Executioner Of Delphi - Work in Progress
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Hi! Long time lurker, first time poster here. I've been working on an erotic novel over the last few months, and given the subject matter I thought forum members here might like to read it. I'm still writing and editing as I go, so these will be drafts and probably end up a bit different in the final version. Without giving away too much of the plot, the story is set in Delphi - a hidden kingdom shunned by the world, located on an island in the Gulf of Mexico. Delphi was colonized by French settlers long ago and would be an earthly paradise except for one thing - women are expected to service any man who propositions them without question and this rule is enforced brutally with death as the inevitable punishment for refusing.
I have the first three chapters ready to post so will drop them in now, with CH4 coming very soon. Then I have a lot more writing still to do, but I'll keep posting stuff as it's ready. Hope you enjoy it! Also, if you notice any glaring errors let me know so I can fix them lol.
Chapter One – The Smallest Mistake
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
"Three days!"
Amilia paced up and down the cold cell, the kitten heels of her shoes dragging on the bare stone floor. The bed next to her, if you could call it that, was little more than a thin mattress with a filthy blanket scrunched in one corner. The only other things in the cell were a stainless-steel toilet and sink. Apart from than that it was just bare brick with a heavy metal door. The walls were water damaged and in parts the faces of the bricks were peeling away in jagged, palm sized flakes. Amilia had made the short trip back and forth from the bed to the sink hundreds of times now. Four paces there, four paces back. A polished streak along the flagstones showed she was far from the first woman to walk that tight circuit.
"Three fucking days!"
*This is no way to treat a royal Princess*, she thought, fuming silently. *The king's eldest daughter treated like a common criminal! Locked up, fed on water and scraps, and for what?*
She had no idea. They had come for her one evening, barging into her bed chamber just as she was preparing to disrobe, forcing her down the stairs and into a waiting guard van, all without saying a single word. They had taken her phone, as well as the Cartier watch she had received two years ago on her 18th birthday, and left her in the disgusting cell with nothing but the clothes she was wearing.
Amilia walked to the cell door one more time and tried to peer through the small, filthy window. The thick glass was stained yellow with age and covered with scratches. It was impossible to make out any detail but she could see shapes moving - people perhaps? But the details were frustratingly elusive. And the cell was so quiet. The heavy steel door was thick enough to block out all but the loudest of sounds. In a place like this, that meant the only things Amilia heard were occasional shouts, muffled bangs, and distant shrieks of pain. It was not the refined and relaxing environment the young princess was used to.
"Fuuuuck!"
Amilia sat down on the mattress, the heavy skirts of her dress gathering up around her lower body as she folded her legs beside her. The sharp edge of one well-worn heel tip grazed her thick buttock and she could feel the sting of the scratch it had left on her pale skin. She didn't even bother to move her foot, made despondent by the strange mix of boredom and anxiety that filled her body with restless energy as much as it drained her of the motivation to expend it. There was nothing to do and nowhere to go. She would have to wait until her father sorted this mess out, freed her and then punished whoever was responsible for this outrage.
She guessed it was about 10pm but with no watch, and with no access to natural light to guide her, she had to guess based on when the last jug of water and plate of half-rotten fruit had been pushed through the hatch in the door. That had been several hours ago, but it could just as easily have been breakfast as dinner. Still, she had slept three times so she was counting it as three days.
She was considering lying down for another fitful, uncomfortable sleep when she heard a loud scratching noise coming from the door. Her head jerked round in surprise, causing her long, black hair to whip across her face, stinging gently where the tips of her oiled locks struck the soft skin of her cheeks. It was the loudest sound she had heard in... well, three days. Probably.
There was a loud mechanical whirring sound as the door moved back, forming an oblong halo of light as it shrank away in the door frame. There was a click, and the door slid off to one side, revealing an imposing silhouette against the bright light from the hallway. It was Amilia's mother.
Queen Soraya stepped through the painted metal door frame and into the cell. Amilia's heart fluttered in her chest when she saw what Soraya was wearing: beneath the long black velvet and fur cloak that hung from her shoulders she was encased in a harness of black patent leather straps that looped around her chest and under her bust, and down around her thick brown thighs. An ocean of honey coloured skin, painted bright with colourful tattoos, was visible between each of the straps. Soraya was a tall woman and towered above Amilia at the best of times, but today she was wearing shiny black platform boots that added a full eight inches to her height. Amilia knew what this was. It was Soraya's work clothes. The executioner's clothes.
*No. No. Surely she's just here to get me out. She's dressed for work because it's a workday. That must be it!*
Amilia tried to calm the churning in her stomach and slow her breathing.
"Maman, what's going on? Are you here to help me?" She asked, trying to keep her voice calm
The Queen just stared at her. Soraya's face was a lead mask, betraying absolutely no emotion. Amilia could feel a burning in her stomach, like a smouldering coal in a fire pit.
"The prisoner will stand." Soraya's voice was flat and emotionless. She looked away from Amilia, who was slowly extracting herself from the tangle of skirts, and focused her gaze on the tablet in her left hand. As Amilia attempted to rise to her feet with a modicum of grace, she craned her neck to try and catch a glimpse of the screen, but the glare was too strong. Soraya noticed and tilted the screen further towards herself to hide the contents.
"Maman, please! Why am I here? What the hell is going on?" Amilia was becoming desperate now. She took a faltering step towards her mother. Soraya didn't even look at her, just held up her hand palm out and pushed away. A gesture Amilia had often seen from her mother growing up. 'Stay away from me'. Beneath all that cold impassivity Soraya was absolutely fuming.
"The prisoner will be silent." Amilia could feel the hard edge in Soraya's voice, like a knife or... No, she couldn't let her mind go there. She had to stay calm. She let her arms hang loose at her side and looked down at the floor where the filthy lace hem of her dress swayed gently around her feet. It was the exact pose she had adopted in her childhood when her mother was angry with her. She had always wished she could be more like her sister Ellie, who would stand defiant and stare the Queen straight in the eye however angry she was, but Amilia was not wired that way. She was naturally inclined towards obedience, never being sure enough of what she really wanted to have a compelling reason to do anything other than what she was told.
*Well, that's how I used to be, until...*
"Amilia..."
She looked up with a start. Her mother had been talking, but she was so deep in her thoughts she hadn't noticed.
"You... The prisoner will read the charges and enter a plea." Soraya handed her the tablet. There was a large picture of Amilia filling up half the screen. In the picture she was dressed exactly as she was now - they had taken it on the day she arrived at the prison, although she only vaguely remembered it in the haze and confusion. Next to the picture was a long string of numbers and letters - a prison ID? And then a single line of text that read 'Charges: Refusal (Aggravated)'
*Refusal? That can't be right? I've never refused a man!*
Amilia was a princess, trained from birth to be an exemplar to the women of her kingdom. Moreover, she was a proud Delphi Island woman, she loved her nation and its culture in her very bones regardless of what the outside world thought of them. The kingdom’s ways may have made Delphi an international pariah and an embarrassment to their neighbours, but they were her kingdom and her ways.
*Yes, it's annoying the way they bug you sometimes, when you're busy, but most of the time they just want you to stick your ass in the air for 2 minutes while they pump away and then they walk away happy. Men are so silly!*
Amilia knew that some women had a problem with it, that the generous stipends and incredible freedom given to women were not enough for them and they needed the severe penalties of Delphic justice to keep them in line, but she had always believed in the system and since turning 18 had held up her end of the bargain with an almost religious devotion. Panic was starting to set in now, and Amilia began to plead:
"Maman, this has to be a mistake! You know me! You know I always do as I'm supposed to! You know I'm a good girl! You know..."
"I know about Shelly."
Amilia's stomach dropped so far and fast, she was certain the ground had cracked wide open and sucked her down to hell.
|Amilia - 12 March 2022 – Saturday Evening|
It was a warm March night in Delphi town. The dry season would be over in a few more weeks, and the north-easterly squalls whipped streaks of cool air into the humidity. The garden at the Ladies' Café was full and noisy with the sounds of women enjoying each other's company and a little time away from the attentions of Delphi's men.
Amilia was sitting by herself at a table next to one of the side walls. The other patrons were used to seeing the princess there, her position allowed her unlimited entry and she had started going regularly not long after she turned 16. Although the other women were restricted to six visits per month, if any of them were jealous of her privilege they didn't show it and mostly left her to her own devices. She sipped her margherita and leant back, resting her head against the trellis of European ivy that grew along the sandstone wall. Her hair, delicately scented with bergamot and neroli oils, slid off her shoulders and hung down behind her, tangling with the green stems and variegated leaves. She looked up at the few stars that were visible through the light pollution of the city and imagined the tropical winds carrying the smells of Louisiana and Alabama across the water. Distant places she only vaguely understood from half remembered snippets of imported TV shows. Nightmarish places, where women and men alike toiled for money, and no-one was freer than their salary would allow.
A throaty laugh rang out across the garden and Amilia's head flopped forward with a lazy bounce to bring her eyes back onto the entryway.
*She's here!*
Shelly scanned her card on the gate, exchanging one of her small balance of tokens for entry to the Ladies' Café, and started walking across the courtyard towards Amilia. She looked relaxed and full of energy as she passed through the crowded rows of cast iron tables, each one painted white and displaying a patina of dark chips and yellow cigarette marks. Other women looked up at her as she passed. Although she was nearly 40, the softness in her face and the slight turn-up in her nose made her look much younger. Below her high ponytail her makeup was immaculately done, with stunning bronze eyeshadow and dark caramel lipstick. She was tall, about 5'9", and her zaftig body was draped elegantly with a white crotched poncho over a short, tan dress. Her outfit was completed at either end by a pair each of wedge heels and electrum hoop earrings. Amilia drank her in as she approached, feeling a kick low down in her abdomen and a rush of blood to her face. Amilia really, really liked Shelly.
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
*How the fuck does she know about Shelly?*
A stupid question. The Queen's spies were everywhere.
*But even if she does, that's not enough to put me in a jail cell? Lesbianism hasn't been a crime in a century!*
"Maman, me and Shelly didn't do anything wrong! I know she's older but I'm an adult too, and... and we're in love!" Amilia was pleading now, her hands gripping tight to the table in front of her, fingers squeezed so hard they turned white.
"Irrelevant!" Soraya's voice was a hard bark, full of barely suppressed rage. Amilia had been on the wrong end of many of the Queen's tongue lashings, but this was something different. "You and that... that treacherous slut have broken our most sacred rule. You refused a man, and worse you humiliated him in front of other men. Now enter your plea and we can get this over with."
|Amilia - 12 March 2022 – Saturday Night|
The cicadas roared out into the night air. A threnody in lament of the ended day. Amilia and Shelly stumbled out of the Ladies' Café a little wobbly on their feet. Shelly reached out for Amilia's hand and dragged her along for about a hundred giggly metres until Amilia signalled that she needed to stop.
"Shelly, wait, wait!" Amilia said, panting gently between little paroxysms of laughter. "Let me take my shoes off!"
She stepped inside a nearby passageway and half crouched, resting her plump buttocks against the sandstone wall. She lifted one leg, rested her ankle on her other knee, and started fumbling with the tiny buckle on her heel. Shelly stood watching her, and Amilia couldn't help but feel vulnerable. She was acutely aware how easily she could topple over in this position. The last thing she wanted was to ruin the expensive bodycon she was wearing. It had been made especially for her by a tailor in one of the western villages using imported fabrics from Mexico. The tailor had been a little vague about how exactly he had sourced the colourful, stretchy material, and Amilia suspected it was not entirely legitimate. That only made her love the dress more, and the way the tight hem sat just right in the crease where her butt and thighs met, paired with the long cutout from the sternum down to the navel exposing the marshmallow softness of her belly, made her feel grown up and sexy, full of that Delphi girl energy that the island revered.
After a few minutes fumbling and a change of position she managed to get her stilettos off and hung them from her fingers in a bunch. She looked down for a second to brush off the front of her dress when her back was slammed into the wall and Shelly's hot breath was at her neck. Shelly hooked one arm up behind Amilia’s back and laced her fingers into the hair at the back of her head. Her other hand gripped Amilia's left breast and pushed hard into her ribs. She pulled Amilia's head back so she was looking straight up into Shelly's eyes. They were wide and intense, and the shimmer of her eyeshadow set off their deep green. Amilia counted the flecks of gold, took in every detail, every tiny striation of the iris, as Shelly's lips smashed against her own. Amilia felt like they were merging together, the rush of the alcohol in her body, the feel of Shelly's hot tongue in her mouth, the growing awareness that her panties were *fucking soaked, oh my god I need her so badly!*
Shelly must have been psychic. She took her hand from Amilia's breast and used it to force her legs apart. She pushed the hand into her panties and deeper, so her ring and middle fingers were either side of Amilia's clit. Wet noises filled the alley as her hand swung side to side in a wide arc. Electric shocks of pleasure shot through Amilia's pelvis, and she started to buck her hips against the rough fingering. Shelly didn't take her lips away for a second.
Amilia came then. She felt the rush of sweetness rolling through her lower body and her legs started to tremble. She was so weak and wobbly she felt herself starting to fall, but Shelly had other ideas. Pulling away from their kiss, and with two fingers still jammed in her sopping wet cunt, Shelly grabbed Amilia by the lower jaw and held her up. She forced her mouth open and spat straight into it.
“Who’s my little slut?”
“I am.” Said Amilia, her voice quiet and muffled by the fingers squeezing her face. The eye contact was intense, Amilia felt like Shelly could see into the deepest, most perverted parts of her soul.
*God, I love this woman so much. I would do literally anything she wanted me to right now.*
“That’s right. You’re my slutty little princess. Do you wanna make me feel good too, princess?”
"Hey girls! Can I join?"
They both looked round to the entrance of the alley. A group of young men were standing there and one of them was stepping into the alley, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling out a very unimpressive and soft cock.
Amilia and Shelly looked at each other for a second and then collapsed into hysterical, drunken laughter. Amilia slid down the wall until her butt hit the floor. She rested her palms on her knees and let the giggles roll through her. Shelly sat next to her and rested her head on Amilia's shoulder as the laughter subsided. By the time they were both calm, they were alone in the alley.
"So. Back to mine?" Said Shelly.
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
"Not guilty, obviously!"
Amilia tapped the screen where it said 'Not Guilty' leaving behind a tiny, oily smudge on the screen.
The display on the tablet went black. After about two seconds a new block of text flashed onto the screen. Amilia felt her knees buckle beneath her as she collapsed to the floor.
'Verdict: Guilty.
Sentence: Death by Guillotine'
I have the first three chapters ready to post so will drop them in now, with CH4 coming very soon. Then I have a lot more writing still to do, but I'll keep posting stuff as it's ready. Hope you enjoy it! Also, if you notice any glaring errors let me know so I can fix them lol.
Chapter One – The Smallest Mistake
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
"Three days!"
Amilia paced up and down the cold cell, the kitten heels of her shoes dragging on the bare stone floor. The bed next to her, if you could call it that, was little more than a thin mattress with a filthy blanket scrunched in one corner. The only other things in the cell were a stainless-steel toilet and sink. Apart from than that it was just bare brick with a heavy metal door. The walls were water damaged and in parts the faces of the bricks were peeling away in jagged, palm sized flakes. Amilia had made the short trip back and forth from the bed to the sink hundreds of times now. Four paces there, four paces back. A polished streak along the flagstones showed she was far from the first woman to walk that tight circuit.
"Three fucking days!"
*This is no way to treat a royal Princess*, she thought, fuming silently. *The king's eldest daughter treated like a common criminal! Locked up, fed on water and scraps, and for what?*
She had no idea. They had come for her one evening, barging into her bed chamber just as she was preparing to disrobe, forcing her down the stairs and into a waiting guard van, all without saying a single word. They had taken her phone, as well as the Cartier watch she had received two years ago on her 18th birthday, and left her in the disgusting cell with nothing but the clothes she was wearing.
Amilia walked to the cell door one more time and tried to peer through the small, filthy window. The thick glass was stained yellow with age and covered with scratches. It was impossible to make out any detail but she could see shapes moving - people perhaps? But the details were frustratingly elusive. And the cell was so quiet. The heavy steel door was thick enough to block out all but the loudest of sounds. In a place like this, that meant the only things Amilia heard were occasional shouts, muffled bangs, and distant shrieks of pain. It was not the refined and relaxing environment the young princess was used to.
"Fuuuuck!"
Amilia sat down on the mattress, the heavy skirts of her dress gathering up around her lower body as she folded her legs beside her. The sharp edge of one well-worn heel tip grazed her thick buttock and she could feel the sting of the scratch it had left on her pale skin. She didn't even bother to move her foot, made despondent by the strange mix of boredom and anxiety that filled her body with restless energy as much as it drained her of the motivation to expend it. There was nothing to do and nowhere to go. She would have to wait until her father sorted this mess out, freed her and then punished whoever was responsible for this outrage.
She guessed it was about 10pm but with no watch, and with no access to natural light to guide her, she had to guess based on when the last jug of water and plate of half-rotten fruit had been pushed through the hatch in the door. That had been several hours ago, but it could just as easily have been breakfast as dinner. Still, she had slept three times so she was counting it as three days.
She was considering lying down for another fitful, uncomfortable sleep when she heard a loud scratching noise coming from the door. Her head jerked round in surprise, causing her long, black hair to whip across her face, stinging gently where the tips of her oiled locks struck the soft skin of her cheeks. It was the loudest sound she had heard in... well, three days. Probably.
There was a loud mechanical whirring sound as the door moved back, forming an oblong halo of light as it shrank away in the door frame. There was a click, and the door slid off to one side, revealing an imposing silhouette against the bright light from the hallway. It was Amilia's mother.
Queen Soraya stepped through the painted metal door frame and into the cell. Amilia's heart fluttered in her chest when she saw what Soraya was wearing: beneath the long black velvet and fur cloak that hung from her shoulders she was encased in a harness of black patent leather straps that looped around her chest and under her bust, and down around her thick brown thighs. An ocean of honey coloured skin, painted bright with colourful tattoos, was visible between each of the straps. Soraya was a tall woman and towered above Amilia at the best of times, but today she was wearing shiny black platform boots that added a full eight inches to her height. Amilia knew what this was. It was Soraya's work clothes. The executioner's clothes.
*No. No. Surely she's just here to get me out. She's dressed for work because it's a workday. That must be it!*
Amilia tried to calm the churning in her stomach and slow her breathing.
"Maman, what's going on? Are you here to help me?" She asked, trying to keep her voice calm
The Queen just stared at her. Soraya's face was a lead mask, betraying absolutely no emotion. Amilia could feel a burning in her stomach, like a smouldering coal in a fire pit.
"The prisoner will stand." Soraya's voice was flat and emotionless. She looked away from Amilia, who was slowly extracting herself from the tangle of skirts, and focused her gaze on the tablet in her left hand. As Amilia attempted to rise to her feet with a modicum of grace, she craned her neck to try and catch a glimpse of the screen, but the glare was too strong. Soraya noticed and tilted the screen further towards herself to hide the contents.
"Maman, please! Why am I here? What the hell is going on?" Amilia was becoming desperate now. She took a faltering step towards her mother. Soraya didn't even look at her, just held up her hand palm out and pushed away. A gesture Amilia had often seen from her mother growing up. 'Stay away from me'. Beneath all that cold impassivity Soraya was absolutely fuming.
"The prisoner will be silent." Amilia could feel the hard edge in Soraya's voice, like a knife or... No, she couldn't let her mind go there. She had to stay calm. She let her arms hang loose at her side and looked down at the floor where the filthy lace hem of her dress swayed gently around her feet. It was the exact pose she had adopted in her childhood when her mother was angry with her. She had always wished she could be more like her sister Ellie, who would stand defiant and stare the Queen straight in the eye however angry she was, but Amilia was not wired that way. She was naturally inclined towards obedience, never being sure enough of what she really wanted to have a compelling reason to do anything other than what she was told.
*Well, that's how I used to be, until...*
"Amilia..."
She looked up with a start. Her mother had been talking, but she was so deep in her thoughts she hadn't noticed.
"You... The prisoner will read the charges and enter a plea." Soraya handed her the tablet. There was a large picture of Amilia filling up half the screen. In the picture she was dressed exactly as she was now - they had taken it on the day she arrived at the prison, although she only vaguely remembered it in the haze and confusion. Next to the picture was a long string of numbers and letters - a prison ID? And then a single line of text that read 'Charges: Refusal (Aggravated)'
*Refusal? That can't be right? I've never refused a man!*
Amilia was a princess, trained from birth to be an exemplar to the women of her kingdom. Moreover, she was a proud Delphi Island woman, she loved her nation and its culture in her very bones regardless of what the outside world thought of them. The kingdom’s ways may have made Delphi an international pariah and an embarrassment to their neighbours, but they were her kingdom and her ways.
*Yes, it's annoying the way they bug you sometimes, when you're busy, but most of the time they just want you to stick your ass in the air for 2 minutes while they pump away and then they walk away happy. Men are so silly!*
Amilia knew that some women had a problem with it, that the generous stipends and incredible freedom given to women were not enough for them and they needed the severe penalties of Delphic justice to keep them in line, but she had always believed in the system and since turning 18 had held up her end of the bargain with an almost religious devotion. Panic was starting to set in now, and Amilia began to plead:
"Maman, this has to be a mistake! You know me! You know I always do as I'm supposed to! You know I'm a good girl! You know..."
"I know about Shelly."
Amilia's stomach dropped so far and fast, she was certain the ground had cracked wide open and sucked her down to hell.
|Amilia - 12 March 2022 – Saturday Evening|
It was a warm March night in Delphi town. The dry season would be over in a few more weeks, and the north-easterly squalls whipped streaks of cool air into the humidity. The garden at the Ladies' Café was full and noisy with the sounds of women enjoying each other's company and a little time away from the attentions of Delphi's men.
Amilia was sitting by herself at a table next to one of the side walls. The other patrons were used to seeing the princess there, her position allowed her unlimited entry and she had started going regularly not long after she turned 16. Although the other women were restricted to six visits per month, if any of them were jealous of her privilege they didn't show it and mostly left her to her own devices. She sipped her margherita and leant back, resting her head against the trellis of European ivy that grew along the sandstone wall. Her hair, delicately scented with bergamot and neroli oils, slid off her shoulders and hung down behind her, tangling with the green stems and variegated leaves. She looked up at the few stars that were visible through the light pollution of the city and imagined the tropical winds carrying the smells of Louisiana and Alabama across the water. Distant places she only vaguely understood from half remembered snippets of imported TV shows. Nightmarish places, where women and men alike toiled for money, and no-one was freer than their salary would allow.
A throaty laugh rang out across the garden and Amilia's head flopped forward with a lazy bounce to bring her eyes back onto the entryway.
*She's here!*
Shelly scanned her card on the gate, exchanging one of her small balance of tokens for entry to the Ladies' Café, and started walking across the courtyard towards Amilia. She looked relaxed and full of energy as she passed through the crowded rows of cast iron tables, each one painted white and displaying a patina of dark chips and yellow cigarette marks. Other women looked up at her as she passed. Although she was nearly 40, the softness in her face and the slight turn-up in her nose made her look much younger. Below her high ponytail her makeup was immaculately done, with stunning bronze eyeshadow and dark caramel lipstick. She was tall, about 5'9", and her zaftig body was draped elegantly with a white crotched poncho over a short, tan dress. Her outfit was completed at either end by a pair each of wedge heels and electrum hoop earrings. Amilia drank her in as she approached, feeling a kick low down in her abdomen and a rush of blood to her face. Amilia really, really liked Shelly.
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
*How the fuck does she know about Shelly?*
A stupid question. The Queen's spies were everywhere.
*But even if she does, that's not enough to put me in a jail cell? Lesbianism hasn't been a crime in a century!*
"Maman, me and Shelly didn't do anything wrong! I know she's older but I'm an adult too, and... and we're in love!" Amilia was pleading now, her hands gripping tight to the table in front of her, fingers squeezed so hard they turned white.
"Irrelevant!" Soraya's voice was a hard bark, full of barely suppressed rage. Amilia had been on the wrong end of many of the Queen's tongue lashings, but this was something different. "You and that... that treacherous slut have broken our most sacred rule. You refused a man, and worse you humiliated him in front of other men. Now enter your plea and we can get this over with."
|Amilia - 12 March 2022 – Saturday Night|
The cicadas roared out into the night air. A threnody in lament of the ended day. Amilia and Shelly stumbled out of the Ladies' Café a little wobbly on their feet. Shelly reached out for Amilia's hand and dragged her along for about a hundred giggly metres until Amilia signalled that she needed to stop.
"Shelly, wait, wait!" Amilia said, panting gently between little paroxysms of laughter. "Let me take my shoes off!"
She stepped inside a nearby passageway and half crouched, resting her plump buttocks against the sandstone wall. She lifted one leg, rested her ankle on her other knee, and started fumbling with the tiny buckle on her heel. Shelly stood watching her, and Amilia couldn't help but feel vulnerable. She was acutely aware how easily she could topple over in this position. The last thing she wanted was to ruin the expensive bodycon she was wearing. It had been made especially for her by a tailor in one of the western villages using imported fabrics from Mexico. The tailor had been a little vague about how exactly he had sourced the colourful, stretchy material, and Amilia suspected it was not entirely legitimate. That only made her love the dress more, and the way the tight hem sat just right in the crease where her butt and thighs met, paired with the long cutout from the sternum down to the navel exposing the marshmallow softness of her belly, made her feel grown up and sexy, full of that Delphi girl energy that the island revered.
After a few minutes fumbling and a change of position she managed to get her stilettos off and hung them from her fingers in a bunch. She looked down for a second to brush off the front of her dress when her back was slammed into the wall and Shelly's hot breath was at her neck. Shelly hooked one arm up behind Amilia’s back and laced her fingers into the hair at the back of her head. Her other hand gripped Amilia's left breast and pushed hard into her ribs. She pulled Amilia's head back so she was looking straight up into Shelly's eyes. They were wide and intense, and the shimmer of her eyeshadow set off their deep green. Amilia counted the flecks of gold, took in every detail, every tiny striation of the iris, as Shelly's lips smashed against her own. Amilia felt like they were merging together, the rush of the alcohol in her body, the feel of Shelly's hot tongue in her mouth, the growing awareness that her panties were *fucking soaked, oh my god I need her so badly!*
Shelly must have been psychic. She took her hand from Amilia's breast and used it to force her legs apart. She pushed the hand into her panties and deeper, so her ring and middle fingers were either side of Amilia's clit. Wet noises filled the alley as her hand swung side to side in a wide arc. Electric shocks of pleasure shot through Amilia's pelvis, and she started to buck her hips against the rough fingering. Shelly didn't take her lips away for a second.
Amilia came then. She felt the rush of sweetness rolling through her lower body and her legs started to tremble. She was so weak and wobbly she felt herself starting to fall, but Shelly had other ideas. Pulling away from their kiss, and with two fingers still jammed in her sopping wet cunt, Shelly grabbed Amilia by the lower jaw and held her up. She forced her mouth open and spat straight into it.
“Who’s my little slut?”
“I am.” Said Amilia, her voice quiet and muffled by the fingers squeezing her face. The eye contact was intense, Amilia felt like Shelly could see into the deepest, most perverted parts of her soul.
*God, I love this woman so much. I would do literally anything she wanted me to right now.*
“That’s right. You’re my slutty little princess. Do you wanna make me feel good too, princess?”
"Hey girls! Can I join?"
They both looked round to the entrance of the alley. A group of young men were standing there and one of them was stepping into the alley, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling out a very unimpressive and soft cock.
Amilia and Shelly looked at each other for a second and then collapsed into hysterical, drunken laughter. Amilia slid down the wall until her butt hit the floor. She rested her palms on her knees and let the giggles roll through her. Shelly sat next to her and rested her head on Amilia's shoulder as the laughter subsided. By the time they were both calm, they were alone in the alley.
"So. Back to mine?" Said Shelly.
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
"Not guilty, obviously!"
Amilia tapped the screen where it said 'Not Guilty' leaving behind a tiny, oily smudge on the screen.
The display on the tablet went black. After about two seconds a new block of text flashed onto the screen. Amilia felt her knees buckle beneath her as she collapsed to the floor.
'Verdict: Guilty.
Sentence: Death by Guillotine'
Chapter 2 – The Death of Hope
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
"Stand up."
Amila was still on the floor, collapsed in a heap. She was aware that she had been staring at the wall but had no idea how long it had been. No more than a couple of minutes, most likely, but it felt like aeons.
"No Maman, nooooo. Please, this can't be happening! Please, I don't want to die! I didn't mean to, I swear!"
Amilia crawled over to her mother and prostrated herself in front of her, grabbing one of her shoes in her hands.
"Papa will help me! Please Maman, speak to Papa, he will make them change it, make them let me go!"
The desperation in her voice was that of a cornered and frightened animal. The words came fast and slurred, running together into an incoherent mess. The Queen sneered as she looked down at her daughter.
"Who do you think put you here, you stupid girl? You are a princess; Delphi expects you to set an example! How could he show leniency with the political mood as it is? These are dangerous times and his very legitimacy is at stake."
"Mercy... please, Maman, don't kill me." Amilia's voice was quiet now, small and defeated, despite the loudness of her sobbing and the violence of her shaking.
"Don't you think I tried? All I could do was convince your father to spare you the indignity of the Arcade. Your sentence will be carried out and nothing can change that now so: stand up, act like a princess, and let me do my duty."
Amilia felt sick at the mention of the Arcade. She had seen it for herself a few times, when visiting her mother at work. Just the thought of having to endure that snapped her out of the messy panic attack. She sat back on her heels and looked down at her nested palms as they rested in her lap. The sobs subsided, although she could still feel the throb of blood in her ears.
*There's no way out, is there? I suppose I always knew this was where this was going. There's only one person with the power to put me here, and it's my father. I've been trying so hard not to think about it since I got here that I'd almost forgotten it. Oh fuck, I can't do this! How am I supposed to just give up and let them kill me? I have to fight... somehow I have to escape!*
"How... how long do I have?"
Queen Soraya made a show of checking her wrist, although she wasn't wearing a watch.
"About ten minutes, so we need to get a move on if we are going to make you presentable."
Like a cornered animal Amilia scanned the room frantically for some way to escape. She felt her gorge rising. She tried to fight it back, but nothing could stop the stream of watery, acid vomit from pouring out of her.
|Amilia - 15 May 2020 – Friday Night|
"Ugh, it's so gross in here. It smells like a dirty butcher's shop!" Said Ellie, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
"I know, but Papa really wants us to be here so let's just get through it. I think those are our seats, right?"
Amilia took Ellie's hand and they walked over to two seats in the front row of the viewing area. Ellie had beautiful, slender arms that contrasted with Amilia's softer, voluptuous physique. On her wrist she still wore the copper band that signalled her underage status and ensured that no men would proposition her for sex. Amilia's band had come off a couple of months back, when she turned 18, and she missed the freedom it had offered her. Trips into town were less practical now there was every likelihood she would end up having to spread her legs for at least a couple of guys. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy it, some of the men were really quite talented, but it did have a tendency to eat up her free time.
There were a few other people filtering into the room behind the princesses. Mostly young couples, men dressed smartly in traditional striped pantaloons and billowy shirts in the style of the early French settlers and women in more contemporary outfits based on popular American and European styles - short skirts or tight dresses. In a few moments all the seats were filled and Amilia and Ellie were surrounded by the relaxed chatter of the crowd. Bottles of wine were passed along the rows and Amilia took a healthy swig of the light, fruity red when it came to her. Ellie looked at her with a cheeky smile as she passed her the bottle with and watched with a grin as she took a big glug. The wine sat warm and heavy in her stomach. The taste of it lingered in her mouth, sour and sweet notes with a gentle tannic dryness.
Amilia slouched down in her chair and wiggled her plump behind into a more comfortable position. The lights in the viewing area were bright and she couldn't see out into the main chamber very well. She knew that it was smaller than it appeared on television, because the cameras mounted around the walls used wide angle lenses. She had been briefly interested in TV production, and her father had arranged for several lessons from technical staff at Delphi's state TV station. They had explained how most of their equipment was analogue and fairly antiquated by global standards, due to the embargo, but that they had developed many unique techniques for getting the best out of the old gear.
"What did this one do, anyway?" Asked Ellie, who had passed the wine and was also trying to get comfortable on the hard oak chair.
"It said in the paper that she was a Consentiste, and that she put up posters trying to organise a mass refusal. Apparently, she was arrested on a market day, caught with the posters and a bucket of paste."
"Huh. Putting up posters in the daytime seems pretty dumb. I would have waited until night." Ellie rolled her eyes.
"I would hope that you wouldn't get involved with Consentistes at all..."
"Obviously! But I don't think Papa is really doing himself any favours here. She'll just be a martyr for their cause after this. More women will hear about what she did and decide that they don't want to let every disgusting Peter, Paul or Jack to have their way with them."
"You shouldn't talk like that here. People are listening, Ellie."
Amilia had long been worried about Ellie. She had never hidden her disdain for Delphi's peculiar traditions and now she was only a few months away from her birthday she had really started making noises about how unhappy she was. As a princess she would mostly be able to avoid men by staying in the castle or one of the designated ladies-only places, but it would be a huge loss of liberty. Ellie was a free spirit; she had spent much of her childhood skipping classes and running around town with common kids. Amilia remembered one occasion where she had come back from the wharf carrying several rotting fish, tied by the tails to an old length of fishing twine, and insisted that the chef cook them for her and her friends. Chef had taken one look, turned his nose up and refused to work for the rest of the day.
Ellie stuck her tongue out at Amilia and made a stupid noise. Amilia couldn't help but laugh, in spite of her worried thoughts. She fiddled at her wrist, where the 1917 Cartier Tonneau her father had given her for her birthday was fastened. The calf's leather band wrapped tightly around her wrist, covering up the fading stain where the copper band used to sit. It was considered rather gauche for a young woman to reveal such a visible sign of her inexperience in the months after her disbanding and watches were a very common gift for the occasion. Just touching the watch reminded Amilia of her own disbanding. She had requested her maidenhead be taken by a local baker's boy over whom she had been mooning for weeks. She was transported in her mind to the moment he bent her over the dinner table and took her roughly from behind, laying three sharp smacks on the soft flesh of her buttocks as his balls swung against her pelvis, sending shockwaves through the pale skin that rumbled into her clitoris. She could feel the heat of the memory rising through her, prickling at her neck and cheeks as they flushed with blood.
*Soon it will be Ellie's turn, and God knows how that will go. I hope she finds a boy she likes by then. Mother won't be kind if she has to choose for her.*
Another bottle of wine came down the row to Amila. There wasn't much left, so she upended the bottle and drained the contents. Ellie looked at her with mock horror and folded her arms in front.
"Oh my god, Millie, you're so meeeean!"
Ellie fluttered her long false eyelashes, which made the delicate wings of her eyeliner twitch around like a cricket in full song. She pouted and then broke into a wide grin.
The lights in the viewing area began to dim, synchronised with the fade-up of the stage lighting. The change in lighting revealed all that had previously been hidden. The bare sandstone walls of the chamber were smooth and seamless, broken only by the presence of four large camera lenses embedded within and a pair of heavy wooden doors at either end. The floor was covered in glossy burgundy tiles. In the centre, surrounded by a covered drainage channel, the tiles sloped upward into a raised platform. In the centre of this platform, ten feet tall and made of stainless steel, mahogany, and brass, stood the guillotine. The cameras were rolling.
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
"Get her up and get her out of that filthy dress."
The guards either side of Amilia complied without hesitation. They lifted her by the underarms, one in front and one behind, until her feet dangled just above the floor. Amilia was despondent. She didn't try to resist but did nothing to help them either. The guard in front, feeling her feet buckle as they lowered her, took one hand from under her arm and gripped her face by the jaw, forcing her to look into his eyes. They were glassy blue, absent any trace of sympathy or humanity. She could feel them boring through her, seeing into the depths of her heart. She was gripped by panic, her body stiffened as tension built in her muscles.
"Stand up, girl."
His voice was calm, almost weary. She could see she was little more than a problem to be solved for this man and he would have no hesitation using violence if he needed to. Amilia did as she was told, in spite of the shakiness of her legs. As soon as her feet were planted on the ground the guard behind her tore the back of her dress open with one hard tug. The fabric split all down the bodice and into the skirt with a loud rip. Her top half was exposed now, just a bra covering her nakedness. The guards pulled the skirt down around her ankles, taking the sweat stained white petticoat with it. The guard with the terrible eyes guided her to step out of the pile of clothes with a hand in the small of her back. Amilia stood before her mother in nothing but her 3-day old underwear, and a pair of ruined kitten heels.
"The condemned will remove all of her clothes."
Soraya was trying to keep this professional, Amilia understood. What she couldn't understand was that she actually seemed to be managing it.
*Is my mother truly this cold? She can treat killing her oldest daughter as just another day at work? I always knew she was fierce but how can she be this calm?*
Amilia could see the two guards were about to take control again. The thought of their rough hands touching her made her want to throw up again, so she reached behind her back and started fumbling with her bra catch. Before she could get the hooks free, the guard who tore her dress had pulled out a nasty little knife with a dented blade. He quickly cut the back strap of her bra, and then reached down and cut her panties at the hip on each side. She slid her arms out of the bra and allowed the panties to drop between her legs. Cradling her large breasts in one arm she stepped out of her shoes and onto the cold floor. She was acutely aware that everyone else in the room was much taller than her. The guards were both tall men and her mother was even taller than they were in her boots. Naked, and surrounded by towering people flaunting their authority over her, she felt like a humiliated child called before her tutor to receive a thrashing. That had happened to her several times when she was young and her strategy for dealing with it had always been to meekly accept the punishment, to submit totally in the hope that it would be over quicker or at least without making it worse. From that thought she managed to find some strength.
*I can do that. I think. If I allow this to happen, if I play the part of the dignified and obedient princess one last time, I can at least hold on to my pride. She can't take that from me. And maybe, if I'm incredibly lucky, I'll find a way to get out of this.*
|Amilia - 15 May 2020 – Friday Night|
The ornate doors to the left of the chamber opened silently, propelled by two guards who took up station and held each door open. Queen Soraya walked through between them. Behind her another pair of guards led a tall blonde woman. She looked to be in her late twenties, with a willowy figure. She was wearing very few clothes, just a black fishnet bodystocking with a pair of denim cutoffs and white trainers. Her small breasts were clearly visible through the large black diamonds. Even at some distance Amilia could see the bruises on her flank and ribs, great patches of black and yellow so vivid they could have been mistaken for tattoos. The guards brought the woman to the foot of the raised platform where the queen already stood.
Queen Soraya shrugged off her long fur cloak and tossed it to the back of the chamber. The black leather straps that wrapped around her body were so shiny that the reflection of the stage lighting made them appear gold and silver, like precious manacles squeezing tight on bulging flesh. The queen was covered from her neck to the tops of her feet in her own motley of tattoos. Instead of the sickly colours of beaten flesh, Soraya's tattoos were vivid red flowers and forest green vines that encircled her body over and over again.
Soraya turned to the gawping crowd, addressing them, as well as the many who would be watching at home on TV.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! I have been honoured to serve as your royal executioner for twenty-five years. In all of that time, I can think of very few criminals as wicked and dangerous as the woman who stands before us today."
"She always says that." Whispered Ellie
"She always says it when it's someone Papa has been ranting about." Amilia corrected, before shushing Ellie.
The condemned woman didn't look particularly dangerous to Amilia. She had a sort of lanky, awkward appearance that she associated with the middle-aged women in her book group, all of whom were good conservative Delphi women more inclined to complain about too few men propositioning them than too many.
*Still, I suppose any woman can fall victim to the vice of frigidity if she spends time in the wrong company. That's what all the old books say.*
Out in the main chamber Queen Soraya was strutting about in front of the guillotine, ranting about the "Scourge of Consentistes leading young women astray." It was well worn material that both princesses had heard rehearsed many times at home. Amilia could see that Ellie was close to losing it and breaking out into giggles. She poked her hard in the ribs and glared. Ellie looked sheepish and did her best to stifle her mirth.
"And that's why I am so proud to do my duty to our beautiful island, and it's beautiful people, by executing the sentence placed on this pathetic reprobate and all of her kind!"
Soraya finished her monologue to a brief smatter of dutiful applause from the audience. Amilia knew that this would be "juiced up" for the TV audience to make it seem like the crowd was larger and full of committed nationalist. In reality, most of them were young couples or groups of friends looking for a little sadistic thrill on a Saturday night. They would sit through the talk about justice and duty and clap and cheer in the right places, but they were here for the gory main event.
The condemned woman started to struggle with the guards as the queen approached. She was no match for the two burly men, though, and even less so with her hands tied behind her. Unable to break free she began to shout wildly, ranting at the queen who was stepping down from the central platform.
"Fuck you, bitch! You can't kill me for this! The Universal Declaration of Human..."
Queen Soraya hit her in the face. Not a queenly slap, a genuine closed fist haymaker to her left eye. The woman's head snapped backward, and she moaned as fresh red blood welled up from a split in the skin over her cheekbone. Before she had time to recover Soraya was behind her, pushing her up the steps to the platform and then two steps forward until her chest was pressed up against the dark wood of the bascule. This was a large wooden board, about four feet long and about 18" wide, made from a single huge plank of mahogany. Soraya reached down and picked up the woman's left and right foot in turn and placed each one onto the small platform right at the bottom of the bascule. She quickly fastened a strip of webbing from the far side onto a button on the near using eyelets fitted into the strap. She did the same with a second strap across the back, just above the shoulders. The whole process took about 20 seconds, and the woman had only just started to come round from the shock of the punch by the time she was totally immobilized.
Amilia checked on Ellie to make sure she wasn't too freaked out, only to find that Ellie was staring over to Amilia's other side with a huge grin on her face. Amilia turned her head to see that the guy sat next to her had his cock out and his date for the evening, a pretty girl with mousy hair, was gently stroking it. His cock was long and skinny, and curved towards his belly like a banana. Amilia smiled, pleased to see her people enjoying themselves, and turned her attention back to the proceedings.
Soraya had finished checking the prisoner was secured. She stood slightly back and placed her outstretched palm on the back of the woman's head. She pushed hard and the bascule tilted quickly downward. The woman yelped in shock. Just before it slammed into a horizontal position a small damping mechanism kicked in, rapidly slowing the end of its arc. The bascule clicked as it connected with the runners. She slid the bascule forward. The movement was almost silent, only the light rattle of a few bearings could be heard as the woman's head passed over the bottom of the lunette. The queen was in full flow now, her movements were flashy and balletic. She grabbed one of the uprights and swung herself round so the top of the condemned woman's head was between her legs as she lowered the top half of the lunette. Amilia knew how much importance Soraya placed on creating a spectacular execution. Every facet of the process had been carefully chosen by her to provide maximum entertainment, to keep people's eyes on the show and hopefully drill into every woman's head exactly what would happen to them if they fell out of line. Even the guillotine itself was her own design. She loved to talk about how she had taken the best elements from the 1870 French model and the Bayern fallbeil, and incorporated modern technology such as replacing the mechanical declic with electromagnets to hold the blade assembly until release. It was a stark, cold machine, designed for ruthless efficiency and maximum dramatic impact.
Amilia looked over at the couple to her right. The man was watching the proceedings with a faraway stare, like someone staring at the clouds on a summer day. The woman was bent over and bobbing her mouth up and down on the head of his cock. Because of the rather extraordinary length she wasn't able to take him deep and most of the skinny shaft poking out of his pants was only getting the lightest stimulation from the spit dripping down it. The man groaned as Amilia reached out and stroked the tight circle of her thumb and forefinger up and down the base. Beneath the soft skin she could feel the bumpy texture of the hard tissue. Ellie was glaring at her, but she didn't care. It felt good to help the couple out.
*Service, duty, sensuality. Just like Maman drilled into my head all those years.*
Amilia turned her attention back to the execution. The woman was sobbing loudly. Her head was shaking gently from side to side and the tension in her body was obviously as her feet strained against the straps and her bound hands clenched and relaxed over and over.
Soraya began to read the death warrant. The moment was approaching and the atmosphere in the audience intensified as silence fell. The only sounds were the queen's booming voice and the gentle wet noises of people in the audience playing with themselves and each other.
"Sarah Antoine, you are guilty of sedition and frigidity. By the ancient laws of Delphi, you will atone for these crimes with your life. Do you have anything to say before your sentence is carried out?"
The woman struggled harder and started to babble frantically.
"Please, no! I didn't mean to. I promise, I'll be good, I'll be a good slut, please!"
Soraya knelt down and grabbed the woman's hair, pulling her head up and forcing her to make eye contact. Amilia could see her talking to the woman, quietly and privately, something shared between just them. The woman fell silent, and Soraya let her head flop back down. Amilia wondered what kind of words had such power. The flutter of excitement was building in her own body now. She would never admit it, but she found the whole spectacle just as erotic as many of her fellow audience members. She wrapped the rest of her fingers around the man's cock and made her strokes longer, so that her fist kissed his girlfriend's lips at the end of each caress. The man started to buck his hips.
Soraya moved to the side of the guillotine, where there was a small panel of buttons. She paused, looking straight down one of the cameras. With her right hand hovering above the panel, she reached down with her left and grabbed a handful of the woman's hair. A soon as she had it, she tapped a button on the panel.
There was a loud bang as the blade assembly crashed into the stops. The woman's head came away in Soraya's hand. Four more thuds, progressively quieter, as the blade bounced. The woman's body tensed and then relaxed. Blood poured onto the floor from her neck, pint after crimson pint.
Amilia felt a thick dribble of warm liquid pouring onto her fist as the man next to her filled his mousy girlfriend's mouth with his orgasm.
The queen held up the severed head. Blood ran in two fitful streams from each side of the neck. The woman's face was a mess of smeared makeup and spatters of fresh blood. Her eyes were half open, and her jaw hung slack.
"Delphi has seen justice today. Go forth and tell everyone what happens to women who cannot accept the gift they have been given."
When Amilia got home she rushed to her bedroom, locked the door, and rubbed herself until her clit was sore and her sheets soaking wet.
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
They had left Amilia alone in the cell to get dressed, although she was certain they were just outside. She had sat on the mattress doing her best to apply the makeup they had given her using the tiny scratched compact mirror. She wasn't happy with the result although she had done a good job on her eyeliner, painting bold curved wings out to her cheekbones.
The clothes they had brought were in a tidy pile on the mattress next to her. The shoes were nothing special, just a pair of battered grey d’Orsay pumps she hardly ever wore. The dress... the dress was the one she had worn that night with Shelly, when they had fucked up. The night that had ended up in this mess. It was her favourite dress, but also the last thing she wanted to wear right now.
*Mother's idea of irony, I guess. She can be so cruel.*
She had entered a strange state of almost zen calmness while doing her face. Maybe it was denial, or maybe there really was some defiance in her, but she found herself focusing on what she needed to do task by task, completing one thing and moving on to the next without considering what came after.
She slipped the shoes on to her feet and grabbed the dress as she stood up. Rocking her weight from foot to foot she felt the tension in her calves and buttocks.
*So uncomfortable, I remember why I don't wear these now.*
She put an arm through the bottom of the dress, out the top and into the shoulder strap and pulled it over the other arm and then her head. Smoothing it down over her belly and adjusting the hem so it sat just at the top of her thighs.
*No bra. I hope I don't have to run.*
She wasn't happy with how her breasts looked without support. Although she was only 20, they were large and heavy with enough natural sag to them that they lay quite low on her body. She fiddled with the dress, trying to see if the stretchy fabric could offer a bit of lift but all she managed to do was expose her pussy.
*Three days of stubble. Not very princess like. Well. This is as good as I'm going to look, I think.*
She stood and stared into space. She knew she was supposed to knock on the door to let them know she was ready but couldn't bring herself to do it.
*Come on, just do it. Get it over with.*
Her body wasn't listening. She could feel the fear building up again. Her breathing was faster and that pounding pressure in her head was fading back into awareness.
The cell door whirred as it slid open once again.
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
"Stand up."
Amila was still on the floor, collapsed in a heap. She was aware that she had been staring at the wall but had no idea how long it had been. No more than a couple of minutes, most likely, but it felt like aeons.
"No Maman, nooooo. Please, this can't be happening! Please, I don't want to die! I didn't mean to, I swear!"
Amilia crawled over to her mother and prostrated herself in front of her, grabbing one of her shoes in her hands.
"Papa will help me! Please Maman, speak to Papa, he will make them change it, make them let me go!"
The desperation in her voice was that of a cornered and frightened animal. The words came fast and slurred, running together into an incoherent mess. The Queen sneered as she looked down at her daughter.
"Who do you think put you here, you stupid girl? You are a princess; Delphi expects you to set an example! How could he show leniency with the political mood as it is? These are dangerous times and his very legitimacy is at stake."
"Mercy... please, Maman, don't kill me." Amilia's voice was quiet now, small and defeated, despite the loudness of her sobbing and the violence of her shaking.
"Don't you think I tried? All I could do was convince your father to spare you the indignity of the Arcade. Your sentence will be carried out and nothing can change that now so: stand up, act like a princess, and let me do my duty."
Amilia felt sick at the mention of the Arcade. She had seen it for herself a few times, when visiting her mother at work. Just the thought of having to endure that snapped her out of the messy panic attack. She sat back on her heels and looked down at her nested palms as they rested in her lap. The sobs subsided, although she could still feel the throb of blood in her ears.
*There's no way out, is there? I suppose I always knew this was where this was going. There's only one person with the power to put me here, and it's my father. I've been trying so hard not to think about it since I got here that I'd almost forgotten it. Oh fuck, I can't do this! How am I supposed to just give up and let them kill me? I have to fight... somehow I have to escape!*
"How... how long do I have?"
Queen Soraya made a show of checking her wrist, although she wasn't wearing a watch.
"About ten minutes, so we need to get a move on if we are going to make you presentable."
Like a cornered animal Amilia scanned the room frantically for some way to escape. She felt her gorge rising. She tried to fight it back, but nothing could stop the stream of watery, acid vomit from pouring out of her.
|Amilia - 15 May 2020 – Friday Night|
"Ugh, it's so gross in here. It smells like a dirty butcher's shop!" Said Ellie, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
"I know, but Papa really wants us to be here so let's just get through it. I think those are our seats, right?"
Amilia took Ellie's hand and they walked over to two seats in the front row of the viewing area. Ellie had beautiful, slender arms that contrasted with Amilia's softer, voluptuous physique. On her wrist she still wore the copper band that signalled her underage status and ensured that no men would proposition her for sex. Amilia's band had come off a couple of months back, when she turned 18, and she missed the freedom it had offered her. Trips into town were less practical now there was every likelihood she would end up having to spread her legs for at least a couple of guys. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy it, some of the men were really quite talented, but it did have a tendency to eat up her free time.
There were a few other people filtering into the room behind the princesses. Mostly young couples, men dressed smartly in traditional striped pantaloons and billowy shirts in the style of the early French settlers and women in more contemporary outfits based on popular American and European styles - short skirts or tight dresses. In a few moments all the seats were filled and Amilia and Ellie were surrounded by the relaxed chatter of the crowd. Bottles of wine were passed along the rows and Amilia took a healthy swig of the light, fruity red when it came to her. Ellie looked at her with a cheeky smile as she passed her the bottle with and watched with a grin as she took a big glug. The wine sat warm and heavy in her stomach. The taste of it lingered in her mouth, sour and sweet notes with a gentle tannic dryness.
Amilia slouched down in her chair and wiggled her plump behind into a more comfortable position. The lights in the viewing area were bright and she couldn't see out into the main chamber very well. She knew that it was smaller than it appeared on television, because the cameras mounted around the walls used wide angle lenses. She had been briefly interested in TV production, and her father had arranged for several lessons from technical staff at Delphi's state TV station. They had explained how most of their equipment was analogue and fairly antiquated by global standards, due to the embargo, but that they had developed many unique techniques for getting the best out of the old gear.
"What did this one do, anyway?" Asked Ellie, who had passed the wine and was also trying to get comfortable on the hard oak chair.
"It said in the paper that she was a Consentiste, and that she put up posters trying to organise a mass refusal. Apparently, she was arrested on a market day, caught with the posters and a bucket of paste."
"Huh. Putting up posters in the daytime seems pretty dumb. I would have waited until night." Ellie rolled her eyes.
"I would hope that you wouldn't get involved with Consentistes at all..."
"Obviously! But I don't think Papa is really doing himself any favours here. She'll just be a martyr for their cause after this. More women will hear about what she did and decide that they don't want to let every disgusting Peter, Paul or Jack to have their way with them."
"You shouldn't talk like that here. People are listening, Ellie."
Amilia had long been worried about Ellie. She had never hidden her disdain for Delphi's peculiar traditions and now she was only a few months away from her birthday she had really started making noises about how unhappy she was. As a princess she would mostly be able to avoid men by staying in the castle or one of the designated ladies-only places, but it would be a huge loss of liberty. Ellie was a free spirit; she had spent much of her childhood skipping classes and running around town with common kids. Amilia remembered one occasion where she had come back from the wharf carrying several rotting fish, tied by the tails to an old length of fishing twine, and insisted that the chef cook them for her and her friends. Chef had taken one look, turned his nose up and refused to work for the rest of the day.
Ellie stuck her tongue out at Amilia and made a stupid noise. Amilia couldn't help but laugh, in spite of her worried thoughts. She fiddled at her wrist, where the 1917 Cartier Tonneau her father had given her for her birthday was fastened. The calf's leather band wrapped tightly around her wrist, covering up the fading stain where the copper band used to sit. It was considered rather gauche for a young woman to reveal such a visible sign of her inexperience in the months after her disbanding and watches were a very common gift for the occasion. Just touching the watch reminded Amilia of her own disbanding. She had requested her maidenhead be taken by a local baker's boy over whom she had been mooning for weeks. She was transported in her mind to the moment he bent her over the dinner table and took her roughly from behind, laying three sharp smacks on the soft flesh of her buttocks as his balls swung against her pelvis, sending shockwaves through the pale skin that rumbled into her clitoris. She could feel the heat of the memory rising through her, prickling at her neck and cheeks as they flushed with blood.
*Soon it will be Ellie's turn, and God knows how that will go. I hope she finds a boy she likes by then. Mother won't be kind if she has to choose for her.*
Another bottle of wine came down the row to Amila. There wasn't much left, so she upended the bottle and drained the contents. Ellie looked at her with mock horror and folded her arms in front.
"Oh my god, Millie, you're so meeeean!"
Ellie fluttered her long false eyelashes, which made the delicate wings of her eyeliner twitch around like a cricket in full song. She pouted and then broke into a wide grin.
The lights in the viewing area began to dim, synchronised with the fade-up of the stage lighting. The change in lighting revealed all that had previously been hidden. The bare sandstone walls of the chamber were smooth and seamless, broken only by the presence of four large camera lenses embedded within and a pair of heavy wooden doors at either end. The floor was covered in glossy burgundy tiles. In the centre, surrounded by a covered drainage channel, the tiles sloped upward into a raised platform. In the centre of this platform, ten feet tall and made of stainless steel, mahogany, and brass, stood the guillotine. The cameras were rolling.
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
"Get her up and get her out of that filthy dress."
The guards either side of Amilia complied without hesitation. They lifted her by the underarms, one in front and one behind, until her feet dangled just above the floor. Amilia was despondent. She didn't try to resist but did nothing to help them either. The guard in front, feeling her feet buckle as they lowered her, took one hand from under her arm and gripped her face by the jaw, forcing her to look into his eyes. They were glassy blue, absent any trace of sympathy or humanity. She could feel them boring through her, seeing into the depths of her heart. She was gripped by panic, her body stiffened as tension built in her muscles.
"Stand up, girl."
His voice was calm, almost weary. She could see she was little more than a problem to be solved for this man and he would have no hesitation using violence if he needed to. Amilia did as she was told, in spite of the shakiness of her legs. As soon as her feet were planted on the ground the guard behind her tore the back of her dress open with one hard tug. The fabric split all down the bodice and into the skirt with a loud rip. Her top half was exposed now, just a bra covering her nakedness. The guards pulled the skirt down around her ankles, taking the sweat stained white petticoat with it. The guard with the terrible eyes guided her to step out of the pile of clothes with a hand in the small of her back. Amilia stood before her mother in nothing but her 3-day old underwear, and a pair of ruined kitten heels.
"The condemned will remove all of her clothes."
Soraya was trying to keep this professional, Amilia understood. What she couldn't understand was that she actually seemed to be managing it.
*Is my mother truly this cold? She can treat killing her oldest daughter as just another day at work? I always knew she was fierce but how can she be this calm?*
Amilia could see the two guards were about to take control again. The thought of their rough hands touching her made her want to throw up again, so she reached behind her back and started fumbling with her bra catch. Before she could get the hooks free, the guard who tore her dress had pulled out a nasty little knife with a dented blade. He quickly cut the back strap of her bra, and then reached down and cut her panties at the hip on each side. She slid her arms out of the bra and allowed the panties to drop between her legs. Cradling her large breasts in one arm she stepped out of her shoes and onto the cold floor. She was acutely aware that everyone else in the room was much taller than her. The guards were both tall men and her mother was even taller than they were in her boots. Naked, and surrounded by towering people flaunting their authority over her, she felt like a humiliated child called before her tutor to receive a thrashing. That had happened to her several times when she was young and her strategy for dealing with it had always been to meekly accept the punishment, to submit totally in the hope that it would be over quicker or at least without making it worse. From that thought she managed to find some strength.
*I can do that. I think. If I allow this to happen, if I play the part of the dignified and obedient princess one last time, I can at least hold on to my pride. She can't take that from me. And maybe, if I'm incredibly lucky, I'll find a way to get out of this.*
|Amilia - 15 May 2020 – Friday Night|
The ornate doors to the left of the chamber opened silently, propelled by two guards who took up station and held each door open. Queen Soraya walked through between them. Behind her another pair of guards led a tall blonde woman. She looked to be in her late twenties, with a willowy figure. She was wearing very few clothes, just a black fishnet bodystocking with a pair of denim cutoffs and white trainers. Her small breasts were clearly visible through the large black diamonds. Even at some distance Amilia could see the bruises on her flank and ribs, great patches of black and yellow so vivid they could have been mistaken for tattoos. The guards brought the woman to the foot of the raised platform where the queen already stood.
Queen Soraya shrugged off her long fur cloak and tossed it to the back of the chamber. The black leather straps that wrapped around her body were so shiny that the reflection of the stage lighting made them appear gold and silver, like precious manacles squeezing tight on bulging flesh. The queen was covered from her neck to the tops of her feet in her own motley of tattoos. Instead of the sickly colours of beaten flesh, Soraya's tattoos were vivid red flowers and forest green vines that encircled her body over and over again.
Soraya turned to the gawping crowd, addressing them, as well as the many who would be watching at home on TV.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! I have been honoured to serve as your royal executioner for twenty-five years. In all of that time, I can think of very few criminals as wicked and dangerous as the woman who stands before us today."
"She always says that." Whispered Ellie
"She always says it when it's someone Papa has been ranting about." Amilia corrected, before shushing Ellie.
The condemned woman didn't look particularly dangerous to Amilia. She had a sort of lanky, awkward appearance that she associated with the middle-aged women in her book group, all of whom were good conservative Delphi women more inclined to complain about too few men propositioning them than too many.
*Still, I suppose any woman can fall victim to the vice of frigidity if she spends time in the wrong company. That's what all the old books say.*
Out in the main chamber Queen Soraya was strutting about in front of the guillotine, ranting about the "Scourge of Consentistes leading young women astray." It was well worn material that both princesses had heard rehearsed many times at home. Amilia could see that Ellie was close to losing it and breaking out into giggles. She poked her hard in the ribs and glared. Ellie looked sheepish and did her best to stifle her mirth.
"And that's why I am so proud to do my duty to our beautiful island, and it's beautiful people, by executing the sentence placed on this pathetic reprobate and all of her kind!"
Soraya finished her monologue to a brief smatter of dutiful applause from the audience. Amilia knew that this would be "juiced up" for the TV audience to make it seem like the crowd was larger and full of committed nationalist. In reality, most of them were young couples or groups of friends looking for a little sadistic thrill on a Saturday night. They would sit through the talk about justice and duty and clap and cheer in the right places, but they were here for the gory main event.
The condemned woman started to struggle with the guards as the queen approached. She was no match for the two burly men, though, and even less so with her hands tied behind her. Unable to break free she began to shout wildly, ranting at the queen who was stepping down from the central platform.
"Fuck you, bitch! You can't kill me for this! The Universal Declaration of Human..."
Queen Soraya hit her in the face. Not a queenly slap, a genuine closed fist haymaker to her left eye. The woman's head snapped backward, and she moaned as fresh red blood welled up from a split in the skin over her cheekbone. Before she had time to recover Soraya was behind her, pushing her up the steps to the platform and then two steps forward until her chest was pressed up against the dark wood of the bascule. This was a large wooden board, about four feet long and about 18" wide, made from a single huge plank of mahogany. Soraya reached down and picked up the woman's left and right foot in turn and placed each one onto the small platform right at the bottom of the bascule. She quickly fastened a strip of webbing from the far side onto a button on the near using eyelets fitted into the strap. She did the same with a second strap across the back, just above the shoulders. The whole process took about 20 seconds, and the woman had only just started to come round from the shock of the punch by the time she was totally immobilized.
Amilia checked on Ellie to make sure she wasn't too freaked out, only to find that Ellie was staring over to Amilia's other side with a huge grin on her face. Amilia turned her head to see that the guy sat next to her had his cock out and his date for the evening, a pretty girl with mousy hair, was gently stroking it. His cock was long and skinny, and curved towards his belly like a banana. Amilia smiled, pleased to see her people enjoying themselves, and turned her attention back to the proceedings.
Soraya had finished checking the prisoner was secured. She stood slightly back and placed her outstretched palm on the back of the woman's head. She pushed hard and the bascule tilted quickly downward. The woman yelped in shock. Just before it slammed into a horizontal position a small damping mechanism kicked in, rapidly slowing the end of its arc. The bascule clicked as it connected with the runners. She slid the bascule forward. The movement was almost silent, only the light rattle of a few bearings could be heard as the woman's head passed over the bottom of the lunette. The queen was in full flow now, her movements were flashy and balletic. She grabbed one of the uprights and swung herself round so the top of the condemned woman's head was between her legs as she lowered the top half of the lunette. Amilia knew how much importance Soraya placed on creating a spectacular execution. Every facet of the process had been carefully chosen by her to provide maximum entertainment, to keep people's eyes on the show and hopefully drill into every woman's head exactly what would happen to them if they fell out of line. Even the guillotine itself was her own design. She loved to talk about how she had taken the best elements from the 1870 French model and the Bayern fallbeil, and incorporated modern technology such as replacing the mechanical declic with electromagnets to hold the blade assembly until release. It was a stark, cold machine, designed for ruthless efficiency and maximum dramatic impact.
Amilia looked over at the couple to her right. The man was watching the proceedings with a faraway stare, like someone staring at the clouds on a summer day. The woman was bent over and bobbing her mouth up and down on the head of his cock. Because of the rather extraordinary length she wasn't able to take him deep and most of the skinny shaft poking out of his pants was only getting the lightest stimulation from the spit dripping down it. The man groaned as Amilia reached out and stroked the tight circle of her thumb and forefinger up and down the base. Beneath the soft skin she could feel the bumpy texture of the hard tissue. Ellie was glaring at her, but she didn't care. It felt good to help the couple out.
*Service, duty, sensuality. Just like Maman drilled into my head all those years.*
Amilia turned her attention back to the execution. The woman was sobbing loudly. Her head was shaking gently from side to side and the tension in her body was obviously as her feet strained against the straps and her bound hands clenched and relaxed over and over.
Soraya began to read the death warrant. The moment was approaching and the atmosphere in the audience intensified as silence fell. The only sounds were the queen's booming voice and the gentle wet noises of people in the audience playing with themselves and each other.
"Sarah Antoine, you are guilty of sedition and frigidity. By the ancient laws of Delphi, you will atone for these crimes with your life. Do you have anything to say before your sentence is carried out?"
The woman struggled harder and started to babble frantically.
"Please, no! I didn't mean to. I promise, I'll be good, I'll be a good slut, please!"
Soraya knelt down and grabbed the woman's hair, pulling her head up and forcing her to make eye contact. Amilia could see her talking to the woman, quietly and privately, something shared between just them. The woman fell silent, and Soraya let her head flop back down. Amilia wondered what kind of words had such power. The flutter of excitement was building in her own body now. She would never admit it, but she found the whole spectacle just as erotic as many of her fellow audience members. She wrapped the rest of her fingers around the man's cock and made her strokes longer, so that her fist kissed his girlfriend's lips at the end of each caress. The man started to buck his hips.
Soraya moved to the side of the guillotine, where there was a small panel of buttons. She paused, looking straight down one of the cameras. With her right hand hovering above the panel, she reached down with her left and grabbed a handful of the woman's hair. A soon as she had it, she tapped a button on the panel.
There was a loud bang as the blade assembly crashed into the stops. The woman's head came away in Soraya's hand. Four more thuds, progressively quieter, as the blade bounced. The woman's body tensed and then relaxed. Blood poured onto the floor from her neck, pint after crimson pint.
Amilia felt a thick dribble of warm liquid pouring onto her fist as the man next to her filled his mousy girlfriend's mouth with his orgasm.
The queen held up the severed head. Blood ran in two fitful streams from each side of the neck. The woman's face was a mess of smeared makeup and spatters of fresh blood. Her eyes were half open, and her jaw hung slack.
"Delphi has seen justice today. Go forth and tell everyone what happens to women who cannot accept the gift they have been given."
When Amilia got home she rushed to her bedroom, locked the door, and rubbed herself until her clit was sore and her sheets soaking wet.
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
They had left Amilia alone in the cell to get dressed, although she was certain they were just outside. She had sat on the mattress doing her best to apply the makeup they had given her using the tiny scratched compact mirror. She wasn't happy with the result although she had done a good job on her eyeliner, painting bold curved wings out to her cheekbones.
The clothes they had brought were in a tidy pile on the mattress next to her. The shoes were nothing special, just a pair of battered grey d’Orsay pumps she hardly ever wore. The dress... the dress was the one she had worn that night with Shelly, when they had fucked up. The night that had ended up in this mess. It was her favourite dress, but also the last thing she wanted to wear right now.
*Mother's idea of irony, I guess. She can be so cruel.*
She had entered a strange state of almost zen calmness while doing her face. Maybe it was denial, or maybe there really was some defiance in her, but she found herself focusing on what she needed to do task by task, completing one thing and moving on to the next without considering what came after.
She slipped the shoes on to her feet and grabbed the dress as she stood up. Rocking her weight from foot to foot she felt the tension in her calves and buttocks.
*So uncomfortable, I remember why I don't wear these now.*
She put an arm through the bottom of the dress, out the top and into the shoulder strap and pulled it over the other arm and then her head. Smoothing it down over her belly and adjusting the hem so it sat just at the top of her thighs.
*No bra. I hope I don't have to run.*
She wasn't happy with how her breasts looked without support. Although she was only 20, they were large and heavy with enough natural sag to them that they lay quite low on her body. She fiddled with the dress, trying to see if the stretchy fabric could offer a bit of lift but all she managed to do was expose her pussy.
*Three days of stubble. Not very princess like. Well. This is as good as I'm going to look, I think.*
She stood and stared into space. She knew she was supposed to knock on the door to let them know she was ready but couldn't bring herself to do it.
*Come on, just do it. Get it over with.*
Her body wasn't listening. She could feel the fear building up again. Her breathing was faster and that pounding pressure in her head was fading back into awareness.
The cell door whirred as it slid open once again.
Chapter Three – The Longest Walk
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
They had cut her hair. Amilia had cried more about that than anything else they had done to her. It was the finality of it that had broken her. She had been growing and tending to her mane of long, black tresses as long as she could remember but no amount of protesting helped in the face of the dead-eyed guard and his disgusting little knife. As soon as they had come back into the cell he had grabbed her hair in a tight bunch and sawn through it roughly. Her scalp screamed in agony as she tried to pull away from him. She could feel tiny shocks as some of the strands broke or popped out of the follicles.
When he finally let go, she staggered forward, and her mother grabbed her shoulder to stop her from falling.
"Can I... can I have the mirror, please?" She asked, through sniffles.
The queen picked up the compact and handed it to her. Amila opened it and manoeuvred the scratched and foggy glass around her face as she examined the mess.
her hair hung just above the neckline. The ends were a ragged mess, a shocking contrast to her done-up face and tight, fashionable dress. She burst into tears at the sight of it, great howls of anguish and choking sobs.
"Majesté..." said one of the guards, looking to Queen Soraya for guidance on how to proceed. Under normal circumstances they would have given the prisoner a beating until she shut up, but playing too rough with the queen's daughter had the potential to upset the queen and that wouldn't end well.
Soraya sighed, wound her arm back over and behind her head, and then swung it back around in a hard slap against Amilia's cheek.
"Princess Amilia Fleuriau, compose yourself! You are the dauphine of our kingdom. Your sacred duty, as I have taught you all your life, is to set an example to the women of Delphi. To be the paragon of sexual availability, of duty, and of justice."
Soraya's voice went from stern to soothing in an instant as she pulled Amila into an embrace and stroked her hair.
"Now you must serve as an example once again, my darling. My beautiful girl. Together we must show to the women of our kingdom the inevitable consequence of breaking the social contact laid down by our great ancestors when they settled this land a quarter of a millennium ago."
"Maman, I'm scared."
|Amilia – 18 August 2021 – Wednesday Afternoon|
*I'm sure it would be the same for any reasonably good looking nineteen-year-old...*
That's what Amilia told herself when she finally got back to the little lounge she shared with her sister, Ellie. She dropped her hard-won shopping down on the polished walnut of the antique sideboard. Hearing the clatter of the bags Ellie stuck her head out from her bedroom.
"Where have you been? You've been gone all morning!" She asked. Her eyes widened when she saw the state her sister was in. Amilia was wearing a black smock dress which was now hanging loose at one shoulder, with the metal buckle completely missing from the strap. Her fishnet tights were laddered and ripped in a dozen places and her shoes were completely missing. Her hair was a shaggy mess, leaves dotted here and there and big clumps of it stuck together.
"It was very, uh, busy in town I guess?" Said Amilia, her voice shaking slightly as she finally allowed her body to relax.
"See, this is why I don't leave the house. Cherie, why do you do this to yourself? You could have just sent a servant out!"
"The people need to see me out and about, Ellie. I'll be queen one day and I will need their respect. The women need to know that I am just like them; that I have lived la tradition and been the kind of woman that Delphi expects all of us to be. And as for the men... men are easy in comparison." She laughed.
"One man takes a ride on you, he'll tell all of his friends what a dirty little nightjar you are, and then they'll tell everyone they've had you too, regardless of the truth."
Both girls giggled.
"Besides, we have it good here," Said Amilia, "no Delphi woman has had to work a day in over 150 years. Stipends for women are going up again this year, too, Papa told me the other day. It's not such a big deal to let the men have this one little thing. It means so much to them, and they work so hard."
"Sometimes I think it would be nice to have a job, though. There's not much to do without one," said Ellie, "I get so bored up here on my own and... sometimes I just wish I was anywhere else, Millie.
Amila would have been scandalised by this a couple of months ago, but she and Ellie had come to an understanding since Ellie's debanding. Their rooms were a safe space where Ellie could get her feelings out and with any luck it would be easier for her to hold them in when it mattered. Amila sighed as they sat down together on the dark green Chesterfield sofa.
"So, Millie, tell me what happened, love."
"Well, when I left here at um, eight? I went straight down to the bakery to get your croissants. On the way it was quiet, only a couple of people on the street. Monsieur Dizet was in the shop and I let him have a little squeeze like he usually asks for. He says my boobs are softer than brioche dough, he's such a sweetheart."
Both girls had a soft spot for the funny little baker with his bushy moustache. He had baked all their birthday cakes and was there to present each magnificent creation, covered in candied fruit and gilded almonds. He was hopelessly devoted to his wife, a tall woman with impressive curves, and couldn't bring himself to sleep with anyone else but could be tempted by the opportunity to fondle a pair of breasts if they were big enough to catch his eye.
"After the bakers, I started towards the bookshop and that's when things went a bit crazy."
"Oh God, what happened?" Ellie cocked her head as Amilia continued.
"I went down to the Place du Châtelaine, and there was a beer festival on. The whole square was packed full of men, and they were all drunk. It was like stepping into a wasp’s nest. Cherie, they fucked me like it was the end of the world."
Amila burst into tears.
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
It felt good to be out of the horrid cell, even if the destination was a bleak one. The ceiling was much higher out here in the corridor and there was space to move and breathe. After three days of confinement Amilia felt like she could spread her arms and spin around as though she were on a walk in the forest. For a moment she almost forgot that her arms were bound behind her back, tied at the wrists by one of the guards with a thin piece of silk rope.
The binding was firm, despite the slenderness of the cord, and the awkward position of her arms forced her to walk with her head stooped forward. Soraya kept in lockstep beside her as they walked slowly past the painted doors of the other cells and toward the huge pair of oak doors at the end of the hall.
"We are full up right now, did you know?" The queen looked down at Amilia
"Really, maman? Are things that bad?"
"Yes, my sweet. The consentistes are gaining ground and we simply don't have the resources to root them all out. The blockade has cut deep with the commoners out in the back country and we even have men now questioning if they are right."
*I can't believe this is what she wants to talk about right now. Does she think she can justify what she's doing?*
"Hmmmm."
Amilia didn't have much to say to her mother's attempts at self-absolution. She was, however, surprised at how calm she felt. She knew what was waiting for her beyond those doors. It was the same thing awaiting the women in each of these cells.
*Shelly is probably in here somewhere, unless they haven't managed to catch her.*
"Maman, can I ask you something?"
"Mmm?"
"Did... I mean, is Shelly here?"
Soraya just nodded. One of the guards coughed.
Amilia's heart sank. She didn't know until just this moment, but there had been a tiny pilot light of hope flickering deep inside her. A secret fantasy that Shelly would appear from the gloom and whisk her away to a tiny house in the backwoods where they would spend forever in each other's arms. Snuffed out in an instant. She wanted so badly to hold Shelly one more time, to feel the comfort of having her near. Amilia felt safe when she was with Shelly, she had a protective and motherly aura that seemed to surround you and draw you into a bubble where the realities of the world were forgotten and all that mattered was affection.
|Amilia – 18 August 2021 – Wednesday Morning|
Amila held tight to the handrail as she walked down the tight slate steps of the Allée des Montagnards and dismounted the last one with a happy little hop. She smiled to herself as the soles of her boots thumped onto the cobbles of the Place du Châtelaine.
As she looked up from her feet the smile fell from her face. Around the fountain in the middle of the square a dozen tents had been erected. Groups of men were gathered around the tents drinking mugs of beer being doled out by workers from within. Here and there she could make out other concentrations of men pushed into tight clusters, all facing inward at some hidden point of interest.
Before she even had time to register what was happening a gang of young lads had surrounded her. Her senses were overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol, and bodies slick with sweat from the morning's heat. It wasn't a bad smell, just strong and aggressively masculine.
"Ahah, who's this plump little thing?"
"She's got some tits on her! Hey, cutie, come and play with us!"
"Hey, that's the princess! The older one."
"Nah, it never is?"
"Don't you watch the TV? She was on last night doing one of those Depravity Rings things."
"Who watches TV when there's so much cunt to be had?"
They all laughed uproarously. One of the boys, a tall blond with a farmer's body - thick muscles and nut brown skin - came up behind Amila and cupped her breasts from behind. He lifted them up and down gently, as if weighing them, and pressed his face into the top of her head to smell her hair.
*Oh no, I just washed my fucking hair this morning!*
Amila knew how to comport herself properly. She pushed her behind into the young man's groin and moved it gently from side to side. She felt his hard-on click as it connected with the notch at the small of her back.
"Mmmm. You like those big tits, boy?"
The boy just groaned. One of his friends approached her from the front, a skinny ginger kid with greasy hair and a slack jaw. Amila wasn't surprised when he stuck his hand up her dress and tried to finger her, but she wasn't ready for it either. Her pussy was only slightly moistened by the sweat of the hot morning, and certainly not aroused. The rough skin of his fingertips was like sandpaper on her delicate folds.
*Fucking idiot* she thought
"Hold a moment, my flame headed prince. Let's make it nice and slippery there and my honey will be all the sweeter on your fingertips."
Just as her sex education tutor had taught her, she reached down and took his hand from under her dress. She brought it up to her face and slid his pointed fingers into her wet mouth. She expected the taste to be awful, but he tasted of nothing worse than beer and salt. She swirled her tongue around them until she could feel they were slick with saliva. Taking her hand from his wrist she allowed him to withdraw his fingers. He scrabbled them back down her body to her sex again. This time it was comfortable, and she relaxed as he swirled them around her lips. His touch was still crude, and miles away from anywhere pleasurable, but it was tolerable.
The man standing behind Amilia had lifted her dress at the back and was squeezing one of her cheeks with his hand. The tips of his fingers plucked the strings of her fishnets as they opened and contracted. The other still paid attention to her breast, squashing it flat against her ribs with his palm. She looked around and saw that more men were joining the huddle around her. Some of them had their cocks out already and were stroking themselves in anticipation.
*Oh shit, this is getting out of control.*
Hands were all over her body then, grabbing and pinching at her soft parts. Suddenly arms were hooked under her knees and she was lifted into the air. She couldn't see the ginger boy any more, but there were fingers deep in her cunt. She looked around for the owner but couldn't tell which of the men pawing away down there had managed to get inside her. Amilia's heart was thundering in her chest and she could feel panic rising inside her. She had to get things under some measure of control before it all got too messy. After taking one deep breath to calm herself and letting it out slowly, she drew in another and got ready to shout
*Ok, I've got this...*
"Boys, boys! Hold up, ok? Let's take it slowly - one at a time! I'm a princess, remember, and I want each of you to have a special time with me - just the two of us!"
The men roared their agreement. She relaxed slightly, feeling her body start to slump below her elevated legs.
"Ok! Take me over to that table and form an orderly queue!"
The pack started to move, carrying her along with it. A couple of the men ran ahead and started pushing half-full mugs of beer up to the far end of the trestle table. Amilia was dumped, a little rougher than she would have preferred, at the near end with her feet just next to the edge. She kicked off her shoes and shuffled her bottom down until her pussy was hanging out over the edge. As she drew her legs back she spat in her hand and rubbed the gobbet of saliva into her cunt, which was already sore from the rough handling.
"Whoo. Ok. Who's first?"
There was a bit of jostling, and then the big farm boy who had been grinding on her earlier came forward. She was relieved, he was handsome and had been gentle enough before. As he entered her she put her head back and looked up at the clouds wandering the sun-drenched sky. The boy smelled of ale and hay and he was careful as he slid his hands into the folds of her knees to push her thighs down. Amilia's clit started to ache and she felt the wetness come just in time for him to start thrusting. She slapped her palms onto the table by her hips and pushed herself back up so she could look him in the eye.
"Yes. Fuck me like that, ohhhhh fuuuuuck."
She could see his cock pumping in and out of her pink lips, each movement lifting her whole pubis up so she could see the top of her clit, and the drops of wetness that splashed with his movements. Her head flopped back with a deep groan and she collapsed down to the table again. The sensation of his balls slapping against the sensitive patch just below her pussy, and the drumbeat of flesh striking over and over rolled into the sweet tingling in her clit. She gathered her breasts in her hands and tweaked the nipples, feeling them firm up at her touch.
*Oh, this is good! I think I could cum right now. Better not, though, I'll be here for hours if I get carried away.*
She bit her lip and looked into his eyes, posing to spur him along.
"Mmmm honey, you're so good at this. Would you like to cum inside your princess?"
"Uhuh!" He nodded, signalling his eagerness. With a few more hard strokes he got himself there and she felt the spreading warmth inside as his body shuddered. She pulled him down into a kiss, enjoying the manly smell of his skin like chocolate mixed with honest sweat.
"Thank you, ma'am." He said, as he slid out of her. She felt the flow of semen as it ran from her swollen cunt and down over her asshole.
"You're welcome! Now go and have another beer and relax. Next!"
A sinewy old man, probably in his sixties, was next in line. He looked a little dirty, and Amilia could tell he wasn't going to be particularly considerate even before he unceremoniously entered her and started pumping away. She did what she always did when propositioned by someone she didn't find attractive: laid back, closed her eyes and dreamed of the baker's boy who had been her first, of the smell of yeast and fresh bread, and a cock that fit her like a hand in a glove. She stayed like that for a long time as man after man entered her, used her and then came either inside her or across the outside of her shaven pussy.
Some time around the tenth man she heard a voice that made her look up at the one about to take his turn.
"Hello your majesty, remember me?"
It was the scrawny redhead from before. He had taken off all his clothes and was standing proudly at her feet. His body was shockingly pale, and his ribs showed beneath the papery, freckled skin. He was also sporting simply the largest cock Amilia had ever seen. It jutted out from his pelvis like a tollgate arm, thick as a plantain and half as long again.
"What the fuck!" She shouted, giggling nervously.
The boy shrugged and grinned at her.
"Just lucky I guess, miss."
Amilia felt the excitement, drained away since the farm boy had his turn, welling back up inside her.
"Ok. I want that thing inside me, and I want you to do it exactly like I tell you. Is that ok?"
"Sure, we can have it your way to start with." He winked.
She quickly scooped up some of the splattered cum from her belly and pushed it into her cunt with her fingers. Scooching her butt into a comfortable position she pulled her legs right back so her thighs were flat against the table and her calves pointed straight up into the air. She wrapped her arms around the front of each calf to hold them back. In this position, she knew, her pussy would be at its most open and ready to receive such a huge organ.
"Ok, go slowly at first. Tease me with that big head and just dip it in and out. Yes, just like that. Ooooh I can feel it stretching me already."
He was gentle, more than he had been with his fingers, and gradually eased the thick, spongy head in and out of her, just past the lips. She imagined it getting creamed up with the cum from the men who had gone before and her body responded with more wetness as if to wash away the mess.
"Yes, oh that's so good. Ok, now push it deeper. I want you all the way inside me."
He complied, pushing the hard rod deeper and deeper with gentle pressure. Amilia felt as though she was being split in half. As big as his cock had looked, it felt even bigger. The stretching was intense, almost like a burning pain but good too. Her opening felt tight and sharp, but deeper inside there was something like an itch being scratched. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before.
Suddenly there was a hard jolt in her body that sent shockwaves up her spine, like banging your elbow but in a totally different place. He had gone as deep as he could go. She lifted her head to look down and saw that his cock was only half way inside.
"Looks like this is all you can take. Thought you were supposed to be like the horniest girl on the island or something?"
"Uuuuuuuugh" was her only response to that
"Guess I'm in charge now, then."
"Uhuh." She nodded frantically.
He started sliding in and out. He was slow and deliberate but not careful about bottoming out, so every few strokes that electric shock would rush up her back and into her neck. He gradually built up his pace until the strokes were coming two to the second, a steady beat into her body. Without warning her body twisted as she was hit with an orgasm. Her pussy contracted so violently that his cock was pushed out entirely and her legs vibrated with tiny muscular twitches.
He allowed her no more than a second to recover before diving back in. Amilia was lost then. His strokes seemed to go on forever and her orgasms came one after another, she lost count somewhere around four. Deep, guttural noises burst from her mouth, grunts and long ragged roars.
At some point she felt a thump on the table next to her. Opening her eyes and turning her head she saw it was another woman, who had been dropped face down on the table next to her. Her head was right next to Amilia's, and their eyes met even as they were both being pushed back and forth by the men using them. The woman was older, probably in her early thirties, and had beautiful hazel eyes. She was fairly dishevelled, with her hair in a ruined bun and makeup smeared all over her face. A man had obviously just cum on that very face, and several long ropes of white goo lay across her forehead and cheek. Amilia couldn't stop herself. She shifted slightly and began kissing and licking the woman, hoovering up all the cum she could reach. The taste was salty, with a hint of fishy ammonia. The woman smiled and opened her mouth wide.
"In here, darling." She said.
Amilia spat the cum into the woman's mouth and watched as she swallowed all of it. They kissed with hungry lips and searching tongues before breaking apart panting and moaning from the male attention they were receiving.
"Hi, I'm Amilia"
"Pleasure to meet you! I'm Shelly"
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
When they reached the end of the corridor, Amilia had expected them to go through the huge doors to the public execution chamber. Instead, Soraya and the guards had led her down a cramped side corridor which lead to a much smaller door.
"This is the old chamber," explained Soraya, "this was all we had when I started my apprenticeship at fourteen. We have come a long way since then." She sighed.
Amilia did not know what waited beyond the door, with its black iron hinges and surface cratered with woodworm tunnels, and she played with the fabric of her dress to give her bound hands something to do.
Soraya pushed the door open and stopped under the door frame as she entered. The guards did the same, gently pushing Amilia between them. Amilia didn't have to bend, although she felt the door frame brush the top of her butchered hair as she passed it.
The room inside was unlit, but within seconds strip lighting above flickered into life with a series of snaps, flashes and buzzing sounds. The room was a small square, about four metres on each side, but two storeys high. This odd shape was to accommodate the two guillotines that stood side by side in the centre. They were old, made of red stained wood, and the uprights were far taller than the guillotine she knew. The highly polished blades had been hoisted already and gleamed in the sickening neon light. The floor of the room was plain stone, strewn with sawdust around the guillotines. No fancy drainage and moppable floor here, and the black stains soaked into the stone were evidence of that.
Amilia felt the panic coming back as the guards led her to the far side of the room. She pushed it down as hard as she could, but her legs still felt like jelly. Desperately she looked around the room to get her attention away from the brutal device that would soon take her head. The only other thing in the room was a small camera on a tripod (no fancy wall-mounted panopticon here).
*There's nowhere for anyone to sit...*
"Maman, please, will there be an audience?"
"No. The king has decided that you deserve at least a little privacy. The execution will be taped and highlights released to the state broadcaster confirming the death of the king's eldest daughter."
*So I will die in secret. No chance for anyone to object before the deed is done. That's so Papa. He even plays politics with his children's lives. All he cares about is the game. And all Maman cares about is death. Made for each other.*
There was a curious tickling sensation on her cheeks and she realised that tears were running slowly from her eyes.
*Strange. Crying without crying, like my body has taken the sadness from my mind and dealt with it all by itself.*
There was a noise from the door, and Amilia looked over just in time to see it swing open. Two more guards entered, escorting a dazed, heavy-set woman between them. She had obviously been beaten, her face was swollen and covered in bruises. Blood trickled from her nose in twin rivers flowing down and around her mouth. She was almost completely unrecognisable but Amilia knew in an instant. It was Shelly.
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
They had cut her hair. Amilia had cried more about that than anything else they had done to her. It was the finality of it that had broken her. She had been growing and tending to her mane of long, black tresses as long as she could remember but no amount of protesting helped in the face of the dead-eyed guard and his disgusting little knife. As soon as they had come back into the cell he had grabbed her hair in a tight bunch and sawn through it roughly. Her scalp screamed in agony as she tried to pull away from him. She could feel tiny shocks as some of the strands broke or popped out of the follicles.
When he finally let go, she staggered forward, and her mother grabbed her shoulder to stop her from falling.
"Can I... can I have the mirror, please?" She asked, through sniffles.
The queen picked up the compact and handed it to her. Amila opened it and manoeuvred the scratched and foggy glass around her face as she examined the mess.
her hair hung just above the neckline. The ends were a ragged mess, a shocking contrast to her done-up face and tight, fashionable dress. She burst into tears at the sight of it, great howls of anguish and choking sobs.
"Majesté..." said one of the guards, looking to Queen Soraya for guidance on how to proceed. Under normal circumstances they would have given the prisoner a beating until she shut up, but playing too rough with the queen's daughter had the potential to upset the queen and that wouldn't end well.
Soraya sighed, wound her arm back over and behind her head, and then swung it back around in a hard slap against Amilia's cheek.
"Princess Amilia Fleuriau, compose yourself! You are the dauphine of our kingdom. Your sacred duty, as I have taught you all your life, is to set an example to the women of Delphi. To be the paragon of sexual availability, of duty, and of justice."
Soraya's voice went from stern to soothing in an instant as she pulled Amila into an embrace and stroked her hair.
"Now you must serve as an example once again, my darling. My beautiful girl. Together we must show to the women of our kingdom the inevitable consequence of breaking the social contact laid down by our great ancestors when they settled this land a quarter of a millennium ago."
"Maman, I'm scared."
|Amilia – 18 August 2021 – Wednesday Afternoon|
*I'm sure it would be the same for any reasonably good looking nineteen-year-old...*
That's what Amilia told herself when she finally got back to the little lounge she shared with her sister, Ellie. She dropped her hard-won shopping down on the polished walnut of the antique sideboard. Hearing the clatter of the bags Ellie stuck her head out from her bedroom.
"Where have you been? You've been gone all morning!" She asked. Her eyes widened when she saw the state her sister was in. Amilia was wearing a black smock dress which was now hanging loose at one shoulder, with the metal buckle completely missing from the strap. Her fishnet tights were laddered and ripped in a dozen places and her shoes were completely missing. Her hair was a shaggy mess, leaves dotted here and there and big clumps of it stuck together.
"It was very, uh, busy in town I guess?" Said Amilia, her voice shaking slightly as she finally allowed her body to relax.
"See, this is why I don't leave the house. Cherie, why do you do this to yourself? You could have just sent a servant out!"
"The people need to see me out and about, Ellie. I'll be queen one day and I will need their respect. The women need to know that I am just like them; that I have lived la tradition and been the kind of woman that Delphi expects all of us to be. And as for the men... men are easy in comparison." She laughed.
"One man takes a ride on you, he'll tell all of his friends what a dirty little nightjar you are, and then they'll tell everyone they've had you too, regardless of the truth."
Both girls giggled.
"Besides, we have it good here," Said Amilia, "no Delphi woman has had to work a day in over 150 years. Stipends for women are going up again this year, too, Papa told me the other day. It's not such a big deal to let the men have this one little thing. It means so much to them, and they work so hard."
"Sometimes I think it would be nice to have a job, though. There's not much to do without one," said Ellie, "I get so bored up here on my own and... sometimes I just wish I was anywhere else, Millie.
Amila would have been scandalised by this a couple of months ago, but she and Ellie had come to an understanding since Ellie's debanding. Their rooms were a safe space where Ellie could get her feelings out and with any luck it would be easier for her to hold them in when it mattered. Amila sighed as they sat down together on the dark green Chesterfield sofa.
"So, Millie, tell me what happened, love."
"Well, when I left here at um, eight? I went straight down to the bakery to get your croissants. On the way it was quiet, only a couple of people on the street. Monsieur Dizet was in the shop and I let him have a little squeeze like he usually asks for. He says my boobs are softer than brioche dough, he's such a sweetheart."
Both girls had a soft spot for the funny little baker with his bushy moustache. He had baked all their birthday cakes and was there to present each magnificent creation, covered in candied fruit and gilded almonds. He was hopelessly devoted to his wife, a tall woman with impressive curves, and couldn't bring himself to sleep with anyone else but could be tempted by the opportunity to fondle a pair of breasts if they were big enough to catch his eye.
"After the bakers, I started towards the bookshop and that's when things went a bit crazy."
"Oh God, what happened?" Ellie cocked her head as Amilia continued.
"I went down to the Place du Châtelaine, and there was a beer festival on. The whole square was packed full of men, and they were all drunk. It was like stepping into a wasp’s nest. Cherie, they fucked me like it was the end of the world."
Amila burst into tears.
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
It felt good to be out of the horrid cell, even if the destination was a bleak one. The ceiling was much higher out here in the corridor and there was space to move and breathe. After three days of confinement Amilia felt like she could spread her arms and spin around as though she were on a walk in the forest. For a moment she almost forgot that her arms were bound behind her back, tied at the wrists by one of the guards with a thin piece of silk rope.
The binding was firm, despite the slenderness of the cord, and the awkward position of her arms forced her to walk with her head stooped forward. Soraya kept in lockstep beside her as they walked slowly past the painted doors of the other cells and toward the huge pair of oak doors at the end of the hall.
"We are full up right now, did you know?" The queen looked down at Amilia
"Really, maman? Are things that bad?"
"Yes, my sweet. The consentistes are gaining ground and we simply don't have the resources to root them all out. The blockade has cut deep with the commoners out in the back country and we even have men now questioning if they are right."
*I can't believe this is what she wants to talk about right now. Does she think she can justify what she's doing?*
"Hmmmm."
Amilia didn't have much to say to her mother's attempts at self-absolution. She was, however, surprised at how calm she felt. She knew what was waiting for her beyond those doors. It was the same thing awaiting the women in each of these cells.
*Shelly is probably in here somewhere, unless they haven't managed to catch her.*
"Maman, can I ask you something?"
"Mmm?"
"Did... I mean, is Shelly here?"
Soraya just nodded. One of the guards coughed.
Amilia's heart sank. She didn't know until just this moment, but there had been a tiny pilot light of hope flickering deep inside her. A secret fantasy that Shelly would appear from the gloom and whisk her away to a tiny house in the backwoods where they would spend forever in each other's arms. Snuffed out in an instant. She wanted so badly to hold Shelly one more time, to feel the comfort of having her near. Amilia felt safe when she was with Shelly, she had a protective and motherly aura that seemed to surround you and draw you into a bubble where the realities of the world were forgotten and all that mattered was affection.
|Amilia – 18 August 2021 – Wednesday Morning|
Amila held tight to the handrail as she walked down the tight slate steps of the Allée des Montagnards and dismounted the last one with a happy little hop. She smiled to herself as the soles of her boots thumped onto the cobbles of the Place du Châtelaine.
As she looked up from her feet the smile fell from her face. Around the fountain in the middle of the square a dozen tents had been erected. Groups of men were gathered around the tents drinking mugs of beer being doled out by workers from within. Here and there she could make out other concentrations of men pushed into tight clusters, all facing inward at some hidden point of interest.
Before she even had time to register what was happening a gang of young lads had surrounded her. Her senses were overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol, and bodies slick with sweat from the morning's heat. It wasn't a bad smell, just strong and aggressively masculine.
"Ahah, who's this plump little thing?"
"She's got some tits on her! Hey, cutie, come and play with us!"
"Hey, that's the princess! The older one."
"Nah, it never is?"
"Don't you watch the TV? She was on last night doing one of those Depravity Rings things."
"Who watches TV when there's so much cunt to be had?"
They all laughed uproarously. One of the boys, a tall blond with a farmer's body - thick muscles and nut brown skin - came up behind Amila and cupped her breasts from behind. He lifted them up and down gently, as if weighing them, and pressed his face into the top of her head to smell her hair.
*Oh no, I just washed my fucking hair this morning!*
Amila knew how to comport herself properly. She pushed her behind into the young man's groin and moved it gently from side to side. She felt his hard-on click as it connected with the notch at the small of her back.
"Mmmm. You like those big tits, boy?"
The boy just groaned. One of his friends approached her from the front, a skinny ginger kid with greasy hair and a slack jaw. Amila wasn't surprised when he stuck his hand up her dress and tried to finger her, but she wasn't ready for it either. Her pussy was only slightly moistened by the sweat of the hot morning, and certainly not aroused. The rough skin of his fingertips was like sandpaper on her delicate folds.
*Fucking idiot* she thought
"Hold a moment, my flame headed prince. Let's make it nice and slippery there and my honey will be all the sweeter on your fingertips."
Just as her sex education tutor had taught her, she reached down and took his hand from under her dress. She brought it up to her face and slid his pointed fingers into her wet mouth. She expected the taste to be awful, but he tasted of nothing worse than beer and salt. She swirled her tongue around them until she could feel they were slick with saliva. Taking her hand from his wrist she allowed him to withdraw his fingers. He scrabbled them back down her body to her sex again. This time it was comfortable, and she relaxed as he swirled them around her lips. His touch was still crude, and miles away from anywhere pleasurable, but it was tolerable.
The man standing behind Amilia had lifted her dress at the back and was squeezing one of her cheeks with his hand. The tips of his fingers plucked the strings of her fishnets as they opened and contracted. The other still paid attention to her breast, squashing it flat against her ribs with his palm. She looked around and saw that more men were joining the huddle around her. Some of them had their cocks out already and were stroking themselves in anticipation.
*Oh shit, this is getting out of control.*
Hands were all over her body then, grabbing and pinching at her soft parts. Suddenly arms were hooked under her knees and she was lifted into the air. She couldn't see the ginger boy any more, but there were fingers deep in her cunt. She looked around for the owner but couldn't tell which of the men pawing away down there had managed to get inside her. Amilia's heart was thundering in her chest and she could feel panic rising inside her. She had to get things under some measure of control before it all got too messy. After taking one deep breath to calm herself and letting it out slowly, she drew in another and got ready to shout
*Ok, I've got this...*
"Boys, boys! Hold up, ok? Let's take it slowly - one at a time! I'm a princess, remember, and I want each of you to have a special time with me - just the two of us!"
The men roared their agreement. She relaxed slightly, feeling her body start to slump below her elevated legs.
"Ok! Take me over to that table and form an orderly queue!"
The pack started to move, carrying her along with it. A couple of the men ran ahead and started pushing half-full mugs of beer up to the far end of the trestle table. Amilia was dumped, a little rougher than she would have preferred, at the near end with her feet just next to the edge. She kicked off her shoes and shuffled her bottom down until her pussy was hanging out over the edge. As she drew her legs back she spat in her hand and rubbed the gobbet of saliva into her cunt, which was already sore from the rough handling.
"Whoo. Ok. Who's first?"
There was a bit of jostling, and then the big farm boy who had been grinding on her earlier came forward. She was relieved, he was handsome and had been gentle enough before. As he entered her she put her head back and looked up at the clouds wandering the sun-drenched sky. The boy smelled of ale and hay and he was careful as he slid his hands into the folds of her knees to push her thighs down. Amilia's clit started to ache and she felt the wetness come just in time for him to start thrusting. She slapped her palms onto the table by her hips and pushed herself back up so she could look him in the eye.
"Yes. Fuck me like that, ohhhhh fuuuuuck."
She could see his cock pumping in and out of her pink lips, each movement lifting her whole pubis up so she could see the top of her clit, and the drops of wetness that splashed with his movements. Her head flopped back with a deep groan and she collapsed down to the table again. The sensation of his balls slapping against the sensitive patch just below her pussy, and the drumbeat of flesh striking over and over rolled into the sweet tingling in her clit. She gathered her breasts in her hands and tweaked the nipples, feeling them firm up at her touch.
*Oh, this is good! I think I could cum right now. Better not, though, I'll be here for hours if I get carried away.*
She bit her lip and looked into his eyes, posing to spur him along.
"Mmmm honey, you're so good at this. Would you like to cum inside your princess?"
"Uhuh!" He nodded, signalling his eagerness. With a few more hard strokes he got himself there and she felt the spreading warmth inside as his body shuddered. She pulled him down into a kiss, enjoying the manly smell of his skin like chocolate mixed with honest sweat.
"Thank you, ma'am." He said, as he slid out of her. She felt the flow of semen as it ran from her swollen cunt and down over her asshole.
"You're welcome! Now go and have another beer and relax. Next!"
A sinewy old man, probably in his sixties, was next in line. He looked a little dirty, and Amilia could tell he wasn't going to be particularly considerate even before he unceremoniously entered her and started pumping away. She did what she always did when propositioned by someone she didn't find attractive: laid back, closed her eyes and dreamed of the baker's boy who had been her first, of the smell of yeast and fresh bread, and a cock that fit her like a hand in a glove. She stayed like that for a long time as man after man entered her, used her and then came either inside her or across the outside of her shaven pussy.
Some time around the tenth man she heard a voice that made her look up at the one about to take his turn.
"Hello your majesty, remember me?"
It was the scrawny redhead from before. He had taken off all his clothes and was standing proudly at her feet. His body was shockingly pale, and his ribs showed beneath the papery, freckled skin. He was also sporting simply the largest cock Amilia had ever seen. It jutted out from his pelvis like a tollgate arm, thick as a plantain and half as long again.
"What the fuck!" She shouted, giggling nervously.
The boy shrugged and grinned at her.
"Just lucky I guess, miss."
Amilia felt the excitement, drained away since the farm boy had his turn, welling back up inside her.
"Ok. I want that thing inside me, and I want you to do it exactly like I tell you. Is that ok?"
"Sure, we can have it your way to start with." He winked.
She quickly scooped up some of the splattered cum from her belly and pushed it into her cunt with her fingers. Scooching her butt into a comfortable position she pulled her legs right back so her thighs were flat against the table and her calves pointed straight up into the air. She wrapped her arms around the front of each calf to hold them back. In this position, she knew, her pussy would be at its most open and ready to receive such a huge organ.
"Ok, go slowly at first. Tease me with that big head and just dip it in and out. Yes, just like that. Ooooh I can feel it stretching me already."
He was gentle, more than he had been with his fingers, and gradually eased the thick, spongy head in and out of her, just past the lips. She imagined it getting creamed up with the cum from the men who had gone before and her body responded with more wetness as if to wash away the mess.
"Yes, oh that's so good. Ok, now push it deeper. I want you all the way inside me."
He complied, pushing the hard rod deeper and deeper with gentle pressure. Amilia felt as though she was being split in half. As big as his cock had looked, it felt even bigger. The stretching was intense, almost like a burning pain but good too. Her opening felt tight and sharp, but deeper inside there was something like an itch being scratched. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before.
Suddenly there was a hard jolt in her body that sent shockwaves up her spine, like banging your elbow but in a totally different place. He had gone as deep as he could go. She lifted her head to look down and saw that his cock was only half way inside.
"Looks like this is all you can take. Thought you were supposed to be like the horniest girl on the island or something?"
"Uuuuuuuugh" was her only response to that
"Guess I'm in charge now, then."
"Uhuh." She nodded frantically.
He started sliding in and out. He was slow and deliberate but not careful about bottoming out, so every few strokes that electric shock would rush up her back and into her neck. He gradually built up his pace until the strokes were coming two to the second, a steady beat into her body. Without warning her body twisted as she was hit with an orgasm. Her pussy contracted so violently that his cock was pushed out entirely and her legs vibrated with tiny muscular twitches.
He allowed her no more than a second to recover before diving back in. Amilia was lost then. His strokes seemed to go on forever and her orgasms came one after another, she lost count somewhere around four. Deep, guttural noises burst from her mouth, grunts and long ragged roars.
At some point she felt a thump on the table next to her. Opening her eyes and turning her head she saw it was another woman, who had been dropped face down on the table next to her. Her head was right next to Amilia's, and their eyes met even as they were both being pushed back and forth by the men using them. The woman was older, probably in her early thirties, and had beautiful hazel eyes. She was fairly dishevelled, with her hair in a ruined bun and makeup smeared all over her face. A man had obviously just cum on that very face, and several long ropes of white goo lay across her forehead and cheek. Amilia couldn't stop herself. She shifted slightly and began kissing and licking the woman, hoovering up all the cum she could reach. The taste was salty, with a hint of fishy ammonia. The woman smiled and opened her mouth wide.
"In here, darling." She said.
Amilia spat the cum into the woman's mouth and watched as she swallowed all of it. They kissed with hungry lips and searching tongues before breaking apart panting and moaning from the male attention they were receiving.
"Hi, I'm Amilia"
"Pleasure to meet you! I'm Shelly"
|Amilia - 21 March 2022 – Monday Night|
When they reached the end of the corridor, Amilia had expected them to go through the huge doors to the public execution chamber. Instead, Soraya and the guards had led her down a cramped side corridor which lead to a much smaller door.
"This is the old chamber," explained Soraya, "this was all we had when I started my apprenticeship at fourteen. We have come a long way since then." She sighed.
Amilia did not know what waited beyond the door, with its black iron hinges and surface cratered with woodworm tunnels, and she played with the fabric of her dress to give her bound hands something to do.
Soraya pushed the door open and stopped under the door frame as she entered. The guards did the same, gently pushing Amilia between them. Amilia didn't have to bend, although she felt the door frame brush the top of her butchered hair as she passed it.
The room inside was unlit, but within seconds strip lighting above flickered into life with a series of snaps, flashes and buzzing sounds. The room was a small square, about four metres on each side, but two storeys high. This odd shape was to accommodate the two guillotines that stood side by side in the centre. They were old, made of red stained wood, and the uprights were far taller than the guillotine she knew. The highly polished blades had been hoisted already and gleamed in the sickening neon light. The floor of the room was plain stone, strewn with sawdust around the guillotines. No fancy drainage and moppable floor here, and the black stains soaked into the stone were evidence of that.
Amilia felt the panic coming back as the guards led her to the far side of the room. She pushed it down as hard as she could, but her legs still felt like jelly. Desperately she looked around the room to get her attention away from the brutal device that would soon take her head. The only other thing in the room was a small camera on a tripod (no fancy wall-mounted panopticon here).
*There's nowhere for anyone to sit...*
"Maman, please, will there be an audience?"
"No. The king has decided that you deserve at least a little privacy. The execution will be taped and highlights released to the state broadcaster confirming the death of the king's eldest daughter."
*So I will die in secret. No chance for anyone to object before the deed is done. That's so Papa. He even plays politics with his children's lives. All he cares about is the game. And all Maman cares about is death. Made for each other.*
There was a curious tickling sensation on her cheeks and she realised that tears were running slowly from her eyes.
*Strange. Crying without crying, like my body has taken the sadness from my mind and dealt with it all by itself.*
There was a noise from the door, and Amilia looked over just in time to see it swing open. Two more guards entered, escorting a dazed, heavy-set woman between them. She had obviously been beaten, her face was swollen and covered in bruises. Blood trickled from her nose in twin rivers flowing down and around her mouth. She was almost completely unrecognisable but Amilia knew in an instant. It was Shelly.
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