Shot at dawn
I’m a beat reporter for the Lancaster Angry Bee. I hadn’t written what I thought was a decent article in months. The news of the day always focused on politics, celebs, or sports… all of which bored me to tears.
Everything changed for me the day my editor Sam Frickle came up to me three days ago. “Norma, ever hear the name Winston Winchester?”
“Can’t say that I have.” Then I thought about it for a moment.
That name did sound vaguely familiar. Where had I heard it before?
“This guy is legally shooting women over in Barton County. I just read another obit from over there. Norma, I want you to go check into it and write up a story.”
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“Apparently he’s never been interviewed before. I want you to see if you can go speak to him. Get me a good story out of this, Norma, and you won’t be sorry.”
“What if he shoots me?”
“Try not to get shot.”
“Thanks a lot!”
The first thing I did was go back to my desk and look him up on the computer. I found out there was definitely a Winston Winchester in Barton County. And according to court documents, he did have a license to shoot women. Damn!
I got the address and drove three hours to his estate. It was in a rural part of Panoma where the closest neighbor looked to be a couple miles away. There was a large gate with a little video speaker box mounted on a metal pole in the opening to the lane.
I nervously buzzed in and announced myself as Norma Jones, beat reporter for the Lancaster Angry Bee. I said I was there to do a story on Winston Winchester. The response I got was “Sorry, miss, but he doesn’t give out interviews.”
“I drove a really long way to be here. Can’t I get just ten minutes of his time?”
There was a long pause. I wondered if I was going to be sent away empty-handed. To my surprise there was a buzz before the large metal gate parted.
“Thank you so much!” I called into the little speaker. “I really appreciate it.” Then I drove through, watching the rearview mirror with some trepidation as the gate closed behind me.
As I made my way up the drive I saw rolling hills and manicured lawns surrounded by woods heavy with oaks, maples and elms. I drove up to a circular drive where a gentleman came out and offered to park my vehicle. Another came out and escorted me inside.
I was led down a hall where I waited as my escort knocked on the door. “Miss Jones to see you, sir.”
“Send her in.”
“He’ll see you now, Miss Jones. Please don’t aggravate him.” And with that I was motioned to enter as he opened the door for me.
A grey-haired man in his late thirties or early forties sat behind a desk. He smiled appreciatively at me as he rose up. He came around and greeted me warmly… “It’s so nice to meet you, Miss Jones.”
He may have been ruggedly handsome. But the idea of him shooting ladies put me off right away. I’m afraid I wasn’t in the best of moods as I declined to shake his hand.
“Mr. Winchester, I’ll get right to the point. I understand you execute women here on your property?”
“It’s all perfectly legal, Miss Jones.”
“It is according to the court records, Mr. Winchester. But I find it a little hard to believe. My impression is these women must have been brought here against their will. Is this true?”
“On the contrary, Miss Jones. They all come of their own free will. They spend all night with me. Then at dawn I take them out to a post at the edge of the woods and I shoot them.”
I was stunned at the callousness of his remark and the calmness with which he presented it to me. “Mr. Winchester, do you know how absurd that sounds?”
He was not the least bit put off by my brusque manner. If anything he remained amazingly polite. “It does sound fantastical, Miss Jones. But I can assure you they do it willingly. It’s a price they’re willing to pay in order to spend their last night with me.”
“Mr. Winchester, I simply cannot believe it.”
“That is your prerogative, Miss Jones. But it is true nonetheless.” He paused before adding, “In fact I have a special guest coming today.”
“You do?” Now I was really astonished.
“Her name is Dorothy Curtis. She’d flying all the way in from England.”
“To be shot by you??” The idea was simply too unfathomable for me to be able to process.
“She knows I will shoot her at dawn, yes.”
It occurred to me there might be an opportunity here. But would he go along with it? “Mr. Winchester, might I be permitted to interview Miss Curtis?” Then I held my breath, anticipating the worst.
To my surprise he actually smiled at me. “Miss Jones, I will ask the lady. It will be totally up to her. I do not mind as I have nothing to hide. In the meantime I’ll have Greeves get you a room for the night along with some nourishment.” And with that he pushed a button on his speakerphone, calling for his man to come see to my needs.
Greeves came and escorted me away, the same man who had previously brought me to the den. He was a man whose health belied his age. He said he was sixty-two, although I thought him to be in his forties.
During my time in his presence I learned he was paid well and that he was allowed to live on the estate. In return he was the one responsible for carrying out all the details of his master’s executions. He answered all my questions as though he had nothing to hide.
Upon request, he actually took me outside and led me to the edge of the woods. He showed me the stake the women were secured to for their execution. The base around the circular wooden post was bereft of grass, no doubt due to all the bare feet that frequently stood there.
I saw red stains upon a portion of the post where it looked like it had taken a couple of hits. I lightly brushed a fingertip over the surface. Something made me shudder as I considered all the women who had previously died here.
“How many…?” I started to ask.
“Sixteen,” Greeves replied immediately as though anticipating my question.
“Really?” He just nodded his head in the affirmative. I was silent and contemplative as he led me back to the house to show me to my room…
–
That evening I was granted a short audience with Miss Dorothy Curtis who had arrived by limo. She was 42, with shoulder-length blonde hair and a nice rack on her chest. She was professionally dressed in a business jacket and skirt with short heels.
She told me she’d flown all the way over from England because she wanted to meet Winston Winchester. She’d heard about his prowess with the women, and she wanted to experience that for herself. She knew she was destined to be shot at dawn, but that was a price she was willing to pay. In fact, she almost sounded like she was looking forward to it.
I asked her why she wanted to die. In response she told me she didn’t think she had a death wish. She simply wanted to be shagged by this man, shagged being a British expression for sex. Then she wanted to die for him. She said she found the idea of being shot naked at dawn particularly appealing.
That was all the time I was granted as she didn’t want to waste a minute more away from his presence. She was whisked off to see Winston Winchester. They dined alone while I ate separately, a meal Greeves fixed that was superb. Then he excused himself, telling me preparations had to be made for Miss Curtis’ burial the next morning.
I was left to my own devices so long as I did not make a pest of myself. I wandered the grounds of the estate, my mind in turmoil. I was still confounded by the idea women would willingly come here to be “shagged and then shot” as Miss Curtis had so eloquently put it.
That night I wandered the halls of the manor. A couple times I heard cries coming from down a forbidden hall. I was told it was the location of the Winchester bedroom where the evening’s sexual liaisons were to take place.
I’m sure I heard Miss Curtis scream his name in orgasm a couple of times as the hour drew late. I went to bed, but I could not sleep. I put on a robe and wandered the halls again, only to hear Miss Curtis screaming his name again in bliss.
It was more than a little disconcerting, knowing she was to be shot in the morning. I had a hard time processing the idea of sex and death. Eventually I went back to bed.
I was awakened the next morning by Greeves before the sun came up. I was taken to that same den where I found Miss Curtis in a robe awaiting me. She had a blissed look in her eyes as though she’d recently been pleasured.
“He told me you might have a couple more questions before my execution, Miss Jones. What would you like to know?”
The idea of her impending execution was heavy on my mind. Strangely I was experiencing a certain shameful arousal at the idea. “I do have a couple questions, Miss Curtis. For instance, what does it feel like knowing you’re to be shot in a few minutes?”
“Anything for Winston Winchester, Miss Jones,” she said dreamily. “Such a lovely man. Had we gone any longer, I believe I would have died from orgasming one too many times. To answer your question I’d say I’m both excited and nervous. But after the pleasure he gave me last night, being shot for his enjoyment makes it all totally worth it.”
I was flabbergasted. Was she really that eager to die for him?? “Miss Curtis, do you mean to tell me you’re actually looking forward to being shot??”
“It’s a fetish of his, love. He made wonderful love to me, and in return I’m going to allow him to shoot me and then bury me. But oh, how this last night was worth it!”
I wanted to ask her a few more questions. Unfortunately Mr. Winchester arrived a few moments later. I knew her time was short when I saw the rifle in his hands, causing my heart to race as my breath caught in my throat.
It’s perverse, I know. But now I had had this really strange desire to witness her execution. I justified my feelings by telling myself it was only to add to the weight of my forthcoming article.
“I have one last request, Miss Curtis. Might I, uh… might I be permitted to witness your execution?”
I looked at Mr. Winchester, half expecting him to shake his head. To my utter surprise he answered, “I have no objections. What about you, Miss Curtis?”
She gave me a coy look as she asked, “Do you want to watch me get shot, love? Are you thinking about volunteering later?”
“Good heavens; no!”
My heart leaped into my throat at such a crazy suggestion. But I could not explain why I was suddenly so wet down below. Then she looked at me as though looking right through me before saying, “I have no objections.”
“Then it’s time, Miss Curtis.”
“I’m ready, love,” she replied to her executioner. I felt another erotic jolt as I found myself struggling for my next breath.
Dorothy dropped her robe before she rose to her feet. She was completely nude as he proffered a small length of rope. She dutifully brought her arms behind her back, allowing him to secure her wrists together. Then he escorted her out of the den with me in tow, the rifle still in his possession.
We walked outside toward that stake on the edge of the woods. To be honest I’m not sure who was more affected by her impending execution: Dorothy or me. My breath caught in my throat again at what I was about to witness.
Dorothy seemed to become more excited by the moment at the situation she found herself in. I caught sight of her erect nipples as he led her over to the post. I also noticed her crotch was trimmed and glistening with moisture.
Greeves was already out there near the post, calmly telling Mr. Winchester the grave had been prepared. Then he came over to stand next to me. I was to witness the execution with him from a short distance away.
Mr. Winchester calmly walked Dorothy up to the stake as though he’d done this sixteen times before. He freed her hands long enough to retie her to the post. She appeared to be in a state of breathless excitement.
He gave her a long, lingering kiss on the lips. I saw him finger her crotch, causing her to wince and moan. Then he calmly walked to a spot a few yards away.
Her breathing intensified, her breasts rising and falling as she began to tremble. He glanced over at the Eastern sky which was growing lighter by the moment. Then he hefted up the rifle and took careful aim as the sun’s rays began to glint out over the lawn.
“Kill me now, lover!” Dorothy cried out deliriously as she panted like crazy.
I’m almost certain she was all caught up in orgasm at that very moment. Or maybe it was just her bladder releasing. Anyway, that’s when the rifle went off, causing me to jerk with a start.
A bloody wound appeared in Dorothy’s left breast. She slumped forward, shot right through the heart. I felt butterflies in my stomach as it occurred to me just how aroused I had become.
Winchester paused for a moment as though admiring his kill. Then he came walking over in our direction. He was breathing heavily and he had a noticeable bulge in his trousers.
“An excellent shot if I do say so myself. She was wonderful. See that she gets a good burial, Greeves.” Then he nodded at me… “Miss Jones” before he went back to the house. And that… was that.
I stood there panting heavily for breath as I watched Greeves walk up to Miss Curtis. He freed her from the post and slung her naked body over his shoulder. Then he carried her off into the woods.
I’ll never forget the look of frozen shock in her lifeless eyes…
*****
And so, dear readers, I sit here naked in Winchester’s den, putting the finishing touches on this article. In forty-two minutes I will be tied to his stake. In forty-three minutes I will be dead, shot through the heart.
Why am I doing this? Even now I am not sure I can give you a satisfactory answer. After all, I can’t even give myself a satisfactory answer… and I’ve been pondering it ever since I signed the papers last night.
Yes, the sex was wonderful. I’m still feeling aftershocks of pleasure. But I cannot tell you the sex is the reason I consented to this.
Watching the execution of Dorothy Curtis had a profound effect on me, one I still cannot explain. Does that make Winchester a pied piper? Maybe so. But I take full responsibility for the decision. It was mine to make and not his.
Yesterday he took me out into the woods and showed me where I’ll be buried. There will be no pine box or fur-lined casket. I’ll simply be joined with the earth. There is something strangely thrilling about that.
What am I feeling as I sit here waiting for him? I feel both scared and excited. I think that gives me a special understanding of what Miss Curtis must have felt when she was sitting in this very same chair waiting to die just a few short days ago.
This will be my last news article. Seriously, how can I top this? Anything else will seem trite and irrelevant compared to what I’ve witnessed during my short time here.
I will share one more thing. Last night while we were making love, I was consciously aware he was going to kill me this morning. That knowledge made me feel more alive than I could have possibly imagined. It made the orgasms I experienced feel like nothing I have ever felt before.
I wish I could share with you my final thoughts as he marches me out to the stake. I suspect I will feel exactly the way Miss Curtis felt: frightened, exhilarated, anxious and yet strangely eager. It will be unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.
Will I orgasm at the moment he shoots me? Will I wet myself? I honestly do not know. But the intensity of what I’m about to experience has me in such a state of excitement that I fear I will lose my sanity before the deed is done.
Thank you so much for allowing me to share this last article with you.
Respectfully,
Norma Jones
Beat reporter, Lancaster Angry Bee
I skim over the article, trying to edit it for spelling and punctuation. Frickle has a couple of good proof readers back at the Angry Bee. My only question is whether or not he’ll publish it.
My breath catches in my throat as I hit “send”. The timing could not be more perfect. A moment later Winchester comes in with his rifle and the rope.
“Time’s running out, Miss Jones. Did you get it finished?”
“I just sent it off, darling.” I cannot explain why I just spoke to him using a term of endearment.
“It’s time, Norma.”
“Yes it is, Winston.”
I stand up and bring my hands behind my back. I’m trembling like a leaf as he lasciviously eyes me up and down. Then he comes over and secures my wrists behind my back.
I have a hard time catching my breath as he grabs an arm and escorts me outside. I can’t believe this is happening to me. But I am still unable to explain what drove me to sign those damned papers.
Greeves is right outside to walk with us. “It’s been good having you here with us, Miss Jones.”
“Thank you, Greeves.”
“I made sure the grave in the woods is deep enough so the critters won’t get to you.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that. And thanks in advance for carrying my body out there.”
“Anything for you, Miss Jones.”
My legs nearly buckle as we get closer to the stake. My breathing becomes more heavy and labored as he walks me up to it. Then he unties my hands.
“I’m glad you came to visit, Norma. I’m really looking forward to this.” I can’t answer him as my throat has just gone dry.
“Do you know why I granted you that interview, Miss Jones?” Funny how he uses my last name when he’s referring to anything related to the paper.
“Why is that?” I can barely get the words out as he finishes tying my arms to the post.
“I wanted to shoot you the moment I first laid eyes on you on the monitor when you came up to the gate. That’s why I let you in.”
I moan while my breath catches in my throat as a jolt of horrific arousal flows through me. Then he kisses me deeply as he fingers me. I’m wet as hell: humiliated, terrified, aroused and excited all rolled into a big jumble of nerves.
He takes his rifle with him as he walks to his spot. My chest heaves until I can hardly catch my breath. My nipples are so hard they hurt. Then he lifts up the rifle and takes careful aim.
At that moment I catch the first rays of the sun peeking out over the hills. That’s when I let out a cry as I suddenly wet myself. Then I see the puff of smoke from the barrel.
My heart explodes in my chest as the sound of the shot echoes around the backyard——-
© 2017 (written Jul 31 ’17 by Riwa)