Bdsm Execution Stories
🛑 ALL INFORMATION CLICK HERE 👈🏻👈🏻👈🏻
Bdsm Execution Stories
Main Page
Discuss
All Pages
Community
Interactive Maps
Recent Blog Posts
Main Page
Discuss
All Pages
Community
Interactive Maps
Recent Blog Posts
Community content is available under CC-BY-SA unless otherwise noted.
Explore properties
Fandom
Cortex RPG
Muthead
Futhead
Fanatical
Follow Us
Overview
What is Fandom?
About
Careers
Press
Contact
Terms of Use
Privacy Policy
Global Sitemap
Local Sitemap
Community
Community Central
Support
Help
Do Not Sell My Info
Advertise
Media Kit
Fandomatic
Contact
Fandom Apps
Take your favorite fandoms with you and never miss a beat.
ExecutionStories Wikia is a FANDOM Books Community.
"Kim has been arrested." said the girl "I planted a kilo of heroin in her room and the rest is being transported now."
"Excellent." said the woman. "And the police? Did they suspect you?"
The girl shook her head "No, mother. They were happy that they had found the drugs in Kim's room."
The woman walked slowly toward her daughter and kissed her full on the lips. "Well done my beautiful girl." She said. "You have made us a lot of money with this deal. But you have achieved something far greater: You have proved that you're strong enough to lead the business one day. Your father will be proud of you."
"Thank you, mother." said the girl smiling. "I want you to be proud of me."
"My beautiful daughter, how could I not be proud of you? You have just proved your loyalty to the family business by sacrificing your sister."
Kim Lee was arrested at 1:15pm when the police raided one of her family's many homes. Kim had been home alone at the time. The was a knock at the door and two detectives, both male, produced their ID cards and a search warrant:
"Miss Kim Lee? We have reason to believe that you are hiding drugs in your bedroom."
The colour instantly drained from Kim's face. "No!" She protested "I don't have any drugs."
"Your family are known criminals," said the detective. "We've just never been able to pin anything on any of you. Now move aside and let us enter the premises and conduct our search."
Kim stood back from the doorway and allowed the officers to enter. In all there were six of them. As well as the two detectives there were four uniformed female officers who proceeded up the stairs. Kim's eyes followed their steps as they ascended the wooden staircase. She could hear them moving about loudly in her bedroom. Two minutes later a young female officer descended the staircase holding a plastic evidence bag.
"We found ten bags like this one in her pantyhose drawer." She said to the lead detective.
He looked directly at Kim. "Kim Lee, you are under arrest for possession of a quantity of class A heroin. Cuff her." Tears welled up in her eyes as the officer pulled Kim's arms around her back and locked her wrists into the handcuffs.
"We're done here" said the detective."Leave a notice for the family in case they want to see her before she's executed."
Kim sobbed as they led her to the waiting vehicles outside. She hadn't stopped crying by the time they had arrived at the Peking Central Police Station. She was ushered out of the car and taken to the processing area by two of the female officers who had searched her room. A third officer sat behind a desk.
"Name?" asked the seated officer. "Kim Lee, age sixteen, possession of grade A substance," answered on of Kim's escorting guards. The officer sighed in her seat.
"That's the fifth today." She said as she checked the screen on her computer. "Alright. The next one is due to go out in about fifteen minutes. One hour. Strip her and put her in a cell."
The two guards led Kim away." An hour for what?" She asked, although she had already guessed. "One hour until your date with the firing squad" said the guard. Kim started to cry again.
Outside the pre-execution cell were three more female officers trying to drag a girl about the same age as Kim out of the cell. The screaming girl was naked except for a pair of white stiletto heels. Her body was as beautiful as Kim's. The officers succeeded in dragging the girl out through a set of doors labeled as the execution yard.
The officers with Kim escorted her to the cell. "Take off your dress," ordered one of the guards. Kim says too frightened to protest she pulled her short thin summer dress over her head and allowed it to fall to the floor. "Now your bra. Hurry up!" The officer snapped. Kim awkwardly unclasped her bra and dropped it on the floor revealing her small breasts. She stood in her high heels and her panties and ultra smooth pantyhose. "Her legs are nice." said the other guard. "Let her keep her pantyhose on. She looks sexy in them. She can't keep her panties, though," said the first guard. The second officer took a knife from her belt and knelt in front of Kim. "Keep still while I cut your panties off," she said. Kim was frozen with fear anyway. The guard cut a hole in the middle of Kim's expensive pantyhose which would have cost at least five times the amount that the cheap drugstore brand she was wearing did. She the cut the straps on Kim's panties and pulled them away revealing her smooth, perfectly symmetrical, vagina. "Nice target," said the guard as she stood up. "What?" gaped Kim. "We're going to shoot you in the vagina," said the guard. "No!" Kim screamed. "You can't do this to me! I'm innocent!"
"Not our concern. To us you're just another drug peddling bitch who needs to die. Alright, put her in the cell," said the first guard and they led Kim into the small cell. "We'll come and get you when it's time." They locked the cell door and left Kim sobbing, alone and terrified.
Kim sat crying in her cell as the minutes ticked away. She looked at the pretty vagina and shuddered at the thought of it being destroyed by bullets.
The sound of gunshots rang out from outside. Kim screamed. That beautiful girl she'd seen dragged out was now dead and she was next. Those gunshots would be the last thing Kim would ever hear.
Her mind raced with fear as she imagined herself dying in nothing but her pantyhose. The moment was fast approaching. They were probably disposing of the girl's body and reloading their guns right now. "LET ME OUT!" She screamed, her remaining sense of reason finally giving way to despair. Nobody answered.
Kim heard the footsteps of the female guards' high heels outside the cell and then she heard the cell door being unlocked. Three female officers walked into the cell. "Stand," One of them commanded. Kim couldn't move. Two of the women pulled her to her feet then cuffed hands behind her back.
The third woman read from a sheet of paper: "Kim Lee. You are guilty of possessing illegal drugs and are condemned to death by firing squad. That sentence will now be carried out. Take her outside." The guards pulled Kim out of the cell and through the doors to the execution courtyard.
The courtyard was a high walled area of plain stone ground dave for a painted red line. About six feet from the wall was a wooden restraining device not dissimilar to a chair. It shape, it looked like the letter 'Y' from the western alphabet had been turned upside down and superimposed over the letter 'T'. There were restraints at each end and a belt in the middle. The guards walked Kim over to the chair. She felt her knees weakening. The wall behind the chair was covered in bullet holes. Kim's whole body began to convulse as her knees gave out.
"Please!" she begged as the guards dragged her the rest of the way to the chair. "Please don't kill me!" She sobbed. "I'm so frightened. Please don't kill me! PLEASE!" The two guards ignored her pathetic pleas. After all, they heard the same thing every day from condemned girls.
They sat Kim in the chair and fastened the restraints around her ankles, waist and wrists. Her arms were tied outstretched to the the crossbar of the "T" section and her legs were spread painful wide and were securely held apart by the prongs of the inverted "Y" section. The curvature of the chair forced Kim's pelvis forward to an uncomfortable position and she could feel her vagina had slightly parted. A new wave of shame and humiliation washed over her.
The guards walked back to the red firing line and each lifted an AK-47 assault rifle from a nearby table. They checked the ammunition levels of each firearm and confirm that each weapon housed three rounds each.
The guards lined up. The one in the middle knelt and lined up her her rifle with Kim's exposed vagina which seemed to be beautifully framed by the hole in her pantyhose. The other two each took careful aim at Kim's pert breasts.
Tears fell down Kim's pretty face as she saw the guards taking aim. She felt her nipples hardening and her vagina moisten. She gasped at her arousal and realized that she had just orgasmed.
The kneeling guard looked through the sight of her rifle and smiled as she saw Kim's sticky release. She smiled starting to feel a damp patch in her own pantyhose.
A senior male officer stood to the side of the firing squad.
Kim screamed helplessly. One more word and her life would be at an end. It wasn't fair. She was only sixteen. She wanted to live.
The guns cracked loudly and Kim felt a brief but excruciating pain as her beautiful breasts and vagina were destroyed by the onslaught of hot lead. Then she would never feel anything ever again.
Kim's body was taken with those of the other girls who had been executed that day to the incinerator. It was a strange but deeply arousing thing, the foreman at the incinerator thought, that all of these executed "criminals" happened to be beautiful teenage girls.
Lin Lee and her daughter Gemma lay in bed together with their arms around each other pleased with themselves.
Lin kissed Gemma softly. "Your sister is dead but your father has other wives and their daughters are a threat to you." She said. "They will try to kill you."
"I know, mother. But don't worry," said Gemma "I already have a plan." She kissed her mother full on the mouth. "In a month from now we'll have killed them all."
Lin passionately kissed her daughter again. "I love you so much, my beautiful cruel daughter."
One more step
Please complete the security check to access www.fictionpress.com
Please stand by, while we are checking your browser...
Please enable Cookies and reload the page.
Completing the CAPTCHA proves you are a human and gives you temporary access to the web property.
If you are on a personal connection, like at home, you can run an anti-virus scan on your device to make sure it is not infected with malware.
If you are at an office or shared network, you can ask the network administrator to run a scan across the network looking for misconfigured or infected devices.
Another way to prevent getting this page in the future is to use Privacy Pass. Check out the browser extension in the Firefox Add-ons Store .
Cloudflare Ray ID: 72864cbb78461672
•
Your IP:
Click to reveal
77.83.148.101
•
Performance & security by Cloudflare
The Execution of 17-Year-Old Lady Jane Grey
You don’t have to be a Johnny Depp fan to support the Depp V Heard Verdict
Reading Barack Obama’s “Dreams from My Father”
Why music is the primary driving force of struggle
Frances is shaking. Levina takes her arm, tucking it firmly into the crook of her elbow. A bitter wind hisses through the naked branches of the trees and smacks at the women’s clothes, lifting their hoods so the ties cut into their throats. The winter sky is blotched gray, like the inside of an oyster shell, and the White Tower is a dark shape against it. A hushed collection of people shuffles about beside the scaffold, rubbing hands and stamping feet to keep warm. A couple of men trundle past pulling a cart, but Levina does not really see for she is gazing up towards a window in a building across the yard, where she thinks she can see the outline of a figure.
“Oh Lord!” murmurs Frances, slapping a hand over her mouth. “Guildford.”
Levina looks, understanding instantly. In the cart is a bloody bundle; it is the body of Guildford Dudley. Frances’s breath is shallow and fast, her face pallid, not white as one might imagine, but green. Levina takes her by her shoulders, narrow as a girl’s, facing her, holding her eyes with a steady look, saying, “Breathe deeply, Frances, breathe deeply,” doing so herself, in the hope that Frances will mimic her slow inhalations. She cannot imagine what it must be for a mother to watch her seventeen-year-old daughter die and be powerless to stop it.
“I cannot understand why Mary—” She stops to correct herself, “why the Queen would not let us see her . . . Say good-bye.”
“Fear has made her ruthless,” Levina says. “She must fear plots everywhere, even between a mother and her condemned daughter.” She reaches down to her greyhound, Hero, stroking the peaked landscape of his spine, feeling the reassuring press of his muzzle into her skirts.
Levina remembers painting Jane Grey in her queen’s regalia, not even a year ago. She was mesmerized by the intensity of the girl’s gaze, those widely set, dark eyes flecked with chestnut, her long neck and delicate hands, all somehow conspiring to give the impression of both strength and fragility. “Painted” is perhaps not quite the word, for she had barely the chance to prick the cartoon and pounce the charcoal dust through onto the panel before Mary Tudor arrived in London with an army to pull the throne out from under her young cousin, who will meet her death today on this scaffold. It was Frances Grey who helped Levina break up that panel and throw it on the fire, along with the cartoon. The wheel of fortune turns fast in England these days
Over her shoulder Levina notices a gathering of Catholic churchmen arrive; Bonner, the Bishop of London, is among them, fat and smooth, like a grotesque baby. Levina knows him well enough from her own parish; he has a reputation for brutality. There is a supercilious smile pasted on his face; pleased to see a young girl lose her head—sees it as a triumph, does he? Levina would love to slap that smile away; she can imagine the ruddy mark it would leave on his cheek, the satisfying smart on her palm.
“Bonner,” she whispers to Frances. “Don’t turn. If he meets your eye, he may try and greet you.”
She nods and swallows and Levina guides her away, farther from the men so she is less likely to have to confront any of them. Not many have come to see a girl who was queen for a matter of days die; not the hundreds, it is said, that came to jeer at Anne Boleyn—the one whose death started the fashion for decapitating queens. No one will heckle today, everyone is too horrified about this, except Bonner and his lot, and even they are not so crass as to overtly assert their pleasure. She thinks of the Queen at the palace, imagining how she would paint her. She must be with her closest women; they are likely at prayer. But in Levina’s mind the Queen is alone in the empty expanse of her watching chamber, and has just been told that one of her favorite young cousins has been murdered at her bidding. The look on her face is not one of carefully suppressed triumph like Bonner’s, nor is it one of fear, though it should be, for after all it is only days since a rebel army sought, and failed, to depose her and put her sister Elizabeth on the throne—no, her pinched face is blank as a sheet of new vellum, eyes dead, detached, suggesting that the killing has only just begun.
“This is her father’s doing,” Frances mutters. “I cannot help but blame him, Veena . . . His mindless ambition.” She spits the words out as if they taste foul. Levina glances once more towards that tower window, wondering if the figure there, watching, is Frances’s husband, Jane’s father, Henry Grey, who also awaits a traitor’s fate. The cart has come to a halt beside a low building some distance from them. Its driver leans down to chat with a man, seeming just to pass the time of day, as if there were not a butchered boy in the back. “It is a house of cards, Veena, a house of cards.”
“Frances, don’t,” she says, putting an arm round her friend’s shoulder. “You will drive yourself mad.”
“And the Queen, where is her mercy? We are her close kin. Elle est ma première cousine; on était presque élevée ensemble. ”
Levina grips her more tightly, without speaking. Frances often forgets that she doesn’t understand much French. Levina has never asked her why, given she is English to the bone, she favors that language in spite of its being quite out of fashion at court. She assumes it has something to do with her Tudor mother, who was a French king’s widow. A man approaches, his cape blowing out in the wind, giving him the look of a bat. He stops before the two women with a polite bow, removing his cap, which he holds crumpled in both hands.
“My lady,” he says, with a click of his heels. “Sir John Brydges, Lieutenant of the Tower.” There is a sternness about him, he is a guardsman Levina supposes; but then his formality drops. “My heart goes to you, my lady. My wife and I . . .” He falters, his voice quivering slightly. “We have become fond of your daughter these last months. She is a remarkable girl.”
Frances looks like a woman drowning and seems unable to form a response, but takes one of his hands and nods slowly.
“She is to be brought down now.” He drops his voice to little more than a whisper. “I can give you a moment with her. She refused to see her husband before he—” He means “before he died,” but has the tact not to say it. “She has asked for you.”
“Take me to her,” Frances manages to mumble.
“The utmost discretion is required. We do not want to attract any attention.” It is clear he refers to Bonner and the pack o
Nude Cowgirl
Pornhub Babysitter
Hot Babe Getting Fucked