Niki was shivering in the chilly pre-dawn air. She was practically naked; she had managed to talk them into letting her wear a string bikini, but they adamantly refused to grant her a stitch more than that. It wasn't every day, after all, that they got to see a supermodel hang. They wanted to get a good look at her body as she slowly strangled to death.
Niki's wrists were cuffed behind her, but her ankles were free; they wanted her to be able to kick. She was ungagged, because they wanted to hear her beg for her life. She hadn't given them that pleasure yet, and she hoped she'd have the strength to die with courage and dignity. So she stood there, shivering in her powder-blue string bikini, cold, frightened and alone, but silent.
Then the hangman began to lower the noose. He brought it down slowly, giving her plenty of time to imagine what it would feel like around her throat. She felt herself start to panic. At last the rope came to a halt directly in front of her face. She saw how coarse and rough it was; the sultry smell of hemp filled her nostrils. And she lost all her carefully cultivated composure.
"Please," she sobbed, "oh, please, I'll do anything you ask, just please don't hang me. I'm begging you, please, I don't want to die."
The hangman smiled at her as he slipped the noose over her head. "Of course you don't want to die, Niki. Most women don't. But you are going to die, slowly and in a great deal of pain."
"But why?" Niki sobbed.
"Why? For the crowd, of course. Your suffering will bring a great deal of pleasure to a large number of men." He pulled her lustrous blonde mane through the loop and tightened the noose, being careful to leave her some breathing room. This was a killing noose, but no one wanted Niki to die quickly or easily.
"And that pleasure is worth my life?" Niki whispered.
"Sweetheart, you know how it is. Your life isn't worth a single male orgasm. But I guarantee your death will help hundreds of guys get their rocks off."
"Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better."
"Well, I'm sorry to hear that. You're performing a valuable service, Niki, whether you know it or not. Anyway, it's time. Any last words?"
"Yes." She raised her voice, addressing the crowd. "I am a woman, a human being. My life has value. I am not a piece of meat in a bikini, something to be tortured and killed for your amusement."
The hangman chuckled. "That was nice, Niki. Now let's begin." And with that, he began to turn the winch, drawing the noose taut. Niki began to choke. He continued to tighten the line, drawing her up onto her tiptoes. Once she was there, he locked the winch. The crowd began to cheer.
Niki could breathe, but just barely. The pain was tremendous. It felt like her lungs were on fire. Each breath was a struggle, a battle, and she knew she was slowly losing. She heard herself making soft, wet gagging sounds. She felt the tension in her body, felt the pain ripple through her in waves. And more: she felt eyes on her, hundreds of eyes, boring into her, eyes on her rock-hard nipples, on her firm, perfectly spherical breasts, on her flat belly, on her long, lean, athletic legs. She felt a hundred cocks stiffen at the sight of this bikini-clad California girl being slow-hanged.
She lost all sense of time. There was only the pain that stood between her and each tortured breath. She could do nothing but stand there and suffer. The agony seemed endless, which was of course the point: to make her suffer, and to make it last. But gradually, she began to weaken. Exhaustion swept over her. She felt herself growing sleepy. Death was just around the corner, and she found herself longing for it...anything to escape the pain.
At that moment the hangman dropped the trapdoor out from under her feet. Once again a cheer went up from the crowd, for now Niki was truly hanging. Her eyes widened as she realized that she had only moments of life left to her. She tried to breathe, couldn't. She was completely, utterly strangled! Desperately, she began to struggle, to kick, to dance. These were her death throes, and they were magnificent. Her bulging breasts bounced; her long, lean legs strained for the ground. She squirmed and wiggled her way through a series of motions far too intimate for mere sex. Suddenly her bladder released warm urine, which turned her g-string dark as it trickled down her thighs. Her body convulsed once, twice. And Niki Taylor hung limp and dead in her noose.
The End
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