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(Idea was that in the future, time travel was invented. And as usual with some scifi progress, it was used for snuff porno. Real tortures and real executions of real girls. But with ability to save memory and recover victim again. many masochistic people were thrilled the ideas to experience real executions and tortures from the past.)


There was a long debate about the miniskirt. She didn't like miniskirts, preferring jeans or, at worst, shorts. But I insisted! How could anyone refuse the sight of modern girl struggling under torture! When her legs flashing in tights beneath her skirt? The tights had to be black, with white panties underneath. The skirt had to be so short that the panties had to be visible any time she tried to bend over. After a brief debate, my wife proposed to make a quick survey. Company put her sexy photo and asked viewers how they want to see her. Variant with mini skirt won. My wife was not happy, but she agreed to the arguments, that torture toy should be presented most sexual way for the viewers. To humiliate her more, company asked us to make a short video how my wife is dressing up, starting from panties. Actually it was my idea, but I didn't tell her this. But it was very hot, when my wife support this game and smile in the camera after get fully dressed: "I hope you all enjoy when all this will be teared from my body!"

Officially, the travel agency made no promises. But this was more of an insurance policy against dissatisfied clients. To begin with, everything was done to ensure that the Inquisition had no doubt that the woman in front of them wasn't a witch. The victim was dumped right under the noses of the city guard or villagers, with all the attendant effects: a sinister laugh, a broom in hand or between the legs, a bonfire, and a sabbath in a temporarily opening portal. The extreme adventurer's strange and sexy attire was also meant to leave no doubt. As a rule, there were no missteps. After a moment of confusion, the girl was seized. And she was lucky if she was no beaten unconscious. Another issue is that the agency didn't guarantee anything afterward, especially that the victim would survive until the stake. But that was at the mercy of experienced medieval executioners. After all, they were well-versed in agonizing tortures that prevented the victim from dying.

Hidden cameras filmed her torment from every angle. But as her husband, I couldn't watch her torture in real time. It was an additional humiliation, which I'd requested in the contract. I knew viewers were already paying for the broadcast and enjoying every angle of my beauty's torture. And premium members could, for an additional fee, travel back in time as locals. And at night, in the basement, for a hefty bribe, the torturers would allow them to rape my wife as they pleased. According to the contract, I, as a mere viewer, could buy the full video at full price only after she was burned. Her body would take a whole week to recover, so that would be the time when I could jerk off and enjoy the sight of her torment as a spectator. And now I had to suffer, imagining what experienced torturers were doing to my wife.


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I'm trying to translate it correctly, not sure if Google doing a good job
What do you think about this scenario?

And so, finally, I in the town square as a spectator from the crowd. This was the first time I was supposed to see my lovely wife in person after nearly a week of brutal torture. But they gave me an excellent seat at least, in the front row. At first, I heard periodic, repeated screams. And only after a few minutes did I see the procession itself. The cart was pulled by a single horse and moved slowly. Either because of the weight of the load, or because the executioners were taking their time, wanting to amuse the crowd with the spectacle. My wife sat on a bench in the back, oddly enough, fully clothed. It seemed they had decided to burn the witch along with her clothes. But only rags remained of her clothes. And some were torn so that the girl was naked to the waist in front. Her arms were shackled at her shoulders with heavy iron stocks, which also pinched her neck. The stocks were attached to two posts on either side of the cart, preventing the victim from leaning to the side or standing up. On her head was some kind of metal harness, with a bit that prevented the witch from speaking or casting spells. But it did allow her to scream. Which she did, occasionally amusing the crowd.

As they approached, I saw in detail how brutally my wife had been tortured. Her fingers were broken in a vice and bound in coarse rags. Her tender belly, so often kissed and cummed on, was covered in blue and black marks from the whip and canes. Her shoulders were blue, indicating that she had been hanging on the strappado for many hours. And of course, they continued to mock her as an unrepentant witch. On the front bench sat the executioner, taking a red-hot iron rod from a brazier and periodically burning my wife's small breasts with it. Each time, a hiss and a desperate, tormented howl rang out from he mouth. The crowd greeted these cries with delight, whistling and applauding the abuse of the poor witch. My beloved's tender breasts were almost completely burned. Her shirt was missing. It seemed that after the torture, all that remained was a rag that they couldn't pull back onto her battered body. They managed to pull her bra back up, but it was unfastened and hanging over her shoulders so as not to interfere with the torture of her breasts. Her head was shackled in an iron harness, blindfolding her like a horse. Her mouth was held open by a bit, and I saw that her tongue was stretched between two iron rollers and pierced from the outside by a thick metal spike. This was done to prevent her from speaking or casting spells.

I recalled with pleasure the beginning of her capture and interrogation. The agency sent a text message briefly describing the successful infiltration. My wife played along well, feigning fear and confusion when caught off guard during the "ritual." Then came the failed attempt to escape, complete with pyrotechnics and fireworks. The guards, having received an anonymous tip, turned out to be not one of the timid ones. They caught her up, threw her to the ground, kicked her a bit, gag her, and bound her tightly with ropes. Thrown over a horse, she was taken to the local monastery, where the inquisitors began to interrogate her. I couldn't see any of this, and it was a wonderful torment by itself - knowing that my wife was about to be, or had already been, brutally tortured. But I could only imagine what they were doing to her.

The monastery was destroyed during the wars with the Ottoman Empire, and no documents about it survived. That's why it was chosen for those who wanted to experience the full extent of medieval torture. Official history hasn't recorded how many heretics and witches shrieked in pain in its cellars, so nobody cares if tourist company will add some more beautiful victims. But now these snuff videos sold well among lovers of sadism and cruelty. Particularly prized resilient masochists, capable of enduring torments to the end and not confessing to heresy or witchcraft. Such women were burned alive, and thousands of fans gathered to admire the spectacle of a naked woman screaming in pain in the flames. If the victim couldn't withstand the torture and confessed, they were tied to a post and first strangled. This was less valuable, and the agency paid much less for it. What made our adventure especially piquant was that my wife didn't speak Spanish or English. And she couldn't confess to anything, even if she wanted to. She could only shake her head or nod randomly. And, of course, scream in pain as much as she wanted. This added a special thrill to her adventure.

I myself asked not to be allowed to watch as experienced torturers breaking my wife. I wanted to suffer from the suspense and excitement. But the company knew perfectly well what its clients adored, even better than I did. And one time, they allowed me to travel back in time to make my torment even more unbearable. I was met by a representative of the company, a beautiful and strong woman with black hair. Disguised as merchants, we rode to the monastery in a cart loaded with vegetables. I gazed at the authentic medieval streets, my imagination conjuring up all sorts of wild images. "Are you already imagine your wife being taken down there to her execution?" the beauty laughed. "It's a little early. They'll torture her for a few more days. Until they decide the torture won't break her. Or our advisor tells them so. But that's only when we decide we have enough videos of your bitch being tortured in all sorts of ways. Our clients are very demanding!" She laughed as she looked at my erection. After passing through the monastery's massive gates, we stopped near the kitchen. The woman gave me a sly look and suggested that instead of standing around doing nothing, I take a stroll toward the far tower. Then she walked away and began discussing the wares with a monk. I took her hint and headed to the far side of the courtyard, unsure what to expect. At the base of the tower was a row of small, barred windows. As it turned out, they led directly into the torture chamber. They were narrow, and nothing could be seen through them. Only a few noises and distant voices could be heard outside. But then, suddenly, I heard a woman scream! "No, no, no, no, please, no! AAAAAAAAA! Eeeeeeeee!" My God, I immediately recognized my wife's voice. How she screamed! I didn't know what they were doing to her, but from her screams, I could tell she was in great, great pain! Then everything went silent again, only the sound of voices. And then again the pleading voice of my beloved: “What do you want me to say? I don’t understand anything, what should I do? No, please!” And then the steady slaps of the whip began to be heard, lashing naked body, and my wife’s sweet voice in time with the blows: “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ouch! Ah!” They beat her continuously for about ten minutes. What happened next, I never heard.

"Enjoying your bitch's screams?" the woman approached quietly from behind. "Looks like the executioners are tired today. Yesterday she squealed like a pig being slaughtered." She waved me off. She didn't even turn around to check if I was following her. As we drove through the monastery gates, she gave me a mocking sideways glance and continued, "Did you enjoy her screams? The bitch is strong and resilient! She'll last until nightfall! It's too early to burn her - there are still plenty of people who want to fuck her."

She turned to me and unceremoniously placed her hand on my penis. "I see you're getting turned on by the way your whore is being treated. You can go home now and masturbate until you're stupefied by what you heard today. But I can offer you a little adventure on the side. For that, I'll tell you a few more dirty details." I agreed without hesitation! She laughed, not doubting the outcome at all, and turned the cart towards the outskirts.