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 No.25

Choke Therapy



Nurse Claire looked up from her paperwork when she heard knocks on the door. The expression of crushing boredom left her face, making place for bubbly excitation that something happened on this otherwise tiresome day.

Before she noticed it she was already standing.
"It's open!"
Not wasting a second, she cheerfully opened the door... only to wince at the sight.
"Hi! How can I hel-- Ew, ouch! Come in, sit her on the bed."

Amanda hopped through the door, her arms resting on her two friends' shoulders. Claire didn't bother asking for their name and dismissed them as soon as they had laid her on the examination table. She stayed silent for a few minutes as she worked, but had a grim expression when she turned to Amanda's face, her bare foot still in hand.

"This is not good, miss, um...
- Whitney, Amanda. Second year.
- Well, my dear Amanda... your ankle is broken. I will give you a splint, but it's a matter of months before it can support your weight again.
Amanda's heart sank.
- What? Months? But I... the competitions start in two weeks!
- I'm afraid you'll have to sit this one out, I'm sorry.
- But... I can't! I'm on a sports scholarship! If I miss the competitions I'm useless to the school, and they'll ditch me like a used condom!
- I'm sorry, I'm a nurse, not a cleric! I can't magic that fracture away. The best I can give you is a splint and a medical leave. Nothing will make it heal faster, unless you prefer the choke therapy.
- Oh yeah, 'cures all ills', that's it? Gee, thanks."

Claire got up and motioned to her desk.
"I'll just write you the leave, see if you can use it to negociate the scholarship, okay?
- Uhm... yeah, thank you. I'll have something to sign, I guess?"
- No, don't--
- Aauuugh!
- Oh God, let me get you back on the bed."
Amanda hold to the examination table with all her might to keep from falling, cursing herself for absentmindedly trying to walk to the desk. As Claire helped her lift herself back onto the table, she spoke again.
"Don't try this stunt again even with the splint on, understood? You'll need a pair of crutches.
- You know what? Screw it. The choke therapy sounds like a better option now."

The nurse sat down next to Amanda.
"Are you sure about that?
- Of course not! That scares me. But... I'm not living through months of not even being able to put my foot down. And deal with the scholarship problems on top of that... Yes, I'm sure.
- I cannot accept a confused answer. Are you sure or not?"
The girl took a deep breath.
"...Yes. Hey, at least it will take my weight off that ankle, won't it?
- Got it. I'm going to assume that was your final answer."

The bathroom was wide enough to accomodate a wheelchair, but unpacking it for less than an hour just wasn't worth it. Claire simply took her charge's arm over her shoulder and walked her to the toilet seat.
"I'll prepare the paperwork in the meantime. Patients must be nude for the treatment, so you can just leave everything here.
- Uhm, okay, but why? It can't be so I don't wet my pants since we're taking care of that right now...
- I think the only reason is to make it sexier. It's all filmed an put on the school's intranet, you know?
- Wait, people are gonna fap to my death?
- 'fap' is hardly the right word, but yeah, it's assumed to be the main reason for most of our students who download the videos.
- So I'm gonna become these girls' sick sadistic fantasy? Is it too late to back off?
- Oh, please don't say that. The school ran a poll, you know? Sure, some buyers are into savoring the look of total agony on your pretty face; others just like seeing a naked girl move her legs... But most of those who answered would rather take your place if there were no consequences. A small part of them wants to go through it, but the rest chickens out. Miss Whitney, it's not a sadistic fantasy... it's wish fulfillment.
- Well... Now that you said it, I do find it a bit exciting, and scary at the same time. Now that I'm here... I want to go through with it."
Claire closed the bathroom door and let Amanda relieve herself in peace.

The nurse opened the door at Amanda's call, and walked her to the desk. As she watched her climb on the other chair and tinker with the rope's pulley, the injured track runner noticed the noose lying on the desk, freshly cut.
"I'm sorry for the delay, but whoever built this assumed the patient could stand still on the stool. Instead I'll have to hoist you myself, and I don't have the strength to do it with a single pulley.
- You also look a bit lighter than me.
- Teehee, thanks! Anyway, this should work."
She climbed down the chair to admire her handiwork. The end of the rope was now tied to the pulley's support hook, forming a loop weighted down by a thick metal ring in the middle of it.
She waited until Amanda put her pen down before explaining.
"I'll just attach the noose to the ring and it will act as a block and tackle, so I'll just have to pull half your weight. How are things going on your side?
- All done. Let's do this."

Claire moved the chair back behind her desk and set a narrow rectangular stool beneath the noose. She helped her patient up and sat her on its cushioned top, before giving her the deadly loop.
"You have to put it on yourself since you're physically capable of it. Don't worry, I'll adjust it afterwards."
Amanda shivered as she pulled the noose around her neck, but didn't stop. At her nurse's request, she put her hands behind her back and soon felt leather handcuffs around her wrists. Nurse Claire carefully set the noose to block the air but not the blood, picked up the camera's remote control and grabbed the other end of the rope.
"I'm ready when you are; just give me a signal and then take a deep breath."
Amanda's heart was racing. Trying to calm herself, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply a few times.
"Let's go" she said simply.
And then she took the last breath in her life.

At first she just felt her neck being pulled. As it lifted her butt from the stool, she tried to compensate with her good leg, but with no means to steady herself, she couldn't support her own weight. As the noose pulled, she stood up, knocking the stool over with surprisingly little noise. She could hear the nurse herself breathing in, anticipating the worst. Moments later her feet no longer touched the ground.
It was only then that she could feel how hard the rope squeezed her neck. A thin flow of air could still escape her lips, but Amanda held it: she needed that air. When she tentatively tried to breathe in again, it was too late. This precipitated her realization of her situation, and she started moving her legs, frantically feeling for the ground. As the camera recorded her dance, Amanda knew the worst was yet to come. A lingering pain was slowly rising in her chest, as heat began doing the same in her crotch. The patient caught herself thinking her day would not completely suck if she could at least get an orgasm of this...

But she soon lost all capacity for coherent thought as her lungs suddenly erupted in pain. Air! She began shaking, twisting and turning, but to no avail: She couldn't get even a tiny bit or air. Nurse Claire saw her rise her legs as high as she could and violently kick down, with no effect. The rope wouldn't release its grip on her neck, and Amanda was losing strength fast. Her kicking subsided, but her torment didn't: Both her chest and crotch were on fire. Her orgasm came as a surprise to both her and the Nurse, violently shaking her one last time, but also draining the last of her strength. Amanda passed out and went limp, with only her feet twitching at random times. Nurse Claire glanced at her watch and noted the time on her form. The treatment wasn't over yet: the procedure called for leaving the patient a full half hour after the initial drop before actually checking their heart, on pain of risking personal injury.

There was more than enough time left. The young nurse positioned her chair where she could get a good view of Amanda's naked, lifeless body, and slid a hand in her skirt.

 No.27

The Theater


(asphyxiation, consensual)



I stopped the car in the parking area. As I opened my door, I heard Christine’s voice from the right, asking me to pick up her bag. Opening the rear door, I reached behind my seat as she helped Theo off the car. By force of habit I almost asked where his older sister was, but I remembered Naomi had come by coach, with the rest of her class. We walked to the theatre together, eager to see her performance.

Of course the place was quite crowded with the other families, but we could get in without waiting too much. As we entered the changing room, Theo was quite surprised of seeing so many naked people, but I explained to him that is was okay, and we would both be going in naked too. Christine however, had brought some clothing appropriate for the occasion, and once stripped she pulled from the bag a dress. She quickly put it on, and I could see the neckline ran below her breasts, while the skirt was split on the front to show her crotch. I could not resist the sight, and promptly kissed her with my left hand on her boob and my right down there. It was a nice omen for the evening.

We then proceeded to the next room, which had a row of bathroom stalls on both sides. Near the exit, a sign reminded people that their use was mandatory. Of course, even though the seats are made of an easily cleanable leather-like material, the cleanup crew would hate for someone to have an accident on them. We did our business, washed hands and walked into the main room. The curtains were closed, but we could hear voices from the other side as the girls were getting in position.

As leaving empty spaces in the rows was forbidden, we choose the one of the front rows that would have us closest to the center. Christine walked in first, with Theo between us. Christine’s neighbor was the mother of one of Naomi’s friends. She greeted us cheerfully and asked Christine for help strapping her right arm in. Then we took review of our own seats, the belts, the neck strap, the instructions sticker on the front seats, and Christine sat down.

She first strapped in her ankles, then the belts right below her knees. She clicked the neck strap’s buckle into the pulling mechanism, then strapped in her left arm. Before proceeding further, we adjusted Theo’s seat for his size: we slid the ankle straps up, lowered the headrest, and pulled his wrist belts backward. Then we had him secure Christine’s right arm. I guess the wristwatch for his last birthday was a nice move, because he worked like a pro. I helped him for the rest, strapped myself in, and let my own neighbor tie my right arm down. I didn’t really know the guy, so we kept the talking to a minimum.

And then came the agonizing wait. No longer distracted by the technical stuff, all I could think of was the upcoming spectacle, and my own helplessness. If I ever wanted out now, it would be too late. The anticipation was enough to arouse me and I was at full mast long before they dimmed the lights and replaced them with spotlights, focused on the curtain.
The red curtain finally split open, revealing Naomi’s class. All the girls were standing in a single row, on four long benches, a noose around their necks and their hands bound behind their backs. Half of them were naked, every other girl wore some clothing not unlike Christine’s, emphasizing their girly parts. I quickly found Naomi in the row and she saw me, but we lacked the freedom of movement to do anything more than smiling and winking at each other. On the center was a single stool, for the teacher Ms. fine-piece-of-ass. She probably told us her name, but it was beneath my care. Why was it that you only met such hot teachers after you had kids, and thus were no longer single?

After greeting us, the teacher then walked to her own noose in the center, and picked a pair of padded handcuffs, putting one on her left wrist. Stepping on her stool, she passed the noose around her neck and waved backstage to have the slack removed. After cuffing herself, she addressed both her class and the audience: She explained that we would all take three deep breaths, and the show would begin after the third one, ensuring it would last a good time for everyone. The entire room fell silent as we took our last breaths together, then the teacher solemnly stepped off her stool and kicked it backwards.

Then it happened. Following their teacher’s example, all the girls took a step forward, pushing the bench behind them. As it collapsed I felt my own neck squeezed, the seat pulling my neck strap tightly. But that mattered little, for in front of me fifty legs were now dancing in the air, trying to regain the footing they had just thrown away. The inability to breathe made the sight all the more arousing. I couldn’t look at Christine, but Theo had gained a boner that made me proud of him. He was also choking, fighting the bonds, his muscles looking nice on the arm and leg I could see of him.

One by one, the girls were shifting into second gear. Naomi soon began undulating, trying desperately to break the belt holding her hands behind her. That’s when the panic hit me too. The pain came suddenly, and soon my whole chest felt on fire. I pushed and pulled at all my limbs with all my might, but the seat held strong. The only thing harder than these bonds was… well. The girls were now kicking frantically. Glancing to my left, I saw that Theo had stopped struggling. But not before having his first, and last, orgasm. I had always known taking him here with us was better than dropping him off at his aunt’s.

It was now Naomi’s turn. She shuddered once, and then tensed completely, pulling her feet high up. Then her face became more serene. Her tongue was still hanging out, but she was now drifting to sleep, with only her feet twitching every now and then. Looking around her, I saw this happening left and right, girls climaxing and going limp. This pushed me over the edge. I felt myself filled with a pleasure that was never enough, and I gave everything I had to try and push forward, attempting to hump something that wasn’t there as I stained the seat in front of mine.
To my shame, I found myself imagining my own daughter as still dancing, only on my lap this time. With my last ounce of willpower she turned into that hot teacher, and then everything went black.

 No.28

Hairdressing



Teri looked through the hairdressing salon's front window with increasing interest. Five faces were looking back at her, frozen in a content expression, each sporting a different hairstyle. Taped to the window was a small paper reading “Models wanted.”

She stood there thinking for a minute as her excitation battled her fear. Eventually she worked up the courage to push the glass door and walk to the desk. An employee who was sweeping the floor set aside her broom and came to greet her:

“Good afternoon ma’am! Kate at your service! How can I help you?”
“Uhm, hello? I… I was wondering… Uh… A-are you still looking for models?”
“Indeed, we have two positions left! But it’s not my decision to make, you’ll have to wait until Mr. Jones is done with his client. It shouldn’t be more than ten minutes anyway.”
A few meters from there, the owner was indeed working on some woman’s hair. She was starting to look like the third model. That man sure wasn’t half-assing his work.
“Very well, I’m in no hurry.”
“We can still save some time however”, Kate said as she rummaged in one of the desk’s drawers. She pulled out three sheets of paper full of fine print, and handed one to Teri. “You can read the model contract in the meantime. There will be less pressure on you that way. You can have a seat here.”

With a “Thank you”, Teri walked to the seat and started reading. The authors had apparently decided to ditch legalese wherever they could get away with it, making the contract readable by someone without a PhD in law. The contract was fairly short, and Teri found nothing that she didn’t expect for such a modeling job. It was pretty much common sense, a rare value these days.

When she looked back up, the customer was checking out. Kate introduced the aspiring model to Mr Jones, who took a good look at Teri as he greeted her. With a few words he was informed of her candidacy, but couldn’t make a decision without first examining her hair. He pronounced his judgment a few seconds later:
“Well, dear Teri, your hair seems more than adequate for what I have in mind, and I’d enjoy working on it. I suggest you just take a seat and I’ll apply my latest idea. Once we’re done it will be your choice whether to sign the modeling contract or just pay the hairdressing fee and leave.”
“This sounds perfect”, Teri answered, reassured that she could save the final decision for last. Following Mr. Jones’s lead she walked to the shampooing chairs, never dropping the contract. The warm water felt nice. Ordinarily she’d almost doze off to sleep, but today she was far too excited for that.

Teri sprang to her feet as soon as she heard “That part’s done”. By the next minute she was already sitting in front of a mirror, Mr. Jones diligently working on her hair.
The hairdresser was a man of few words, and Teri was grateful for that. Most of the time she viewed such ranting as inane babbling, and eventually tuned it out. Here, she had all the tranquility to read the contract again, making sure she understood it completely. At the same time she could see Mr Jones’s masterpiece slowly taking shape.

Twenty minutes later, Teri was looking in awe at her own reflection. Neither the artist nor his assistant dared to interrupt her, until she laid down the contract and signed it without a word. This brought Kate back to reality, who rushed in to hug her. They stayed in each other’s arms for a full 30 seconds before Mr Jones broke the silence.
“Well everything seems to be in order. You should just use the bathroom before we get started. I’ll get the back room ready.”
Kate showed Teri to the bathroom and used that time to store the signed contract in a desk drawer, resuming conversation when the new model opened the door again.
“How did you decide to work with us? Did you have some old dream or—“
“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I guess seeing the other models made me jealous, or something.”

On these words, they finally reached the back room. Its most prominent features were a garroting post and a guillotine. Mr Jones greeted her with instructions:
“First of all, I have to thank you for choosing to model for me. Now I recommend you take our clothes off: the bottom for sexual stimulation, and the top just to avoid staining it. We will use the garrote first to make sure your heart stops, before moving on. Adding a few strategically placed towels, this should make sure no blood gets on your hair. Shall we?”
Teri nodded and disrobed quietly. She then let the hairdresser strap her in comfortably while making sure her hair didn’t get caught. Her legs were spread wide, giving full access to her crotch. As Kate dropped to her knees and started rubbing her, Mr. Jones tightened the garrote slightly, just enough to arouse without actually choking the user.

Teri started to breathe heavily, abandoning herself to Teri’s ministrations. Her excitation rose when she felt male hands on her breasts. Helpless, she could only enjoy her new bosses’ care. Her pleasure intensified when the caresses turned into kisses, taking her close to the edge of orgasm. Kate and Mr. Jones shared a look and a nod, before gently pinching her on the nipples and clit at the same time.
That did it. The new model let out a scream of pleasure, quickly interrupted by the garrote tightened all the way. Both Teri’s breath and blood were blocked, but she was so lost in the throes of orgasm that she never noticed. When she fell unconscious, her face was still showing complete ecstasy.
Kate rose to her feet and left in search of a stethoscope. They listened together to her last heartbeats, the hairdresser holding her hand.

A few minutes later, Teri’s head had joined the others on the front window.

 No.29

Stepping Down


(hanging, consensual)



Mary moaned loudly under John's tongue.
She wanted to grab his head, bury it even deeper between her legs, but the rope around her wrists wouldn't let go. So instead she just spread her legs as wide as she could, letting him drink her fluids and his own.
John kept working his mouth with application, eyes closed. He could hardly see more with his head locked than she could with her blindfold. So instead he enjoyed feeling and hearing how she reacted to his touch, expertly bringing her closer and closer to...
- AAAAAH! JOOOHN!
Mary shook violently as raw pleasure invaded her body again. This time, John pulled his head back, leaving his hand in its place, to admire her. Her perfect silhouette, her breasts the perfect size for him to cup and fondle, everything in her aroused him, and he felt his erection slowly coming back. By the time she had caught her breath, he was ready for round three.

- Oh John... that... was wonderful.
- Thanks, love. Come on, I'll help you up. Careful though, it's a chair, not the floor.
Still bound, Mary felt his hands hold her steady as she stepped on the smooth surface of the chair.
- ...Wait, that's a kitchen chair. Why is it here?
- I wanted to know if you'd notice, just from your feet's touch. Let me walk you a bit ahead.
- Uhm, OK... ah, now that's a dining room chair. With the cushion on.
- Yeah, I re-strapped it to make sure it wouldn't slip. Careful, the next one is smaller.
- Uh, that's the bathroom stool. Please keep holding me, I'm not sure I-- WHAT THE FUCK?
John had passed something around her head, now squeezing her neck. There was no mistake, it was a noose.

- I won't really hang you, don't worry, John immediately said as he pulled her blindfold off. He stared into her eyes as he laid his left hand all over her body, his right still holding the noose above her. I just wanted you to feel it. The peril... gasping for breath atop this precarious platform... can you feel how arousing it is?
Mary was breathing too heavily under his hand to answer, so she simply nodded. Even that may have been superfluous, for her nipples were now as hard as diamonds.
John suddenly ceased his ministrations and spoke once he had her undivided attention again.
- Can I tie this off? I won’t hoist you up, just keep it at... this height. Just trust me, I promise I'll unbind your and let you down, (wink) unless you don't want me to. It will let me use both my hands for you...
Mary looked into his eyes. His serious face made it clear he wanted a clear answer this time. Mary shuddered, but steeled herself and rose on her toes to speak:
- Yes. I trust you, John.
- Perfect. I love you.
As John stepped down, Mary took notice of her surroundings. She was standing on the bathroom stool as she had guessed, and John had pulled one of the kitchen chairs in front of her, on which he stood when he was kissing and rubbing her.
- Lay your feet flat on the ground, well, the stool, again. Here it goes. Juuuust the right height to hamper your breath a bit, and you can breathe clearly on tiptoes. Good, I'm all yours now.

Once again she was feeling him all over her skin. Hands, lips and tongue... She closed her eyes, trying to ignore all other senses than touch. Well, that and taste, whenever his lips went from her nipple to her mouth. She didn't try to hold her moans as his right hand expertly rubbed her crotch, but her instinct fought the urge to lift one of her legs so she could spread them more.
- Oh god, I can't wait any longer! Hold me! I mean, lift my butt with your hands -aah!- Let me wrap my legs around you! ...Hah... And fuck me in the air!
- Oh I'd love to, so help me god I want to so much, but I want to save my boner for the next part. It's not like I can reload in thirty seconds. Until then... you'll have to make do with my nimble fingers.
Putting his words into action immediately, John slid two of them in his willing captive's vagina. The next second he smothered her moan with a kiss.
Slowly but steadily, Mary's arousal was climbing. Still feeling the rope's embrace, she completely abandoned herself to her lover's expert hands. She had spent all this time teaching him how to please her, and his skill was bring her closer and closer to climax.
Her knees gave way as she came, but John held her in a tight embrace to save her from the noose. He kept holding her until she could catch her breath and stand by herself.
- That... That was...
John answered with a kiss. A tender one, far from the hungry kisses that preceded it. Mary responded in kind, forgetting the world again until John broke the kiss.

- I love seeing you like this. You're so cute when you're helpless.
- And I have to admit I liked being helpless in your arms. And, uhm... So, what was the next part for which you've been saving that boner? Does it involve me staying here, or will you let me go now?
- I'll explain first. Without further action on your part, I'll unbind you in a minute after I'm done talking.
John stepped down and pulled the chair back, before grabbing a kitchen timer and sitting down.
- The thing is... I'd really love you to do it for real. I'd love to see you step off this stool, and choke to death for me, writhing in agony for my arousal. It would make me hard enough to break rock. And when you're done dancing, I'd get a tremendous pleasure fucking your body in its death throes. It will be pure ecstasy for me. And after your death, maybe I could eat you? I already love the taste of your pussy, I bet the rest would be delicious because it would be your flesh. I would enjoy all of this beyond anything, if you would just choose to die for my sick pleasure.
- ...That's why you insisted I use the restroom before tying me up, isn't it?
- Indeed. Can't let anything stain this picture of perfection, now can I?
A loud beep signaled John had started the timer.
- I'll untie you and remove the noose when it beeps, if you're still standing there.
- And... And if I'm no longer on the stool?
- Then I'll just sit back and enjoy the show.
So that was it, thought Mary. His darkest, secret desire. A lover ready to die for him, not just risking her life to save his, but actually throwing it away for his personal entertainment. Would she be that one?

She realized, too late, that her loins had taken the decision for her. She had enjoyed feeling John's hands on her skin and the rope around her neck, and now part of her wanted more. Alone this would have done little to sway her, but paired with the thought that her lover would enjoy every second of it, the temptation was overwhelming. Mary knew she would not survive this night. She did not have the strength of will to resist the rope's appeal for a full minute. So she surrendered to it.
The timer had barely hit the thirty second mark when Mary took a deep breath, steeling herself, and folded her knees.
She carefully let the rope embrace her neck, putting more and more of her weight onto it, until she could lift her feet completely off the stool. She locked eyes with John as the kicked the stool behind her, sealing her fate. Then she looked at his straining erection, until the panic hit her and she started dancing for good.

John held his own breath as he watched her desperately try to take in some fresh air. He watched in awe the delicious movement of her legs, and the erratic writhing of her torso as her chest bounced in rythm with her attempts to breathe. Mary had closed her eyes again, in this expression he had seen so often while making love, where she tried to open her eyes so he could lose himself in them, but her eyelids always seemed stuck from the pleasure all over her body.
This time, the pleasure was intertwined with pain like the threads of her rope. Not that it lessened it, however. It only made it stand out more, like a volcanic island of ecstasy in an ocean of agony. Further driving her mad, she could feel John's awed gaze like a tropical sun on her skin as she moved her legs with all the grace of a swimmer, desperate for land. As her chest heaved in search of a wind that would never come, Mary could feel the storm brewing in her loins.
John was transfixed. He dared not blink, for fear of missing one instant of this unique spectacle. He sat on his hands, for fear than even brushing against his dick would tip him over the edge. All he could do was watch, her toes wiggling and feeling for ground, her outstretched tongue he had felt in her kisses and more, her flushed face betraying her imminent climax...

Then it erupted. For a tiny, delicious moment, all the pain had been drained as her whole body was flooded with soaring pleasure. The sensations came in waves, each stronger than the last, as she rode an orgasm unlike any other. Her entire body arched, her flat belly and inviting crotch forward, her legs curved back from hip to toe, her head tilted back in a voiceless scream of her love.
And as suddenly as it had parted, the ocean flooded back on her. Drowning in pain, yet still in the haze of the afterglow, Mary's dance got a second wind. A more frantic, uncoordinated one, announcing her end was close. She was tiring fast, burning through the little stamina she had left, and soon she dangled in front of John, merely twitching.

This was the moment he had been waiting for. John dragged his chair in front of her and promptly stood eye to eye before her. Lifting one of her eyelids, he saw her iris shrink, but nothing close to the spark of life. Her body jerked as he entered her with a renewed passion. She had done this for him, she was his to take entirely. Kissing her, grabbing her butt in one hand and her breast in the other, he started moving. Not ten seconds later came his own orgasm; screaming Mary's name, her held her against him tight enough to stop her from breathing, had she still needed it. He stayed in that position for two full minutes, tears filling his eyes, before letting go. Placing his hand on her heart, he found it silent.
Still, that was no reason for overconfidence. To make sure she would not somehow wake up with heavy brain damage when he weren't looking, John tied another piece of rope around Mary's neck before lowering the noose. Taking it off, he kissed the neck where the noose had marked it forever.
Then he slid one arm under her shoulders, another under her knees, and carried her to the bedroom. The next morning he would wake up hugging his beloved Mary like all previous dawns, just one last time before disposing of her... or joining her.

 No.30

The Tour


Part 1 − Visitors



The tour bus stopped right in front of a wide stairway that led directly to the upper floor of the building.
- All right, said Miss Ferris, follow me off the bus, everybody! The visitors’ entrance is right there. Please don’t rush—
Too late. Within seconds the whole class was haphazardly filling the central lane, trying to get to the doors first and stretch our legs.
-—out. *sigh*... Kids…

After getting off the bus, our teacher was at last able to get the class back in a semblance of order. She gestured for us to follow her up the stairs and took the lead, tuning out the incessant chattering. We had heard a lot of rumors about this place, so there was plenty of fuel for inane conversation.

Before we reached the door, it was opened from the inside and we were greeted by an employee.
- Hello, and welcome to Litbørd, the town with the most tourist deaths in the world! My name is Sylvia and I’ll be your guide for this tour of the National Entertainment Hanging Center. Follow me, please…

As we stepped into the building, we noticed we were standing on a walkway. Right below us was a room with a few counters on the far side, where a few people were buying something. When the door closed behind us, our guide started explaining:
- This is the entrance hall for customers. They just buy tickets, and with them they’re allowed to proceed through this door on the left. To see what’s on the other side, let’s go through this door on our level.

As we crossed the double doors, the first thing I noticed below was the people undressing. On the right side of the room was another double door, and above it a sign reading “No everyday clothing beyond this door”. Our walkway turned to the right to a door in the same room, but not directly above the one below. I bet they put them like this on purpose so we could see it from here.
Looking further down, I saw several bins at the center of the room, for different types of clothing (white, color, shoes). The walls were lined with benches.

-This is our changing room, continued Sylvia, though “stripping room” would be more appropriate: Most of our customers are hanged in the nude. Only those who know from the start they’re going to die here bring some special clothing for the occasion. Usually something that shows and highlights the chest and crotch rather than hide them. After all, on the gallows, looking sexy is a must. That’s why we forbid people from just going in normal clothing.
Samantha timidly raised her hand.
- Excuse-me, I was wondering… Isn’t the right name for this, you know… “erotic hanging”? What with all the sexiness and all?
Our guide smiled.
- Well, if it were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation because you wouldn’t have been allowed in here! Also, uhm… there would probably be an orgy right below us. But no, it’s not erotic and we limit ourselves to family-friendly entertainment. If we strayed from this path, in addition to kids, we would lose adult clients as well! Few people are willing to abandon their children behind them in the name of short-term fun, and honestly I think the world is better this way.
- Not few enough, sighed Katherine. Her father had left when he learned of her mother’s pregnancy, so I could see what she was coming from.

Miss Ferris broke the awkward silence by clearing her throat, and Sylvia took us to the next room.

It was nothing like the changing room. This one had all its right side covered with a roof, while the left side had a pair of showers followed by a row of sinks.
- There’s not much to explain here, our guide began, it’s just the bathroom. Mandatory of course, we don’t want to stink up the hanging room. Especially as customers are to take a deep breath before hanging. Now, the next room is much more interesting, so let’s--
She was interrupted by a flushing sound below, and an adult woman left one of the bathroom stalls for the sinks.
- Let’s go! We can see her go through the process next room over!

She hurried us through the door.

That room had yet another different feel. There was a wall with graduations, not unlike police photo shoots. At its foot was a bigger floor tile that appeared metallic. And to the left, a closed door labeled “hanging room”. Right before it, a square had been delimited on the floor, inside which was written “point of no return”. Oh, and unlike the previous two, this room was staffed. Not everyone there looked friendly: A pair of guys had the distinct presence of security guards.

We saw the woman enter the room and Sylvia narrated as the staff took care of her:
- Two important things happen in this room. The first one is measuring and weighting. This camera takes a picture of you standing on the scale tile against the wall, and it all goes to the computer which calculates the length of the rope, the size of the noose… Coupled with a noose technology we licensed from Dolcett U, it guarantees the blood keeps flowing to the brain, or your money back!
The computer printed a number on a small sticker and an attendant slapped it on the customer’s left foot.
- That's her gallows number, Sylvia explained.
With her sticker, the woman was now led to the “point of no return”. Another attendant approached behind her, holding something that looked like a small belt. However it had a second buckle near the normal one. The woman put her hands behind her back and let him work on them.
Sylvia lowered her voice, like she was speaking in a church:
- That’s the final step, the customer is given her wrist strap. Mandatory for both sexy and safety reasons; it stops you from clawing at the rope and your neck. (raising her voice) Excuse-me ma’am, could you show us… thanks!
The customer looked to us, smiled and turn her back on us, lifting her wrist so we would see better.
- It’s designed so you can safely tie it in an 8-shape, and tighten as necessary to secure your wrists behind your back. But more importantly…
She paused, lifting her finger in a way that was probably dramatic in her mind.

- It’s the actual point of no return! Once the wrist strap is in place, you will be hanged by the neck until dead. No questions, no excuses: After this point, those who get cold feet will be forcefully dragged to their gallows, even kicking and screaming. Thankfully, this almost never happens. And now, let’s see what happens next!
She dramatically pushed the double door, and we stepped into a huge room, our walkway looked so tiny now.

Exactly a hundred gallows were aligned, on ten numbered rows. All were built identically, with a framework supporting a noose and a platform supported by hydraulic cylinders, commanded by a small keypad.

Below us, the woman from the previous room had entered, and reached her row as a family of four was being led to their gallows. When the attendant called for the number identifying the first free gallows, the boy kissed his parents and little sister, and enthusiastically skipped to the platform. The attendant pushed a button on the support beam, taking them both high enough that she could easily slip the noose around his neck. Another button reeled in the slack, allowing her to adjust the noose on his left. After yet another press lowered her half of the platform to the floor, she pulled the numbered sticker off his foot. The last button was a big, red, backlit one, and the attendant theatrically put her hand over it.

As the kid took two deep breaths, Sylvia pointed to a big vertical HD screen on the nearby wall, and typed the gallows number on the keypad next to it. The boy appeared life-sized on the screen, before his half of the platform sunk into the ground in one smooth motion. “As you can see”, Sylvia pointed out, “there is little to no risk of breaking the user’s neck”. Slowly at first, the boy started to feel for the ground, steadily accelerating as the urge to breathe became more and more pressing.

Within fifteen seconds, he was moving at full throttle. Kicking, squirming, it was impossible to take our eyes away from this sight. Looking up, one could see the pain on his face. Looking down, his arousal. Looking up again, his excitation and pleasure became visible. The boy did not want his money back. He was no longer futilely trying to stay alive. Not consciously, at least. The young customer was clearly enjoying his hanging, and trying to reach his peak before he would pass out. The pain itself was now part of the fun. Seeing him hump the air with his feet and toes outstretched was so sexy that only the stern look of our guide was preventing me from sliding my hands down my skirt. When he reached orgasm, all I could feel was intense jealousy. The boy had just come hands-free in front of us while we were forbidden from even touching ourselves.

His dance paused for a one or two seconds before kicking in again. Only this time, it was more desperate, the light in his eyes was gone. The class had gone so quiet that Sylvia’s voice felt like thunder, as she explained that the boy had now lost consciousness. He was now operating purely on reflexes, his body trying to keep him alive while he had stopped caring. Jumping by the sole inertia of his legs to try and get another gasp of air, only for the noose to squeeze tighter. But this quickly drained his last strengths, and he was soon back to weakly feeling for the floor, too tired to do much else. His movement slowed down to faintly moving his feet, and we eased out of our trance.

As Sylvia switched off the screen, I walked back to the railing to see what happened next. His sister had just got up from the bench, and tiptoed shyly towards his corpse to get a closer look. Suddenly his foot twitched, causing her to jump.
- Ah! He’s still alive?
- We like to call this “mostly dead”, explained the attendant. He’ll need a few minutes to finish his death, but don’t worry; he’s got the gallows all for himself for about an hour.

The little girl kissed her big brother’s foot, causing him to twitch again. She giggled, but turned all her attention to the woman as she spoke again:
- What’s sure is that his dance is over: He’s out of breath and out of juice. Which means…
- My turn!, answered her young customer, beaming.
- Exactly. Com—
- Hello! Earth to Kelly!
I was pulled from the spectacle by my comrades. The tour was not over.

After crossing the hanging room, the walkway ran along the far wall and the right one, before returning in the smaller rooms’ section. I could take a few peeks at the girl dancing, but soon reported my attention to a dead man lying on a cart, being wheeled into the door below us.
As the last of us crossed the door, we were greeted by an impatient-looking Silvia. She quickly went back to her cheerful temper and gestured to the room below. It contained several more dead bodies, on various carts a table and a rail going at ceiling level (or well, floor level for us).

- We call this the processing room, but that’s a bit of a misnomer. All we actually do is clean up the bodies, preserve them in cold and donate them to the Life Recycle Foundation, so they can be used in saving lives.
She pointed to a little room that was roofed and closed, like the bathroom stalls.
- The bodies are cleaned in there. We don’t show it because the cleaning is rather thorough, and it’s not pretty. It can also be quite stinky at times.

A body was wheeled next to a table with a machine and a big, translucent cover. Employees transferred the body onto the table, and closed the cover on it. There was a muffled “thunk” and when they lifted the cover again, the head was detached from the body, neck stump charred.
- Oh, we also remove the head, they’re more comfortable with headless bodies. This machine cuts the neck with a very hot blade, it cauterizes to prevent the body from leaking blood everywhere. Then the body goes to a vacuum-sealed bag, and transported along this rail into the Foundation’s freezer truck.
Meanwhile one of the workers took the head and put it on a spiked rack. However, there weren't all that many spikes on it, not nearly enough for a day's customers. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who noticed it, because Kim asked:
- What do they do when there are too many heads for the rack?
- We take a photo of the whole rack and then we throw the heads away, Sylvia explained. Sorry girls! We don’t mount them as trophies or something, unless the client pays extra. In that case we freeze it too and send it to an artisan in town.
The bagged, headless body was soon hung under the rail, and slid past a glass sliding door. It closed before the next door opened, to reduce heat transfers between the room and the freezers.

Our guide gestured for us to continue to our right, and the walkway became a full-on mezzanine above the entry hall. To our right on the wall were counters selling stuff.
- Welcome to our souvenir shop! Here you can buy keychains, pins and stuff, nooses, or have a DVD-R burned with a selection of hanging videos, or even buy a real DVD with a selection of last year’s best hangings. Sometimes we even have a mounted head, courtesy of a customer who paid for it but didn’t provide a sending address.

Several girls rushed to the counters, eager to buy a token of their visit here.
I didn’t plan to buy anything at first, but after watching the boy’s hanging I couldn’t resist. I asked a clerk, who pointed me to a vending machine, not unlike the ones for buying prints of digital photos. I could find the boy and his sister without much difficulty, and the machine spitted a DVD in a paper envelope.

Opposite the souvenir shop was a double door with a big exit sign, and to its right was a stairway leading below. On the left side of the door was one of these big HD screens showing the center’s best last moments. In front of the door, Sylvia was chatting with our teacher. After a few minutes, Ms Ferris called the class forward, as our guide was ready for a closing speech and a bit of Q&A. I didn’t listen to all of it, but I followed the last two questions, because they had quite an effect.
Someone asked where they found their customers.
- Well that’s easy: outside appointments, most of them come from this place! See these stairs? They lead right into the lobby and front desk. Any visitor who wants to be a customer goes down these, or through the elevator over there. The rest simply leaves though the exit behind me, outside is a sloped walkway to the parking.
- How many people choose the hanging? Another voice asked.
- On average, I’d say about a quarter of all visitors. Of course, that’s not an exact rate for groups: sometimes it’s just one or two people out of fifty, but let me tell you this: In the two years since the center opened, never, I say never has a group left the building in full. There’s always at least one person who goes down these stairs, through the rooms I showed you, and enjoy their end in the noose’s embrace.
She let that sink a few seconds before adding:
- On the other hand, the opposite can and did happen, more than once. Sometimes, a whole group chooses the stairs, and all their chauffeur sees of them is a staff member bringing their valuables in a cardboard box. Of course, this hardly happens to fifty random tourists; it’s more likely with groups of thirty or so people who all know each other.
She didn’t need to add “like school classes”: The implication was obvious.

- Well, said Miss Ferris, I guess it’s the time of the big question. I’d like you to form a line, and I’ll ask each—yes?
Sylvia whispered something into her ear.
- Hm you’re right, this may make things faster. Okay, those who want to go for the hanging, please raise your hand.

There was an uncomfortable silence. I guess a lot of girls felt like me, conflicted. On the one hand it was death, but on the other hand it was so intense… I glanced at the screen as someone kicked and thrashed furiously. I could either live a full lifetime without ever feeling this, or experience it once… Obviously I didn’t want to die, but did I want to live more than I wanted to hang? The client on the screen was now unconscious, but still jerking and on the way to a second orgasm... Timidly, I raised my hand.

And noticed I wasn’t alone. I could see a few other hands above us, soon joined by a dozen others. The suicidal choice was not unanimous, I could clearly see Kim keeping her arms crossed, but it was certainly popular. Miss Ferris started counting, but was soon interrupted.
- Let’s make it easier to count, Sylvia said. Those who don’t want to be hanged to death, raise your hand instead!
All hands were lowered, but none came up. I could see Kim raise hers to head level, but she hesitated, and eventually brought it back down. No one had dared raise her hand fully. I guess they were hesitating but just as excited as us, because peer pressure alone can’t make someone do this. I hope.

Miss Ferris simply concluded, “Well, since I don’t have to bring any of you back home, I don’t see any reason not to have fun myself. Class, follow me!”

Part 2 − Customers



A second later, conversations erupted anew as we climbed down the stairs. It was as if we didn’t just all choose to do something that would kill us. Miss Ferris proudly walked to the front desk, talked with the receptionist and announced the tariff for groups of pupils. We formed a line in front of one counter so as not to be in other people’s way, and I prepared my money.

When I reached the counter, the clerk asked me for my name and my parents’ electronic address, and showed me a ziploc bag with a tag. I paid first, then handed my coin purse, watch and cell phone so they could be sent home, plus the DVD I had just bought. As he gave me my ticket, the clerk assured me that my parents would get the video of my hanging for free, and a special offer for the whole class DVD. Thanking him, I walked to the changing room, and a security guy ripped the ticket in half as I entered.

And inside, I found a familiar ambiance. The comments, the giggles… It was just like the swimming pool, except that instead of putting our clothes on basketed coathangers, we tossed them in bins. I caught myself several times wondering where my numbered bracelet was, but quickly forgot it as Ms Ferris called for our attention:
- Girls, I think it’s better to tell you now, I have a slightly bad news: I talked to the center staff, and they told me there is not enough time to hang all of us fully one after another. You know, waiting until each girl stops dancing.
- You mean we will be hanged at the same time?
- Not that either. It’s more, hang a girl, and then hang the next one without waiting, and so on.
- Oh, that means I should go first! suddenly said Vero, raising her hand.
Several voices elevated in protest.
- What? Why you, pray tell?
- Because I’m the swimming champ, and the only one with a chance to still be alive when the last of us is hanged!
- Oh yeah! All the swimmers should go first, then! That way maybe we’ll all be dancing together!
- Very well, Ms Ferris concluded. Vero, you go right behind me. Is everyone ready?
No one said otherwise.
- We’ll leave the washroom in that order then, so we can get the right numbers. Until then, everyone go, and don’t forget to wash your hands!

…As I was drying my hands with a paper towel, I noticed my nipples had become hard. Was it because of the cold, or the anticipation? It was too late to dwell on that, anyway. Ms Ferris was calling us at the exit. She entered the measuring room first, followed by Vero and her two teammates. I went in just after them, followed by Katherine, and didn’t look further behind me.

One by one, we went to have our picture taken by the computer and received our gallows number. I stood there, staring at the camera and CPU to take my mind off my growing anxiety, and received a “Number 72” sticker on my left foot. I was trembling when I stepped into the Point of No Return, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as I put my arms behind my back, crossing my wrists. The guy with the wrist strap noticed.
- Hey, are you nervous? he whispered.
- …Yes.
- You worry too much. I’ve been working here a long time. Everything will go smoothly, you’ll see.
As he was talking, I felt the leather tighten against my wrists.
- Could you pull on your arms, as hard as you can?
Time to test the bonds, I guessed. So I pulled. I pulled with all my might, and the strap didn’t let go of my hands.
- That’s perfect. You’re ready to go!
He gave me a gentle nudge, and I walked through the hanging room door. I started walking towards the eighth row, it felt weird with my hands bound. Looking at the numbers, I noticed they were arranged in alternating directions, and numbering started at #00; that way, gallows #68 to #71 were all bunched together on the far end of the row. Ms Ferris and Vero were waiting for us there, on the seventh row, the gallows attendant looking at us with an amused smile.

Most rows after the third were full of hanged people, but ours had the last person hanged before us, whose legs and toes were still moving. We wanted to get a closer look, but the attendant pointed out the camera bolted to the gallows in front of him, and warned us to stay out of its field. We watched the customer’s last moments from afar as the rest of the class joined us. Then our teacher ordered us to sit, and everyone hurried to the benches along the row of gallows. Of course there wasn’t enough room for everyone, and I was reduced to sitting cross-legged on the floor, with the other unlucky girls.
Ms Ferris explained that as our teacher, she would be an exception to what she told us before: We would all get to see her hanged from begin to end. After all, it was her job to teach us by example.

She walked onto the platform at gallows #68 with the attendant. Both rose up so our teacher could get her noose, but only the attendant came back down.
- Don’t forget to breathe deeply, girls. Maintain a steady rhythm so the nice waiters will know when to drop the floor.
These were her last words. Turning them into acts, she took several deep breathes until the platform gave way under her. Under her weight, the rope was now squeezing her neck. As she started kicking, her breasts bounced, more and more as her kicks gained in intensity. She was stretching her tongue out, stretching her legs, even stretching and flexing her toes.

Seeing Ms Ferris like that was hot. I tried to discreetly masturbate, but my wrists were strapped too tight to turn my palms forward. Looking back, I saw that the whole class had the same idea, and most had the same problem. I saw Samantha looking back at me though, and she got up from the bench to sit right behind me.
And by that, I mean close enough behind that I could feel her chest, or lack thereof, against my back.

- Psst! Lift your knees a bit.
I wondered what she had in mind, but complied. At this moment she slid her own legs under mine, and started rubbing my crotch with her right heel. I quickly got the hint and put my fingers to work. Our breath became heavier as we watched our teacher dance, the three of us going more frantic as arousal and panic grew. She was now clearly rubbing her thighs together as she rode an invisible bike. We were at the edge of orgasm when she suddenly arched her back, sticking her tongue out even more as she tried to scream her pleasure. I breathed out as much as I could and held my breath for the home stretch, and managed to come more-or-less silently, emitting a loud gasp instead of a deafening moan, but I heard someone wasn’t that lucky. Fortunately, I felt Samantha’s mouth on my shoulder as she neared her own climax, and knew what was coming next. I steeled myself before she bit me to muffle her voice, and we managed to ride our orgasms without drawing too much attention to ourselves.
And just in time, because Ms Ferris did not continue her dance after passing out. Completely drained, she went limp and the attendant turned to us.

- Dear customers, your teacher told me about your idea, and I support it. I vow to get all twenty-six of you up in the air as fast as possible, but I will need a little help from your end too. You should get under your gallows in advance and start breathing deeply, so I’ll just have to get the noose around your neck and lower the platform. I’d like to have at any time three to five girls ready ahead of me!
We nodded in agreement and Vero advanced towards the attendant, quickly followed by her teammates. As I was next, I took place under my gallows too, still catching my breath. This time the attendant didn’t raise her own half of the platform, instead checking that she was tall enough to work from the ground. That would save time… I shivered with anticipation as she noosed Vero and made a show of waiting as the champion got ready. When she pushed the red button, her attitude changed and she almost jumped to the neighboring gallows, raising half the platform and working as quickly as she could. Less than twenty seconds later, I was wearing the noose, my nipples hard as rock, and took my last breath.

As the platform abandoned me I felt the rope pulling on my neck. It wasn’t all that painful, more of an inconvenience. Initially it was like I could hold my breath forever. But it didn’t last. I soon felt uncomfortable and tried to breathe, and that’s when the panic started: I couldn’t. I started shaking my body, but it only tightened the noose. I couldn’t breathe without some support, and that’s when I started feeling for the platform two feet below. Feeling and kicking. This awoke something in my crotch, some lingering heat slowly rising. It reminded me of why I was there, and the realization hit me: I was going to die, just for fun. And while I wanted it, my body didn’t. While I was enjoying the torrent of contradictory sensations reaching my brain, the distress and pain complementing the excitation and arousal, my body tried to breathe. I was not dancing for the onlookers’ pleasure, my body was dancing for mine.

I was temporarily brought back to reality when I heard the attendant’s clear voice say she had hanged ten of us. I tried to concentrate. She worked fast. She said she could get all of us dancing in less than two minutes and a half, or even “a little over two minutes if everything goes right”. I knew Vero could last much longer underwater, and I could hold my breath that long while doing nothing else, but how long could I keep up while dancing furiously like that? I tried to relax. At least I had a little head-start.
As I was holding on to these thoughts, the fire in my chest and loins intensified. No! I couldn’t. Not yet. I couldn’t stop my legs, but I could force them apart a bit; this lessened the pressure on my girly parts while offering a full view of them to the camera.
My ears started ringing. I could still hear the attendant yell “ten to go!” How much was that, a minute? More? Less? I could feel my legs slowing down. Trying to grow them two feet longer is hard. At least I was not wasting too much energy pulling on my wrists; I guess I knew from before it was hopeless. I tried to find some purchase by grabbing the support beam behind me with my feet; I couldn’t even touch it, but as I brought my legs back down, some stale air wheezed out of my chest. I faintly heard “Five!” over the ringing. Thank god, I was getting really tired. I would probably stop my dance right after my climax like Ms Ferris, hoping I was still conscious when it came. I forced myself to open my eyes, all I could see was some classmates dangling on the few gallows in front of me. “Four!” I pulled my knees up as high as I could, and brought my feet down trying hard to breathe in. I caught a tiny gasp. At least, it sure felt like it. And right after that the rope crushed my throat more; it felt like it was squeezing my tongue out. “Three!” How tantalizing, I could now taste the air but couldn’t get any of it. Seconds were agonizing and exciting at the same time, and my legs were now rubbing together again. “Two!” My arousal climbed and the goal was near, I was fully enjoying myself again.

“One!” I managed to lift my right leg enough to try and rub my thigh against my pussy. A shiver shook my whole body as everything went white. All I could feel now was wave after wave of pleasure coursing through me, lingering on my most sensitive areas. This was it. It was worth everything, the money, the wait, the pain, and the death. I felt, more than I heard, the attendant yell “Zero!” as the last of us started her dance. I ended mine by arching my back, legs bent, toes curled. And then everything faded.

Epilogue − After Closing Time…



Sylvia hung up the phone with a satisfied smile. The video editing service would add for each girl, both her own time and the time since the first was hanged. This class would become a bona fide mass-produced DVD, and the director was contemplating shipping one free of charge to the parents owning a digital copy. The happy tour guide moved to the staff lounge.
- Hey, could you make sure the “employee of the moment” shirt is clean and ready for tomorrow? Since I sold a full group today I’d like to retire on this high—
- DIBS ON THE FIRST GROUP TOMORROW! Several voices interrupted her.
- Hah, that’s not a song often heard. Usually we all but draw straws for it…
- When all we have to show customers are the previous day’s videos, yes. Lots of work to make even a single sale, you know?
- You realize I know that, right? I’ve had to tour the first group a fair number of times, I’ve heard Alice book appointments as early as possible so the first group could see them, and I know an employee celebrating something by hanging sells a lot of tickets.
- Yeah, I’m just messing with you because I’m jealous of your full sale.
- Too bad, because I also know the policy that says I get to give the first group to anyone I want…
Sylvia sat on the table, spreading her legs suggestively, and moved her hand to her shorts’ waistband.
- Anyone up for earning it?

THE END


 No.4389

Hello! I finally got the inspiration to write more! In no small part thanks to this last message. :-)

This one is a bit of an experiment, with all dialogue told in "indirect speech" rather than direct quotes, in part because I was in no mood to write exact dialogue and struggle to avoid cheesiness. Indirect speech gives a bit more freedom.

Anyway, without further ado:

Missed the Tour


(hanging, cons, implied necro)



Feeling another sneeze coming, Claire frantically “held” her hand out towards her father, who pulled a tissue from the box and handed it with not even a second to spare. Still holding it under her nose, yet never diverting her eyes from the screen, she mentally cursed her sickness once again.
Mom had come home ill nearly a week ago now, and in no time the bug had spread to the whole family. And right at the wrong time, too: Claire’s class had a trip planned, and she was prevented to join. And to add insult to injury, the refund wasn’t even full.

At least her best friend had promised to bring back pictures. However, what she got was instead a DVD freshly burned by her brother. Her parents had promptly suggested watching it together after supper, so here they were, all three on the couch… and a waning tissue box.

Claire dropped the tissue in a small pile on the floor to her left, still staring unblinking at the picture. At least the constant nasal noises helped lessen the awkwardness a bit. She certainly would have found some excuse to watch the disk quietly at her computer… if only she had known it depicted her friends dancing and dying naked at the end of ropes.

Unfortunately, constantly having to blow her nose wasn’t enough to completely suppress her arousal. She was feeling a growing tension in her loins, and could do nothing about it due to her parents being in the room. She was far too uncomfortable with trying anything in their presence. On the other hand, as the video switched to another of her classmates, she snuck a glance to her right; it was clear her parents had the same problem. She asked them for a new tissue just in time to avoid covering herself in snot.

In the end, it was Mom who broke the silence, by asking her daughter if she was still bitter about missing the trip. This was like a signal for Claire to let out her frustration and vent, and she answered by the affirmative. Indeed she was still bitter, both from missing out on the ultimate thrill and from failing to give her classmates a real, heart-felt goodbye. She should be with them, adding her voice to the choir of rasps and gurgles, and her legs to the dance. After further prodding from Mom, she added that she definitely wished she had been there with her class, and she would have done it; not merely to do as the others, but because it was hot as – oh crap, another tissue please.

She jolted in surprise as Dad cleared his throat, having been mostly silent throughout the evening. Slowly, as if choosing his words with utmost care, he asked Claire if she would settle for a cozy private hanging, here at home.

Claire couldn’t believe her ears. But once she was finally certain that he had, indeed, said that, she pounced on her father and hugged him tight. Mom was taken aback by such enthusiasm, but kept quiet. She knew well that nothing would change her mind, so she simply joined in the hug. Breaking the silence again, Dad explained to Claire that he wanted her all clean for the hanging: She would use the toilet, take a quick shower and he would set things up in the meantime.

She countered by asking why he wouldn’t come with her in the shower; he immediately blushed at the question. It was not to be however: Dad politely but firmly refused, told his daughter it would be criminal, and added that she should feel bad for having such ideas. But before she got up, he stopped her and brought his face to hers, whispering directly in her ear that her corpse was another story: he could do to it anything her will said. On these words, he sent her on her way and headed for the toolbox.

Claire made a detour through the kitchen, retrieving a suppository from the fridge’s med compartment, before leaving the room. Having reached the bathroom, she turned on the heater first and foremost, before unceremoniously shoving the sup up her butt and washing her hand. Leaving the bathroom to warm up, she headed to her bedroom so she could comfortably lie on her belly while waiting for the effects.

Noticing her schoolbag nearby, Claire reached for it and pulled a notebook and pen, and began writing her list of Things To Do When She’s Dead. The first item was a heartfelt call to lay with her body, in capital letters and underlined twice. In the second item, she decided to leave all her possessions to her cousin. Then she added that the list contained exceptions to that, and willed that her CD collection be donated to someone who actually appreciates good music.
She was adding the final touches when her body told her to go to the restroom immediately, so she cut things short and lay down her pen.

Five minutes later, Claire had moved on to the shower. Enjoying the relaxing feeling of warm water, her hand set between her legs, she silently daydreamed. Closing her eyes, she saw her classmates again, picturing herself in their place as her fingers worked. And then, Dad would gently set her down, covering her body in kisses, without removing the noose that would stay wrapped tightly around her neck. He would carry her to the bed, lay her delicately on it, and behold her nude, still body before positioning himself above it and WHOA—

Another sneeze caught her to lose balance and slip, steadying herself just in time to avoid falling headfirst into the tap. Wary of more problems, Claire slowly lowered herself onto her knees before getting back to work. Stupid bug. It really wouldn’t do if she died suddenly in such an undignified way, minutes from her planned death. At least, thanks to the meds she took during supper, the fever was gone. For now.

Letting her mind wander again, she was back with her father. Only this time, he hadn’t bothered cutting her down; she was at just the right height for his pleasure anyway. And, why not still alive? Dad was now loving her as she was dying, his feet firmly planted on the floor while hers couldn’t reach it. She desperately worked to wrap her legs around him, at first to try and prop herself up for a quick gasp of air, but eventually just to hug him and squeeze him and push him deeper into her, as she neared a mind-shattering orgasm…

That’s when the real orgasm hit her. Claire arched her body, thrusting her crotch forward as pleasure ran through her, bringing life to her fantasy. Thankfully, not a scream had escaped her lips: she had learned to masturbate in silence long ago. She was breathing heavily though, not much she could do about that. Well, tonight there was one thing, she thought: what she was about to do would permanently solve this problem. As she calmed down, Claire dried herself and donned her Mom’s bathrobe before making her way back to the living room. Stopping in her bedroom, she grabbed the list.

Dad had worked fast: The suspension was now lying on the kitchen table, freeing the ring on the ceiling. As Dad explained, that ring has been solidly set into the ceiling back when it was built in the first place, and would easily hold her weight. To it he had already tied one end of the rope, which he passed through a free ring, and then the ceiling ring again. Mom had cut a length of rope, and fashioned it into a noose, which she was now attaching to the moving ring. That way, she explained, the force on the other end of the rope would be lessened. Making it possible to tie it off to—

The words died in her mouth when she saw Dad wheeling in the washing machine. He brought it in front of the couch and disengaged the wheels, setting it firmly in place. Then he finally answered his wife and daughter’s silent question: He’d tie the free end of the rope to the couch’s foot, and the heavy, concrete-laden appliance would make sure it doesn’t move. All that was missing was the camera and tripod; hearing this, as Mom went to fetch them, Claire made note on her list to send a copy to her best friend’s brother, returning him the favor.

Dad put the finishing touches by placing a stool below the noose, and a pillow behind it. Claire started walking towards her doom, but looking at the finished work, she stopped in her tracks. She was beholding the rope that would kill her, and despite knowing that she wanted it, it was scary. Yet she took another step. And another, keeping her eyes on the noose. Eventually she reached the stool, and climbed on it. She turned to face her parents, steeled herself, and passed the noose around her neck. Soon after, they were at her side. Dad gently tapped her wrist, silently asking her to put her hands behind her back. He bound them tightly, the rope cutting off the flow of blood in her hands.

Meanwhile Mom was adjusting the noose, occasionally looking at a reference picture on her smartphone. Thanks to the guide she had found, Claire would be immediately unable to breathe, but her blood and spine unmolested. She would last as long as her friends did. As Mom held the noose in place, Dad removed all the slack and tied the rope. Claire was already breathing deeply as Mom gave her a last hug and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. Dad soon followed, but to his daughter’s surprise, went for her lips, giving her a full-fledged French kiss. She could hardly believe it. She was there, bound, helpless, receiving her first – and last – kiss from her own father. If not for what she knew was next, she would have wanted this kiss to never end.

Dad broke the kiss as delicately as he had started it, and dramatically propped his foot against the stool. Claire breathed out, closed her eyes, and breathed in as much as she could, before feeling the stool toppling under her. The next thing she felt was the sharp pain in her neck, just under her chin. But also, the strangeness of having nothing under her feet. She wasn’t even in panic yet, and her feet were already moving, feeling for a ground that was no longer there.

Claire savored this moment of calm before the storm, conscious that she would soon try to breathe and panic. As she moved her legs, she was starting to feel a budding heat in her loins, which she promptly set out to cultivate. She couldn’t reach her sensitive spots with her bound hands, but she could rub her thighs together… slowly, in a swimming motion, she danced the prelude to her last performance. Then she opened her eyes, wanting to see her parents one last time before going crazy… well, crazier maybe.

What she saw precipitated her descent, however: Her parents had quickly tossed aside their clothes and united their bodies, Dad taking Mom from behind like their own lives depended on it. And they both kept her eyes trained on her, unblinking, with the same hungry look she had as she watched her friends die, only amplified a hundredfold. Her parents, her own Mom and Dad, were getting off on her last dance! She gasped at the sight, or tried to, only to be blocked by the noose, and panic set in. Not alone, though: It came with an intense arousal at the thought of her parents enjoying her death so thoroughly. She was now moving her entire body, writhing in rhythm with her attempts to breathe, attempting to find purchase on thin air, punctuated with gagging sounds that only intensified their sexual frenzy.

This in turn fed into her arousal. The heat between her legs rose to match the pain in her chest, and with time her kicking motions turned into humping the air, her feet joined together as she thrust her crotch forward. Her parents’ moans soon sent her over the edge, and pleasure spread through her like lightning, not replacing the pain but sublimating it. Claire arched her back completely, throwing her head back, folding her legs, curling her toes, closing her eyes again to let nothing distract her from the sensation.

As her orgasm faded, she wanted nothing more than to catch her breath. But as she was still strangled by the noose, all she could do was panic some more. Her movements were more subdued this time, as she was running out of stamina, but more erratic too, as it was becoming harder and harder to think. The incessant ringing in her ears didn’t help matters. Yet there was still some fire in Claire, and as she got closer to death her arousal flared up again, this strange yet obsessive desire to experience just one more moment of pure ecstasy before dying. She managed to force her thighs together, trying to rub herself to pleasure despite the pounding headache.

She had already lost consciousness when her body was shaken by a second orgasm, but that doesn’t mean it was wasted, for the sight sent her parents into their own climax, screaming their love to each other, their voice contrasting with their daughter’s silence. When they could think clearly again, Claire had stopped moving. With great effort Mom managed to rise to her feet, mainly by leaning on Dad, and staggered towards her daughter. Putting her ear to her chest, she heard nothing.
The couple waited a good ten minutes before lowering her to the floor, cutting the noose from the rest of the rope. Dad grabbed Claire’s dead body tenderly in his arms, and followed Mom into the master bedroom.

 No.4395

Good as usual!

 No.4408

Awesome story, glad to have you back.

Are you planning on writing something else? I've missed your consensual loli setting. A lot.

 No.4410

>>4408
Thanks.

I do want to write more, but I'm not sure I'll manage to write well in this setting in a while: I'm nearing the limits of what I can write without repeating myself, and I also have some weird one-shot ideas here and there (including a mayincatec sacrifice) that I may want to get out first...

 No.12573

bump

 No.14536

bump

 No.14777

salvation bump because people are fuckers

 No.14788

Bump to save from faggot spammer

 No.15464

File: 1546795834960.jpg (121.52 KB, 1478x828, 1) Visitors' entrance-crop….jpg)

Looks like we can now post images in /lit/, so here are Chopman's "fan art" drawings for "The Tour".

 No.15465

File: 1546795939651.jpg (272.76 KB, 1583x1158, 2) visting measuring and b….jpg)

I'm not sure how many I can post at once without pissing off the spam detection, though.

 No.15466

File: 1546796154215.jpg (94.71 KB, 678x496, 3) Watching hanging2.jpg)

The pics are here in story order, not original posting order.

 No.15467

File: 1546796279383.jpg (222.75 KB, 1355x992, 4) family's hanging1.jpg)

Words cannot adequately describe how pleased I was to see them. To discover that someone had actually liked my fic enough to draw fan art of it.

 No.15468

File: 1546796412560.jpg (185.72 KB, 1392x1020, 5) family's hanging2.jpg)

In fact, this is the only work of mine that ever inspired fan art.

 No.15469

File: 1546796549677.jpg (230.13 KB, 1392x1020, 6) family's hanging3.jpg)

6/16

 No.15470

File: 1546796647316.jpg (329.53 KB, 1462x1071, 7) visting processing room.jpg)

Here we see the clean-up side of the facility.

 No.15471

File: 1546796809518.jpg (322.6 KB, 1706x1250, 8) Girls' decision of hang….jpg)

And on this show of hands, ends part 1 of the fic.

 No.15472

File: 1546796937435.jpg (277.87 KB, 1583x1158, 9) Girls in changing room.jpg)

And this is the first pic of Part 2.

 No.15473

File: 1546797126137.jpg (422.08 KB, 2088x1530, 10) Girls in washing room.jpg)

I kept chopman's original names for the pics, by the way – other than prepending them with numbers and cropping the vast white space around the first pic.

 No.15475

File: 1546797365374.jpg (124.82 KB, 847x620, 11) Girls in measuring and….jpg)

11-16

 No.15477

File: 1546797888668.jpg (312.78 KB, 1740x1275, 12) class enter the hangin….jpg)

This one was the last one posted originally.

 No.15478

File: 1546798102459.jpg (119.14 KB, 847x620, 13) The lesson1.jpg)

13/16

 No.15479

File: 1546798231921.jpg (123.03 KB, 1583x1158, 14) Ms Ferris complete!.jpg)

Thus ends our teacher's final lesson, demonstrating hanging by example.

 No.15480

File: 1546798327421.jpg (238.43 KB, 1583x1158, 15) Girls prepare dancing!.jpg)

15/16

 No.15481

File: 1546798473718.jpg (247.17 KB, 1425x1043, 16) Girls' rope dancing1.jpg)

And that concludes it.

Chopman, if you see this I want to say:
THANK YOU.



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