Brandy
by Lectricia, used with permission
Her real name is Barabara Batchelder, but she is colloquially known as Brandy. Even some of her requisite victims come to know her by that sobriquet. She is the official State Executioner and adept at her craft. Because of the dignity of her profession she always dresses 'to the nines' when called upon to ply her trade. Never repeating the same ensemble for any given assignment, she takes infinite care in selecting her outfit, especially when (as is usually the case) it is a male whom she must electrocute.
You, my friend, are due to be the next to succumb to her seductions, and you are precisely en route at this moment towards the death chamber--where you shall biefly make her acquaintance. As yet, you have not been informed about the gender of your nemesis. For the nonce this has not crossed your mind. You would expect, if queried, that the Grim Dispatcher would be a tweedy, bearded gentleman of the Old School. Thus, you are startled to see, standing next to the obscene device in which you shall summarily be enthroned, an elegant--not to say beauteous--female. Garbed as if on her way to a board meeting of some famous, charitable institution, her taste is impeccable. Indeed, you initially fail to process the fact that this lovely lady will be your transporter to the Nether Region. Any confusion you have on this point is soon put to rest by the efficiency with which she begins the taks of strapping you into your final seat. The guards, all of them obsequious men of no particular distinction, confine their efforts to holding you as immobile as possible while the commanding woman applies and fastens the buckles. All eight of them...the wrists, the upper arms, the chest and hip bands...finishing with the ankles are duly secured.
By the time she is done, the guards have receded to positions around the perimeter of the chamber, and you are alone with her. She squats in front of you, permitting you a fleeting, but tantalizing, glance down her blouse (which is open past the third button). You note that her bra is black and edged with dainty lace. You are so fascinated by her, you barely notice the rows of curious witnesses staring across at you. Her knees are especially fetching, clad in taupe pantyhose and protruding from under the hem of her svelte, no-nonsense skirt. You almost forget what is actually happening to you. Swiftly she raises your left pant leg to just above the fullest point on your calf. With her free hand she wraps the recently-shaved flesh with something resembling a blood-pressure cuff. As you experience its excessive dampness, she lifts her eyes just enough to scrutinize your face and--unexpectedly--smiles. Her expression is winsome, but more indicative of her satisfaction with her cleverness than of any compassion for the client whom she is in the process of terminating. The she affixes the tip of a serpentine cable to the band around you calf. She admires her handiwork. Rising, she walks to the rear of the Electric Chair. You can no longer see her, even with your acute peripheral vision, but you hear the authoritative, hollow click of her high-heeled pumps as she brusquely advances. In her wake you catch the dainty, floral fragrance of her carefully- chosen scent. It recalls memories of sensuous pleasures in happier times.
You realize that she is fixing the lethal cap to your head now. Her hands brush your neck as a strap is anchored under your chin. Her nails are shaped and polished to perfection with s deep vermillion lacquer. The fingers are slender, supple...confident. Soon you feel the pressure of her screwing the upper cable to the binding post of your helmet. You wince. There is an interlude as the Warden reads aloud your Death Warrant and pronounces a quasi-benediction. Your heart beats faster. Suddenly the lady electrician, holding a black veil in one hand, appears an inch before your eyes. With her free hand she pulls your head toward her face and presses her lips upon yours. You feel her tongue flick into your mouth. The taste of her saliva is heady. She then caresses your ear with the whisper, 'So long, Big Boy' and drops the face curtain into position.
Again--the click of her heels as she proceeds to the switching device. Then all is quiet. It seems an eternity before you hear the first solenoid thunk into action, followed by the high-pitched whine of the dynamo coming to life. And still you wait. All at once there is something like a flash of lightning --so it seems--inside your skull. At the same instant, a searing pain surges through your body. Now, for you, it really is...Eternity.
---------- And what you didn't know was that in the seconds before the execution was consummated, there--in the privacy of her cubicle--Brandy reached into her purse for a vibrator. Inserting it with one hand with practiced precision, she started it up before pressing the final button of the lethal apparatus with the other, treating herself to massive, if illicit, pleasure. The swelling and bucking of her victim is the ultimate aprodisiac for Brandy. And nobody ever knew it!
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