A short story for entertainment purposes only. No intentional resemblance to any person living or dead etc.
“A hot day today, Mike. What have you got for us?”
The masked executioner took a clipboard from the prison governor as they walked towards Death Row, followed by his strap-down team. The sound of their heavy boots echoed after them along the white-tiled corridor.
“Just the one. Male, born this day in 1993, 6ft 2inches tall, eleven and three-quarters stone. Italian origin. Name of Luca. Typical long-hair student type.” The governor spoke brusquely. He tried never to show it, but there was something even he found intimidating about the powerfully-built executioner and the strap-down team of three. It was more than their uniform of tight black biker leathers, or the black ski masks that concealed their identity; there was something about the way these men held themselves, a result of their having killed many hundreds at the behest of the state. The governor had heard that the executioner might be called Mark – his nickname, though never to his face, was 'Sparky Marky'.
“His birthday, huh? Well, we're giving him a great present – eternal peace. Any trouble?”
“No, sir. He's admitted his guilt and accepts his punishment. Almost seems to want it.”
The group reached Luca's cell. A guard opened the heavy metal door. The prisoner lay on his cot, dressed only in a pair of white briefs. A priest sat on a chair in the corner, telling his rosary.
“It's time for your preparation, Luca.” said the governor. “You can go, Father. Meet us in the chamber in two hours.”
The priest, who had undertaken the night vigil, stood, and wordlessly exchanged glances with the prisoner before leaving. What the newcomers to the cell did not know, and would never know, was that the priest had given more, much more, than spiritual comfort to the condemned man.
Although a man of the cloth seems almost ageless and sexless in casual acquaintance, Father David was, in reality, only two years older than Luca, and had been something of a sportsman before following his calling. Underneath his cassock was a compact, muscular, body, not immune to the attraction of his unquestionably handsome ward for the night.
At first the men had talked, of religion, of life, of repentance. It was soon clear, however, that Luca was more interested in the immediate detail of his execution. Side by side on the cot, Father David was eventually persuaded to talk of what would happen to Luca's body before and during death on the electric chair. Stroking his hand through Luca's long, soft, hair the priest had told him that it would first be cut, and then shaved down to the scalp. Even the light down on his legs would be shaved, to ensure a good contact for the electrodes. Luca had asked if he would then be taken to the electric chair. The priest had hesitated, but then explained that the prisoner first suffered the indignity of a plug for his anus, to reduce post-execution cleaning of the equipment. When he had been dressed in the prison orange shirt and shorts he would be taken barefoot to the chair. Luca would be strapped to the chair with belts crossing his chest, groin, legs, and arms. A metal skullcap-shaped electrode would be attached to his scalp and forehead over a sponge moistened with saline. The executioner would ensure that the sponge not be too wet, as the saline could short-circuit the electric current, nor too dry, as it would then have a very high resistance. An additional electrode would be moistened with a conductive jelly and attached to a portion of Luca's shaved leg. The priest continued to say that Luca would then be blindfolded. Once the execution team had withdrawn to the observation room, the warden would signal the executioner, who would pull a handle to connect the power supply. A jolt of between 500 and 2000 volts, which lasts for about 30 seconds, is given. The current surges and is then turned off, at which time Luca's body would be seen to relax. The doctors would wait a few seconds for the body to cool down and then check to see if the inmate's heart were still beating. If it was, another jolt would be applied. This process would be continued until Luca is dead.
This description had clearly aroused Luca, whose briefs were strongly tented. He asked Father David what the viewers saw, and was told that the prisoner's hands often grip the chair and there there are sometimes violent movement of the limbs resulting in dislocation or fractures. The tissues swell. Steam or smoke rises and there is a smell of burning. The priest had said that he had witnessed an execution where the prisoner's eyeballs had popped out to rest on his cheeks. Often the body had turned bright red as its temperature rises, the flesh had swollen and the skin had stretched to the point of breaking. Once, the prisoner caught fire. Father David had described hearing a loud and sustained sound like bacon frying, and smelling the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh that had permeated the chamber.
Luca had listened with eager enthusiasm, rather than fear, to the detail of what he himself would experience within the day, but in the small hours of the morning he had admitted that there was one detail of concern. His ass had, he told the priest, never been, er, violated. He was worried about how he would react to the butt plug. Letting his hand slip down on Father David's hard erection beneath the cloth of his cassock, Luca had asked if there was anything the priest could do. So it was that as the prison slept the priest had laid aside his cassock, and had set the prisoner bent over the cot. His hands had slowly caressed Luca's flanks, and his rigid cock had gently probed, and then slowly invaded the virgin ass. Luca had first quietly gasped as he was penetrated, but then had been overwhelmed by the combination of physical pleasure and mental anticipation of what it would mean to be executed. For thirty minutes at three in the morning the priest and the prisoner had become one, a shared experience that would last the rest of their lives.
Luca now knew that would not be for long, as he looked at the prison governor, and the masked and leather clad execution team. He had slept in the arms of the priest, and felt calm and renewed. He stood up and looked steadily at the executioner. He thought that he could not, in his dreams, have cast anyone better in the role. As tall as himself, but much more muscular. He could not see the man's face, but there was something calming and controlling about the brown eyes that bored into his.
“What do you want me to do?” Luca asked, surprising himself at the level tone in which he spoke.
“Take off those briefs. Kneel down”
Luca did as he was told without hesitation, feeling no embarrassment either at his nakedness or at his slowly growing erection. In turn the executioner and his team made no comment, being used to such signs of arousal in those they were bringing to the electric chair.
Luca bowed his head in submission to the hair clipper as the executioner began to run it through his long hair. Restraint was hardly necessary with such a compliant victim, but two members of the strap-down team held his shoulders, the firm grip of their leather-gloved hands adding to the turmoil of his emotions. The executioner moved the clipper swiftly, with the expertise of much practice, reducing Luca's hair to a rough stubble in mere minutes. He swapped the clipper for a cut-throat razor.
“Take a shower, lather yourself up. I'm going to take all the hair off your body.”
The governor, the executioner and his team, and the prison warders watched as Luca soaped his long, lean body, moving easily under the steaming stream of water. They kept their thoughts to themselves, but Luca couldn't help noticing the suggestive bulges at the crotch of more than one of the onlookers. His own cock stood out hard at right angles to his body, glistening wet like the rest of his body. As Luca soon discovered, it made a perfect handle for the executioner as he shaved away Luca's pubic hair.
The executioner was thorough, and careful. It took almost twenty minutes to complete, but Luca felt not one nick. When instructed to shower again, Luca took the opportunity of feeling all over his body, amazed at how smooth and sensitive his skin was, and how strange it seemed to have no hair – even his eyebrows had been removed.
He dried himself.
“Bend over – hold your shins with your hands.”
Luca did as instructed. One of the executioner's assistants stood in front of him, holding Luca's head down against his bulging leather clad groin. Luca knew what to expect. He felt the plug touch his ring, cool where the priest had been hot, but just as insistent and irresistible. He felt himself stretch, and with a groan he surrendered. A shot of mixed pain and pleasure rushed up his spine as he was straightened up.
“Not so bad, was it? I could almost believe you'd been having practice. You're ready now. Get dressed.”
The executioner indicated the shirt and shorts, bright in the prison orange, lying on the cot. Luca pulled the coarse cloth shorts up his legs, and, with some difficulty, fastened the fly buttons. His cock tented the shorts. As he slipped the orange shirt over his shoulders, one of the executioner's assistants was fastening the heavy iron shackles around his ankles. When Luca was dressed his wrists were cuffed in front of his body.
“It's not that you're going to try to escape – just that the other prisoners like to see the condemned man fully restrained, and hear him clanking his way to the death chamber. Now, let's go!”
The execution party took the long walk to the execution chamber past the cells of other prisoners in death row. Luca was at the centre of the group, walking barefoot, and held between powerful masked guards. The other prisoners beat out the rhythm of the dead march with tin cups on their cell bars.
At the door of the death chamber Luca got a jolt of fear and excitement at his first sight of the old electric chair, sturdy in oak, festooned with worn leather straps, and thick coiled wires. He felt an amazing intensity of pleasure in touching the timber frame for the first time as he was turned to be seated. He knew that its smooth patina was the result of hundreds of men before him sweating and struggling and writhing in their death throes. He realised that he too would shortly be adding to that polish.
The feeling of heavy leather straps criss-crossing his limbs and torso, and of the hands of the leather-clad strap-down team 'accidently' brushing against his hard and tingling nipples and cock was intense almost to the point of orgasm. He felt the pressure of the butt plug moving inside him as his body was pressed ever harder against the electric chair. Then, it was the coldness of the wet, sponge lined, copper electrode on the back of his hairless leg.
“Any last words?”
Luca grinned.
“Get those straps around my belly tighter!”
Then the leather gag was pushed into his mouth, its worn leather ball designed to stop him biting his tongue. He tasted it with lust, thinking of all the others who had chewed down on it in the last extreme seconds of their life. The cold, damp skull cap electrode was fitted next, a heavy wire screwed to its terminal and its securing strap under his chin clamping his jaw shut.
A thick leather blindfold and face mask, having only a triangular hole for his nose, was the last restraint to be put in place, It pulled Luca's head hard back against the chair, rendering him all but immobile. Only his fingers and bare feet were free to move a little.
And so Luca waited, helpless, in darkness, listening to the rising hum of the generator, and the shuffle of feet as all but the executioner left the chamber. The condemned man had never have been so alive and so aroused as at the second of his death.
THE END
“A hot day today, Mike. What have you got for us?”
The masked executioner took a clipboard from the prison governor as they walked towards Death Row, followed by his strap-down team. The sound of their heavy boots echoed after them along the white-tiled corridor.
“Just the one. Male, born this day in 1993, 6ft 2inches tall, eleven and three-quarters stone. Italian origin. Name of Luca. Typical long-hair student type.” The governor spoke brusquely. He tried never to show it, but there was something even he found intimidating about the powerfully-built executioner and the strap-down team of three. It was more than their uniform of tight black biker leathers, or the black ski masks that concealed their identity; there was something about the way these men held themselves, a result of their having killed many hundreds at the behest of the state. The governor had heard that the executioner might be called Mark – his nickname, though never to his face, was 'Sparky Marky'.
“His birthday, huh? Well, we're giving him a great present – eternal peace. Any trouble?”
“No, sir. He's admitted his guilt and accepts his punishment. Almost seems to want it.”
The group reached Luca's cell. A guard opened the heavy metal door. The prisoner lay on his cot, dressed only in a pair of white briefs. A priest sat on a chair in the corner, telling his rosary.
“It's time for your preparation, Luca.” said the governor. “You can go, Father. Meet us in the chamber in two hours.”
The priest, who had undertaken the night vigil, stood, and wordlessly exchanged glances with the prisoner before leaving. What the newcomers to the cell did not know, and would never know, was that the priest had given more, much more, than spiritual comfort to the condemned man.
Although a man of the cloth seems almost ageless and sexless in casual acquaintance, Father David was, in reality, only two years older than Luca, and had been something of a sportsman before following his calling. Underneath his cassock was a compact, muscular, body, not immune to the attraction of his unquestionably handsome ward for the night.
At first the men had talked, of religion, of life, of repentance. It was soon clear, however, that Luca was more interested in the immediate detail of his execution. Side by side on the cot, Father David was eventually persuaded to talk of what would happen to Luca's body before and during death on the electric chair. Stroking his hand through Luca's long, soft, hair the priest had told him that it would first be cut, and then shaved down to the scalp. Even the light down on his legs would be shaved, to ensure a good contact for the electrodes. Luca had asked if he would then be taken to the electric chair. The priest had hesitated, but then explained that the prisoner first suffered the indignity of a plug for his anus, to reduce post-execution cleaning of the equipment. When he had been dressed in the prison orange shirt and shorts he would be taken barefoot to the chair. Luca would be strapped to the chair with belts crossing his chest, groin, legs, and arms. A metal skullcap-shaped electrode would be attached to his scalp and forehead over a sponge moistened with saline. The executioner would ensure that the sponge not be too wet, as the saline could short-circuit the electric current, nor too dry, as it would then have a very high resistance. An additional electrode would be moistened with a conductive jelly and attached to a portion of Luca's shaved leg. The priest continued to say that Luca would then be blindfolded. Once the execution team had withdrawn to the observation room, the warden would signal the executioner, who would pull a handle to connect the power supply. A jolt of between 500 and 2000 volts, which lasts for about 30 seconds, is given. The current surges and is then turned off, at which time Luca's body would be seen to relax. The doctors would wait a few seconds for the body to cool down and then check to see if the inmate's heart were still beating. If it was, another jolt would be applied. This process would be continued until Luca is dead.
This description had clearly aroused Luca, whose briefs were strongly tented. He asked Father David what the viewers saw, and was told that the prisoner's hands often grip the chair and there there are sometimes violent movement of the limbs resulting in dislocation or fractures. The tissues swell. Steam or smoke rises and there is a smell of burning. The priest had said that he had witnessed an execution where the prisoner's eyeballs had popped out to rest on his cheeks. Often the body had turned bright red as its temperature rises, the flesh had swollen and the skin had stretched to the point of breaking. Once, the prisoner caught fire. Father David had described hearing a loud and sustained sound like bacon frying, and smelling the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh that had permeated the chamber.
Luca had listened with eager enthusiasm, rather than fear, to the detail of what he himself would experience within the day, but in the small hours of the morning he had admitted that there was one detail of concern. His ass had, he told the priest, never been, er, violated. He was worried about how he would react to the butt plug. Letting his hand slip down on Father David's hard erection beneath the cloth of his cassock, Luca had asked if there was anything the priest could do. So it was that as the prison slept the priest had laid aside his cassock, and had set the prisoner bent over the cot. His hands had slowly caressed Luca's flanks, and his rigid cock had gently probed, and then slowly invaded the virgin ass. Luca had first quietly gasped as he was penetrated, but then had been overwhelmed by the combination of physical pleasure and mental anticipation of what it would mean to be executed. For thirty minutes at three in the morning the priest and the prisoner had become one, a shared experience that would last the rest of their lives.
Luca now knew that would not be for long, as he looked at the prison governor, and the masked and leather clad execution team. He had slept in the arms of the priest, and felt calm and renewed. He stood up and looked steadily at the executioner. He thought that he could not, in his dreams, have cast anyone better in the role. As tall as himself, but much more muscular. He could not see the man's face, but there was something calming and controlling about the brown eyes that bored into his.
“What do you want me to do?” Luca asked, surprising himself at the level tone in which he spoke.
“Take off those briefs. Kneel down”
Luca did as he was told without hesitation, feeling no embarrassment either at his nakedness or at his slowly growing erection. In turn the executioner and his team made no comment, being used to such signs of arousal in those they were bringing to the electric chair.
Luca bowed his head in submission to the hair clipper as the executioner began to run it through his long hair. Restraint was hardly necessary with such a compliant victim, but two members of the strap-down team held his shoulders, the firm grip of their leather-gloved hands adding to the turmoil of his emotions. The executioner moved the clipper swiftly, with the expertise of much practice, reducing Luca's hair to a rough stubble in mere minutes. He swapped the clipper for a cut-throat razor.
“Take a shower, lather yourself up. I'm going to take all the hair off your body.”
The governor, the executioner and his team, and the prison warders watched as Luca soaped his long, lean body, moving easily under the steaming stream of water. They kept their thoughts to themselves, but Luca couldn't help noticing the suggestive bulges at the crotch of more than one of the onlookers. His own cock stood out hard at right angles to his body, glistening wet like the rest of his body. As Luca soon discovered, it made a perfect handle for the executioner as he shaved away Luca's pubic hair.
The executioner was thorough, and careful. It took almost twenty minutes to complete, but Luca felt not one nick. When instructed to shower again, Luca took the opportunity of feeling all over his body, amazed at how smooth and sensitive his skin was, and how strange it seemed to have no hair – even his eyebrows had been removed.
He dried himself.
“Bend over – hold your shins with your hands.”
Luca did as instructed. One of the executioner's assistants stood in front of him, holding Luca's head down against his bulging leather clad groin. Luca knew what to expect. He felt the plug touch his ring, cool where the priest had been hot, but just as insistent and irresistible. He felt himself stretch, and with a groan he surrendered. A shot of mixed pain and pleasure rushed up his spine as he was straightened up.
“Not so bad, was it? I could almost believe you'd been having practice. You're ready now. Get dressed.”
The executioner indicated the shirt and shorts, bright in the prison orange, lying on the cot. Luca pulled the coarse cloth shorts up his legs, and, with some difficulty, fastened the fly buttons. His cock tented the shorts. As he slipped the orange shirt over his shoulders, one of the executioner's assistants was fastening the heavy iron shackles around his ankles. When Luca was dressed his wrists were cuffed in front of his body.
“It's not that you're going to try to escape – just that the other prisoners like to see the condemned man fully restrained, and hear him clanking his way to the death chamber. Now, let's go!”
The execution party took the long walk to the execution chamber past the cells of other prisoners in death row. Luca was at the centre of the group, walking barefoot, and held between powerful masked guards. The other prisoners beat out the rhythm of the dead march with tin cups on their cell bars.
At the door of the death chamber Luca got a jolt of fear and excitement at his first sight of the old electric chair, sturdy in oak, festooned with worn leather straps, and thick coiled wires. He felt an amazing intensity of pleasure in touching the timber frame for the first time as he was turned to be seated. He knew that its smooth patina was the result of hundreds of men before him sweating and struggling and writhing in their death throes. He realised that he too would shortly be adding to that polish.
The feeling of heavy leather straps criss-crossing his limbs and torso, and of the hands of the leather-clad strap-down team 'accidently' brushing against his hard and tingling nipples and cock was intense almost to the point of orgasm. He felt the pressure of the butt plug moving inside him as his body was pressed ever harder against the electric chair. Then, it was the coldness of the wet, sponge lined, copper electrode on the back of his hairless leg.
“Any last words?”
Luca grinned.
“Get those straps around my belly tighter!”
Then the leather gag was pushed into his mouth, its worn leather ball designed to stop him biting his tongue. He tasted it with lust, thinking of all the others who had chewed down on it in the last extreme seconds of their life. The cold, damp skull cap electrode was fitted next, a heavy wire screwed to its terminal and its securing strap under his chin clamping his jaw shut.
A thick leather blindfold and face mask, having only a triangular hole for his nose, was the last restraint to be put in place, It pulled Luca's head hard back against the chair, rendering him all but immobile. Only his fingers and bare feet were free to move a little.
And so Luca waited, helpless, in darkness, listening to the rising hum of the generator, and the shuffle of feet as all but the executioner left the chamber. The condemned man had never have been so alive and so aroused as at the second of his death.
THE END
