[continued from previous message]

enjoying itself as she quivered in her final agonies.

At length, her legs sunk down a little, then jerked back up. The process repeated time after time as her body gave up its fight for life.
Finally, she hung at length, the only sign of life being a heave of the
chest, then another, and another. Then she, too, was done.

I had almost finished with the requested humiliation. I removed her
dress -- my property as her hangman -- to leave her hanging in her
shift, the blue flesh contrasting with the white cloth. She twitched a
little as I did so, so perhaps some tiny bit of life remained even then,
or perhaps even in dying she objected to the last indignity. They would
left to hang until sunset, then cut down and carted off to paupers' graves.

hoping that this missive finds Your Majesty in good health, I remain
your humble and obedient servant.




When the cart moves
Posted: 18-Aug-2011 - 3 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [
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Category: Hanging fiction
I write Your Majesty in some embarassment. Indeed, nothing could move me
to place hand to paper, save for the duty Your Majesty's father (may he
rest in peace!) placed upon my own parents (may they rest so also!) when
he ennobled our house and raised us above the rabble. Pursuant to that
duty, to report on any exceptional execution of the law (and in
particular, any exceptionally stirring execution of the law), I submit
this missive.

I am embarassed only in that I must report a misadventure which, I
hasten to assure Your Majesty, is not typical of my craft. My family has
always taken pride in their work enforcing Your righteous decrees, and
sought to carry out their duties with a sense of professionalism and
skill. Unfortunately, even skill does not guarantee against fate. Dame
Fortune is indeed a lady, and she shows or withdraws her favors at her whim.

On the 13th inst. I was summoned by the magistrates to carry out the
sentence of death upon three persons convicted of clipping Your
Majesty's coinage. Two were mother and daughter, the third was the
mother's lover. I made the customary preparations, procuring coffins and
the best rope, and lubricating the rope to ensure that it slid with
ease. The gallows were of the older kind, meant for use with ladders,
and perhaps twelve feet high. As it would be too high for me to reach
from the cart, I hired a local lad as an assistant.

I visited the jail that night to prepare the victims for their ordeal.
Mother and daughter were a comely pair, pale of complexion, somewhat
taller than average, with jet black hair. I would estimate the mother to
be in her mid forties, the daughter perhaps half that. The mother's
lover was in the next cell. The daughter spent most of the time weeping,
with her face in her mother's lap. The mother was more composed,
although she too would break into tears from time to time. The lover
seemed calm, even defiant, as I instructed them. Yes, it would be
painful, but I would try to speed that as much as I could, and it would
be over in minutes. Hair must be done up, best of all in a bonnet, to
leave the throat clear so I could work quickly. Their legs might be
uncertain when the time came, so they should sit until each was ready
for the rope, and I would try to make it as fast as possible after that.

I arose before dawn and drove my cart to the jail. The magistrate was
already there, and the victims' chains were being removed by a
blacksmith. All were dressed in the best clothing they had. The mother
wore a light blue dress, the daughter one of white cloth with much lace.
Both had bustles and a pleasing exposure of pale cleavage. Like most
victims, they desired to be as attractive as possible for their
departure. They had heeded my counsel and their hair was done up in a
bun, the mother's secured by a cap.

The weeping began again when I bound their hands. I followed my usual
custom of binding them in front, so that they felt less helpless, but
with the hands crossed at the wrist, so that they could do little to
resist. I slipped a noose about the mother's neck and asked her to raise
her hands. Then I wound the remaining rope, eight feet of stout hemp,
around her waist. By the end she had broken down and was weeping. The
daughter suddenly sat on the ground, back of her hands to her face, and
wept uncontrollably. We had to lift her to her feet and hold her hands
down to noose her. At that, she tried to hold her chin low. I had to
slip the noose about her neck and force her chin up with my hand, then
snug the rope in place before releasing my grip. I noticed that her
pale, soft skin made a splendid contrast with the green coarseness of
the hemp. The lover stood resolute, and was likewise noosed. We were
ready to begin.

We helped them into the cart. I felt my own passions rising as I grasped
the two ladies about the waist to lift them up. I could feel each
shivering as I lifted. The three were seated upon their coffins and I
took the reins.

When we turned the corner and the gallows came into view the weeping
behind me rose in volume, and the daughter began to cry out in near
hysteria. It had finally struck her that this was indeed her last
journey, that in a few minutes she would be dangling and kicking from
that very beam. After five or ten minutes of this we arrived at the
hill, and the sheriff's men pushed back the crowd to allow us to enter.
We could hear every possible emotion from the crowd. Some were muttering
in sympathy, concerned that such attractive women were to end their
days. Others were catcalling and hooting, asking how well they danced
and whether they might show a little leg today.

As I pulled up beneath the beam, the daughter became hysterical. She
stared at the beam and screamed "NO! NO! THIS CAN'T BE!" I stopped the
horse, and it was time to begin to work quickly. My assistant was an
amateur; he was still on the ground. I gestured for him to get up the
ladder and into place. He sat astraddle the beam and humped himself over
into position.

The lover would be prepared first, I called to him. I moved the felon to
the center of the cart, right over the wheels, where rocking would not
affect the rope's tightness, unwound the rope from his waist and handed
it up. He started to tie it off and I had to hiss to make it tighter.
You cannot tolerate slack with a cart; too much opportunity for a
panicking victim to grab the noose and pull it loose. Finally he drew it
up properly. Not so tight as to cut off breathing (yet), but not a bit
of slack beyond that. The lover was not panicking, but one could tell
from his pale face and shivering that he was controlling himself with difficulty.

Next came the mother. I helped her to stand. She was having difficulty
and staggered a bit. I had to stand behind her and hold her with one
hand as I passed the rope up. It was quite stimulating to be pressed
against her; she shivered and her breath came in short, terrified gasps,
not unlike those some lasses give at more pleasurable moments. I had to instruct my assistant to tie the rope off with no slack. When the noose
was properly tightened her entire body gave way to a spasm of shivering
and her breath turned to short moans of fear. She was now completely at
the mercy of the rope, her hands bound and her neck tied to the beam,
and she knew that only seconds remained before her suffering would begin.

I stepped over to the daughter, and as I did so the mother slumped down.
The noose tightened, her breath became a squeak and she straightened up hastily. I could hear her faintly moaning "please, please, please."

The daughter would not stand. I told her she must, that she was merely prolonging her ordeal, but she was weeping madly and merely nodded her
head no. The sheriff mounted the cart and we each took an arm and lifted
her to her feet. I handed the rope up. I had to stop my assistant again;
he was going to tie it to the beam so close to the mother's rope that
the two would be kicking each other, a most unseemly spectacle. He moved
it over a couple of feet so that each would dangle separately. At last
we were ready.

I turned them all to face the front of the cart, so that the nooses
would grab properly and seat at the back of their necks. Then I
dismounted. Now there were only seconds to go before they would be
swinging free. As I passed the side of the cart I saw the mother slump
down again. She hung there, partially suspended, with her knees buckled
under her, her breath again subsiding into wheezes and squeaking noises,
as her terror-weakened legs scuffled and she tried to stand. In her
panic, and unable to use her arms for balance, she was not successful,
but thrashed about like a fish on a line, her legs scuffling and her
body heaving as she tried to release the noose's grip. There was no
sense righting her now; soon she would have nothing to stand on. By her
side, the lover was visibly shivering, eyes clamped shut. A wet spot
running down his trousers told how far he was lost in fear. On the other
side, the daughter was still in hysterics, again crying "This can't be! Please!"

I drew the horse forward. He put his shoulder into the harness and the
car lurched forward a foot. The mother and lover lost their footing and
fell backward, the rope tight about their necks, their heels dragging on
the cart. The daughter ... this, Your Majesty, is the source of my embarassment. The daughter turned, in her fright trying to keep up with
the movement of the cart, and now facing its rear.

The horse took a full step, and the cart rolled two or three feet. Since
carts of course are lower at the rear than at the front, the felons were
closer to suspension. The mother and lover's heels were still dragging.
Their hands snapped up to their chests as the rope bit into their necks.
The daughter, though, was still stepping toward the rear. She went up
onto her toes -- and the noose pulled around to the front of her neck!

The horse finally had the cart in full motion, and it slid out from
under the three sufferers. I stopped and stepped back to appraise
beginning of the execution, which in my experience is the key to the
rest. The ropes had at least been kept taut, so they were swinging in
narrow arcs, perhaps four feet on either side of the beam. All were experiencing the first anguish of their condemnation. The burning pain
of the rope, the painful wrenching of the neck. The knowledge that they
were fully conscious, helpless to breathe, that their pain would mount
into agony as their bodies burned for air, that nothing would stop the ever-mounting pain, that their last sensation in life would be that
agony. And most of all, the helplessness as their feet swung a short
distance above the earth, their hands bound, their necks bearing their
full weight, all who stood by refusing to aid.

The first to swing back was the mother. Her hanging looked to be going splendidly. The knot was securely at the back. Her head was bent
forward, her hands clenched and held to her chest. Her lower legs kicked
back once, giving her a bit of a wobble as she swung toward me and
causing her blue gown to shimmer. She was grimmacing in pain from the
bite of the rope, her fingers trying to lessen it.

The noose had not caught perfectly at the back of the neck, and was
lower than I like it, but there was no sound of breathing, though her
chest strove mightily to inhale, heaving again and again with force that
made her nipples visible through her gown. Her fingers writhed in
anguish as she rotated helplessly. Her legs squirmed, clamped tightly
together, and then one twitched. The force made her body pivot on the
noose, head to one side, body swinging to the other. Her toes swung
through the air, reaching for the soil beneath them. She was in pain,
but with her air cut off by the hemp, she would pass quickly, a few
minutes of agony and struggle.

Next came the lover. He was also grimmacing, his body rigid and bent a
bit backward. He would take longer, the men always do, but was also
perfectly hung. The knot was seated at the back of his neck, his full
weight upon his windpipe. He likewise fought for breath with no avail.

Finally came the daughter. And with her, my disgrace.

She was rotating rapidly -- one foot had come off the cart a little
before the other -- and she was fighting. Her hands twisted in their
bonds. Her feet flew out in every direction as she searched for a
foothold, somewhere, as she swung a yard off the earth. The knot was
just to the right of her chin, her head was flung back, and her neck
seemed elongated and twisted to an impossible degree. I could hear her
gasping and wheezing, fighting to move the air into and out of her lungs.

They swung away and then came back. Now the mother's body was straight;
her toes stretched toward the ground and her shoes hung loose from her
toes. As she swung back I noticed how stiff her body was; there was no
sway to the legs or feet, as a limp body would have had, just pale feet stretched rigidly below the blue dress. Her hands were still clutched on
her chest, and the fingers writhed in pain. The noose was doing its
work, squeezing the life out of her helpless body.

The felon was hanging much the same, although I saw that his legs were beginning to jerk. The daughter was another matter. Her feet were flying
out wildly. One caught the gallows post and increased her spin. Her
hands wrenched and twisted, reaching out as if seeking to grab the post;
with her head thrown back by the noose she could not see where it was,
of course. Her hair had loosened and some swayed back and forth as she
passed through the air.

Her chest heaved powerfully, fighting to pull in the air she needed. It
would never be enough -- just sufficient to prolong her agony. From her
throat came gasping, groaning sounds. Worst of all, in the midst of the
groans her voice could be made out, gagging out frantically "down, down,
cumme down!"

She swung away, feet still flying about in search of support, anything
to take the appalling strain off her neck. On the next return, she
missed the post but hit her mother with a knee and sent her spinning.
The mother's legs were beginning to jerk slightly, pulling up a few
inches and then thrusting down. The contortion of her face told me that
she was still conscious and her lungs were beginning to burn, her limbs beginning to ache. I had no great worries about her; she would die in no
more than the usual agony, which could not be avoided. It would be
terrible for her, but her passage would end after some minutes of it.

The daughter was another case. She had worked the rope around her wrists
loose enough to where she could turn one hand around and clutch at the
noose, trying to reduce the limited grip it had on her windpipe. It was hopeless of course; a few fingertips could not offset her body's weight,
and where the noose did have a grip it was a tight one, with the rope
mostly buried in the flesh of her neck. Her struggling seemed to tighten
the noose a bit; with one last groan of "down," her voice stopped and
she devoted her entire effort to a frantic struggle to breathe, her
chest heaving and loud wheezes coming from her throat. Bubbling saliva
came foaming from her mouth.

Some of the crowd were talking about it, using words like "torture," and
some unkind references to myself and my ancestors. Others were shouting
angrily that I should do something.

If it had been in the good old days of the ladder, I would have mounted
the beam, placed my feet on her shoulders, and speeded her passing by
adding my weight to hers. Or I could have grabbed her ankles and pulled.
But with the cart and these high gallows, her shoulders were full six or
seven feet from the beam, and her feet barely a yard off the ground.

She swung back again. The wheezing moans and were becoming more rapid,
the heaving of her chest faster and shallower, as her air supply fell
and her body began to lose control. I rushed over, grasped her hips and
reduced her swing, carefully staying behind her where her kicking was
less of a risk. I locked my arms around her waist and pulled downward on
her hips as best I could. It did a little good. The knot must have
slipped tighter, because she no longer moaned; she needed every bit of
air to stave off the agony that was slowly engulfing her. The only sound
was now rapid wheezing, together with a rising gurgle as her saliva
clogged what remained of her airway. Holding her like that, I could feel
her body stiffen and seize. For a moment she arched backward, her
stomach tightening, her calves hooking between my thighs as I pulled
with all my might. Seized into this position, her body began to twitch
over its entire span. Her hands snapped down and her fingers pinched my
arms in an attempt to make me let go.

I let go, then leaped as high as I could and hooked my fingers over her shoulders. Now my full weight was added to hers. I thought I heard
stretching, straining noises from her neck, although it might as easily
have been from the rope. I hung to her like a spider gripping a fly. Her
body continued to shudder as her aching muscles responded. Her breathing
went from wheezes to clicking noises as air burst past the noose's grip,
and then to a peculiar squeak, a sound like "eep! eep!" Then she began
to kick and stomp wildly, her body jerking completely out of control.

That would have to suffice; her noose was set as well as it would ever
be, and her weight would be enough to keep it from relaxing its grip. I
let go. Now she could die alone in the air.

I fell back, and had a chance to check the other two victims. The mother
was dying in the usual manner. Her face had relaxed, and I could hope
she was unconscious as her body fought the rope. She was now decidedly
out of air, and her body was frantically reacting to its lack. Her legs
were scissoring back and forth, her bound hands snapping up and down.
The blue dress made an elaborate contrast with her white shift as her
ankles flew about. Her face was pale, turning faintly blue, and
partially hidden by her loosened black hair. Her chest and belly heaved powerfully, trying to suck in air. It was of course hopeless. A hundred
pounds or more was clamping her windpipe as she danced the dance of death.

A yard away her lover was doing the same dance. His legs were stomping
up and down instead of scissoring, and his hands opened and closed as he
held them at mid-chest level. All appeared to be going well. It was an agonizing death, of course, and a degrading one, but that was part of
the work. Fewer will offend our laws if they know that a degrading death
awaits them. One can retain some dignity while being beheaded, but none
while dangling, kicking in agony. I may hope that some in the witnessing
crowd resolved that day never to engage in cutting coins.

The crowd was now appeased, and were getting into a proper spirit,
shouting "a nice jig!" "now for a breath of fresh air," and "loosen your
collar a bit!" Others joined in with speculation about whether the women
had thrashed about like this when in bed.

By now, the mother's thrashing was truly frantic, as her body fought its painful fate and her muscles responded to the burning pain of
breathlessness. Her arms were jerking as best they could, her legs
jerking back and forth, her chest heaving in rapid but useless spasms.
Her pelvis swung to one side and then the other, making her wobble about
as she hanged. Remarks about whether she had been like this with her
lover began to multiply. Her struggles mounted in speed and violence as
she slowly turned round and round and the crowd hooted at her movements.
Soon her legs were scissoring so rapidly that they seemed a blur, as the
noose squeezed the life out of her. "Is she dying, or coming?" someone
shouted, and ribald laughter followed. I thought I saw her eyes peep
open with a look of reproach at the crowd which was mocking her agonized struggles, so perhaps she was not unconscious after all.

Next to her the daughter suddenly stopped kicking as all her muscles
locked up and she stretched out rigidly in the air, trembling as her
muscles quivered, but no longer kicking. Only the trembling and the
rapid, shallow, squeaking from her mouth showed that she still lived and
fought for air. I could hope that she would pass quickly, but knew in my
heart that her struggles were far from over. Doubtless she begged for
the oblivion of death, but it would not be this easy. There were still considerable agonies to experience, and they would worsen by the second.
Each second would seem like an hour to her, as time stretched out under
the impetus of her pain. One minute without air -- who could stand it?
Two or three or five? Her entire body must have been a mass of agony at
this point, and she knew it would not stop but only worsen by the
moment. The aching muscles of her legs were themselves refusing to obey.
In her mind, each second slowly ground away, giving way only to more
pain and hopelessness.

Her fingers slid down from the noose and instead clutched her bodice in helpless anguish. Then her hands suddenly pulled downward, ripping the
bodice away. It hung in lacy shreds from her right hand and then fell as
the fingers, too, began to spasm. Most of her breasts were visible now,
their pale white darkening with blue. Her chest was in continual heaving
now and their softness quivered before us all. The crowd grew silent, transfixed by the sight. One who cried "show us more!" was quickly
silenced by angry gestures. She hung there, slowly turning, quivering in
every muscle, her breasts shaking as the sound of "eep, eep, eep"
burbled from her mouth, her long hair now loose and flowing down her
back. Urine flowed from the front hem of her dress as she, like her
mother, lost control even of that function in her helplessness.

Then her legs snapped up to her chest and held there. Her dress rode up
with them. The view of her quivering boobies was replaced by one of
still more intimate regions, displayed to all as she rotated, still
quivering violently. If I may speak to Your Majesty as man to man, I
felt my own body reacting, my manhood straining at my clothing, but knew
that my embarassment would be masked by the fact that every man present
was feeling the same sensations and none, in any event, were looking at
me. The daughter was, well, let us say that the forest of her nether
regions was not so thick as some, and we could see the cleft of her
femininity as she turned.... but now I must leave off, lest I grow too distracted to write. I leave the rest to Your Majesty's imagination. I
do recall that her thighs, too, were bluing as they shook and spasmed,
although I was too warmed by the sights to recall the hues of her
virginal canyon of bliss.

She hung there rotating for what seemed like an hour, and probably
seemed like days to her, agonized as she was, air at her lips, yet with
the rope's burning grip sealing it from her lungs. I cannot judge the
real time -- half a minute? A quarter? She rotated perhaps four turns. I
cannot judge it by her attempts to breath, for now the squeaking sounds
were continuous and the chest heaving so rapidly that it seemed one
continuous shuddering as she rotated with her intimate charms on display
for all, hidden occasionally when her feet spasmed and shook, pointing
at the ground.

Next to her, her mother was in the last convulsive agonies of death. She
hung almost limp, her legs and feet twitching weakly as the muscles
faded away. She reminded me of a puppet now, face bent forward, hands
hanging down. Her lover still fought -- the men always last longer, I
have noted -- but he, too, was slowing down.

The daughter's legs were now lowering by stages. They sunk down a few
inches from her chest and held there, shivering, her feet twitching up
and down. Then a few inches more. The noose's grip was squeezing the
last bits of life from her young body. Finally they hung nearly limp.
The squeaking from her throat subsided into gurgling as her ankles
jerked back and forth.

It was almost done. The three hung helplessly as death took them. The
mother's chest heaved twice more, and she was still. The lover's legs
quivered for a bit, then stopped. Another last heave of his chest, and
he stopped moving. The daughter alone moved, her lower legs snapping up
against her thighs. Her breasts were now quite blue, one brown nipple
excepted, the other still hidden by the white cloth. She made a last
gurgling attempt to inhale, then let it out with a long moan. Her legs
sank down, stopping as before, the muscles spasming as they gave up the
battle for life. Her chest quivered, shaking her breasts, and then she
was quiet. A pulsing in her neck -- for the arteries were well stretched
and visible -- told that her heart was beating at a superhuman pace as
it strove to keep off death even after the rest of her body had
surrendered. After a minute or two the pulsing slowed and then halted.
Her struggles were indeed finished.

The crowd stayed for a few minutes as the three hung. The mother's hair
framed her face, now relaxed in death. The lover rotated slowly as his
seed began to dry. The daughter, her head thrown back, hung with her
mouth partially open, foam trickling from one corner. Their limp feet
traced circles in the air a couple of feet above the ground they had
longed to reach. The judgment of the law had been carried out.

I gave them another half hour to be certain, and then commenced the
final degredation. As Your Majesty knows, the outer clothing of the
condemned is the privilege of their executioner. I placed the ladder
between daughter and mother and cut their hands free. Their arms now
hung straight down, hands open, only the red streaks about the wrists to
show where the rope had bound them and they had struggled to twist their
hands free. Droplets of blood in their palms showed where they had
driven their fingernails in during their agonies.

I removed the daughter's dress, unbottoning its back and slipping it
from her shoulders as she dangled, leaving her clad in nothing but her undergarments. She looked different now, the width of her bustles and
dress was replaced by a slender image. She hung almost bare, slowly
rotating, her long legs no longer dancing but pointing to the ground she
had been unable to reach.

She had a necklace, and I unfastened it from her neck, guiding it past
the red streak on her neck where the noose had cut its deadly groove,
and lifting it from a bit of drying foam which had trickled from her
lips. The foam had a pink tinge, which stood out against her pale, blue,
neck. The damage her dying hands had done to the dress would be easily repaired.

Next came the mother's gown; she was left in the same state, hanging
limp in her slip, her face tilted helplessly forward, but relaxed from
its agony. I saw the tiny pink spots which mark a hanging victim's face.

Finally, the lover's pants, which would need the laundry before I could
sell them. Some giggles behind me told that some of the ladies had
waited for that moment, as he hung there, his manhood in (dare I say)
vigor mortis, a red cap atop a blue shaft.

As I placed the clothing in the cart, I paused for a moment to watch the
three bodies, largely undressed, rotating slowly before what remained of
the witnesses.

Three felons, turned by the law into marionettes dangling as if the
puppeteer had tired and gone home. Then I began to back the cart and the coffins under them. My day was almost done.




A new lady
Posted: 9-Aug-2011 - 2 comment(s) [ Comment ] - 0 trackback(s) [ Trackback ] Your Majesty,




In the manner of my parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents, I
have the honor to report to Your Illustrious Self a most unusual
occurrence in Vanois. And, with this report, to convey my gratitude for
an exceptional favor You have granted my House, exceeding all prior
grants and beneficies.

My professional attentions had been directed to a pair of felons who
were held incarcerated pending the extreme penalty of the law. One was
male and one female, and they had been taken in some manner of petty
thefts, the details of which would only bore and distract one of your
eminence.

I met them, as is my custom, the day before they were to die, to ensure
that they knew what lay ahead of them and how they should behave.

My discussions with the man were of the usual sort. What transpired in
the lady's cell was more unusual. Upon entering, I was immediately
struck with her countenance. She was somewhat above middle height,
slender and petite, with blue eyes and blond hair that flowed down to
her breasts. Her face and manner ... suffice it to say, Your Majesty,
that upon certain occasions one meets a lady so perfectly suited to
whatever one desires, dare I say the platonic ideal of womanhood, that
... oh, I fear I am flaunting my education here, of which I am all too
proud, few hangmen having read the Greeks, even in translation. Suffice
it to say that it was the event described without invocation of the
plump thinker Plato as love at first sight. Her eyes mezmerized me; they
seemed to draw me in, filled with gentleness and empathy. Her speech
enchanted me. And this was the divine creature I must kill in the morning!

She seemed nervous, even embarassed. This is of course common when a
lady meets her executioner, who will in the morning guide her over the
awful (and often immodest) threshold between life and death. Then she
confided her secret. She had, in truth, since childhood found the
prospect of hanging one that aroused her most passionate desires. For
many years, she had toyed with it, not to mention herself, and found in
it great pleasure.

I prized every moment with her, and thus prolonged the conversation for
an hour, seeking the origin of her enjoyment, which so perfectly matched
mine own. She could not define it precisely. Perhaps it was the thrill
of danger and agony, which arouses and heightens all other feelings in
the same manner that spice can enliven otherwise bland meats. Perhaps it
was the feeling of isolation (for she commonly bound her eyes) which
enabled her to achieve a rare and perfect focus upon her own body,
isolated from all distraction (for, she told me, at these moments she
was aware of her body, of every tiny draft upon it, in a way she never
achieved otherwise. Perhaps the deprivation of air played some
intoxicating role. Or perhaps the helplessness was appealing; if she
felt guilt about pleasure, as so many do, the helplessness of bondage,
of pleasure applied by inanimate bonds, released her from any
responsibility and guilt. Whatever it was, the pleasure she secured
thereby exceeded all imaginable bounds.

It goes without saying that promised her that I would do my best to
ensure that she passed from this world in those pleasures. She asked
that I take my time in the preparations. As a woman, she was not so
hasty as we men might be in carrying pleasures of the flesh to their conclusion, and the preparation must be as prolonged and slow as
possible. I of course agreed in an instant.

The next morning I attended to the condemned. First I bound the man.
Then I proceeded to the object of my desires.

In accord with her wishes, I took exceptional care in the preparation. I removed her shackles and directed her to place her hands behind her
back. She submitted and I bound her wrists, taking my time. Then I bound
her at the elbows, tightening them just sufficiently to contain her. Her
petite and esquisite breasts were pushed forward as I took up the slack.

She was beginning to breathe rapidly, and if I may say so, I was
beginning to sweat. I took the liberty of showing her one special
preparation I had made. Her young neck would not be desecrated by the
usual coarse hemp, but squeezed by a rope I had made from the silk
drapery bindings at my chateau. It would be far more gentle, a
refinement fit for a lady, and its slippery nature would ensure that it

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