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Hanging
for Jenny
by Casanova X
There was
nothing to do but admit it. Peter could never lie to Jenny anyway. Few people
could. She had a well-deserved reputation as one of the best—and most ruthless—district attorneys in
the state. Hardcore career criminals broke under her relentless
cross-examinations. Besides, she already knew the truth. The credit card bills,
the e-mails, even the birthday card Wendy had dared to send to their home. His
wife stood in center of the living room, her well-tailored suit hugging her hot
body, holding the evidence in her perfectly manicured hand.
How could he have
been so stupid? How could he ever have thought he’d get away with such a thing?
And even worse, why had he done it in the first place? Jenny was the most
beautiful and sexy woman he’d ever known. And he’d been lucky enough to marry
her in the first place. How in the world could he have gambled away his marriage
for a casual fling? Peter stood there too stunned to speak afraid of what Jenny
might say next.
“So it’s true,
isn’t it?” she said.
There was no
hurt in her voice. Only a cool, contemptuous certainty.
Peter knew there was no point in lying any further. It would only make things
worse.
“I’m sorry Jenny,” he said. “Please, please it
was all a terrible mistake. I don’t even know how it all got started. I don’t
love her. I love you. Please forgive me Jenny. I swear on my life it won’t ever
happen.”
“You’re damn
right it won’t happen again. I told you what would I’d
do if I ever caught you cheating.”
Peter felt a
dizzying panic. Tears filled his eyes. The idea of losing Jenny was unthinkable.
“Jenny don’t,” his voice betrayed his desperation. “Please don’t.
I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Anything.”
She seemed to
ponder his words for a moment. And Peter had the slimmest reason to hope that
perhaps she’d forgive him, after all.
“Are you sure
you know what you’re saying, Peter?”
“Jenny please just
let me make it up to you.”
“You’ll do
anything?”
“Yes anything!”
“Okay then,” his
wife said. “I want to hang you.”
In an instant, Peter
felt the hope and joy he’d experienced the moment before vanish. It was that
fetish again. Over the last four years of their marriage Jenny had often mentioned
her fascination with erotic asphyxiation. On occasion Peter even let her wrap a
scarf or a tie around his throat while they made love. She would tighten it
slowly as she straddled him, his cock buried deep
inside her, and very gently “strangle” him while she used his body.
Peter had to
admit it was an oddly erotic sensation. The constriction of the blood in his throat
seemed to thicken his penis inside her and make his orgasm that much more
powerful. And, to be truthful, it seemed to be the only way that Jenny really
got off. Otherwise, she’d simply close her eyes during sex and basically
masturbate herself to orgasm. If he wanted to feel that his beautiful wife was really
making love to him, and not some fantasy in her mind, Peter learned he had to
let her strangle him.
But hanging…that
was a different story. He’d heard stories of people accidentally dying that
way. Jenny argued that with a partner the practice was perfectly safe. The vast
majority of tragic incidents involved those people who were practicing erotic
asphyxiation by themselves and messed up. She said she’d “hung” several boyfriends
before they were married and knew exactly what she was doing. But, still, Peter
found the idea frightening and, frankly, more than a bit on the weird side.
Now, at last, it looked like he had no choice.
“Well?” Jenny said
impatiently, her hands on her shapely hips. “What’s it going to be? If you love
me as much as you say, I would hardly think you would need so much time to
decide.”
“I’m sorry
Jenny,” he said. “I do love you. But—“
“But
what?” Her tone was
merciless.
“It scares me.
I’d be so vulnerable. And you’re so angry with me…”
Jenny sneered
derisively. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me the way I trusted you, won’t
you?.”
“Jenny isn’t
there some other way? Any other way? Please?”
“No, that’s my
offer. Take it or leave it.”
And with that, she
spun on her heel and left the room.
# # #
Peter knew she
was right. He had broken whatever trust had existed between them. But was
putting his life literally in her hands the only way? Without Jenny, Peter
considered there would be no life worth living anyway. Besides, he probably was
just being a wuss. Jenny was nothing if not supremely
competent and circumspect. If she said she could hang him safely, then she
meant it. He’d be safe in her hands. Even if there was a tiny risk of something
going wrong, it was worth it if it meant winning Jenny back.
Peter walked
down the hall and knocked quietly at the door of Jenny’s study. She looked up from
some papers on her desk.
“Yes?”
“Okay,” Peter said.
“Do it. Hang me.”
Jenny didn’t
seem surprised by his decision.
“You’re certain
of this Peter?”
He tried to make
his voice sound more sure than he actually felt. “Yes.”
Jenny nodded.
“Good. I’m glad to see you’re ready to take some responsibility for your
behavior and to make an honest effort at amends. I’ve taken the liberty of
typing up your confession.”
“My
confession?” Peter
looked down at the papers she’d slid across the desk.
A brief glance
told him that they contained a full and sordid admission of his affair with
Wendy and apologized in the most abject terms for having hurt his faithful and
loving wife.
“Jenny is this
really necessary…I mean, legally if you want to divorce me you could use this
in court against me…”
“Sign it,
Peter.”
He took the pen
and signed the document. If she did decide to divorce him, this document would
insure that Jenny could take everything they had. If she divorced him, Peter
reasoned, it wouldn’t matter. He would have lost the only thing that mattered
to him: her.
Jenny folded up
the papers and slid them into a large envelope which she sealed and locked away
in her desk drawer.
“Consider yourself on death row,” Jenny said, showing the first crack of
a smile in the stony mask she’d been wearing since confronting Peter about the affair.
“Your execution is set for Friday. Don’t expect a reprieve.”
She told Peter
he’d receive instructions at work on the day of his “execution” and that he
wasn’t to bring up the topic again. He’d be sleeping in the guest room until
then. With that, she dismissed him from her office to take a call.
“Close the door
behind you,” she called after him, when she answered the phone. Just before he
closed the door, Peter could hear his wife laughing softly and talking in low,
unmistakably intimate terms with whoever was on the other end.
# # #
The rest of the week passed with a kind of surreal normalcy. Peter went to work
each morning and came home each night as usual. He and Jenny ate dinner
together at home except for the nights she was held up at the courthouse. Jenny
was pleasant enough and they made the usual small talk. Peter bought her
flowers and candy which she accepted without comment. After dinner, Jenny would
retire to her office to work on legal briefs until bedtime. Then she’d put her
head into the living room where Peter was reading or watching tv to say a cursory “goodnight,” before retiring upstairs
to the bedroom. Peter figured they wouldn’t be sleeping together again until
his “execution” was carried out on Friday and his debt was paid.
# # #
Peter took Wendy
out for lunch one last time. He told her that their affair was over, that Jenny
had found out. He told Wendy that they had to stop seeing each other. He was in
love with his wife and could never leave her. He apologize and took full responsibility
for what had happened, even though he knew it was the beautiful Japanese
businesswoman who’d seduced him in the bar that first night. Still, he didn’t
want any trouble and figured taking the blame would make the sudden break go
down easier. To his surprise, Wendy didn’t seem at all upset. If anything, she
seemed somewhat amused to learn that he’d gotten caught and that made Peter a
little angry. She probably did this all the time, he thought—a bitch who got her kicks wrecking other people’s marriages.
# # #
On Friday
morning Peter showered, dressed, and left for work as usual. Jenny still made
no mention of my punishment over breakfast and he almost wondered if she had
forgotten all about it. He was disabused of any notion of clemency the moment
he entered his office and read the email. It was from Jenny, but not from her
usual account. The subject line was “The Prisoner” so he recognized the email
as hers. The message was brief, impersonal, and contained very explicit
instructions of what he was to do that day. Some of it, quite frankly, sounded
rather strange.
Strange?
Peter thought, with a
nervous laugh. Stranger
than hanging me?
“The prisoner,”
Jenny wrote, “is to leave the office at
Peter shut the
door and re-read the email several times, jotting down the list of tasks on a
small notepad, his cock stiffening inside his pants. Then he carefully deleted
the email from his mailbox afraid that someone in the office might see it.
Could it be
possible that this scenario was turning him on as much as it was Jenny? After a
week of abstinence, Peter was dying to fuck his beautiful wife again.
Totally
distracted, he didn’t get much work done that morning and after lunch, during
which he was too excited to eat a thing, he notified his supervisor that he’d
have to leave for the day on account of illness.
# # #
Peter followed Jenny’s
email instructions to the letter. He showered, depilated his body, and now
padded naked to the guest room. Lying on the spare bed was a simple pale blue
shift that looked something like a hospital gown. Beside it lay a pair of cheap
rubber flip-flops. Peter shrugged, put on the outfit, sat on the bed, and
poured out the first glass from the carafe of wine on the nightstand. He was starting
to feel nervous, but, fortunately, the first glass of wine calmed him down.
The second
mellowed him out.
And the third
made Peter almost sleepy.
Before he passed
out entirely, he snapped the cuffs Jenny had left on the nightstand beside the
carafe around his wrists, slipped his bare feet into the rubber flip-flops, and
scuffed his way down to the basement. He crouched down on his knees in the
cramped space and fell asleep while waiting for Jenny to arrive.
# # #
Peter blinked
into the light. He had no idea how long he’d been out. Jenny was standing over
him, wearing one of her grey powersuits and black
pumps. She seemed pleased to see that he’d followed her instructions. She
didn’t say a word, but closed the door of the storage room, and went upstairs.
# # #
Zoning in and
out of consciousness, Peter could hear that Jenny was taking her own shower and,
afterwards, blowing out her hair as if she were going out for the evening. By
the time he heard her high heels on the stairs, however, he was wide awake. He
passed some anxious moments wondering what would happen next when Jenny opened
the door of his makeshift cell. The first thing Peter saw were
his wife pretty feet inside a pair of her most feminine high-heeled sandals.
His eyes traveled upwards. Her elegant black evening dress was slit up one
side, revealing a flash of naked thigh. She wore her long brunette hair in a
formal updo with long dangle earrings. Her smooth
white shoulders were exposed and around her neck she wore a velvet choker with
a diamond pendant that Peter didn’t remember ever seeing before.
He started to
say something about how beautiful she looked but Jenny sharply told him to shut
up. He was a prisoner and had no right to speak unless he was directly
addressed. She ordered him to follow her upstairs and he did so as quickly as
his handcuffs, stiff legs, and drunkenness allowed. Jenny had placed a simple
wooden stool in the middle of the living room. She ordered him to stand on the
chair and he shakily did as she said. From the ceiling a thick hemp noose hung
down from a heavy duty u-ring fixed to the ceiling. Had Jenny put it up just this
week? It was hard to believe she’d done the work herself. Had she asked
someone? Who?
He wanted to
ask, but somehow he was afraid of the answer he might get. And then, too, the
wine and whatever was in it made his thinking a little fuzzy.
Jenny carried
over a small step-ladder that she used to take things off the top shelves of
the kitchen cabinet. She slipped the noose over Peter’s head and tightened the
knot just below left ear. She pulled on the rope a little, tightening it around
his throat, and forcing him up onto his toes for breath.
“Jeezus Jenny,” he gasped.
She smiled
slightly, but said nothing. Then she climbed off the step-ladder and carried it
off towards the kitchen. On the way, she casually called back, “Oh, by the way,
I’ve invited some company over to witness your execution, honey.”
“What…” Peter
sputtered, trying to keep my balance on the chair, but Jenny had disappeared
into the kitchen.
When she re-emerged
she was carrying a large deli platter. She began arranging the
table—silverware, plates, glass—while Peter tried to take in what was
happening. Wine, and a few covered dishes followed. It
looked like she was hosting a casual dinner party right in the middle of their
perverse sex-game.
“Jenny…what are
you doing…”
“Did you say
something prisoner?” she asked, coming over to the chair and yanking on the
part of the rope that ran from the U-bolt to another he hadn’t noticed before
in the floorboard behind him. Nothing came from Peter’s mouth but a wet
strangled sound. He could feel his face flush and turn red. His wife relaxed
her grip. “No? I didn’t think so. Because you haven’t been
given the right to speak.”
She left him
tottering on his toes trying to keep his balance while she put on some soft
jazz and finished preparing for the company. Peter wasn’t looking forward to
being put on public display in front of Jenny’s friends, but at this point what
choice did he have? And maybe she had some justification for doing it this way.
After all, he had humiliated her. Perhaps this little ceremony would even the
score and relieve the terrible guilt he felt once and for all.
# # #
The doorbell
rang and the first of Jenny’s guests began arriving. Each of them was elegantly
dressed in evening wear. Jenny offered them wine and something to eat and then
invited them to see the “prisoner.” Peter was somewhat relieved to realize that
he didn’t recognize any of them. The women stood around him munching
appetizers, sipping wine, and nonchalantly appraising him. One of them, a young
society-type with her blonde hair slicked back into a domina’s
severe bun, breezily asked Jenny if she was intending on keeping the prisoner
dressed for the execution.
“Oh
no!” Jenny said. “He
hangs nude. I just wanted him to be presentable for the trial.”
“Well,” the
immaculately tailored blonde said, “he is presentable. I’m going to enjoy
watching him swing.” And with that she reached up and smacked Peter on the ass.
As best Peter
could tell, there were twelve guests in all—all women, ranging in age from
early twenties to the oldest, a well-preserved and still sexy woman of around
sixty. They chatted and ate and drank as if nothing were out of the ordinary,
as if a gathering of this type were almost routine. And, as it turned out, it
was. From what Peter gathered from his precarious perch on top of the chair,
they were all members of a hanging fetish group. Whenever a member had found a
victim, they got together to stage an “execution.” Most of those present
tonight came from the
After a while,
Jenny called the assembled guests to order. She produced the manila folder with
the “evidence” of his affair with Wendy and read it all in embarrassing detail.
Peter blushed with shame, hoping she would stop. But she went through every
last detail. How had she found out so much? Had she hired a private detective
to spy on him? When she was done she asked Peter if he had anything to say in
his defense. Peter could do nothing more than stammer out another lame apology.
Jenny brushed it aside with a contemptuous wave of her hand. Then she put his
fate up to a vote of the assembled jury. Peter knew he didn’t have a chance. It
was unanimous.
“Well the
verdict is in, darling,” Jenny said. “I’m afraid its bad news for you. You’re
going to hang.”
Just then the
doorbell rang and one of the women went down to answer it. Peter heard some
talking in the entranceway downstairs and then the sound of footsteps and
excited conversation on the way up. It
was Wendy looking sexy in a red wrap-around formal dress, her hair also done
up, and silver high-heeled sandals on her feet.
“I’m not too late
for the hanging I hope?” Wendy said.
“Not at all”
Jenny said casually.
Jenny saw the
shocked expression on her husband’s face and seemed to relish explaining this
most unusual turn of events. She told Peter she knew he’d never have the balls
to cheat on her himself she’d solicited Wendy to have an affair with him. She
was a
“We decided we
were due for a little entertainment,” Jenny said, “and I volunteered you honey.
You see, I’ve grown rather bored with you.”
“Jenny, this is
some kind of gag, right?”
“Sorry dear. Its no joke.”
“You set me up…”
“That’s what
they all say.”
“Jenny, you
can’t do this…its murder…”
“The confession
I had you sign, well, it was soooo remorseful. I’m
sure that it will be enough to have your death ruled a suicide. Especially when
its discovered that I did indeed file for divorce when
I learned of your affair.”
“That’s right
Peter,” a man’s mellow voice came from somewhere off to Peter’s left. “I’m
representing your wife. Or should I say your ex-wife. Well, to be perfectly
accurate, your merry widow.”
As he stepped
into view, Peter recognized the man as a senior partner in Jenny’s law office.
He slipped a possessive arm around his wife’s tiny waist and pulled her close.
She didn’t resist. Just the opposite. She gazed up at
him fondly, and they shared a passionate, if familiar kiss.
“You see,” he
said, when he came up for air, “it was me who introduced Jenny to the club. I don’t
usually attend the executions of male victims, that’s usually reserved for a girl’s
nights out, but I figured this was a special occasion.”
Wendy stepped
forward with a pair of shears. Looking up with a sly smirk, she asked Peter if
he had any last words, but he was too stunned to speak.
“Okay then,” the
pretty Japanese woman said, “the prisoner shall be stripped!”
There was
enthusiastic applause from the ladies and Wendy easily shred the gown Peter
wore to pieces with the scissors. He stood there naked on the chair in front of
twelve leering shouting women, including Jenny, and worst of all, her lover,
who stood in the corner, arms folded across his big chest, watching Peter with
a smug victorious look on his face.
“Jenny,” Peter
managed to stammer, but still hardly able to speak. “Tell me this is all still a
game? Please?”
“Sorry darling,”
she said coolly. “It’s a death sentence.”
“Jenny…” Peter
said desperately, “Jenny, please…I have to pee…please let me down…”
But Jenny wasn’t
listening. No one was. To the cheers and catcalls of the audience of well-dressed
women, his wife stepped around behind him and Peter could feel the stool being
slowly tilted away from under his feet. He tried to step backwards as quickly
as he could but he was only delaying the inevitable. Soon the stool was swept
out from under him completely and his legs swung free, the sudden added weight pulling
the noose tighter around his throat. There was a gasp of excitement from the
ladies present and Peter’s legs started wildly kicking the air. One of his
flip-flops flew off his foot. Then he hung still for a moment, his toes
straining to touch the floor. The blood seemed to stop inside his head and he
could hear the thunder of his own heartbeat. He opened his mouth and gasped for
air but he could hardly draw a breath.
Panicked, he
started wildly kicking again, like a fish at the end of a line, but quickly
exhausted himself. He hung silently, mouth gaping, trying to suck air.
He could feel an
unbearable pressure building behind his eyes. He searched the faces surrounding
him for mercy but there was none. Instead several of the women seemed to be
laughing and pointing at his crotch. He couldn’t hear what they were saying
because of the pounding in his ears but he knew what they were pointing at. The
constriction around his throat had the predictable effect on his cock which was
now fully and painfully erect. The noose tightened even more. His legs were now
so heavy it was an effort to move them at all.
His trembling toes
continued to point towards the floor, but of course Jenny made sure he was hung
just a couple of tantalizing inches too high. Yes, it was only a matter of
inches. But those few inches were all the difference between life and death The
weight of his legs steadily tightened the noose. His remaining flip-flop dangled
momentarily off the tips of his rigid toes and then fell to the floor.
Peter could feel
himself beginning to black out from lack of air. He tried to call out to Jenny
but nothing came from his lips but a ghastly gurgle and a thin line of frothy
saliva. Certainly this had to be a game? She couldn’t have planned this as she
had said? This had to be all part of the lesson she had wanted to teach him.
Such were Peter’s final, self-deluding, and panicked thoughts.
He tried to move
his eyes around the room but he couldn’t find Jenny anywhere. O god Jenny where
are you, he thought. You wouldn’t let me die like this, would you?
Just as he tried
to call out to Jenny again something totally unexpected happened. Peter felt an
involuntarily tightening of his pelvic and sphincter muscles and without
warning he began involuntarily humping the empty air. The catcalls and whistles
from the women pierced the thudding fog inside his head.
Oh god, Peter
wondered, why are they doing this? How can they just
sit there and watch while this is happening?
But these
thoughts were quickly chased away by the orgasmic wave building swiftly through
his body. It shook him all the way from his straining toes to his pounding head
and then the pressure exploded out of his cock in a seemingly endless white
loop of come that had the ladies squealing with glee and ducking for cover.
“Did I miss
something?”
It was Jenny.
“He just came!”
three of the women offered in unision
“What a
coincidence,” Jenny said almost dreamily. “So did I.”
Even in the sad
state Peter was in, profusely sweating, choking, nearly unconscious, he
recognized Jenny’s sweet voice over the din. With his eyes alone, he searched for
her face in the crowd, knowing instinctively he didn’t have much longer to
live. He still held onto the hope that she’d let him down. He had learned his
lesson. He had been humiliated. And she’d gotten her revenge. She stood across
the room from his hanging, naked body. She looked disheveled, her lipstick
smeared, and she was leaning against Jim. She looked happy and satiated. She
reluctantly unthreaded her arm from Jim’s and walked slowly towards him.
Oh please hurry Jenny! Peter thought. His brain felt like it
was going to explode from the building pressure. Please hurry!
But Jenny was in
no hurry. She sauntered towards him at an agonizingly slow pace. He couldn’t
breathe at all now, the noose around his throat having tightened to its maximum
closing off his windpipe completely. His legs hung down lifeless and heavy. He
was undergoing the final agonies of strangulation. Jenny stood under him now
and he tried to speak. Not a sound came from his gaping salivating mouth. Jenny
smiled sweetly. She reached up and gave his balls a vicious twist. Peter, his
face swollen and purpled with incipient necrosis, grimaced in pain.
“Thank you darling,”
his wife said. “I’ve always wanted to do this to you.”
He tried one
last time to speak: a long stream of drool poured from his numb lips.
“It’s okay honey,” Jenny said, running a finger along his
thigh and savoring the taste of the sweat and semen that glistened there.
“Don’t fight it. It’s time for you to die. “
She stepped back
and the enormity of what she said hit Peter. This was it. There was no turning
back. This was no game. She had intended to snuff him all along. She stepped
back so that the others could see. He looked at them all one last time. Their
eyes were glistening with excitement and anticipation. A few of them had even
slipped their hands under their fancy dresses, stroking themselves. Peter’s
terrified eyes caught sight of Wendy, smiling serenely in the arms of the
handsome older woman, who was feeling up her pert little tits. Wendy gave him a
lascivious wink and blew him a kiss. In one final mute appeal he rolled his
bulging eyes towards Jenny but she only mouthed the words:
Its time to die..
Or maybe she
said them. Peter couldn’t be sure. The blood was thundering in his head now and
his heart was broken and laboring in vain. His lungs were on fire. It was true.
It was time for him to die and his body knew it. Peter felt a tremendous
build-up of pressure in his bladder and at first he tried to let only a little
leak out. Even now, he was still trying to hold on to some last vestige of dignity.
But the next thing he knew the piss was scalding his thighs. He heard it
pattering the carpet. Jenny had been talking about getting a new one.
The terrible
sadness of his imminent death struck Peter like a hammer-blow. All at once he
realized that there was no dignity left him The end was inevitable and to
resist was not only futile but would only prolong his indignity. Yes, the most
dignified thing to do was to give up and die. That was all that Jenny had left
him with.
Something inside
still wanted to hang on but Peter gave that something up. He let himself go
limp. He felt the flood of warm piss that was now pouring down his legs. There
was something comforting about the feeling, something almost liberating. When
it was over, he felt the last of his urine dripping from his bare toes.
His body was going
into its death throes now. He could feel it terminally shaking, trembling, dancing at the end of the rope. He was putting on a good
show, but it was out of his hands now. He had done all he could to surrender.
It was up to his body now. Peter could only hope that he was doing Jenny proud.
It was a strange thing to think, but he still loved her, would always love her,
and he wanted her to remember him fondly. It was all he had left.
They say that
you stay around just a little bit after you’re already dead. Peter heard the
last thud of his heart stopping in mid-beat. He felt his tongue swell and force
itself between his bloated lips. He tasted the blood and saliva trickling down
his chin. His eyes had rolled upward and the last thing he saw was the o-ring
screwed into the ceiling. His next to last thought was that Jim must have put
it there. His very last thought surprised even Peter: he hoped they would be
happy together.
Its true that the last thing to go is your
hearing.
Peter faded away to the sound of distant applause.
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