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Message-ID: <34677asstr$1010884203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
Keywords: hanging, strangulation, breath control, snuff
From: anon3a9c@nyx10.nyx.net (Damien)
Cache-Post-Path: irys.nyx.net!anon3a9c@nyx10.nyx.net
Subject: {ASSM} ASA story: Submission (M/F, mast, hanging, cons, not-quite-snuff)
Date: Sat, 12 Jan 2002 20:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

This story was written by Darlene.  I (Damien) am posting it
by permission of the author.

Listen up!  Yes, I mean you!

There's a few things you gotta read before you go on to the story. 

First, there's sexually explicit stuff here.  If you're not old enough 
to
vote, go on to the next message.  Better yet, unsubscribe to this
discussion group.  Gwan, kid, shoo! And that goes double if sexually
explicit stories are illegal where you are!

Second, this story includes a description of somebody getting killed for
sexual pleasure - maybe the killer's pleasure, maybe the victim's.  
Either
way, this isn't milk and cookies.  If you don't want to read about such
things, go away and read another message.

Third, this is a work of <u>fiction</u>!  No actual people or animals 
were
harmed in the writing of this story.

Fourth, don't try this stuff at home.  You could end up dead!  Over 200
people a year die playing with asphyxia in the USA.  That's not counting
the rest of the world.

Remember, I didn't *make* you read this story.  If you think it's badly
written, that's one thing.  But if you don't like stories about people
getting strangled to death while having sex, don't blame anybody but
yourself.

Here's some blank space to give you a chance to skip to the next 
message.
After that, you're on your own.
























				    Ambivalent
				    by Darlene


Copyright by the author. Feel free to download this story, but do not
charge for its use.

	================================================================


Susan turns to the mirror in the guest room. She thinks she's never 
looked so good. Her black silk blouse and white skirt complement her 
dark auburn hair and green eyes. Her cheeks have a lively blush. She's 
been tense and excited for days. Now she's here, upstairs in John's 
house. Soon he'll be coming for her. Part of her is glad the time has 
come. Another part wants to run back to her little apartment. She could 
still do that. But making the timid choice has been her way for too 
long.

When they were both twenty one, John had loved her deeply. They had 
planned a bold future, wonderful things. She had lost him because she 
could never follow through; always backed away whenever a commitment 
was needed. John is living that future on his own now.

There is irony here. One example of her shyness was their fantasies. 
She and John had shared their secret desires. She was fascinated by the 
rope. She dreamed of the noose around her neck, pulling tighter while 
her feet swung in the air. Many times her fingers had worked her to a 
climax while she imagined herself strung from a beam.... hanging, 
kicking, choking.... maybe fading away, never to feel or think again. 
In the fantasy, a last moment reprieve or a magic return to life was 
always there.

Fate had seemed kind. John longed to see a woman hang. A perfect match? 
This had been another of her failures. After drawing out his secret, 
and pleasing him so much with hers, she shut him out. 

She had never hung, not for a moment, not for herself or for John. She 
had never allowed their games to even hint at it. The most she had ever 
done, and only when alone, was wrap a rope around her neck and pull on 
it gently. One of the many ways her timidness ended with John's 
departure.

That had been years ago. She is almost twenty eight now, and hopes for 
the courage to see today through.

Waiting for John, she marvels at how they have been brought together 
again. She has two nephews, small boys. She still didn't like to think 
about the details, but it was John who saved them. Without him, they 
certainly would have drowned. 

She had been as grateful as any mother for the rescue. A week ago she 
met with John.
 
"They're alive because of you," she'd said. "How can I show my thanks 
John? Just ask and it's yours." John had looked at her for a long time, 
without saying anything. "I'm serious John, I'll do anything for you," 
she told him. 

"If you mean that Susan, there is something I want very much," he'd 
whispered. And he explained that he wanted her to hang.

She continues waiting for John. Brushing her hair, she feels little 
shivers. She loves the idea of pleasing John, and she loves the idea of 
living her fantasy. She would rather they did this in private, but John 
has decided on a small audience of friends. His friends, of course; she 
doesn't know who will be there. She would rather have candlelight and a 
cozy room, but John has decided on the afternoon sunshine of his back 
terrace.

This isn't a fantasy. That's the real reason for the shivers. When she 
agreed to hang for John, she had asked for how long.

"Until I take you down," he answered.

She asked again, what did that mean? He kissed each of her eyes. 

"Until I take you down," he repeated. He would say no more, except he 
would free her from her promise if she wanted. She returned his kisses. 
Told him she wouldn't ask the question again. And again, she pledged 
she would do what she promised.
 
She had committed herself to hang as long as he wanted. Now she has to 
hold herself firm. There's a reason for the excitement that's overcome 
her since John's request. The excitement is warming her center right 
now. Her fantasy includes not just the helplessness of the rope 
squeezing her neck, cutting off her breath. 

More critical is the building panic; realizing her lungs may never feel 
air again if she begins the passage to oblivion. If she knows she'll be 
saved, there will be no fantasy to live out, no fear to make this mean 
as much to her as it does to John.

John understands this. His answer had frightened and thrilled her, but 
left some room for the magic return that softens her fantasy. She will 
know soon enough.

The door opens and John is there. He's wearing a long red Cossack shirt 
that comes halfway to his knees. He reminds her it's still her choice 
whether to go on. Then he removes any choice by lifting his shirt, 
showing the front is cut out of his pants. His penis and scrotum are 
visible and free. She wants him badly. Dropping the shirt, he takes her 
hand and leads her downstairs. At the back door he stops and touches 
her shoulder.

"Thank you Susan. Everything will be just right," he tells her.

They walk outside. She's a little overwhelmed at the care he has taken. 
A planked runway extends from the doorway about ten feet, then turns 
left until it reaches a small stage.
The stage is low to the ground. On the stage is a gallows, decorated 
with flowers. A single flower adorns the knot of the noose below the 
gallows. Under the noose is a low carved stand, eighteen inches high, 
with flowers of its own. 

More than a dozen people, both men and women, are sitting in two rows 
of white chairs. The chairs are arranged in semi-circles before the 
stage. The people are nicely dressed, for an afternoon party. She 
recognizes a few of them. John's cousin Barry, a couple named Melissa 
and Frank. The scene is beautiful in the sunlight.

John walks her to the end of the runway by the stage. He nods. Susan 
takes a nervous step forward and speaks to her audience. 

"This day is for John. And for me. I'm glad you're here to share it 
with us. I hope you'll enjoy what you see," she says. Realizing what 
comes next, she blushes. It wasn't what she meant. 

With that, she begins to remove her clothes slowly, her white skirt 
first. She folds each item and places it on the runway. When only her 
panties are left, she draws herself up and looks shyly at the small 
group of spectators. Watching their faces she feels the heat in her 
loins. She lowers her panties to her ankles a little awkwardly and 
steps out of them, leaving them bunched at her feet. Hands back at her 
sides, the slight breeze makes her aware of the hairs guarding her 
little mound. Her breath quickens. It's just like her fantasy.

She feels John take her elbow as he guides her to the stage. He helps 
her onto it and faces her, so they are in profile to the audience. 
Lifting first his shirt, then her, he lowers her onto his penis. Her 
legs circle his waist, and he pushes deep into her. After several slow 
strokes she is gasping a bit, but careful not to move too much. They 
had discussed this before; he wants to connect and arouse them both, 
but he doesn't want to come now. He wants to keep his arousal high for 
her hanging.

Placing her back on the stage, John runs a hand through her hair. He 
kisses her deeply and embraces her. He murmurs in her ear. Susan loves 
him now and is proud of them both. She's reluctant to end the embrace, 
but she kneels and cleans his penis gently with her mouth. Leaning 
back, she looks up at John. She's ready. He helps her rise and climb 
onto the little stand. She notices that a thin cord below her runs from 
the stand to the empty chair in the center of the audience.

Not waiting for John, she takes the noose. Being careful with the 
flower, she lowers the noose over her head and tucks it under her hair. 
It rests on her shoulders. The noose gives her goose bumps. She sees 
John notice them and hopes he is pleased.

John starts by tying her hands behind her back. She likes that, it's 
always part of the fantasy. Then he adjusts the noose, pulling it 
firmly around her neck. Finally he shortens the rope until most of the 
slack is gone, and kisses her once more. The tightness of the noose 
feels delicious. She tells him how excited she is, and he gently rubs 
her wetness over her clit as she sighs. 

She watches as John goes to his chair. All the faces look expectantly 
at her. When John is seated, a very pretty woman next to him moves her 
chair closer. The woman puts her hand under John's shirt and smiles up 
at Susan. John's hand, holding the cord, drops into the woman's lap.

Standing there with the noose around her neck, Susan suddenly knows. 
Her heart breaks. If she allows this to continue that woman's fingers 
will control the sexual pleasure John receives from watching her hang. 
That woman will get her own sexual pleasure under John's hand seeing 
Susan struggle on the rope. They want her to strangle for their 
enjoyment. With no magic revival. Tears form while she wonders what to 
do.

For a minute or two there is only the chirping of birds and rustling of 
leaves in the breeze. And her breathing. It accelerates quickly until 
she's panting on the stand. Everyone hears her. Everyone is 
anticipating.

Finally John speaks out.

"Are you sure Susan? We could still......," and his voice drops off. 
She doesn't want to do this now. She hates the woman with her fingers 
on John's penis. And she wishes she could see the pussy under the 
woman's slacks. John's hand lies on it now. Susan knows the pussy is 
wet, and the slacks will come undone while she hangs by her neck.

"Yes. I'm sure," she says, staring at John's hand on the vee of the 
woman's slacks. The woman's hand joins John's, and together they jerk 
the cord. 

The rope jolts Susan's throat when she drops. One moment she is 
standing, an instant of falling, then a vise slams shut around her 
neck. Sliding up and under her jaw, the rope burns her as it tightens 
even more. The shock is more than she expected. She has to force a 
gurgling sound to get a breath. It's a small one, but she's relieved. 
Her neck isn't broken. At least she'll have the experience she's 
dreamed about.

If the flower on the knot hasn't fallen, it's by her ear now, the left 
one. She tries to remember what that means in the islands; spoken for 
or unattached. Silly question, she thinks. Looking out, she can see 
John has opened the woman's zipper and is stroking her through her 
yellow panties. Susan is attached to the rope.

Instinctively she tries to raise her hands. She wants to loosen the 
constriction of the rope. 
Feeling her wrists locked behind her is bittersweet. It's how she 
wanted it, but the noose is too tight. It's too hard to breathe and 
pressure is building in her head. It wasn't supposed to be this way so 
fast.

Susan thinks, don't panic. You're still getting air, you just have to 
work for it. She lowers her eyes. She can see her feet moving, touching 
nothing. She's really hanging.

Little by little the noose closes tighter in spite of Susan's efforts 
to stay calm. Two things occur to Susan at almost the same time. Her 
body is very excited, she wants desperately to come. And she feels the 
need to kick now. Her chest muscles are heaving her breasts and she has 
spasms along her spine. Susan begins dancing to a rhythm even she 
cannot hear. All she knows is that the thrusting makes her neck hurt , 
but the sensations between her legs make it worthwhile.

Her climax explodes so suddenly Susan is surprised. Despite the pain 
and the crushing in her throat, she looks to John and smiles. Then the 
need for a cleansing breath overwhelms her. As hard as she tries, she 
can't get one. Her chest is too tired to work. It's like the last stage 
of deliberately holding your breath. Your chest will explode if you 
don't let it out. But Susan can't let it out. She's trapped by the 
rope. 

Susan knows real fear now. She feels her body jerking and convulsing, 
and wants so much to escape. She can't be forced to give up her life 
just to entertain these awful people. It's very unfair. She's so young, 
with so may years ahead of her. She finally understands the romance is 
gone from her fantasy. The terror she's experiencing is real. She's 
trying to plead to the audience with her eyes. She doesn't want to die. 
Her vision is getting hazy and she knows she'll soon pass out. What 
about the magic?

John had watched Susan's dance with great fascination. The best part 
for him was her expression. Strangling in a noose on a gallows, but 
more alive than he had ever seen her. As her face grew red then almost 
purple, her eyes stood out with a marvelous brightness. When Susan's 
mouth opened in a rictus, John recognized it was a smile. He wondered 
that her ordeal could make her happy. He allowed himself to come in the 
woman's hand right then, and found himself gasping.

John's breathing slows while Susan's movements do too. He can see she 
is beginning to pass out and he'll have to hurry to cut her down. As 
John rises from his chair he feels a tug at his arm. The woman beside 
him looks up wildly. She's pulling the crotch of her panties to the 
side. 

"No John, it isn't finished," she begs, "don't stop it now. You know 
what we need."

John looks at Susan, now hanging quietly from the rope. Only an 
occasional shiver stirs her. He hesitates. The others in the little 
audience are watching him. Then he smiles. His new woman knows what he 
really wants today. He hadn't been able to admit it to her. He's 
thrilled that she wants it too.

He bows to the audience and sits back down. "Yes, John," someone 
whispers, "sit down." His hand finds the woman's slit and puts two 
fingers inside. His eyes stay on Susan. The woman beside him takes his 
penis. For a time their fingers move in rhythm sensuously. John is very 
hard again when Susan's body shakes violently and then is still. The 
woman beside him squeezes his hand between her legs as she comes with a 
trembling sigh. The tremors in the woman's hand and Susan's vacant eyes 
help John's penis spurt for a second time. 



 ===========================================================


Did you like this story?  Why not
<A HREF="mailto:Darlene29x@hotmail.com?subject=Ambivalent">
write Darlene</A>?  Remember, feedback from the readers is the
only "payment" the author gets.

You can find more at
	http://www.nyx.net/~anon3a9c/fair/entry.ssi


But if you think stories about people getting strangled during sex -- 
and
enjoying it -- are icky and shouldn't exist, don't come whining to me.
Why did you read it if you don't like stories of that type?
-- 
A. P. Damien
Replies directly to this address will NOT be anonymized.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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