Search:
Advanced Search
 
2 Likes
Posted: 18-Aug-2010 - 16 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ]

"It's time," he said.

"Oh, God," Jane thought, "here I go. I hope I know what I'm doing."

She put her arms behind her back, and he quickly looped a rope around them several times, then again in a figure-8 fashion, then finally cinched it tight between her wrists. She felt her wrists pulled together even harder when he knotted the rope. He took the two ends of the rope and ran them around her waist, tying them tight in back, on top of her wrists. Next, he put a wide leather belt around her chest and arms, just below her breasts, and clasped it tight in back. Her arms were now completely immobilized.

It felt really good. She had always loved being tied up, for as long as she could remember. As a girl, she kept a bag of ropes and belts under her bed. Every night, she would wait until her parents thought she was asleep, then tie her legs tight. She never found a good way to tie her arms by herself. She tried toy handcuffs, but they didn't give her that feeling of immovable skin on skin. Ropes were better, but hard to tie tightly herself, plus they left marks.

The other thing she'd always loved was executions. Pictures and stories of them made her so excited. Her first orgasm occurred at age 16 when she simulated her own beheading in a guillotine. She took a thin board and put one end under her bedpost, and the other end under her chair so it was stuck to the floor. She tied her legs together with belts. She looped a belt under the board, around her neck, under the board again, and back up around her neck, where she fastened it. She couldn't move her head much; it was as if it was in the lunette. She reached behind and tied her hands together, and the moment she finished, she exploded in her first orgasm. She didn't even know what had happened, but she knew she wanted more of it.

She fantasized about being executed different ways. The gas chamber was a favorite because the prisoner got to fight against all those straps for several minutes: while the door was being closed, while acid filled the bucket, and while the cyanide pellets were lowered into it. The electric chair provided a lot of anticipation as she imagined being strapped in the chair and having the electrodes applied, but the fantasy ended too quickly, as soon as the first current hit her body. Her favorite fantasy was hanging. The prisoner's arms were bound behind their back in their cell. Then they had to walk up the 13 steps and stand on the trap door. Their legs were tied tightly. There was no escape at this point. Whatever the hangman was going to do couldn't be stopped. The blindfold. The hood. Finally, the noose lowered over her head, around her neck, and tightened. She struggled, desperate to free her hands and remove the noose before the trap door opened, but her arms were bound tight. She tried to run away, but her legs wouldn't move. "The prisoner is prepared. Proceed with the sentence of execution." Then the trap door would open and she would fall...

Best of all, she could simulate this pretty well by herself. Binding her legs was easy, of course. A blindfold, hood, and noose were also easy. Then she would roll over on her stomach, reach around, and tie her wrists in back. This usually resulted in a pretty good orgasm, but it just wasn't right. She tied her own legs instead of having them tied by the hangman. She put the hood and noose on herself instead of having them lowered over her head against her will. Her hands were tied last instead of first. And, of course, she was lying down, not standing on a trap door. What she needed was someone to bind her wrists, lead her to the gallows, tie her legs, hood and noose her, then hang her, except not really go through with it, of course.

Jane met her executioner at a club. She was wearing her provocative outfit: tall black leather boots, a black leather skirt, strapless corset, long gloves, and to remove any doubt about her interests, a leather collar. She was no "plain Jane," and Peter knew with one look what interested her. They found a table and started to talk about their mutual interest.

After a few minutes of somewhat naughty talk, Peter asked, "What's your deepest unfulfilled fantasy?" "To be hanged," she replied. She was shocked that she had blurted that out to anyone, especially to an almost total stranger. "Except, not really hanged," she quickly added. He gave her a look that said "tell me more," so she did. "I want someone to do all the steps right up until they spring the trap. Tie my hands behind my back. Escort me to the trap. Tie my legs really tight. Blindfold. Hood. Noose. Read the sentence of execution." She paused. "I've dreamed of this for years," she finally said. "What about the trial?", he asked. "I don't care about that part," she said. "Just the execution." 'I can't believe I'm telling him this', she thought. 'He's going to think I'm some sort of freak'. She decided to cut her losses. "Well, it was nice to meet you," she said, and got up to go. "Your execution date is next Friday night," he calmly said. She was already halfway out of her chair, but stopped and stared at him. There was silence while she studied him. Her gut said that he was on the level, but her head said she must be crazy to even think about this. Her gut won, and she meekly said, "ok." They arranged to meet at the club the following Friday at 11pm. That would give them time to prepare her for "execution" at one minute past midnight.

The rest of that week, she was excited, but nervous. She couldn't talk to anyone about the plan. She couldn't really believe she had finally confided her fantasy to even one person. Finally, Friday evening arrived. She put on clothes that seemed appropriate for an execution: simple dark blue slacks and a white blouse. Peter was waiting near the club entrance. He asked, "Do you still want to be hanged?" She had wondered that many times that week, until about Thursday, when she decided that she wasn't going to miss the chance to fulfill the fantasy she'd had since she was a teenager. Without hesitation, she said "Yes."

They got into his car and drove to his house. It was dark inside, and she couldn't tell anything about it, especially since he led her immediately down the basement stairs. When they reached the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner, she saw the hangman's noose, hanging from two eye bolts screwed firmly into ceiling joists. Her heart fluttered with excitement, and she started to feel hot. He took her arms and handcuffed them around a post. There was a chair, and she sat down. Peter disappeared, returning a few minutes later, dressed in a dark suit. The top half of his face, even his nose, was now covered with an executioner's mask. Jane was breathing fast now. He unlocked the handcuffs.

"It's time," he said.

Once her arms were bound, he led her over to the noose. There was a large "X" on the floor, and he turned her around so she was standing on the middle of the X, facing the way she had just come. "Legs together," he ordered. He crouched down and ran a leather belt through her ankles in a figure-8 pattern. He did the same thing with a second belt, just above the first. Finally, he took a very long belt and ran it above and below her knees in a double figure-8. This last belt locked her legs pretty stiffly; she couldn't even bend. She looked down at him the entire time, not quite believing this was finally happening for real. All the belts were secured very tightly, just like she'd asked. Also just like in her fantasies, she realized that she was at the mercy of the hangman now. There was nothing she could physically do to stop him from hanging her. She was getting wet, but at the same time, part of her wanted to escape, because unlike her fantasies, she really was at the mercy of a hangman.

"Prisoner, you have been convicted of murder and sentenced to hang from the neck until dead. Sentence of execution will now be carried out. Do you have any final words?"

She had answered this question countless times in her mind. Sometimes, she bravely said "No, let's get on with it." Sometimes, she protested, "I'm innocent! You're about to hang an innocent woman!" But now that she was bound up tighter than she'd ever managed to tie herself, standing up, with a large noose dangling above her, all she managed was a meek "no".

"The prisoner will now be prepared for sentence of execution." The hangman took out a roll of black bondage tape and wrapped it around her head at least 10 times, covering her eyes. She couldn't see a thing, and she began to get a little wobbly. She expected the hood next, but instead felt bondage tape being wrapped around her neck. "Mustn’t mark up your pretty neck," said the executioner slyly. 'I don't think the noose will mark my neck, unless he's going to pull it really, really tight,' she thought. Then she felt the hood lowering over her head. "Oh, oh!" she gasped. She was sure her pants were visibly wet in front. She didn't know how much more she could stand before she would erupt.

She tested her bonds. Her arms will still immobile, as were her legs. "Oh, God, here comes the noose," she thought. There was nothing she could do to stop that noose from being put around her neck. Still, it was just a game they were playing. There was no trap door, and she wasn't standing on a stool that would be kicked out from under her. The noose wasn't going to squeeze unbelievably tightly around neck, cutting off her air. She wasn't going to die. She thought for just a moment about the terror that condemned convicts must face at this moment. Alive, but about to die a violent death, and nothing, absolutely nothing, they can do to stop the process.

Then she felt the noose being lowered over her head, and she stopped thinking about anything besides her own situation. The noose came down and rested on her shoulders. Then, slowly, it began to tighten around the hood. She felt it closing in on her neck, touching more and more of it through the hood. Then it was touching all around. It was getting almost uncomfortably tight, and she could feel the large bulge of knots behind her left ear. She was about to come when the hangman's words almost knocked her over. "I'm really going to hang you," he whispered. "Your feet will dangle a foot above the floor. I'm going to watch you kick and struggle and moan. Your windpipe will be crushed, but it will take several minutes for you to die. It will be excruciatingly painful for you. I'm going to leave you hanging for an hour to make sure you're dead. Then I'm going to cut you down and bury your body where no one will ever find it. I know you didn't tell anyone about this - you only confided in me. No one knows you're here, or that you ever met me." He paused. "And there's nothing you can do to stop me."

Jane knew he was right about that, but she started to fight her bonds anyway. She tried to pull her arms apart, but they didn't move. She tried to move her legs, but they held fast, too. Now she knew what real convicts felt like. She had a noose around her neck, and there was no way to remove it. She was going to die! He was going to kill her, and she couldn't stop him. At least, she thought he was. Or, she hoped, maybe this was just part of the game.

She felt him bear hug her from behind, then lift her up and set her onto a stool. The slack in the rope around her neck was then pulled taut.

"The prisoner is prepared. Sentence of execution will proceed in one minute."

She knew that if the stool was removed, she would be dangling from her neck a foot above the floor. Now she was sure this wasn't a game, and that she was really going to die. The last minute of her life! Real convicts at least got the long drop, which usually broke their necks and rendered them unconscious. She was going to die in agony! She was terrified. She could barely speak. She moaned "Oh God, no, please, no."

"30 seconds," said the hangman.

She fought her bonds again, even harder. The rope was now biting into her wrists. It broke the skin in one spot, and blood started to ooze out. She didn't notice. She was fighting like a wild animal backed into a corner. But it did no good.

"15 seconds."

She became as stiff as a board, still straining at her bonds. She was too terrified to blame herself for being so stupid in getting into this situation.

"Proceed."

She tensed even further, but she also noticed that she was very wet. She felt the stool yanked out from under her feet. She was dangling from her neck! Involuntarily, she kicked her bound legs back and forth. This caused her body to start to spin around. The noose tightened, and her neck hurt - she couldn't breathe! She gasped for air, but none came. As terrified as she had been when standing on the stool, she was twice as scared now. She saw stars, and the pain spread from her neck to her lungs. But it disappeared when she erupted in the most intense orgasm of her life. It went on and on for what seemed like several minutes. Waves of ecstasy blocked out all the pain, and even the fact that she couldn't breathe. Her last sentient thought was that at least she had felt great before the pain that was about to come back. But it didn't. Instead, she blacked out.

When she came to, she was lying on her side on the floor. The noose, hood, and bondage tape were gone, but her arms and legs were still bound tight. Peter was still wearing the executioner's hood. "You survived. How was it?", he said. "Ohhhh," was all she could say. Her fantasy had finally been fulfilled, and it was far better than she'd ever imagined. "How about tomorrow night, except instead of tying your chest and legs with belts, I use rope?", he asked. Jane slowly nodded 'yes' over and over. After about five minutes, she was finally able to speak. "Now untie me, then take me upstairs, tie me to your bed, and fuck me!" she ordered Peter. "I was hoping you'd say that," he said cheerfully.

As Peter led her in handcuffs toward the basement stairs, she noticed a stout wooden chair with thick arms and a very high back. "Hmm, that would make a nice garotte chair," she thought to herself. Maybe that's how she would be executed next weekend.
Delicious Digg Facebook Fark MySpace