Prison/Death Row rape roleplay - open (male guards, female prisoners)

[DoctorBenway]

I am a brand new (male) user, so please forgive any errors in protocol here.

I am one of the chief guards on Women's Death Row. My desk sits at the end of a long hallway of prison cells, almost all of which are filled to capacity. The other guards have taken off for the evening, leaving me here as the lone watchman. Usually nights are pretty quiet, but in case of any sort of emergency, the place can be surrounded by hundreds of armed prison guards within two minutes, so I relax.


I look at my watch and notice it is 2:00 AM. I look at the calendar and realize that one of our inmates here is scheduled for her meeting with the hot seat the next day. Too bad, I'll only have one more day to do what I will with her. I get up and walk down the rows of cells. Most of the girls are in their beds, I can see this through the windows of the large maximum-security doors. I stop at the young woman whose number is just about up. I figure "what the hell?" and quickly and loudly yank the door open....

[summer1983]

I couldn't sleep knowing that my life was going to be over quite soon. As I lay on my bed I suddenly sat up when my door was yanked open.

[DoctorBenway]

"Do you know what day this is?" I ask in a serious tone, the soles of my uniform boots clacking against the floor as I approach your bed. I have a clipboard in my hand and a medical bag, but there is a definite smirk on my face that betrays my somewhat "unofficial" purposes of this visit.

I close and lock the door behind me.

[summer1983]

"How could I forget what this day is?" I say to him noticing that smirk on his face which sends a chill down my spine as I watch him close and lock the door behind him.

[Sheba]

Sigh...that damn guard was at it again. I could hear him rudely enter the cell next to mine, ready and primed to force himself on the occupant. Every night it was someone else, though I was surprised he chose Mary this time--she was nearly thirty; he generally liked them younger. Ah, but wait--she was to be zapped into oblivion tomorrow. A surge of anger goes through me. Doesn't the man have the common decency to let her live her last night in peace?!?
Furious, I get up and pad across the cold concrete to the cell door.

"Leave her alone, you bastard!!!"

Not that my cry will help Mary at all; but at least he knows someone else knows now. Before he seemed to think these little nightly escapades of his went on undetected, unknown to all the rest of the staff. A sick grin twists my face as I grab ahold of the bars that form the door of my cell. Oooooh, just imagine if one of his superiors were to here about this!!!

[Sheba]

I start as suddenly tromping footsteps come down the hall. Wow, that was quick!!! My heart sinks, though, as they stop outside my cell. I leer as bravely as I can at the guard, who unceremoniously yanks open the door and announces gruffly that, 'It's time.' What the hell? Time for what?!? I know for damned sure I'm not due to go meet the big toaster yet--I know I would've been informed if I was!! Common decency again, though I quickly realize that in this place there is no such thing. Like animals---grunting and snuffling and drooling all over me--they pin me to this hard damned cot I have slept on for the past seven years, and soon have me trussed up like a turkey with my hands and feet shackled. What am I, a damned slave?!?

They yank me to my feet and drag me down the hall, damn near tripping me several times. Where the holy fuck are they taking me?!? I've never been down this hallway before. The floors here are colder, and an unpleasant smell of antiseptic and ozone permeates the air. My stomach churns. This...could be bad. It's so dark I couldn't see my hand in front of my face--as it stands I can't anyway; my hands are behind my back!! Haha, I crack myself up. Suiddenly I'm shoved from the dark cavern-hall, into a cold clinically-bright white place. My eyes burn in protest at the sudden change, and I instinctively shut them. A high-voiced person--probably another warden or something; I don't know because I can't see them--commands, 'Over here', and then I'm being roughly shoved to the left. Suddenly my spine meets a cold metal surface with a violent crack, nearly elliciting a cry of pain and a colorful string of adjectives. I can smell oiled leather, and then with a heavy slap thick straps are flung over me and pulled tight. Instinctively I buck and try to squirm and twist free--I can feel my ribs creak, and I can't breathe. I feel my ankles being unlocked--I tried to use this to my advantage and kick, but one of the brutes grabs my leg and twists it, gently discouraging that course of action. My legs are splayed apart, my feet guided into metal stirrups above my head. Ah, it's like a gynecologist!! Odd, I didn't even know we had one here. Perhaps all this time I was simply overdue for my checkup?

Not so, I soon realize as my heart starts racing. One of the people from before--my eyes are still shut so I can't see exactly who--takes ahold of my sleeve and pulls at it. I hear ripping cloth, and suddenly the chilly draft is stronger on my arms, and across my chest. Not good. I can feel goosebumps rising on my skin. Then the pants, and finally my panties. I shudder as suddenly a cold foam is sprayed all over my pubes. It's thick and smells soapy--shaving cream? Bingo, it seems--a cold sharp thing, probably a straight razor, is suddenly scraping away the foam and my considerable accumulated bush. We weren't allowed razors to keep us from killing ourselves, so eveyone here had quite long pubes. I'd been considering braiding mine, up until now. I consider saying as much, but that would likely only garner more pain. Pain is unpleasant.

Mystery-Man is a very shitty barber, or else he's taking extra care to cut me--those little stinging ones that burn for hours after. It's especially bad when he blots it dry with a damp towel--I must be the only woman in the Pen with a razor-burned pussy. The feeling might be vaguely erotic under other circumstances. Then suddenly I'm being felt up by gloved hands--God I hate the smell of latex!! I gag and turn away, only to jolt in shock as a little plastic-rubber tube-thing gets shoved up my pisshole. Whoa, now!! I know you guards are into some freaky shit, but isn't this a little extreme?

Apparently not freaky enough. I shudder and start panting as I hear someone's zipper go down--he fairly reeks of perverted lust. I bite the inside of my cheek hard, struggling to keep from screaming as his weight drives that pencil-thing into my dry pussy. It feels like sandpaper, and he's so strong he's nearly tearing me apart. When he really gets going I can't hold back anymore; soon I'm blubbering and pleading incoherently for him to stop like I did the first time I was raped at thirteen. It hurts just as much now as it did then, and every moment I'm praying for God to strike me dead and deliver me from this evil man. Sweat slicks me up, easing some of the friction, but when he comes inside me I lose it completely. I can't turn my head when I vomit, thanks to the straps, so it goes all over me and nearly chokes me. Now I'm lying there, defiled, reeking, and exposed to the hungry collective gaze of these evil beasts; what further indignities could they possibly subject me to?

I hear him withdraw, and silently thank God. Then he says, 'Pussy and ass, boys,' and I'm shuddering and sobbing all over again. Cracking my head hard against the table--sending up a lovely pattern of colored stars dancing across my vision--he pries my mouth open--the smell of his gloves makes me gag some more--and shoves a cold metal ring in my mouth. This is pain of a whole nother sort!! After a bit the muscles of my jaw and face begin seizing up, indignant at being forced thus far out of their usual range, making my face a singular morrass of agony, made worse by the metal spines down my throat. I can't breathe, not really. I can't swallow back the bile and phlegm in my throat anymore, and with my head back like this...well, not that it matters; according to the choirboy I'm to be fried anyway. He says something about cotton; I can't hear him over the ringing in my ears and the raucous laughter of the guards as their tools dig deep into my virgin ass. [I]Are my lips turning blue?[I], I wonder in a detached sort of way, my eyes rolling back with a little whimper. Darkness, peace, and no more pain. That's all I want right now...

[Sheba]

What strange sensation this is--a very vague, distant sucking at the inside of my mouth. Then suddenly my ribs are being crushed, and I flinch and gasp. What the devil....?!? I want to fend this thing off, whatever it is, but my arms are strapped down. I can only twitch helplessly against the bonds. Thuis I do quite vigouously as the sucking thing moves down onto my chest. Then suddenly it is cast aside with a metallic sound, and my face is being grabbed in a vile-smelling hand. I'm being yelled at agaion--Squeaky-Voice really seems pissed. What does he mean, he was going to shave my head? I don't want that--my hair is my best feature anymore. It's long, thick and deep black, proof of my Spanish heritage. So why would they cut it off? That doesn't make sense at all. I jerk in surprise and instinctively try to struggle as my shirt is suddenly torn open--my chest is cold now, and gooseflesh stands out on the skin. Ah, he's wiping them clean--that's right, I puked earlier. Sorry about that.

Some lumbering ox is bellowing about how hard he just got off as I started seizing. Ha, you think I'm a good lay dying, boy, you shoulda tried me alive!! It's beginning to hurt, this incessant pounding into my unlubricated ass--probably I'm bleeding, but that doesn't matter at this point. Ha, he's done. Another one stabs me in the pussy--it's already quite horribly bruised, and very painful--making a joke about how Beefbrains can fuck me in the chair while I fry. Hmm, yes, let's do that. If I'm to die I want to take at least one of these dipshits with me. I imagine that--somehow I picture the guy as being a tall burly blond, with blue eyes and a clueless expression. Those eyes would widen in horror at the shock, then burst or melt and bleed down his cheeks so delightfully. Ha, take that, bastard!!

Some other guy protests, saying my head will catch fire. Well, how nice!! I'll get to go out like St. Michael, wreathed in flames. And the witnesses will gag on the smell of burning hair and leathering flesh. What fun it will be to smile at them---well, in their direction; the two-way mirror will prevent my actually seeing them--knowing that at least one is crying and another retching.

My enthusiasm wanes as mention is made of my family. Ah, family. How ironic, to think that retaliation for acts much similar to the ones being commited against me even now are what landed me here. From the time I was thirteen--and officially 'became a woman'--until just a few years ago, my father and our live-in uncle David had used me as their personal fucktoy. Hicks though they were, they were both very intelligent and creative men. It seemed to me that they knew every way to hurt a woman sexually, short of anal. I thanked God for that--it was one of the few evidences I've ever found that there is a Higher Power. One of their favorite 'games' was to pin me down and pour vast amounts of cold water into my pussy and ass, then plug both up--I can't even recall with what anymore. Then I was set on my feet, and sent marching back and forth across the room. Should the pain become too great and cause me to stop moving, they were always ready with a broomhandle across the back of the knees to get me going again. Once they thought it would be funny to see how long I could survive being fed only semen and piss. Several weeks, it turns out. Then they got bored with that. Sometimes they liked to heat up metallic parts left over from working on their trucks, tie me up and spot me all over with them. There's still scars on my ass, shoulders, arms, legs, chest, thighs, and even a few on my pussylips where they held the metal too long and burned me. Never where anyone could see, though. Sometimes they'd also put spiders on me, or in me, telling me that screaming or flinching would only excite the ugly thing, and make it bite me harder.

Where were my mother and David's wife during all this? A crackhouse and the cemetary, respectively. Mother left when I was five, realizing that daddy-dearest wasn't going to support her drug habit. Aunt Shelby had died years before that, smashed to death by a drunk driver. The only one who was going to get me out of that situation, I realized quickly, was me. But thge opportunity never presented itself--until one night shortly after my eighteenth birthday.

I honestly don't recall the circumstances that led to dad and David getting so completely stinking-drunk that night--perhaps they'd come up with some particulary cruel torture to inflict on me; earlier I'd heard them talking about getting me pregnant and then experimenting to see how many good punches to the gut I could endure before I lost the baby--but whatever the reason, both staggered home that night beyond plastered. I'm surprised they hadn't succumbed to alcohol poisoning. When they passed out, dad on the couch and David kneeling bent over the bathtub, I snuck out to the shed in the back, took David's rusty old rifle from its hiding place, went back inside and shot them both in the head. Not just once, either--I think in the fog of revenge I got a bit carried away, because when I looked down their heads were pulpy messes. Ooops. So sorry. Of course the neighbors heard the gunshots and called the police--I knew better than to run since they'd find me anyway, and anyhow the only recent prints on it were mine. I surrendered without a struggle, and confessed fully. Somehow their lawyers still managed to paint them as more sympathetic to a jury than I. These two men, so severely tried by fate, nonetheless do their best to raise this precious little girl they've been gifted with--only to be betrayed by her in the cruelest of fashions; that was their argument. They also argued that any abuse I got, I somehow deserved, having been essentially a slut. Where they got that, I have not the slightest idea. Given what I was going through at home I had not the least urge to seek sex elsewhere. But, the long and the short of it was I got sentenced to death on two counts of first-degree murder. My lawyer tried his damndest, appealing and all--until he met a blonde Swedish actress and more-or-less forsook his work entirely. so now here I am, doomed to die for his negligence.

The men are braying laughter again--I refuse to open my eyes and see what is so funny. Ah, a real snuff-film, huh? They really are freaks. I wonder if they'll fuck me after I'm dead. Will they like me then, with my hair burned off, my eyes melted, my skin incinerated into leather? Does the smell of charred flesh appeal to them? They seem like the type to like their women lifeless.

"Ah," I mumble around the gag, "but you'll have to package a piece of my hair with the tape--that way the viewer can smell it while it's playing, and really get the total immersive experience."

I grunt in pain as he twists my nipples, sighing in relief as he withdraws and zips himself back up. Finally!!! Ah, but freak-boy is back, and he's stuffing some kind of cloth-thing up my ass. That itches--it feels like shredded cotton-balls. He's packing it tight--why? What further purpose could this serve? Just more humiliation? Probably. I nearly sob with relief as my feet are removed from the stirrups. Now I'm being pushed down the hall, barely able to waddle owing to the thing up my ass and my bound feet. Where are we going now? Haven't you done enough? This room isn't as cold as the other, and doesn't smell as sterile. A chapel? The thought nearly makes me laugh. They have a [I]chapel[I] here?! Wow...these men who commit such attrocities against one's body, but pretend to give a fuck about your soul. Nice. Ah well, five minutes. Ordinarily I'd be kneeling, hands folding, having crossed myself first, but obviously circumstances prevent that here. I begin to murmur the Latin prayers I remember from my youth--David always took me to church on Sundays, insisting I needed to atone for the sinful things I let them do to me. I pray as best I can, and it brings a sense of calm. Yes, I'm going to die. But it will ease all the suffering I've felt on Earth. No more humiliation, no more pain. Just peace, and Love Eternal.

[DoctorBenway]

I sit down on the bed, with the poor girl sitting in the corner of the cell, hearing the commotion in the preparation room. I smile devilishly to myself as I realize that the girl cowering in the corner of this cell is hearing it too.

I open my medical bag and take out a stethoscope and a few other, more ghastly-looking, instruments. One, a long spike attached to an instrument box, another a large metal phallus-shaped object, and a speculum. I lay these down on the bed, making sure my poor little prisoner notices them.

"I just have to do a few checks first, dear." I say to her. "I know it is early, but better to have it done right than not... you know how badly these things can go if someone rushes," I say with a wink.

"Now I do have to ask you some questions. First, you have been allowed to choose your method of execution. The first method is the electric chair, and I'm sure you are familiar with that. It is a quick method, but fairly unsightly." I hold a picture up out of the binder of a very young, pretty girl in a "before" picture, of her strapped, naked, in the monsterous chair. I flip it and show the "after" image, her body reddened, her small budding breasts now large and full of veins, a her face scrunched in obvious pain, her vagina bleeding. "However, I'm afraid it is required that you have the somewhat more painful vaginal electrocution, due to the nature of your crimes, you know." I hold up the metal phallus and inspect it.

"Or you can choose the gas chamber. You will be seated with your legs spread over powdered poison, which you will urinate on to create the gas. This method is preferred for some in your category of sentence because you can choose when you want to expire." I hold up a similar picture, one side, a girl strapped into a similar chair, obviously struggling not to urinate, and on the reverse, her face blue, slumped over in the chair. "However, it is somewhat slower," I say to the girl, now wondering if she just looks frightened, or if she is about to be sick.

"I'm sorry we can't offer you traditional electrocution or lethal injection, but I must say, considering your crimes, you are lucky you weren't put in an even worse category of execution status." I look over to the girl, and move closer. "Such a shame, such a pretty girl."

I run my fingers through her hair and lift her jaw up so her face faces mine. Suddenly I lick her hyperventilating lips.

[summer1983]

I cower in the corner hearing the commotion in the next room. I watch him sit down on the bed and open his medical bag to take out his stethoscope and a few more objects that I didn't like the look of. He lays them out on the bed in front of me. Each of them sends a shiver down my spine.


"I just have to do a few checks first, dear." I say to her. "I know it is early, but better to have it done right than not... you know how badly these things can go if someone rushes," He says with a wink.

"Now I do have to ask you some questions. First, you have been allowed to choose your method of execution. The first method is the electric chair, and I'm sure you are familiar with that. It is a quick method, but fairly unsightly." He holds a picture up out of a binder of a very young,girl in a "before" picture, of her strapped, naked, in the monsterous chair. He flips it and shows the "after" image, her body reddened, her small budding breasts now large and full of veins, a her face scrunched in obvious pain, her vagina bleeding. I stare in horror at the picture in front of me. "However, I'm afraid it is required that you have the somewhat more painful vaginal electrocution, due to the nature of your crimes, you know." He says holding up the metal phallus inspecting it. I didn't want to die like this as I thought to myself.


"Or you can choose the gas chamber. You will be seated with your legs spread over powdered poison, which you will urinate on to create the gas. This method is preferred for some in your category of sentence because you can choose when you want to expire." He says as he holds up a similar picture, one side, a girl strapped into a similar chair, obviously struggling not to urinate, and on the reverse, her face blue, slumped over in the chair. "However, it is somewhat slower," He says to me as I look frightened and feeling like I want to be sick.

"I'm sorry we can't offer you traditional electrocution or lethal injection, but I must say, considering your crimes, you are lucky you weren't put in an even worse category of execution status." He looks over at me, and moves closer. "Such a shame, such a pretty girl." He says as I try to move away.

He runs his fingers through my hair and lifts my jaw up so my face faces his. Suddenly he licks my lips making me wanna heave. I feel so afraid as I don't want to die like that in either the chair or the gas chamber. I wish this was just a nightmare that I could wake up from but I know I have to face what I did sometime but do I really have to die like that.

[Sheba]

Huh, this is interesting. The 'chapel' is just another cell. Figures. Probably they called it that simply by virtue of having made some fag cadet scream 'OH JESUS-YES!!!' as they railed him the corner. What a nasty color everthing is--a sort of dark seafoam. Seasick is more like it. Gross.

Then suddenly I'm being dragged forward and kicked in the back of the knees--which, surprisingly land on a soft pad. An actual prayer-bench; who'd have guessed? That's uncommonly decent of you. Now I can say my catechisms properly. I freeze midprayer, though, as you move in front of me and undo your fly. I shut my eyes in resignation, my head snapping back as you shove that repulsive thing through the gag. OW!!! GODAMMNIT!!! Do you have to fucking pull my hair too? Now your slimy fingers are running through it--terrific. My hair was clean when this all began. Now I get to die looking greasy. Thanks.

My last meal, ha!! You're a moron if you think I'm going to swallow a single drop of your dickpuss. Jesus-fucking-Christ on a pony, your dick tastes bad enough!! What is this I detect, a hint of mold? Maybe a trace of chlamydia, and a subtle boquet of man-ass? Do you ever wash this thing? Don't answer that; I don't want to know. Ewww, they brought me coleslaw?!?! Gross!! I hate that shit!! And sage too, and coffee. Fuckers.

Damn, I need to stop thinking the truth--I might accidently let something slip that I shouldn't!!

Ah, offering a choice are we? Hmm...as I mull over either of the oh-so-tempting options I position myself over a conveniant candlestick to rock against with the force of your thrusts. I'm resolved to enjoy this as much as you seem to be. You're forcing my neck forward and back so hard it's nearly snapping. Christ, how can you possibly be this horny? Do you never get laid outside these walls? It must feel good on the bloat shaft as I murmur my response:

"Whatever fucks with the witnesses most. I want 'em to cry, hurl, wake up screaming, need therapy for months after. Up to you to decide which way will do that for me."

Ahhh, the candlestick has found a good spot!! A warm glow suffuses me. In light of this, perhaps I can be nice for a while and pretend this doesn't repulse me to the point of nausea; make as if I'm actually enjoying it.

"You gonna fuck my corpse, Jack? You wanna hump my ashpile? Yeah, stick this thing in my pool of melted fat and singe it up nice and good, hmm? Tuck my nice burned hair under your pillow, kiss my charred lips before they haul me away; you like that?"

My words are an almost sultry murmur, with pauses between to run my tongue along the sensitive underside of your cock, lap at the base, circle lightly around the veiny head. If you like that, perhaps I'll even scrape along very lightly with my teeth, or nip at the tip.

[Sheba]

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this post are not those of the poster.


Words, words, words. You're going on and on is drowned out by the buzzing in my ears as my climax builds. Just before I come, a glorious realization strikes me, one that makes me squeal aloud with delight.

Oh god, no one knows!!! I'm going to fry, and no one will ever know my secret!!!

Still shaking with my orgasm, I renew my suckling with tremulous vigour. This time I gather and pool my saliva on my tongue, swiping it along your cock in hopes some of its tasty gift sinks in--what is that called, when fluid moves across a membrane? Not migration; that's animals and birds. Or do birds count as animals? Trans something or other, I think. Anyway, I'm hoping it occurs at this very moment, though in all actually it doesn't matter, just as long as you had a turn fucking my pussy earlier. How many where there in all? It felt like five or six, but maybe more. Ha, Beefbrains!! Oh God, he was crowing about his climax as I suffocated, but all that time my girl-cum was washing his cock quite liberally---he'll never know what I've done to him, not until it's too late!

The thought makes me giggle somewhat arround this vile thing I'm servicing. I picture you, years or decades down the road, before the damage and deterioration begins, married and turning Wifey into a tainted-baby factory with blithe innocence. Never realizing, you go about your life, all unawares, seeding my gift into the bellies of every other girl you fuck, your pretty little daughters included. Yes, I heard your Southern drawl, you inbred hick! Ha, happy birthday, sweetheart!!! Daddy got you incestual rape and an STD!! Enjoy!!! And the men you fuck on the side--every one of them will walk away with an assload of poison. Haha, faggots!!!

Speaking of which, here's the faggot preacher now. He asks if I'm the one, then sneers something to the effect of 'Fuck her, then!' Bit late for that, Pontius Faggilate. I bet you wish you were in my place, eagerly slurping mancock like the freak of nature you are. Fuck off, you walking crime against humanity!

"Bye, Faggy mcAssfuck!," I call cheerily after him around the gag and dick in my mouth,"I'll save you and your boyfriend a place in Hell!!"

Because naturally faggots go to Hell. The Bible says so. Look it up if you don't believe me. Anyway, back to the infecting business. Oh, I'm in such a good mood right now!!! Again, you're reiterating the choice thing. My answer is just the same as before:

"Whatever fucks up the witnesses the most. If it grosses 'em out and makes 'em feel like scum on the shoe of Society, by all means do it."

Gah, damn you with the fucking hair-grabbing!! Jesus, do you drink fertilizer?!? This shit tastes like it fermented in Satan's ass!!! There goes my bile again, spilling out with that foul stuff. I dunno what it is about you that makes me hurl so easily--I usually have a rather strong stomach. Aww, don't pull out yet--I didn't get to bite you an inject my disease into your bloodstream so I can be sure it takes root!!! Oh well, at least I got some of it on your cock. That has to count for something. Thanks for wiping that stuff in my hair, by the way--now as I fry you get treated to the tasty aroma of burning vomit and scorched hair!! Two flavors in one!!

Anyway, back to rocking some more on that niiiice candlestick, ooooh, second orgasm alert, ahhh, yEEEEESSS!!!

You yank me hard to my feet, saying something about how it's time. Heehee, yes indeed. I'm off to Heaven, and without looking at my medical records no one will ever know that I'm H.I.V positive. Thank the former orderly in the medical wing for that. Kylie, her name was. She offered me a hit of smack to calm my nerves; wasn't that sweet of her? Since we only had one needle--she couldn't risk having more brought in--we used the same one she always used, which by now was well-tainted with the virus. She in turn thought she got it from her boyfriend, whom she murdered when she caught him with his lover--another man. She has no idea if he got it from the guy he was in bed with when she shot them, or someone else. Apparently he was quite promiscuous. Hmm, kinda like you, in a way. I only hope my sly grin doesn't give anything away. I consider briefly saying something like, 'Oh, by the way, you might want to have all the guys who were fucking me get tested, as even with treatment it may still be possible to spread herpes to others, even when you have no signs or symptoms of an outbreak--and I definitely never got treatment,' just to fuck with your head, but why end the fun now? Maybe that can be my last words.

[Sheba]

((Just out of curiousity, does my shirt keep regenerating or something? Thus far you've ripped it open three times now; once when you 'prepped' me, once when you were forcing me to deepthroat you, and then now for the 'stethoscope'. Just wondering about that.))


I make only slight struggles as the gaurds drag me out into the room. Theater? Arena? What was the proper term for a room in which executions were carried out?

Lights blind me immediately upon entrance; cameras are whirring and clicking somewhere unseen. In an unexpected show of decency the neanderthals who have been bruising my arms the entire way here let go to allow me to walk the rest of the way. Unfortunately, the contained area of the room as well as my shackles prevent me from even considering trying to escape. These damned bracelets. Will they be removed before the switch is thrown, or will they be kept on to conduct the current? Might be interesting to keep them on, so those who get off to studying this stuff can observe and record what happens.

Sashaying as much as is possible given the fact that my ass is stuffed with cotton, there's a tube up my pisshole and my ankles are bound, I look up to grin brightly at whomever might be watching behind the two-way glass. I almost wish I could see their faces. If my wrists weren't shackled I could blow them a kiss goodbye.

Hmm, what an intriguing contraption we have here! It sort of reminds me of those mechanical bulls one sees in movies--except that this one is made of metal and has no head. It doesn't look as if it's rigged to buck and spin and dip the way those things are, though. Hmm, is that for me, I wonder? It kinda looks like fun. I've always wanted to ride a mechanical bull, imagining it was a bronco, a real live flesh-and-blood crazy mustang that if I should let go for even one moment, would whirl on me and proceed to crush me to death beneath its jagged-chipped hoofs.

Odd, this pony seems to be sporting a massive metal erection. Ah well, what can I say? I have that effect on people--and inanimate objects apparently. Ah, I get it!! That's an alternative to the chair!! Oooh, what fun that must be!! To get to go out high as a kite, rocking oneself into an orgasm on that hard hot metal cock. To get that last explosion of bliss across one's mind before all was lost..might be nice. Meh, I get the plain old boring chair. Tch, figures. I see how I rank around here!

The phone rings, angry conversation, my name, blah-blah-blah. I can't hear them; I'm humming Adeste Fideles to myself. What a beautiful song that is!! A might too seasonal for any month other than December, though. But God Almighty, the power and resonance a truly good choir can bring to it!! I'm heating up just thinking of it!!

"Venite adoremus,
Venite adoremus,
Venite adoreeemuuus,
Dooominae."

Come let us adore him indeed. That is the one thing I believe I'll truly miss about being dead; I can't sing anymore. I love singing; my versatile meso-alto lends itself well to just about any song one might care to name. Gah, Christ I thought we were past this damned dragging me around thing!!! Yes, I'm being pulled towards the infamous chair. Even as they're strapping me in, my mind is racing. What is the chair made of? What are these men thinking of, knowing a life will be reduced to cinders before their eyes in moments? I suppose I'll never know the answer. Ah well, apart from the straps at least the chair is reasionably comfortable. I don't get what's with the sponges, though--do they expect me to spring a leak?

Ah, now I get a nice copper hat!! How positively spiffing!!! Ah, a might bit drippy, though. I don't suppose I'm in any position to ask for a towel, though? No, of course not. Anyway, the stripes it's making as it runs down my face must be interesting to look at.

Tiger, Tiger,
Burning bright...

Ha, correct in more ways than one, Wordsworth or Blake whoever the fuck wrote that!!! Oooh, wanna show me off, do ya? Well, whatever; I got it so why not flaunt it? Ahh, yes just push me forward like that--a tad cramped but that will be over soon.

Hey, I did too have words!! I had lots of words; you jackasses just won't let me say them!! I was going to be witty, too, remarking about how it was surely time for the baked Appel now. My surname being Appel, haha so funny.

Ah, Choirboy and Queerfuck are back!! How nice!! It's like a party!!

"No thanks," I call back, "have your faggot boyfriend do it for you instead!!"

This seems to give the shorter guard ideas--he waddles over like a chimp to yank on his baby penis and spurt more crap on me. Ah well. Where I'm going such things don't matter. I'm ignoring him, my eyes on the clock. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one...HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!! I close my eyes and brace myself, waiting for the shocks to begin--and the phone rings. And the plot thickens.


Huh? You're...walking back over here? Why? Any last humiliations you want to pile on before I fry? Why are you shaking your keys at me? The glare off of them hurts. Wait, someone bought me T.V rights? YAY!!! MORE TIME!! Immediately my face splits into a happy grin as the two oafs lumber over to unstrap me. Perhaps I'll be able to get my singing out of the way before the end. Also, I can't help grinning to think of the actual footage being broadcast. Some little curlyheaded blonde five-year-old is flipping through the cable channels looking for cartoons, only to come across a movie of a nsked lady being tied down in the chair and then shocked. Ha, that kid'kll have nightmares for weeks!! Years, even!! Maybe she'll even end up afraid to sit in chairs. Thus she'll be the wierd hippy girl in school who wears only recycled-fiber clothes, only eats vegan stuff and sits on the floor. Heh..this pleases me, yes indeed.

[DoctorBenway]

Suddenly my cell phone rings, just as I am about to fumble a bit purposefully with my cold stethoscope against her tense breasts.

"Hello?" I answer, expecting probably just some more of the last minute guidelines in that 80-proof drawl of our warden trying to justify his pay by pretending to actually administer rather than just letting us do our job, but no, what's this?

It is the public affairs officer in charge of our women's death row - a pretty amazing job considering as ours is easily the most controversial in the country. And wouldn't ya know it? She's some 19 year old prodigy just out of college and cute as hell. She seems to have even more of a thing for watching the executions than the guards here. She even once insisted on being strapped in our various execution devices, but none of us had the guts to ask her if she wanted any of the really naughty bits to be affixed.... damn stupid shame that was.

I clap my phone shut in utter disbelief. This is a first.

Apparently some television station bought the rights to both executions, and want to watch them done at once, or at least one right after the other. I guess the market demands something new, or they just want to kill two birds with one stone, what with football season coming up and all.

"I guess this means it is the electric chair for our little scardy cat here," I say to the cowering girl. "You will be strapped in the chair, and the girl over in the prep room now will be on the really naughty one... you should consider yourself lucky," I say with a grin, now knowing that I will finally get to play with the big boys... a televised electrocution.

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry, I guess that means you will be going one day early.... and you never got to choose your method," I say in a mock-sympathetic tone as I pull her shirt up over her pert breasts and begin applying the stethoscope to her chest. "Wow, 150 BPM, you must be a little nervous, aren't you?" I can see from the tears welling up in her eyes that this news is a bit troublesome. Well, after the humiliation of prep, she may, as that poor little Indian girl whose hymen I had to remove last week for the electrode found, the execution may be a blessing.....

[Sheba]

Ha, how ginger the guards are being! it's as if they expect me to bite them or something. No chance of that, though--this damned gag is still choking me. They're going very slowly, confused by the fact that they have to remove someone who isn't a pile of mush. Poor little mongoloids! I feel so bad for them!!!

Shuffle-shuffle-shuffle, past death my old cell still trussed like a turkey. I glance sadly back at Mary's cell as I'm dragged past it. I hope the poor thing is all right. The cell they bring me too is an older one, still seasick green and with that odd toilet-sink. given the way they connected two I'm surprised rampant dysentary has yet to spread through the prison. Might be funny for a guard to take a girl up her ass, only to get his dick smeared with bloody diarrhea. Ha!!! Or else force her to suck him off, and get a nice digestive-acid bath on his manparts. What lovely sopranos they'd make--Castrati. That's what I shall call you, I decide. You are all Castrati to me.

Hmm, no matress, huh? Hardly surprising. That's standard everywhere else in the prison; why should it be otherwise here? Ah, thanks for taking off that damned waist-belt!!! You're a good little Castrati. Have a biscuit.

It's a tiny little place--I have to pee. Small places always do that to me. Probably the vestiges of another 'game' I was often subjected to as a child--I would be given a large volume of water to drink, then locked into a specially-built closet with my hands and feet chained up. When they were sure I'd pissed all over myself they'd toss in Epson salts--which, sticking to the urine, caused horrific sores. Ah well, no salts now, so that's a blessing. I sit down on the cool bed and watch the bright yellow fill up the little tube. Pretty, pretty yellow. I'm dehydrated. Interesting. I wonder if that will make me burn faster or slower? Probably faster, given that I'm drier.

They seem to like groping my ass. it's probably the only chance they get--I understand that the Home for Mental Defectives is rigidly gender-segregated, so probably the only women they ever see are here at their place of employment. It's nice to see that even tardos have their place in society.

I just grin as one slurs out his Downi declaration.

"Awww, aren't you a sweet little Castrato? Good little hydrocephalic!!! I bet if you're nice to him, Gayfag Mckidtoucher might stick his festering cock in your ass; isn't that nice?"

[Sheba]

Ahh, now things are beginning to hurt a little. The cotton makes it feel like I have a severe case of constipation--it's begining to trigger cramps. Also, my kidneys are damn near ready to explode thanks to the fucking catheter. I need to fucking pee!!! To distract myself, I rock back and forth in the dark, thinking of hot celebs and humming Adeste Fideles. Crazy as a loon, yup that's me. Finally a little goon-squad---a different one than the Downi-patrol, thank God!--comes in some time later and hauls me onto that weird toilet-sink thing. Oh, nice pinning me in place, guys--go ahead, just crush my hyoid bone and kill me that way why don't you! Ah, but of course they want to make sure I don't lunge at him as he gropes me. Yeah, appreciate 'em while you can, Jojo; no lady this side of a pre-op tranny will ever let you touch hers. Hmm, I like looking down at the top of your head like this--all your little bald-spots are visible. It's cute.

I can't hold back a strangled groan as the dammed-up piss is forcefully released. Good God, that's amazing!!! After being plugged up like that it feels so good I want to orgasm just pissing like this! Ha, I can write my name in the snow now, just like the boys!! No, don't get up yet; I wanted to give you a golden shower!! Mrs. Piss, meet Baldie's eyes. You two will get along swimmingly I'm sure.

My reverie is broken by a harder application of the nightstick--choking me, this time; I'm sure I make quite a lovely face as I gag--as he removes that damned metal thing from my mouth. I want to cry and kiss him then; had I not been restrained I might've jumped him and gone down on him then out of sheer gratitude. My jaw muscles are screaming at me as I work them, trying to ease out the cramps and restore normal circulation to them--nevertheless I can't help smirking as one of them says how much he hates this job as he leaves. You and me both, assfuck. You and me both.

[Sheba]

It seems like forever before I hear him coming again. He's swaggering on down the hallway, whistling. Ready to rape again with impunity. That bastard. All weekend I've sat here, bound, forgotten in the dark, doubled over in pain with my ass still plugged up and forced to drink my own urine to keep from passing out. (It only worked for a day or so--there's a rather nice gash on my temple now where I leaned down to drink and fainted over the toilet-thing, cracking my head against the bowl.) My shoulders have come neatly out of their sockets---my wrists are still cuffed, so I can't move them to a more comfortable position while I drank. The only other option I might have had was to try and break open a pipe. Ha, good joke!!!! My piss was less sanitary than the sludge flowing in the plumbing--at least said piss had been sterilized by my kidneys first. Hmm....they hurt, my kidneys did. not that it mattered much--they'd probably be nicely fried-up before the day was out.

Well now, hello again Captian Shitstain. Come to fuck me again? That's no surprise; in this condition I can't even move much less actively resist. he might as well be fucking a corpse. He gets off to that anyway, I know he does. That and little boys. His type all do.

I just lay there when he kicks me--what does it matter anymore? He's brought me food that's poisoned; I don't dare try and eat it. I just lie there stunned on that cold floor, hovering somewhere between conscious and unconsious.

[Sheba]

Huh. More 'visitors'. Joy. More being squeezed and pinched and prodded against my will. The light hurts my eyes, but it is not my place to complain. I shudder and buck weakly in pain when he fists me--I've never in my life had anything larger than a cock in my pussy--and groan softly in relief when finally he unplugs me. Whoops, sorry bud. I'll be more careful about that next time. Still and all, I like him far more than any of the other staff. I know he's only doing his job, but it's so wonderful to know at least I won't be left to rot until god-knows-when. I don't even flich at the injections, though I try to mouth my thanks despite my bone-dry throat. He ought to know at least that his work is appreciated, whether that matters to him or not.

[Sheba]

((Huh? Hey, I happen to know you posted to this already!! What happened?))