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Author Topic: DEATH WATCH  (Read 2969 times)

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Offline joyfully

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« on: March 25, 2009, 05:13:41 AM »

Elizabeth gazed out the windows from the back seat of the car as it rolled along the winding road through the Carpathian Mountains of Romania. The thick forest was beautiful, untouched by civilization except for the lonely road. She surreptitiously glanced in the rear view mirror because she had the feeling the driver was periodically using it to look her over. It was impossible to tell, though, since his head didn't move and his eyes were shrouded behind dark glasses.
Elizabeth began to reflect on the long string of events that led to her being in this car, traveling to a remote destination in a distant land. It had all started when she was about thirteen years old. She had read an account about the tragic death of the sexpot actress Jayne Mansfield and was fascinated by the fact that she had been decapitated in the car crash that took her life. The article was accompanied by stock photos of the celebrity and of the mangled convertible car. To Elizabeth's quiet surprise, she found herself disappointed that there were no photos of the actress's torso or severed head. Morbidly fascinated, she repeatedly visualized the accident in vivid detail, seeing the car slam into the truck, Miss Mansfield's body hurling forward, her head being sliced off in an instant by the broken glass of the windshield, blood gushing from the torso, spraying red droplets on everything nearby, and Miss Mansfield's head bouncing off the hood and landing with a dull thud on the ground, her eyes wide open and vacant, blood dribbling down her chin from the mouth frozen open in an instant of terror.
In a short while Elizabeth's visualization of the event became even more elaborate and perverse. She pictured firemen freeing Miss Mansfield's body from the wreck, her ample breasts highlighted through the clinging, bloody dress, jiggling as her corpse was lifted out, the arms hanging limply as the torso was eased onto a gurney, and someone gingerly picking up the severed head and placing it atop the abdomen, just below and facing the torso's breasts.
In a short while Elizabeth began to project into the scenes. Unnoticed and unhindered, she would walk up to the gurney the torso was on and feast her eyes upon it, looking up and down the length of it, and then fix her gaze on the stump, transfixed by the sight of the severed trachea and spinal cord. Then she would turn, kneel and lock her eyes on the head lying on the ground like a discarded melon. For a few moments she'd study the waxy face, enthralled by the look of terror locked on it, and then she'd stare into those beautiful, vacant, unblinking eyes. Without hesitation she'd reach out and caress the hair, slowly bring her hands down across the forehead, run her fingertips over the eyelashes, down the nose, then trace the outline of the lips, oblivious to the blood seeping from them, and run her hands down the chin and to the neck. At this point in the fantasy she would slowly work her fingers under the stump and gently press, the sensation of meaty dead flesh causing her to shiver with excitement.
Elizabeth recalled that she started to masturbate shortly after her _____ birthday. She had gone to a pajama party hosted by one of her friends, and that night she was introduced to the practice by her peers,who were blossoming sexually and experimenting. She remembered that initially masturbation was something that was only marginally pleasing, but it became enormously satisfying when she visualized that first decapitation scene and its escalatingly perverse variations.
Even then, Elizabeth knew that her newfound interest would make her an outcast if she revealed it to her friends, so she kept it to herself. She also felt a tinge of shame, because she was aware that the topic of death was not socially acceptable, especially so when it involved elements of violence and sexual
arousal. However, the desire to feed her fantasies was greater than the inhibiting forces, so she sought additional articles and stories on the subject of decapitation during those rare times when she had nothing scheduled with her friends.
At that time in her life the only source available was the library system. To her disappointment, she found that there wasn't a lot available on this particular topic, but over a period of time she learned that the best avenues were in researching periods of historical religious and social persecution and the time of the French Revolution. It was through this research that Elizabeth became aware of beheading as a means of social punishment or government endorsed execution, and of the block and guillotine as the primary implements to achieve this. Upon learning that human beings have been purposely beheaded by use of instruments designed specifically or collaterally for this kind of execution, her level of interest in and arousal from the topic increased proportionately.
The period of the French Revolution was a goldmine of erotic information as far as Elizabeth was concerned. She was amazed and intrigued that according to several accounts of the days when people were steadily being beheaded, most of them went quietly to their deaths on the guillotine. This disappointed her, and it was through these accounts that she came to recognize that the greater the level of overall violence there was in a beheading scenario, the greater her interest and arousal. This was confirmed when she came across an account that described one woman who did not go quietly to her fate on the guillotine. Far from being resigned to her destiny, this woman had to be dragged to the guillotine, kicking and screaming, by several men, who then had a difficult time securing her to the bascule. Tears were streaming down her face and she was screaming at the top of her lungs when the blade fell and silenced her forever. It was then, Elizabeth remembered, right after reading that particular account, that she began to project into many of the scenes as a victim. As time progressed, her fantasies evolved into ones in which she was beheaded in fictitious scenarios as well as ones based on historical fact.
At _____, Elizabeth was putting her tremendously vivid imagination to such extensive use that all of her friendships had dissipated. She functioned socially in school, but in her private life she dwelled on fantasies in which she either observed as people were beheaded by various means, or she herself was decapitated in some violent scenario. In her darkest, most satisfying fantasy, she was one of a group of condemned men and women led into a courtyard near the end of a day during the French Revolution. There was a pile of men's and women's bloody torsos heaped next to the guillotine, and a separate pile of severed heads nearby. Several of the torsos on top of the pile would be twitching and urine stains would be evident around the crotches on the sack-like gowns worn by the newly minted corpses. The heads were piled in a disorganized manner, some with their eyes-open faces showing, some with the crimson stumps on display, all streaked with rivlets of blood. Trembling with despair, Elizabeth would watch as each person before her was led to the guillotine and strapped to the bascule, sometimes screaming, sometimes silent. A click, then the blade would plunge and the person's head would fall into the basket as blood copiously gushed from the torso's neck, adding to the pond of red in front of the guillotine. One man would snatch the severed head from the basket and toss it onto the pile as if it was a basketball, while two other men would unstrap the twitching torso, grab hold of it, lift it and toss it onto the existing pile like the piece of dead meat it now was. Blood. Blood everywhere. Even the sun shining red at this time of day. The last Elizabeth will see of daylight as she's grasped by two men and escorted to the guillotine, usually kicking and screaming, but sometimes placidly. She's strapped on the bascule, the pile of severed heads evident in her peripheral vision. She squirms, her heart racing, then a click, a soft crunch, and oblivion.
At the end of these fantasies, while violently masturbating, Elizabeth always wondered how she'd react in real life. Would she be struggling and screaming, or would she be docile and lamb-like? After reaching orgasm she would always remind herself that it was a mute question, because these were only fantasies, and there was no way she'd ever allow herself to be in a real situation where her life would
be in jeopardy.
The driver pulled the car to the side of the road and stopped, then overtly looked at Elizabeth in the rear view mirror and addressed her. "We have come to a critical juncture," he said in crisp English, his Romanian accent giving the words an exotic appeal. "At this point you have the option of turning back. If you choose to continue, it will be with the understanding that you cannot turn back and that you must see events through to the end."
Elizabeth didn't hesitate in answering. "I'll continue."
"Are you sure?" the driver pressed.
"Absolutely sure," she resolutely replied.
The driver pressed a button and a segment of thick vegitation just ahead of them began to swing back. Elizabeth immediately realized it was a camouflaged gate, and as it opened further she saw a one lane road behind it. When it was fully opened the driver put the car in gear, turned onto the private road and pressed the remote button again.
Elizabeth turned and looked back at the gate as it closed. When it completely shut a shiver ran up her spine, mostly from anticipation of what she was here to witness, but a small part was due to being alone in this desolate part of the world. She wished Robert was with her now.

With the advent of the Internet Elizabeth had a new avenue of exploration regarding her obsession with beheading. While surfing the Net one day, she happened upon a chat room titled Erotic Torture & Death. The title alone gave her a tingle between her legs, and she entered with hopes of seeing people chatting about her favorite topic. Robert was already in the room, but under his Internet identity of Undertaker. Rather than taking an active part, she stayed as a lurker, observing what took place. Generally, two people would pair off, usually a male and female, and act out in words some sort of scenario in which one was tortured and $nuffed by the other. Some of the participants created poorly drawn scenes, but others were quite good in their narrative and attention to detail. She spent hours in the room that first day, and although nobody did a beheading scene, she was aroused to the degree that she masturbated to completion twice, at separate times, during some exceptionally heavy sequences.
Captivated by the theme of Erotic Torture & Death, Elizabeth began to frequent the room. It soon became obvious that Undertaker was the host, if not the founder, and that he was a very good moderator. He welcomed first timers, effectively handled occasional hecklers, resolved conflicts when necessary and made an effort to match chatters he knew shared the same interests. What impressed Elizabeth the most about Undertaker was that when he participated in a scene he was always the torturer and executioner, and that he displayed versitility, creativity in cruelty, a keen sense of pace and a flair for dramatically over-the-top story elements.
Recognizing Undertaker as the best the chatroom had to offer, one day Elizabeth asked him to be her partner in a scene that would culminate in her beheading. She felt honored when he agreed, and the ensuing scene was so heavy with perversity that she came three times before it ended. To her further delight, Undertaker complimented her on being an outstanding victim. Emboldened, she asked privately if he'd like to exchange e-mail addresses, and felt gratified when he agreed to begin cyber corrrespondence.
Knowing that the topic of beheading was Elizabeth's main interest, Undertaker made this the sole theme of their early e-mail exchanges. Among other things, they touched upon its history as a means of carrying out capital punishment, the most common methods employed and the implements and devices used in formal and informal beheading executions. After a few weeks, out of idle curiosity, she asked what his real name was, not really expecting an answer. To her surprise, however, he revealed that his name was Robert.
Intrigued by Elizabeth's zeal with respect to the subject of beheading, Robert asked if her interest in execution and death was more wide ranging. In her response she revealed that she sometimes fantasized being executed in ways besides beheading, and that her other two favorite methods were hanging and impalement. She stated the obvious when she said she started going to death related chat rooms to augment her fantasies. Of greater interest to Robert was her statement that she was always searching for stories, factual or fictional, in which a woman or women are executed so she could project into them as a victim. This prompted Robert to relate some true accounts of hanging executions performed by Nazis during World War II and attach a few authentic photographs of the dangling bodies of some of the victims. It was a test, of sorts, to find out how she'd react to depictions of the deaths of real people, and he was pleased when she wrote and said she found genuine interest in them.
Their passion about the topic of execution and death was so intense that they were soon exchanging e-mails on a daily basis. In one, Robert admitted how enormously sexually arousing the subject was to him. He related that in his experience this was true for most, but not all, people who shared the same interests, and he asked Elizabeth if she was affected in the same way as he was. It came as no real surprise when she confessed to becoming quite aroused when fantasizing herself in a scenario where she's executed, or projecting into stories as the condemned, but Robert was glad to have her confirm it.
One difference that surfaced was that whereas Robert enjoyed subjecting fantasy victims to various tortures prior to $nuffing them, Elizabeth preferred the more formal, ritualistic execution scenarios. They agreed it was a difference of minor importance, however, and being an open-minded person, she expressed a willingness to explore scenes involving torture as a prelude to her execution.
In a short while it was evident to them both that they were opposite sides of the same coin. They deemphasized e-mail exchanges and began to meet more often in a private chat room, where they indulged in lengthy scenes in which Robert took Elizabeth prisoner, stripped her, subjected her to escalating tortures and finally executed her in some manner, after which they'd reveal to one another how heatedly they were masturbating.
One evening they met as usual in the private chat room and engaged in a particularly heavy torture/execution scene. Upon indicating to each other that they had masturbated to climax, Robert asked Elizabeth what part of the U.S. she lived in. An innocuous question, she thought, so she replied: East Coast. She wasn't concerned when Robert's response appeared on the screen: Me too!! She did feel a trace of concern when his next words appeared.

Robert: Let's meet
Elizabeth: I'm sorry, but the cautious part of me has to say no
Robert: I understand your concerns, but I don't mean privately. Let's meet in a public place. A restaurant. There's something special I want to discuss with you
Elizabeth: Let's discuss it here
Robert: No. It's very sensitive. I can't chance anyone other than you knowing what I have to propose

It all sounded so cloak and dagger to Elizabeth. So exotic. It was against her better judgement, but he had piqued her curiosity. She felt an unmistakable apprehension, but that very same apprehension compelled her.

Elizabeth: Okay. Where and when?
Robert: What city are you in?

She replied after a moment's hesitation.

Elizabeth: Boston
Robert: I'm in Washington, DC. We're not far apart.

Two days later Elizabeth was on a plane, making the short flight to New York City, the approximate halfway point between them. Always a self-aware person, she knew she was a study in contrast, as her circumstances at that moment easily illustrated. Here she was, she thought, going to meet the man who had cyber tortured and $nuffed her many times, a man who had admitted a fascination with the corpses of real women, who was probably a genuine necrophiliac, and, despite the fact that she was following through with their plans to meet and was scared, truly frightened...yet, there it was, that old familiar tingle between her legs.
Elizabeth found Robert to be very cordial, even charming, upon meeting him in the lounge at the Manhattan restaurant he'd chosen. They exchanged the usual greetings and tentative small talk necessary in such a public setting. She soon found her anxiety rising because they were in TOO public a place to talk discreetly, and was greatly relieved when, after about fifteen minutes, Robert escorted her to a private booth he had reserved.
The waiter and busboy performed their preliminary duties, then left. Elizabeth knew the rules of social grace required an additional amount of small talk at such a time, but she was beside herself with curiosity. "What is it you want to discuss that's so secretive?"
Robert displayed a slight, crooked smile, his amusement tempered by the seriousness of what he was about to say. "Elizabeth, what would you do if you had the opportunity to witness, for real, a woman being executed, $nuffed, by beheading?"
The tingle between Elizabeth's legs intensified. "My immediate response would be to say 'no,' but considering what we've shared, I can be honest and tell you I'd give it serious consideration." Her brow wrinkled and she spoke in a near whisper. "Why? Are you saying it really can be arranged? Not a simulation?"
"That's correct."
"But how?"
"I never told you before, but I'm rich, Elizabeth, and my wealth allows me access to things ordinary people aren't privy to. There are underground groups that arrange these things, and I know of one. If I sponsor you, you'll be allowed to witness an execution, and you can specify the method of dispatch, but you would still have to pay for the privelege."
"How much?" Elizabeth had the urge to slip her hand down her skirt and massage her labia, but she restrained herself.
"Twenty five thousand dollars, cash only, of course."
"Of course," Elizabeth echoed. She wore a far away look, and Robert knew she was giving serious thought to his proposal. After a few moments she refocused on Robert. "Who would the, um, victim be?" she asked with detachment. No longer able to resist temptation, she slid her hand down her skirt and under her panties and flicked a finger over her labia.
"No one you know," Robert replied, suppressing a grin.
"How are the victims chosen?"
"I'm not at liberty to divulge that."
"Yes...of course," Elizabeth absently said. She was projecting into the fantasy of watching a woman being beheaded, and it was more arousing than ever because it was being offered as a possible event in reality.
Suddenly the waiter appeared at the table. Elizabeth froze, blushing. The waiter discreetly acted as if nothing was amiss. "Would you like a drink before ordering?" he demurely asked.
"Two vodka gimlets," Robert said as he pulled a hundred dollar bill from an inside pocket of his coat and handed it to the waiter. "In precisely ten minutes, please."
"Very well, sir," the waiter mannerly replied. Then he stepped away, checking his watch.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you," Elizabeth meekly said, although she still had her hand in her crotch.
"You didn't embarrass me. Nor him," Robert said, nodding to indicate the waiter. "They see all sorts of things all the time, especially in this city. Continue pleasing yourself."
Elizabeth gave a little sigh and resumed massaging her labia. "How do I know I can trust these people not to rip me off?"
"You don't pay until after the event. Oh, and they offer more than a straight execution, if the viewer desires. You have some options."
"What options? What do you mean?"
"The subject could be tortured, but there are extra fees for that."
"What kind of torture. How much extra would it be?"
"Any torture that's desired," Robert said in a low voice, "for any length of time specified, the charges being calculated on a sliding scale."
"What are the other options?"
"Another is to have the men who arrange the event participate in sex acts with the subject, prior to or immediately after the event, or both."
"Yes, I definitely want that," Elizabeth eagerly said. "How much extra is that?"
"Five thousand dollars," Robert replied.
"Five thousand dollars?!" Elizabeth exclaimed in a hushed voice. "To see men having sex?"
"Think of the circumstances under consideration, Elizabeth."
"Yes, I'll exercise that option," she said after a pause. "It's a good thing I'm fairly well off myself. What's the next option?"
"Before I get to that, let me confirm the kind of execution you'd want to see. I assume it would be a beheading, but you must confirm that."
"Yes, I definitely want to see a beheading."
"Block or guillotine?" Robert efficiently asked.
"Block," Elizabeth answered without hesitation. "The block allows for better viewing. The guillotine is enticing, of course, but I prefer the block because it's a more personal method of beheading."
"Very well, the block it will be. Now, because you've chosen beheading as the method, your last option is to see the trophy room."
Elizabeth smiled. "Which is a display of previous,um, subjects, right?"
"How much is it to be allowed into the trophy room?"
"Another five thousand."
"Agreed. Where does all of this happen?" Elizabeth asked, her breathing becoming more erratic as she stroked her center of arousal.
"At a remote site in Romania. I can't be more specific, for security reasons. You'd fly into Bucharest, where a driver would connect with you and take you to the location."
"It all sounds so clandestine."
"As it must be. There are other security considerations, as well." -
"What are they?"
First, you must decide whether or not you want to go through with what's proposed before our lunch is over. If you choose to move forward, you must leave for Romania tomorrow. And---"
"Why so soon!?" Elizabeth cut in. "I'd like time to think things over."
"I understand, but the principals want to minimize the risk of exposure from anyone who might contact a friend or acquaintance and reveal the nature of their enterprise."
"That danger would still exist if someone decided not to watch an execution," Elizabeth retorted.
"True, but anything revealed by someone who passes on the opportunity can be dismissed as rumors. It's a fine distinction, but once a person commits to a viewing, the whole affair takes on a much more serious tone."
"Hmmm. And there's another condition?"
"Yes," Robert replied. " If you decide to move forward, I must spend the night with you, escort you to the airport in the morning and see you board the plane."
Elizabeth stopped pleasuring herself, but kept her hand between her legs. "Oh, I see," she cynically said. "This is just a ploy to get me in bed."
"Not at all," Robert said with conviction. "We would share a hotel room, but sleep in separate beds. It's a business arrangement, nothing more."
"What if I refuse that?"
"It's a condition of acceptance," Robert said,shrugging.
Elizabeth was reading the tone of his voice and observing his facial expressions. He seemed sincere. "I want to go through with it," she abruptly said. Her finger began massaging her labia again.
"Very well. But are you sure, considering the irreversible nature of what's being proposed?"
"Yes," she firmly said. "I'm sure."
"You must be absolutely sure. Snuffing people in fantasies is one thing, but we're talking about the reality of seeing a human being $nuffed. It's the moral issue."
"I've considered that," Elizabeth flatly said. "Listen. You're offering me the opportunity to watch a total stranger get $nuffed. When you hear about people getting killed in plane crashes, or dying in fires or whatever, it doesn't have a profound effect on you, because they're strangers. All we're talking about is me being physically closer to some woman who's a stranger to me when she dies. And whoever she is, she'll be dead at some point in time anyhow." She tensed, now including her clit in the finger movement. "Does it really matter if someone dies today, or next week, or next year, or forty years from now? In the end, we're all going to be dead anyway, and nothing is going to change that. So yeah, I'm absolutely sure."
"Good. I was pretty sure you possessed that kind of attitude. Do you want to see the subject tortured, and if so, I need details as to what you'd like done and for what length of time?"
"I know this sounds very odd, all things considered, but I have reservations about including the element of torture. A quick beheading is one thing, but I'm not sure how I'd react to seeing prolonged agony." There were a few moments of silence, during which she looked away from Robert as she thought. Then she reengaged his eyes. "Something [email protected], but relatively quick. Maybe...maybe a hot poker burning her labia and then shoved up her pussy just before she's offed."
"That's consistent with your gender. They tell me female viewers usually reject the option of torture, or opt for light torture, if at all."
"Do they do male subjects?"
"No, only females, but I'm sure there are organizations that do men. Why, would you like to witness a man's execution?"
"No. I only project into female victims. How much extra will the torture be?"
"Three thousand dollars."
"Okay. Include that, then."
"Very well. I'll make the arrangements. After lunch we'll get the money, pick up a phony passport and drivers license from a contact and stop by your apartment so you can pack a few things."
"Wait," Elizabeth said, concern in her voice. "What about my safety? Someone should know where I'll be. Will you come with me to Romania?"
"They only allow one person at a time per viewing. If they see more than one, they abort. I'll know where you are, though, and when."
"How do I know I can trust you? This is only the first time we've met face-to-face."
Robert shrugged. "You've got to trust virtual strangers at times. Besides, isn't the risk worth it, considering what you'll witness?"
"Oh, yes," Elizabeth purred, seconds before bringing herself to climax. "Oh, yes."

After traveling the secret road for about ten minutes, the car turned onto a descending driveway, jolting Elizabeth back to the moment. The driver pressed a remote device and a garage door ahead opened like a giant mouth. As the car passed through and was swallowed into the underground garage, the driver pressed the remote again and the door closed behind them. Elizabeth's pulse increased a bit as the car came to a halt, partly from the anxiety of being among strangers in a foreign land, and partly from anticipation at what she was to witness. She had become horny thinking about events of the past few days during the drive, and now that she had arrived at the place where she would see a woman executed the tingle between her legs was growing.
The driver got out and opened the door on Elizabeth's side. Taking her cue, she emerged from the car, after which the driver shut the door and addressed her. "Welcome to our compound," he said. "I am Dinu, by the way, one of your hosts. Please follow me, as everything is ready for your viewing. We will take you to the trophy room first."
Elizabeth didn't hesitate as he led her to a steel door. "How many men run this?" Elizabeth asked.
"We are a small group, by design," Dinu said. "The greater the number of people involved in an organization such as ours, the greater the chance of exposure."
He opened the door and ushered her into a winding tunnel. It was evident from the concrete floor, cinder brick walls and tile ceiling that they were in a structure that had been constructed relatively recently.
At last they came to a wooden door and stopped. Dinu opened it and Elizabeth stepped through. Upon entering she abruptly stopped, drinking in the incredibly bizarre sight. There was a large open space immediately inside, and at the rear were marble-topped, intricately carved mahogany display counters standing about four feet high. Silver platters occupied space on all the counters, most of them empty, but on eight platters of one counter there rested what appeared to be women's severed heads. The heads represented a cross section of ethnic groups, and the eyes were all fixed open.
As if pulled by a magnet, Elizabeth went to the counter on which the heads were displayed, the tingle between her legs increasing in intensity. She stopped before the head on the left side of the counter, that of an Asian woman, and studied it with fascination. Up close, the skin was pale, but not as waxen as Elizabeth had imagined it would be, and although the head had a mannequin-like appearance, it was obviously real. The black eyes, locked open in death, stared back at her, so blank and lifeless, so erotic.
"May I touch it?" Elizabeth asked without turning.
"As you wish, miss," Dinu replied. "Do not feel inhibited at all."
She laid her hands on top of the head and caressed the hair. It was definitely silky human hair, not synthetic, and touching it sent goosebumps down her spine and to her warm, lubricating labia. Thrilled to be bringing an old fantasy to reality, she brought her hands to the face and brushed the forehead and cheeks with her fingertips. The skin felt cool, but remarkably supple and lifelike. Abandoning herself to a new impulse, she bent slightly and pressed her lips to the dead lips awaiting her, and the sensation of the clammy, unresponsive mouth caused her to quiver with excitement.
When Elizabeth ended the lingering kiss her labia were throbbing. Taking a step to her right, she studied the next head, that of a Caucasian woman. Her vacant eyes stared back invitingly, and once again Elizabeth caressed the hair and face, then kissed the inanimate lips. She wondered how many times cocks had slipped through this dead woman's lips when she was alive, and how much cum had been squirted into her mouth and down her throat. After disengaging from the head, she repeated the process on the remaining six heads, wallowing in the feel of dead flesh.
By the time Elizabeth finished kissing the last head her panties were very wet. She could smell the musky scent she was exuding, yet she felt no embarrassment because of the pains Dinu was taking to make her feel at ease in this macabre place. "What happens to their trunks, their bodies?" she asked in a husky voice.
"They are disposed of in various ways," Dinu replied in a businesslike tone. "Most are cremated or buried, but some meet an unusual fate, depending on the wishes of the client."
"It seems like such a waste," Eliazbeth cooly said. "Your museum would be even more interesting if you'd preserve the entire body."
"Yes, and we are working toward that goal," Dinu said with a wry smile.
"I wonder," Elizabeth ventured, "may I purchase one of the heads? I'd pay a respectable amount."
"I'm afraid not," he answered. "We cannot make that accommodation because of concerns that to do so might result in a breach of security. I'm sure you understand."
"Yes, I do," Elizabeth said, but not without some noticeable disappointment. "And would I be correct in assuming I can't buy photos of these trophies for the same reason?"
"That is correct, ma'am," Dinu politely confirmed.
"Ah, well," Elizabeth sighed, "I'll just have to live with my memories, then."
That wry smile appeared on Dinu's face again, but it escaped her attention.
"If you are through here," he prompted, "we may proceed to the event."
"Yes, let's get to that," Elizabeth eagerly said as she stepped toward the door. Before exiting she paused, turned and looked again at the eight heads blankly staring back. Very soon there will be one more added to this collection, she thought. A tingle originated on the back of her neck, traveled down her spine and settled in the center of her personal universe. "Let's go," she anxiously blurted as she stepped into the hallway, followed by Dinu, who shut and locked the door.
Dinu brisky escorted Elizabeth down the corridor. The event she had been in anticipation of was fast approaching, and every nerve in her body seemed to be highly charged. The life of some woman in near proximity was now measured in mere minutes, she thought. The woman's fate was sealed the moment Elizabeth chose to go beyond the point of no return. There was nothing she could do to stop the woman's imminent death, but that was academic, because she felt absolutely no compulsion to prevent the woman's execution. In fact, this is what she ardently desired, without question or doubt.
The walk through the corridor seemed like an eternity to Elizabeth. She made good use of each step by manipulating her thigh muscles in such a way as to stimulate her screaming labia.
At last they came to another steel door, at which they stopped. Dinu produced a key and unlocked it. Elizabeth slipped through the crack like a leaf in the wind as he pulled the door open, and upon stepping through Elizabeth was in awe at the site before her. The large underground space was a strange hybrid of hospital operating room and medieval dungeon. The hospital atmosphere was due to the bright flourescent lights, aqua green tiled walls and white tiled floor. On one of the walls there was a very large framed mirror, which she assumed was for enhanced viewing of activities. The dungeonlike ambience was created by the vast assortment of torture equipment resting on tables and hanging from hooks: numerous styles of whips, crops, floggers, canes, paddles, clamps, weights, spiked balls, cattle prods, pincers, anything and everything one could imagine being in a genuine medieval dungeon. As she scanned the room Elizabeth realized she was in a fully equipped torture chamber, as evidenced by the stocks, pillories, racks, crosses and stretching wheel. But this was more than a torture chamber. It was a death chamber, and of that there was no doubt, because a guillotine, a block, an electric chair, a roasting pit and a gallows all attested to this.
Elizabeth stopped scanning the room when she spotted the block. Focusing in its direction, she saw that a nude, squirming woman was strapped in place, on her hands and knees, her neck resting on the block. Her imagination went into overdrive, and she began to visualize all sorts of horrific events taking place in this room. The tingling between her legs was growing in intensity, when suddenly she gasped and jumped, startled at the sound of something being dragged across the floor.
"Oh, don't be alarmed, ma'am," Dinu soothingly said. "That's only one of the other principals getting a chair for you. Come along."
As she followed Dinu toward the nude woman at the block Elizabeth discreetly squeezed her inner thighs in order to manipulate her pleasure zone. They stopped at the perimeter of the block area just as the other man was placing the chair. "Ma'am," Dinu said in a formal tone, "this is Pierre, another principal, who will be assisting in the procedure."
"How do you do," Pierre said, bowing slightly, his thick French accent consistent with his debonaire manner.
"Hello," Elizabeth replied, at a loss for what else to say.
"Please have a seat," Pierre said, indicating the heavy wooden chair with and outstretched hand.
Elizabeth gladly sat, as she was shaking a bit in nervous anticipation. Now she noticed that a small table near her seat was covered with an assortment of dildoes and small towels, rather than torture equipment.
"Ma'am, we are now giving you a final opportunity to either cancel or proceed. What is your desire?" Dinu queried.
Elizabeth didn't hesitate. "Proceed," she said with grim finality.
The woman on the block groaned, and Elizabeth directed her attention to her. She now noticed that the woman was trembling, straining uselessly against the restraints. The victim's ass undulated a little, and Elizabeth saw that her pussy was shaved clean.
"Do you have any questions or comments before we proceed?" Dinu asked.
"Um, yes," Elizabeth ventured. "I would think she'd be screaming. Has she been drugged?"
"Oh, no, ma'am," Dinu solemnly replied. "To use drugs would diminish the procedure for all involved. We have immobilized her tongue with novocaine, however, because we've found that screaming is a distracting factor. She's fully aware of what's happening, and she is still able to moan and groan."
"Were you made aware of the torture I specified?" Elizabeth asked.
The victim groaned again, more loudly this time, and simultaneously Elizabeth's hand moved toward her crotch.
"Yes," Pierre responded, indicating a nearby fireplace in which two pokers were heating. "We are fully prepared to grant your wish."
Dinu had noticed when Elizabeth moved her hand toward her crotch. "Ma'am, if you like, you may remove your clothes, either partially or fully. Witnesses usually experience sexual arousal, which is why we provide masturbatory instruments. We understand about these things and assure you there's no shame involved."
"Yes, I think that would be advisable," Elizabeth tensely said, but I wonder if you would honor a late request?"
"What is it?" Dinu asked.
"Well, since one of the extra fees I'm paying is to see you engage in sex acts with the victim after the, um, event, would you be willing to undress now, along with me, to level the playing field, so to speak?"
The victim moaned and twisted in her restraints.
"I see no reason to deny your request," Dinu said, nodding to Pierre.
As the men stripped off their shoes, socks, shirts and pants, Elizabeth stood and removed her shoes, blouse, slacks and underwear. When the men pulled off their shorts their cocks jumped out, fully erect and oozing pre-cum.
Indulging in natural curiosity, Elizabeth glanced at the men, and they at her. Dinu and Pierre both took note of the fact that Elizabeth had a nicely trimmed pubic mound, not too bushy, yet not too short. Elizabeth scrutinized the men's cocks, noting that both were somewhat larger than average, and that each man's balls were already pulled up tightly in their scrotums.
These brief, discreet assessments having been made, Elizabeth sat down and directed her full attention on the squirming victim. She started to massage her labia with her fingers, slowly, because she wanted to bring herself off in a crescendo.
"We will now proceed with the execution," Pierre said in a flat tone.
The victim strained uselessly against her restraints and began to emit garbled sounds. Elizabeth's fingers massaged her labia with slightly greater pressure and speed. Dinu stepped to a table near the victim and picked up a curve-bladed axe, while Pierre put a thick pair of gloves on his hands.
It was apparent that the victim was trying to say something, but her words were incoherent. Whatever it was, Elizabeth thought, she was glad she didn't have to hear it.
Pierre gripped the handle of a poker and removed it from the fire, then knelt behind the writhing victim. The woman was trembling now, causing her pendant breasts to sway and ass cheeks to jiggle, and gutteral staccato squeals poured from her throat.
Transfixed on the sight, Elizabeth's fingers swirled rapidly over her labia, sticky pussy juice covering her hand and inner thighs.
Both men's cocks were throbbing, and strands of pre-cum dribbled out from the slits. Dinu nodded to Pierre, who carefully eased the red hot tip of the poker just beneath the victim's labia. Feeling the intense heat emanating from the poker, she let out a long gutteral squeal and tensed her jiggling buttocks.
Elizabeth was mesmerized, panting as her masturbation became more frenzied.
The victim issued a loud, continuous gutteral squeal of agony as Pierre touched the tip of the hot poker to her lower left labia and slowly and deliberately worked it upward, singeing the delicate flesh. Tears started to flow down the victim's cheeks, and despite the fact that she was shaking and straining to avoid the horrible pain, Pierre managed to roll the tip of the poker to the right labia at the top without breaking contact and slowly guided the searing metal down the length of her sex meat.
Elizabeth was now in a state of extreme arousal, her heart pounding, taking perverse delight in witnessing the suffering of the nameless victim, and anxiously anticipating the events to follow in the unfolding scene.
A strand of melted flesh clung to the end of the poker when Pierre pulled it off the victim's lower right labia. He snapped it back to break the strand, then dropped the poker and pulled a fresh one from the fire. Simultaneously, Dinu raised the axe, rested it on his right shoulder and braced his stance.
The woman wimpered, violently quivering in her restraints.
Elizabeth was virtually a statue now, except for her manic masturbation.
Pierre guided the glowing tip of the poker immediately beneath the victim's burned labia, the heat prompting her to tense noticeably and issue what sounded like a gutteral plea for mercy. But mercy took a different form in this room, and Pierre suddenly shoved the scalding iron tip just inside her scorched labia, pressing directly on her clitoris. The victim simultaneouls tensed, strained forward against the restraints and emitted a gutteral scream that sounded like a steam whistle.
Panting and groaning, Elizabeth leaned forward a bit, observing with unblinking eyes and frantically massaging her drenched labia.
Pierre started to push the hot poker forward, into the victim's vagina at a medium-slow speed. Her eyes bugged at first, then her face contorted in excrutiating pain, tears spilled from here eyes, her hands balled into fists and she shook uncontrollably, emitting a protracted wail as the poker traveled up her vagina, melting its walls.
Elizabeth moaned loudly and unabashedly, frenziedly working her hand on her sex, the seat of her chair stained with pussy juice. She watched without a shred of remorse as the poker slowly disappeared into the bucking victim's vagina.
For a moment the victim stopped squealing as a strange gurgle came from deep in her throat. Then her body started to quiver anew, her hands shook in a violent palsy and she began to issue gutteral, high-pitched yelps. After a few seconds blood started dripping from her tortured vagina, and Elizabeth knew at once that the poker had pierced her womb and was penetrating her guts.
Elizabeth stroked herself madly now, her breathing heavy, her toes, legs and stomach twitching in pre-orgasmic ecstacy.
Pierre released his grip on the handle of the poker and abruptly stood. This was Dinu's cue, and he quickly pulled the axe up, then expertly swang down, WHOOSH. The blade caught the victim's neck squarely between her shoulders and head, and events occurred rapidly in a matter of seconds: there was a dull crunch when the blade shattered a vertabra as it severed her spinal cord, the gutteral squeals suddenly stopped as the larynx and trachea were split, the head dropped to the floor with a dull thud, and blood spurted violently from the twitching torso, then quickly trailed down until only residual blood trickled from the stump.
Elizabeth masturbated wildly, filling the room with moans of pleasure. She was in a super-heightened level of sexual arousal she never thought possible. Far from feeling remorse about the fate of the woman whose life ended before her, she instead felt an incredible rush as she gazed at the nude corpse twitching in the restraints and the detached, blood-streaked head lying on the floor.
Dinu set down the axe, then reached down, grasped the head by the hair and calmly picked it up. He stepped near Elizabeth and held it out so she could get a good, closer look at it. Still masturbating, she looked with wide eyes at the victim's severed head, absolutely enthralled at the sight of droplets of blood falling from the neck, the increasingly pasty hue of the skin, the jaws slack and mouth hanging open, and the eyes, the erotically haunting eyes, frozen wide open from terror, lifeless and vacantly staring back. About twenty seconds later Elizabeth experienced an explosive orgasm, herself shaking and quivering as she climaxed.
Dinu stepped back to a small table and put the woman's head on it, placing it so the face was visible to Elizabeth. For a while no words were exchanged, and the only sound was that of Elizabeth as she gulped air during her post orgasm return to normal. Availing herself of the towels, she took one and wiped pussy nectar from her hands and crotch.
When Elizabeth had sufficiently calmed, Pierre, who had removed the gloves, stepped behind the victim's body and grasped the handle of the poker impaling her. He was about to tug on it when Elizabeth stopped him. "Oh, please, may I pull it out?"
Pierre looked at her, released the handle and gestured to the kneeling body with one hand. "Why of course, ma'am. As you wish," he said, a hint of a smile on his face.
Elizabeth promptly arose and stepped behind the corpse. Staring at it, with the handle of the poker sticking out from the heat-warped pussy, she felt the familiar tingle in her crotch welling up again. She grasped the handle and drew a sharp little breath, perversely fascinated by the sensation of tension the corpse was placing on the poker. She gently moved the poker a bit to the right, then a bit to the left, causing the torso's pelvic area to shift a little each time. A copious amount of pussy juice was discharging from Elizabeth's sex hole and oozing down her inner thighs again. A small part of her wondered how she could be doing such a thing, but her overriding attitude was that this was nothing but meat on a stick. Thus she pulled on the poker, expecting it to easily slide out, but to her surprise it didn't budge. In an instant she realized that this was because the seared flesh had now cooled enough to prevent the instrument from being easily withdrawn.
Elizabeth gripped the handle more tightly, planted her feet more firmly, then pulled hard. That pleasant localized tingle recurred with a burst as the blood-coated shaft emerged from the corpse, and she almost orgasmed spontaneously when the distorted labia bulged as the tip exited. There was an eerie silence for a few moments as she stared at the decapitated hulk of flesh before her, the image of the still quivering torso burning into her mind.
"Shall we proceed to the next phase now?" Dinu softly asked.
Elizabeth answered as if coming out of a trance. "Yes. Yes, by all means."
Pierre took the poker from her and set it on a table. Dinu moved to a position behind the corpse. "Would you like to sit while you observe?" he asked Elizabeth.
"No, thank you. I'll remain standing."
Dinu grasped the buttocks of the torso near the asshole, parted the fold and adjusted his hips until the head of his cock was resting against the relaxed sphincter. Then he pressed forward and slowly sank his cock into the corpse's asshole for Elizabeth's benefit. And benefit she did, because as she watched his cock disappear into the oriface she began to finger her labia again. Dinu began to fuck the corpses's ass slowly, then he gradually increased the speed, and, as if in sync with him, Elizabeth gradually increased the speed with which her fingers worked her sex. As she began to moan with pleasure an idea struck her. "Pierre. Take her head and place it on her back," Elizabeth commanded.
Displaying a shadow of a smile, Pierre dutifully picked the head off the table and placed it on the small of the torso's back.
A short, low growl of delight escaped from Elizabeth. The scene was surreal beyond her wildest imagination, yet here it was, playing out in reality, the victim's detached head resting on her back, the glazed eyes staring unblinking as she seemingly observed her own ass being fucked. Elizabeth shifted her focus back and forth between the severed head and Dinu's cock pumping the dead asshole, her fingers giving her pleasure all the while. As the pace of Dinu's fucking grew faster, the force of his thrusts caused the torso and head sitting atop it to jiggle, adding an element of bizarre animation that served to further arouse Elizabeth.
Dinu started to issue staccato grunts and his hands began to alternately ball into fists and relax. Elizabeth knelt on one leg at his side. As she continued to masturbate with one hand, she snaked the other between Dinu's legs from his backside and gently caressed his taut scrotum. Dinu's grunts grew louder. He slammed his cock into the corpse's asshole, just inches away from Elizabeth's view. After a few more moments he shoved his cock in deep with a powerful thrust, causing the head to shake, then he tensed, emitted a series of loud grunts and gyrated his hips as he emptied his load of cum into the lifeless entrails, with Elizabeth tickling his balls all the while. Spent and gulping air, Dinu lingered in the body for a while. Elizabeth dropped her hand from his balls and wrapped her arm around his leg for support, still frigging herself with her other hand. She glanced at the head and formed a mental picture of it mounted in her bedroom on the wall above her bed.
Reality intruded when she felt Dinu start to pull back, prompting her to gaze on his shaft as it emerged from the torso. She was aware that the sphincter relaxes upon death, but it still fascinated her to see it remain gaping open after the head of Dinu's cock came out. After a few moments she looked at the severed head once more, the blank eyes locked open, unseeing, on the genitals that had just violated her former owner's mutilated body.
"Would you like to take a break before the final phase?" Pierre courteously asked.
"No," Elizabeth breahlessly responded as she stood, her voice an octave lower than normal. "Continue with whatever you have planned." She was fairly sure what this would be, and hoped it was what she thought. She took a medium-large flexible dildo from the paraphinalia table and slid it up her pussy, savoring the pleasant tingle and sensation of fullness it provided. Instead of pumping it, she slowly gyrated it, because she was still incredibly aroused and wanted to once again extend her pleasure before reaching another climax.
Pierre grasped the severed head, turned it about 45 degrees and tipped it back just enough so the jaw dropped and the mouth was fully open. This alone confirmed what Elizabeth thought would happen, and her hopes were fulfilled when Pierre slid his throbbing cock into the gaping mouth. Elizabeth stared at the spectacle taking place before her with eyes as unblinking as those in the victim's head. Pierre eased the head down a little, closing the pale lips snugly over his cock. He started to fuck the mouth, working his cock slowly back and forth, and at the same time Elizabeth began to pump the dildoe with the same speed.
Elizabeth was shuddering involuntarily now, basking in a state of sexual arousal she never dreamed achievable. The tingling radiating from the core of her sex engulfed her entire body, the pins and needles of pure ecstacy traveling from her scalp to the soles of her feet.
Pierre's breathing became increasingly pronounced as he gradually fucked the mouth faster and faster. Watching this, it was apparent to Dinu that Elizabeth was in sync with Pierre, because she was working the dildoe in her pussy with a pace that mimmicked the mouth fucking. What Dinu couldn't know was that Elizabeth was more than in sync with Pierre. She was projecting into his body, into his essence, feeling the cock as it slid in and out of the unresponsive mouth, the teeth gently scraping across the top and bottom of the shaft, the head of the cock bumping against the back of the throat with each thrust, the tongue constantly rubbing the underside of the cock, and the pre-cum spilling from the slit. Incredibly, Elizabeth was existing simultaneously as two people, experiencing the pleasure of her own body while also experiencing the sensations Pierre was feeling. And yet she wanted more.
"Stop!" Elizabeth screamed, startling the men. "Stop for just a few moments," she beseached, and Pierre complied, although he kept his cock inside the mouth. Elizabeth pulled the dildo from her pussy, set it on the torso's back and quickly stepped around the front of the corpse, not attempting at all to avoid walking through the considerable amount of blood pooled there on the floor. She gently placed an arm across Pierre's chest and prompted him to step back, which he did, disengaging his cock from the oral fuckhole. As if possessed by some ghostly force, she picked up the head with both hands and held it at eye level. The waxen skin already felt clammy, sending a shiver of delight through Elizabeth. She slowly scanned the death mask of the face, especially enthralled by the obscenely slack-jawed mouth and dull, fixed stare of the eyes, devoid of the spark of life. After a few moments she took a deep breath and cradled the head to her bosom, face out, and sank to her knees at Pierre's feet. "Continue now,"she uttered in a near whisper.
Pierre stepped forward and guided his cock past the lips and into the mouth while Elizabeth held it steady, clutching it with both hands.
Holding the severed head between her breasts and watching as Pierre fucked its mouth, while at the same time knowing there was the nude torso of a woman immediately behind her, Elizabeth realized she was completely in her element. She now fully accepted the fact that torture, death and sexual gratification were so closely entwined in her as to be virtually one.
To reciprocate for her having tickled his balls, Dinu crouched next to Elizabeth, eased a hand into her crotch and started to massage her with his fingers. Upon feeling him touch her, she issued a long moan from deep in her throat. Clutching the severed head to her bosom, feeling residual droplets of blood cascading from the stump and onto her abdomen, seeing Pierre's rock hard cock piston the mouth, his scrotum smacking against the chin with each thrust, and the incredible sensation of full body tingling she was getting from Dinu's fingers dancing across her labia, all of these elements combined to convince Elizabeth she had at last found nirvana.
Pierre was fucking the mouth with rapid thrusts now, and his balls were drawn up tightly in his sac. "Give me...the dildoe," Elizabeth said to Dinu between moans. Dinu stopped massaging her pussy and grabbed the dildoe off the torso's back, while at the same time Elizabeth held the head as steadily as she could with her right hand and slid her left arm under the orb and cradled it, thereby freeing her right hand. The feeling of the sticky flesh of the stump on the skin of her arm further stoking the fire between her legs, she snapped the dildoe from Dinu's grasp with her free hand, promptly shoved it up her pussy and manically worked it in her playpen.
Half a minute later, Pierre was fucking the mouth so furiously and Elizabeth was fucking herself so frenziedly that the head was in danger of falling to the floor because of all the jostling. But in addition to keeping the head from falling, Elizabeth managed to focus her concentration so that she and Pierre came at the same time, both of them gasping and groaning as intense orgasmic waves swept through them, followed shortly by the inevitable panting as their climaxes subsided.
Pierre pulled his still erect cock out of the mouth and Elizabeth let the dildoe slide out of her and drop to the floor. She immediately grasped the head with both hands again and carefully turned it so the face was toward her. She lifted it up and back a bit and at the same time tilted her own head back and opened her mouth. After a few moments Pierre's thick, pearly cum started to dribble out from the slack-jawed mouth of the severed head and into Elizabeth's mouth. As more of the sticky cum oozed out she thrust her tongue just outside her mouth, being careful to catch every drop. As the volume of cum tapered off it becamse tinged with red, some blood obviously having mixed with it, but Elizabeth hungrily took it all into her mouth. After the last few droplets fell into her, Elizabeth swallowed with obvious glee. Then she brought the head to her face, pressed her lips to the chilly dead ones, thrust her tongue into the mouth and swirled it around, indulging in a French kiss the likes of which she doubted she'd ever experience again. After some moments, now thoroughly exhausted, and just as thoroughly satisfied, she stood up and flopped into the chair, resting the severed head in her crotch. "That was truly amazing and wonderfully liberating," she said, smiling.
"We are happy to hear you are pleased," Pierre cordially said. "We also have a surprise especially for you."
Elizabeth hadn't noticed that Dinu had stepped somewhere out of sight, nor would she have cared if she had noticed.
"I'm delighted to be so honored. How much will this surprise cost me?"
"Ah, there will be no cost to you in terms of money," Pierre coyly replied.
"Oh?," she said, completely baffled. "Then what will the cost be?"
Elizabeth winced upon feeling a brief, sharp pain on the back of her neck, like the bite of an insect, but a bit more painful. In a few moments she felt light-headed, then the room began to spin.
"You'll find out what the cost is soon enough, madam," Pierre said, his words having a strange echo to them. She wanted to press for details, but everything faded and her world went black.

Awaking from her slumber, Elizabeth softly moaned and pulled up on the blanket covering her as she shifted in the bed. She slowly blinked as grogginess morphed into wakefulness. But the pleasant transition was shattered when she focused on what appeared to be the bars of a jail. Experiencing a truly rude awakening, she flung back the covers and was about to bolt off the bed but froze instead, realizing she was nude. A chill shot up her spine as she remembered where she was. Examining her surroundings, she saw she was on a cot, rather than a bed, and at the opposite cinder brick wall was a sink and an open t0ilet, just like she'd seen in some movies. Looking at the ceiling, there appeared to be a single recessed flourescent light covered by a very thick piece of glass or plexiglass. She figured it was so thick in order to prevent someone from smashing it and using a sharp piece as a weapon. Then she spotted a surveillance camera mounted in a corner. Grabbing the blanket, she spun it around her body like a cloak. She slid her legs over the side of the cot and haltingly arose, because her legs felt a little wobbly. Staring at the camera, she realized it was too high to reach, and there was nothing in the cell she could move to stand on. Then she felt foolish, because even if she could reach the camera, what could she do to change her predicament?
At the sound of a door opening and closing Elizabeth spun around and peered through the bars, into the stark hall. She stood paralyzed, her heart beating more rapidly at the sound of approaching footsteps on the concrete floor. Then a man appeared and stopped, leering at her through the bars.
"Robert!" Elizabeth gasped. "What are you doing here?!!" She held a glimmer of hope that he was there to rescue her, but that was dashed when he replied.
"A rather foolish question under the circumstances, don't you think?" he sarcastically said.
Elizabeth felt more foolish than ever. Of course Robert wasn't here to rescue her. It was more than his tone of voice and the look of menacing glee he wore. He was obviously unabashedly taking delight in her plight, rather than fending off her abductors and risking his life to free her in some dramatic manner, like an old Tyrone Power film. Sensing what her fate was to be, Elizabeth felt a knot growing in the pit of her stomach.
"How can you do this to me?" she weakly said. "Especially after...after what we shared?"
"The fantasies we shared were no more special than the fantasies I share with other women who have the same dark interests as you."
"I'll pay you handsomely to let me go," she said in desperation. "I won't tell a soul about what happens here."
"Yes, it is certain you won't tell a soul," Robert said in a musky voice. "Because your time has come, Elizabeth," he flatly pronounced.
Robert dug a key from a pocket and inserted it into the lock on the cell door. As he turned the key Dinu and Pierre stepped up and slipped through the door as Robert opened it. Elizabeth yelped and recoiled as they closed in on her. She kicked at them, but to ill effect, because in so doing she tottered off-balance, allowing the two men to rip the blanket away, then grab her arms, force them behind her back and handcuff her wrists. Twisting and squirming as Dinu and Pierre held her by her arms and shoulders, Elizabeth looked at Robert and pleaded, "Please, don't do this! I'll give you anything you want to let me go!"

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