I wasn't expecting company, so I was a bit surprised when I heard the knock at the door. Of course, I assumed it would be a salesman, or something like that. So, I was greatly surprised when I opened the door, and found Anna standing there. Her golden mane of hair was cascading around her shoulders, and seemed to be shining in the bright spring sunlight. She wore a blue button up dress, that set off the blue of her eyes. On closer examination she seemed to have an extra button or two left undone at both the bodice and hem ends. As she moved forward into my home, I could see white lace in her cleavage. The view was slightly exaggerated because her hands were behind her back holding a bag, and this pulled her shoulders back and her bodice apart.
"Hello, pretty lady."
"Guten Tag, Professor."
I smiled. "I'm not really a professor. I'm years away from a permanent appointment."
She shook her head a little. "You are now on the faculty, and not just a teaching assistant," she insisted. "They are paying you to do a professor's work, so you are a professor."
I shrugged. She seemed to take a half step forward, intruding into my personal space just enough for me to be intensely aware of it. I resisted the urge to step back. "What can I do for you? I didn't expect to see you; the semester is over."
She took a definite step forward, so that her bust nearly touched my chest. "You saved my life when I tried to commit suicide," she said gently. "You have been my friend and counselor ever since, and in that way you saved my sanity as well. I have come to thank you properly."
I raised my hands to lightly grip her shoulders. "We have talked about this." Quietly, almost sadly, I said: " The university has strict rules about fraternizing. I cannot take a chance of breaking them."
"I have graduated," she murmured, and raised her lips toward mine.
Graduated. No longer a student. The rules no longer applied.
My lips met hers. Gently, then firmly, then eagerly, even hungrily we tasted. Our tongues probed urgently. Something we had both wanted for over two years was finally happening.
When we came up for air, she dropped the bag she had been holding behind her back, and lifted her arms to my back, pulling herself to me so that I could feel her breast crushed against my rib cage. I threw my arms around her and hugged her soft form against me. The top of her head came up to my nose, and I leaned my head forward to nuzzle in her hair.
After a moment, she said: "I think you are happy to see me, yes?" I could hear a teasing amusement in her voice, and she rolled her hips against mine. As I could feel her breast against my chest, she could feel my growing erection against her belly. I could not deny it, but I could not find the words to express it either.
After a moment, she pushed away, and stepped back. She managed not to trip over her bag on the floor, as she backed up to the opposite wall. She raised her hand to the buttons down the front of her dress, and slowly began to undo them. She deliberately teased me by removing her dress slowly, and I allowed her to, drinking in the incredibly sensuous image of the nordic goddess in lacy white bra, panties, garter suspenders and stockings that was slowly revealed to me. We stood quietly for a moment so that I could enjoy the view, before I lifted my fingers to my shirt buttons. She stepped forward, and raised her hands to mine, insistently taking over the chore of undressing me.
I suppose I could admit that the first time I entered her it was all I could do to avoid climaxing immediately. Fortunately for me, she was very nearly as aroused as I was by that point, and it was only a few moments before her body and her gently cries told me that she was achieving a plateau. The sense of her orgasm just pulled me in with her.
After we lay in bed cuddling for a while, I rose, slipped on my bathrobe and ran warm water over a wash towel for her. I left her with her privacy while she cleaned up a bit, and slipped down to the kitchen to open the one bottle of wine I had stashed in the back of the fridge. As we sat in bed, with the blankets pulled up to her waist, I dribbled a little bit of wine on her breast and leaned forward to lick it off. The sharp change from the cold wine to my warm lips brought a shiver to her flesh. She wanted to open my robe and dribble wine "down there," then clean it off, but I had to suggest she give my "tired, old" body a little more time to recover.
She said she knew how to put the fire back in my blood. She slipped her legs over the side of the bed, and began to put her lingerie back on. She grinned at me as she lifted a leg to pull up and straighten out a stocking. She also thought to put her panties on over the garter suspenders, instead of the other way around, implying that she might take off the panties without bothering to take of the stockings and garter belt. Spider Robinson wrote that a woman has a butt so that a man has something to remember her by when she has to leave. I watched the play of buttocks under tight white nylon as she walked out of the bedroom, and I knew exactly what he meant.
When she returned she was carrying the bag that she had left by the front door. She plopped it on the corner of the bed, and pulled it open. She favored me with a mischievous grin, then began to pull a long white rope out of the bag. My heart began to pound in my chest. One end of the rope was already tied into a hangman's noose.
"You don't," I began, then hesitated at a loss for words.
"We talked about this one time," she replied. One time and one time only, I had been weak enough to admit that I am aroused by the image of a woman hanging by the neck. When she tried to suicide by hanging she had suspected how I reacted to the image of her lean lovely body stretched under the crude knot she had tied. She had asked about it, and then she had teased me about it. When she had tried to seduce me, she had offered to hang for me. Several times.
"It's too dangerous," I insisted.
"It will arouse you," she replied, with a moue, and twinkle in her eye. Well, I could not deny that. She stepped back with the rope. I watched as she moved to the corner of the room where I had sunk an eyebolt into the ceiling beam, in the hope that someday, somehow, I could use it this way. She must have guessed why that eyebolt was there. She pulled my bedroom chair to the small ring.
"I searched the internet," she said, "and found sites that talked about this fantasy. I read what they said. I know that I can hang for about two minutes before loss of oxygen to the brain begins to threaten my mind. I know that I probably can't stand to do it that long, but I am willing to try. I know that my body will react badly to the shifts in blood pressure and to my fear. But I am willing to risk that. I want to do this for you."
She stepped up onto the chair. She threaded the running end of the line into the ring, and pulled it through until the loop of the noose rose to her face. She took a single bight in the rope, and wrapped the bight around then tucked it into itself, so that her weight on the rope would serve to hold it tight.
"I put the rope around my neck when I play with myself," she said, "and pull on the rope to choke myself. I do this so that my body can learn to be aroused when I asphyxiate."
She gently took the hangman's noose in her hand, and pushed her face into the loop. With the knot behind her head, she reached around and pulled her golden hair out of the rope and pushed it to the right. Then she grabbed the rope and pulled the wraps of the knot against her throat just behind her left ear.
Oh, what an image! Long lean legs in stockings scarcely darker than the tanned flesh they covered. Slender garters rising under tight white panties, creating a frame that drew attention to her pubis. Lacy bra that emphasized rather than concealed her breast. White rope around her neck, framed by the bright blond hair spilled carelessly to one side. The knot dangling loosely to the side before rising the short distance to the bolt in the ceiling. She stood quietly smiling at me as I drank in the sight of her. I wanted to remember that moment for ever.
She raised her hand to her breast and gently pressed them together. She stroked and rubbed. She edged fingers under the lace seeking the sensuous tips hidden inside. She sighed. She ran her hands down her sides, with a slight shift in her hips. As her hands pressed down her lower belly, she stepped forward to the edge of the chair, spreading her legs. Her fingers curled between her legs and pressed into her pubis. She took a deep breath. She drew her hands back up around her waist and stroked the edge of the nylon just below her navel, then around her waist to her back. Her palms drifted down over the buttocks I could not see and squeezed, forcing her hips forward slightly. Again her hands drifted around her hips to her pubis. This time her fingers probed at the waist of her panties, and began to dig in. She shoved her hands into the nylon seeking the tender flesh beneath. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing in quick pants. The tight white fabric surged as her fingers moved within.
She looked at me. "Help me take off my panties," she begged. She started to push urgently at the waist of the panties with one hand while the other stayed busy between her legs. I rose to my feet. The movement of my robe against my man-sex made me very aware that her act was having it's intended effect.
I stepped up to her, stopping inches from the taut flesh of her belly. I raised my hands to her hips, and slip my fingers over her buttocks. Gently I drew my fingers up the waist of her panties and as she pushed loosely at the front of the lacy nylon, I pushed my fingers down inside the back to cup her buttocks again. I heard her sigh at my touch. I pushed my hands down her legs, dragging my fingers over her thighs and pushing her panties down with my wrists.
As I stood by the chair, her bosom was just above my face, while her pubis was just below it. I could move my face only a tiny bit to reach into the soft crevasse of her navel, so of course I slid my tongue in there. Her belly muscles moved under my lips. Since my hands had moved as far down her legs as they could while I was standing, I stepped back and leaned forward to continue my fingers journey down over her knees, her calves and her ankles to her feet. She lifted one foot then the other so that I could free her of the nylon hobble. When she placed her toes back on the chair seat, she did so as far apart as the chair would allow. When I straightened up I could see that she was already placing pressure on the rope around her neck. And during all this her fingers continued to gently stroke at the tender flesh of her labial lips.
I moved my face to her pubis and pressed my nose into her Mons Venus, so that I could press my tongue between her legs. She had to move her hand to allow me access, and pressed her fingers into my uncombed hair instead. At that angle I could barely reach, but I certainly gave it "the old college try." Her soft murmurs and shaking hips assured me that it was having the desired effect.
"Your fingers," she whispered. "Please, use your fingers now!"
I leaned back and raised my right hand up between her thighs, dragging my finger nails gently along the sensitive flesh inside her legs. She tried to spread her legs further, but the chair was not wide enough, and the rope was not long enough. I was aware that the weight she was already placing on the noose around her neck was forcing her to pant for air with little rasping noises. I ran my fingers softly over her nether lips. I tickled her between the vagina and the anus without quite touching either. I combed my fingers through her pubic hair. I heard her moan, and thought there was a touch of frustration in the sound. Finally, I sank one finger deeply inside of her. She sighed wetly. Cupping her pubic bone in the palm of my hand, I pressed up against her pubis and stroked with the single digit. Her hips twitched and thrust in response. For several minutes I circled and thrust and wiggled, until my wrist began to tire.
Gently I moved my hand back, drawing out the finger, but not entirely leaving the damp nest. Instead, I dragged the finger toward me, seeking that most sensitive button hidden under its tiny hood. I found it and began to stroke it. Her fingers clenched in my hair. Her whole body slowly grew tense.
"Now," she hissed. "Hang me now!"
She tried to raise her legs from the chair, while squeezing her thighs together against my hand. The motion was uneven and clumsy. Quickly I raised one foot to the chair and shoved.
The rope creaked as it took her weight. I saw the rope shift, with the loop around her neck slipping toward the knot, and the knot shifting slightly toward the rear. For a moment her dangling body was jerked away with the chair and I almost lost contact with her clitoris. Her clenching thighs however helped me retain purchase.
She was hanging!
Not like the time she tried to commit suicide, out of desperation and despair, but rather as a deliberate act of sex intended to arouse me. And I was aroused. My erect man-sex was eagerly pushing at the terry cloth of my robe.
Her neck was stretched and her head was forced forward at an odd angle by the knot in back. Her body was swaying back and forth slightly, despite the anchor my hand between her legs provided. Although she kept her thighs firmly clenched on my fingers, her calves and feet were twitching up and down in an unconscious effort to fight the noose. Her fingers clenched in my hair.
I looked in her face. Her eyes were fixed on me, as her face slowly reddened. Her lips were slightly parted and her teeth were lightly clenched. But more than anything else, she looked highly aroused herself. I suddenly remembered what my finger was supposed to be doing.
I began to vigorously rub her clit. Her hips began to shake wildly and that caused her body to dance on the rope. I realized the knot around her neck was still moving tighter. She tried to force her mouth open, but was unsuccessful.
Then her whole body stiffened and shuddered. She shook hard and her toes waggled wildly. Her fingers twisted in my hair pulled hard enough to hurt. I realized she was having an orgasm!
When the shuddering became erratic, and I thought she was likely done, I pulled away.
I stepped back, and took a moment to drink in the sight of this beautiful woman who had hanged herself for my pleasure. White rope noosed behind her blond hair. Tilted head and smiling face turned red. Stretched neck. Firm breasts encased in a lacy white nylon bra. Flat belly and cute belly button. Lacy white garter belt, with garter suspenders drifting down either side of her pale blond pubic bush. Long legs in light stockings dangling limply, with the toes eighteen inches above the floor.
Her hanging body was the sexiest thing it had ever been my privilege to see.
Hastily I stepped to my dresser and grabbed my old army demo knife. I snapped out the blade and stepped up to her. She left her arms loose at her sides, as I threw my left arm around her waist. I reached up and sawed at the rope over her head. It was so taut it parted easily and she collapsed into my arms. I felt her chest heave as she began to try forcing air past the crushing rope around her neck. Gently I lay her on the floor, then I began to claw at the rope. I was surprised at how hard it was to gain a purchase, it had sunk into the flesh of her neck so deeply. Finally, I managed to work the noose loose. I was so relieved to hear her breathing that it almost gave me a rush.
She raised her arms and looped her wrists around my neck. I saw her smile sensuously at me.
"That was incredible," she murmured, although her voice sounded rough. "It was more intense than I had expected."
"It was fantastic," I replied. "Thank you."
Her smile became a bit more mischievous, and her right hand slipped from my neck to travel down the loose front of my robe.
"Did it have the desired effect?"
"Oh, yes," I replied as her hand worked into my robe and found my erection.
"Then come here," she said, pulling gently on it like it was a handle. I sank down between her legs, as she guided man-sex to woman-sex. In a moment our bodies had merged. I was just as eager as before, with the image of her hanging fresh in my mind, but this time I was able to control it better.
Afterwards, we took a shower together, full of wet giggles and soapy tickles. It gave me a chance to closely examine the robe burn around her neck, and the redness in her face. Then we lay down together for a nap.
I was disconcerted when she began to quietly cry. I gently asked her why?
"I have to go home in two weeks," she said. Since Anna's home was someplace in northern Europe, once she left we would never see each other again.
"We will just have to pack a lifetime into the next two weeks," I murmured.
Take me to the Information Booth