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Disclaimer update April 2 2015


As of this time I am only posting my stories on ASSTR.org. I
don't know of any other story site that allows underage
characters.


When I first started posting stories on the internet I posted
them to Stories on Line (SOL). So some of my older stuff is on
the site up to 2011 or 2012 I think, but I have not posted
stories there for a couple of years now. They changed their
minimum age requirements for characters to 18.


So let me grovel here a bit. If you're reading this story on
ASSTR please email me your thoughts about the story, good or bad,
doesn't matter. I love hearing from readers and I respond to
every email. I have some readers that I keep a constant
correspondence with.


Now to the disclaimer stuff: This story and all the stories I
write are a work of fiction and special care was taken while
writing the story - no letters were hurt when they were placed on
the page.


Any characters, places, businesses and/or circumstances etc.
described herein are entirely fictional and are a product of my
imagination.  None of the following is based on real organisms or
organizations, and any semblance to anyone or anything real,
living, deceased or imaginary, is purely coincidental. There is
no place called Cherish Valley in the United States that I am
aware of.


Every story I write contains sexual situations between adult
females and young girls between 5 and 16 years old. These stories
should not be read by anyone who is either not old enough to do
so or who would be offended if they did.  Most if not all of the
stories I write contains explicit pornographic material; it is
not for minors under the age of 18 or close-minded people.



I write stories for my own enjoyment.  I write stories in which
adult women are degraded, humiliated, and fucked by young girls,
although I have changed things up a bit recently with a couple
stories that aren't exclusively lesbian in nature. Bottom line is
I write stories for my own enjoyment.


If this story seems to be better edited that is because I have a
wonderful male editor who adds just the right amount of "filth"
as he puts it into the story line.  If there are any mistakes in
the story as far as grammar or punctuation, then it is my error
and not his.  Thanks "A", you're wonderful and patient with me.


I also want to thank several readers with whom I have become
"email friends". I bounce story line ideas off of them and they
and they come back with wonderful ideas and scenes that take me
in different directions.


Anyone who is an adult or age of majority, of course, is welcome
to continue.


Story codes that I write about are: Lesbian, scat, pee, piss,
humiliation, consensual sex, child/underage sex, restraints,
racial, bigotry, discrimination, anal sex, oral sex, vagina sex,
young love, also asphyxiation, hanging, (NO Snuff, well, only one
story), erotic hanging, punishments like spankings, whippings and
canings, young girl domination with strap-on sex, rape.


Not all of these story codes are in every story but a good
majority of these codes are.



Email me with your comments at: msteven1005@yahoo.com


I reply to readers who take time to email me. Please, please,
please email me your thoughts on the story.


This story was originally uploaded this story to SOL four or five
years ago. I always wanted to expand the story a little bit, give
it more back ground. Several months ago I finally got around to
rewriting it. I sent it to my editor "A" who exanded on several
themes in the story which I am thankful for because I think it
reads a lot better. I can't post the story to SOL because they
have changed their terms of service, which is cool, so the new
version will be posted only on ASSTR.



The Game

An extract from "Opening Petals - A study of the influence of
television on pre-teen culture", by Dr Megan Stone.

"The Game" is one of the most popular TV games amongst pre-teen
girls ages 10 to 12. It is a voluntary hanging game that is open
to six women contestants between the ages of 42 and 52, and is
recorded at the government run television studios in the state
capital every third Saturday of the month.  During the hour long
show, depending entirely on chance, two of the women will hang
themselves and the remaining four will be paid a cash prize of
$100,000.  It was originally called  "Your Number is up" but it
has quickly  become one of the highest rated shows in the country
and is known to many simply as "The Game".

Like all great TV game shows, the format of the game is very
simple: the women stand nude on small stools with nooses around
their necks on the stage in front of a large studio audience; a
lottery machine randomly mixes six golf balls with numbers
imprinted on them and when a ball pops up to the top of the glass
bowl, the woman who has the corresponding number steps off her
stool; as she does so, the stool slowly retracts into the floor,
leaving the woman with no support so that she hangs herself.

The randomness of the game is why young girls in the 10 - 12 age
group find it so exciting to watch with the element of chance
built into every stage of its preparation and performance.  When
a female contestant signs up on the website, an algorithm
randomly selects contestants for that the upcoming game. Once the
six contestants have been selected, they have to pick a number
from one to six in order to determine which stool they will stand
on. Finally, once the game is underway, a lottery machine then
picks a random number in order to decide their fate. (One of the
interesting by-products of the game is that a lot of bets are
placed all over the country and a great deal of money exchanges
hands when the contest is underway. One the more specialized bets
that punters put money on is whether the hanging woman will pump
her legs up and down in a bicycle riding motion or raise and
lower her legs like she was running.)

There are also very strict criteria for the initial selection of
the contestants. Some women prefer to enter as individuals and
pay the thousand dollars entry fee for themselves. Others are
entered by their family or the business where they work, but one
of the most popular ways to join is to form an all women's club
or association where the pooled money is used to pay a member's
entry fee.


This is important because on their website, the Government insist
that the criteria of selection  of the six players is strictly
adhered too: two of the women have to pay their own fee; two have
to have their fee paid by their family; one woman has to be from
a government registered business; and the last contestant, from a
club or association. The computer randomly selects the
contestants from each category and sends out notices to the
winners. If for some reason the criteria aren't met for the
month, then that month's prize money is carry over to the
following month.

Within weeks of the show's first broadcast, viewing figures
across all age groups rocketed, particularly in the 10 - 12
year-old demographic, the  pre-teens, and it is now established
as the foremost game show on the air. Opinion as to why something
so simple should be such a runaway success varies, from those who
argue that the strict entry criteria enable the audience to
empathise with particular contestants, to others who point out
the excitement of the $100,000 prize money. However, the most
accepted reason is the powerfully erotic nature of the show,
especially among young girls. Female psychiatrists have found the
92% of girls under the age thirteen happily admit to masturbating
whilst watching the contestants hang, and have cited this as
clear evidence for the fostering and encouragement of pre-teen
sexuality.

*******

"The Game". Series 14, Episode 29.  21st September, 2024.

Preparation.

For today's game, the six women fortunate enough to be selected
came from different parts of the country. All worked different
jobs and had diverse backgrounds and as with all games of chance,
some contestants and their families needed the money and while
others joined the game for the thrill of beating the odds.
However, there was always a third type of woman, one who applied
not just for the money or the excitement, but also sheer erotic
power of submitting themselves to such deadly risks. One of these
was Mrs Marti Allen.

Like everything about the show, "The Game" was very carefully
organised. A week before the show the winning contestants for the
upcoming show were sent nutrition guidelines of food and drink
they should have. Three days before the show the producers sent
each contestant six pills to take that would prevent them from
having a bowel and urine movement on the day of the game. It was
considered humiliating for the hanging woman to soil the floor
beneath her as she dangled at the end of the rope.

The women had to report to the TV studio by 3pm on Saturday, four
hours before the show. The government treasurer had an office in
the lobby where the thousand dollar fee was paid, either by the
contestants themselves, their family, or a representative of
their business or association. When the fees were paid and
receipts given, everybody but the six contestants was ushered out
of the lobby, and it was at this point that the women got their
first nervous looks at each other. The contestants were taken to
the dressing room where they removed their clothes, necklaces and
ear rings and placed them in the named storage bags with their
names printed on. Perhaps it was at this moment that the more
perceptive women realised that in four hours time, two of these
bags would have no owner.

Once they were naked, the contestants were measured from their
jaw line where the noose would be, to the tips of their toes. To
get this measurement, they had to hold on to a bar that was
raised just high enough to make the contestant stand on her
tip-toes, another reminder of what they were about to do. An
employee of the weights and measures department arrived to
correlate and verify the information and the measurement was then
entered into a hand-held computer which calculated the length of
rope needed so that a contestant would just feel the floor with
just the tips of her toes as she hung.

Next, the six totally nude contestants were led down the busy
hallway by one of the producers to the hair department. For most
of them, this was their first time nude in a public place: they
covered their breasts with one arm and placed their hand over
their crotches as they scurried down the hallway behind the
producer, but nobody paid much attention to them as there were a
lot of important details to care off before the show aired. Hair
was one of the most significant. The rules stated that each
contestant had to have their hair styled in a bun, on top of
their head, not on the back. It was considered unsightly that a
contestant's hair should become entangled in the rope and so the
hairdressers made sure that the pull the hair tight into a bun.
This had the additional advantage of leaving an unobscured view
the neck and the rope, enabling those ever popular close-ups of
the noose tightening against the soft skin as the unfortunate
contestant swung in her death throes.

After this, all body hair from the neck down was shaved off and
the skin made to look smooth with scented body oil. The
application of the oil took the form of a massage by pairs of
girls' ages 7 to 9 who had been specially selected from the
numerous hanging clubs around the country. The massage training
took place at their hanging club but the massage certifications
were issued from the government. The girls had to meet a rigid
set of standards to be able to get certified. To get on the show
the girls went to the same website as the women and applied much
the same way. Twelve girls were selected for each show, two per
contestant. The youngsters and their families were brought in the
day before the show. The contestants were assigned to a massage
room where two girls were waiting for them.

Because of the intimacy, there had long been demand to film the
massage as part of the programme, but organisers insisted that
this was a private moment. The nature of the massage and the
orgasms which so often resulted were like a communion, and it was
felt that its purity would be ruined by television cameras.

By 5pm the producer walked contestants to the "make-up"
department for their manicure, pedicure and have make-up applied
for their up close interviews with the camera. This, along with
the oiling and the hairdressing, was done for two reasons:
obviously to enhance the self-confidence of the women, but also
to enhance their sexuality. It was part of the delicate balance
the show managed to maintain, between the overt sexual nature of
six naked women on show to the world, and the more subtle
eroticism of the deadly game they had agreed to play.

After the make-up was completed the contestants filled out legal
paperwork. It seemed a formality but in effect it held the
organisers and the government blameless if something bad happened
like a rope breaking or a piece of equipment failing during the
show. For example, in a previous show, a contestant whose number
had been drawn stepped off the stool but the stool failed to
retract so she stepped back on the stool. She stepped off a
second time but the stool still didn't retract so she stepped
back on the stool and announced that she should not have to hang
because she fulfilled the terms of the game by stepping off the
stool. The host of the game was summoned by the judges and for
five minutes they deliberated the rules. As they talked, the
contestant was trying to make her case with growing desperation
that she shouldn't have to hang. Eventually, the host came over
to the edge of the stage where a pre-teen girl who was specially
selected for a situation like this was standing and said
something to her.

The youngster nodded her head several times and walked out on the
stage towards the contestant. The girl put her arms around the
contestants waist and gently lifted her off the stool then used
her left foot to press the emergency retract button on the leg of
the stool, all the while the desperate woman was struggling in
the girls grip and protesting loudly she should not have to hang.
The girl put the contestant back on the now retracting stool and
stepped away to the corner of the stage.

The contestant's feet were struggling to find support, tears
streaming down her face as she tried to reason with the judges,
the host, the girl, anybody who would listen. The audience became
silent when the contestant's protests were cut off as the
retracting stool became even with the floor and rope bit into her
neck. She started pumping her legs like she was riding a bike but
with each jerk of her body the rope tightened, her face reddened
and her eyes bulged. After a couple of minutes the woman stopped
moving and shortly after that the life went out of her eyes. The
audience stood and clapped and cheered, the men and boys jerking
their cocks as the woman gently swung back forth, the moans and
groans of the women and girls as they came.

Afterwards, the family of the woman was paid the $100,000 because
she did fulfil the rules of the game, but she still had to hang
because her number was selected.

After the legal forms where signed and witnessed the contestants
had to select their number. It was a simple ceremony for such an
important and nerve-wracking decision: each of the women reached
into a hat to select a ball on which was written the number of
the stool she would be standing on.

While the contestants were being prepared, there was a great deal
of other activity. Outside the TV studio a long line of people
were waiting to get in while the studio was readied. The studio
could seat a thousand people and the front two rows were reserved
for family, co-workers, club and association members of the
contestants and families of the young girls were selected to help
out. There were two camera crews on stage that groups or
businesses could sponsor. Every month the sponsors changed so
that businesses or groups around the country were given equal
access to the bidding rights for the cameras.

There were also cameras above and behind the contestants to
ensure that every angle was covered during a hanging. Once more,
the government offered different cameras to advertisers so that
viewers watching via the net would see the advertiser's logo and
products around the edge of the camera screen. Because of the
popularity of the show, this was an easy and very lucrative
revenue stream for the government. Another very lucrative option
was that cameras were set up to focus exclusively on one
particular part of a woman as she hanged - her face, her genitals
or her legs: for an extra fee, internet viewers could stream into
the camera of their choice.

And it wasn't just the contestants who came in for scrutiny. A
recent development designed to raise revenue was the introduction
of audience cams, available only on an internet subscription.
These focused on the audience's reactions as the show went on,
especially when the erotic power of the action built up towards
the end. The most lucrative of these was "Cuntcam" which
concentrated on women and girls as they masturbated to the sight
of swinging bodies and dancing legs. There were two types of
seats in the auditorium, cushioned seats for the male viewer and
glass seats for the female viewer with the seats easily
interchangeable should there be more male viewers than female
viewers on any particular show.

Under the glass seats the show installed in-floor cameras. All
female viewers no matter their age were encouraged to wear
dresses and no panties to the show. The women and girls were
given gift certificates to department stores for voluntarily
complying with the wishes of the show. Hence the word "Cuntcam"
because internet subscribers had a clear view of the cunt of each
female no matter her age.

"Time to get into position, ladies," announced the production
assistant and led the women down a corridor and suddenly out onto
the stage. The curtains were closed but the stage was already
awash with light, illuminating the colourful set, the six
numbered footstools arranged in a shallow arc, and most
significantly, reflecting the arc, six ropes swaying gently from
a beam high above them. As props, they looked so simple, but they
disguised a wealth of technology: the stools were designed to
retract fully into the stage at a steady speed, slowly enough to
allow the hanging woman some desperate hope of support, but
relentlessly enough for her to realise how short lived that hope
would be; the rope, of infinite strength, was electronically
controlled through a chip which calculated the weight and height
of each woman so that, as she swayed in the noose, her
desperately outstretched toes would just be able to brush across
the floor below her.

On the far left, one stool, number six, remained vacant as Mrs
Marti Allen stepped out naked onto the stage. Marti wasn't cold
being naked, but she was shivering in anticipation and hardly
aware of her fellow contestants as she took her position next to
the swaying rope. On the drive over to the studio earlier with
her family, her daughter Nicki asked her what the odds would be
if she picked stool number three like she had the previous two
times she had competed. Marti replied that she didn't know the
odds but it would be cool to stand on number three; three was her
lucky number from the last two times she had been in the game,
each time winning $100,000.

One of the most important jobs on the show was the "Hanging
Expert". The hanging expert was a pre-teen between the ages of 10
and 12 drawn from hanging clubs around the country. These girls
earned their government certifications in hanging women for fun
and games in their clubs and in sports competitions at their
schools.

One of the requirements to be a hanging expert on the show was a
psychological test to determine if the girl could push or lift a
contestant off her stool so that she was hung until she died.
Most girls this age accepted the fact that a woman might be
reluctant to hang herself and so had no problem in assisting the
woman to her death. It was this cold calculation that the show's
producers were looking for. It was a source of pride amongst the
young hanging experts that had been on the show that they could
assist the reluctant contestant in hanging herself.

 To be on the show the girls had to register on the website and
once a month a random drawing was conducted to pick the hanging
expert for the next show. Almost all hanging clubs around the
country held "drawing" parties in anticipation of one of their
young experts being selected.

The girl and her family were flown to the show and were put up in
a high-end hotel. The youngster met the contestants while they
were weighed and measured for their nooses then followed the
contestants as they were readied for the show. Most of the
contestants knew who the girl was and what her job on the show
would be and even though the youngster was cute and
non-threatening they knew that the girl would not hesitate in
killing them.

Eleven year-old Trudy walked out on stage carrying a five foot
step ladder. She wore a see thru white blouse that had the name
of her club emblazoned across the front, "Club Asphyxiation". She
wore a short plaid skirt with no underwear and white knee high
stockings with black six inch stiletto heels. In the two weeks
leading up to the show Trudy practiced wearing the six stiletto
heels around her house and at her club. It would be total
humiliation if she would trip or fall while on stage in front of
the whole country.

Trudy walked over to Marti but she waved the girl off and pulled
the noose down over her head with her own hands, sliding it
easily over her bun. She held the long knot before her face for a
moment then moved it around to her left ear. The first time she
had played the game nine months ago, she read the book that Nicki
had brought her which stated that the placement of the knot
behind her ear could provide her the longest conscious time, and
allow her to look at the audience instead of down at her toes. If
tonight were to be her night, she hoped the book was right. If
she were to lose the game (or was it win?), she wanted to see the
audience while they watched her willingly hang herself for their
entertainment. She wanted them to see her face as she orgasmed,
not just her forehead. Most of all, she would wanted to stretch
out the experience for the audience and those watching on TV and
the internet before the noose finished its work.

Trudy took Marti's hands, placed then behind her back, and
attached blue handcuffs to her wrists: the blue handcuffs
signified that she had personally paid her own entry fee to the
game, rather than have it provided by her family or some
organisation. Although her wrists were bound, her ankles were
not. The rules of the game stated that a woman's ankles should
not be tied: the viewing audience, to their delight, would want
to see a hanging woman's feet vainly kick and strain to find a
solid surface as she tried to save herself, even though it would
be just beyond reach of her outstretched toes.

The youngster touched a button on her hand held computer, making
rope above Marti rise until it was taut. The girl stepped onto
her step ladder and adjusted the noose to make it tight around
Marti's neck. She checked the knot, asked if Marti was happy with
its position, and pushed another button which loosened the rope
just a little bit then locked it in place. Based on Marti's
height and weight the rope should be in perfect position so that
her toes just brushed the floor. Finally, Trudy touched Marti's
shoulder, then the knot, and stepped down the ladder before
working her way around the stage, adjusting the nooses of the
other five women. Marti watched the girl do her work around the
stage. The girl had a no nonsense attitude which she appreciated.
It was hard to find young kids today with positive work ethic
like Trudy.

One of the female production assistants walked out in front of
the contestants and held up five fingers: five minutes. Marti
felt a spurt of adrenalin hit her stomach and her heart thumped
in her chest. Whatever she did, she had to concentrate on
standing still. She remembered the director's words from the
first contest she entered, and they still sent a chill through
her: "The little stools you will be standing on will be locked in
place based your body weight. That means that if you step of the
stool or fall off the stool it will retract into the floor. There
will be no stopping it nor will anybody come and save you." She
had stopped and looked at each of them. "So please keep your
jubilation to a minimum if you make it to the end of the game
tonight."

Last year there had been a contestant who was so happy at making
it to the end of the game that she jumped and up and down in the
stool. Her feet were sweaty of course and she slipped, and as
soon as it detected the change in weight, the stool started to
retract. The contestant managed to regain her balance but the
stool continued its electronic withdrawal while she started to
plead and cry for help. There was nothing anyone could do except
stand and watch while the audience stared in silence and the
cameras recorded everything. Once the stool tucked into the floor
the woman held herself straight at first with her toes just
barely touching the floor, then started to pump her legs like she
was running. She struggled for breath, wheezing the whole time
until her movements started slowed down and her face changed to
the color of purple. In less than four minutes from the time of
her jubilation at surviving the game she was gently swinging back
and forth, her head leaning to the left with her tongue slightly
hanging out of her dead mouth. The audience stood and clapped and
cheered. Her family got no compensation from the show so they
tried to sue the government but lost because she did sign the
legal papers warning about such behavior while standing on the
stool.

Her feet firmly planted on the stool and her neck held steady by
the tight noose, Marti was able to turn her head and look at the
other five women on their stools. She knew from the first game
she entered that the arc of the stools' positions was not simply
for the benefit of the cameras but also a courtesy to the
contestants: when one of them was hanged, the others would have a
very clear view of the process.

The women on stools one and three had red handcuffs, meaning that
a member of their family had paid their fees. This category of
contestant was always popular: many in the audience preferred to
see a woman, sometimes quite reluctant when the moment came,
hanged because their family had risked her life for $100,000.
Equally popular were women like Marti and the woman on stool
four, women so fascinated and aroused by the noose that they
actually paid the fee themselves to enter the game. Least popular
of the contestants tended to be those in black handcuffs like the
woman on stool two, whose co-workers had paid her fees, and those
in pink, like the woman on stool five, whose association had paid
her entry fee.

Although the show had not yet started, and the curtains were
still closed, Marti felt an amazing erotic charge around her, in
her nakedness, in the anxious faces of the other women, in the
subdued murmur of anticipation from the other side of the
curtain. She felt the the anticipation herself, in the beat of
her heart and the seeping wetness between her legs.

If she was fortunate not to be chosen first, for her and the four
other women, watching the first woman hang would be an
extraordinary event, something that they would feel much more
intensely than the audience. As they watched her struggles become
desperate, they might rethink the price of this sexual high or
the prize money. Each of them would know that very shortly she
might have the same experience. They would imagine the same
pressure of the rope on their own necks, the choking gasps for
tiny sips of air, and the incredible sexual high. She had played
this game twice before and she knew it was a lot different when
you paid to hang yourself rather than having your family insist
on entering you in the game or having a lottery at work or being
voted on by the club or association membership.

It was a sexual experience like no other, an hour of erotic
tension and delicious uncertainty ending with an orgasm of
release like she had never experienced. Afterwards, she had found
it impossible to recapture the intensity of that feeling, whether
it was skewered on her husband's cock or grinding her cunt
against her daughter's mouth, and so she signed up again, and now
again, addicted to the buzz.

Of course, she knew that not all the contestants saw it as she
did. Some of them had been pressured by their families, or
entered a work's lottery on a whim, perhaps tempted by the
excitement, and now found themselves facing undreamt of fear. She
had watched them as they met their fate: the woman screaming
silently in her mind, pleading not to dangle, even as the step
fell away, not today. And then, as her movements slowed, as her
flailing feet tired in their search for the ground, she would
hope to cling on to some dignity, to hang quietly for her family,
friends, the studio audience and the TV and internet audience. A
woman who hung quietly at the end, without much of a struggle was
admired. The audience would stand and clap and cheer the dead
woman for a good show.

Looking across at the other women, Marti wondered how they would
respond. She thought the game shouldn't be wasted on the paid-for
women with the red or black cords, at least not both rounds,
maybe just the second round. She was of the opinion that
contestants should pay the fee for themselves, or be randomly
selected to hang when she turned forty-two via a state lottery.
But in a game of chance like this one, each contestant should pay
her own way.

On stool four, an older woman with beautiful brown eyes and blue
handcuffs around her wrists smiled at Marti. Her name was Amy.
They had talked briefly backstage, and Marti felt drawn to her.
Amy's bun had a pink velvet ribbon around the base of it and she
mentioned that her daughter had given her the ribbon and the
hairdresser had graciously put the ribbon around the bun. Her
knot was like Marti's, tucked behind her left ear.

Amy nodded and Marti nodded back. She wants us to be the ones to
hang, Marti realized. She knows we share the bond. She felt her
cunt pulse.

I'd love to watch her hang, Marti thought, and then the same old
question popped into her mind. "Do I really, really want to hang
myself, or is it the thrill of being here a third time that I
crave? One chance out of six to feel the rope bite in the first
round, then higher odds at one in five to feel the rope tighten
around my neck in the second round. Well, no going back now."

Trudy seemed to have finished adjusting the ropes and walked back
down the line to make a final check. When she got to Marti, she
stopped for a moment, staring at her crotch, and then pulled a
cloth from a small pocket in her plaid skirt. The eleven year-old
looked up at Marti's face and smiled, and then reached out and
wiped leaking cream from between her legs, bringing the dampened
cloth to her mouth and kissing it gently. For a moment time
seemed to stand still, and then Marti smiled down at her, as if
somehow she had been blessed.

A sudden fanfare startled her, followed by the booming sound of
an announcer: "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to
tonight's episode of.... Your Number Is Up!" Her heart started
beating like a jackhammer and she fought to concentrate on her
balance as the audience cheered and the noise swelled. The
curtains opened slowly and the volume increased, and slowly the
stage was bathed in light from distant spotlights which made the
women scrunch up their eyes as they tried to adjust to the
dazzle.

A well dressed man ran from the darkness into the middle of the
stage, his arms spread out in welcome, and once more the audience
cheered as they recognised him: he was Robert Hampton, the host
for tonight's game.

"Hello, Cherish Valley..." he cried, his voice amplified by his
cheek microphone, and the audience shouted back their response,
clapping with excitement.

"...and hello to our TV and internet audience where ever you
are..." The audience cheered again, as if somehow trying to
represent their more distant companions?"

"...Welcome everyone to this month's hanging game, `Your Number
Is Up'." The cheering reached a crescendo of sound, like a wall
of excitement which only quietened when the host gestured with
his hands.

"As usual, we have six beautiful contestants today, all eager to
play the game." As he recited the same words he used at the
beginning of every show, he waved his arm and spotlights picked
out each of the women behind him. "Two of these lovely ladies
have paid their own entry fee," - loud cheers - "two have had
their entry paid for by their families," - polite applause - "and
two have been sponsored by their club or business," - quiet
applause.

He stepped forward to the edge of the stage, holding out his
arms. "So if you want get to know them better, all you have to do
is....?" He held his hand to his ear and the audience bellowed
back, "HANG AROUND!!" before bursting out into laughter and more
applause.

Robert walked over to the side of stage and collected a clipboard
and a microphone which seemed to have been custom made from a
thin tube of stainless steel about two feet long. The reason for
this only became clear as he walked over to the first contestant:
because she was standing on a stool, her face was too high for a
normal microphone to pick out clearly what she was saying.

"Contestant number one, your name is....?" Robert asked, holding
up the microphone. Over his shoulder, four spotlights suddenly
turned on, one on the woman's face, one on each of her breasts,
and one on her crotch, and immediately the audience cheered.
Flustered, the woman swayed for a moment on her stool.

"Mrs Gayla Hill from Brompton Farms," she replied nervously.

"Your age and occupation is...?" prompted the host, and as he
spoke intimate close-ups of the woman's body appeared on the two
large studio tv screens, while a cameraman with a hand-held knelt
at her feet and began to zoom in on the small gap between her
thighs.

"I am forty-three and a... a homemaker," she replied, glancing up
at a screen, and then down at the crouching cameraman. For a
moment she seemed desperate, as if she wanted to run away, but
then she looked back at Robert who smiled, and her composure
seemed to return.

"I see that your family paid your way today," Robert continued,
looking quickly at his notes.

"Yes, I am proud to say they did," replied Mrs Hill as she turned
slightly to show off her red handcuffs to the cameras and the
audience for a moment.

The host laughed patronisingly. "And I bet your family is proud
of you for accepting this challenge. Tell me Gayla, are your
family here today with you?"

She looked quickly out into the audience, screwing up her eyes
against the spotlights. "I think they are seated in front row to
the right. They are very proud of the fact that I agreed to do
this, and I know that they wanted to be here for the show."

Robert turned around, "Could the family of this lovely lady
please stand up?"

Four people stood up and waved at Robert and then the audience,
who in turn waved and cheered back. The cameras found them at
once and zoomed in, their faces appearing on the studio screens.
One of them, a boy, yelled, "We are proud of you mom!" and once
more the crowd cheered in support.

"Please tell the audience about your family."

Gayla smiled down at them. "That's my husband Ken; he works for a
mortgage company. Next is my daughter Abbie, who is seventeen and
a senior at the high school..."

"Abbie was recently accepted into Harvard, right?" interrupted
Robert, glancing at the personal history card on his clipboard
that the contestants had been required to fill out.

"Yes she was Robert, she starts this fall," the woman said, her
eyes glowing with pride. A close up of Abbie's face appeared on
the screens and she blushed deep red as applause broke out around
her.

"Next is my daughter Dayna who is fourteen and a straight A
student at the middle school..."

"Dayna is on the Pre-teen Sexualization Committee at the middle
school, right?" interrupted Robert. For a moment Danya's face
appeared on the screens and was then replaced by an audience cam
shot which swept down her body until it focussed on her
stockinged thighs. Immediately, the studio filled with cheers and
whistles, and the fourteen year-old giggled and waved.

"Yes she is." Again Mrs Hill glowed with pride. "She represents
her grade on the committee."

"Very good" smiled Robert.

"Lastly, there is my son, Ken Jr. who is nine years old and in
the third grade."

"Didn't Ken Jr. get a special award from the school last month?"

"Yes he did Robert. He got the school superintendent award for
assisting with the production and
editing of cross walk safety video," Gayla said coyly.

"And what else" Robert prodded.

"Mrs Elders, the school principle, made him an honorary member of
the school audio and video club, he can't become a full fledge
member until he turns twelve," smiled Mrs Hill.

"Very good," Robert cried with mock enthusiasm as he turned to
the audience. "Ladies and Gentleman, let's give Mrs Hill and her
family a round of applause." They duly obeyed, and as the polite
clapping quietened and the family sat down, he stepped forward
and, waving his arms, shouted, "That just leaves one question!"

Picking up his familiar cue, the audience shouted back, "WHATYA
DOIN' HANGIN' AROUND HERE?"

It was the question that all the contestants knew about and
prepared for, a brief explanation of why they had decided to play
this dangerous game.

Mrs Hill licked her lips, as if her mouth had suddenly gone dry.
"Well Robert, we all decided that, what with the expense of Abbie
going to Harvard and everything, it would be a fun idea if I
entered the contest. If I am one of the lucky ones, $100,000
would come in very handy." She swallowed hard. "Everyone thought
it would be worth the risk."

For a moment there was silence as Gayla looked imploringly at her
family, until Robert shouted, "Everyone put your hands together
for Mrs Gayla Hills!" and the audience burst into applause.

And so the pattern of the opening of the show was set: the jolly
host and his catchphrases, the introduction of the contestants
and their families, the revealing lights and probing cameras, and
the baying audience, eager with anticipation.

As the applause died down, Robert, the lights and cameras moved
over to the second woman.

"Contestant number two, your name is...?"

"I am Mrs Betty Fram from Butte Peak," smiled the woman.
Considering her circumstances, her voice seemed composed and
confident.

"Your age and occupation is...?"

"I am forty-five and an office manager at Butte Peak Farms,"
Betty replied.

"So you would be the one we thank for the choice cuts of meat we
all enjoy?" laughed Robert and the audience took up their cue and
laughed with him.

"Yes," Betty giggled and then blushed as she looked up at the
screen to see a close up of her smooth hairless sex.

"I see that your co-workers have paid your entry fee," Robert
carried on quickly.

"Yes, we had a lottery at work several weeks ago and I was
encouraged to put my name in," Betty replied as she too turned
slightly to the camera man to show off her black handcuffs.

"Is your family here today?"

"Yes they are, Robert, but I can't see them with the lights,"
Betty said, squinting out into the audience.

"Will the family of Mrs Betty Fram please stand?" asked the host
and at once, a man and girl stood up in the middle of the second
row and waved happily towards the cameras.

"Please tell the audience about your family" smiled the host.

"That is my husband, James, he works for the county roads and
ground crew, and my daughter Mellisa, who is eleven years old and
in fifth grade."

"I understand that she is particularly happy tonight."

Mrs Fram giggled. "Yes, Rob," she said. "Ever since she was
seven, every week she takes me to the Cherish Valley pre-teen
hanging club, and now tonight she feels as if all her birthday's
have come at once!"

For a moment, audience cam focused on Melissa's happy face before
zooming down to capture a close-up of the gusset of her yellow
panties disappearing between her young thighs, causing a chorus
of cheers from the audience.

"Well I hope she has a great time," said Robert hastily, spinning
round to face the audience. "Everybody, make some noise for Betty
and her family". Before the clapping had finished, he shouted,
"And what do we ask now?"

As before the crowd shouted back, their enthusiasm building:
"WHATYA DOIN' HANGIN' AROUND HERE?"

Betty took a deep breath before replying. "I've always enjoyed
playing hanging games with my daughter, and so when my colleagues
selected me to come on the show, I was really happy. If I am
still here at the... end," her voice caught and she blushed and
giggled, "I am going to treat my family to a holiday at Cherish
Valley Sex World and..."

"Mrs Betty Fram, ladies and gentleman!" Robert interrupted and
Betty's last words were drowned out as the audience cheered and
clapped.

"Contestant number three, your name is...?" There was a clear
sense of haste in the host's voice as he held up the microphone
to the third woman.

"I...I am Mrs Helen Baker," she said nervously, her voice only
just audible.

"Nothing to be nervous about Mrs Baker, we're all your friends
here." Although Robert's words sounded friendly, there was a
clear sense of urgency in his tone. "Your age and occupation
is...?"

The woman swallowed, and as she spoke, she seemed to be on the
edge of tears. "I am...  43... and I am a... teller at the Fourth
National Bank." She smiled weakly, her chest rising and falling
with the effort of breathing, and a sheen of sweat covered her
naked body. Like sharks smelling blood, the cameras zoomed in on
her, tracing small drops of sweat as they ran over her breasts or
down her thighs. Below her, the cameraman with the hand-held
moved into position.

"I see that your family has paid your entry fee for today's
game."

A droplet of sweat rolled slowly over her shaved mound, and in
extreme close-up on the screens, stretched and dripped onto the
floor. Somewhere in the audience, a woman moaned.

"Yes" Helen barely replied, staring down at the ground. Her body
heaved and she sobbed, sending more sweat droplets cascading down
on the large screens.

"Come, come, Mrs Baker," said Robert, his voice like silk, "we
don't want you to feel unhappy." Except of course, we do, he
thought to himself. He ignored the voice in his ear-piece telling
him to speed up; commercials could wait, the end of the show
could overrun; this was pay dirt. There were two types of
contestants that the audience loved: the women who saw their
death as a moment of flowing cum and orgasmic bliss, and those
who had made a mistake and now stood petrified on their gallows
stools. With the former, the audience felt an empathy that was
almost spiritual; with the latter, they felt the blood lust of
the bullring or the Coliseum.

"Are your family here tonight?"

Mrs Baker squinted into the audience and said, her voice growing
quieter, "Yes, they said they would be, but I can't see them."

"Will the family of Mrs Helen Baker please stand up and be
recognized?" Robert called out and a family of three stood up in
the middle of the third row, the audience clapping politely.

"Please tell us about them," the host said, his voice at its most
persuasive. The cameraman was behind her now, tracing the
droplets of moisture running down her back and into the crack
between her buttocks. The audience seemed mesmerised and one or
two sets of fingers began to fumble under clothing.

For a few moments she just stood staring, as if trying to
remember their names, and her body started to tremble. "That is
my husband Bennie," she whispered at last. "He works for school
board..."

"Please speak up Mrs Baker," Robert said smiling, as he held the
microphone to her mouth.

"Next is my son Josh, he's sixteen and a junior at the high
school..." Helen said a little louder.

"Josh was recently recognized for some good work at the church,
wasn't he?"

Again there was a long pause as she tried to drag her mind to the
question. "Yes he was... he... he organized a youth group at the
church... which provides an outlet for young teens to study the
bible and... to put into practice some of the..." She seemed to
grind to a halt, and then sobbed loudly.

"What about your younger son?" Robert said, trying to move the
woman on.

"He is Ben junior," she said at last. "He is fourteen. He is a
member of the Chief of Police junior policemen association..."

"And what exactly does the association do?" asked Robert.

She seemed to stare out at her son, and when she spoke there was
an edge to her voice. "Ben rides with an officer for several
hours a week learning what the role of a police officer is in the
community." She paused. "It was his idea to enter my name for the
show." The boy's face appeared on the video screens, and as soon
as he saw it, he grinned and waved energetically at the camera.

"Excellent, Mrs Baker. Now that wasn't very hard was it?" Robert
asked.

"No," replied Helen almost inaudibly as her head dropped and she
stared at the ground.

"And of course there is only one more question to be asked, which
is....?"

"WHATYA DOIN' HANGIN' AROUND HERE?"

Robert held the microphone close to Mrs Baker's mouth and was met
at first by silence, but then suddenly she became more animated.
"I shouldn't really be here," she said loudly, pleadingly. "I
never wanted to, but Ben persuaded the others and entered my
name. He thinks it's just a joke." She paused, and then continued
desperately, "I don't deserve to hang. Don't you understand, I'm
not like these other women..."

There was a gasp from the audience and Helen fell silent.

"Let's give a big round of applause for Mrs Helen Baker and her
family".

There was a smattering of clapping very little enthusiasm.
Contestants whose family had paid their entry fee against their
will were never really enthusiastic about the game, and Helen's
final comment just seemed to confirm that.

Robert turned and faced the audience. "Now it's time for a word
from our sponsors," he smiled. "But don't worry, we'll be back in
no time to meet the other contestants. So why don't you...?"

He put his hand to his ear and the audience yelled, "HANG
AROUND!!"

With a musical fanfare, the curtains were lowered to the stage
and beyond them the highlights of previous shows began playing on
the big screens.

Robert turned around facing the contestants. "Relax ladies,
everything is going well and there is no need to be nervous.
Remember, try to win over the audience with your enthusiasm and
if you make it through this evening you'll have fan base of
followers. We try and make this as painless as possible for you."

He turned to Mrs Baker. "Mrs Baker, you must try to be more
engaged in the show, or the audience are going to take against
you. Try to show them that you are really happy to be here."

"But I'm not!" Now that the curtain was down, she had lost her
timidity and her voice was angry. "I shouldn't be here! I'm not
after some ridiculous thrill like one of these stupid people.
Don't you understand, it's a mistake!"

"Two minutes, Mr Hampton," said a voice from the side of the
stage.

"Well you're here now, and you will just have to make the best of
it," he said, turning and walking of the side of the stage, to be
replaced at once by the stage attendant who began to walk along
the row, checking that the contestants were ok.

Marti stared angrily at Helen Baker, who was now sobbing again,
staring at her feet. How could she be so stupid, so insensitive?
She might have made a mistake, or even have been signed up
against her will, but she had no right to insult the other
contestants, or to dismiss the erotic delight of what they were
doing. She found herself wishing that the woman's number came up,
not simply because she was such a bitch, but also because she
could then understand the power of that final breathless orgasm.

Trudy moved in front of Marti and for a moment looked up at her
in silence. "Are you thirsty?" she asked quietly.

Marti suddenly realised she was and nodded.

"I'm not allowed to give you anything to drink," the girl said,
"but I can moisten your lips."

Marti nodded and saw the girl's hand move downwards and out of
sight, returning moments later, the tips of her fingers
glistening. She painted them softly along Marti's lips and
smiled. "I hope you get what you want: whatever it is, I want you
to take my taste with you."

Marti licked her lips sensually. "Thank you," she whispered.

There was a sudden flurry of activity. A voice announced, "Thirty
seconds," and Robert walked back onto the stage, still being
fussed over by make-up. Beyond the curtain, the show's theme
music started to play and the cheers of anticipation grew louder.
Robert moved up to the curtain and watched the producer count
down, 5-4-3... and then the curtain opened slowly to loud
applause.

"Welcome back everyone, and if you're only just joining us..."
Robert held his hand to his ear.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!?"

"Right let's get on. We've already met the first three gorgeous
ladies, time to meet the other three." He walked across to the
fourth gallows and held up his microphone to the mouth of the
woman standing there. She was not tall, but she clearly kept her
body in good condition, a fact exploited by the intrusive
cameras; she looked mature and wore a determined smile.

"Contestant number four, your name is..?"

"Mrs Amy Green of Pleasant Hill," replied the woman.

"That sounds a pleasant place to live," a groan from the
audience, "where is it located?"

"We are located in the southwestern confederation of states," Mrs
Green replied at once a cheer went up in a section of the
audience. As the camera scanned the studio, a small group of
people with flags stood up and waved.

"Well it looks like you are going to get some support tonight,
Amy. Your age and occupation is..?"

"I am forty-seven and a stay at home mom also." Amy smiled with
that same determined grin as she tried not to let her nervousness
show.

"I see that you have the blue handcuffs," Robert said, turning
towards the audience as he did so, and the studio erupted in
applause.

"Yes, Robert, I paid my entry fee," Amy replied and she turned
slightly to show the camera man and the audience her red
handcuffs.

"Is your family here today?"

"Yes she is, just my daughter," beamed Amy, looking into the
audience.

"Will the daughter of Mrs Green please stand for the audience?"

A teenager stood up in the middle of the second row waving at the
audience, wearing the same determined smile as her mother.

"Your daughter is a very pretty girl, Mrs Green. Tell us
something about her."

"Her name is Cari and she sixteen and a junior in high school."

"Is there a Mr. Green?"

"No, sadly my husband past away last year, Robert," Amy said
looking down at the floor, and the audience let out a collective
sigh of sympathy.

"We are sorry to hear that." He paused and then picked up the
tone. "So what do you plan with the prize money if you make
through both rounds?"

"Well, like Mrs Hill, I plan to set aside the money for Cari's
college fund."

"Very good," smiled Robert and the audience clapped, partly
because of what she said, but more because at that moment, the
hand-held camera zoomed in on the glimmering sheen of arousal
that was beginning to coat the woman's thighs.

"Well Amy," said Robert, picking up on the audience's
distraction, "I can tell that you are excited to be here, so that
leaves just one more question..."

"WHATYA DOIN' HANGIN' AROUND HERE?"

Mrs Green glanced up at the screen and blushed heavily, but she
still did not lose her determined smile. "I can't deny that going
home with the money for my daughter's college fund would be
wonderful, but that is not the only reason." She paused,
collecting her thoughts. "There is something so wonderfully
erotic about hanging from the end of a rope, about being so close
to death. Ever since she was old enough to hold a rope, Cari and
I have played hanging games, in pre-teen clubs or at home. She
and I have discussed me entering the show many times, and we know
what the consequences might be, but this is like her gift to me,
to experience that ultimate excitement."

For a moment there was silence, and then a wall of cheering and
clapping as the audience responded to Amy's words: she was just
the sort of contestant they wanted.

As the clamour died down Robert had reached the fifth contestant,
a well proportioned woman whose most immediate distinguishing
feature were her large breasts. This was already displayed in
close-up on the screens, causing a hum of whispered comments and
suppressed giggles in the audience.

"Contestant number five, your name is..?" he asked.

"Hello, Robert and Cherish Valley, I am Mrs Gillian Turner from
the Northern Plain states," the woman beamed cheerfully.

"What is your age and occupation, Mrs Turner?"

"I am forty-one years old and I work a pet shop. We cater for all
sorts of animals and anyone can bring one along."

The murmuring in the audience grew, and some of the kids in the
audience started making animal sounds. The giggling grew until
one lone voice shouted out, "Do you sell very hairy pussies?" and
the whole audience seemed to explode into laughter.

"Now, now, please let's keep a sense of decorum here," admonished
Robert eventually, and tried to get back to the interview. "So
what do you do working in pet shop?"

"Well, owners of male dogs can leave their pets off at the kennel
to be cleaned and groomed," blushed Mrs Turner. "It is not high
end work but it does pay pretty good, and some of those dogs come
with.... fringe benefits."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure. I see though that you have pink handcuffs.
Please tell the audience about that."

"Yes, there are five of us at the pet store so we pooled our
money and each month one of us is chosen for the game," Mrs
Turner continued happily, seemingly unaware that everyone was
laughing at her.

"I see, so has the game had the good fortune of hanging one of
your co-workers yet?"

"Not yet, Robert."

"So what do you and you co-workers want to do with the money you
win?"

"We want to stash away the money for our retirement."

"That seems like a good idea," Robert continued hastily. "Are
your co-workers and family are here in the audience?"

"Only my co-workers and friends are, Robert, my family...
couldn't make it," Mrs Turner replied. "They..."

"Will the friends and co-workers of Mrs Turner please stand up?"
The host interrupted, and a group of five women stood up on the
left side of the first row of seats, all of them waving to the
audience.

"And these five lovely friends of yours in the audience also work
for the pet shop?" Robert said pointing out to the audience.

"Um, yes, they do, well, three of them do, the other two women
are teachers at our middle school," Mrs. Turner stammered.

"OK, so let's get to that last question..."

"WHATYA DOIN' HANGIN' AROUND HERE?"

"Well, Robert, I can't think of much to say. I was the lucky one
to be selected and I'm just having fun and of course the money
will be nice. People ask how I would feel if my number came up,
but I know that won't happen to me. Things like that don't happen
to me."

The applause for Mrs Turner was thin, but strangely seemed to
grow as Robert approached the sixth contestant, until it became a
wall of sound.

"I think they remember you, Marti," Robert said, "but just in
case there is anyone who doesn't know, your name is..?

"My name is Mrs Marti Allen from the West Coast counties." As
soon as she spoke, she found the same excitement building in her
stomach and her loins, something that hadn't been missed by the
hand-held camera.

"And your age and occupation is?"

"I am forty-two years old and work as an attorney in the public
defender's office," Marti said, still smiling because of the
pleasure that seemed to flow through her.

"This is your third time here, right?" asked Robert, and before
she could answer, the audience broke into spontaneous applause.
"Our TV and studio audience, I am sure, will want to know what
keeps bringing you back to the game? Is it the money or the
thrill?"

"Not so much the money, although that is a nice bonus, but I
think the thrill of the game is what excites me most."

There was a flutter of laughter from the audience and Marti
instinctively glanced at the large screen: her cunt was framed in
extreme close-up, its smooth shaved flesh glistening with her
cream. She blushed, and then giggled softly.

"I think we all remember just how excited you get, Marti," Robert
chuckled. "I also see that like before, you have the blue
handcuffs."

"Yes, I believe that a woman should pay her own way for the right
to be in the game," Marti replied to yet more cheers and
applause.

"We have already met your family. Are they here tonight?"

"Yes they are here"

"Will the family of Mrs Marti Allen please stand?"

A family of three stood up on the far left side of the second row
and waved, and the audience clapped ecstatically.

"Can you quickly remind us about them?"

"My husband there is an attorney for the office of the government
communications, my daughter, Misti, is seventeen years old and a
senior in high school."

"Tell a little about what Misti does?" urged the host.

"Misti works in the school administration office for extra credit
as social media coordinator for the principle."

"Kind of like a press person then?"

Marti felt a moment of annoyance at so many questions, but she
tried not to let it show in her reply. "Exactly, she works
closely with Mrs Birch, the principle of the school, coordinating
the media message the school wants to convey."

"Very good, and your other daughter?" smiled Robert.

"My other daughter, Nicki, is fourteen years old and an ninth
grader, and she is a propaganda coordinator for the church youth
group for the west coast counties."

"I'm sure many of our viewers wonder how your family feel about
your third appearance on the show."

"They are wonderful, Robert. They know how much all of this means
to me, and they have supported me from the very beginning."

The host turned towards the audience and cupped his ear.

"WHATYA DOIN' HANGIN' AROUND HERE?

"As you know, I have been on the show twice already, but I came
back again because the money on its own didn't seem enough. I
can't explain it any better than Amy did. I just know that I want
to experience that final thrill, and that each time I come back,
I am closer to reaching it. I find that unbelievably exciting."

Marty stopped, almost breathless, and smiled sheepishly as the
audience stood and applauded her. Robert stood back without
interrupting, and it was only when a loud fanfare sounded that
the clapping stopped and people resumed their seats.

As Robert strode towards the front of the stage, the atmosphere
in the auditorium seemed suddenly to change, moving from noisy
excitement to a sort of reverence, as if something very important
was about to happen. The audience hushed and were still, and the
lights dimmed until only the small apron of the stage containing
Robert and the six contestants was lit. In the background, an
ongoing drum roll added to the tension.

Suddenly a spotlight lit an area at the side of the stage and in
it, appearing as if by magic, stood a large electronic machine
covered in colorful flashing lights and topped off by a large
glass bowl.

"As a formality to our six contestants and an explanation of the
game to our viewing audience, I will go over the rules." Robert
walked slowly to the machine, his voice was more somber now, as
if he was in church. "The lottery machine," he said, pointing at
the glass bowl, "holds six golf balls, numbered one to six. Each
ball is perfectly balanced, of the same weight and dimensions.
When I push this button on the glass bowl, air will rush in and
mix the balls together. After twenty seconds the air flow will
increase and one of the numbered golf balls will pop up to the
top, which why we call the game, `Your Number Is Up'". Robert
paused dramatically, letting the tension build, and all eyes were
on him. Even the women had shuffled round slightly on their
stools to watch him.

"Once a number has been randomly selected, the contestant with
the corresponding number will step off her stool, causing it to
retract into the floor. She can step back onto the stool if she
wants but that will just prolong things: the stool will not stop.
This is one of the hallowed, erotic moments of our show, to watch
the contestant struggling in her death throes, to see the poise
and elegance of her struggles and to share with her the orgasmic
ecstasy of her passing."

"When she has finally stopped struggling and the applause quiets
down we will then have a commercial break after which I will push
the button on the glass bowl again. Air will rush in and mix the
balls a second time and again after twenty seconds the air flow
will increase and a second golf ball will pop to the top of the
bowl. The second contestant with the corresponding number will
step off her stool and she will also hang. The four remaining
contestants will be paid for entering the game. It is the prize
money that these contestants have come to win, otherwise, why
hang yourself?" The audience laughed and clapped at hearing this
sudden relief in the building tension.

Robert looked around the stage. "Ladies," he announced, "the time
has now come, that moment you have all been waiting for. Some of
you will be looking forward to it, some of you won't." He paused.
"Please prepare yourselves."

The audience could hear the nervous shuffling of bare feet on the
stools. The cameras showed that several of the contestants were
trembling and all were breathing faster now, a light sheen of
perspiration highlighting the rise and fall of their breasts.

The drum roll returned, louder this time, and Robert announced
the names of the contestants one more time: as he called each
name, the woman's face appeared on the large screens."Our
contestants for tonight's game are: number 1, Gayla Hill; number
2, Betty Fram; number 3, Helen Baker; number 4, Amy Green; number
5 Gillian Turner; and number 6, Marti Allen.

Marti felt the strange thrill that she had felt twice before, and
her heart beating in her chest. She took a deep breath and
glanced at the other women: like her, when their names were
called, they stood straight on their stools, all that is except
Helen Baker, whose head hung low with tears streaming down her
face. Even at such a moment as this, Marti felt a twinge of anger
that she should behave so badly: this was supposed to be a family
fun show, a wholesome game of chance where you won or lost
everything with dignity.

Robert let his finger hover above the button on the glass bowl
while the drum roll intensified and the screens flashed pictures
of the women's nervous faces. After what seemed like an age, he
pressed it, the machine whirred and flash and hummed, and he
stepped back several feet. The audience waited in tense silence
as the auditorium filled with the sound of the rushing air and
the clinking sound of the golf balls hitting the side of the
glass bowl as they were mixed.

The twenty seconds seemed to last forever, Marti thought, but
then the air flow got louder, pushing the golf balls higher in
the glass bowl. Suddenly, there was a loud pop as the first golf
ball rose to the top of the bowl and shut the air flow off.

Marti and five women on stage all leaned forward slightly on
their stools, straining to see the number on the golf ball, and
the audience imitated them, leaning forward in their seats or
standing up trying to get a better look at the glass bowl.

With deliberate slowness, Robert walked up to the glass bowl and
pulled the golf ball off the top. Holding it so that nobody else
could see the number, he read it, and then looked up at the
anxious women.

"And the number is...." He looked up again, and then over at the
audience. The whole auditorium was quiet; you could hear a pin
drop.

"Two," he announced.

There was a sudden fanfare, a collective gasp from the audience
and sighs of relief from all the contestants -  except for Mrs
Betty Fram.

Marti, the other contestants, the audience and the TV cameras all
focused on Betty. She looked completely shocked, for a moment
just staring into the empty space in front of her. Tears were
already forming in the corners of her eyes, but she seemed to
somehow pull herself together and turned and smiled bravely at
the camera and the audience. Recognizing her position and the
dignity of her response, the studio applauded loudly to show
their appreciation.

"Is there anything you want to say before you step of the stool,"
Robert said solemnly, like a priest.

Betty turned shakily back to the audience and licked suddenly dry
lips. "I'd like some water please, and a minute to think," she
said, unable to hide the tremble in her voice.

"I'm sorry Mrs Fram, but that is prohibited prior to your
hanging."

Betty's breathing seemed to become more rapid and nodded her head
in acknowledgement.

It silence fell in the auditorium until only Betty's rapid
panting could be heard. Marti tried to imagine what Betty was
thinking and wondered if shortly she would be having the same
thoughts. Final thoughts.  As she watched the dark haired woman
mentally prepare herself for her hanging, she felt her sexual
arousal grow powerfully within her.

On her stool, Betty fought to gain control. She stretched her
shoulders over and over until eventually she was able to take
slow and deliberate breaths. She seemed more at ease as if she
had come to terms with her fate. She even remembered her
disappointment earlier when the attendant told her that her hands
must be behind her back: when she played out her hanging
fantasies with her daughter, her hands were always tied down low
in front, making it easy to touch herself, but that wouldn't be
possible now.

Robert stood back, watching her prepare. He had been careful to
give Betty all the time she needed: he and his sponsors knew the
audience and the TV viewers fed on the anticipation; it was what
made the ratings so good for the game, so he was prepared to let
the audience enjoy the woman's mental preparations. However, he
also had to keep to the timetable, and time was getting on.

He moved slightly into Betty's eye-line and got her attention.
His eyes held hers for a very long time and her breathing
quickened again, as she realized the moment was here.

"Let us know when you're ready Mrs Fram to step off your stool."
His voice was gentle, inviting.

She smiled and looked over at her daughter. "I will do it now."

She stepped off first with her left foot then picked up her
right. There was a slight clicking sound and the stool begun to
retract and with and with it came the sudden understanding that
this was for real. She quickly stepped back on the stool and
looked over at her friends and family and tears started in her
eyes. The stool continued its unstoppable journey until it had
fully retracted into the floor and now her unsupported weight
caused the pressure of the noose to quickly change. From a
comfortably tight caress it became a vice pressing hard around
her neck and into her throat.

It hurt a little, but not unbearably, in fact the effect was even
more sensuous than she'd expected. She could feel little parts
inside her throat begin to bend and buckle and she made a liquid
sound, between gurgling and choking. The warmth in her crotch was
rising and her feet pawed back and forth in a running motion just
barely touching the floor, as her body swung gently back and
forth.

Then Betty held her body remarkably still, her head held rigid to
one side, eyes open and responsive, only her feet pawing and her
fingers clenching. It was a classic, erotic pose that she had
practiced time and time with her daughter at hanging club, and
now she displayed it to the audience and the cameras: a naked
woman willingly hanging by her neck, hands bound behind her,
staring bravely forward as she shared the sexual tension with
family and friends and strangers. As they heard her constant soft
gagging the onlookers were reminded of the price she was paying
for this sexual tension, and many of them rose to applaud her.
Some of the men and boys stood and took their pants down and
their cocks out.

Suddenly, Betty's eleven year-old daughter Melisa stood up,
yelling, "Way to go mom, show `em how it's done!"

She managed to move her head a little and seemed to smile back,
refusing to give in to panic even though she understood the
reality: the noose would slowly become tighter and tighter until
it crushed her throat: whatever happened she could not let
Melissa down. Most of the audience were now standing, the men and
boys gripping their cocks and the women and girls rubbing
themselves with wild abandon.

Marti gazed at her in genuine awe, at her strength and
concentration. She was so thankful to have the chance to see the
dark haired woman hanging herself, and she felt hot and wet and
more aroused than she had ever felt before. She pressed her
thighs together, trying to answer the tingling she felt, and
wondered, if this was how she felt just from watching, how much
more aroused must Betty feel.

Marti sucked in a breath, and watched the woman's chest work
trying to do the same, her breasts jiggling with the effort, but
it was easy to tell from the rasps that only a little bit of air
was making it through.

"That little bit of air should be enough," she thought. "The knot
was in the right place to give her a nice long swing for the
audience and TV viewers before her throat closed."

She glanced over at the audience and saw the same lust in their
eyes as she felt: some gazed open mouthed at the hanging woman,
some were already applauding, and some, too carried away by the
eroticism, were already masturbating. She looked over at her
family and smiled: Nicki, her youngest daughter, had her hand
under her dress, and even at this distance, she could make out
the rhythmic movement of her fingers. Marti wished for a second
she was with her, touching her, tasting her, but then her
thoughts and her gaze went back to Betty. She was hopeful that
Betty must certainly reach a final throes, the most deeply felt
climax a woman could ever have, but wondered, as she had before,
watching other women hang, whether there was a moment afterwards
when she would begin to regret her decision for playing the game
of chance.

Betty's eyes were wider now and the look on her face was one of
yearning. Her lips were moving as she choked out some sounds, but
from where she was, Marti couldn't tell what she was trying to
say. Her hips were bucking a little, with a definite rhythm, and
as the rhythm grew, Betty's legs started to "bicycle" kick, a
sure sign of an impending climax. Men and boys were yelling and
cheering as they pulled their cocks.

Almost at once, things changed for Betty. Her whole body was
shaking as if it were in the throes of an almighty orgasm, until
the noose finally cut deep into her neck. No air could reach her
lungs. No sounds came from her throat. Her time for dangling on
the rope for her family and the audience was over and as if she
realized this, her legs began to kick out strongly, in a scissor
kick motion trying desperately to reach solid ground.

As she thrashed, her eyes squeezed shut then snapped open, again
and again. They were bulging now, her kicking became more
frantic, almost manic, and the tendons in her arms stood out as
she tried to free her wrists. Her expression showed the
realization had arrived and her chest heaved and heaved, but she
found no relief.

It was the moment that the audience anticipated the most, that
moment when the woman pivoted from life to death, and their
appreciation and arousal was profound: men and women moaned as
they found release, and pre-teens screamed as they came, either
by their own hands, or at the hands of their mothers or fathers.

The heat in Marti's loins grew, also as she watched the dying
woman. She knew that Betty would be feeling her chest wanting to
explode and thought that the pain in her lungs must be exquisite.
Seeing her kick back and forth that way, fighting against it, was
the most exciting of all. She wanted very badly to touch Betty,
to confirm with her fingers and her mouth that the woman had
indeed had that most exquisite of orgasms. She wanted to help her
through this, hold her as she struggled, feel Betty's muscles
finally stiffen as she willingly gave up her life for a game of
chance.

But as Betty kicked and swung at the end of the noose Marti could
only watch, squeezing her thighs together as her excitement grew
and lathered on her thighs. Eventually Betty's kicking slowed:
maybe her strength was gone, or maybe the urgent need for air had
passed and she found herself beyond pain.

Every few seconds she blinked. Her tongue protruded from her
mouth. Her head couldn't move, but her eyes seemed to turn to her
friends and family. With great effort, Betty's tongue very slowly
circled her lips, a last gesture for them which moved Marty so
much that, before she realized it, she came.

Betty's face was soon a deep purple and her eyes stood out in
vivid contrast, still blinking and shifting occasionally, still
conscious. Her only other movement was the odd jerk or spasm. The
auditorium was now completely silent for a time, the audience
rapt. It was only when Betty's eyes turned to glass that they
understood. Her body shook for a few seconds with convulsions
then hung silently, gently swinging back and forth.

For a little while there was silence, as if the swaying body had
cast some sort of spell, a single clap was all it took to release
and avalanche of clapping and cheering. Some yelled their
approval - "Good Show", "That was awesome!" - others stood and
turned towards Betty's family and thundered their support. The
family waved back, and young Melissa jumped up and down, her
pride in her mother written all over her face.

It was only when the applause began to die down that the sobbing
could be heard: on stage, Mrs Helen Baker was crying deep, body
shaking sobs. It was often the case that after the first hanging
other contestants sometimes regretted their decisions to enter,
especially those entered by their families, but everyone knew the
etiquette of the show: it was insulting and disrespectful to cry
out loud, and doing so demeaned the effort and sacrifice of the
woman who had just hung.

Along with the audience, Marti gasped at Mrs Baker's insensitive
behavior. She glanced around at the others and although Mrs Gayla
Hill looked very anxious, none of them were crying: only Helen
Baker. One or two of the crowd began to murmur their disapproval,
and others hissed and sensing trouble, Robert walked quickly to
the front of the stage.

"Thank you for your tribute to Betty Fram, Ladies and Gentlemen.
Now we will have a commercial break. We will be back with you
shortly, but in the meantime, here are a few moments that we
managed to capture on the audience cams." Almost at once, the
lights softened and the curtain was drawn across the stage.

As soon as the curtains closed, several women from the make-up
department came out on stage.

"Ladies, ladies, your attention please, we have to fix your make
up for the next round," the older woman said as several older
looking girls came out holding make up equipment followed by
several stage hands carrying step ladders. The ladders were
quickly set up next to each contestant "Ladies, these girls are
from the cosmetology beauty class. Please cooperate with them in
the applying of your make-up because we do not have much time."

All the contestants were somber: Betty's lifeless body, hanging
next to them as they waited for the girls to began applying more
make-up, was a constant reminder of the chance they took.

"Aren't they going to remove her body?" sobbed Mrs Baker as a
teen tried to repair her mascara.

"No Mrs Baker, the body stays hanging for the duration of the
game," replied the teen as she applied the mascara. "It is the
custom."

Mrs Baker cried even harder. "But it's gross!" she wailed,
looking around for support.

"It is done out of respect!" Marti said angrily, unable to
contain her feelings any longer. "Mrs Fram was willing to risk
her life for her family and we should leave her undisturbed until
the end of the show."

For a moment, Helen stared back at her and then dropped her head.

"Please, Mrs Baker, stop your crying," pleaded the make-up teen.
"You are a grown woman, and you're making your mascara streak.
Now we'll will have to work twice as hard to re-apply it."

Marti watched her and wondered what she was doing there anyway.
She still seethed at the way the woman was trying to destroy the
sanctity of the game, and it was only when the teen arrived to do
her make-up that she began to calm down. When it was complete,
she took deep breaths and tried to relax. She wondered if Trudy
would come onto the stage again, but when she looked in the
wings, she couldn't see her and felt unexpectedly disappointed.

Beyond the curtains, the audience were watching explicit clips
taken from the audience cams while Mrs Fram was hanging, cheering
occasionally when they recognized themselves or, most popular of
all, when a pre-teen was captured on 'cuntcam'. The producers had
noticed recently that rather than be embarrassed when filmed
masturbating, pre-teen girls seemed to go out of their way to
draw attention to themselves, often getting their mothers to join
in. They didn't see this as a problem: audience cams and
'cuntcam' attracted sponsors who were willing to pay whatever it
took to get their names on the screens.

As before, as the break came to an end, there was a final flurry
of activity. A voice announced, "Fifteen seconds," and Robert
walked back onto the stage, taking his place near the lottery
machine. Beyond the curtain, the show's theme music started to
play and the cheers of excitement grew louder. The producer
counted down with his fingers and then, to another great fanfare
the curtain opened slowly. As before, the contestants were met
with a wall of sound, but this time, Marti noticed something
extra, something from her experience on previous shows she was
expecting: the smell of sex. Like an invisible mist it rolled
over the stage, a heady, arousing smell of cunt and cum which
seemed to almost overpower the senses.

 "Welcome back," Robert said into the microphone with a chuckle
as he looked out into the auditorium, "and I am delighted to see
that many of you have been making yourself more comfortable!" The
audience laughed delightedly and the cameras swept across them,
revealing many in various states of undress and arousal.

"I don't know about you, but I was bowled over by Betty's
wonderful display, and now, we're now ready for round two."

The audience clapped and cheered, swept away with lust and
enthusiasm.

On the stage, the five nervous women were shining with sweat.
They'd had more time than they wanted during the commercial break
to think about what would happen next and Betty's body just ever
so gently swinging back and forth from the breeze was a constant
reminder of what could happen next.

Marti brought her thoughts to the present. Her heart pounded. She
looked across at the others and knew that Gayla and Helen were
not here for the same reason as she was. Had they all came for
the money? Or did their family need the money? Hanging yourself
was a very big risk for a game of chance, but it was also a very
big reward for their family.

She thought of herself, Amy and Gillian as risk takers. If her
own number wasn't called today, she'd like to see Amy hang:
something told her that Amy would hang with dignity, and that she
would respect the spirit of the contest. Today, she'd already
seen a willing woman hang beautifully for the audience and the TV
viewers; to see that happen to someone dreading her own
self-hanging would be very different. If she was unlucky, she
thought, perhaps she would enter again next month.

The host's voice brought Marti out of her thoughts and she
focused again.

"Okay, here we go!" Robert had moved over to the machine and now
he pushed the button to begin the next selection. He stepped away
a few feet as air rushed into the glass bowl and the five golf
balls started clinking around inside. As before, the audience
fell silent, and all of the women were quivering on stage as they
stared at the glass bowl.

After another very long twenty seconds another stronger rush of
air whooshed into the glass bowl and pushed the golf balls
higher, and then suddenly one popped to the top and the rush of
air and clinking of balls stopped.

The five women and the audience leaned forward together,
straining to see the number on the golf ball, but the glass bowl
was designed to obscure it until it was removed. With dramatic
care, Robert reached out and pulled the golf ball from its nest,
and stood studying it. After what seemed like an age, he looked
up and the drum roll began for a second time. Behind him on the
monitors, the strained anxious faces of the five women appeared
in close-up, one after the other.

"And the number is..."

Apart from the drum roll, the auditorium was completely silent.

"...SIX!"

Marti felt the word like a slap in the face and her heart leapt
into her throat. Time slowed to a crawl. Every detail and sound
suddenly became sharper. She saw Robert smiling kindly at her,
and heard the audience gasp and the other contestants sigh with
relief, and the reality struck her: they would get paid today
whereas she...

She looked at the other women on their stools, knowing now that
they would again get a close up view of a woman willingly hanging
herself. Their nooses kept them erect as they looked back at
Marti, relief written all over their faces, and four of them
smiled at her with a mixture of sympathy and respect: only Helen
Baker, smiling broadly, was oblivious to her plight.

"Is there anything you want to say?" It took Marti a moment to
register Robert's question. Like Betty before her, her breathing
was very rapid now and she tried hard to get it under control,
but it wasn't easy, knowing what was coming. Scanning the
audience slowly, making eye contact with many of them, she
thought for a minute and suddenly an idea came to her.

"Yes, I do," she said. "Now that I've been randomly chosen, I'm
not really sure I want to hang today. No woman can be really sure
until she is standing up here. I'm getting these thoughts that
tell me I want to survive and play the game another day, to have
a little more time." She paused. "But this is the most exciting
thing that's ever happened to me. And I know that if I thought
about it I wouldn't have the courage to pay my own entry fee
again, and I know the game officials would never let me change my
mind. So I'm ready to hang myself, and I hope I hang as well as
Betty Fram."

It was what the audience wanted to hear and they clapped and
cheered. She looked at her family and her daughters yelled out,
"Way to go mom, we're proud of you!"

"Thank you girls," she smiled, and then looked at Robert, "but I
have a request." The crowd quietened a little, eager to hear what
she was going to say. "When you introduced us to the viewing
audience, you gave us the chance to say why we were here, but you
never really asked what drove each of us to end up on this stage,
and how we feel now that we are here."

"The reason's why each woman plays the game is unimportant,"
replied the host. "The fact is each contestant voluntarily plays
the game, so makes no difference as to the reason."

"Then for my own curiosity, may I ask the other women if they
entered today for the money or because their secret desires got
the better of them and they wanted to experience the game?"

For as moment, Robert held his finger against his ear piece.
"Sure why not, I see no harm in that," he gestured, thinking to
himself that it would be excellent for the ratings.

Marti turned carefully to the other four women on the stage and
the audience followed her gaze, absorbed now in this unusual
development.

"Gayla, why did your family enter you for today's game?" asked
Marti.

"My family needs the money," Mrs Hill said quietly. "We saw no
other way to be able to raise this amount of money in short
amount of time. I was lucky in that the computer randomly
selected me rather quickly, and I was willing to take the risk
for my family," she replied. "I must admit, I was a little bit
curious, but that still doesn't mean I like the thought of
standing here with a noose around my neck."

Marti turned to Mrs Green. "Amy?"

"I'm like you, I think. I wanted to feel the thrill of the game,
the randomness of it all. I had heard about the sexual high that
a woman hanging herself gets and I see that is true after
watching Betty," Amy replied. "I wanted to do something daring,
something different to my hum-drum life. I had the money so I
took the chance on the game."

Marti nodded. "I agree, that is why I have entered the game
twice, just for the thrill of the randomness. Mrs Turner how
about you?"

"Well, we had a drawing at the pet store after the game last
month and I lost or won depending on how you look at it. I
willingly entered the draw knowing that I could be standing here,
but I have to admit, I was very frightened afterwards and
regretted my decision. Now that I am here, I am still frightened,
but I also understand why you and Amy find it sexually exciting
and I am going to encourage the women at the pet store to enter
the game," Mrs Turner smiled, and immediately, her five coworkers
and friends stood up and clapped loudly.

Having deliberately left her until last, Marti turned slightly to
look at Mrs Helen Baker. She had a different answer, and when she
spoke she seemed to have recovered her self-confidence and
assertiveness.

"I am here for the money, not for the sexual thrill like these
other women or yourself. If I'm honest with you I don't see how
any self-respecting woman can just... just hang herself for the
thrill of it. It seems to me weird and perverted and this whole
game is stupid." There was an audible gasp from the audience, but
Helen was too focused on what she was saying to notice. "Anyway,
I feel sorry for you Mrs Allen, of course, but I don't find any
of this in the least bit exciting and to be frank, watching you
hang won't change my mind. Now that I've won the money, all I
want to do is get out of this dreadful place as soon as
possible."

The studio was still, watching Mrs Baker in a stunned silence and
Marti felt her legal training kicking in.

"So if you despise this show so much, why did you let your family
enter you in the first place?" asked Marti.

Helen frowned. "I think I explained before," she said
contemptuously, "that my son persuaded the family to enter me."

"Yes you did, but what you didn't explain is why you didn't just
say no?"

For the first time the woman looked unsettled. "Well... my sons
persuaded my husband that I should be entered, and he paid the
fee without telling me." She was looking down at the floor now,
avoiding Marti's eyes.

"Why did your sons do that, Helen? Why should your sons get you
entered without telling you?"

"Some nonsense!" she said angrily. "They said I was a bad mother
and needed to be punished." she glared out into the audience at
her family and shouted, "Well I hope your happy now! You've put
me through this horrible, terrifying ordeal and I've got you the
money you wanted! Not such a bad mother now, am I?"

Marti waited for Helen to calm down. "Do you have any respect for
the women who play this game, Mrs Baker?" she asked quietly.

The question caught the woman before her anger had left her and
she looked over and spat bitterly, "Good God no! You're all
stupid sluts to me!"

It was only after the words had left her mouth that she sensed
the waves of silent hostility coming from the auditorium. Marti
was silent for a few moments, leaving the woman to stew. She felt
complete contempt for her, not simply because she had no respect
for the game, but more because she didn't understand the risks
that contestants took to tread that tightrope between fear and
ecstasy; instead she insulted them and belittled them. Marti knew
what she had to do: she owed it to herself and to Betty.

Looking at Robert, she said, "I have watched Mrs Helen Baker's
undignified behavior throughout the show so far, and now I have
had to listen to her insult the contestants. I think she needs
the opportunity to redeem herself, and I have a suggestion."

Every eye focused on her in the silent studio.

"I want you to turn the glass bowl on one more time and let a
golf ball pop up. If Mrs Turner, Mrs Hill, or Mrs Green's number
is picked, just set it aside and I will hang myself. But if Mrs
Baker's number is picked, have her hang first, because I want to
watch her swing and see if she can capture the same dignity and
courage as Betty Fram. Afterwards, I will hang myself as I have
promised to do." She paused and saw Mrs Baker staring at her with
wide, disbelieving eyes. "I am not suggesting this to be
vindictive, but because of the dignity and respect that the game
and its players deserve. I know the rules of the game: you can do
what I suggest because I volunteered myself to be hanged, without
reservation. Besides, the viewing audience might get to see three
women hang for the price of two."

 Whispered conversations in the audience grew louder as people
talked about the idea and were quickly replaced by growing
applause. For the first time in the show, Robert looked taken
aback as his fingers pressed his earpiece into his ear.

"Well, um, ah, let's take a short commercial break while I confer
with the judges and the rules committee for an official ruling,"
was all he could say. With that the stage lights dimmed and the
curtain came down on the stage.

The normal relaxed attitude back stage had gone and admin and
studio personnel were rushing about looking anxious. Robert was
the hunched over a microphone at the side of the stage talking
animatedly with some studio boss, and the producer was shouting
for someone to put more video tapes on the large screens.

"What the fuck are you doing, you slut?" scowled Helen. "I won,
you lost! You can't do this to me."

"The hell I can't," Marti hissed, "it's in the game rule book.
Not that you have any respect for the game, do you, bitch! You
have NO respect for the sexual thrill of the game or the people
who take part in it. You need to learn what it's really like to
take part; you need to understand all those people you've
insulted."

For a moment the two stared at each other, until Amy Green spoke.
"Mrs Allen... Marti, I agree with you, that Helen doesn't have
respect for the game, but she took her chances with the glass
bowl the same as you and I and you lost. I know she doesn't
deserve to win, but... well, she did."

"That's right, Marti, I took my chances, and I won, damn it, so
what gives you the right to do this to me," Helen added, her
voice rising.

"Fuck you, Helen Baker!" Marti shouted back at her. "Now you've
won your money, you don't give a damn about any of the women
here. I want the machine to turn on again and I want to see you
swing!"

"Keep it down," a voice called from the side, "the audience will
hear you!"

Gayla Hill joined the debate. "Look Marti," she said softly, "if
the rules committee agrees with this, it will be something that
has never happened in the game before. Damn it, the fucking
feminists might get the government to cancel the show! Just think
what that would mean!"

"I don't care what the fucking feminists or government says or
does. I am going to hang myself anyway, so to me it doesn't
matter," Marti said. "I know that seems selfish, but I can't step
off this stool without doing something to put things right!"

"But Marti," pleaded Mrs Turner, "you can't change the rules in
the middle of the game. You can't have three draws when only two
are called for."

"I am not changing the rules in the middle of the game, I am
using the rules to my advantage, and that advantage is to see
that bitch swing." She fixed her eyes on Mrs Baker. "Isn't that
the reason why your family paid your entry fee, Helen?" yelled
Marti, wishing that somehow her question would get through the
curtains and the noise so that the Baker family could hear it.

"No," Helen replied weakly.

"Your family wants to see you swing don't they, Helen?" prodded
Marti, acting the lawyer again. "You didn't do something they
wanted, right?"

The other three women looked at Helen and she seemed to squirm on
her stool.

"No... yes... but that is beside the point." She glared at Marti.
"You bitch! I still won far and square!"

Marti smiled. "Tough shit, Helen, I think the rules committee
will see it my way, and besides, you only have a one in four
chance of swinging before me."

"Bitch! I hate you!" yelled Helen.

At just that moment, the fanfare was played, the lights came up
and the curtains opened, allowing the audience to hear Helen's
words, and catching Robert walking quickly up to the table with
the glass bowl.

The auditorium seemed restless, many people still talking and
others clapping uncertainly, and they only hushed when Robert
picked up the microphone and turned towards them. He stared at
them for a moment, and when he spoke, it was with authority.

 "It is the ruling of the rules committee with concurrence of the
judges that we can have a third random draw,  and that there is
nothing in the rule book for the game that prevents a blue
handcuff woman from asking for a third draw. There is concern
that drawing a third ball with the possibility of Mrs Baker's
number being picked after she had won her prize money, that it
would make other women reluctant to enter the game in the future.
So, the committee has decided that the rules will be changed to
prevent a situation such as this from happening again. The change
will be effective for next month's game, but for the purposes of
tonight's game, if Mrs Helen Baker's number is picked she will be
hanged today and the prize money given to her family."

There was scattered applause throughout the auditorium at the
decision and a buzz of discussion.

Marti quickly asked, "If her number is picked, will she hang
before me?"

Robert looked over his shoulder to an area just off the stage and
then pressed his finger against his earpiece; he nodded his head
and turned around. "Yes, if Mrs Baker's number is picked, she
will be hanged before you."

"Fuck this! You are talking about me as if I am not here!" yelled
Helen. "I won fair and square, and this bitch is jealous that she
lost and I won!"

The buzz of chatter deepened, and one or two hisses drifted from
the auditorium. Marti just smiled at Helen, not saying a word.

"Okay, we'll resume now," Robert announced and he quickly pushed
the button again on the glass bowl.

"But you can't do this!" Helen screamed, inviting more hisses.

"I am afraid it is too late, Mrs Baker. The machine has already
started."

The sound of air rushed into the bowl and the four golf balls
clinked against the glass. Marti watched impatiently during the
twenty second time delay while Helen stared in horror. Suddenly,
there came the second sound of air and the golf balls were pushed
higher and then everybody heard the distinctive pop as the golf
ball popped up to the top.

Once more, everybody on stage and in the auditorium leaned
forward, straining to see the number on the ball.

Robert picked the ball out off the top, wrapped his hand around
it and walked up on stage over to Marti. He opened the palm of
his hand and showed the ball first to Marti, who just nodded.
Then Robert turned around and faced the audience and the TV
cameras.

"The golf ball that was randomly selected was number..." Again he
stretched out the suspense.

"...THREE."

Helen screamed, teetering on the stool as her body reacted to the
shock. "You.. can't.. do.. this!" she shouted, a sob of terror in
her voice. "I won the money!"

Robert turned to her. "Yes you won the money and it will still be
there for your family at the end of the show." He sounded cold,
commanding. "I would advise you to keep control of your emotions,
Mrs Baker, or you will lose your balance on the stool before you
are ready."

Helen shook and sobbed, looking down at her feet to steady
herself as tears coursed down her cheeks.

Robert spoke again, this time more gently, "You may choose the
moment, Mrs Baker."

Helen turned to Robert, then to Marti, then the audience and the
TV cameras, and then spoke through her sobs. "Don't do this to
me. Please don't. I won't step off my stool, you can't make me. I
won fair and square." She looked down at her family. "Please
kids, say something," she pleaded. "Please Bennie, get them to
stop?"

Her husband and her boys just looked on, not saying anything.

She stood still, trembling, sobbing; suddenly a lonely figure.

"Anytime, Mrs Baker," urged Robert, aware that the show was
over-running.

"I can't... I...I just can't make myself do this terrible thing.
I won damn it, I won!" she sobbed, the strength gone from her
voice.

Somewhere in the audience, a woman moaned in pleasure: this was a
rare treat, to see a woman so dejected, so frightened as she
faced her death.

Robert moved his right index finger to the side of his nose and
gently rubbed it, a signal to Trudy to do her job. The girl
walked out, coming up behind Mrs Baker setting the step ladder
down next to her. The girl stood on top rung of the ladder and
massaged Helen's right arm while whispering sympathy to her. As
she did so, she looked at Marti and smiled.

Helen continued to sob as she stared at the floor, but more
softly as the massage calmed her down a little. Trudy brought her
right hand up and gently massaged Helen's right tit and nipple.

"This isn't fair," she sobbed to the youngster.
"Shhh, Mrs Baker," soothed the eleven year-old, "everything will
be all right."

The audience was mesmerized watching the girl calm Mrs Baker.

"This shouldn't be happening to me," Helen replied as tears
streamed down her face. She looked up at Trudy.

Trudy smiled sweetly at her. "I know and I agree with you," the
youngster replied as continued to lightly massage Helen's right
nipple.

It took less than a minute but Mrs Baker finally relaxed her body
in response to the little massages of her right arm and right
nipple. The youngster was waiting just for that moment when Helen
relaxed her body. She looked over at Marti and smiled again then
looked Mrs Baker in the eyes as the Helen looked back at her,
trust in the woman's eyes. Trudy gently pushed Mrs Baker just
enough to shift her weight.

As the stool clicked into action Trudy was down the step ladder
and walking to the side of the stage with it. It happened so fast
that neither Robert, the audience or camera teams realized the
youngster had started Mrs Baker's death dance.

Realizing suddenly what had happened, Helen screamed and then
cried out, "Oh, god, please don't let this happen! Please,
please, I won far and square!" as her feet came back onto the
retracting stool.

The cameras zoomed in on her face and her trembling body, finding
and tracing the rivulets of sweat that ran down between her
breasts and over her stomach. Other cameras were more intrusive,
focusing tight up on her cunt and ass, answering the bloodlust
that now seized the audience as they watched her struggling and
in distress: many were masturbating now; a man stood and showered
his spunk over the hair of the woman in front of him; a pre-teen
locked her thighs around her mother's head, grinding her mouth
against her baby smooth cunt.

As the stool came even with the floor the same gurgling noise
heard earlier from Mrs Fram came from Helen's throat, but terror
made her panic. Instead of a slow, delicate dance, Helen fought
and kicked from the start. Her wrists tore at the red handcuffs
and seemed to melt as her blood ran. She choked repeatedly as the
rope gripped and tightened around her struggling throat.

After a minute of swinging wildly, she found by staying still she
could breathe in a little air. She tried to calm herself, to give
herself more time, but as she sensed the heat growing in her
chest, the urge to kick, to try to touch the ground again, was
too strong.

She alternated frenzied pumping up and down of her legs with
wheezing gasps but her struggle did nothing but cause the noose
to pull tighter around her neck. She realized that she was caught
in a horrible cycle: the more she panicked and kicked, the more
the rope pressed harder against her throat, which caused more
panic to build up. She tried but couldn't make herself stay still
long enough as she pumped her legs in a running motion and soon
only the tiniest trickle of breath would come, then none at all.

After many more kicks, strangely, she began to relax, her legs
mostly straight and twitching, her toes barely touching the
floor. Her pelvis jerked occasionally and then the sound of water
was heard dropping on the floor of the stage as Helen let go of
her bladder. Unable to control it, or perhaps beyond caring, her
piss flowed down her legs and pooled on the floor below her, and
the cameras caught every moment of it.

It was one of those strange moments that characterized The Game:
the purists considered any sort of defecation while hanging to
represent a failure by the contestant to exercise proper control,
and as a result to destroy the dignity and beauty of their final
moments; many of those watching, however, whether at home or in
the studio, secretly longed to see such moments of personal
weakness and humiliation and that was evidenced now by their
behavior in the studio. People were openly masturbating now,
people of all generations and sexes, and some, unable to contain
their lust, had begun to fuck with complete abandon in front of
the ever-present cameras.

Helen seemed aware of the audience watching her as she dribbled
pee onto the stage floor, probably more so since her struggling
stopped. Her face became redder and redder and she began to
drool, her tongue stuck out of the left side of her mouth. Even
so, many in the television audience posted comments on the
interactive studio screens that her face looked strangely
beautiful.

Her eyes bulged, but she blinked several times and remained
conscious. She focused her gaze on the audience with her head
forced by the knot to one side, and eerily, her lips tried to
form words. She seemed now have accepted the noose, and as she
watched, Marti was surprise at the amount of time it took before
the light in her eyes went out. The picture of quiet grace she
made towards the end was interrupted by her final throes. Then
she hung silent and limp.

Marti felt a little envious because Helen had experienced the
thrill of the noose before she did, but watching her final
moments, she knew that she had, at the last, gained understanding
and she felt what she had done was right.

Marti was so turned on by watching Helen hang that it took a
moment for her breathing to return to normal, and it was only
then that she realized that the studio had quietened and the
audience were looking expectantly at her. She noticed that they
were in various states of undress and knew that they no longer
cared: they were feral now, a tribe in heat waiting for her to
bring them to their final climax.

She glanced at Amy and Helen's bodies hanging nearby. Betty had
willingly strangled to death on this stage, she thought to
herself, but Helen had to be helped with her hanging, by a
low-paid attendant no less. Helen was a coward. "I am not going
to be a coward!" an inner voice said.

She was more nervous now than at any time today and trembling so
hard that she felt her tits bouncing on her chest.

"This is it," her inner voice told her, "the noose grabbing my
neck with terrible tightness, the tingling between my legs, only
able to breathe in shallow air at the beginning, pawing my feet
just a little to find the ground. Then the slow choking, exciting
at first. The audience will be excited with me, seeing my hips
move, sharing my last throes, watching the rising sense of fear,
the desperate fight for air, my wildly kicking legs. And finally,
the searing in my lungs, as they breathe in the breath I will
never get."


"Fuck!" she thought. "I feel so wet, so aroused! I need to cum!"
She looked to the side of the stage and there was the eleven
year-old looking back at her, her hand already moving under her
plaid skirt. She wanted to call her over, to use her mouth for
one last orgasm before she hanged, but she knew it was out of the
question.

Feigning composure, she looked at her family and smiled and her
youngest daughter waved back enthusiastically: she was another
reason she had to do this right. She looked at the remaining
three women still standing naked on their stools. These women
would go home tonight, cook dinner for their families and watch
TV, like any other night. She felt suddenly envious of them,
envious of them being alive to continue their ordinary lives.
Steeling herself, she pursed her lips and blew each of them a
kiss and they returned her kiss in kind.

An easy gesture for them, she thought, but smiled.

She moved a bit on the stool, appreciating the sensation of cold
metal under her feet. She wished she could run her hands over her
body, feel the softness of her flesh, the wetness of her need.
Trapped behind her back, her hands gathered into fists. She
squared herself to the audience, smiled at them as best she
could, and found her kids and husband and smiled at them again.
Her nipples were little stones; she had the tingling sensation in
her stomach and her sex was saturated; she'd never imagined such
terror, or such exhilaration.

It ran through her mind one more time, as if she was an observer:
she, Mrs Marti Allen, would feel the grip of the noose, suspended
by her neck. Floating just barely above the stage floor. Legs
reaching out. Her windpipe slowly closing. Her final throes would
come explosively as the audience watched her struggle and strain
for just a few more minutes of life. Tearing at her wrists.
Trying to escape the crescent of rope cutting into her throat.
The audience would be giddy with the prospect of seeing her
swing. And she, Mrs Marti Allen, would know she was swinging."

Marti drew some precious air, held it, exhaled. She looked out at
the audience, understanding how much they wanted this from her,
and knowing how much part of her wanted to give it.

"I am ready" Marti said, and stepped off the stool. There was a
loud click as the stool started retracting and Marti stepped back
on the stool, looking at her family. From around the auditorium
there were gasps and murmurs of approval.

As the stool became even with the floor, the rope's grip on
Marti's neck was less fierce than she expected: certainly
uncomfortable, but fascinating in its own way, like a loving hand
grasping her tightly. She felt the noose clearly, across her
throat at an angle, pressing under the sides of her jaw, hard
against the muscles at the back of her neck. Where the noose
gathered at the knot, behind her left ear, there was close to a
void, and, as if by fate, it bent her head to her right so that
she could see her family.

She was surprised to find it was still easy to breathe. It took
more effort than normal, but air was flowing slowly in and out of
her lungs. The rasping sounds she'd heard from the other women
made vibrations which she felt in her throat.

Marti glanced at her toes. Funny to see the tips of her toes
barely touching the stage. It felt like a dream: the weight of
her body pulled at the noose, so she wasn't floating, but as she
looked down it seemed almost as if she was. She was choking a
little, yet she loved the warmth growing in her belly. She
understood how Betty had seemed so calm as she hung from the
rope.

Tiny pinpricks of pleasure were invading her loins and her clit
became engorged with blood, beating to the rapid rhythm of her
heart. The pinpricks let her almost ignore the discomfort in her
neck and she felt a strange urge to explain to the audience how
wonderful she felt. She scanned them slowly again and found her
husband, sitting next to their daughter, Nicki, holding her hand.
Her daughter seemed transfixed at her mother swinging on stage as
if in a trance. Her husband, though, was smiling and looked
eager. Eager, it occurred to Marti, to see her swing. As her eyes
locked on his, she trembled at his desire to see her dangle at
the end of the noose. She sensed the waves roll over her, welcome
and so warm.

In the middle of her throes another thought struck. With her body
jerking ever so slightly and as lovely as it felt, this might be
the last pleasure she would ever have. She tried to relax and
savor it but it was so hard without the physical dimension of a
finger or hand or a mouth or a cock. She squinted round at Trudy:
the girl had not moved from the side of the stage and was
masturbating openly now, her skirt around her ankles; she was
staring at her, and tears ran down her cheeks, as if she
understood.

Her focus was in her mind not on her body, until she took a
breath, or at least tried: the noose had tightened while she was
distracted and she could only force a little whistle of air from
her lungs. She had to struggle to choke some back in. The rope
was hurting her throat, the pain was real. She looked at her
husband again.

He was still smiling.

With no consciously willed direction, Marti's body began to
thrash. Unable to breathe at all, her emotions burst. She
couldn't concentrate her vision. Her eyes opened and closed,
darted back and forth. She hated herself for doing this. How
could she have been so stupid? How could she have thought hanging
herself was so romantic?

Someone had to get her down from the rope! They had to! She
wanted to go on living. Oh please, she'd never do anything so
crazy again! Her chest ached and there was so much pressure and
pounding in her head.

Marti's struggling was the most frantic the audience had seen
today. Her panic was the most touching they witnessed and drove
their response to an intensity that the show had rarely
witnessed. Any sense of reserve had left them now as they
abandoned themselves to lust, and they didn't want it to stop,
but for her hanging to go on. And at their centre, Marti's
daughters reveled in the idea that their mother was swinging from
a noose for their entertainment: each kick, each lunge, gave the
girls another thrill of satisfaction as their fingers took them
from one orgasm to the next.

Like the two women before her, Marti's scrambling finally came to
a stop. Her body no longer commanded her to move. The pain was
gone from her chest, the need for air only a memory. All feeling
was centered in the crush of her throat. She could still think,
more clearly than she wanted.

She could see the audience before her and sensed how excited they
were. She thought about Betty and how she had seemed so ready,
almost grateful as she slowly hanged herself, but also she was
thankful that she didn't pee herself like Helen. She wanted this
to be perfect, but now there was so little time.

She looked down at her husband and her daughters and tried to
smile; in response they smiled back and Nicki jumped up a down
with excitement. A moment of clarity entered Marti's mind and she
thought of how many times she and Nicki fantasized about just
this moment as they had brought each other to orgasm and she
suddenly wanted that now. She couldn't breathe and her head was
beginning to swim but she could move. She started one last
uncontrolled pumping up and down of her legs, and as her
consciousness left her, she felt her engorged clit rubbed and
squashed by the frantic movement of her thighs.

******

When Marti had stopped kicking, her husband watched her eyes
widen as her face became impossibly dark. From his vantage point
his wife looked so happy: indeed, when she was kicking she seemed
to tremble in just the same way as she did when they fucked, and
seeing that gave him wonderful shivers. He laughed to himself:
this was even better than sex, and when Marti's eyes blinked
their last time he was almost sorry it was over. Next to him, his
youngest daughter moaned as her orgasm sent jolts of pleasure
through her body, and her fingers seemed to clutch desperately at
her smooth little cunt. He felt his cock throb with approval and
smiled: he had never really thought of fucking his daughters,
except in wanking fantasies, but now there would be a gap in his
life which they could fill.

It took almost a minute for the audience to respond to Marti's
final moments, but when they did so, it was a cacophony of
clapping and cheering which seemed to go on forever. Robert
stepped out on stage and took a bow, and then beckoned for
Marti's family to stand and receive their ovation as well. Amidst
the hubbub, Trudywalked out on stage with her step ladder and
removed the nooses from the remaining three women. Robert walked
over to the three women as they were stepping down from their
stools Trudy quickly removed the handcuffs from their wrists.
They were joined by family of Helen Baker and he handed each of
them a check, thanking them for their part in the show, but his
words were drowned out by the continuing applause.

Robert moved to the front of the stage and shouted into his
microphone, "Thank you for watching another thrilling edition of
"Your number is up". Please tune in next month in which six new
contestants will try and beat the noose." He stepped back to join
the others and as the shows final credits began, they stood in
the centre of the stage, waving at the audience. Behind them, the
bodies of Betty Fram, Helen Baker and Marti Webb swung gently
from side to side as the curtain began to close in front of them.

****

Trudy was surprised how quickly everything happened once the
curtains closed and the credits ended. The audience began to head
for the exits almost at once, and on the stage, the surviving
contestants were ushered off and out as quickly as possible.
Robert also left quickly, although on this particular night, he
delayed his departure to be congratulated by the producer:
tonight's show had overrun by ten minutes but already polls were
suggesting that it had the highest audience ratings ever. As they
spoke, Trudy and another assistant winched down the bodies of
Betty Fram and Helen Baker, taking them in turn to the studio
morgue where they would be claimed by their families. As they
returned, Trudy told the assistant that she could leave early,
that she would take care of the last body herself, and so she
found herself alone on the stage with the body of Marti Allen.

She didn't winch down the rope immediately, but stood in front of
her and let her eyes wander over dead woman. She smiled at her,
and spoke, as if she was alive. "I love you," she said softly,
tears in her eyes, "since the first time you were here and I saw
you on the web. You were wonderful tonight, but I never got to
make you cum. I wanted us to make love."

She reached forward tentatively and touched the rounded flesh of
Marti's breast and found that it still retained warmth. Tears
flowed now as she stepped forward and enfolded the body in her
arms, holding her tightly against her own. She moved her head
forward and kissed the dead lips lightly, and then more
passionately, trying unsuccessfully to push her tongue inside the
closed mouth.

Crying softly, she stepped back and lowered Marti's body to the
floor, lying it on its back and gently arranging it as if to try
to make it comfortable. She began to kiss it, starting at the
broken neck and then down over the nipples and flat stomach, to
the sex. She carefully opened Marti's legs and leant forward,
kissing softly over the mound and onto the cunt. The juices on
Marti's labia were cold and congealing, but as the youngster
plunged her tongue inside she felt warmth and taste and
fragrance.

Eventually she pulled back and stood up, removing her plaid skirt
she knelt down again, her legs open. She took Marti's hand,
cooling now, and placed it between her thighs, manipulating the
fingers over her clit like a puppeteer and then guiding them into
her saturated cunt.

"Fuck me!" she said, and moved the dead fingers like those of a
lover until she came. Gently, she withdrew the hand and placed it
back on the floor, and then, like she had before, she wiped her
wet fingers on Marti's cold lips.

She stood slowly and dressed, and then walked over to fetch the
trolley. As she reached the side of the stage, a piece of paper
floated down from above and landed at her feet. Curious, she bent
and picked it up: it was a mug shot of Marti, the one she used on
her application. The young girl looked at it for a moment, and
then back over her shoulder at Marti, and smiled.