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Erotic Death Tales by Hitomi
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                                                                 "Ines, Queen After Death"                                      "The Diary"
The Sacrifice

I knew he was cruel.
I had witnessed his cruelty, watched in horror whole villages,
including my own, impaled at hid orders: men, women, even
children.  I thought I was to die a slow death at the tip of a
pointed stake as well, feel the wood entering my vagina, sliding
upwards, tearing my entrails and organs until it came out bloody
through my mouth.
That was how Natasha, my sister died. I could still recall how they
ripped off her robe, exposed her body to the eyes of all present,
and had her planted onto that thick round stake.  I had hated him.  
But that was a long time ago.  
Now, I cannot stop my love for him.
I now understand why he put to death my family and so many
others.  We had betrayed him; out of fear and out of greed.  It was
my father’s thirty pieces of silver, to sell his ruling prince into the
hands of his arch enemy.  True, there were innocents among
those screaming souls in the squares.  But to divide the innocent
from the guilty was never a tradition in our land.  One traitor in
the family, all paid the price.
I should have died that day.  
My parents and my sister, be they in heaven or hell, will never
forgive me, for forgetting their anguish, their blood, and all the
more for becoming his mistress.
I now know why I was spared. They said I looked like someone he
once loved and who had sacrificed her life for him.  He was his
first wife, who threw herself into the Arges River from the
ramparts when the Poenari Castle was surrounded by Turks, after
saying she would rather rot and be eaten by fish than to
surrender.  I think that is why he had renamed me Tara, a rocky
hill.  My original name, I have long since forgotten and discarded.
I am his Tara, something which would remind him his lost love.  But he loved me not.  Love has long
since died in his heart. I know that to him, I am nothing but an object of desire, something to quench
his thirst of youthful body during his campaigns.
But he was not bad to me.  He taught me how to ride, to use a bow and even to fight with sword and
shield.  He taught me logic, something he learned from his captors at the time he was a hostage in
the land of the Turks.  I guess I was a good student, eager and quick to learn and got drunk at his
elegance, his strength, and yes, even his cruelty towards his enemies.
To make it easier for the life in the fields, I had cut my blonde hair to shoulder length, so that when
riding by his side, I looked more like his page boy in armour.  The bust that I had developed could
not be hidden so well though and he did not find it objectionable for a cuirassier made to my figure
be hammered out for me.  I rode into battle with him, sometimes carrying his much feared banner
displaying the Dragon.  Yes, Vlad, Prince of Wallachia, also know as Dargon, son of the Dragon.

But he was not the ruling prince at the moment.
Driven into exile, he had been hunted like a dog for years.
Every dog has its day, though.  Now, he is in the head of an army recruited among his host the King
of Hungary to reclaim his throne.  Again, I will ride by his side into the fray of battle.  Or, so I thought.

We were outnumbered by more than five to one.  That, I know, would not deter him.  The son of
dragon was never known to chicken out of a fight, or to use wry deceit to compensate for imbalance
of strength.

We reached the ruin that was once his castle at sunset.  On the crumbled battlement, he gazed at
the mighty Arges River a straight drop below. I could see his face contorted with pain at the
memory.  His hands, pressed against the mossed rock, trembled.  I could feel his rage and I pained
for him.

“My Lord.” I called in a quiet voice.
“Do you know what it means to me?” He said with his back to me.
“Yes, they told me about her. She is a great woman.”
He nodded. “Yes, a great woman, one who would not hesitate to give up her life for the love in her
I kept my silence.  I wished to much to say that I, too, was willing to die for him, that his dreams
coming true, is more important to me than my own life, my soul.
I did not realize him turning to face me and it was only some time that I found his deep penetrating
eyes staring at mine.
“So, you think you love me too?” He said.
It was not the first time his eyes could probe into the hearts of men and discern their secrets. Or
those of women.
“You know I do, my lord.”
“And you are ready to jump down from here if I order you to?”
I looked up, tears in my eyes.  “Yes, just give your word and I will not shy away, I promise you.”
He nodded again, solemnly. “No, you do not have to jump.  Come, night is at hand. And on nights like
this, I thirst for the taste of tender warm flesh, against mine.”
I followed him silently into his tent, set apart from the others.
We ate in silence.  The men had speared a boar and the meat was sizzling in the.
He filled a silver goblet with crimson red wine and after taking some, handed it over to me.  I drank
and coughed it out.  I had never got used to the rough taste on my tongue.
He laughed, grab me by the arm and pulled me to him.
I melted in his embrace, his kisses, his violent stripping of everything I had one.  He fondled my tits
as if they were tender first snow of winter in the hills.  He sought out my neck, bit on it with his teeth,
as if he had been transformed into a wolf.  Outside, a full moon was on the rise.  I moaned at his
touch, my limbs spread so wide and held so fast that I seemed to be torn apart.  I heard him whisper
a name, name of a woman who had died long ago but still lived in his heart.  I knew I was a mere
shadow of her, and never would I find a place there, to be cherished, to be loved, remembered.  
Tears flooded my face as he rammed me with his organ, hard as an impaling stake, and icy cold.  I bit
my lower lip so not to cry out in pain and pleasure. I pulled at the back of his head, ran my fingers
through his lush black hair and offered my breasts for his teeth to sink in, to mark me. He took me
again and again, as if he could never be satiated, as if I could never be satiated.  
“Tara, you are going to betray me tomorrow.” He said.
“No! Never!” I screamed in terror.
“No, you are. “for it is my order that you will.”He said without stopping his thrusts.
My mind went blank, uncomprehending.  But he did not give me the chance to understand.  And
under the seeping silvery light of the moon, we made love again.

I betrayed him.
At dawn, I slipped away from the camp and rode hard into the arms of his enemy.
I told them which route Vlad would attack and they could ambush him and annihilated his horde.
“Girl, if you lie, you will regret it!” Valdislave, pretender to the throne warned.
“Why should I?  He killed my family in the cruelest way, used my body as if I was a whore. I hate him!”
Valdislav laughed.  He divided his army and set up an ambush.  It was only at the very last moment
that the commander who set up the ambush discovered they had been ambushed instead.  Vlad slew
them like chicken, to the last man.

I was seized by armed guards once news reached the ears of the pretender.
“You traitor!” He roared, putting his huge hands around my neck.
I giggled at his desperate state, at his being a fool to believe me.  Now, with half of his force wiped
out, his remaining army would be destroyed like butter before a scimitar.   
“Kill me!” I dared him.
His face went black with rage.  But he did not kill me there and then.
“I will make you an example to all those who dare trick me.  You will be begging for mercy to be
impaled before I finished with you.”

I was thrown into the dungeon.  There, in darkness, hungry hands ripped my white undershirt and
pants, which was all they did not take away, from me.  My body became the object of lust for men
long deprived of women’s torsos.  In darkness, I was taken by men number I could no long tarry.  
Every opening of me was used.  I was forced to use my own hands to touch myself, my mouth to
accommodate intruding male organs, swallowed what they shot down my throat.  I was held by male
arms and forced to be on my knees and hands, my behind was violently lifted and the intense pain
that burnt into my arse was like a rod of fire that burnt into me.
“It is all for you, my lord, all for you….”I accepted the rape and humiliation, with tears, and with joy.
I was taken out from the dungeon in the morning, given a white robe to cover my filth-stained body.
Bare-feet, I mounted the cart that would take me to the scaffold built during the night for my
execution.  I tried my best to uphold my head high, as a woman who had been made love to, if not
loved, by my prince. When we finally arrived, I was pushed down the cart and made to walked
towards the base of the scaffold.  There, I was stripped naked, branded at my left shoulder with
burning iron bearing the mark of a traitor.  I clenched my teeth at the smell of burning flesh and
mounted the ladder leading up the platform.
“You will be disemboweled, beheaded and quartered.  The drawn parts of your body would be sent
to the four corners of the land to show the dire end of a traitor!” The pretender proclaimed.
“Vlad will avenge me.  Your days are numbered.” I hissed and spat at his fat face.
He slapped me on the face, sent me flying across the platform and landed right in front of the block.
I wanted to struggle up to show my defiance but my legs were weak, both from hurt and yes, fear of
impending death.  I was only nineteen, too young to die.
But I was determined to die bravely, for him.  Will he remember me sometime, just as he remembers
the woman who plunged to her death years ago?  I know I will be so happy if he does.  It will be my
kind of immortality.
The half naked executioner ordered my wrists be bound behind me.  I was pulled back by his
assistants, exposing my nakedness to all present, which was considerable.
Another assistant brought forward a stiletto and with this, the executioner cut open my belly.
“Arghhhhhh…..” I screamed as my intestines were pulled out.
I felt my heart racing out of mouth, the blood became a deluge, my breasts, which had his teeth mark
on, rose and fell as I desperately heaved for breadth.
“Let her suffer first!”
The executioner picked up the huge axe but remained motionless.
I looked at the crowd below the scaffold, turned my head up and gazed at the flight of the waiting
ravens.  So, this is what death is about…the last gasp for air, the dizziness, the pulse that rushed up
the temples….
“Now! Do it! Cut off her head!”
I was forced to incline forward, felt my breasts pushed against the side of the round block, imagined
my slender neck just under the blonde hair cut short, as if it had been preparing for this, to make the
executioner’s work easier.
“My lord, do not forget me.” I made my last prayer.
The execution’s shout was accompanied by a rush of wind as the blade of the axe went for its sweet

Tara’s head was struck off with one blow.  The head, after cleansing with water, was mounted on the
spike of a stake and put on the rampart for all to see.  Her body was quartered and the different
parts were rushed by swift horses to all parts of the land, a warning to would-be traitors.

But Valdislav had misread the effect on the people.  Instead of fearing similar punishment, they
feared more of what Vlad the Impaler would do to them if they remained inert.  They rose in number
as Vlad’s army smashed into the capital.  The dark prince fought Valdislave in single combat and
cleaved him into halves, crown to his male member.  The body was fed to kites.

He found the head of Tara on the rampart, her eyes open wide as if she was longing to see his
coming; her face was serene as a princess in slumber.

That night, Vlad the Impaler, walked up the ramparts and looked at the silver moon.
He silently wept.

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Comment from: Satomi Hitomi
Date: November 20, 2011

This story, the first written out of context of history or myth here (well, not exactly as
Vlad the Impaler is very much part of history) was written at the request of a friend.  His
explicit requirement was that the victim wold be rendered naked, bound and given a bj
before the execution, that she would be quartered and her parts be sent to different
parts of the land.  

I took out the bj part as I considered it too vulgar for a proper story, though I did satisfy
him with a passing mentioning during the part in the dungeon.

After I got his instruction, I searched for a suitable background and came up with Vlad.  It
was a kind of Stockholm syndrome, for the girl Natasha suffered at his cruel hands when
her family was butchered for treason.  Yes, I was also thinking of Nastassja Kinski when I
created the character.  

The impaling scene might be a bit disturbing to readers but given that it was Vlad the
Impaler, it had to be included to do him justice.  

I hope readers here will not find such too horrifying.


Comment from: Nastassja
Date: November 22, 2011

I didn't find the impaling scene too horrifying, Hitomi. It was pretty intense, but as you say,
it is pretty integral to a story that involves Vlad the Impaler. There is no subject that you
don't bring insight and pathos to, and you succeed with that here, as you always do. Oh,
and I smiled to think of you imagining Nastassja Kinski in the role of Natasha...I love her
work (and her father's, too...Klaus K. is just amazing). I take a special pleasure in sharing
her name.

Vlad, in his many literary incarnations, is almost always a gave even him a
touching moment, in his sadness and anguish over Tara. Beautifully done, Hitomi.

Comment from: Hitomi
November 23, 2011

I am so relieved. Thank you.

Nastassja Kinski is one of the few actresses I love so much.  Others include Christine
Kaufman (sorry, only the face, not acting), Sophie Marceau (more when she was at the
age of "The Student" and Nicole Kidman.

And of course, Audrey, who is really a class apart.

The next story, if everything goes smoothly, will be set against a very different time
period.  It should come out this weekend as long as Chris or Othello is not too busy. Hope
you like it too.