#1  
Old 04-28-2010, 4:54 AM
kiko kiko is offline
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Death by High Heels - compilation

Hi guys and gals !

I wonder if we could gather together some storys about men beeing trampled, stabbed, ripped and executed by women in high heels.
I know there are many many storys out there but i couldnt figure out quickly which of them contain this kind of exciting material.

So if any of you knows these stories by heart,
I would very much appreciate any help to collect all these wonderfully cruel stories !

Cheers, KIKO


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  #2  
Old 04-28-2010, 5:57 AM
kiko kiko is offline
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I´ll make the start with one of my favorites :

DEADLY TRAMPLE


Mark was an aventurer. He roamed he country on his thumb and
relied heavily on his good looks and some luck. He'd been
touring the U.S. on the back roads of the south, stopping at
various towns to earn a little cash and then moving on. A
little consturction, a litle eb design; whatever he could find.

One sunny morning near Dallas, he was hot, thirst, and thumbing.
A car pulled along side. It was an old Cadillac with Tx plates.
The women driving seemed apprehensive to offer him a ride but
he was wearing jeans and a white tank top; carried a duffle bag
that could be placed in the trunk. Mark had black hair that was
sort of curly, blue eyes and a firm medium build. His Italian
heritage mixed with norwegian blood had given him a "no risk"
kinda appearance. (too bad for him)

Ellen was drivin from Dallas to Houston and an errand that she
did not want to do. She was in a pissy mood and the hot weather
did not make metters any better. The cowboys org' had been
messing with her contract, fredericks had passed her over( their
mistake) an she had vengeance in her heart.
The thumber(Mark) represented all she hated in men. Cool, calm,
handsome and confident. She knew him not but decided on the
first look at him, he would suffer for her frustrations.
Ellen was a blonde with not so large breasts. She assumed this
was why she could not advance in the Cowboys cheerleading
organization. She was wrong. Her near white blonde looks and
rock hard body stood 5' 7" tall ad weighed 118 pounds.
Her looks had nothing to do with her troubles. Her dancing
skills were subject and she was drivin home to Houston.
She stopped with hate in her heart, hurt in her soul, and a
desire to punish the first man that fell pray to her beauty.
Taking a man into her confidence was not an issue for this
southern bell. She had captivated many before.

Wearing a short denim skirt,(par for the course) 4" spike
mule's, and driving a white Mustang 5.0 convertable; she was
everything Mark ad ever hoped for.(or was she??)
Stopping the car, Ellen said" where ya goin'".
Mark answered, "Where ever you are willing to take me".
(Wrong answer)
She knew that he was hers as soon as he spoke.
Nearing Houstin she asked" do you mind if I stop in at a friends
house for something cold to drink. He replied"sounds like a plan".
Entering Debbie's house was easy. Leaving was another story.
Mark sat on the couch and let Ellen cater to his needs.
She brought him a iced soda water with what appeared to be extra
fizz in it. This was the last thing he remembered of the living
romm.

When he awoke, he was tied to the floor. Each leg was tied
at the knee and the ankle. Each arm was tied at the elbow and
the wrist, and each finger was tied to this plywood floor with
fishing line; just above the second knuckle and palm down.
He startd to moan, "where am I and what the hell is goin on"?

She walked straight to his side and kicked him in his
ribs saying," shut your mouth handsome". "Your my escape to a
rather shitty day".
She placed a heel between his thumb and first finger. Not much
weight was needed for Mark to realize that he was in a bad position. Her upper
thigh tensed, a litle weight transfer began
to occur and Mark let out a yelp that would curtle blood.
Ellen smiled at him and said" I'm just starting so you' better
save your strength. She leaned all the way onto her 1/4" wide
spike and twisted her foot on the heel.(only the heel)
Mark cried in anguish as the cartiledge turned to pulp. Ellen
began to get wet. She thought she would enjoy punishing this
traveler in place of her tormentor but knew not how much.
She leaned forward onto one foot and twisted her weight to
one side creating a 1/2" wide, gaping, and bleeding hole in
Marks hand between the thumb and first finger.
No bone was destroyed but the day was young and her rage only
begining.

She continued to walk forward by placing the other heeled foot
squarely into his right nipple. She stepped up full weight and
again began to twist. Blood was slowly flowing from the gash in
Mark's hand and soon the skin was peeling back from his nipple.
Ellen smiled feeling the absolute power she commanded over this
wandering fool. She placed the other heel on the other nipple and
began to twist.

Mark let out a howl that would curtle your blood but thus house
was miles from any other. He could scream to his hearts content
and no one would ever hear him.
Ellen twisted both feet(each heel on a nipple) to face Mark's
head. She was smiling on the outside and a little wet on the
inside. She liked this more than she thought!
Leaning to one side and lifting a foot, blood began to roll
down Mark's left side. Seemed her new jean colored mules
with the 4" heel left quite the impresion.
She stepped forward with her left foot and placed the heel
directly onto Mark's eye. Slowly leaning forward, pound by
pound, inch by inch, Mark felt his eye moving out of the way.
It yeilded to her beautiful weight with a poppong sound but
to her dismay, Mark fell quiet. Unsure of what to try next,
she waited for him to re-awake.

Mark's found that his hand was throbbing and his head
was pounding. He could only see in 2D but he could see
that he was still in trouble.
Nobody was in the room that he could see so he tried to
inflate his body with as much air as he could and stretch
the ropes around him. He tried wiggling his left hand cuz'
the right was kinda numb and found both inflating and wriggling
seemed to work. The ropes got a little looser.
Debbie heard the sounds of Mark's moving the ropes from the
room next door. Ellen had stepped out for a cig' so Debbie
went to check things out. Debbie's a brunette. Not as stunning
as Ellen but never has troubles getting a drink or a dance.
She was 5'4, 125lbs with green eyes. She was wearing an old
pair of cut-off Levi's with the ass worn out and strings
hangin down. She got off the couch, put on Ellen's Mules and
headed into Mark's room.

Mark heard the click when the heels hit the linoleum and knew
he was busted. Debbie knew what he was trying to do right away
and began to smile at him. He thought he was free but she knew
that she had done this before and liked it.
"Oh my god, what did she do to you?" Debbie said. Mark relaxed,
let out a little air and that's when Debbie jumped with both feet
onto his stomach. "She never even left any prints on your
stomach"? Debbie said. "Can't have that"? and she began to jump
in place with both feet getting air.
Mark began to scream obscenities at her and Ellen heard the
commosion outside. She walked into the house and saw that her
shoes were missing. She went to Debbies bedroom and grabbed the
first set of heels she touched on the full wall of shelves in
the closet.
They were beautiful and deadly. 5" black stiletto's with an
ankle strap and a gold metal heel.
She sat down, put them on and hurried to help finish Mark.
Debbie had been bouncing for about 2 minutes. Mark's stomach was
covered with pock marks with half of them showing blood dots.
Seemed whenever she had landed 3 times on the same spot it had begun to
bleed. She was starting to get tired and wondered where
Ellen was.

Friends being close friends, no sooner had she thought of Ellen
when Ellen appeared. Debbie noticed right awawy that she had
found her new killer pumps and was glad. They looked good on her.
Mark thought so too but was not to happy to see her wearing them.
Debbie stopped jumping and stood in place on Mark's stomach
while Ellen walked to between his knees. Mark was nearly
unconscious and thast just wouldn't do. She drew back a leg and
kicked him full force with the point of her toe in the balls.
Mark snapped awake and began to howl. He couldn't double over
and this seemed to make it worse.
"Now that your awake again, lets do some more of my favorite
things". said Ellen. She stepped with one heel onto his left
upper thigh and headed for his left (unmarked) hand. She didn't
slow down but walked right over the back side of his left hand.
Debbie could hear the bones crunch and decided to follow.
She stepped off his stomach to the floor and followed Ellens
foot steps exactly with the jean colored spiked Mules.
The girls grinned at each other. They liked playing follow the
leader. A who can do the most punishment on one pass kinda game.
Ellen figured she would win this time. She had found Debbies
secret weapon and wore them first for a change.
Debbie led next. Left hand, left elbow, left shuolder, plexus,
groin, and off. She turned to watch Ellen.
Ellen followed but stomped her way across each part as Debbie
had led. These spikes left gruesome holes she noticed. She also
wished she were wearing them.

Ellen's turn.
Ellen stomp stepped her heels in his right knee, groin, 2 foot
jump to the chest (trying for the nipples) then 2 foot jump to
the cheeks before stepping off to watch Debbie with Ellen's
Mules on. Debiie stomped the knee and heard it crack, stomped
his groin real hard to get some hieght for the jump. She landed
square on the already bleeding nipples and did a little twisting
in preparation for jumping on his face.
She hit both cheeks square with legs pumping against gravity
hard enough to make his head and her whole body bounce once.
She lifted one leg to stork stand on his right cheek and did a
180 spin on one heel to dismount.
Ellen was impressed. "I thought you always win cuz' of the
shoes!" "I think you cracked his skull."
"Maaark". (they teased) Don't leave now Maaark. Don't you want to
play with us?"
Mark moaned which is all Debbie needed to hear."Still here yet
so far away" she laughed. Lets see how he handles this!
She walks up beside his head and stomps him once in the forehead.
His heads bounces once and he moans a little louder.
"Hey Ellen, I think he knows your next!"
Ellen walks up and does the same BUT her heel sticks into his
skull about a 1/16". "I knew it was the shoes that made the difference" Ellen says.
"My turn again

"I have to admit I'm getting bored though". "Mark, your time
is just about up". "I declare free-for-all". Ellen steps onto his
remaining eye and walks onto his chest. She begans to bang one
heeled foot (metal) into the same spot over his heart.
Debbie is sick of the moaning and steps onto Mark's throat with
a stork stand. She can feel his pulse in her shoe and up her leg.
The moaning stops and she says "finally! I was sick of his
moans".

Ellen stops and stork stands over Mark's heart, says "Yah, I was
sick of it too. Thanks for shutting him up. He's no cry baby
like the last guy but I don't want to hear anything.
She feels his heart slow and notices the thumping rise of her
body weight by his heart is not as high. "Almost done I think"
Debbie sticks the bloody heel of her loose foot that is hanging
over Mark's head into his eye and works it around. She feels
the bone in back push out and suspects she is at his brain.
She shoves straight down and the heel disappears into grey
matter.
"I don't know what you did there Debbie, but I don't feel anything."
Looks like I win again then? Sorry Ellen. I just had to know what it felt like to step on his brain".
"OK, but next time I get to step into the brain".
"Actually, next time we bring someone this cute into the house, I would like to see if he could fuck before we kill him", smiled Debbie.
Ellen walks over to a corner of the room where there is a small wood crate.
She picks up the crate and walks back over between Mark's legs. She lifts hiscock and balls, places the crate under them and steps up on the crate."I guess he won't be needing these", said Ellen. "I want to see how much weightone of these things can take" Ellen places the sole of her mule on one of Mark's balls and begins to slowly increase pressure on it. "Oh, you are so evil Ellen" grinsDebbie.
She continues to probe Mark's brain with her heel for a few minutes then pulls the heel out of Mark's skull to watch. Ellen stands full weight on Mark's testicle before it finally gives with a muffled "poof". Semen and other fluids shoot out from´under Ellen's shoe. "Felt like a grape", she said. "Looks kinds stickey, too" said Debbie.

Ellen moves her attention over to Mark's other testicle and places her heelon top of it. After a couple of time with it slipping out from under her heel, she finally get a hold of it and begins to increase pressure on it. "Wonder what this one will do", she says. As she is saying this, the heel impales the testicle and comes out the other side on the crate. "Guess I'm gonna have to get those shoes dry cleaned or something. They have gone from blue to red", said Deb. "I have always wanted to try this to see what would happen". Ellen moved her heel back and forth a little, streaching the nut sack. Each time, she would streach a little further until the skin broke and the testicle, stuck to her heel, came out. "Cool"! she exclaimed. Using her other foot, she pushed the ball off of her heel and promptly crushed it.
"Hey, Ellen. I'll trade with you. Next time you can do this", as she said this, she places her heel back in Mark's skull, "and I'll take care of business down there".
"Sure thing", said Ellen as she started working on Mark's penis with her heels.



- END -
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  #3  
Old 04-28-2010, 12:32 PM
LuvsHerHeels LuvsHerHeels is offline
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GR8 start.
Maybe the girls can find a guy and do the balls while he is still alive.
thanks.
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  #4  
Old 04-28-2010, 2:34 PM
mrgoodshoes mrgoodshoes is offline
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High heels impaling balls - an amazing fantasy. I would love to read a story about that.
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  #5  
Old 04-29-2010, 11:48 AM
macrina macrina is online now
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Great story, thank you.
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  #6  
Old 04-30-2010, 4:27 AM
bkfoot bkfoot is offline
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Many years ago I read an amazing story which I was never able to find again.
It was about two evil women making a bank robbery. I remember they was quite tall, one of them was named Eve, and I guess one was from US and the other from Mexico.
They made this robbery in which they killed many people between customers and bank employees, using their feet and some knives. I remember one of them telling "lick my foot before your die" to a guy (and then she killed him of course), and another guy being killed with his head in a toilet.
After the robbery they had some more confrontation with the bank director, who ended up killed too.
I found this story was really fine but I'm not able to find it neither on the net nor on my pc. Anyone remember?
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  #7  
Old 04-30-2010, 5:19 AM
bkfoot bkfoot is offline
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Ops... and one more thing.... I'm not sure if the story was in english or in spanish!!
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  #8  
Old 04-30-2010, 9:11 PM
shal shal is offline
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execution night story pt 1&2

enjoy!
-------------------------------------------------

I really didn’t know what to expect. I stood there in that large basement room and looked at a crowd of excited women sitting on chairs, all facing a raised dais at the far end of the room. Their ages ranged from about 18 or 19 years to women in their fifties. There was even one who looked to be at least 70. She sat slightly apart from the rest, in a high backed chair immediately in front of the dais. Even at 70 years she had a commanding aura and the other ladies treated her with obvious respect. She wore a starched white blouse and a stiff black knee length skirt. A black choker circled her neck and her legs were adorned with heavy deniere nylon stockings. A pair of high gloss black medium heeled shoes graced her feet and she sat with her legs neatly crossed and a look of agitated anticipation on her face. Although old, she was a handsome woman and no doubt was considered a beauty in her younger days, a somewhat severe beauty, no doubt, but a beauty nonetheless. She reminded me of the actress Agnes Moorehead – a lady I always thought had an element of cruelty in her sharp features.

My hostess saw me appraising the other guests and ventured “ Quite a good crowd tonight, there must be at least 30 ladies here. Of course, we always get a good crowd on these occasions, we hold them about 4 times a year.”
I turned to her and studied her discreetly. Lady Eva Lewisham, 45 years old, widowed and sole occupant [except for staff] of Lewisham House, a large Georgian brick manor in the depths of the New Forest. She too had a commanding presence and put it to good effect. I was aware of the faint, but still evident air of disdain she exuded towards me, well disguised but patently there when she addressed me. Perhaps I had better explain just why I WAS there.

My name is John Markham and I am an author of sorts. My chosen forte is sado-masochism through the ages. You may have read a biography I did on Sacher Masoch. The subject of female domination has always fascinated me since being a child, I had an aunt who I always blame for starting me on this particular course – but that’s another story. I must also confess to having an element of masochism running through my veins although I have had very little chance to practise it (except for that aunt of course) Anyway, my articles on this theme have appeared in various of the better class men’s magazines and I have established a reputation of sorts. Having said that, it came as somewhat of a surprise to receive an invitation from the above mentioned Lady Lewisham. An invitation that promised a display of sado masochism, the like of which I had never seen before. Intrigued, I decided to attend, and here I was, standing in a basement room below the manor house, waiting for the promised spectacle.

Lady Lewisham had explained that this was a gathering of The Dominatrix Foundation – a closed society of ladies who practised the art of supreme domination on a select, but continuous supply of submissive male volunteers. They lived, or perhaps existed would be a better word, in the cellars of the manor, and were at the mercy of any members of the Foundation whenever they cared to visit. Every 3 months or so, volunteers were called for to terminate their contract of submission, whereby they were executed in a ritual of extreme dominance by selected ladies of the Foundation. Initially, I found this too ridiculous to believe, but here I was about to witness the current executions in front of this enthusiastic crowd. I put it to Lady Lewisham that I found it hard to believe that men would actually volunteer to be killed, even though at the hands of goddesses like these ladies.
“Oh, we’re never short of volunteers when the time comes around” said the aristocratic Lady Lewisham. “You see, although they initially craved to be subjugated by women, their manhood despised, their pride destroyed, they find the reality a little too hard to bear after a few months of constant cruelty. They know they will never be set free, it’s in their contract, so this gives them a chance to go out in one final blaze of supreme submission. They give their miserable lives to a mistress. In a way they are to be envied. All of us fear death, but how many of us have a chance to meet death in one final act of total submission. An extreme sexual final encounter so to speak? This is their swan song, and I guarantee you that all will die with the best erection of their life.”


I mulled this over and saw that there was a certain logic, if perverted, in what she said. At this point, the severe old lady uttered a single commanding word.
“Begin”
“Who is she?” I whispered to mine hostess.
“Ah, that is The Countess Mina. She is the founder of this community. She came to this country about 50 years ago from Hungary. She is probably the ultimate Dominatrix. I believe she has personally been responsible for the deaths of, at least 30 men, all willing I might add.”
I looked at the old lady with renewed respect. What would it be like to face death at her hands? I couldn’t conceive of it, and sincerely hoped I would never have to find out.

A lady began circulating amongst the audience with a basket. Each foundation member took from it a folded piece of paper. Lady Lewisham explained that this was to choose tonight’s executioners. Four pieces of paper had a cross marked on them. The “lucky” ladies who drew such a paper would draw blood tonight. Lady Lewisham took her turn, commenting as she did so “I hope I’m lucky. I haven’t killed one of these worthless animals in nine months.” Her luck, however, wasn’t in tonight. Screams of delight arose from sections of the audience as four eager ladies discovered that THEIR luck was in.!

These four women descended to the dais waving their papers triumphantly. Countess Mina spoke again. “Bring them in.” A side door opened and four miserable members of the male sex shuffled into the room. They looked pathetic. They wore only a tattered pair of denim trousers, some bloodstained. They were haggard and undernourished and their torsos bore witness to having severe beatings inflicted on them.

“You see” said Lady Lewisham, “A pathetic male can only withstand treatment such as they have experienced for a short time only. A death such as they are going to meet comes as a relief.” Looking at them, I was inclined to agree. ”Now the method” she continued. The first lottery “winner” put her hand into another basket and withdrew a card which she read.
“Kicked to death” she announced to the expectant throng and looked over at the waiting victims. “May I choose one?” she asked, looking at Countess Mina. ”Certainly” replied the Countess, and the first lady executioner strode over to the hapless four males.

“That’s Vera” said Lady Lewisham in an undertone. “She can be quite vicious. Watch this and learn just how sadistic
a dedicated woman can be” Vera was about 35 and wore a short black skirt, Black shiny pantyhose and black high heel shoes with stilleto heels. She walked slowly down the rank of victims, scrutinizing them closely. Finally she placed her hand on the shoulder of the biggest. “I’ll take this one. He looks the strongest and should last longer.” The audience sighed in a gesture of anticipation. Vera led the victim to the centre of the dais and slowly circled him. She paused behind him and suddenly, with vicious speed, issued a flat kick just behind his right knee. The first execution had begun.

The hapless victim’s legs completely gave way under the vicious power of Vera’s kick. He fell to the floor, grimacing with pain and clutching his leg.Vera stepped forward and straddled his head. She put a high heeled shoe full in his face and shoved him on to his back, where he lay rigid, waiting for the next onslaught. Vera smiled down at him. “You know what’s going to happen don’t you?” she purred. The man nodded, gazing up Vera’s nyloned legs in awe.
“I’m going to kick you to death, but first I think it only fitting that you show your complete respect and reverence for the legs that bring about the end of your useless existence. You’d like to kiss the soles of the feet that are going to kill you, wouldn’t you?”
The man nodded again, somewhat eagerly I thought. Strange, under the circumstances. Vera lifted one dainty foot up. “Remove my shoe” she said. The man did so, revealing a perfectly shaped nyloned foot that caused me to hold my breath somewhat. The stockinged sole descended on to the man’s face and clutched his nose in the toes’ warm embrace. It was visible to all that the man breathed deeply at this point. Taking in the warm aroma of the foot that had been encased in a tight fitting leather shoe for many hours. Vera moved the sole all over his face, almost lovingly I thought. Then she repeated the process with the other foot. Suddenly she stepped back and slipped on her shoes again.
“Right” she snapped, “It begins.” Without further ado she launched a vicious kick into the man’s ribcage causing him to cry in agony and writhe away from those dominating feet. All to no avail. Vera circled him, launching kick after kick to his twitching body. He tried to adopt a foetal position, protecting his genitals, but this did him no good at all. Vera stepped round to his back, and with all the power she could muster, kicked him at the base of his spine. His scream filled the room and a murmur arose from the watching audience. They were riveted by this exhibition of unreserved cruelty.

So far, Vera had avoided kicking him in the head, concentrating on his body, but now this changed. She stood back from him, panting slightly, and commanded , in a voice that brooked no argument “Lie on your belly facing me.” The man groaned, and with great effort straightened his body, to lie with his head facing her feet. Vera bent down and grasped his hair, pulling his head upwards. She positioned his head carefully and dispassionately, much as a rugby player might position a ball before a goal kick. “Don’t move” she ordered, “Hold your head right there.” Then she stepped back, took a deep breath and kicked him full in the face. The sound of his cheekbone cracking was audible throughout the room. A small burst of spontaneous clapping broke out from the watching throng. Vera bowed to the crowd and then began a calculated attack on the man’s head. Kicks came one after the other – to the sides, to his crown, full in the face. I watched, horrified. I could not believe that a slim pretty woman like Vera could be capable of such brutality. But Vera was more than capable. After the onslaught on his head, she removed her shoes – now smeared with blood – and began jumping up and down on his supine torso. Her nyloned feet crashed down on his chest, his abdomen and his genital area. I doubt if the man was aware of any of this. His body hardly twitched, he was obviously unconscious. Aware or not, the damage Vera’s feet caused to his internal organs must have been horrific. Finally she stopped and stepped back, panting for breath, her hair hanging sweatily around her face. “ I think that should do it” she said, looking towards Countess Nina for confirmation.

The audience burst out with a wave of clapping and a few “Bravos” as Nina nodded her approval. One of the ladies who escorted the victims into the chamber, stepped over to the battered body and bent down to check its pulse. She looked up, “ Still got a pulse” she said to Vera, and dropped the hand. Vera’s eyes opened wide, “Shit,” she said, “ He must have been a tough bastard. Oh well –“ She stepped over to the body again but a command from The Countess stopped her.
“Wait dear. Do you think I could have the honour? It’s been awhile since I had the pleasure, and it will bring back such exiting memories.”
Vera bowed her head in assent, “Be my guest Countess, he’s all yours.”
The Countess stepped over to the prostate form and looked down. “I think I’d like him conscious when I give him the coup de grace. Let’s see if we can revive him.” With that she straddled the head, lifted her skirt around her waist and pulled aside her black nylon panties. She squatted slightly and paused, looking down. “This should wake him up.” Then a stream of urine jetted down on to the unconscious upturned face. She directed it into the slightly agape mouth and down the nostrils. After a moment the man choked and began spluttering, turning his face away to avoid the relentless stream of piss.
“Ah, good.” Said the Countess as her urine stream gradually began to slacken. “He’s awake.” She readjusted her panties, dropped her skirt and addressed the man directly.
“You have endured much with great fortitude, but now it’s time for the final act and I have decided to honour you by carrying it out myself. Do you understand ?” The man seemed in no position to understand anything. Urine dribbled from the corners of his mouth, and bubbles came and went from his nostrils, the blood mixing with the urine to make his face a grotesque painted mask. However, the Countess seemed satisfied that he had understood. She straightened up, raised her black stockinged leg and stamped it down on his throat, surely, I thought, crushing his Adam’s apple.
His body convulsed and then began twitching. The Countess stamped again, and then stood on his neck with one foot, urging all her weight on to that one tortured spot. She stood like this for perhaps a minute until the man’s twitching finally stopped and his body shuddered in one final convulsion.
“There,” she said, stepping off him, “I think that should do it. Thank you dear for allowing me that little pleasure.”
“Thank YOU Countess” said Vera, “You are, as always, truly inventive.”

I was totally awestruck by what I had just witnessed. The man had simply lain there and allowed himself to be kicked to death by a woman only two thirds of his size. Lady Lewisham turned to me with a grim little smile.
“Ever seen anything like that before?” she said mockingly.
“No,” I replied, “I never have, and I don’t think I want to ever again.”
“Oh,” she murmured, “That’s only the beginning. There’s three more to go. Your education isn’t complete yet. Now it’s time for number two.”
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  #9  
Old 04-30-2010, 9:12 PM
shal shal is offline
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I felt sickened at the depravity I had just witnessed. Certainly I wrote about female domination, but never in my wildest dreams had I imagined cruelty on this scale. I watched now, frozen, as the second lady executioner stepped forward to take the method card from the basket. She was one of the younger ladies in the audience, about twenty years old ,wearing a pretty red dress, brown stockings or pantyhose – I couldn’t tell which, and red high heeled boots that encased her calves snugly.

She read the card and smiled. I winced. I just could NOT believe that this demure young thing was about to kill a man and was happy about it. How wrong can you get? She looked positively ecstatic as she crossed to a low table and removed a cloth revealing a selection of handguns laid out on the table’s surface. My hostess turned to me and murmered “She’s going to shoot one to death. That’s what it said on the card.”
I strained to see the selection of weapons laid out on the table. I could identify a Browning 9mm automatic, a Berretta 9mm and a .38 Colt revolver. There was a smaller automatic that looked to be about .22 calibre. A real lady’s gun. No stopping power, but effective enough in a closeup situation. This was the gun she chose. She hefted it in her small hand and turned to the watching audience..
“I’m going to kill him with this” she said. “It’s only small calibre and only has a low velocity. But a bullet from this little baby can do a lot of damage. You see, the low velocity means the bullet wont go right through the body. Instead, it bounces around inside and does a lot of damage to the internal organs, particularly if it breaks up. I should be able to prolong his death enough to be mildly entertaining.”
The audience growled approval. I was aghast again at the sheer level of ferocity lurking in these nice looking ladies. The young executioner was absolutely right in her assessment of the weapon’s capability. Death might be a long time coming, and it would be agonising in the final stages.

“Who do you choose?” said the Countess. The executioner shrugged indifferently. “I don’t really care” she said, “These pieces of shit are all the same to me. He’ll do, on the end.” One of the supervisors pushed forward a heavy set man, about 50 years old. His flesh hung loosely on his large frame, a testament to the starvation diet he had been enduring these last few months. He still had a somewhat protruding gut on him however, and I knew, I just KNEW where he was going to get it.

Lady Lewisham knew as well. “I’ll bet you 10 to 1 Sandra goes for the belly” she said. I just nodded dumbly. Sandra walked over to her victim and spat full in his face. He recoiled slightly and bowed his head, a gob of spittle slowly coursing its way down his cheek. He certainly knew better than to wipe it off, although what worse consequences he could suffer I couldn’t imagine.
“Right,” said Sandra, “I’m going to gut shoot you, but first I want you to pull my boot off. Lie down.” Her victim fell to his knees and she extended her right foot for the boot’s removal. This he did, actually reverently, or so it seemed to me. “Now lie on your back.” He did this and Sandra slowly lowered the stockinged sole of her foot on to his nose. “I want you to keep breathing deeply through every shot. You are privileged to smell the foot of the woman who is killing you, WHILST IT IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING. Right, here’s the first.” And with that she pointed the gun at his belly and loosed off the first shot, her foot pressed firmly to his nose.
The man’s body convulsed as a small red hole appeared on his abdomen. His face jerked upwards but Sandra’s sole pushed it firmly down again.
“That’s number one” said Sandra, “I hope your enjoying this because I am. Here’s another.” The gun fired again with a sharp crack, and another small red hole appeared, about an inch to the left of the first. Again the convulsion, and again the foot pressed firmly down, engulfing the nose with the nyloned toes. This routine was repeated three more times, the bullet holes making a rough circle on the man’s belly, about six inches across. All the time, his face was kept pressed firmly down by that remorseless foot. After the fifth shot, Sandra removed the foot and looked down at her victim. He wasn’t dead. His hands scrabbled on his belly trying uselessly to contain the pain. His head now rolled from side to side as the agony hit him. I could not conceive of the pain he was suffering with 5 bullet holes in his stomach. Sandra seemed unconcerned. “Not dead yet?” she smiled. “I didn’t think you would be, that’s why I’ve kept the last bullet back. I’ll finish you off with that, not quite yet though.”

The man started moaning now as the agony in his belly grew beyond tolerance level. “Hurry up dear, I can’t stand that caterwauling much longer.” The Countess said from her seat at the front.
“Yes Countess,” replied Sandra, “There’s just one thing I have to do. It should shut him up nicely.” She looked down at the groaning man and said sweetly “What’s the one thing you NEVER give to anyone suffering a belly wound? Don’t you know? It’s a DRINK. You NEVER give water in those circumstances, but I’m going to give you some.” And with that she repeated the Countess’s action of earlier, lifting up her dress and squatting over the man’s face.
“Now open up” she said, “You know you want it.” And I swear, I SWEAR, the man’s mouth opened to receive what was coming. And it came!
A strong gusher of yellowish piss flowed accurately into that gaping mouth and went straight down his throat. He gasped and choked but the flow continued, filling his mouth again and again, quantities of it running down his cheeks and pooling the floor. The helpless male floundered on the floor between Sandra’s feet like a stranded fish, but at least he’d stopped groaning. Sandra hoisted the gun again, “Alright, you’ve had your fun, time to go bye byes.” She knelt beside him and pushed the small barrel into his gaping mouth. “Suck on it” she said menacingly, and I swear to God he did. I saw her tilt the barrel slightly and her finger squeeze the trigger for the last time , the bullet hammering into his skull cavity and finally putting an end to his torment. Sandra climbed to her feet and began nonchalantly straightening her clothes as a torrent of applause rippled from the audience. She smiled and bowed and returned to her seat as the ladies gave her a standing ovation.

“Now that young lady really has the killer instinct”said Lady Lewisham approvingly. I couldn’t respond, my vocal chords seemed frozen and my mind was numb. What I couldn’t begin to assimilate was that there were TWO more executions to come. I thought I might go insane.


Lady Lewisham sat back with a sigh of satisfaction. “It’s very entertaining isn’t it?” she said. “I’m sure all this must come as a complete revelation to you. The stuff you write about only touches the edges of female domination. This is the real thing. It simply doesn’t get any more extreme than this. Ah, here comes number three.”

A middle aged lady descended to the dais. She was slightly overweight, her ample figure constrained by a tight fitting silk dress that showed off her not insubstantial curves to very good effect. She was about 50 years old and her face was a study in anticipation. “The first time,” she crowed to the audience, “The first time I’ve ever drawn a winning ticket. I’m going to make the most of this.” So saying, she made her way to the basket and drew out a card. “Suffocation” she said in a very self satisfied tone. “Well, there’s only one way to do that isn’t there? I think I’ll take the smallest of the two.” She pointed at one of the remaining victims and he bowed his head resignedly. A lady guard pushed him forward and he fell to his knees in front of Dora. Lady Lewisham had advised me of the name as Dora was approaching the dais. “Dora,” she’d said. “It should be interesting to see how she copes on her first time.”

Dora appraised her victim with a tight little smile. “I hope you’re ready for this,” she purred, “Your final act of subservience, but an interesting way to go I think you’ll agree. Let’s ginger you up a bit first to make the whole thing more interesting.” She stepped back and launched a flat footed kick straight to the man’s face. She was wearing white court shoes with medium blocky heels, and the sound made when the foot connected was similar to that when someone punches a fist into an open palm. The man sprawled backwards and lay with his hands clutching his face. “don’t be a baby,” said Dora, “That was nothing. Now, I want you to lie on your side facing me with your legs stretched out. DO IT!” Somewhat reluctantly the man obeyed. Dora stood back from him and then, very deliberately, launched a swinging kick to his abdomen. A gasp escaped him and he doubled up clutching his belly. “One more I think,” Dora mused, “And then we’ll begin proper. Straighten him up for me would you ladies?” The two lady attendants grasped the man and forced his legs straight, giving Dora access to his belly again. Another vicious kick to the same place had the man writhing uncontrollably. “Get him on his back please,” Dora said, and while the attendants were positioning the man’s body to her satisfaction, she addressed us with an explanation of her actions thus far.

“I know this isn’t a kicking execution, but a couple of good boots to the abdomen have primed him nicely. He obviously finds it very difficult to catch his breath now. All the better to begin the smothering.” The man was now stretched out on his back, his arms positioned like a letter T, each attendant standing on one hand with their booted feet. They had obviously done this before. Dora straddled his body and hiked up her tight dress revealing shiny stocking tops and silky white panties. I confess it was a sight that captivated me, regardless of the circumstances. She straddled his face, looking down. “Now comes the best part,” she purred. “Enjoy your last encounter with the essence of womanhood. Savour it.”

Slowly she lowered herself on to his still gasping face. She was facing forward, away from his feet, and her silky knickered crotch enveloped his nose while her rectum covered his mouth. She wriggled slightly, adjusting her position, and allowed her whole weight to settle comfortably.
“Could someone light me a cigarette please?” she asked. “Might as well enjoy the ride.” A lady in the front row walked forward with a smile and gave her a cigarette. “I’ll say this Dora,” she said, “You do have style.” Dora bowed her head in acknowledgement. “Thanks Pat, I’m sure you’d do it just as well. Hello, he’s getting restless.” The body beneath her was beginning to writhe a little, but then stopped. I looked very closely and could just make out that his chest was heaving slightly. He was getting a little air from somewhere. Actually, I knew from some experiences of my own that it is not easy to suffocate someone simply by sitting on their face. It is generally possible to sneak in a little air through the mouth, unless, of course, the woman on top is a real heavyweight. THAT experience I hadn’t had. Although weighing in at about 160 pounds, Dora wasn’t a heavyweight.

She was aware that the face beneath her was snatching air from somewhere, but it didn’t seem to bother her. “Cheeky little bastard’s still breathing” she said, “Let’s change position.” She stood up, turned around and re seated herself, her voluptuous ass now completely dominating his face. She squirmed until his nose was as firmly embedded in her anus as it could be. Then she sat quietly, wriggling occasionally and still smoking her cigarette. After a few minutes she raised her ass slightly and peered down at him. A long gust of air exited his lips, to be followed by a sharp inhalation as he struggled to quiet his tortured lungs. “Tough little bastard isn’t he?” she said, and sank down again. “I think I’ll give him something else to think about.”

I couldn’t for the life of me imagine what else she could give him “To think about” but as I watched this appalling, yet undoubtedly erotic spectacle, I saw a spreading pool of liquid surrounding his head. She had pissed on him. The gusset of her obviously soaking panties now plastered his face. Choking was now added to his breathing problems. Dora, however, had one more trick up her sleeve. She turned to the two lady attendants and said “Give me a hand here girls, stamp on his belly for me.” The two attendants stepped eagerly forwards, and one after the other stomped down hard on his exposed belly with their boots. The tortured body writhed beneath their onslaught, grasping for air that was unobtainable, the face squashed beneath a heavy ass clothed in urine soaked panties. It didn’t take long then. The writhing and twitching gradually slowed until, with a final shudder, it lay still. Dora remained where she was for a further minute or two before rising. She peeled off her soaked panties and bent down to stuff them in the gaping mouth. “”You can keep these and take them to the grave and consider yourself very lucky. It’s not every male pig gets buried with a pair of panties in his mouth. Hope you appreciate the gesture.”

Another burst of applause came from the watching ladies. Lady Lewisham turned to me and remarked “A nice touch, Dora certainly has class, I shall look forward to further executions from her.” I gulped. “When is that likely to be?” I muttered. “Oh, in about three or four months I expect. When we,ve grown tired of the latest batch we’ll call for volunteers.”

“What do you do with the bodies?” I said. Lady Lewisham laughed. “Oh, they’re all buried out in the paddock. Lovely spot actually. It’s where the visiting ladies do their riding.”

I digested this in silence, and turned front again. Another executioner was striding down to the dais. The last killing of the night was about to begin.


The lady now walking down to the dais was, without doubt, the best looking of the four executioners. She was in her late 20’s, with blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail, sparkling (in anticipation?) blue eyes, a pert slightly upturned nose, and a full lipped mouth, now smirking in a cruel grin.

“This is Elaine,” said Lady Lewisham, “She’s done this at least twice before, she’s remarkably lucky at getting the right card.” Personally, I didn’t think “Lucky” was quite the correct word, but given these ladies’ state of mind, what did I know? However, Elaine had to curb her murderous instincts, for a short while anyway, as The Countess stood up and announced a short interval for refreshments. She nodded towards the two attendants and said “Have the last one clean up the stage. There’s piss and blood everywhere. Make him lap it up. I want it clean before we start again.

The two nodded dutifully and forced the remaining victim to his knees, shoving his head down into the various pools of urine that littered the dais, which he started to lap up as a dog would. The audience broke up into groups, laughing and discussing the events of the night. The first three executioners were congratulated on their ingenuity, and many bottles of wine were passed around. I was offered a bottle by Lady Lewisham but had no appetite after the events I had just witnessed. “A pity,” said mine hostess, you should make the most of our hospitality, it’s not often a male here is offered any sustenance at all.”

“Maybe later,” I muttered, “I can’t quite get my head round this at all. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“Of course you haven’t,” came the reply. “That’s why I invited you. To show you that the world of Fem Dom you write about is only a play world.. This is what it’s really about. Here, the term Fem Dom takes on an entirely new aspect.”

A sharp clap came from the Countess, and just two brisk commanding words. “Begin again.”

The ladies hurriedly regained their seats, and Elaine strode eagerly to the box to determine the form of execution. She held up the card. “Strangulation,” she called. “I thought it might be, so I’ve been developing some ideas. I hope it will be in order for me to call on some volunteers from the audience to assist me in this Countess?” The Countess nodded. “Anything you want child, he’s yours to do with what you want. “Strangulation” is just a broad suggestion, the mechanics are left entirely to you. So long as it’s entertaining of course.”

Elaine smiled. “Oh, I think you’ll be entertained all right.” She turned to the remaining cowed male, “Come over here and lie down on your back.” Dutifully he approached and lay down in front of her, face upwards. Elaine straddled his chest and sat there looking down at him. “You know I’m going to strangle you, and so I am, but not to the point of death. No, I’ve got something else in mind for that, but that’s in a little while. First, let’s see how strong your neck is.” With that, she nodded at the assistants and they took up their former positions – spreading out the man’s arms and standing on his hands. Elaine leaned forward and gripped the man’s neck tightly. Slowly she began to squeeze. At first, his head remained still, but as the hands increased their pressure and the thumbs bit into his adam’s apple, it began to twist from side to side.

“Stop that.” Snapped Elaine. “Accept my authority gracefully.” And once again I was amazed at the power these women exuded over their male victims. The man’s head stopped moving and lay there docilely although his mouth was agape as he struggled for air.

Elaine bent forwards, “That’s just right,” she said, “An open mouth is just what I want. Let’s fill it with something.” Still squeezing hard, she pursed her lips and began dribbling spittle into the open mouth. She did this until the mouth was obviously full to capacity, as spit ran down from the corners. Then she relaxed the pressure of her squeezing hands.

“Now you may swallow,” she smiled down at the man, and he did just that, although with some difficulty. Elaine then resumed her strangulation, drooling spit all the time into the, once again, suffering mouth. After about three or four relapses for swallowing, she addressed the audience.

“I’m about dry, could I have some volunteers please to keep feeding him?” At once there was a stir of chairs as the audience eagerly rose to their feet, revelling in a chance to participate in the bizarre execution. The Countess held up her hand. “Just the first ten, I think, otherwise we’ll be here all night. I’ll start it off I think.” She walked to the dais followed by ten eager ladies of the audience. Reaching the tableau on the dais she slowly shoved her high heel down the man’s throat while Elaine kept up the relentless pressure with her hands. The Countess ground it around a little and then removed it. I could see her mouth working as she gathered spittle in it, then she squatted, leaned over his face, and expelled it into the ravaged mouth. Elaine relaxed the pressure again so the man could swallow, which he did painfully. Then the ladies took it in turn to fill the mouth with spit, all of which was swallowed dutifully. Some drooled it in, others spat forcefully, their mouth as close to the man’s as possible without actually touching. When they were virtually dry, they returned to their places smiling. I noticed several of them couldn’t resist giving the supine body a vicious little kick in the ribs as they passed. All the time, Elaine kept up her grip on the neck. The man must have been close to death by now, but Elaine was an expert. She was able to judge just how far to go before relaxing the grip to allow a quick gulp of air, or a swallow.

Finally, she took her hands away and stood up. The man’s face was a vivid purple hue and his mouth, still running with unswallowed spittle was hanging open. Breath wheezed in his throat. Elaine spoke again to the audience.

“I’m now going to administer the coup de grace. This is something I read in a history book about the British campaigns in India. When British soldiers were captured by tribesmen, they were always done to death – generally by the women of the village. After a lot of fancy work with knives, cutting off the testicles etc. They killed them in a really humiliating way. They propped their mouths open with a stick so they were unable to swallow, and then, one by one, they pissed in the mouth. Not being able to swallow, the soldiers drowned as their lungs pilled with piss. This story always fascinated me and I wondered what it would be like to do it. Well, tonight I will.”

I listened, amazed. Elaine was absolutely right. I had read of the same incidents myself, although I believe they were done during the British Army’s two campaigns in Afghanistan. Where ever, they were certainly part of the history of those cruel campaigns of empire. Now this delightful young woman wanted to emulate these acts of pure barbarity. But why was I surprised? After what I had seen tonight, drowning in piss was low down on the totem pole of cruelty. Even so - - -

Elaine walked back to the prostrate figure. She held a small pencil in her hand, which she forced into the man’s mouth, forcing his jaws apart and making it impossible for him to close his mouth. Then she squatted over the mouth and let loose a powerful stream of urine. Unable to close his mouth, or swallow, the urine went straight down the man’s throat and into his lungs, filling them up and effectively drowning him. Or nearly so. He still heaved a little, and his chest laboured. Elaine turned again to the audience, “Volunteers again I think, two should do it.”

Two women rushed forward, pulling down their pantyhose and squatting over the gaping mouth to empty their bladders’ worth into the drowning lungs. I looked away, sickened.

“Well, that seems to complete the evening’s entertainment Mr. Hacket. I trust you’ve been enlightened.” Lady Lewisham smiled in my direction. I looked back at her with a grimace.

“I’m not sure I can write about this, it’s just too –too—extreme” I mopped my brow.

“Oh, you’re not going to write about it – that I can guarantee.” My hostess had a different expression on her face, one I didn,t much care for.

“What do you mean?” I said, “I thought that was why you invited me down here. To see true fem dom in action.”

“You’re partially right. We DID want you to see the real thing. But not to write about it. We all get so thoroughly pissed off at the stupid articles you write, we decided we’d open our doors to you, to open your eyes, so to speak. You remember the instructions I gave you, not to tell anyone where you were going tonight? I trust you followed them to the letter.” I nodded dumbly, a terrible suspicion was beginning to form. I looked towards the exit door. The two attendants stood there, holding pistols taken from the table on the dais. The rest of the ladies had formed a circle around me, and were watching me with grim little smiles on their faces.

“What’s happening?” I croaked.

“Simple,” said Lady Lewisham, “After all your bullshit, and after seeing THE TRUTH, you are now going to experience it for yourself. And guess what? I am going to be your executioner. You, however, are privileged. You are not a volunteer, so we are granting you a choice. YOU GET TO CHOOSE THE MEANS OF YOUR DEATH!! Of the four methods you have watched tonight you must choose one, and I will happily carry it out. And I mean hapiily.”

I stared at her, at this svelte aristocratic woman, who had just announced she was about to kill me, and I swear, I swear, a small tingle of anticipation ran through my body. I had always had a streak of masochism in me, well now it was it to be put to the ultimate test. But I had a choice to make. Oh God, what was I to choose? What? I put it to you –

WHAT WOULD YOU CHOOSE?


The end
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  #10  
Old 04-30-2010, 9:21 PM
shal shal is offline
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About this story....
i remember the author is Rommel. I read it before in one yahoo group.
Rommel had more stories like that but I couldn't find it anymore.
There was even a better story called something like: "they do it differently in the East". I would do anything to find it!
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  #11  
Old 05-03-2010, 8:37 AM
Miss_clinton Miss_clinton is offline
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Very nice stories. more?
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Old 05-03-2010, 12:21 PM
kiko kiko is offline
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Cool ! Thanks for the story !
This thread is beginning to grow - LOVE IT

KIKO
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Old 05-03-2010, 3:04 PM
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hellgrinder hellgrinder is online now
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Just the kind of stories I love
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