I’ve been standing here naked for nearly three hours. My hands are tied behind me, there’s a noose snug around my neck, and a trapdoor underneath my feet. And I am so wet... There are nine other young women in the room with me. All of us are in the same situation. I’m second from the right end of the line. The wall in front of me is black glass. The room is brightly lit, so I can’t see through the glass, but I get a great view of the ten of us standing here, naked, noosed, waiting.

An execution? No, a rather complicated and lethal game.

As I said, I can’t see through the glass. But I know what’s there: a wide corridor with a little console in front of the glass. The console has a slot for a credit card, a dial to select one of us, a switch labeled "drop: long/short", and a big red button.

Waiting. I don’t know when, but sooner or later a customer will swipe a credit card and push the button, and one of the trapdoors will open. Maybe one of my friends. That’s happened three times already.

The first was Carole. She was a blonde, big-busted and leggy, shaved. Her trapdoor opened, and she kicked and struggled for nearly five minutes before going still. She’d enjoyed the hell out of it, though, her nipples erect the whole time, and she’d stiffened in orgasm twice before she went limp.

The second was Willow. Her name suited her. Dark haired, small breasts (but huge nipples), neatly trimmed bush, as tall as most men. She’d struggled like she didn’t enjoy it, but her nipples erected about 30 seconds after her dance started. She’d orgasmed only once, just before she lost consciousness after a mere two minutes of dancing.

The third was Nikki, a Japanese girl with B-cup breasts, a waist so thin you’d think she was starving,  shaved except for a small triangle right over her pubic bone. Her hair was in an emo-like rainbow pattern. She’d hung nearly still, her feet moving in small circles, for almost a minute before she started kicking in earnest. Then she’d lasted nearly as long as Carole. She’d looked like she was enjoying it, cute, pouty mouth like a girl who’s ready long before her boyfriend, but somehow hadn’t really cum. Just gotten so wet she glistened.

I was allowed to turn and watch during those hangings. It made so excited. Dripping wet.

So I’m standing straight and proud. Waiting. Yes, proud to be chosen to stand here and wait.

Or maybe... maybe next time it will be my trapdoor. If that happens, I'll be hanging, strangling to death. No warning, just the noose jerking tight around my neck. Kicking desperately, hands straining against the ropes, trying to breathe. But there will be no air. After a few minutes I'll get weak. My feet will twitch a little, but that's all. Then I'll black out... and that will be the last thing I ever experience. Nothing more, ever again. But I bet I cum at least twice while I'm hanging!

I don't know when. Or whether I'll be the next victim or another of my friends. It's over halfway through my shift. Maybe nothing will happen this shift. Then I'll get to sit down to a nice lunch, have a couple of hours to rest. Then back again for the evening shift.

Or maybe... in a minute or less I'll feel the trapdoor fall away and begin my battle for air. A battle that I will inevitably lose.

At first, I wasn't sure which would be better: to watch one of the other girls die, kicking and struggling in the noose; or to experience that ultimate sensation myself, hanging, strangling, cumming, dying.

After a couple of days I decided it was better to watch. No, not because I'm afraid of death. No. But when another girl is chosen, I get to watch. It excites me so, to watch her death struggle and her orgasms. And also, when I watch I anticipate it happening to me. I imagine myself struggling just like that, getting red in the face and then purple. Dancing faster and faster, then slower and slower... and then... still. Forever.

Coming here was an even bet. Fifty percent chance that I'll dance my life away here at the end of a rope. Fifty percent that I'll survive and go home to Master. Each time a girl dies, a new one replaces her, so now my chances of getting hanged are only twenty percent. And if that happens, I won't get to hang. Only two more chances.

So now I'm thinking that it would be better to hang now. Then I wouldn't have to worry about losing out to two other girls.

One thing I know I don't want... the long drop. A few customers choose that. Not very many. I'm thankful for that. But it could happen. To vanish through the floor, a loud groan from the overhead beam and a crunching noise as my neck snaps. A few spasmodic kicks and... nothing. It happened once during my off-shift, I was watching on CCTV while getting ready for bed. That wouldn't be nice. To die without getting to experience it. No, I really hope that doesn't happen to me.

So here I am. Naked, hands tied, a noose around my neck. Second from the right end of the line. Watching the reflection in the glass. And waiting...