tie. But this was not what caught Bobby’s attention. It was the incredibly beautiful brown face, surrounded by short, straight black hair and the piercing light-brown eyes – eyes that stared at him. Bobby felt his pulse quicken, his heart beating faster and, of course, a stirring in his loins. He decided to see what would happen. He paid, left the café and strolled down the street. He noticed that the Arab boy was following him and as Bobby entered a silent side-street finally caught up with him. As usual it didn’t take long for two horny young boys to get acquainted. The Arabs name was Ahmed and he was the son of a wealthy manager of an oil-firm. He lived in a house not far away that his father had bought for him, complete with a young servant called Mohammed.
Mohammed opened the door and Bobby drew in his breath. The servant had short, thickly curled hair and eyes as black as coal. Above a full-lipped mouth throned a slightly flat, slightly upturned nose and after a second a wide smile appeared that revealed a row of strikingly white, even teeth that Bobby wouldn’t have expected from an Arab. The boy wore the typical gallabiya, a long shirt like garment that reached almost to the floor, in Mohammed’s case just revealing a pair of well-formed naked brown feet. It was hard to decide who was more beautiful, master or servant.
Soon Bobby and Ahmed were sitting in the lavishly furnished living-room, sipping coffee and getting to know each other better until Bobby just couldn’t hold back anymore and started stroking the bulge in Ahmed's crotch that seemed huge beneath his expensive trousers. Soon the boys were giving each other deep throated wet french kisses their arms stroking each others bodies. Suddenly Ahmed asked:
„Do you want Mohammed to join?“
Bobby didn’t hesitate and nodded vigorously. Ahmed called the servant and ordered him to undress. Mohammed just pulled the gallabiya over his head and stood before them in all his glorious nakedness. Slender, not very tall but equipped with sinewy muscles, tanned all over his body, his long slim tool already rising. He looked much younger than his nineteen years. Ahmed told him to undress the guest and the master. Mohammed complied swiftly and while he went to work Bobby watched the elegant movement of the servants muscle cords beneath his smooth skin. As Mohammed finished, both Bobby’s and Ahmed's cocks were rock-hard, though no one had touched them. Mohammed went down first on his master but Ahmed raised his servant’s head by the curly hair and told him that guests always came first, suddenly smiling when he realized the way he had put it. Bobby felt Mohammed’s warm mouth descend on his rigid cock and felt like in heaven when he sensed that something was wrong. He opened his eyes.
People. There were people in this room who surely didn’t belong here. Blinking, he realized who they were. Policemen. One of them looked disdainfully on the group of naked boys and said something to his colleagues in Arabic. Bobby didn’t understand it but he knew it hadn’t been something very friendly.
Then the policemen brutally went for the naked boys.
Bobby, Ahmed and Mohammed had now shared the same cell for about two hours. They were still as naked as when they had been led from Ahmed’s house amidst the cheers of a swiftly increasing crowd.
„What are they going to do with us? “ Bobby asked.
Ahmed sighed.
„I don’t know. But fucking with men is a serious crime in my country. “
„But your father? He must have influence! “
Ahmed laughed a bitter laugh.
„When he learns of this, he’ll disown me. He’ll say he never had a son. “
Suddenly Mohammed spoke for the first time, in a soft voice:
„They are going to kill us. I know. Ali, a friend of mine, told me once. All people convicted of homosexual crimes are executed. “
„But surely there will be a trial. After all, I’m an American citizen. They can’t, you know, just …“
Mohammed just shook his head, and then lowered it.
„This is ridiculous. This can’t be! They’ll have to let me call the embassy. They will have to! “
Neither Ahmed nor Mohammed answered him.
Suddenly the door to the cell was opened by a guard. He entered and then, in short, matter-of-fact words told them that they had just been sentenced to death. The execution would take place tomorrow.
And there never would be a trial.
It was almost ten o’clock the next morning and the sun was already up high and heating the air, as the three delinquents were led to the execution site. They were naked and their hands were tied behind their backs. Bobby had protested a long time, now as he saw the huge crowd that was awaiting them, he fell silent, still not believing that any of this was really happening. The execution site was a broad place that was encircled by the audience. On its right side Bobby could see a strange device. It consisted of two vertical poles – obviously made of tree trunks – both about three meters high, that were connected at the top by a horizontal one. Beside this, on the sandy floor, lay a huge saw, like the ones that had been used for felling trees before they invented the chainsaw. In the middle of the site Bobby could spot something that looked like an old fashioned oven, around it various gadgets that Bobby couldn’t make out. And finally on the left side lay a large wooden stake approximately five meters long, its diameter about 14 inches at one end but steadily decreasing as it neared it’s top, the peak, as far as Bobby could see, not more than an inch. Bobby swallowed and for the first time realised that he was in real trouble. The crowd cheered as the three frightened boys were led into the arena and Bobby blushed as he felt thousand eyes on his naked, vulnerable body, helplessly displayed for the audience’s pleasure.
And what a sight they saw. Three perfect specimens of young manhood, two natives and one an American with creamy white skin, so seldom displayed in all its naked glory in this country. Pectorals pushed out by the fact that their hands were tied behind their backs, deliciously large nipples protruding above slim and hard bellies, long, thick, veiny cocks dangling between muscular thighs, Ahmed’s member the largest, Bobby’s and Mohammed’s equal in size, below these fertile, semen-filled boy-balls encased in wrinkled sacs, faultlessly sculptured calves that tensed and relaxed with every step of three pairs of naked feet on the way to their fate. A fate that these boys, unlike the audience, did not yet know. But they were starting to suspect.
Having reached the middle of the site, Ahmed and Mohammed were forced to sit down on the ground, well guarded, while Bobby was led on by two men towards the stake. The chief executioner was preceding this group of two dressed, armed Arabian guards and one naked, bound young American delinquent whose eyes started to show more and more fright. Bobby realised, as he was forced towards it, that the stake sharpened at one end though its peak seemed to have been rounded with something like sandpaper perhaps. Bobby tried to swallow but found his throat was dry and had to cough. This wasn’t true, this couldn’t be real. Of course he had heard of impalement as a method of execution, but this had been centuries ago, no one was impaled nowadays. And especially not an all-American boy like himself. Still they were leading him towards it – and what could he do about it? Finally they had reached the sharp end of the stake and Bobby was pushed down onto the ground face-down.
The crowd watched in silent fascination as the naked white boy was being pinned down by two men while two others hammered two pegs into the earth, about four feet apart, then grabbed the boy’s ankles and tied them with rope to the pegs. Bobby lay helpless on the floor, legs spread-eagled, and hands tied behind his back, two strong guards holding down his upper body. Then he felt something enter his ass and as he wanted to scream he realised that it was only one finger, then two, then three. They were pushing something inside him, something slippery, oily … oil! They were lubricating his rectum! Bobby sighed, as tears were welling up in his eyes. Why didn’t he fight? He was in a helpless position, yes, but why didn’t he scream, try to trash about, do anything? Bobby just didn’t know why he simply lay there in the sand, letting a guard oil his rectum, letting him prepare it for … the stake. Maybe because in his heart he still didn’t believe this would be happening, that no one, at the end of the 20th century, would stick a sharpened wooden stake up another man’s ass as an official method of execution, watched by hundreds of people. No, this was something Vlad Tepes or others might have done, even to innocent victims like Bobby, centuries ago, but not in 1989, never. While his mind told him all this, his heart somehow seemed to know otherwise and sweat broke out on Bobby’s body as the fingers left his rectum and his sphincter closed again (For the last time? his heart asked).
What Bobby hadn’t seen was that in the meantime another guard had carefully oiled the stake until it glistened in the sun like brown metal.
Ahmed and Mohammed watched in awe as three guards, two in the middle, one at the blunt end, picked up the heavy stake and the executioner positioned the sharp but rounded peak at Bobby’s asshole. They didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see what would happen to their almost-fuckbuddy in a few moments, but they didn’t manage to close their eyes, seemed to have forgotten how to do this, and cursed to watch everything. Having positioned the stake the executioner gave a sign to his assistants and they slowly started to push. Bobby felt the stake enter his body. His mind screamed `this is not happening´, `this is not happening´ all the while he felt the wooden intruder slowly travel up his rectum. Possibly his mind did still not acknowledge the fact that this was the beginning of a real execution because as yet there was no pain. The stake hadn’t proceeded further than any ordinary dick could nor was it wider. So, his mind groped for the last hope, maybe this was really just a scam, a show to humiliate him and they would pull out the stake before it was …
Bobby never finished the thought because now the pain began. The stake had reached realms inside him that no other object had ever reached, nothing had intruded so far – and it continued. The rectum’s nerve-endings sent waves of protest into Bobby’s brain and the boy started to moan. The pain hadn’t yet reached the stadium where he would scream but, with what little he was able to think at this moment, Bobby knew it soon would.
Ahmed, Mohammed and the crowd watched in silence as the stake’s progress into the boy’s body seemed to come to a halt. It had obviously reached an obstacle. The white boy’s face started to contort, eyes squinched shut, teeth pressed together. The executioner gave a sign to the man at the blunt end. Seconds afterward the man pushed with all his might. For a moment it seemed that the rope that tied the victim’s ankles to the pegs would rather rip than that the stake would go in any further. But then whatever had been in the way inside the boy’s body gave and the stake quickly went in another nine inches. The executioner smiled and turned to the audience, but the people remained silent, waiting for what surely had to come right now. And they were not disappointed. They started to cheer as they listened to the young victim’s first full-blooded tormented scream.
Bobby had, of course, felt that something inside his body was blocking the way of the stake, the pain causing him to wince but not to scream. Then for a few seconds nothing had happened. And these seconds were the last in Bobby’s life that at least a small part of his brain believed that they would now pull out the stake again. Then the big shove came and that something inside Bobby, probably his rectal wall, was ripped open and Bobby could feel, as if in slow motion, although it surely happened like lightning, the stake gliding up his body for what to him seemed like thousand feet. That was when everything changed. Up until now the pain had been bad but bearable but now a new understanding of the term pain hit Bobby as the stake started to push aside his intestines, his inner organs, all that was in its merciless way. Bobby could not have explained this pain had anybody asked him and surely no-one could have. This was the kind of pain that had to be experienced and those who experienced it wished to god they didn’t have to. But, of course, those who were made to experience it never had a choice.
Ahmed and Mohammed watched with tears of pity and fright in their eyes, as the stake now swiftly and irrevocably slid further and further inside beautiful, muscular, gleaming white, pain-ridden Bobby. The crowd hailed the stake’s progress with shouts of encouragement and comments and while their eyes tried to take in all aspects of Bobby’s writhing, sweat-covered, more and more impaled body they listened to the sweet sound of his high-pitched screams that were only interrupted by deep-voiced sobs, and these testaments of unimaginable agony brought erections to many a man and boy and more than just the women’s mouths started to water. Maybe homosexuality was forbidden but watching a beautiful young men getting fucked with a big wooden stake was more than enough substitution.
Within Bobby’s body hell had broken loose. The stake, now almost 20 inches inside him, had not only pushed his organs out of their proper place but was now constantly squeezing, compressing them, starting with his kidneys, then his gall, his liver and so on. The nerve-endings were sending shockwaves into Bobby’s brain that made him howl and had turned his existence into one of pure agony. But another source of pain started to come into prominence, after all the stake now dilated Bobby’s asshole to almost 6 inches diameter. Suddenly it seemed as if all air had been pushed out of Bobby’s lungs and he couldn’t scream anymore. The audience watched with joy and mild laughter the boy’s face, eyes bulging, mouth opening and closing, no sound emerging. Some in the crowd feared that the boy was about to die but those who had witnessed an impalement before knew that the lungs had been reached and explained this to their neighbours.
The assistants stopped pushing the stake further inside the body. Instead they cut the ropes that secured the boy’s ankles to the pegs which enabled Bobby to thrash around more freely but didn’t change the fact that he was still as helpless as a tortoise on its back. Thoughts of escaping, if he ever had harboured them, had long left his mind. His eyes, though wide open didn’t see a thing, he didn’t feel his hands or feet, just felt his whole body, wrapped in pain.
Ahmed and Mohammed who were sweating now almost as much as Bobby did, though goose bumps appeared now and then on their blameless skin, watched as guards heaved Bobby’s body up while others supported the stake. Soon it was almost upright, Bobby’s body writhing at the top, then the blunt end settled into a hole that had been dug before. The executioner’s work was done. Now he could trust gravity to do its work. He and his assistants watched calmly as the body settled ever deeper onto the stake. The progress was not continuous. For a while nothing happened then Bobby would suddenly slide down a few inches. Each time this happened the boy’s screams reached a new level and the audience cheered loudly, awaiting the glorious moment.
Bobby thought that his pelvis would explode any second, the stake feeling like a thousand inches wide where it entered his body. Nevertheless he slid down some more inches and the only thing that exploded was the pain. But there was nothing he could do to stop the impalement, hands bound behind his back, the naked soles of his feet frantically, fruitlessly trying to find a hold on the slick stake. Another few inches. How long would this go on? When would he die? … Die? He was young, just eighteen, he didn’t want to die. But, was not death the only way out of this agony? Another few inches and Bobby located a new source of pain, on his back, right below his right shoulder. The pain increased and it was a different kind of pain than the hell inside his body, it was sharper, more focused. Suddenly he felt something tear and he slid down a good three inches. Even through his screams Bobby could hear the cheers and applause of the audience watching his execution. But it took him some time to realise the reason for this acclamation. It came to him the same moment as he realised what the pain behind his shoulder and the tearing had meant. The impalement was complete. The stake had traversed all of Bobby’s body, from his asshole where it had started its journey right to the point below Bobby’s right shoulder where it had finally reemerged. Although it may seem odd but it was only at this point, despite all the torment that Bobby had already gone through, that his mind realised that he had really been impaled. Really! This was no game, no nightmare, this was a real execution. An execution by impalement and Bobby was the victim. There was really a stake inside him, a stake that entered at the asshole, was now firmly situated in his belly, his breast and left the body again through an opening that it had created itself, right behind Bobby’s shoulder. Sliding down another few inches, Bobby’s howls became ones not only of pain but of despair. Still his mind was some steps away from grasping the reality that the inevitable conclusion was his death, the death of a good-looking, athletic 18 year old, all-American boy who only two days ago had thought he would live forever. And even if he had had thoughts of death it would have been peacefully in his sleep, not living the last hours of his life in agony that he hadn’t even known existed. But then nobody in the audience watching the boy’s death fight would ever know the agony that he knew now, except if one of them would some day be singled out for death by impalement. Just like Bobby this man would never live to tell.
A while after Bobby’s body had finally settled on the stake and his screaming had become less constant, interspersed by periods of moaning and sighing the audience started to grow restless. The executioner sensed this and pointed at Mohammed. Two guards ran towards the sitting boy, dragging him up and towards the oven. They were literally dragging him as his legs refused to move, his eyes wide with disbelief, shock and fear, his mouth hanging open, making his beautiful features look a little stupid. Finally the group reached the place beside the oven. The guards held Mohammed’s trembling, sweat-soaked, naked brown body fast as the executioner lit a candle. Immediately members of the audience started betting which part of the boy’s body he would burn first. Mohammed watched as the executioner closed in on him, eyes fixed on the candle-flame. Just like Bobby he didn’t move, didn’t fight. The case of the rabbit in front of the snake. Now the executioner was standing right before Mohammed and smiled, then swiftly held the candle beneath the boy’s left nipple. The flame didn’t reach the nipple but Mohammed immediately felt the heat, still he didn’t scream right away, just clenched his teeth as tears filled his dark eyes. Only when the flame encircled his nipple did Mohammed throw back his head and let out his very first howl which was cheered as much by the audience as Bobby’s first reaction to the piercing of his rectum wall had been. But it didn’t last long, the tender nerves were soon destroyed and Mohammed watched with a kind of horrified fascination as his once proudly erect nipple turned into a stinking, burning, black piece of flesh. And so the second nipple went. But the audience knew that this was only the foreplay. Presently the executioner turned his attention towards Mohammed’s perfectly shaped genitals. He took a rather large safety-pin, inserted it into the Arab boys urethra, piercing the dick just below the glands. Then he secured the penis with the safety-pin to the boy’s navel. During this swift operation Mohammed had not screamed much but, everybody knew, this would soon change. The executioner now took a razor-sharp knife and started cutting open the young victim’s scrotum right where it connected to the body. As he slowly and carefully continued to cut, the real screaming began. Mohammed tried to escape, to flee, but the four guards, two securing his arms, two his legs, had a firm hold on him. There was no escaping his fate. Meanwhile the executioner had finished and Mohammed’s ball-sac lay on the dusty ground while his balls dangled freely. The executioner took them in his hand and the guards forced the boy’s head down so that he had to watch his own denuded manhood. Mohammed again tried to break free but a fast squeeze on his balls let all thoughts of escape vanish, only pain left in his mind.
The executioner now pulled on gloves and went to the open oven where an assistant had heated a couple of long needles. He took them and as he neared Mohammed, the boy, realizing what was about to happen, started to thrash around again.
With teary eyes Bobby, poor impaled Bobby, watched what was happening to Mohammed. The pain inside his body and at his asshole hadn’t diminished but somehow he started to get used to it, at least for some moments at a time. Compared to what Bobby had already gone through these moments seemed almost – bearable. Bearable … what a ludicrous word for a boy whose body was impaled on a stake, nevertheless … As pain was to be his companion till he left this earth he had to find a way to get used to it, to bear it. Whether he would only those who had died the same horrible death long ago could have told him. In one of those moments before another cramp seized him Bobby watched as one hot-red needle after the other went into Mohammed’s balls. And he listened to his shrieks of agony and saw the tears streaming down his sweat-soaked face, still handsome although contorted in a grimace of pain, a pain that only Bobby was in a position to share. When Mohammed fainted the audience’s attention was diverted towards Bobby who experienced another cramp as his inner organs tried to get back into the place they belonged but were unable to due to the wooden intruder. As he spun like a top Bobby’s pains became even more unbearable as the organs were squeezed and compressed still further, sinews and muscles joining in the song of agony. What the audience saw was a still beautiful, muscular young white boy, impaled on a stake, his muscles flexing and relaxing as wave after wave of pain crossed his body, his feet desperately searching the stake, finding it, trying to grab a hold, slipping off the slick surface, yet trying again, as if with a will of their own. Only when his writhing and tossing had exhausted Bobby so much that his body just couldn’t move anymore did it slacken and only then did he stand a chance to experience one of those moments when the pain was almost bearable. Bobby only wished he could keep still forever because he had found out that when he thrashed around the pain only increased. Alas, he had no say in this and during those moments he could be sure that another cramp would come soon. He could only hope that as time progressed these moments would become longer. Little did he realise how perverted his thinking had already become after only half an hour of impalement. He didn’t think of somehow getting off the stake, didn’t think of escaping the pain, one way or the other. He just thought of how to make the pain more bearable. The pain had already become a part of him as if he had never known a life without it and so had the stake become a part of his life and body. A part that would eventually kill him. But at the moment Bobby’s thoughts hadn’t reached that far.
Mohammed had been brought to. Now to weak to carry on screaming he only sobbed as he was shown his balls that looked like pin-cushions and felt like hell. The executioner took the candle again and soon Mohammed’s left ball disappeared within the flame. Mohammed wouldn’t have thought there was a higher level of pain possible than the one he had felt as the heated needles had been stuck into his balls but now he knew he had been wrong as white-hot pain hit his brain, blocking out everything else.
The crowed watched fascinated as the Arab boy’s body went completely rigid while the flame consumed his ball. Mohammed’s mouth opened but no scream came out. Nothing, the boy didn’t even seem to breathe. Eventually, as the executioner tried the flame on the other ball, a hoarse croaking became audible that slowly turned into a sort of deep wailing that increased in volume and pitch right until the boy fainted again. The audience was a bit disappointed. The American boy seemed to be the better victim. Up to now he hadn’t fainted even once. Right at this moment he was again thrashing about on his stake, delivering a great show.
When Mohammed had come to again, the executioner swiftly cut off his pierced and burned balls. To the boy this wasn’t much of a relief. Though his balls were finally gone the pain mysteriously stayed. The executioner contemplated his young victim and decided it was better to let him rest for a while. As he turned away from the exhausted, castrated boy the audience applauded.
It was time for Ahmed. The third delinquent was led to the wooden construction at the right of the execution site. It seemed as if not only the boy’s face but his body as well, though naturally of a deep brown, had somehow paled as he had watched the predicament of Bobby and Mohammed. And once again the audience watched the strange phenomenon that the victim didn’t fight his executioners. He was sat down between the two poles and remained so, his eyes focused on nothing, maybe a point somewhere far away in the universe. Guards fastened two long ropes around his ankles. Ahmed didn’t move, breathed shallowly and fast. The guards threw the other ends of the ropes over the crossbeam and started pulling. Only then did Ahmed’s eyes start to become animated as his feet were hauled off the ground, then his legs, his torso, his whole body. As he was hanging upside down, swinging from side to side, he screamed:
„No! No! No! No! No! “
Nothing else, just „No! “Over and over again.
The guards didn’t care. They climbed up a ladder and fastened his ankles with rope to the side poles. The audience laughed as Ahmed spastically bent his toes forward and backward in a ludicrous display of what? Escape? The guards climbed down again, untied Ahmed’s hands behind his back and retied the wrists to the poles so that his body was now spread out tightly. Then they waited for the executioners command. But he took his time, letting the crowd enjoy the exciting spectacle of a brown skinned, slim, well built young Arab boy hung spread-eagled upside down, his head turning this way and that trying to see what would happen next. After a while the executioner decided to let the boy know. He picked up the huge saw with its shark-like teeth and pushed it below Ahmed’s head. The boy stared at it, his body suddenly becoming still. The executioner whispered:
„You know, soon there will be two Ahmed’s. Or“, grinning, „should I say two halves of one Ahmed? “
With this he took the saw away and handed it to his two assistants. If the audience had expected Ahmed to start thrashing around and screaming they were disappointed. He just let out a loud sigh and his body went completely limp. The assistants placed the saw blade between the delinquent’s ass cheeks. Ahmed felt the cold metal against his hot skin. He didn’t think anything, couldn’t think anything, his mind was completely blank. Still his body reacted with goose bumps to the blade. For a few seconds the assistants let the saw lie on the tender flesh between balls and asshole let Ahmed feel the sharpness of the teeth.
Then they started. The one in front of Ahmed pushing, the other one pulling, then vice versa. Ahmed felt the skin break, the teeth bite into his flesh, tearing it. But only after the first to and fro of the blade did he start screaming in earnest. A few moments later a saw tooth caught his scrotum, ripping it open. Tears mingled with sweat in Ahmed’s face. Then, the moment his balls were squashed and the saw had reached his asshole, realization came. He was being sawed in two! It was really happening and he was alive, awake and conscious. He was being sawed in two from ass to head like some pig! Only that pigs mercifully were killed beforehand but he, a human, a twenty year old boy, was not shown the same mercy, he was made to experience every single moment, from the saw starting to split his body between his legs to … well, whenever death would come. He was made to feel each tiny movement of the saw within his body. Now the large teeth of the saw were mangling his cock that he had been so proud of. But pride was the last thing on his mind at this moment, the saw was his only concern, the saw splitting his rectum, splitting his intestines, splitting his athletic body.
For the audience it was truly a fascinating and memorable sight. Those behind Ahmed could watch his ass cheeks come wider and wider apart as the saw made its way through the middle of the boy’s body. Those in front of him watched his balls and dick vanish into a bloody mass of pulp and saw his neatly split intestines staring to fall out. They also noticed that the delinquent was still able to flex his leg muscles and move his feet and toes frantically in complete agony – but suddenly they went limp. The nerves of the spine had been reached.
Ahmed was still very much alive and couldn’t believe it. He heard someone screaming, not realizing that it was himself, so wrapped up was he in his all consuming pain, a pain that, like Bobby’s, seemed to always have been there. Blood was streaming over his face and something was hanging in front of him which he finally recognized as his bowels, or what was left of them. While his screams now turned into hoarse croaks, he was still clearly aware of what was happening to him, feeling every tooth of the saw that was ripping him apart, dividing his body into two halves. The blade had now reached the chest cavity, two thirds of Ahmed already split in two. And the audience could see each other through the gap in the boy’s body, each half leaning now more prominently toward the pole its foot had been tied to. His death, however, was not very spectacular, neither for Ahmed nor the audience. The boy’s mind just went completely blank, from one moment to the other the mist of pain disappeared, everything disappeared. The audience just didn’t notice the exact moment the victim expired, since the two halves had hung limply for quite a while and the screaming and groaning had gradually decreased. Finally, before Ahmed’s neck had been reached, the executioner commanded his assistants to stop, declaring Ahmed dead. The first casualty of the day. The audience applauded.
Bobby, firmly imbedded on his stake, had watched Ahmed’s final moments wondering whether he would not have rather been in his place. Not that Bobby doubted at any second the true quality of Ahmed’s agony as he was slowly sawed in two, an agony that only Bobby could fathom from atop his stake. Still there was a difference. For Ahmed everything had been over within fifteen minutes and by now Bobby had realized that his own death-fight would be much, much longer. After all the peak of the stake had been rounded. Not vital organ had been pierced, just been shoved aside. Bobby didn’t know how long a human could last under these conditions but it any case it was far too long. Just as the executioner declared Ahmed dead Bobby was seized by another cramp and with his last clear thought for quite a while he wished, yes, that he had been in Ahmed’s place. Then agony overtook him.
Mohammed had now had time to recover somewhat from his brutal castration and the burning of his nipples. And since Ahmed was dead and nothing more would be done to Bobby it was clear to the audience that the time had come to slowly finish off the young servant off. Obviously the pause in his own torture and the witnessing of Ahmed’s bloody and painful demise had had their effect on Mohammed. He didn’t flinch or try to move as the executioner turned back to him. It seemed that he had accepted his fate – the fact that he would from now on be screaming right to the death which would rather later than sooner claim him. Almost interested he watched his surroundings as he was led to a large table and tied down face down with ropes at his wrists and ankles. The executioner took a small saw, and then grabbed the small finger of Mohammed’s left hand. Placing the saw at the base of it he slowly started cutting the finger off. Mohammed’s face muscles twitched, he clenched his teeth, tears were in his eyes but finally he couldn’t suppress the scream any longer when the teeth of the saw reached his finger bone and a faint scratching sound filled the boy’s ears. Once the small finger was cut off the ring finger became the object of the executioner’s tiny saw. It took even longer to severe, Mohammed’s shrieks reaching fever-pitch, his tiny muscular frame becoming tense and rigid. The crowd watched in delight as one finger after the other was casually cut off, the thumb taking the longest. By now the shrieks had turned into one long, almost subtle wailing sound.
In the meantime two young boys in the audience had become somewhat bored by the spectacle and moved in the direction of the young American’s impaled frame until they reached their destination, a place right behind Bobby. No cramps seized the boy at the moment, his body was hanging limp, almost lifelessly. What the young boys had really come to see was the point where the stake entered the body. And they held their breath when they saw it. It seemed impossible that any human asshole could accommodate such a large stake. It seemed in fact impossible that this should still be a human asshole. The sphincter, of course, having long been torn, it still seemed unbelievable that the opening was now an obscene 14 inches wide, the entering stake pushing the boy’s muscular buttocks further apart than the boys had ever thought possible. Still the pelvis didn’t seem to break. The boys noticed small twitching in the impaled’s legs and suddenly both of them hade the urge to touch and caress these smooth thighs, these muscular calves, these perfectly arched naked feet not to comfort the impaled one but to know if his skin, his flesh felt any different to that of a boy not in agony. And they wanted to touch the opening where the stake went in, once so small and delicate, now forced so brutally wide open that it would never close again, even were the stake pulled out, distended and destroyed for all times. An average American boy’s asshole turned into a fuckhole for eternity. Now they noticed the muscles in his back starting to twitch as well, the biceps of his bound arms flexing. The young boys let out a sigh as the impaled boy started to moan, and from the point of entrance they imagined the stake inside the body, pushing it’s way through mercilessly, leaving the body right below the shoulder, yet somehow complete imagination was not possible and the boys realized that such a thing could never be visualized, could never be told but had to be felt. And the boy on the stake was feeling it right now as his movements became more agitated. The boys had noticed this before, they knew what would follow. The impaled’s body would begin to tremble more and more, he would start to writhe and wriggle, then convulsion would set in – and so it happened. But this time, as they watched the thrashing body of poor impaled Bobby and saw him throw his head back and howl his agony to the sun, the two boys came for the first time in their life in their gallabiya.
All of Mohammed’s fingers had been cut off. Now the ties binding him were cut and he had to sit on the table, two guards securing his arms, two his legs so that the soles of his brown feet touched the table-top. As Mohammed looked down, without fighting, the executioner started to saw off the boy’s toes one by one. It lasted even longer than the severance of his fingers. Mohammed merely sighed and sometimes even managed to watch as a toe came off. Though the pain was very bad, his body in a way had become accustomed to it. And his mind told him to watch it, as if it were someone else who was being mutilated in front of an applauding audience. And so he watched with big, tear-filled, dark eyes as one limb of his feet after the other was carefully being separated.
Then the toe-less, finger-less, ball-less, nipple-less boy was made to stand on what remained of his feet on the dusty ground. While two guards held his arms, the executioner unfastened the safety-pin that had connected Mohammed’s penis to his navel all the while. His huge dick came free and swung between his thighs. The audience roared as this was a moment they had been waiting for a long time. Knowing that the pain would now become much more severe, Mohammed tensed. But he didn’t fight, still accepting his fate. Another guard put his arms around Mohammed’s belly, two more guards holding his legs. With a sharp knife the executioner carefully cut the skin of the boy’s cock from base to head. Then, meticulously he began flaying Mohammed’s penis.
Bobby, in one of those moments that time after time really became more extended, watched Mohammed’s contorted face as his dick-skin came off. With all the agony driving through his own impaled body he couldn’t really pity the tortured boy especially since he knew that even Mohammed’s torment would be over much sooner than his own. He would be the last of the delinquents to offer a spectacle to the audience, long after the other two had perished, as he had been the first. Another convulsion hit home.
The flesh of Mohammed’s cock was now glistening bright red in the sun while its skin lay crumpled on the ground.
Again the candle. As the flame started to lick at the glands of the boy’s flayed cock the guards had a hard time holding him fast, as Mohammed now thrashed about in earnest and in the indescribable pain of the last sign of his manhood being burned off developed a strength no one would have thought the boy capable of. His cock swung around wildly and the executioner had to swiftly follow its movement to keep it trapped in the flame. Mohammed lasted a long time but finally he fainted again. The audience saw his body go limp, his head sag down, chin resting on his chest between his burned nipples. He was brought to, felt the pain of the flame at his cock, screamed, and fainted after a while. This ritual continued until the Arab boy’s penis was nothing more than a charred piece of flesh. Finally it was cut off with the sharp knife and a smoldering iron was placed on the open wound until the bleeding stopped. During this unconsciousness didn’t come to Mohammed and he felt everything but was no longer able to scream loudly even though the pain was no less intense. He just moved his head around, eyes half closed, moaning, babbling undecipherable words. At one point a sign of madness crept into his eyes but soon they became focused again.
The executioner let his young victim rest for awhile as the audience needed a meal-break. The crowd discussed the performance of the delinquents and the majority thought that the American boy had given the best show so far. And, of course, was continuing to do so. In fact, during the meal-break, Bobby had one of his strongest fits so far, writhing, twitching, wailing, sighing, kicking, screaming continuously for more than five minutes before his body settled down again, small twitching of his muscles and nerves the only sign of his ongoing agony. Yes, the audience decided, impaled the American boy was an even more beautiful sight.
After the break Mohammed was tied face down to the table again. The executioner took a heated iron stick, about three inches thick, whose surface was covered with tiny spikes, from the fire. Mohammed couldn’t see the executioner approach him but soon he felt the red hot iron invading his ass, traveling slowly up his rectum, burning it, tearing its wall with the spikes. Again it took him some time to scream but then his shrieks were higher than ever. After having inserted the rod to the hilt the executioner withdrew it slowly, and then pushed it in again, faster and faster, fucking the howling boy with a heated iron while smoke curled out of his asshole.
In the back of the audience two men were watching the spectacle intently. Suddenly the one standing behind the other tore a small hole in his buddy’s gallabiya, right where the asshole was, then pushed his erect cock through. The one in front felt the slick cock enter his ass to the hilt, sighed but dared not touch his own erect cock. Slowly, so that no one would notice, the fucking began. The active one adapted his movements to the speed with which the executioner was fucking screaming Mohammed with the hot iron, forever destroying the boy’s rectum. Faster and faster it went. And while the fucked man experienced pleasure, Mohammed felt his rectum continually being scorched and torn apart. Finally the fucker couldn’t hold back any longer and the moment Mohammed finally couldn’t stand it any longer and fainted he shot his load, trying desperately not to cry out. At the same time his buddy creamed into his gallabiya. What an orgasm while watching a young tortured boy faint from overwhelming pain!
Now things went swifter, as the executioner sensed a certain restlessness among the audience. First Mohammed’s ears were cut off, then his tongue cut out and presently he was blinded with a hot needle, which to Mohammed was, after all he had gone through, not the most painful but the most horrible experience, as his eyes were forced open und he helplessly watched the red-hot needle coming nearer and nearer, becoming closer and closer until it filled his vision, all the while dreading the moment of touch. Then came the burn, the piercing pain, and then blindness as his eye literally flowed out of its socket. Screaming, shrieking, sighing, moaning had become Mohammed’s only language.
Then the grand finale came. Mohammed mutilated, blind, was laid down on the earth on his back. His wrists and ankles were tied to ropes and these were tied to four small wheels with handles that where fixed to the ground, thereby forming a kind of primitive rack. Slowly the spread-eagled boy was being stretched. But even as his body was pulled so tightly that it was lifted off the floor, no more than a moan escaped the boy’s mouth. Soon the joints left their sockets, held to the torso only by sinews. Suddenly Mohammed managed to scream again as his left arm came loose. Everybody thought that the other arm would be next but surprisingly Mohammed’s right leg was the next to go. The tormented boy was now hanging only by one arm and one leg in the air until eventually the sinews of his right arm couldn’t stand the strain anymore and tore. Mohammed thumped to the ground, only his left leg connected to the body anymore. With a few expertly set cuts the executioner severed it. Still Mohammed, or rather his mutilated torso and head, was alive, breathing, turning his head from side to side in the dust, babbling, his tongue-less mouth trying to form words. So the executioner decided to give the audience a da capo. He cut open the boy’s belly and pulled his intestines out, laying them on the ground beside the torso. The audience applauded as the executioner kicked them with disdain and Mohammed’s eye-less, ear-less, tongue-less face contorted in pain but only small retching sounds escaped his mouth.
Bobby, atop his stake, watched as what was left of Mohammed was carried to the poles where Ahmed’s split body still hung and then the young servant’s intestines were bound to the crossbeam and his torso was left to hang by them. Still there was twitching movement, twitching life in Mohammed, as he hung between the legs, almost inside the split body of his dead master. After a while the twitching stopped and as Bobby realised that Mohammed was finally dead he also realised what this meant. Bobby was the last – and he was still alive. This thought, more than any sudden rise in the level of pain, made his body start to tremble and even as he tried to keep still another cramp seized him.
The audience was delighted. Just at the moment the Arab boy had died, the American boy gave them another good show, for a very long time, even more so as each time the fit seemed over the executioner gave the impaled boy’s belly a good slap, thereby causing another convulsion.
But after a while the crowd began to disperse. They had had a great day, a good show but now they were tired and went home – most, of course, to fuck, since they had been excited all day without release.
After only a few minutes the execution site was empty except for impaled, twitching Bobby, two guards and the dead bodies of Ahmed and Mohammed.
And so through periods of convulsion and longer and longer moments of whatever peace was still possible for Bobby, night fell. It would be too much to say that Bobby fell asleep atop his stake but there were long periods of a comatose-like state where the pain that Bobby had long accepted as always having been, at least did not reach new heights. But now and then a fit seized him and he awakened the guards with his wailing and writhing.
The next morning at about ten o’clock, after Bobby had been impaled for almost 24 hours the guards approached his body which hung still from the stake. Bobby slowly opened his eyes and watched them. Suddenly one of the guards stepped upon a chair and grabbed Bobby’s dick. Suddenly wide awake, Bobby couldn’t believe that he was being masturbated. At first he felt nothing in his dick and he didn’t want to. He just wanted to die. His mind had finally accepted the fact that there was no other way out and even though Bobby had always been afraid of death he now wanted it desperately to come. Whatever would follow could not be worse than the state he was in, impaled on a broad wooden stake, his asshole, his pelvis stretched to the point of breaking, his bowels, his inner organs squeezed and forced apart, not wanting to stay in this position, now and then shifting, causing cramps and convulsions once again. Now the guard took Bobby’s cock into his mouth and gradually it started to harden. Bobby couldn’t believe there was still a feeling in his penis but maybe it was the pressure the stake put on his prostate. As the guard began to masturbate Bobby expertly his body started moving. Tears filled his eyes as he awaited another fit but although his inner organs started to shift into a new position around the stake the feeling of approaching orgasm was getting stronger. Bobby managed to moan „No“, „No“, but the guard didn’t listen and eventually Bobby felt ejaculation building up and as the semen was leaving his body in big white spurts for the last time in his life, for the last seconds in his life he didn’t feel pain. But afterwards, after the feeling of orgasm receded, the pain came back stronger than ever before and the guards watched as the milked boy went into stronger convulsions than they had ever witnessed and they masturbated to orgasm as the impaled boy danced on the stake for them.
It took Bobby two more hours to die. When, around noon, his time came, it started like any of the other fits but unlike the others it never stopped. It went on and on, as if his body, his organs, his muscles, his nerves for the last, desperate time tried to fight the wooden intruder. And finally they lost. Bobby, sweat-soaked, pain-ridden, felt something tear inside him and his last howl never was screamed as everything went blank white before his eyes, but still in these fractions of a second his brain shouted:
„I’m finally dying! This is …“
The thought was never finished.
The guards had watched the delinquents fit that lasted for almost twenty minutes and they knew that his heart wouldn’t stand the strain. But still it came as a surprise as, after constant convulsions, the impaled boy’s body suddenly went rigid, his eyes wide open, protruding, mouth open in one last silent scream and then everything went limp and after a few last death-twitches he just hung there on the stake like the dead piece of flesh he now was. The guards watched him for a while.
Although Bobby’s eyes were now blank, the horror of his final moments was still very evident. And would remain so in the guards’ minds, each time they masturbated, thinking of the impaled American youth, writhing and dying on the stake.
The End
The thought of being slowly impaled on a sharpened stake makes me sooooooooo.. hard.
Here's a story involving impalement among other methods of execution. I wish I was in Bobby's place!!!!
Bobby’s Final Fuck
Bobby was, one could say, the typical American boy. Except, that his strikingly blue eyes were surrounded by a patch of black instead of golden hair that fell in soft curls down his forehead. His physique was a perfect athlete’s one, smooth muscles covered by silken, hairless skin and he was graced with an 8.5 inch cock and big, low-hanging balls. Still, there was another exception to his being the typical American boy: he was gay. He’d discovered this quite early in his puberty and since he’d grown up in an orphanage, he’d had ample opportunity to enjoy a healthy and active sex life. His good looks had made it easy for him to win over other boys – or men, out on the street. But now he had graduated from High School, just turned eighteen and received a scholarship. The money that went with it, though, he intended to spend on a holiday, at least part of it. He’d never had a holiday in his life so he thought it about time he did. The destination he had chosen was a small country in the Near East, his choice having been influenced by the fact that he had always found Arabian boys the most fascinating and beautiful. Though Bobby knew that in this country homosexuality was a crime, he didn’t think, whatever the case, that being an American citizen anyone would dare harm him. After all, there was always the embassy.
Bobby didn’t know how fatefully wrong he was.
Presently Bobby was sitting in a street side café in the small town of Abd’jell, enjoying the morning sun, a tasty breakfast and strong Arabian coffee. Suddenly Bobby’s eyes fell on a boy sitting just two tables away from him. He was dressed not in typical Arabian fashion but wore an almost American-looking business suit, complete with tie. But this was not what caught Bobby’s attention. It was the incredibly beautiful brown face, surrounded by short, straight black hair and the piercing light-brown eyes – eyes that stared at him. Bobby felt his pulse quicken, his heart beating faster and, of course, a stirring in his loins. He decided to see what would happen. He paid, left the café and strolled down the street. He noticed that the Arab boy was following him and as Bobby entered a silent side-street finally caught up with him. As usual it didn’t take long for two horny young boys to get acquainted. The Arabs name was Ahmed and he was the son of a wealthy manager of an oil-firm. He lived in a house not far away that his father had bought for him, complete with a young servant called Mohammed.
Mohammed opened the door and Bobby drew in his breath. The servant had short, thickly curled hair and eyes as black as coal. Above a full-lipped mouth throned a slightly flat, slightly upturned nose and after a second a wide smile appeared that revealed a row of strikingly white, even teeth that Bobby wouldn’t have expected from an Arab. The boy wore the typical gallabiya, a long shirt like garment that reached almost to the floor, in Mohammed’s case just revealing a pair of well-formed naked brown feet. It was hard to decide who was more beautiful, master or servant.
Soon Bobby and Ahmed were sitting in the lavishly furnished living-room, sipping coffee and getting to know each other better until Bobby just couldn’t hold back anymore and started stroking the bulge in Ahmed's crotch that seemed huge beneath his expensive trousers. Soon the boys were giving each other deep throated wet french kisses their arms stroking each others bodies. Suddenly Ahmed asked:
„Do you want Mohammed to join?“
Bobby didn’t hesitate and nodded vigorously. Ahmed called the servant and ordered him to undress. Mohammed just pulled the gallabiya over his head and stood before them in all his glorious nakedness. Slender, not very tall but equipped with sinewy muscles, tanned all over his body, his long slim tool already rising. He looked much younger than his nineteen years. Ahmed told him to undress the guest and the master. Mohammed complied swiftly and while he went to work Bobby watched the elegant movement of the servants muscle cords beneath his smooth skin. As Mohammed finished, both Bobby’s and Ahmed's cocks were rock-hard, though no one had touched them. Mohammed went down first on his master but Ahmed raised his servant’s head by the curly hair and told him that guests always came first, suddenly smiling when he realized the way he had put it. Bobby felt Mohammed’s warm mouth descend on his rigid cock and felt like in heaven when he sensed that something was wrong. He opened his eyes.
People. There were people in this room who surely didn’t belong here. Blinking, he realized who they were. Policemen. One of them looked disdainfully on the group of naked boys and said something to his colleagues in Arabic. Bobby didn’t understand it but he knew it hadn’t been something very friendly.
Then the policemen brutally went for the naked boys.
Bobby, Ahmed and Mohammed had now shared the same cell for about two hours. They were still as naked as when they had been led from Ahmed’s house amidst the cheers of a swiftly increasing crowd.
„What are they going to do with us? “ Bobby asked.
Ahmed sighed.
„I don’t know. But fucking with men is a serious crime in my country. “
„But your father? He must have influence! “
Ahmed laughed a bitter laugh.
„When he learns of this, he’ll disown me. He’ll say he never had a son. “
Suddenly Mohammed spoke for the first time, in a soft voice:
„They are going to kill us. I know. Ali, a friend of mine, told me once. All people convicted of homosexual crimes are executed. “
„But surely there will be a trial. After all, I’m an American citizen. They can’t, you know, just …“
Mohammed just shook his head, and then lowered it.
„This is ridiculous. This can’t be! They’ll have to let me call the embassy. They will have to! “
Neither Ahmed nor Mohammed answered him.
Suddenly the door to the cell was opened by a guard. He entered and then, in short, matter-of-fact words told them that they had just been sentenced to death. The execution would take place tomorrow.
And there never would be a trial.
It was almost ten o’clock the next morning and the sun was already up high and heating the air, as the three delinquents were led to the execution site. They were naked and their hands were tied behind their backs. Bobby had protested a long time, now as he saw the huge crowd that was awaiting them, he fell silent, still not believing that any of this was really happening. The execution site was a broad place that was encircled by the audience. On its right side Bobby could see a strange device. It consisted of two vertical poles – obviously made of tree trunks – both about three meters high, that were connected at the top by a horizontal one. Beside this, on the sandy floor, lay a huge saw, like the ones that had been used for felling trees before they invented the chainsaw. In the middle of the site Bobby could spot something that looked like an old fashioned oven, around it various gadgets that Bobby couldn’t make out. And finally on the left side lay a large wooden stake approximately five meters long, its diameter about 14 inches at one end but steadily decreasing as it neared it’s top, the peak, as far as Bobby could see, not more than an inch. Bobby swallowed and for the first time realised that he was in real trouble. The crowd cheered as the three frightened boys were led into the arena and Bobby blushed as he felt thousand eyes on his naked, vulnerable body, helplessly displayed for the audience’s pleasure.
And what a sight they saw. Three perfect specimens of young manhood, two natives and one an American with creamy white skin, so seldom displayed in all its naked glory in this country. Pectorals pushed out by the fact that their hands were tied behind their backs, deliciously large nipples protruding above slim and hard bellies, long, thick, veiny cocks dangling between muscular thighs, Ahmed’s member the largest, Bobby’s and Mohammed’s equal in size, below these fertile, semen-filled boy-balls encased in wrinkled sacs, faultlessly sculptured calves that tensed and relaxed with every step of three pairs of naked feet on the way to their fate. A fate that these boys, unlike the audience, did not yet know. But they were starting to suspect.
Having reached the middle of the site, Ahmed and Mohammed were forced to sit down on the ground, well guarded, while Bobby was led on by two men towards the stake. The chief executioner was preceding this group of two dressed, armed Arabian guards and one naked, bound young American delinquent whose eyes started to show more and more fright. Bobby realised, as he was forced towards it, that the stake sharpened at one end though its peak seemed to have been rounded with something like sandpaper perhaps. Bobby tried to swallow but found his throat was dry and had to cough. This wasn’t true, this couldn’t be real. Of course he had heard of impalement as a method of execution, but this had been centuries ago, no one was impaled nowadays. And especially not an all-American boy like himself. Still they were leading him towards it – and what could he do about it? Finally they had reached the sharp end of the stake and Bobby was pushed down onto the ground face-down.
The crowd watched in silent fascination as the naked white boy was being pinned down by two men while two others hammered two pegs into the earth, about four feet apart, then grabbed the boy’s ankles and tied them with rope to the pegs. Bobby lay helpless on the floor, legs spread-eagled, and hands tied behind his back, two strong guards holding down his upper body. Then he felt something enter his ass and as he wanted to scream he realised that it was only one finger, then two, then three. They were pushing something inside him, something slippery, oily … oil! They were lubricating his rectum! Bobby sighed, as tears were welling up in his eyes. Why didn’t he fight? He was in a helpless position, yes, but why didn’t he scream, try to trash about, do anything? Bobby just didn’t know why he simply lay there in the sand, letting a guard oil his rectum, letting him prepare it for … the stake. Maybe because in his heart he still didn’t believe this would be happening, that no one, at the end of the 20th century, would stick a sharpened wooden stake up another man’s ass as an official method of execution, watched by hundreds of people. No, this was something Vlad Tepes or others might have done, even to innocent victims like Bobby, centuries ago, but not in 1989, never. While his mind told him all this, his heart somehow seemed to know otherwise and sweat broke out on Bobby’s body as the fingers left his rectum and his sphincter closed again (For the last time? his heart asked).
What Bobby hadn’t seen was that in the meantime another guard had carefully oiled the stake until it glistened in the sun like brown metal.
Ahmed and Mohammed watched in awe as three guards, two in the middle, one at the blunt end, picked up the heavy stake and the executioner positioned the sharp but rounded peak at Bobby’s asshole. They didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see what would happen to their almost-fuckbuddy in a few moments, but they didn’t manage to close their eyes, seemed to have forgotten how to do this, and cursed to watch everything. Having positioned the stake the executioner gave a sign to his assistants and they slowly started to push. Bobby felt the stake enter his body. His mind screamed `this is not happening´, `this is not happening´ all the while he felt the wooden intruder slowly travel up his rectum. Possibly his mind did still not acknowledge the fact that this was the beginning of a real execution because as yet there was no pain. The stake hadn’t proceeded further than any ordinary dick could nor was it wider. So, his mind groped for the last hope, maybe this was really just a scam, a show to humiliate him and they would pull out the stake before it was …
Bobby never finished the thought because now the pain began. The stake had reached realms inside him that no other object had ever reached, nothing had intruded so far – and it continued. The rectum’s nerve-endings sent waves of protest into Bobby’s brain and the boy started to moan. The pain hadn’t yet reached the stadium where he would scream but, with what little he was able to think at this moment, Bobby knew it soon would.
Ahmed, Mohammed and the crowd watched in silence as the stake’s progress into the boy’s body seemed to come to a halt. It had obviously reached an obstacle. The white boy’s face started to contort, eyes squinched shut, teeth pressed together. The executioner gave a sign to the man at the blunt end. Seconds afterward the man pushed with all his might. For a moment it seemed that the rope that tied the victim’s ankles to the pegs would rather rip than that the stake would go in any further. But then whatever had been in the way inside the boy’s body gave and the stake quickly went in another nine inches. The executioner smiled and turned to the audience, but the people remained silent, waiting for what surely had to come right now. And they were not disappointed. They started to cheer as they listened to the young victim’s first full-blooded tormented scream.
Bobby had, of course, felt that something inside his body was blocking the way of the stake, the pain causing him to wince but not to scream. Then for a few seconds nothing had happened. And these seconds were the last in Bobby’s life that at least a small part of his brain believed that they would now pull out the stake again. Then the big shove came and that something inside Bobby, probably his rectal wall, was ripped open and Bobby could feel, as if in slow motion, although it surely happened like lightning, the stake gliding up his body for what to him seemed like thousand feet. That was when everything changed. Up until now the pain had been bad but bearable but now a new understanding of the term pain hit Bobby as the stake started to push aside his intestines, his inner organs, all that was in its merciless way. Bobby could not have explained this pain had anybody asked him and surely no-one could have. This was the kind of pain that had to be experienced and those who experienced it wished to god they didn’t have to. But, of course, those who were made to experience it never had a choice.
Ahmed and Mohammed watched with tears of pity and fright in their eyes, as the stake now swiftly and irrevocably slid further and further inside beautiful, muscular, gleaming white, pain-ridden Bobby. The crowd hailed the stake’s progress with shouts of encouragement and comments and while their eyes tried to take in all aspects of Bobby’s writhing, sweat-covered, more and more impaled body they listened to the sweet sound of his high-pitched screams that were only interrupted by deep-voiced sobs, and these testaments of unimaginable agony brought erections to many a man and boy and more than just the women’s mouths started to water. Maybe homosexuality was forbidden but watching a beautiful young men getting fucked with a big wooden stake was more than enough substitution.
Within Bobby’s body hell had broken loose. The stake, now almost 20 inches inside him, had not only pushed his organs out of their proper place but was now constantly squeezing, compressing them, starting with his kidneys, then his gall, his liver and so on. The nerve-endings were sending shockwaves into Bobby’s brain that made him howl and had turned his existence into one of pure agony. But another source of pain started to come into prominence, after all the stake now dilated Bobby’s asshole to almost 6 inches diameter. Suddenly it seemed as if all air had been pushed out of Bobby’s lungs and he couldn’t scream anymore. The audience watched with joy and mild laughter the boy’s face, eyes bulging, mouth opening and closing, no sound emerging. Some in the crowd feared that the boy was about to die but those who had witnessed an impalement before knew that the lungs had been reached and explained this to their neighbours.
The assistants stopped pushing the stake further inside the body. Instead they cut the ropes that secured the boy’s ankles to the pegs which enabled Bobby to thrash around more freely but didn’t change the fact that he was still as helpless as a tortoise on its back. Thoughts of escaping, if he ever had harboured them, had long left his mind. His eyes, though wide open didn’t see a thing, he didn’t feel his hands or feet, just felt his whole body, wrapped in pain.
Ahmed and Mohammed who were sweating now almost as much as Bobby did, though goose bumps appeared now and then on their blameless skin, watched as guards heaved Bobby’s body up while others supported the stake. Soon it was almost upright, Bobby’s body writhing at the top, then the blunt end settled into a hole that had been dug before. The executioner’s work was done. Now he could trust gravity to do its work. He and his assistants watched calmly as the body settled ever deeper onto the stake. The progress was not continuous. For a while nothing happened then Bobby would suddenly slide down a few inches. Each time this happened the boy’s screams reached a new level and the audience cheered loudly, awaiting the glorious moment.
Bobby thought that his pelvis would explode any second, the stake feeling like a thousand inches wide where it entered his body. Nevertheless he slid down some more inches and the only thing that exploded was the pain. But there was nothing he could do to stop the impalement, hands bound behind his back, the naked soles of his feet frantically, fruitlessly trying to find a hold on the slick stake. Another few inches. How long would this go on? When would he die? … Die? He was young, just eighteen, he didn’t want to die. But, was not death the only way out of this agony? Another few inches and Bobby located a new source of pain, on his back, right below his right shoulder. The pain increased and it was a different kind of pain than the hell inside his body, it was sharper, more focused. Suddenly he felt something tear and he slid down a good three inches. Even through his screams Bobby could hear the cheers and applause of the audience watching his execution. But it took him some time to realise the reason for this acclamation. It came to him the same moment as he realised what the pain behind his shoulder and the tearing had meant. The impalement was complete. The stake had traversed all of Bobby’s body, from his asshole where it had started its journey right to the point below Bobby’s right shoulder where it had finally reemerged. Although it may seem odd but it was only at this point, despite all the torment that Bobby had already gone through, that his mind realised that he had really been impaled. Really! This was no game, no nightmare, this was a real execution. An execution by impalement and Bobby was the victim. There was really a stake inside him, a stake that entered at the asshole, was now firmly situated in his belly, his breast and left the body again through an opening that it had created itself, right behind Bobby’s shoulder. Sliding down another few inches, Bobby’s howls became ones not only of pain but of despair. Still his mind was some steps away from grasping the reality that the inevitable conclusion was his death, the death of a good-looking, athletic 18 year old, all-American boy who only two days ago had thought he would live forever. And even if he had had thoughts of death it would have been peacefully in his sleep, not living the last hours of his life in agony that he hadn’t even known existed. But then nobody in the audience watching the boy’s death fight would ever know the agony that he knew now, except if one of them would some day be singled out for death by impalement. Just like Bobby this man would never live to tell.
A while after Bobby’s body had finally settled on the stake and his screaming had become less constant, interspersed by periods of moaning and sighing the audience started to grow restless. The executioner sensed this and pointed at Mohammed. Two guards ran towards the sitting boy, dragging him up and towards the oven. They were literally dragging him as his legs refused to move, his eyes wide with disbelief, shock and fear, his mouth hanging open, making his beautiful features look a little stupid. Finally the group reached the place beside the oven. The guards held Mohammed’s trembling, sweat-soaked, naked brown body fast as the executioner lit a candle. Immediately members of the audience started betting which part of the boy’s body he would burn first. Mohammed watched as the executioner closed in on him, eyes fixed on the candle-flame. Just like Bobby he didn’t move, didn’t fight. The case of the rabbit in front of the snake. Now the executioner was standing right before Mohammed and smiled, then swiftly held the candle beneath the boy’s left nipple. The flame didn’t reach the nipple but Mohammed immediately felt the heat, still he didn’t scream right away, just clenched his teeth as tears filled his dark eyes. Only when the flame encircled his nipple did Mohammed throw back his head and let out his very first howl which was cheered as much by the audience as Bobby’s first reaction to the piercing of his rectum wall had been. But it didn’t last long, the tender nerves were soon destroyed and Mohammed watched with a kind of horrified fascination as his once proudly erect nipple turned into a stinking, burning, black piece of flesh. And so the second nipple went. But the audience knew that this was only the foreplay. Presently the executioner turned his attention towards Mohammed’s perfectly shaped genitals. He took a rather large safety-pin, inserted it into the Arab boys urethra, piercing the dick just below the glands. Then he secured the penis with the safety-pin to the boy’s navel. During this swift operation Mohammed had not screamed much but, everybody knew, this would soon change. The executioner now took a razor-sharp knife and started cutting open the young victim’s scrotum right where it connected to the body. As he slowly and carefully continued to cut, the real screaming began. Mohammed tried to escape, to flee, but the four guards, two securing his arms, two his legs, had a firm hold on him. There was no escaping his fate. Meanwhile the executioner had finished and Mohammed’s ball-sac lay on the dusty ground while his balls dangled freely. The executioner took them in his hand and the guards forced the boy’s head down so that he had to watch his own denuded manhood. Mohammed again tried to break free but a fast squeeze on his balls let all thoughts of escape vanish, only pain left in his mind.
The executioner now pulled on gloves and went to the open oven where an assistant had heated a couple of long needles. He took them and as he neared Mohammed, the boy, realizing what was about to happen, started to thrash around again.
With teary eyes Bobby, poor impaled Bobby, watched what was happening to Mohammed. The pain inside his body and at his asshole hadn’t diminished but somehow he started to get used to it, at least for some moments at a time. Compared to what Bobby had already gone through these moments seemed almost – bearable. Bearable … what a ludicrous word for a boy whose body was impaled on a stake, nevertheless … As pain was to be his companion till he left this earth he had to find a way to get used to it, to bear it. Whether he would only those who had died the same horrible death long ago could have told him. In one of those moments before another cramp seized him Bobby watched as one hot-red needle after the other went into Mohammed’s balls. And he listened to his shrieks of agony and saw the tears streaming down his sweat-soaked face, still handsome although contorted in a grimace of pain, a pain that only Bobby was in a position to share. When Mohammed fainted the audience’s attention was diverted towards Bobby who experienced another cramp as his inner organs tried to get back into the place they belonged but were unable to due to the wooden intruder. As he spun like a top Bobby’s pains became even more unbearable as the organs were squeezed and compressed still further, sinews and muscles joining in the song of agony. What the audience saw was a still beautiful, muscular young white boy, impaled on a stake, his muscles flexing and relaxing as wave after wave of pain crossed his body, his feet desperately searching the stake, finding it, trying to grab a hold, slipping off the slick surface, yet trying again, as if with a will of their own. Only when his writhing and tossing had exhausted Bobby so much that his body just couldn’t move anymore did it slacken and only then did he stand a chance to experience one of those moments when the pain was almost bearable. Bobby only wished he could keep still forever because he had found out that when he thrashed around the pain only increased. Alas, he had no say in this and during those moments he could be sure that another cramp would come soon. He could only hope that as time progressed these moments would become longer. Little did he realise how perverted his thinking had already become after only half an hour of impalement. He didn’t think of somehow getting off the stake, didn’t think of escaping the pain, one way or the other. He just thought of how to make the pain more bearable. The pain had already become a part of him as if he had never known a life without it and so had the stake become a part of his life and body. A part that would eventually kill him. But at the moment Bobby’s thoughts hadn’t reached that far.
Mohammed had been brought to. Now to weak to carry on screaming he only sobbed as he was shown his balls that looked like pin-cushions and felt like hell. The executioner took the candle again and soon Mohammed’s left ball disappeared within the flame. Mohammed wouldn’t have thought there was a higher level of pain possible than the one he had felt as the heated needles had been stuck into his balls but now he knew he had been wrong as white-hot pain hit his brain, blocking out everything else.
The crowed watched fascinated as the Arab boy’s body went completely rigid while the flame consumed his ball. Mohammed’s mouth opened but no scream came out. Nothing, the boy didn’t even seem to breathe. Eventually, as the executioner tried the flame on the other ball, a hoarse croaking became audible that slowly turned into a sort of deep wailing that increased in volume and pitch right until the boy fainted again. The audience was a bit disappointed. The American boy seemed to be the better victim. Up to now he hadn’t fainted even once. Right at this moment he was again thrashing about on his stake, delivering a great show.
When Mohammed had come to again, the executioner swiftly cut off his pierced and burned balls. To the boy this wasn’t much of a relief. Though his balls were finally gone the pain mysteriously stayed. The executioner contemplated his young victim and decided it was better to let him rest for a while. As he turned away from the exhausted, castrated boy the audience applauded.
It was time for Ahmed. The third delinquent was led to the wooden construction at the right of the execution site. It seemed as if not only the boy’s face but his body as well, though naturally of a deep brown, had somehow paled as he had watched the predicament of Bobby and Mohammed. And once again the audience watched the strange phenomenon that the victim didn’t fight his executioners. He was sat down between the two poles and remained so, his eyes focused on nothing, maybe a point somewhere far away in the universe. Guards fastened two long ropes around his ankles. Ahmed didn’t move, breathed shallowly and fast. The guards threw the other ends of the ropes over the crossbeam and started pulling. Only then did Ahmed’s eyes start to become animated as his feet were hauled off the ground, then his legs, his torso, his whole body. As he was hanging upside down, swinging from side to side, he screamed:
„No! No! No! No! No! “
Nothing else, just „No! “Over and over again.
The guards didn’t care. They climbed up a ladder and fastened his ankles with rope to the side poles. The audience laughed as Ahmed spastically bent his toes forward and backward in a ludicrous display of what? Escape? The guards climbed down again, untied Ahmed’s hands behind his back and retied the wrists to the poles so that his body was now spread out tightly. Then they waited for the executioners command. But he took his time, letting the crowd enjoy the exciting spectacle of a brown skinned, slim, well built young Arab boy hung spread-eagled upside down, his head turning this way and that trying to see what would happen next. After a while the executioner decided to let the boy know. He picked up the huge saw with its shark-like teeth and pushed it below Ahmed’s head. The boy stared at it, his body suddenly becoming still. The executioner whispered:
„You know, soon there will be two Ahmed’s. Or“, grinning, „should I say two halves of one Ahmed? “
With this he took the saw away and handed it to his two assistants. If the audience had expected Ahmed to start thrashing around and screaming they were disappointed. He just let out a loud sigh and his body went completely limp. The assistants placed the saw blade between the delinquent’s ass cheeks. Ahmed felt the cold metal against his hot skin. He didn’t think anything, couldn’t think anything, his mind was completely blank. Still his body reacted with goose bumps to the blade. For a few seconds the assistants let the saw lie on the tender flesh between balls and asshole let Ahmed feel the sharpness of the teeth.
Then they started. The one in front of Ahmed pushing, the other one pulling, then vice versa. Ahmed felt the skin break, the teeth bite into his flesh, tearing it. But only after the first to and fro of the blade did he start screaming in earnest. A few moments later a saw tooth caught his scrotum, ripping it open. Tears mingled with sweat in Ahmed’s face. Then, the moment his balls were squashed and the saw had reached his asshole, realization came. He was being sawed in two! It was really happening and he was alive, awake and conscious. He was being sawed in two from ass to head like some pig! Only that pigs mercifully were killed beforehand but he, a human, a twenty year old boy, was not shown the same mercy, he was made to experience every single moment, from the saw starting to split his body between his legs to … well, whenever death would come. He was made to feel each tiny movement of the saw within his body. Now the large teeth of the saw were mangling his cock that he had been so proud of. But pride was the last thing on his mind at this moment, the saw was his only concern, the saw splitting his rectum, splitting his intestines, splitting his athletic body.
For the audience it was truly a fascinating and memorable sight. Those behind Ahmed could watch his ass cheeks come wider and wider apart as the saw made its way through the middle of the boy’s body. Those in front of him watched his balls and dick vanish into a bloody mass of pulp and saw his neatly split intestines staring to fall out. They also noticed that the delinquent was still able to flex his leg muscles and move his feet and toes frantically in complete agony – but suddenly they went limp. The nerves of the spine had been reached.
Ahmed was still very much alive and couldn’t believe it. He heard someone screaming, not realizing that it was himself, so wrapped up was he in his all consuming pain, a pain that, like Bobby’s, seemed to always have been there. Blood was streaming over his face and something was hanging in front of him which he finally recognized as his bowels, or what was left of them. While his screams now turned into hoarse croaks, he was still clearly aware of what was happening to him, feeling every tooth of the saw that was ripping him apart, dividing his body into two halves. The blade had now reached the chest cavity, two thirds of Ahmed already split in two. And the audience could see each other through the gap in the boy’s body, each half leaning now more prominently toward the pole its foot had been tied to. His death, however, was not very spectacular, neither for Ahmed nor the audience. The boy’s mind just went completely blank, from one moment to the other the mist of pain disappeared, everything disappeared. The audience just didn’t notice the exact moment the victim expired, since the two halves had hung limply for quite a while and the screaming and groaning had gradually decreased. Finally, before Ahmed’s neck had been reached, the executioner commanded his assistants to stop, declaring Ahmed dead. The first casualty of the day. The audience applauded.
Bobby, firmly imbedded on his stake, had watched Ahmed’s final moments wondering whether he would not have rather been in his place. Not that Bobby doubted at any second the true quality of Ahmed’s agony as he was slowly sawed in two, an agony that only Bobby could fathom from atop his stake. Still there was a difference. For Ahmed everything had been over within fifteen minutes and by now Bobby had realized that his own death-fight would be much, much longer. After all the peak of the stake had been rounded. Not vital organ had been pierced, just been shoved aside. Bobby didn’t know how long a human could last under these conditions but it any case it was far too long. Just as the executioner declared Ahmed dead Bobby was seized by another cramp and with his last clear thought for quite a while he wished, yes, that he had been in Ahmed’s place. Then agony overtook him.
Mohammed had now had time to recover somewhat from his brutal castration and the burning of his nipples. And since Ahmed was dead and nothing more would be done to Bobby it was clear to the audience that the time had come to slowly finish off the young servant off. Obviously the pause in his own torture and the witnessing of Ahmed’s bloody and painful demise had had their effect on Mohammed. He didn’t flinch or try to move as the executioner turned back to him. It seemed that he had accepted his fate – the fact that he would from now on be screaming right to the death which would rather later than sooner claim him. Almost interested he watched his surroundings as he was led to a large table and tied down face down with ropes at his wrists and ankles. The executioner took a small saw, and then grabbed the small finger of Mohammed’s left hand. Placing the saw at the base of it he slowly started cutting the finger off. Mohammed’s face muscles twitched, he clenched his teeth, tears were in his eyes but finally he couldn’t suppress the scream any longer when the teeth of the saw reached his finger bone and a faint scratching sound filled the boy’s ears. Once the small finger was cut off the ring finger became the object of the executioner’s tiny saw. It took even longer to severe, Mohammed’s shrieks reaching fever-pitch, his tiny muscular frame becoming tense and rigid. The crowd watched in delight as one finger after the other was casually cut off, the thumb taking the longest. By now the shrieks had turned into one long, almost subtle wailing sound.
In the meantime two young boys in the audience had become somewhat bored by the spectacle and moved in the direction of the young American’s impaled frame until they reached their destination, a place right behind Bobby. No cramps seized the boy at the moment, his body was hanging limp, almost lifelessly. What the young boys had really come to see was the point where the stake entered the body. And they held their breath when they saw it. It seemed impossible that any human asshole could accommodate such a large stake. It seemed in fact impossible that this should still be a human asshole. The sphincter, of course, having long been torn, it still seemed unbelievable that the opening was now an obscene 14 inches wide, the entering stake pushing the boy’s muscular buttocks further apart than the boys had ever thought possible. Still the pelvis didn’t seem to break. The boys noticed small twitching in the impaled’s legs and suddenly both of them hade the urge to touch and caress these smooth thighs, these muscular calves, these perfectly arched naked feet not to comfort the impaled one but to know if his skin, his flesh felt any different to that of a boy not in agony. And they wanted to touch the opening where the stake went in, once so small and delicate, now forced so brutally wide open that it would never close again, even were the stake pulled out, distended and destroyed for all times. An average American boy’s asshole turned into a fuckhole for eternity. Now they noticed the muscles in his back starting to twitch as well, the biceps of his bound arms flexing. The young boys let out a sigh as the impaled boy started to moan, and from the point of entrance they imagined the stake inside the body, pushing it’s way through mercilessly, leaving the body right below the shoulder, yet somehow complete imagination was not possible and the boys realized that such a thing could never be visualized, could never be told but had to be felt. And the boy on the stake was feeling it right now as his movements became more agitated. The boys had noticed this before, they knew what would follow. The impaled’s body would begin to tremble more and more, he would start to writhe and wriggle, then convulsion would set in – and so it happened. But this time, as they watched the thrashing body of poor impaled Bobby and saw him throw his head back and howl his agony to the sun, the two boys came for the first time in their life in their gallabiya.
All of Mohammed’s fingers had been cut off. Now the ties binding him were cut and he had to sit on the table, two guards securing his arms, two his legs so that the soles of his brown feet touched the table-top. As Mohammed looked down, without fighting, the executioner started to saw off the boy’s toes one by one. It lasted even longer than the severance of his fingers. Mohammed merely sighed and sometimes even managed to watch as a toe came off. Though the pain was very bad, his body in a way had become accustomed to it. And his mind told him to watch it, as if it were someone else who was being mutilated in front of an applauding audience. And so he watched with big, tear-filled, dark eyes as one limb of his feet after the other was carefully being separated.
Then the toe-less, finger-less, ball-less, nipple-less boy was made to stand on what remained of his feet on the dusty ground. While two guards held his arms, the executioner unfastened the safety-pin that had connected Mohammed’s penis to his navel all the while. His huge dick came free and swung between his thighs. The audience roared as this was a moment they had been waiting for a long time. Knowing that the pain would now become much more severe, Mohammed tensed. But he didn’t fight, still accepting his fate. Another guard put his arms around Mohammed’s belly, two more guards holding his legs. With a sharp knife the executioner carefully cut the skin of the boy’s cock from base to head. Then, meticulously he began flaying Mohammed’s penis.
Bobby, in one of those moments that time after time really became more extended, watched Mohammed’s contorted face as his dick-skin came off. With all the agony driving through his own impaled body he couldn’t really pity the tortured boy especially since he knew that even Mohammed’s torment would be over much sooner than his own. He would be the last of the delinquents to offer a spectacle to the audience, long after the other two had perished, as he had been the first. Another convulsion hit home.
The flesh of Mohammed’s cock was now glistening bright red in the sun while its skin lay crumpled on the ground.
Again the candle. As the flame started to lick at the glands of the boy’s flayed cock the guards had a hard time holding him fast, as Mohammed now thrashed about in earnest and in the indescribable pain of the last sign of his manhood being burned off developed a strength no one would have thought the boy capable of. His cock swung around wildly and the executioner had to swiftly follow its movement to keep it trapped in the flame. Mohammed lasted a long time but finally he fainted again. The audience saw his body go limp, his head sag down, chin resting on his chest between his burned nipples. He was brought to, felt the pain of the flame at his cock, screamed, and fainted after a while. This ritual continued until the Arab boy’s penis was nothing more than a charred piece of flesh. Finally it was cut off with the sharp knife and a smoldering iron was placed on the open wound until the bleeding stopped. During this unconsciousness didn’t come to Mohammed and he felt everything but was no longer able to scream loudly even though the pain was no less intense. He just moved his head around, eyes half closed, moaning, babbling undecipherable words. At one point a sign of madness crept into his eyes but soon they became focused again.
The executioner let his young victim rest for awhile as the audience needed a meal-break. The crowd discussed the performance of the delinquents and the majority thought that the American boy had given the best show so far. And, of course, was continuing to do so. In fact, during the meal-break, Bobby had one of his strongest fits so far, writhing, twitching, wailing, sighing, kicking, screaming continuously for more than five minutes before his body settled down again, small twitching of his muscles and nerves the only sign of his ongoing agony. Yes, the audience decided, impaled the American boy was an even more beautiful sight.
After the break Mohammed was tied face down to the table again. The executioner took a heated iron stick, about three inches thick, whose surface was covered with tiny spikes, from the fire. Mohammed couldn’t see the executioner approach him but soon he felt the red hot iron invading his ass, traveling slowly up his rectum, burning it, tearing its wall with the spikes. Again it took him some time to scream but then his shrieks were higher than ever. After having inserted the rod to the hilt the executioner withdrew it slowly, and then pushed it in again, faster and faster, fucking the howling boy with a heated iron while smoke curled out of his asshole.
In the back of the audience two men were watching the spectacle intently. Suddenly the one standing behind the other tore a small hole in his buddy’s gallabiya, right where the asshole was, then pushed his erect cock through. The one in front felt the slick cock enter his ass to the hilt, sighed but dared not touch his own erect cock. Slowly, so that no one would notice, the fucking began. The active one adapted his movements to the speed with which the executioner was fucking screaming Mohammed with the hot iron, forever destroying the boy’s rectum. Faster and faster it went. And while the fucked man experienced pleasure, Mohammed felt his rectum continually being scorched and torn apart. Finally the fucker couldn’t hold back any longer and the moment Mohammed finally couldn’t stand it any longer and fainted he shot his load, trying desperately not to cry out. At the same time his buddy creamed into his gallabiya. What an orgasm while watching a young tortured boy faint from overwhelming pain!
Now things went swifter, as the executioner sensed a certain restlessness among the audience. First Mohammed’s ears were cut off, then his tongue cut out and presently he was blinded with a hot needle, which to Mohammed was, after all he had gone through, not the most painful but the most horrible experience, as his eyes were forced open und he helplessly watched the red-hot needle coming nearer and nearer, becoming closer and closer until it filled his vision, all the while dreading the moment of touch. Then came the burn, the piercing pain, and then blindness as his eye literally flowed out of its socket. Screaming, shrieking, sighing, moaning had become Mohammed’s only language.
Then the grand finale came. Mohammed mutilated, blind, was laid down on the earth on his back. His wrists and ankles were tied to ropes and these were tied to four small wheels with handles that where fixed to the ground, thereby forming a kind of primitive rack. Slowly the spread-eagled boy was being stretched. But even as his body was pulled so tightly that it was lifted off the floor, no more than a moan escaped the boy’s mouth. Soon the joints left their sockets, held to the torso only by sinews. Suddenly Mohammed managed to scream again as his left arm came loose. Everybody thought that the other arm would be next but surprisingly Mohammed’s right leg was the next to go. The tormented boy was now hanging only by one arm and one leg in the air until eventually the sinews of his right arm couldn’t stand the strain anymore and tore. Mohammed thumped to the ground, only his left leg connected to the body anymore. With a few expertly set cuts the executioner severed it. Still Mohammed, or rather his mutilated torso and head, was alive, breathing, turning his head from side to side in the dust, babbling, his tongue-less mouth trying to form words. So the executioner decided to give the audience a da capo. He cut open the boy’s belly and pulled his intestines out, laying them on the ground beside the torso. The audience applauded as the executioner kicked them with disdain and Mohammed’s eye-less, ear-less, tongue-less face contorted in pain but only small retching sounds escaped his mouth.
Bobby, atop his stake, watched as what was left of Mohammed was carried to the poles where Ahmed’s split body still hung and then the young servant’s intestines were bound to the crossbeam and his torso was left to hang by them. Still there was twitching movement, twitching life in Mohammed, as he hung between the legs, almost inside the split body of his dead master. After a while the twitching stopped and as Bobby realised that Mohammed was finally dead he also realised what this meant. Bobby was the last – and he was still alive. This thought, more than any sudden rise in the level of pain, made his body start to tremble and even as he tried to keep still another cramp seized him.
The audience was delighted. Just at the moment the Arab boy had died, the American boy gave them another good show, for a very long time, even more so as each time the fit seemed over the executioner gave the impaled boy’s belly a good slap, thereby causing another convulsion.
But after a while the crowd began to disperse. They had had a great day, a good show but now they were tired and went home – most, of course, to fuck, since they had been excited all day without release.
After only a few minutes the execution site was empty except for impaled, twitching Bobby, two guards and the dead bodies of Ahmed and Mohammed.
And so through periods of convulsion and longer and longer moments of whatever peace was still possible for Bobby, night fell. It would be too much to say that Bobby fell asleep atop his stake but there were long periods of a comatose-like state where the pain that Bobby had long accepted as always having been, at least did not reach new heights. But now and then a fit seized him and he awakened the guards with his wailing and writhing.
The next morning at about ten o’clock, after Bobby had been impaled for almost 24 hours the guards approached his body which hung still from the stake. Bobby slowly opened his eyes and watched them. Suddenly one of the guards stepped upon a chair and grabbed Bobby’s dick. Suddenly wide awake, Bobby couldn’t believe that he was being masturbated. At first he felt nothing in his dick and he didn’t want to. He just wanted to die. His mind had finally accepted the fact that there was no other way out and even though Bobby had always been afraid of death he now wanted it desperately to come. Whatever would follow could not be worse than the state he was in, impaled on a broad wooden stake, his asshole, his pelvis stretched to the point of breaking, his bowels, his inner organs squeezed and forced apart, not wanting to stay in this position, now and then shifting, causing cramps and convulsions once again. Now the guard took Bobby’s cock into his mouth and gradually it started to harden. Bobby couldn’t believe there was still a feeling in his penis but maybe it was the pressure the stake put on his prostate. As the guard began to masturbate Bobby expertly his body started moving. Tears filled his eyes as he awaited another fit but although his inner organs started to shift into a new position around the stake the feeling of approaching orgasm was getting stronger. Bobby managed to moan „No“, „No“, but the guard didn’t listen and eventually Bobby felt ejaculation building up and as the semen was leaving his body in big white spurts for the last time in his life, for the last seconds in his life he didn’t feel pain. But afterwards, after the feeling of orgasm receded, the pain came back stronger than ever before and the guards watched as the milked boy went into stronger convulsions than they had ever witnessed and they masturbated to orgasm as the impaled boy danced on the stake for them.
It took Bobby two more hours to die. When, around noon, his time came, it started like any of the other fits but unlike the others it never stopped. It went on and on, as if his body, his organs, his muscles, his nerves for the last, desperate time tried to fight the wooden intruder. And finally they lost. Bobby, sweat-soaked, pain-ridden, felt something tear inside him and his last howl never was screamed as everything went blank white before his eyes, but still in these fractions of a second his brain shouted:
„I’m finally dying! This is …“
The thought was never finished.
The guards had watched the delinquents fit that lasted for almost twenty minutes and they knew that his heart wouldn’t stand the strain. But still it came as a surprise as, after constant convulsions, the impaled boy’s body suddenly went rigid, his eyes wide open, protruding, mouth open in one last silent scream and then everything went limp and after a few last death-twitches he just hung there on the stake like the dead piece of flesh he now was. The guards watched him for a while.
Although Bobby’s eyes were now blank, the horror of his final moments was still very evident. And would remain so in the guards’ minds, each time they masturbated, thinking of the impaled American youth, writhing and dying on the stake.
The End
follower7
Forum Regular
- Joined
- May 27, 2011
- Messages
- 112
- Location
- Indianapolis, IN
Fucking hot! Completely destroyed those hunks!
exhibsm
victim search executioner
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2011
- Messages
- 873
- Location
- Belgium
So HOT, one of the best here.
sussexfist
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Dec 20, 2008
- Messages
- 172
- Location
- Brighton, UK
MIKE CARCEL DRAWINGS INVOLVING IMPALEMENT
Here are a few of Mike Carcel's great drawings showing many variations on the theme of impaling. Oh! to have been a model for his drawings and to feel those stakes entering my body!!!
Here are a few of Mike Carcel's great drawings showing many variations on the theme of impaling. Oh! to have been a model for his drawings and to feel those stakes entering my body!!!
mxboots888
Forum Legend
- Joined
- Aug 18, 2011
- Messages
- 3,750
- Location
- somewhere in US
Thanks for the pics, sussexfist 
Very imaginative and decadent
Very imaginative and decadent
sussexfist
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Dec 20, 2008
- Messages
- 172
- Location
- Brighton, UK
One of my favourite Hun drawings. Would love to feel the barbed stake up my ass.
UNickMaker
Forum Resident
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2011
- Messages
- 675
- Location
- Indianapolis, IN
True story. In Eastern PA about 15 years ago two gay lovers got into a spat. They had been drinking when one knocked out the other with a blow to the head. He took his naked lover, still alive, to the woods where the remains of a tree were found. One of the huge branches had been bent over so it was level and parallel to the ground and came to a point!
The unconscious guy was laid face up, legs spread and tied to the bumper of the car. The tip of the tree branch was inserted into his rectum. Then as he awoke, his lover began to slowly drive the car away thus pulling the poor sap toward the tree thus impaling him with the branch being shoved up inside his ass. He eventually bleed to death after the tree branch was pulled all the way into his chest cavity piercing his lungs. Since his hands were not tied he had tried in vain to free himself and cops could see where he had clawed at the ground trying to stop the penetration. The killer was caught and got life without parole
The unconscious guy was laid face up, legs spread and tied to the bumper of the car. The tip of the tree branch was inserted into his rectum. Then as he awoke, his lover began to slowly drive the car away thus pulling the poor sap toward the tree thus impaling him with the branch being shoved up inside his ass. He eventually bleed to death after the tree branch was pulled all the way into his chest cavity piercing his lungs. Since his hands were not tied he had tried in vain to free himself and cops could see where he had clawed at the ground trying to stop the penetration. The killer was caught and got life without parole
exhibsm
victim search executioner
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2011
- Messages
- 873
- Location
- Belgium
WAOOOOOOO, a dream, would be nice to get some photos. Great post, some good ideas, ...
exhibsm
victim search executioner
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2011
- Messages
- 873
- Location
- Belgium
Here are a few of Mike Carcel's great drawings showing many variations on the theme of impaling. Oh! to have been a model for his drawings and to feel those stakes entering my body!!!
Great, position 3 would be mine, somebody to role play???
sussexfist
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Dec 20, 2008
- Messages
- 172
- Location
- Brighton, UK
Here are a few illustrations from BLAZE. I particularly like the first two pix.
exhibsm
victim search executioner
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2011
- Messages
- 873
- Location
- Belgium
Here are a few illustrations from BLAZE. I particularly like the first two pix.
GREAT POST Thanks
hosenschuss
bellyimpaler
- Joined
- Jan 24, 2013
- Messages
- 3
- Location
- Berlin
https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/116720820452754007785/albums/5798109561240159105
Nach dem Studium von Homer´s Ilias beschlossen wir, einmal müssen wir uns richtig aufspießen, wenn schon die alten Griechen solche Freude daran hatten!. Es gibt zeitgenössische Darstellungen wie sie dabei geil abspritzen, wenn ihnen der Speer in die Wohlfühlstelle gestoßen wird!Wir waren uns einig, dass wir es gemeinsam mit einem Spieß machen und uns dabei gegenüber stehen bis wir* aufgespießt miteinander kuscheln können, mit dem Speer durch unsere Unterleiber.Wir wussten, dass die Stelle, wo wir uns immer gemeinsam drückten, die anatomisch richtige ist, man findet sie, wenn man eine Hand auf den Bauch legt, den Daumen in den Nabel und da, wo der kleine Finger mittig unter dem Nabel hinzeigt, ist die Aufspießstelle, da ist die Bauchschlagader schon geteilt und kann nicht getroffen werden, die Bauchgrube ist weich und wenn man was reindrückt, gehen Darm und Blase aus dem Weg, es kann nicht doll bluten, da nur kleine Äderchen im Fettgewebe getroffen werden, da wirkt der Trainingsanzug als Mullbinde und der Spießschaft dichtet, wenn man ihn nicht rückwärts wieder rauszieht und drin läßt bis der Spießkanal abgeheilt ist. Und wie man hinten fühlen kann, sind am Ende der Wirbelsäule zum Steiß hin Stellen, wo man den Spieß durchstoßen kann, ohne dauerhafte Schäden anzurichten. Wir wissen, dass es beim Reinstechen etwas pieken kann, das ist nur ein kurzer Moment, sobald die Spitze durch die Haut kommt hört das auf und beim Durchrammen hinten einige Nervenstränge einen Moment Schmerzen verursachen. Wie geil die Zeit dazwischen ist, ahnten wir noch nicht. Es wurde wunderbar!
Wir nahmen uns ein 10er Alu-Rohr aus zwei Hälften, die mit einem Gewinde versehen waren, um sie später auseinanderschrauben zu können. An den Außenseiten befestigten wir zwei schlanke Scherenbacken, weil man damit sauber und widerstandsarm stechen kann ohne groß zu schneiden. Die klebten wir mit Zweikomponentenkleber sauber ein und verschliffen die Übergangsstellen so, dass sich der Spieß wie durch Butter mit leichtem Drücken durch alles durchbohrt ohne hängen bleiben zu können.
Dann überlegten wir, wie wir es machen wollen. Einer mußte der aktivere sein, das Los fiel auf mich. Dann suchten wir die Stelle aus, wo wir unser Vorhaben umsetzen konnten. Wir fanden einen Maschendrahtzaun, hinter dem ein Baum stand.
Also rein in unsere kuscheligsten Trainingsanzüge, Frank stellte sich mit dem Rücken an den Zaun, den 1 ½ Meter langen zusammengeschraubten Spieß mit den zwei scharfen Spitzen nahmen wir hoch, wir richteten die Jackenbündchen aus, den Reißverschluß jeweils etwas nach links aus der absoluten Mitte und den Spieß angehalten. Er hielt sich die Spitze an die Stelle, ich nahm meine auf und stellte mich dagegen. Luft anhalten, Bauch einziehen, er lehnte sich an den Zaun, ich drückte nur mit dem Bauch dagegen, der Spieß drückte unsere Jackenbündchen tief in die Hosen, eine leichte Streßinkontinenz machte uns jeweils einen warmen nassen Fleck in der Hose, wir kriegten einen Steifen. Ich drückte nur mit dem Bauch, es piekte uns beide. Nur kurz, Frank zuckte mit einem kurzen Aufschrei und ich konnte sein Jackenbündchen wieder sehen, die Spießspitze war verschwunden und seine Jacke hatte ein Loch mit rotem Rand. Es gab einen kurzen Ruck, als der Spieß in ihn eindrang und noch einen, als es bei mir aufhörte zu pieken. Es war so ein geiles Gefühl, auf dem Spieß zu stecken und unsere Jacken und Hosen und Bauchhäute sich entspannten, es ein wenig blutig am Spieß suppte und uns die Freudentropfen durch die Hosen schossen, Nun mußte es weitergehen, Frank faßte den Schaft an und zog ihn auf sich zu, ich faßte auch an und schob, bei Frank machte es runks und ich schoß mit dem Spieß in mir vorwärts, bis der Baum den Spieß ausbremste und ich durch den plötzlichen Ruck durchbohrt wurde, hinten an mir machte es ratsch und dann flopp, als das durchbohrte Jackenbündchen an meinen Rücken zurückfederte. Ich schoß aufgespießt auf den aufgespießten Freund zu, wir klatschten aneinander und eng umschlungen zuckten wir unsere Samenlager leer, die durch unsere Trainingsanzüge sabberten und sich innen und außen vermengten. Wir verloren aneinandergeklammert das Bewußtsein und als wir später wieder zu uns kamen genossen wir diesen wunderbaren Zustand. Dann ließen wir unsere Pisse aneinander durch die Hosenbeine laufen und wärmten uns die Bäuche.
Später, als wir uns wieder bewegen konnten, schoben wir uns auseinander und schraubten den Spieß auseinander. Der mußte ja nun drin bleiben, bis die Wunde abgeheilt war.
Das sah so geil aus, die Bauchtanzachse im Trainingsanzug und war auch sehr praktisch, denn nun konnte beim Rumtoben die Jacke nicht mehr hoch und die Hose nicht mehr runterrutschen. Und bei jeder Berührung schoß uns ein neuer Schwall geiler Soße in die Klamotten. Dann gingen wir duschen und joggten, bis wir wieder trocken waren...
Nach dem Studium von Homer´s Ilias beschlossen wir, einmal müssen wir uns richtig aufspießen, wenn schon die alten Griechen solche Freude daran hatten!. Es gibt zeitgenössische Darstellungen wie sie dabei geil abspritzen, wenn ihnen der Speer in die Wohlfühlstelle gestoßen wird!Wir waren uns einig, dass wir es gemeinsam mit einem Spieß machen und uns dabei gegenüber stehen bis wir* aufgespießt miteinander kuscheln können, mit dem Speer durch unsere Unterleiber.Wir wussten, dass die Stelle, wo wir uns immer gemeinsam drückten, die anatomisch richtige ist, man findet sie, wenn man eine Hand auf den Bauch legt, den Daumen in den Nabel und da, wo der kleine Finger mittig unter dem Nabel hinzeigt, ist die Aufspießstelle, da ist die Bauchschlagader schon geteilt und kann nicht getroffen werden, die Bauchgrube ist weich und wenn man was reindrückt, gehen Darm und Blase aus dem Weg, es kann nicht doll bluten, da nur kleine Äderchen im Fettgewebe getroffen werden, da wirkt der Trainingsanzug als Mullbinde und der Spießschaft dichtet, wenn man ihn nicht rückwärts wieder rauszieht und drin läßt bis der Spießkanal abgeheilt ist. Und wie man hinten fühlen kann, sind am Ende der Wirbelsäule zum Steiß hin Stellen, wo man den Spieß durchstoßen kann, ohne dauerhafte Schäden anzurichten. Wir wissen, dass es beim Reinstechen etwas pieken kann, das ist nur ein kurzer Moment, sobald die Spitze durch die Haut kommt hört das auf und beim Durchrammen hinten einige Nervenstränge einen Moment Schmerzen verursachen. Wie geil die Zeit dazwischen ist, ahnten wir noch nicht. Es wurde wunderbar!
Wir nahmen uns ein 10er Alu-Rohr aus zwei Hälften, die mit einem Gewinde versehen waren, um sie später auseinanderschrauben zu können. An den Außenseiten befestigten wir zwei schlanke Scherenbacken, weil man damit sauber und widerstandsarm stechen kann ohne groß zu schneiden. Die klebten wir mit Zweikomponentenkleber sauber ein und verschliffen die Übergangsstellen so, dass sich der Spieß wie durch Butter mit leichtem Drücken durch alles durchbohrt ohne hängen bleiben zu können.
Dann überlegten wir, wie wir es machen wollen. Einer mußte der aktivere sein, das Los fiel auf mich. Dann suchten wir die Stelle aus, wo wir unser Vorhaben umsetzen konnten. Wir fanden einen Maschendrahtzaun, hinter dem ein Baum stand.
Also rein in unsere kuscheligsten Trainingsanzüge, Frank stellte sich mit dem Rücken an den Zaun, den 1 ½ Meter langen zusammengeschraubten Spieß mit den zwei scharfen Spitzen nahmen wir hoch, wir richteten die Jackenbündchen aus, den Reißverschluß jeweils etwas nach links aus der absoluten Mitte und den Spieß angehalten. Er hielt sich die Spitze an die Stelle, ich nahm meine auf und stellte mich dagegen. Luft anhalten, Bauch einziehen, er lehnte sich an den Zaun, ich drückte nur mit dem Bauch dagegen, der Spieß drückte unsere Jackenbündchen tief in die Hosen, eine leichte Streßinkontinenz machte uns jeweils einen warmen nassen Fleck in der Hose, wir kriegten einen Steifen. Ich drückte nur mit dem Bauch, es piekte uns beide. Nur kurz, Frank zuckte mit einem kurzen Aufschrei und ich konnte sein Jackenbündchen wieder sehen, die Spießspitze war verschwunden und seine Jacke hatte ein Loch mit rotem Rand. Es gab einen kurzen Ruck, als der Spieß in ihn eindrang und noch einen, als es bei mir aufhörte zu pieken. Es war so ein geiles Gefühl, auf dem Spieß zu stecken und unsere Jacken und Hosen und Bauchhäute sich entspannten, es ein wenig blutig am Spieß suppte und uns die Freudentropfen durch die Hosen schossen, Nun mußte es weitergehen, Frank faßte den Schaft an und zog ihn auf sich zu, ich faßte auch an und schob, bei Frank machte es runks und ich schoß mit dem Spieß in mir vorwärts, bis der Baum den Spieß ausbremste und ich durch den plötzlichen Ruck durchbohrt wurde, hinten an mir machte es ratsch und dann flopp, als das durchbohrte Jackenbündchen an meinen Rücken zurückfederte. Ich schoß aufgespießt auf den aufgespießten Freund zu, wir klatschten aneinander und eng umschlungen zuckten wir unsere Samenlager leer, die durch unsere Trainingsanzüge sabberten und sich innen und außen vermengten. Wir verloren aneinandergeklammert das Bewußtsein und als wir später wieder zu uns kamen genossen wir diesen wunderbaren Zustand. Dann ließen wir unsere Pisse aneinander durch die Hosenbeine laufen und wärmten uns die Bäuche.
Später, als wir uns wieder bewegen konnten, schoben wir uns auseinander und schraubten den Spieß auseinander. Der mußte ja nun drin bleiben, bis die Wunde abgeheilt war.
Das sah so geil aus, die Bauchtanzachse im Trainingsanzug und war auch sehr praktisch, denn nun konnte beim Rumtoben die Jacke nicht mehr hoch und die Hose nicht mehr runterrutschen. Und bei jeder Berührung schoß uns ein neuer Schwall geiler Soße in die Klamotten. Dann gingen wir duschen und joggten, bis wir wieder trocken waren...
TallBlond1
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2012
- Messages
- 184
- Location
- Cleveland, Ohio
Absolutely outstanding story, Sussexfist! Sexy and TWISTED as hell! <EG> Scorchingly hot artwork throughout the thread, too.
Last edited:
jersum
JerSum
- Joined
- Jan 5, 2011
- Messages
- 424
- Location
- Russia, Moscow
Interesting drawings.
