THE EXECUTION ROOM

Caroline held my hand so I could get off the couch. My feet touched the floor and I almost fell. I was shaking all over.

‘You need a wheelchair,’ she said. ‘You’re all wobbly. And your bottom is very red. My hand feels sore too! Crikey!’

She looked at the palm of her hand, shook it and smiled.

I wriggled uncomfortably in the wheelchair, my bottom was very tender. I raised myself up on the armrests and held my naked bottom off the seat.

Caroline was fully dressed again in her uniform. She carried on chatting, as if nothing had happened. She did not say anything more about spanking me. I felt confused by her - one moment, chatty and friendly, the next an overpowering lover, the next a reprimanding punisher, the next an absent minded chatterer.

I didn’t see why I should be in a wheelchair but, as I lifted myself up, I felt giddy and was thankful for it. I dropped back down and yelped with pain as my bottom touched the plastic surface of the seat.

‘This thing really squeaks, don’t you think?’ she said. ‘Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! We’re like little mice, you and me. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!’

She pushed me along dark corridors, on either side of which were heavy oak doors - they were all closed.

‘What are all these doors?’

‘These are the treatment rooms. Don’t you remember? Calming, purification, immersion, and confinement - the four methods laid down in the Middle Ages for treating the mad? I’ll show you. You are booked down for one soon anyway - to start your treatment. I can’t remember which. Let’s look in here first.’

She pushed the wheelchair into the dark room.

‘This room is different than the others. This is the “execution room” - this is a bit special. Visitors who do not respond to the other treatments are brought here and taken to the limits - led up to the very point of death or confronted by the most terrible suffering of others. Syra, sometimes that’s worse, don’t you think? To see the suffering of others? It makes me shiver to think of it!’

She pulled a long curled string that hung just inside the door and a central un-shaded light bulb came on. The brilliant white light highlighted a massively built wooden chair on a rostrum at its centre. She pushed me to the side opposite the door.

‘Quite a sight, eh? An original “Edison-Brown”. And look! A genuine Westinghouse AC generator. No DC here, Syra! It’s all AC! You see, I really know my electricity!’

She beamed broadly. Her large white teeth glistened in the dazzling light. A streak of red lipstick was smudged across her top front teeth. I imagined it was blood and shivered. She rolled her lips together and licked them. She smiled again. I imagined what she tasted - blood!

I looked around the starkly lit room - anything to keep my eyes off the heavily built wooden chair at its centre. Suddenly I was gripped with what was happening to me. I couldn’t believe it. I looked down at my hands- I was shaking with fear.

A partially burnt newspaper lay on the floor beside me. I leant down as far as I could to read it - hoping that it would distract me, calm me at least a little. The skin of my bottom stuck to the plastic seat and, as it was pulled against the shiny surface, it burned with soreness from the spanking Caroline had given me. I tightened my buttocks and felt the extra pressure against the soft flesh of my cunt.

My heart started pounding as I read the headline.

Execution in Harris County

Three times convicted killer, Father Leonard Dawson, late of Arizona, was today taken to the electric chair in Harris County, Texas...

Father Dawson! Executed!

I stared at the paper, burned with jagged black scorch marks as if it had been in the hand of the condemned man himself when he met his fate.

I breathed heavily - not a sigh but a heart pounding expression of fear. From nowhere, I felt his presence - it was as if he was close by. My eyes darted around the room. I felt ridiculous.

I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t stop myself reading more.

Father Dawson, minister to a congregation in Tacopa Hot Springs, Arizona, was finally captured after a chase involving ten police vehicles from the Sheriff’s Department and the Highway Patrol. After a short trial, Judge Mercy Patreas said she had never known murders so heinous. The suffering of Father Dawson’s victims, she said, meant that no punishment could ever match the despicable horror of his crime. She told the crowded courtroom that there was no question of appeal and the execution would be public to all who wished to see an honourable justice carried out.

I could hardly bear to read it! How could this have happened? Father Dawson! A murderer! I shook with fear as I thought how lucky I had been to escape being one of his sorry victims. A murderer!

I read on.

Many witnesses who attended the electrocution were surprised when Father Dawson appeared wearing a black pinstripe suit and dog collar. Several people had to be escorted out when they protested the execution of a “man of God”. Father Dawson claimed his right not to wear a hood. Several of the witnesses (all women) vomited during the execution. Although it was thought he was dead after three thirty second shocks, the doctor who checked for life signs found him still murmuring. The doctor ordered a further forty five second bout. This final charge killed him.

I dropped the paper to the floor as if an electric shock had passed through it.

Father Dawson! I felt my eyes going bleary. My head lolled to the side as I came over dizzy. The room started spinning around me. I thought I was going to vomit. I heaved and swallowed heavily to keep the vomit back.

‘Syra? Are you okay? What are you looking at?’ Caroline bent down and picked up the burnt newspaper. ‘Oh, you shouldn’t be reading that! I can tell you something though. This is a good place if you are mad - a really good place. There was someone here a year or so ago - in for treatment. They got his plan a bit wrong and, well, things got out of hand. He left one of the female orderlies naked, hanging by her ankles in his cell - his “room”, I should say. He’d faked chest pains - said to the orderly he’d had them before and knew what they were. He said he had a medical background. He needed an adrenalin injection directly into his heart - that’s what he told her. Can you imagine it? Syra! Straight into his heart! He convinced the orderly to bring the syringe and adrenalin. Syra, don’t you think she should have known better? She was only young, I suppose - inexperienced. Perhaps he had her under his power! Anyway, as soon as she came back to him he attacked her. Like an animal, they say - like a wild animal. He clawed at her breasts, bit into her nipples, then stretched her legs wide and bit into her cunt. Syra! Into her cunt! There was blood everywhere! Can you imagine? It took a whole day to clean it up afterwards, so they say. Then he drove the needle of the syringe into her chest - straight between her ribs and into her heart. She went into some sort of shock - anapha...something - started screaming, fitting, tearing out her hair. Yuk! Can you imagine? She ripped off what was left of her clothes and started beating her head against the wall of the cell. Smashed her skull they say. He tied her ankles together with her belt - a black elastic one like mine - and hauled her up to an old fixing in the ceiling; one they used for hanging pigs or something before the institution took over. Apparently she went frantic with excitement! Cracked skull or not! It wasn’t fear that made her scream. No, it was excitement! She screamed out what she wanted: “Bite my tits!”; “Suck my nipples!”; “Bite into my cunt!”; “Suck my blood!”; “Drink my blood!” - crazy things like that. And, well, he did what she wanted. Syra, can you imagine? Anyway, they found out he did have a medical background - dentist apparently. He’s completely rehabilitated now. They gave him a job on the staff! You always need a good dentist, don’t you think?’ She smiled and bared her beautiful white teeth. ‘Look at what he’s done for me!’

Caroline’s voice sounded like a distant echo. I felt as if I was going to vomit. I smelled the scent of burnt flesh - it seemed to rise up from the timber frame of the electric chair. My throat burned with the taste of my rising bile. All I could see in my mind was Father Dawson bound to the electric chair - his staring eyes bulging, his hands gripping the armrests, sizzling blood pouring from his ears and nostrils. Sizzling!

Suddenly I felt Caroline’s warm hand against my crack.

‘Having those dreams again, sweetie? You need a little pinch.’

I jumped as she pinched her thumb and fingernails together into my clitoris. The pain was searing - the shock was overwhelming. I couldn’t absorb it - it was like a hot poker scorching me. I shook my head from side to side and lifted myself up on the armrests of the wheelchair. I felt as if I was Father Dawson - rearing up, my muscles bound up in a massive cramping spasm, trying to escape an inescapable pain, hoping for release from an unavoidable fate.

I noticed a glimmer of light coming in through one of the high windows in the corridor.

‘I have to leave you now,’ said Caroline seeming nervous. ‘I’ll park you here. You don’t mind being by yourself I dare say. Probably heard enough of my prattling anyway. I’ll be back again tomorrow evening. Better make sure you don’t wander off though. You still look a bit peaky.’

She wrapped some straps around my wrists and secured them firmly to the arms of the wheelchair.

‘There’s no need for - ‘

‘No, no, we can’t have you getting lost can we?’

She pulled a weighty chain from the back of the wheelchair and slipped it around a heavy cast iron radiator, pulled it back and locked it into a shiny metal padlock.

I watched her walking hurriedly away down the corridor. She glowed in the half light. Her arms swung at her sides and rubbed against her white nylon uniform. The friction seemed to spark off a mellow green phosphorescence of static electricity. I was mesmerized by her shining figure - it was as if she was part of another world. As she disappeared, the first glimmer of sunlight broke through the window and cast a long beam of rosy light across the blood-red floor.

Suddenly, I heard a scuttling sound - like someone crawling fast across the floor, someone trying to get away from something terrifying. It came again, this time with a clattering, clawing noise - like fingernails scratching across a hard surface.

I stared down the corridor towards the sound. An anguished face appeared from around a corner to another corridor that led off at right angles. It was a beautiful young woman on her hands and knees. Her short black hair was wet with sweat; her face grimaced in agony, her neck held fast by a tightly pulled heavy linked chain. She had small breasts, her nipples were pink, extended and hard, and her mouth was stuffed with a black ball gag secured behind her head with a tightly buckled leather strap. As she strained against the chain, her long red painted fingernails scratched on the shiny red floor.

She saw me and pulled on the chain towards me. She looked desperate for help. I struggled against my own bonds, foolishly thinking for a moment that I could free myself and go to her aid. She pulled again against the heavy chain. The pressure on her neck was so great that she choked behind the ball gag. She pulled again. I could see she was in pain - the links were digging into the pale smooth skin of her neck, and the pressure that held her back was making it difficult to breathe. She choked again. This time mucous ran from her nostrils as she struggled to get her breath; it dribbled over the surface of the ball in her mouth and ran onto her chin. She rose up on her hands and knees and tensed herself. I could see she was readying to make another effort to pull herself free.

She stared at a small grid in the floor between the two of us. She was making it her aim - something to focus on, a target, a hope, something to take her mind off the effort and pain. She arched her back and breathed in deeply. The chain tightened. She lowered her head, held the points of her sharp fingernails against the floor and drove herself forward.

Her nails scraped against the red floor, the chain pulled so hard against her neck she could barely choke, but she made no progress at all. She rested, breathing hard through her flaring nostrils. Suddenly, as if dragged by a massive unseen force, she was snatched backwards and disappeared from my view into the other corridor.

I heard men’s angry voices - a slap, what sounded like a kick - then the thud of a body slumped on the floor. For a moment there was silence then more raised voices. There was a pause then suddenly the woman appeared again, this time rushing forward on her hands and knees, the chain dangling freely at her neck. She had broken free! Again she had her eyes fixed on the grill in the corridor - again she was making it her target.

Her pursuers came out of the other corridor - three men, one brandishing a short whip, the other two wielding canes. She could not outrun them - it was hopeless. The one with the whip grabbed the chain and yanked her to a terrifying and abrupt halt. She spun around - pivoting on the chain around her neck, falling backwards with the sudden stopping force, and then collapsing on her back to the floor.

The men with the canes started beating her. Cutting blows fell on her breasts, her hips and across the crack of her naked exposed cunt. She held up her hands to fend them off but she hadn’t got the strength. They pushed her over on her front and laced her buttocks, striking her alternately - aiming to land their slashing blows in the red lines already made by each other’s canes.

She could not yell out; her pain was confined by the ball - held in, stifling her, plugging her up. Spit ran down her chin and tears streamed from her wide fearful eyes as she heaved and choked. The two men stood back so that the third could bring his whip down on her reddened buttocks. Without a second thought she jumped to her hands and knees and again rushed forward. The men laughed and easily recaptured her. I could see she hardly had any more strength.

One of them pulled his trousers off, got down behind her and drove his cock into her exposed cunt. For a moment, she pressed back against it, using it for her own pleasure; then again, unable to keep her attention on the cock inside her, she started pulling against the chain - seeking freedom from the ill-treatment of her captors.

The man pulled his cock out and let his semen run over her back. Her eyes lifted, as though it cooled her burning skin. The man with the whip stepped towards the grid in the floor. He bent to it and lifted it. It opened like a small cage door. He held it open while the other two men held the chain. The woman strained frantically - pulling with renewed strength against the chain. I didn’t know where she got her strength from. She pulled so hard they could not hold her - they both slid forwards on the slippery floor as she dragged them along bodily.

The man holding the grill door smiled. Straining every muscle, she struggled towards him- clawing at the floor, using her toes to gain extra purchase, biting hard on the ball in her mouth to give her the strength to withstand the pain of the constricting chain around her neck.

Finally, she reached her goal - the open grill! She stopped at its edge for a moment then dropped into the hole that was beneath it! The grill was her aim; her desire was to be in the small hole beneath it! She was not trying to get away from the men; she was trying to get to the hole!

The man dropped the grill shut; the other two released the chain. Everything was silent. The man with the whip opened a small door in the centre of the grill. I was barely big enough for someone to get their head through. He reached inside the hole and removed the woman’s ball gag. She breathed in explosively then breathed out in a long whining moan. She was where she wanted to be - incarcerated in the small hole beneath the grill.

She was still panting as she poked her head through the small opening in the centre of the grill. The three men bent around her in a circle. One of them looked at me for a moment but quickly turned away. He opened his mouth wide - his canine teeth were sharp and glistening. He bent down and placed his teeth against her neck. Her eyes filled with ecstasy as he punctured her skin and began to suck. She moved rhythmically beneath his bite, breathing hard and exhaling noisily as he fed on her warm delectable blood.

When he was satisfied he pulled back. Mucous ran from her nostrils, spit ran from her mouth, and a small trickle of blood ran from the two wounds in her pale skin. She stared at me - showing me her pleasure, trying to convey to me her satisfaction, and the promise of joy held in that delightful bite. As the next one took his turn and pushed his sharp teeth into the same blotch encircled punctures that led to her pure and delicious blood, she looked away as her eyes rolled upwards and she gave herself completely to an overpowering paroxysm of ecstasy.