I stand by the open space in the second floor banister and look down. The hall downstairs is empty, the wooden floor bare of carpeting, and lit only by the bare bulbs of the three lamps we have put by the living room door. My man stands there by the door with the video camera. I unconsciously swallow as I try hard not to look at him. They were quite specific; I must appear as if I am unaware of the camera. Instead I look at the loop.
The rope dangles before me. I can just touch it if I reach out. It took my man two hours to find the right place in the attic to drill the hole, and another hour to rig the heavy beam that the rope is tied to. It took me only two minutes to tie the noose in the end of the rope. The loop is just below my eye level, and the opening seems to beckon to me. I must admit that I am fascinated with that simple turn of rope. Somehow I know that it wants me. It wants to caress my throat and fit itself to the curve of my neck.
I must not give in to it yet, because they specified that I must be naked. Instead I take a deep breath, and reach for the zipper of my skirt. I grasp the waist of my skirt and slide down the zipper. With both hands, I push down the waist, until the skirt falls to my feet. I lift one foot out, then the other, and kick the skirt out into space. It flutters quickly down to the hall floor. I cross my arms and grasp the waist of my sweater. Pulling up, I lift the sweater over my head. My hair falls through the neck of the sweater as I pull it off, and cascades around my shoulders. After I free my arms from the sleeves I drop the sweater after the skirt.
The sweater and skirt lie side by side on the floor downstairs as if on display. They serve as a teasing reminder of a floor that I will not touch. They mock me with their rest that I will not know. My family will know rest. I will provide that rest by surrendering to this so that they will have the money to go on.
I reach up behind my back, and unhook my bra. With a shrug I free my breasts from the confining cups, and then the bra too goes flying. Force of habit leads me to caress my breasts for a moment. I always caress my breasts after taking off my bra. To my surprise the nipples perk up. Am I stimulated by what I am about to do? Or by the camera that is filming it all? My right index finger gently rubs my right nipple, and I feel a tension in my pelvis. Am I actually feeling desire?
I can not take the opportunity to explore this unusual reaction yet; they're not paying to see me aroused. I drop my hands to my panties, and hook my thumbs into the waist band. I hesitate. A second thought crosses my mind briefly. Does it have to be this way? Do I dare humiliate myself this much? Yes, I must, or there is no purpose in my sacrifice. I push down on the waist band. The elastic legs tug briefly at the loose skin inside my thighs, as the soft lacy nylon slides down past my knees. I can feel a bit of breeze stir the hairs between my legs as they relax without the confining fabric. My pelvis tightens again. I am aroused! Who would have thought it?
Holding out my left arm for balance, I lift my left leg up through the panties I hold in my right hand. Then I lift my right leg as well. As my foot slides free of the panties, I suddenly realize that the camera, below and in front of me, has an excellent view between my legs while my right leg is raised. Well then, they might as well enjoy the view.
I toss the panties out into space after the rest of my clothes. Now I stand naked. I pause, and again look at the rope in front of me. It seems so quiet, resting in space just before me. I am sure that the noose is inviting me. It seems to me to be a new lover, enticing me into it's embrace. A lover like no other, but still a lover that is causing me to quiver with anticipation. Surely the secret space between my legs is growing damp with the eagerness I am beginning to feel.
I raise my right hand, and slowly reach out to the rope. I gently take my new lover in hand, and draw it toward me. My new lover, and shortly my only garment, a necklace of rope. I am breathing deeply and slowly. I always breath deep and slow when I am engaged in foreplay. I raise the loop to my face, close my eyes and touch my cheek with the tightly woven nylon cord. It is soft and firm. I can feel the knot against my forehead, and raise my lips to kiss it. My new lover.
I raise the loop, and lay it over my head like a crown. With a slight pull, the crown slips down to form the necklace. When I release the rope, it side slips around so that the knot is in front of my face again, pulled up in front of me by it's mounting in the ceiling. I can't quite focus on it clearly so close in front of me. No matter. I raise my hands to my hair, and pull the long locks out of the loop around my neck. I can feel the cord under my touch. I run the fingers of my left hand through my hair briefly, tucking most of it to the right.
I close my eyes. I am near to panting. My skin is alive with sensitivity. I can feel the urge between my legs, that has tightening pelvic muscles as only a surface sign. I caress my lover's necklace where it curls around my neck, and my rope lover caresses my skin with a firm response. While stroking the noose with my left hand, my right hand drops between my legs. I do not realize I am touching myself like that at first, but I am not sorry that I do. It is what my new lover wants.
I nudge my left foot forward, until it finds the edge of the landing. I take the knot in my left hand and pull it to my face. I kiss the rope again. I can feel it pulling at me. It wants me to go into it's grip. I slide the knot to the left a bit, so that it is out of the way, and step forward briskly.
For a moment I am flying, as my tossed clothes flew. I feel the rope move in my hand, then it grabs me by the throat. The knot slaps against my ear, and I feel a burn as the necklace slips around seeking the knot. It pulls at my jaw. My arms both fly out in wide circles. It is not what I expected. There is no sudden snap. There is no burst of light. All I feel is the incredible pressure of my rope lover's grasp on my neck.
What a strange feeling it is to hang by the neck. I am having trouble breathing, but my breath is not entirely cut off. I am terribly uncomfortable where the rope is digging into my throat, but I am not feeling what I would call serious pain.
I open my eyes. I cannot turn my head, because the pressure of the rope on my neck holds my neck muscles still. I am swinging across the hall and back as a result of the inertia of my leap into my lovers embrace. I am turning gently in a circle so that for a moment I can see the gap in the banister where I leaped. I relax, and my arms fall to my sides.
The pressure on my throat is incredibly uncomfortable, but I think I can bear it. I can feel each inch of the rope where it digs into the muscles of my neck. I can feel the separate halves of the loop where they rise past my jaw to the knot by my ear. I turn my eyes downward. I can see my nipples, still erect with the thrill, jutting out in front of me. Past my nipples I can see my toes dangling over space. I get brief glimpses of my discarded clothes lying on the hall floor, far in the distance, as the swing of my lover carries me in and out of sight of them.
Somewhere down there is the camera. The camera's eye can see my body stretched under the halter around my neck. It can see my lovers grip around my throat more clearly than I can, and it can see the rope as it rises past my ear to the small hole in the ceiling. It's single eye can look up my legs to my soft pubic bush. I wonder if it can see the wet slot of my sex tucked in the hairs?
My sex tightens with the thought. I close my eyes again, and try to breath deeply with sudden arousal, but the rope will not let me. I want to cry out, but only a gurgle escapes my lovers grip. I raise my hands to my neck, and feel the rope. It is digging deeply into the flesh. Even if I tried to get a finger between nylon and skin, I don't think I could. My left hand raises to the knot against my ear, as my right hand drops to the fur between my legs. My lover welcomes my arousal; I know it does.
My finger dances over my growing desire. I hear my heart pounding in my ears. I hear the rush of desire roaring like a wind past a great tree. My body shudders of its own volition, and I can feel its length shaking. My legs wave at the camera below. The waving makes it more likely that the camera's one eye can see what my finger is doing. I find I like that idea. My left hand falls from the rope to my side again, but my right arm remains tight against my naked belly so that my finger can stimulate me.
I wonder if I can see the camera? I open my eyes and try to look down. I seem to be looking into a fog, with only a small distorted window in the center. I can briefly see my nipples, and my toes, and the wooden floor far below. Is that my sweater? Why is it so hard to see? The rushing in my ears is louder.
My entire sensation is in my skin. I cannot see. I cannot hear. My skin, however, is alive. I can feel the wind on my naked nipples. I can feel my finger between my naked dangling legs. I can feel the rope crushing my throat. I can feel the sway of my legs as my body jerks and shudders with my desire for release.
It no longer matters why I am here. It no longer matters that I strangle. It no longer matters that my death will be sold so that my family will survive. All that matters is the urgent need rapidly building to its peak between my legs. Somewhere I feel a slight sense of amazement that I can reach such a pinnacle of ecstasy by hanging. My ability to think rationally fades, and I begin to reach out for that last climax.
Take me to the Information Booth