Christy began to sob softly as Niki's convulsions suddenly ceased. OH, GOD, she thought. OH, JESUS, SHE'S REALLY DEAD! I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENINGÉTHEY ACTUALLY HANGED HER, AND I'M NEXT!
Christy began to shiver, partly from fear, but also because she was nearly naked in the cold air. Like Niki, Christy had a world class body, a supermodel's body, and the crowd wanted to see it in action as she hanged. So Christy wore a very tight white half-tee, cropped to reveal the rippling muscles of her abdomen. Below she wore only white cotton Calvin Klein panties, cut high to show off her trim, lean thighs. She wore no bra, nor did she need one; her firm, round breasts seemed to defy gravity naturally. They pressed up hard against her skin-tight t-shirt, as if yearning to burst forth. Her nipples were painfully erect in the cold morning air; they were quite conspicuously visible through the thin cotton of her t-shirt.
The hangman led her across the gallows platform to the trapdoor. She tried not to look at Niki's beautiful dead body, tried not to think about the fact that she would soon join her friend in death. The hangman bent down over Niki's warm corpse, loosened her noose and pulled it over her head. THEY AREN'T EVEN GOING TO TIE ME A FRESH NOOSE, Christy thought. THEY'RE GOING TO STRANGLE ME WITH THE SAME ROPE THEY USED ON POOR NIKI.
Christy had been sobbing quietly since the moment she saw Niki die. As the hangman slipped the noose over around her throat, she burst into tears, crying like a little girl, her body wracked with wild, desperate sobs. Her heart was pounding in her chest. OH, GOD, THIS IS IT! I'M GOING TO DIE!
The hangman tightened the noose, making sure to leave plenty of room for her to suffer. He then walked around behind her and, much to her astonishment, unlocked her handcuffs. They fell onto the gallows platform with a loud clatter. A cheer went up from the crowd.
"W-why did you do that?" Christy found herself asking.
He bent close to whisper into her ear. "Sweetheart, you saw what a fantastic show your friend Niki put on. I figure about the only way you can top that is if you have the use of your hands. This way you can fight, struggle, really earn your death. The crowd will love it."
"I won't do it," Christy said defiantly.
He smiled. "Oh, yes you will." And with no further warning, he dropped the trapdoor out from under Christy's feet.
She only fell a few inches--he had made sure, of course, that the line was nice and tight. He didn't want to risk a broken neck; that would mean no show. So she fell her few inches, the line went taut, and she began to strangle. Now began the contest of wills. The hangman and the crowd wanted a show; Christy wanted to deny them one. And so she kept her hands down, by sheer force of will, refusing to fight, refusing to struggle. She would hang there, limp and lifeless, until she died, and that was the only show she would give them.
But it hurt so much! She had never imagined hanging could be so painful. She had always considered it a fairly human form of execution--which it was, perhaps, if the victim's neck snapped. But slow hanging was a different story. The hangman had tightened the noose just enough--it was killing her, but slowly. She didn't know if she had the strength or the courage to endure this torture.
Slowly her resolve began to weaken. It hurt so much to breatheÉif only she could loosen the noose just a little, get a little more air! It would feel so good; it would be such a relief. She had to, oh God, she needed air so badly, needed to breathe, she had to do itÉand before she knew what was happening, she realized that her hands were at her throat, and she was pulling, tugging, straining desperately at the noose, trying to loosen it any way she could. But she was too weak from the hanging; she had waited too long! She couldn't loosen it! She had given up her dignity, abandoned her resolution to deny the crowd the pleasure of her struggle, and for nothing. There was now no reason, she realized, to resist any more. There was no reason not to give them what they wanted. She had lost anyway. She began to kick and struggle, and was instantly glad that she had done so. It felt right; it felt natural. It was her body's natural response to the pain. And the crowd loved it. They went crazy for it, eating up her struggles with their eyes.
Christy kicked and struggled and squirmed for what seemed to her like hours. Did it make any difference that her hands were free? Maybe she was able to loosen the noose a little bit after allÉit certainly seemed to her like she was taking longer than Niki had, but maybe it just seemed that way to her because this time she had to experience all the pain of being hanged. Even if having her hands free made some difference, of course, she couldn't last forever. Gradually she began to weaken. Her luscious body, young and fit and able to endure a great deal, slowly became exhausted. Her hands fell to her sides once again. She stopped kicking. She stopped struggling. And now she was back where she had been at the beginning of the torture, limp, passive and yielding, this time by necessity rather than by choice. The torture had broken her; she was utterly dominated by it, unable to resist in even the slightest way. And it was at that moment, with full awareness of her complete helplessness, that Christy Turlington finally died.
The End
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