OCCULT JUSTICE 7

Feature Writer: Midsummerman

Feature Title: OCCULT JUSTICE 7

Published: 06.02.2016 / Copyright© 2015 by Midsummerman

Story Codes: NC, Coercion, Slavery, Paranormal, BDSM, Sadistic, Torture, Snuff, Pregnancy, Voyeurism, Analingus

Synopsis: Firstly, apologies to all witches; I know that this tale has no bearing on your ways and practices, it is pure fantasy. Back in the 1600’s the ‘Witchfinder General’ was responsible for the deaths of over 300 women, many totally innocent, others persecuted for their beliefs. A pledge for vengeance on all those descending from one Matthew Hopkins is confirmed by a coven, whose dark order is passed down the generations by its dominant female members; their quest to eliminate, relentless.

 

Occult Justice 7

Arne sensed a freshness about Bathsheba’s excitement as soon as he was awoken by her, the stern woman riding his face as soon as he was conscious, the lushly erotic scenario of his public humiliation still filling her with raw excitement as she burst into a heady orgasm; her ecstasy embellished with thoughts of the events to come magnified her pleasure; she would be granted even deeper satisfaction later, and her erotic elation would not be denied. Temporarily sated, he was pulled from the bed by his leash and led to the corner of the room where the shroud hung above him, and tethered to a ring in the wall. Aroused by her actions but denied any relief, his cock poked erect as he knelt in humble obedience, the cruel humiliations of the prior day having reduced him to a level of total servility. Bathsheba continued to finger her clitoris as she stood over him, his eyes flitting between her and the shroud.

‘Yes … today you wear the shroud for us, your journey to complete submission to the coven confirmed by it, your life handed over to me and ceded in absolute servitude for ever. The ladies will be so thrilled to see you wear it, it means so much to them too.’ His cock boned rigid as the naked redhead stood over him and smiled, easing his face to her cunt.

‘Not long now, your official confirmation as my property awaits you.’

Within the hour, Agatha arrived wearing one of the tight long skirts which expressed her feminine shape so well, a bag over her shoulder which contained her ceremonial silks. Arne sensed an extra pleasure in her too, as the the two women laughed contemptuously at the tethered male, kneeling and in silent obedience, his will satisfactorily broken in preparation for the ordeal he faced.

‘Now, let’s see how the shroud fits shall we?’ Arne began to breathe heavily, taking in Agatha’s soft perfume as the grinning woman unhitched his leash while Bathsheba took down the shroud. His balls tingled as the musky garment was slipped over his head for the one occasion he’d wear it, the women grinning with satisfaction at the sheepishly pleased expression his eyes showed as the cold white silk warmed to his eager body, his cock poking erect below the short flared hem. Agatha took her phone from the bag.

‘Now, the first of many pictures!’ Bathsheba took his leash and posed, emphasising her pure and natural dominance, her hands gripping the leather leash tightly. Agatha’s cunt tingled with arousal as the scene was framed; a descendant of Matthew Hopkins, captured, shrouded, and ready to face the gallows he so richly deserved.

Arne’s heart pumped as he was released from the darkness of the car to view the stark and imposing sight of Burntwood Hall for the one and only time. The women parked in the avenue of trees one hundred yards or so from the Elizabethan manor with its stark chimneys looming, and had him kneel facing it while they retrieved their bags from the car. Inside the house, Thelma Martin and the other women raised glasses and toasted the occasion unseen, each woman ready for the event as they viewed the arrival, resplendent in their black silks with whips which would ready their prize for the noose. Bathsheba and Agatha allowed Arne to savor the view before tugging his leash to begin his final journey in a straight line across the grass lawn, around which the gravel drive curved. Bathsheba’s sense of dominant triumph peaked as Arne knew the ritualistic approach on all fours; the humiliating manner in which many males had known their delivery to justice over the years, the step of the two women not hurried despite their eagerness to see him struggle on the gallows.

The women inside savored the scene, no more so than those who would witness their first hanging, and of those, Carol Finch’s sadistic excitement had her wet with arousal as her cur of an ex-husband was brought to indulge her final cruel desire. Those women who had sampled the pleasure before began to descend the oaken stairs when Arne reached a certain point in his approach. Thelma smiled at the intensity of her eyes and gently urged Carol to follow them.

‘You must repair to the hanging hall now Carol, I will go and welcome the male to his death; I know this day will bring you a very special pleasure in particular, I’m so glad your first event is flavored by association, that always brings such a lush reward.’ Carol sighed and said nothing, following the women down to where the noose awaited its deserving recipient.

Arne’s knees ground on the cold stone steps as he was brought to the stark black door, the cool breeze lifting the shroud and exposing more of his otherwise naked body as he knelt leashed and subservient, his already submissive will broken thoroughly and to complete satisfaction by the stern redhead who now proudly knocked at the door. His anus tingled in the cold air as the two women chanted in unison with each rap of the antique brass knocker.

‘Once for his capture … twice for the shroud … thrice for the justice … four for the pleasure he will now be allowed.’ The two women grinned contemptuously down at the male on delivering the required announcement of a male’s arrival for the noose, Bathsheba pulling the leash tight and saying nothing, watching his exposed cock stiffen willingly in anticipation of what was to follow, enslaved by his own weakness for which he would pay dearly. The door swung open, and his erection hardened as Thelma Martin stood before him in black silk, curled braided whip in hand, her mature figure and contemptuous smile giving the promise of the cruel dominance he had already enjoyed at her hand. Her immense pleasure at seeing him on his final day was so apparent to Arne, and he would shortly know why.

‘The shroud brings another male for deliverance to our coven. You’ll cross the threshold and be taken to the place which its adornment has earned you … your submission to the women of the coven confirmed totally.’ Bathsheba passed the leash to the sneering woman and Arne was led through the oak paneled hallway, the black door shut firmly behind him by Agatha, who delighted in then slamming several bolts home, her satisfied smile at knowing that the resonating sound would emphasize capture in the condemned male’s mind. Arne’s tingling was further magnified after being led past several stately rooms, the trio then taking him through a concealed door under a grandiose stairway. The door was papered as per the walls, painted as per the skirting; anyone noticing it would assume it to be an incognito servant’s access, the door opening into a bleak arched tunnel. The sound of the women’s heels on the cold stone floor was warmed only by their contented smiles as he was taken to where it opened out at its end. On one side were large double doors, to the other a single door, both glossy black and giving Arne a blurred reflection of himself on the leash as the women paused by the larger doors and viewed them with prim satisfaction.

He was taken through the smaller door and was immediately awestruck by the array of artefacts which adorned the walls as Bathsheba and Agatha hastily stripped to don their black silks. Thelma sneered and pulled his leash nice and taut, watching his cock bone rigid as he took in the many paintings and photos, ancient and recent, of males suspended on a stark gallows, black silken witches posing satisfied by the spent and defeated males; each and every picture the same cruel scenario. His eyes drifted to the far wall, there displayed in various modes were male genitalia; older examples cured and tacked to framed boards, some floating forlornly in jars of formaldehyde, others stuffed and mounted like Victorian birds under glass domes. Thelma’s cruel pleasure peaked, her arousal now flourishing as the male neared realization of what the shroud heralded.

‘Oh yes, males who are descended from Matthew Hopkins will not be allowed to spawn … neither in this world, nor the next.’ The cruel laughter of all three taunted his mind as he paled, Bathsheba and Agatha now displaying their magnificent bodies in unashamed nakedness, stepped forward with nipples hard and erect in dominant sexual arousal. Arne gasped as both slapped his face hard, his flesh warming to the sting of their hand-marks, his cock boning in submission at what he dared contemplate. Bathsheba turned and bent slightly, spreading the glorious globular cheeks of her arse.

‘Sniff my arsehole, enjoy it while you can.’ Thelma and Agatha sneered with satisfaction as he obediently pressed his nose to her soft flesh and sampled the heady tang of her anus.

‘Surely you must have guessed what wearing the shroud would bring you?’ She pulled away, all three laughing as he cowered and returned his view to the mounted cocks, she and Agatha donning their silks impatiently in their eagerness to see him hang. Thelma pulled his leash nice and tight as he contemplated the strangely contented expressions of the males who’d succumbed to the noose, her eyes pleased to see the cock which would soon join her collection stand erect in submissive awe. She toyed with his leash, smiling cruelly.

‘Yes, you’re a descendant of Matthew Hopkins, and you’ll be delivered to know the only justice suitable for that crime … you’ll hang, and you’ll please every woman present in doing so, after each has vented their feelings upon you; you showed your weak and submissive nature to the full yesterday, and those present saw you were more than ready for the noose they all knew you’d face today.’ The cruel pleasure in her tone and the shameful truth he could not deny, reverberated through his tortured mind. Broken by the severe dominance of the women, coupled with his own lush desire of submission, he showed no resistance to their supreme authority as Bathsheba took his leash and led him back through the door opened by a smiling Agatha to face the foreboding double doors. Bathsheba revelled in spiteful triumph as the doors were swung open, her prize brought to face his destiny.

‘Now you’ll pay the price for wearing the shroud which you’ve earned in more ways than one, you cannot imagine the level of sexual pleasure you’ll award us with your execution, and you too will not fail to show your pleasure – a hanged submissive always does.’

Only when he was led by her into the great hall was the full horror revealed to his tortured mind, and the cruel pleasure enjoyed by Bathsheba in her deceit brought home to him. He had thought he was to simply be dominated by her, but his eyes were greeted by the horde of black shrouded witches, their gleeful smiles below their sinister masks matching that of Batsheba’s. He gasped and needed tugging forward as he viewed the curved velvet bench and the the stark beam reinforced beam above it, strong enough to accommodate several deserving penitents, but a single noose awaiting his pleasure above it, confirming he was the sole focus of the women’s excitement and that this was the last room he would see. Bathsheba turned to him as the horde watched, her face illuminated with the ecstasy of her work, his eyes fixed on the avenue of pleased women which drew him to his place of final punishment.

‘Here, tricked, and now to face being tested and duly hanged, is a descendant of the tyrant Hopkins!’ She grinned with a spiteful pleasure which eclipsed that which he had witnessed on her face when he had been broken with her horsewhip. The delight in her duping him cruelly, and having him know that her indication to enslave him indefinitely was a sham, cut into him as he shook his head in disbelief, the betrayal as painful as any whip.

‘No … No … Madam Bathsheba … Please, I … I beg you!… ‘ The massed cruel laughter of the witches echoed about the gallows, their contempt at his frightened protest simply arousing them and Bathsheba all the more, her cunt now oozing as she took exquisite pleasure from his torment, cutting it short by swiping the rear of his legs with the cane to make him drop to his knees. She savored his scared eyes which glanced from her to the noose and back, still showing an element of hope that he would be spared, then she held her head back and stood in dominant pose with hands on her superb hips as she addressed the black silken horde with a theatrical chant which several other males had heard her recite and known the pleasure of its consequence.

‘And how shall he be tested?!’ He panted in fear as the massed witches responded in unison, one and all no strangers to the routine that would indulge their pleasure.

‘He shall be tested with the whip!’ He shook with fear, though his cock bobbed erect as he felt the delight in their tone, and saw the cruel pleasure in their smiles as they responded with enthusiasm; it was now fully confirmed to him that the white smock he wore was not just to humiliate him, it was a sacrificial gown. He had worn it willingly for Bathsheba, and now he would pay the ultimate price for his submissive weakness. She lifted his cock with the cane, the triumph of her moment exquisite as she had his fate confirmed.

‘And then shall he know the noose?!’ She watched his eyes and saw his cock pulse pre-cum in utter defeat as he watched the array of females step slowly closer to him as they confirmed with their lusty reply.

‘He shall hang in repentance!’ He gasped and quivered in a confused mix of fear and resignation generated by his own submissive lust as the smiling women converged on their prize, their bodies shrouded in black silk, the whips he would know, some curled and gripped tight by white knuckles, others trailing to allow the male a good look at the snaking length that would tease his flesh. His cock boned hard as he recognized the smile of the prim mature woman from the records office; her staid grey attire now replaced by the shining black silk, her slightly sagging breasts showing her excitement as her nipples poked hard through the silk. Bathsheba turned to her as the woman’s prolonged smile continued while she toyed with her whip and surveyed the male’s inner eagerness to know it, betrayed by the erect cock which poked from below his short death shroud.

‘There is no doubt whatsoever of his guilt?’ The woman’s delight was incalculable as the fingers he had last seen point out the confirmation of his bloodline in an ancient ledger, now ran a nail under his erect cock, sampling the silky pre-cum which dribbled from his bulging bell-end.

‘There is no doubt of his guilt. He was so pleased to learn of his direct lineage, connecting him to Hopkins, but could not have known the sheer joy it gave me. I will now take great pleasure in awarding him the strokes of the whip he has earned so justly, and be overwhelmed with satisfaction as he hangs for the sins of his cursed forefather!’ Her words drew a tumultuous applause from the eager coven as Bathsheba took his leash and sneered down at the quaking figure kneeling in the white smock, his bare arse now moving back and forth unconsciously, expressing the base act of copulation fronted by his jutting cock; the realization within him that all hope had evaporated, and the carnal lust of his admission of weak submission to feminine dominance eclipsing the fear he felt.

Bathsheba, her pleasure immense in duping him and having him know the cruel truth that her feelings for him were that he was insignificant other than her lust for his disposal, now brought his jutting cock close to pulsing out its essence of surrender in utter defeat. She had another delightful twist for him to enjoy, showing him to the feet of a woman who stood proudly in her black silks, toying impatiently with her whip. She pulled her cloak aside to reveal the wetness of her camel-toe in the tight silken panties; her excitement at an erotic extreme.

‘Sniff at her cunt, and see if the scent brings on any special memories.’ He felt the cruel anticipation of all the women as he sniffed at the delicious bulge, his cock boning in bewildered submission as his mind tried to register where the spice of her excitement had been known to him before. Bathsheba sneered and pulled his head back, the woman lifting her mask, her face showing the intense thrill of attending his appointment with the gallows. Arne gasped at the revelation of a jubilant Carol Finch, his dominant ex-wife, the sight making his cock spasm and a tingling anus clench hard. The cruel smile and gentle laugh of contempt that came from her making him want to spend immediately; the woman who had crushed and humiliated him so efficiently before claiming his assets and disposing of him as though he were nothing, would now enjoy seeing him hang.

The entire crowd of women laughed at his expense as they enjoyed the sweet irony of their final meeting; the dominant Ms Finch had been instrumental in reducing Arne to a level of submission which had made him lust to know further punishment, making him seek out their superior society. Her own natural lust for domination had long yearned to know the absolute and final submission of males, which that society now enabled her to enjoy; it would begin in her triumph over a male who had thoroughly deserved the humiliation she had already meted out, and escaped that final lust. She would now taunt and humiliate before knowing total satisfaction. Arne’s cock dribbled in submissive awe as he thought back on how exacting her domination had been, and now in the shadow of the gallows she showed just how erotic a prospect seeing him hang was. Now a witch of the coven, her dominance was somehow magnified by the black silk, and her taunts would leave him in no doubt of her cruel and intense pleasure in witnessing his death.

‘It’s so good to see you again Thomas; I took great pleasure in dominating and humiliating you, my only regret was that it wasn’t within my power to see you erased from existence completely, you escaped after a mere cuckolding. Well there’s no escape now, I’ll now have that pleasure of disposal, and now you know it’s you that’s given me that power. I’ll deliver the final strokes of the whip before you hang, and you’ll feel the ecstasy your death has awarded me through the lash.’ The cruelty of her words and sheer spite in her tone, brought his rigid cock closer to shooting his mess spontaneously as he sank in a lush submissive defeat, Bathsheba grinning and pushing his face back to sniff again at the heady arousal of his ex-wife’s bulging cunt, allowing to savor her words as the women applauded her words with enthusiasm.

He knelt and sniffed in total defeat, beaten, broken, cuckolded and made to suck cock by the woman who stood in proud and dominant magnificence, who would now realise her ultimate dominant pleasure. His fear and bewilderment was tempered by a strong erotic sense of resignation to his fate as he sniffed hard at the cunt he had licked clean of other men’s semen so many times. She had a final task to crown his humiliation; the women sneered as she lifted her arm from beneath her silken cape and showed him a huge anal plug. The pleasure in her cruel smile illuminated the room as she presented the black tapered plug.

‘You’ll want to shit as you hang slowly and painfully, but you’ll not be allowed that luxury. Your semen will be the only emission you’ll show as you’re hoisted.’ Bathsheba pressed his head down and his exposed arse quivered as it poked in acceptance of the rude plug. Carol sneered as she offered the pointed end up to his anus, and the women applauded loudly as he gasped in pain on Carol forcing the widening taper home, stretching his anus to splitting point. Arne’s cock pulsed and boned rock hard as his arsehole displayed the final token of his absolute submission to a woman who had taken everything from him, and would now enjoy seeing him pay the ultimate price, the humiliation sublime as his anus was spread wide in discomfort, accentuating his feeling of fear for the noose. Bathsheba was now wet with arousal and impatient to see him waste his seed on the rope.

‘So be it! Justice will be known, he is whipped and then hanged!’ His leash was tugged and he was walked slowly on his knees toward the beckoning black velvet bench which shimmered in the light of a thousand candles which bedecked the walls, his eyes drawn to the stark noose which hung from the beam above it, his cock further excited by the movement of the harsh plug which teased his prostate. Bathsheba allowing him time to savour his fate as he was walked in procession to the structure, flanked by the records witch and Carol through an avenue of their smiling sisters, and she taking delight in describing its history to him with trite formality.

‘The bench and beam of justice has been here since 1700 and has known the pleasure of many male descendants of Hopkins and Stearne. You’ve earned the right to experience the righteous revenge of the women here, most descendants of the witches martyred by those tyrants. You’ll be more than glad to know the noose that has seen the last breaths of many penitent males, after each of us has had you know the vengeance of the whip.’ He faltered slightly and gasped as he neared the foot of the bench, delighting the women as they enjoyed the last vestiges of reluctance brought on by the cold stark reality of his fate. Bathsheba sneered as she tugged him onward.

‘You cannot escape it. You were born to know your deliverance to this place, and the submission you have shown to my dominance must tell you that you knew such a justifiable fate would befall you. I cannot wait to see you noosed.’ His cock peaked as he thought on how the horse whipping she had given him would seem as nothing in comparison to the vengeful strokes he would receive from the twenty or so witches. He panted uncontrollably as Bathsheba flicked his erect cock delicately with the cane and nodded to a witch who stood by the middle of the bench. The witch lifted a large round plug from the center of the bench.

‘The void will take your manhood; you’ll not shoot your mess on our bench, you’ll savor the taste of our whips without distraction and will spend your last on the rope. The hole was cut in 1740; many males had spent under the whip, as a male in penitence is apt to do, but one Lord Gresham, a descendant of Stearne, was brought to his destiny by his Mistress with cock bottled and strapped to make it immune to any sensation, as was a whim of her cruelty; the enhanced reaction he showed on being whipped, and the acute lust he demonstrated oh so naturally when it was removed and he spent on hanging, was notable. You have him to thank for the exquisite intensity of punishment you will now enjoy.’

He almost came as Bathsheba pulled the leash tight while he was drawn, shaking with awed anticipation, up the plush velvet bench aided by several of the silken witches; his cock pulsing as it slipped on the plush velvet to tease the last edging sensation before it dropped into the void. His tied wrists were drawn up his back and held clear of the bare flesh of his buttocks by a strap buckled by eager hands. He felt his ankles and the top of his calves bound with leather bands, then two other straps attached to the bench were smartly buckled to secure him for the whip. He gasped as Bathsheba removed the leash, then lifted his head by his hair and slipped a padded block under his chin; her cunt tingled with pleasure as his bewildered eyes were now forced to look up and feast on the noose he would soon know; now bound and utterly helpless, any last possibility of escape was removed from him, and his cock pulsed rock hard in total submission as the sight of the delectable noose silently taunted him. He was to be hanged by the women, and he knew he’d spend in ecstasy when displayed in utter humiliation on the rope.

Though he had committed no crime other that of his descent, the earnest and convincing manner of the witches had ensured he felt a justification in his hanging; he had long sought knowing the dark carnal pleasures of the occult, his submissive nature excited by the power of female authority that prevailed; now he was to know the ultimate pleasure of that authority, sinking deep into submissive lust as the sound of flexing whips, and the thought of Bathsheba’s cold and cruel deception along with the enthusiasm of Carol made him yearn for the leather lined noose which now seemed so inviting.

He first felt the whip brandished with eager spite by the woman from the records office, the seemingly bland and officious grey haired woman transformed by her vengeful lust into the dominant in black silk that was her true persona. Awarded the first three strokes for her confirmation which had brought him to the noose, her lustful sneer as her sagging breasts shimmered in the silk on unleashing her whip, showed her acute pleasure in being the one to commence the cries of pain that would echo under the noose, her cunt wet with arousal. His cock boned in the void at the delicious sound of the snaking whip, the energy exacted by the petite older woman belying her stature; the whipping of condemned males invigorating, a fountain of youth to her. She was not disappointed as the whip curled about his bound flesh, biting deep into the welcoming curves of his buttocks, making him tense to enjoy the unforgiving bonds which held him; he felt the searing pain and screamed like a punished girl, exciting the women who waited their turn, not least Carol who toyed with her whip and relished having him cry like a child under her lashes before hanging. His eyes fixed on the noose as though begging for it already, his balls and anus tingling in glorious submission as he wept under righteous feminine punishment.

With the pain of the whip still fresh and intense, the next lashes were awarded to the spiteful ginger Megan; she had more than earned the right, having reduced him to surrendering his seed with spiteful aplomb, and then having demonstrated her pleasure in humiliating him as he was displayed in his donkeys ears, his readiness for the noose confirmed so shamefully. She could not contain her excitement, taunting him as he writhed under the three curling strokes of her whip, her arousal peaking as she watched him thrust at the void in a futile effort to find the touch of something which would allow him to spend.

‘You’ll be the first hanging I witness but you’ll not be the last, I can’t wait to pose next to you as you squirm on the rope, you’ll know just how much pleasure it gives me before you succumb to its strangulation.’ Her words made Arne thrust all the more at the void and yearn for the dangling rope as the women exacted their punishments with lusty vigour, Agatha, Thelma, Miriam, each ensuring along with every woman there that his pain and tears only cemented their eagerness to see him hang, Bathsheba stepping up in dominant triumph to award him the penultimate strokes.

‘You offered yourself up to me oh so easily, you’re such a fool, a cur, and you more than deserve the ecstasy I know you now lust for and can’t escape. Just six more lashes and you’ll be hoisted to perform your final humiliation.’ Arne’s eyes burned into the delectable noose through watery eyes as the dominant redhead looped her whip with a sneer, its song making him lift his buttocks to greet it, the stinging pain bringing fresh tears of defeat as the crack of impact upon his tortured flesh was appreciated by the delighted feminine crowd. Bathsheba relished each of her three strokes, ensuring each left their mark upon his bound flesh before smiling toward Carol Finch, who would exact the final strokes before he was hoisted. Carol smiled with supreme satisfaction as she ran the braided whip end and knot through the hot wetness of her cleft and had Arne sniff at the rich scent.

‘You knew that scent so well before you escaped me; I’d love to have you know it again, mixed with the scent and flavor of semen of the last male lucky enough to indulge me – I know how much you enjoyed that humiliation, but unfortunately the pleasure of seeing you noosed supersedes it and we can’t delay what you’ve earned. Know that these three strokes will give me satisfaction like no others I’ve awarded you before, you’ll feel my pleasure in each as the last you’ll know … then you will hang!’ Arne was close to spending spontaneously as the cruelty and significance of the final three strokes were delivered with absolute gusto by his sadistic ex-wife, his mind in total submission and lusting for the divine relief of the noose. Carol’s three strokes applauded by the other women now impatient in their anticipation, the smiling woman summoning up all her bitchy spite with each delivery, revelling in seeing her feeble ex-husband squirm and writhe as the snaking braid cracked upon his flesh, her satisfaction realised beyond her own expectations as her sadistic pleasure blossomed.

Writhing and tearful, Arne panted with submissive awe as Thelma ascended the platform and released the noose, allowing it to drop to its customer below. His cock boned as a smiling Bathsheba lifted his head back and allowed Carol the pleasure of noosing him; her soft laughter had his balls tingling incessantly as he felt the soft leather tightened about his throat, and the slipknot pushed firmly against the rear of his neck; the feel of its grip bringing the stark reality home, making him wriggle in the tight bondage left as the bench straps were released, giving him a sublime submissive pleasure – he was totally captive and noosed, his mind repeating the cold truth again and again, he was to hang for the women, hang for their pure sadistic enjoyment, hang for his weakness and his unknowing sin against them. Thelma sighed with pleasure as she and Bathsheba pulled the rope taut while Miriam and Agatha eased his body up the sloping bench from the steps either side, Megan cupping his cock as it was released from the void to ensure he did not spend on the plush black velvet as he was hoisted to the trap at the bench’s apex.

The ginger girl grinned while ascending the lower steps and teased Arne’s cock with her sharp nails as he teetered on the small trap, having him display the doomed symbol of his defeated manhood to the eager women in all its glory, Thelma tensioning the rope tightly to ensure he enjoyed the minimal drop possible; he would hang slowly and know the full benefit of the noose. Arne now enjoyed the full consequences of what was to come, his startled eyes taking in the panorama of pleased women while he squirmed in the tight bondage, the softly bound noose already restricting his frantic breaths, the rope creaking with its promise of the lush spectacle to follow as his toes strained under his weight on the trap which would soon disappear. Bathsheba pressed the plug at his anus, making his cock bob stiff and dribble pre-cum.

‘Just one more thing before you please us all.’ Arne gasped and spluttered as her elegant fingers ball-gagged him, the ball making him snort air through his nose and bringing contemptuous laughter from the watching women, his appearance now reminiscent of the apple-mouthed boar’s head at a feast. The redhead’s contentment was now almost complete.

‘There! You’ll not offer any final protest requiring a tiresome dismissal, and we can’t have you hyperventilating and passing out prior to obliging our full enjoyment; the ball will take that trick away from you, and it also completes your visual humiliation. You’re now ready to provide the pleasure we’re all desperate to enjoy.’ A hushed silence descended over the smiling faces as Arne quivered in readiness for the cruel drop, bound, noosed, and his sniffing of the scented air breaking the silence as Bathsheba and Thelma stood flanking him in regal dominance at the top of the steps. Thelma gestured to Carol Finch with a serene and contented nod, Arne’s cock boning at the cruel significance as she stepped forward to a lever which jutted from the front side of the steps; he would have a good view of the hands that sent him to his death.

Carol lifted her mask again, and smiled cruelly into his eyes with utter contentment as those neatly manicured hands gripped the lever, her cunt went with arousal, her nipples poking hard through the black silk expressing her sadistic delight at her final dominant triumph over him. Thelma lifted her head with a trite smile.

‘Hang him!’ Carol gasped close to orgasm, mouth agape in a smile of sweet satisfaction as her hands jammed the lever up, and the trap crashed down; the eerie echo it made was drowned almost instantaneously by the wild applause from the women as Arne jerked and struggled on the rope, hanged by his ex-wife. Arne snorted frantically, saliva dribbling from the ball as his wriggling toes searched for the support which was now gone, the noose tightening its deathly grip with each tortuous creak of the unforgiving rope, as he he writhed and tested the tight bondage which held his wrists and ankles in submissive obedience. As he fought for breath and jerked automatically in a futile effort to be released, he twirled on the rope taking in the acute ecstasy of Bathsheba’s enjoyment of his suffering expressed in a calm air of satisfaction.

As he turned on the taut rope, he faced the flickering candlelit shadow of himself on the far wall. The shadow depicted his situation magnificently, the beam and rope splayed in an immense arc; below it writhing in utter defeat was his own image, paying the price of his heritage and his own submissive weakness, the shadows of Bathsheba and Thelma showing the triumph of their feminine dominance over him as he hanged for their pleasure. While snorting hard to fight the ever tightening restriction of the noose, the cheering and taunts of the ecstatic women took him deep into his own submissive ecstasy, the grip of the noose became exquisite as each lush squirm in bondage made the creaking rope click tighter; being whipped and humiliated by the women had taken him deep into the realms of sweet submission, but the intensity of the pleasure they now showed as he was displayed bound and hanged below the stark beam brought a shameful ecstasy he could not control.

With phones clicking to capture the delighted poses of Bathsheba and Thelma standing victoriously, whilst the noose exacted its slow strangulation of their latest male brought to deserving justice, Arne’s reddening face snorted with an urgency which was all too recognizable to his dominant executioners as he squirmed toward his death on the creaking and unforgiving rope. Bathsheba’s contented and knowing smile increased the delectable sensation that Arne now felt from his balls. She stroked the underside of his rigid cock with the handle of her whip, her cruel satisfaction evident in the look of spiteful contempt as he was slowly strangled and now showed the submissive pleasure in his fate.

‘Carol! step up and give him your final thoughts; he’s ready to show us his ultimate pleasure … as with all his feeble brethren, he’ll spend in shame for us before the noose has completed its task.’ Arne’s total defeat and guarantee of providing the spectacle that each woman there lusted for, was sealed as a jubilant Carol Finch ascended the steps, her contentment and spiteful dominance at a peak on having hanged the pathetic male who had more than deserved to appease her pleasure. Arne’s cock pulsed in utter submission as he fought to stay conscious, the rope which now squeezed the life from him, awarded with abject and fulfilling pleasure by the woman who had owned and humiliated him, who now approached with a satisfied smile to complete the humiliation of him so finally. Carol grinned with utter contempt as she watched him struggle, bound, gagged, and committed to the rope by her fair hand without the slightest care, other than that of her satisfaction. She looked to him, then back to the crowd of women whose eagerness to see the deserving male spend before death would not be denied, many with phones clicking to capture yet more memories to savor.

Carol put a slender finger under his raised bell-end, and slid her nail around the sensitive glans, pleased to feel the silky pre-cum which indicated the perverse pleasure of his submission. Her voice haughty and authoritative in the justness of his fate as she delighted in taunting the slowly strangled male.

‘You’ll show us all now, just how grateful you are for our allowing you to exhibit yourself. Know that nothing has ever given me more pleasure than pulling that lever and seeing you hang, and I know just how much you’re enjoying it too, you worthless cur!’ She laughed and ran her nails spitefully up the length of his cock as he writhed making the rope creak out it’s final elasticity, the noose intensifying its deathly grip, as his balls announced their sublime surrender on his mind going back to licking spent semen from Carol’s delicious cunt. His blurring eyes went from the massed and uniform delight shown by the pack of women, to those of his contended ex-wife, her smile seeming to draw the seed from his balls.

‘You could never have hoped to escape me forever, and it’s so satisfying that your earning the right to die by hanging also gave me a life of bliss with the coven. We’ll all see you shame yourself now.’ Arne’s mind was immersed in a submissive ectasy as he jigged in bondage, testing his bonds, the noose now lushly pleasing and his own shadow teasing him toward a heaven he could not escape. His spread anus tingled and gripped the huge plug as Carol’s words brought the surge of pleasure up from his balls that was inevitable, the delighted faces of the other women ensured his disgrace, his own face contorting bright red as he snorted wildly to remain conscious and know the ecstasy of utter defeat. Yes, he was hanged, hanged by dominant women, and the crushing admission of his shear ecstasy at that truth brought the delicious surge of semen up from his defeated balls in a glorious final surrender.

Bathsheba lifted his balls with the handle of her whip as his cock pulsed to the gagged and strangled groan of relief from her hanged prize, her face illuminated with spiteful satisfaction.

‘He comes his last!’ Arne’s whole body went into a spasm of complete ecstasy, his torture on the taut rope now transformed to pure submissive pleasure as his jutting cock spurted his lush defeat in a jet of hot semen, every sinew straining at the bondage which assured his death on the unforgiving rope. The contemptuous and satisfied jeers and wholesome applause from the women magnified his orgasm, bringing repeated pulses of seed looping down to the black velvet bench in a shameful display of submission. The confirmation that he was a weak and pathetic cur so deserving of the noose, clear and perversely pleasurable in his mind as he writhed helplessly on the creaking rope and emptied his balls in ecstasy to the delight of the women. His contorted face now going blue, he spurted his last weak pulses of seed to the cruel smiles of his dominant audience.

His eyes flitted from face to smiling face; Megan’s mouth agape, the ginger girl in spiteful awe at the pleasure of witnessing her first hanging, slender white fingers slipping in the silky slot of her aroused cunt in pure enjoyment, Bathsheba and Carol posing for pictures in pure dominance as he, the subject of their sadistic pleasure, jerked his last as he twirled on the rope from the stark beam above them, Miriam and Agatha toying with their whips as Thelma’s contented smile viewed the cock and balls she’d add to her trophies. The knife she now brandished complementing the last lustful dribbles of his final orgasm.

His mind went back over the days of cruel cuckolding by Carol, the visit to the library and his fateful visit to the antique shop, the whipping in the guise of the donkey. Now as his eyes took in the the shadow of his own execution, they closed to the sound of delighted applause as the noose terminated his fitful breaths.

Bathsheba’s tight pencil skirt and tall heels kept the leashed male’s cock erect as Carol led him up to her on all fours, dominated by the strict woman and more than willing to please.

‘Meet my latest pet Sheba, he has a very interesting family history I know you’ll be most pleased to hear.’ The male was eager to disclose it, regardless of the encouragement shown him with Carol’s application of the crop; Batsheba’s cunt moistened at the prospect of a second ritual at Burntwood Hall within a year, justice would be served.

THE END