The Game

Copyright by the author. Feel free to download this story, but do not charge for its use. The story was inspired by a picture I once saw. To the artist, who I've been unable to identify, my thanks for the thoughts you've provoked.

The game was played in a small theater. A stage down front was brightly lit. On the stage six little stools were arranged in a shallow arc. A beam high up repeated the arc, supporting a rope and noose above each stool. On the far left one stool was still vacant.

Marti was the last of six young women to step naked onto her stool. The women had never met before undressing together a few minutes ago. Marti wasn't cold, but she was shivering. Two of the women would be hanged today. A pretty blonde attendant, wearing a blue blazer and skirt and carrying a small step stand, was just behind her. Marti waved the attendant off and pulled the noose down over her head with her own hands. It slid easily over her dark hair. She lifted her hair out from the noose, brushing it over to rest on one shoulder.

Marti held the long knot before her face for a moment, then moved it around to her left ear. She had read this placement could provide her the longest conscious time, and allow her to look forward instead of down at her toes.

She hoped this was right. If she were to lose the game (or was it win?) she wanted to see the audience while they watched her hang. And she wanted them to see her face, not just her forehead. Most of all, she would want to stretch out the experience before the noose finished its work and the blackness came. A minute or two and then passing out would not be near enough.

The attendant took Marti's hands, placed then behind her back, and tied them securely with a blue cord. Her feet were not bound. The audience would want to see a hanging girl's feet kick and strain to find a solid surface and save herself. A surface that would not, of course, be there.

The blue cord around Marti's wrists signified that she had paid her own entry fee to the game. Two of the other women had the same blue cords binding their hands behind them. Three had red cords, meaning sponsors had paid their fees. Often this meant the women, or persons of their choice, were also paid a large sum to compensate for the risk.

Some in the audience preferred to see a woman, quite reluctant when the moment came, hang because she had risked her life for money. Others were far more interested in women like Marti. Women so fascinated by the noose that they actually paid to enter the game.

Now the female attendant touched a button on a hand held control. The rope above Marti rose until it was taut. The attendant stepped onto her stand and adjusted the noose to make it tight around Marti's neck. She checked the knot, asked if Marti was happy with its position, and pushed another button to lock the rope in place.

The attendant kissed Marti sweetly, and lowered a hand to Marti's trimmed pussy. She inserted a finger through the little nest of hair, into the wet slit, and drew it out slowly. She ran the shining finger over her own lips. Marti murmured "Oh," and licked the taste of herself from the attendant's lips. The attendant leaned to Marti and whispered in her ear.

"You're so beautiful. Of all the girls here today, it's you I want to see hang from the rope and strangle. I hope you don't mind."

"No," Marti replied nervously, "I understand. And thank you."

The attendant touched Marti's shoulder, then the knot, and stepped away. The noose was tight, but Marti could turn her head and look at the other women on their stools. She realized that the arc of the stools' positions was a courtesy to the women. When one of them was hanged, the others would have a very clear view of the process.

For five of them, she thought, watching the first girl hang would be an extraordinary event. Each of the five would know that very shortly she might have the same experience. So much more intensely than the audience, they would imagine the same pressure of the rope on their own necks, the choking gasps for tiny sips of air, and the incredible sexual high.

As the first girl's struggle became desperate, they might rethink the price of this high. The girl might be screaming silently in her mind, pleading not to die, not today. And then, as her movements slowed, they would hope the next stage was a lovely peace and acceptance, a wonderful warmth. They would hope this very much.

Looking across at the other women, Marti thought the game shouldn't be wasted on the paid-for girls with the red cords. At least not both rounds. Two stools down, a girl with beautiful brown eyes and a blue cord around her wrists smiled at Marti. Her name was Amy. They had talked briefly backstage, and Marti felt drawn to her. Amy's hair, even darker than Marti's, was gathered with a black velvet ribbon at the back of her head. She had wonderful breasts, the nipples like little thumb tips, already erect. Below Amy's waist, a small thatch of hair sat above her shaved lips. Her knot was like Marti's, tucked behind an ear.

Amy nodded to Marti, and Marti nodded back. She wants us to be the ones to hang, Marti realized. She knows we share the bond. I'd love to watch her hang, Marti thought. But do I really, really want to be hanged myself, or is it only the thrill of being here I crave? One chance out of three to feel the rope bite, with no going back now.

A well dressed man at a table below the stage stood up. He was Robert, the host for today's game. A glass bowl holding six numbered balls was on the table. As a formality Robert explained the rules of the game to the audience. A ball would be drawn. He would pull the cord attached to the stool of the girl with the corresponding number. The stool would tip and she would hang. When she had died, a second ball would be drawn. A second cord would be pulled. A second young woman would hang.

Robert announced the time had come. The women on stage looked down at the cords leading from their stools. These long cords were colored blue or red, matching the shorter cords binding their wrists. The audience could hear the nervous shuffling of bare feet. Several of the women were trembling. All were breathing faster now, a light sheen of perspiration highlighting the rise and fall of their breasts. Both Marti and Amy raised their heads high, looking directly into the eyes of the audience while their hearts thumped.

Robert reached into the bowl. He called a number. It was Amy's. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, but she turned and smiled bravely at Marti. Robert reached down and selected Amy's blue cord. He asked if she had anything to say. She turned shakily back to the audience and licked suddenly dry lips.

"I'd like some water please, and a minute to think."

The attendant who had set the girls up on their stools quickly brought a cup of water and helped Amy drink. She put an arm around her waist to steady her. Then she stroked between Amy's legs, held up a wet finger for everyone to see, and receded. Her footsteps echoed as she left.

It became very quiet. Amy's rapid panting was the only sound to be heard. Marti tried to imagine what Amy was thinking. She was very excited watching the dark haired girl ready herself for death. Amy worked to gain control. She stretched her shoulders over and over. Eventually she was able to take slow and deliberate breaths. She seemed more at ease. She even remembered her disappointment earlier when told her hands must be behind her back. In her fantasies, her hands were always tied down low in front, making it easy to touch herself. That wasn't needed now. Her pussy felt almost more stimulation than she could stand, all on it's own.

Robert had been careful to give Amy all the time she needed. He knew the audience fed on the anticipation, and enjoyed the girl's preparations. He moved slightly and got her attention. His eyes held hers for a very long time. Amy's breathing quickened again, as she realized the moment was here.

"Let me know when you're ready Amy."

She smiled sadly. "Please. Do it now."

Robert jerked the cord. The stool flew out from under Amy's feet and dropped off the stage. Her unsupported weight caused the pressure of the noose to quickly change. From a comfortably tight caress it became a vise pressing hard around her neck and into her throat. It hurt a little, but not unbearably. The effect was even more sensuous than she'd expected. She could feel little parts inside her throat begin to bend and buckle. The warmth in her pussy was rising. She made a liquid sound, between gurgling and choking. Her feet pawed gently, and she swung slightly.

Amy's body was remarkably still. Her head held rigid to one side, eyes open and responsive, only her feet pawing and her fingers clenching. It was very erotic. A naked woman hanging by her neck, hands bound behind her, staring at her audience. Sharing the sexual tension. Her constant soft gagging reminding them all, especially Amy, of the price for this tension. Her death.

She was refusing to give in to panic. But understanding the reality. The noose would slowly become tighter and tighter until it crushed her throat completely and her air and her life were gone. The audience admired her strength.

Marti gazed in genuine awe. She was so thankful to for the chance to see the dark haired girl strangling. She was hot and wet. Marti had never felt the tingling this strongly before, and it was just from watching. She pressed her thighs together, sure Amy felt the same arousal. Marti sucked in a breath, and watched the girl's chest work trying to do the same. Her breasts were jiggling. It was easy to tell from the rasps a little air was making it through.

That little bit should be enough. The knot was in the right place to give her a nice long ride before her throat closed forever. Amy should certainly reach a climax. The most deeply felt climax a woman could ever have. Her last, and knowing it. Marti wondered, as she had before, whether Amy would begin to regret her decision.

Amy's eyes were wider now. Her lips were moving. She was choking out some sounds, but Marti couldn't tell what she was trying to say. The look in Amy's face was of yearning. Her hips were bucking a little, with a definite rhythm. Marti thought that was a good sign.

Within a few minutes, things changed for Amy. Her whole body was shaking. Maybe the result of an orgasm. The noose had finally cut deep into her neck. No air could reach her lungs. No sounds came from her throat. Her time for dangling passively on the rope was over. Her legs began to kick out strongly. She was fighting to stay alive.

As Amy thrashed, her eyes squeezed shut then snapped open, again and again. The eyes were bulging now. Her kicking became more frantic, almost manic. The tendons in her arms stood out as she tried to free her wrists. Her expression showed the panic had arrived. She was very scared. Amy's chest heaved and heaved, but she found no relief.

The heat in Marti's loins grew. Amy would be feeling her chest wanting to explode. She knew the pain in Amy's lungs must be exquisite. Seeing her kick that way, fighting against it, Marti was terribly excited. She wanted very badly to touch Amy, help her through this, hold her as she struggled. Feel Amy's muscles finally stiffen as she gave up her life. But watching from her stool as Amy was dying would have to be enough.

Eventually Amy's kicking slowed. Her arms came to rest. Maybe her strength was gone, or maybe the urgent need for air had passed. She'd reached another level.

Amy was still aware of the audience, probably more so since her struggling stopped. Every few seconds she blinked. Her tongue protruded just a little. Her head couldn't move, but her eyes seemed to turn to Marti. With a great effort, Amy's tongue very slowly circled her lips. A last gesture for me, Marti realized, and she came at the thought.

Amy's face was soon a deep purple. Her eyes stood out in vivid contrast, still blinking and shifting occasionally, still conscious. Her only other movement was the odd jerk or spasm. The theater was completely silent for a time, the audience rapt. It was only when Amy's eyes turned to glass that they understood. The body shook for a few seconds with convulsions then hung peacefully. Amy herself was gone. She was dead.

The five girls still alive on the stage were crying. Some for Amy, some for themselves. The lights softened for a brief intermission.

The stage lights were up. Robert had his glass bowl ready. It was time again. The five nervous women on the stage were shining with sweat. They'd had more time than they wanted during the intermission to think about what would happen next. Amy's lifeless body, hanging next to them as they waited, was a constant reminder. Marti couldn't help looking at the glistening slit. She wished she'd had a chance to lick it while Amy could still respond. But there was no more Amy. She'd never feel anything again.

Marty brought her thoughts to the present. Her heart pounded. She wondered if any of the girls with red cords were here for the same reason as she was. Maybe they needed a sponsor because they couldn't afford the cost of the trip and the entry fee. Or maybe they all came for the money, with hanging a terrible risk for a very big reward. She thought of risk takers as mercenaries. If her own number wasn't called, she'd like to see a mercenary hanged. She'd already seen a willing girl die beautifully. To see that happen to someone dreading her death would be very different. Marti focused again. Robert was reaching into the bowl. All of the women were quivering.

Robert called Marti's number. It was like a slap to the face. Time did slow to a crawl. Every detail and sound became sharper. Robert smiled kindly at her. She looked at the other girls on their stools. They would again get a close up view as she was hanged. Their nooses kept them erect as they looked back at Marti, relief in their faces.

Robert asked Marti if she had anything to say. Like Amy before her, her breathing was very rapid now. She tried hard to get it under control. Knowing what was coming for her, that wasn't easy. Scanning the audience slowly, making eye contact with many of them, she thought for some time.

"Yes, I do," she said. "Now that I've been chosen, I'm not really sure I want to hang today. No one could be really sure, standing up here. I'm getting these thoughts that tell me I want to survive and play the game another day. Have a little more time. But it's the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me. And I know I wouldn't have the courage to try again. Besides, I know you'd never let me change my mind. So I'm ready to hang for you, and I hope I hang as well as Amy did.

"But I have a request. May I ask the other girls if they came because they wanted to experience the game, or for the money?"

Robert gestured yes, and Marti turned to the others. The one girl left with a blue cord replied first. "For the experience, like you and Amy."

Two of the girls bound with red cords said much the same, and remarked the money was just a nice bonus. The last in line was a pale, slender girl named Helen with light brown hair and apple sized breasts. She had a different answer. She lowered her head and said softly "The money, for my little girl's operation. I feel badly for you Marti, I really do, but this isn't exciting to me. I've been terrified."

Marti was quiet again for a long time before she spoke. She wanted to feel contempt for Helen, for being a mercenary, but now she really couldn't. To risk her life for her daughter was heartbreaking. Still, Marti felt that kind had no respect for the game. And Helen knew the risks of entering. Marti would go through with her idea. She owed it to herself, and to Amy.

"I have a suggestion. I want you to pick another number. If one of the girls who've come here like me for the experience is picked, just set it aside and hang me now. But if Helen is picked, cancel my number and hang her first. You can do that because I volunteer to be hanged, without reservation. You'll see three women hang for the price of two."

Robert was taken aback, but as the game's host he conferred with Helen's sponsor. He told the audience that Helen's contract didn't seem to prevent this and her sponsor had no objection. He pulled a ball from the bowl, and showed it first to Marti.

"I've selected your number Helen. I'm sorry dear. I should ask for an official ruling before I go any farther."

Helen jumped a little on the stool and cried that this wasn't fair. She had won her life. Robert told her to stand quietly or he would be forced to pull the cord on her stool right now. He reminded her the money would still be there for her daughter in any case.

Robert left and returned in a few minutes. The ruling was this. There was concern that hanging Helen, after she had apparently won her money and her survival, would make others reluctant to enter the game in the future. So the rules would be clarified to prevent a situation such as this. Effective tomorrow. But Helen would be hanged today. There was scattered applause at the wisdom of this decision.

Helen shook and sobbed, but was careful not to disturb the stool. Robert spoke to Marti.

"You may choose the moment, Marti."

Helen turned to Robert, then to Marti. "Don't do this to me. Please don't." Her eyes were begging. She was trembling. The pretty attendant had come up behind her, and began massaging Helen's pussy while whispering sympathy in her ear. Helen was still sobbing, but more softly. Marti let this go on for a while until she knew from the squishing sounds that Helen was very wet.

"This would be a good time," Marti said clearly. The attendant stood back.

The stool tipped over. The same gurgling noise heard earlier from Amy came from Helen's throat. Instead of a slow, delicate dance to her death she fought and kicked from the start. Her wrists tore at the cord. She choked repeatedly. Eventually she found by staying still she could breathe in a little air. And sense the heat growing in her middle. She tried to calm herself. To give herself more time. To live and to feel. But the urge to kick was so strong.

She alternated frenzied kicking with wheezing gasps. Her own struggling was causing the noose to pull tighter around her neck. She was caught in a horrible cycle. The more she panicked and kicked, the more the rope pressed harder against her throat, and the more her panic built. She couldn't make herself stay still long enough. Soon only the tiniest trickle of breath would come, then none at all.

After many more kicks she began to relax, her legs mostly straight and twitching. Her pelvis jerked occasionally. Whether an after orgasm reaction, or still straining to come, it was hard to say. Her face became redder and redder and she began to drool. Even so, many in the audience found her face lovely. Her eyes bulged, but she blinked several times and remained conscious. Her lips tried to form words. The way she focused her gaze on the audience, with her head forced by the knot to one side, was eerie. She seemed now to have accepted her death. It was a surprisingly long time before the light in her eyes went out.

The picture of quiet grace she made towards the end was interrupted by her final throes. Then she hung silent and limp. Marti felt a little guilty, hoped Helen had experienced a final climax. She couldn't be sure. But part of her was pleased she had caused Helen's death. Marti had come again watching her die.

Marti's breathing slowed only a little after her own orgasm. The audience could hear her gasping and edged closer on their seats. They looked at her expectantly. She glanced at Amy and Helen's bodies hanging nearby. They had strangled to death on this stage. Soon she would join them. She was more nervous now than at any time today. And trembling harder. Not surprising, she thought.

This is it, her inner voice told her. The last thing ever. The noose grabbing her neck. The terrible tightness. The tingling peaking between her legs. Able to breathe in the beginning. Pawing her feet just a little. Then the slow choking, exciting at first. Her pussy even hotter. The audience excited with her. Seeing her hips move. Sharing her last climax. A few moments of peace. Then the breath she wouldn't get. The rising sense of fear. The desperate fight for air. The wildly kicking legs. The searing in her lungs. The pleading in her mind. And the final darkness. There would never be anything else again.

Marti feigned composure. It was time for her to die now. She had to do it right. She wanted her and Amy's hangings to be the ones remembered from today. Their legacy. She looked at the remaining three girls still standing naked on their stools. These girls would go home tonight. She envied them. Steeling herself, she pursed her lips and blew each of them a kiss. They returned her kiss in kind. An easy gesture for them.

Marty moved a bit on the stool, appreciating the sensation of wood under her feet. She wished she could run her hands over her body. Feel the softness of her flesh. Trapped behind her back, her hands gathered into fists. She squared herself to the audience. She smiled at them as best she could. Her nipples were little stones. She remained very wet. She'd never imagined such terror, or such exhilaration.

It ran through her mind one more time. Impossible to stop it.

She, Marti, not someone else, would feel the grip of the noose, suspended by her neck. Floating above the stage, legs reaching out, her windpipe slowly closing. She would come explosively as others watched.

She, Marti, not someone else, would struggle and strain for just a few more minutes of life. Tearing at her wrists. Trying to escape the crescent of rope cutting into her throat. The audience would be giddy with the prospect of seeing her die. And she, Marti, would know she was dying. She felt the signs of another orgasm building.

Marti drew some air, held it, exhaled. She looked out at the audience, understanding how much they wanted this from her. Robert began to rise.

"Please, can I do this myself?" Marti asked.

Seeing his nod, Marti whispered "I'm coming now Amy," and kicked out the stool.

The rope's grip on Marti's neck was less fierce than she expected. Certainly uncomfortable, but fascinating in it's own way. Like a loving hand grasping her tightly. She felt the noose clearly. Across her throat at an angle, pressing under the sides of her jaw, hard against the muscles at the back of her neck. Where the noose gathered at the knot, near her left ear, there was close to a void.

Looking at the audience, Marti realized the noose had bent her head to the right. She was surprised to find it this easy to breathe. It took more effort than normal, but air was flowing slowly in and out of her lungs. The rasping sounds she'd heard from the other girls made vibrations she felt in her throat.

Marti glanced at her toes. Funny to see her feet waving above the stage. The weight of her body pulled at the noose, so she wasn't floating, but hanging was still like a dream. She raised her eyes to the audience and tried to smile. She was choking a little, yet she loved the warmth growing between her legs. She understood how Amy had seemed so calm as she hung from the rope. Tiny pinpricks of pleasure were invading her loins. If only she could explain to the audience. The pinpricks let her almost ignore the discomfort in her neck.

She scanned the audience slowly. She noticed one young man in particular. He was sitting next to a blonde woman, holding her hand. The woman seemed transfixed. Her stare was like a trance. The man, though, was smiling. He was engaged and looked eager. Eager, it occurred to Marti, to see her die. That thought was enough to send Marti over the edge. As her eyes locked on his, she trembled at his desire for her life to end. She sensed the waves roll over her, welcome and so warm.

In the middle of her orgasm another thought struck. This orgasm, lovely as it felt, might be the last pleasure she would ever have. She tried to relax and savor it, but it was no good. The realization, that she would die in just a few minutes, excited and scared her too much. Her focus was in her mind not on her body. Until she took a breath, or at least tried. The noose had tightened while she was distracted. She could only force a little whistle of air from her lungs. She had to struggle to choke some back in. The rope was hurting her throat, the pain was real. She looked back through tears to the eager young man. He was still smiling.

With no consciously willed direction, Marti's body began to thrash. For her audience the intensity turned up a notch. Unable to breathe at all now, Marti's emotions burst. She couldn't concentrate her vision. Her eyes opened and closed, darted back and forth. She pictured the eager man in her mind, hating his smiling face. She hated herself even more. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have thought dying was romantic? Someone had to get her down from the rope. They had to. She wanted to go on living. Oh please, she'd never do anything so crazy again. Her chest ached and there was so much pressure in her head.

Marti's struggling was the most frantic the audience had seen today. They could sense it was her life she was fighting to save, not the oxygen that sustained it. Her panic was the most touching. She wanted so much to go on. They reveled in the idea she would die for their amusement, protesting now all the way. Each kick, each lunge, gave them another thrill of satisfaction.

Like the two girls before her, Marti's scrambling finally came to a stop. Her body no longer commanded her to move. The audience might have been disappointed if her face hadn't remained so expressive. The pain was gone from her chest, the need for air only a memory. All feeling was centered in the crush of her throat. Strong but almost abstract, she knew she was feeling what would kill her.

Marti could see the audience before her. She could still think, more clearly than she wanted. She thought about Amy. Amy had seemed so ready, almost grateful as she slowly died. Marti's mind was a vicious pit. She wanted everyone in the audience to come with her, to lose the precious life she was giving up. But maybe, just maybe, Amy would be on the other side. In her anguish she knew that wouldn't be so. There was no other side. An aching vision of emptiness was the last thought Marti would have.

The eager young man in the audience was pressing his girlfriend's hand harder. When Marti had stopped kicking, he watched her eyes widen as her face became impossibly dark. She looked so sad, and he knew she didn't want to go. Knowing that, reading her mind, gave him wonderful shivers. It was even better than coming. When Marti's eyes blinked their last time he was almost sorry it was over. He imagined the woman beside him hanging naked and dying with the three girls on stage as her silent companions. He'd tell her about that tonight when he was inside her. It would make her go wild.

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