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Message-ID: <33104asstr$1004145004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
Keywords: hanging, strangulation, breath control, snuff, death
From: anon3a9c@nyx10.nyx.net (Damien)
Cache-Post-Path: irys.nyx.net!anon3a9c@nyx10.nyx.net
NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 26 Oct 2001 08:37:21 MDT
Subject: {ASSM} ASA Story: A Winter Vacation (M solo, hanging, NC, snuff) (REPOST)
Date: Fri, 26 Oct 2001 21:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

This story was written by Matthew (and later Tanya).  I (Damien) am posting it
by permission of the author.

Listen up!  Yes, I mean you!

There's a few things you gotta read before you go on to the story. 

First, there's sexually explicit stuff here.  If you're not old enough to
vote, go on to the next message.  Better yet, unsubscribe to this
discussion group.  Gwan, kid, shoo! And that goes double if sexually
explicit stories are illegal where you are!

Second, this story includes a description of somebody getting killed for
sexual pleasure - maybe the killer's pleasure, maybe the victim's.  Either
way, this isn't milk and cookies.  If you don't want to read about such
things, go away and read another message.

Third, this is a work of <u>fiction</u>!  No actual people or animals were
harmed in the writing of this story.

Fourth, don't try this stuff at home.  You could end up dead!  Over 200
people a year die playing with asphyxia in the USA.  That's not counting
the rest of the world.

Remember, I didn't *make* you read this story.  If you think it's badly
written, that's one thing.  But if you don't like stories about people
getting strangled to death while having sex, don't blame anybody but
yourself.

Here's some blank space to give you a chance to skip to the next message.
After that, you're on your own.
























Summary: This story contains descriptions of a man being murdered by
hanging and a woman masturbating while she watches them.  Non-consensual.

			    A WINTER VACATION
				by Matthew
		     with addenda by Tanya and Damien

It's a sunny January morning on a small island in the Caribbean.
Without warning, massive rioting has broken out in the capitol,
and murderous mobs are  roaming the streets, completely out of
control. Matt and Damien are fleeing for their lives, trying to get
out of the city in a tiny Fiat that they took a short while ago
from the hotel they were staying in. They don't know one another,
having met only the day before when they arrived at the hotel for
a cut-rate package holiday.

Matt is at the wheel, driving as fast as he can up and down the
narrow streets. They're hopelessly lost. Suddenly the street in
front of them is blocked by a mob, which immediately starts
running towards them. Matt swerves into an even narrower side
street, only to run head-on into a barricade. They're trapped!
Both men jump out of the car and desperately try to climb over
the pile of rubble as the mob surges into the street behind them.
Damien manages to get to over the barricade and starts running down
the street on the other side. Behind him he can hear Matt
screaming over the noise of the wildly cheering mob. "No! No!
Please!" Matt pleads, his voice shrill with terror, "I don't want
to die!" Damien doesn't look back as he runs full tilt down the
street. He gets almost half a block before he runs straight into
another mob.

Laughing and jeering, the mob surrounds Damien, grabbing his arms
and legs and pulling at his clothes. Within moments he's been
stripped naked. While some of the crowd fights for possession of
his clothes, others tie his hands behind his back and start
dragging him away.

Damien can see nothing through the press of the crowd and has no
idea where he's going as he's pushed and dragged through the
streets. The din is deafening as the crowd shouts, chants, and
sings in their incomprehensible French patois. After what seems
an eternity, the crowd suddenly parts in front of him, and Damien
finds himself staring in horror at a man's body hanging by the
neck from the spar of a telegraph pole.

It's Matt, of course. Clad only in red bikini underwear, his body
twists slowly back and forth, hands bound behind, bare feet
dangling a full six feet above the dusty ground. The face is
contorted in the agony of death by slow strangulation: the tongue
hangs out of the gaping mouth, and the wide-open eyes bulge from
their sockets. The skimpy briefs do nothing to conceal the erect
cock that strains against the thin clinging nylon.

There are a number of women gathered around the pole, pointing up
at Matt's body and laughing. When they spot Damien being dragged
forward, they clap their hands and start to cheer. "Make him
dance! Make him dance!" they chant, jumping up and down in their
excitement.

Another rope is thrown over the spar. Damien struggles desperately,
begging for his life. "Oh, please, no!" he pleads, almost
sobbing, "Please don't! Please!" He screams in terror as the
noose is pulled over his head. He's still screaming when the rope
bites into his neck, silencing him forever.

The crowd cheers as Damien is hoisted into the air. And there he
hangs, swinging back and forth at the end of the rope, his feet
waving around, trying to reach the ground below. As he struggles
the rope grows tighter and tighter around his neck, forcing his
tongue from his mouth. His wide-open eyes bulge in agony. He
starts to kick, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Soon his
cock begins to swell, throbbing visibly as it grows longer and
thicker, its bulbous head rising higher and higher. He starts to
dance, his legs jerking spastically up and down, feet fluttering
like a ballerina's. The wide, bulging eyes are now fixed in a
death stare. The hips begin to pump, thrusting rhythmically in
grotesque parody of the motions of sex.

Below, the women laugh and clap, pointing up at Damien's swollen
cock. "Such a good dancer!" they jeer, "And such a fine man!"
Finally, the legs stop kicking, and the body stiffens,
shuddering. The hips thrust forward a final time, the jerking
cock spurting copiously in a death orgasm, splattering the
cheering women below.

A few days later photographs appear in newspapers around the
world. They show two male corpses hanging side by side, staring
bug-eyed in death. One is clad only in tiny bikini briefs; the
other is stark naked, its rock-hard cock pointing up at the sky.

				 EPILOG
				by Tanya

I'm one of the women in the crowd, laughing as
Damien struggles with the men who are about to hang him, pointing as
his terror-shrunken cock flops about while he begs futily for his life
until the noose cuts off his screams.

As they start to hoist him off the ground his face is comically
contorted while he silently screams for his life and several of us, me
included, begin to discretely rub our wet, tingling pussies through
our skirts.

Higher and higher they hoist his struggling body, so that even those
at the very back of the crowd can have a good view of his death.

I'm rubbing myself shamelessly now as his kicking legs and convulsing
body pull the noose tighter around his neck, making his eyes bulge as
his mouth continues silently trying to draw breath, his chest heaving
in a futile attempt to fill his lungs.

Now his cock starts to grow as the life ebbs from him, his whole body
trembling as we watch and rub ourselves. Many of the crowd are
laughing and jeering as his cock throbs at full erection and I feel my
climax explode as his hips thrust his jerking cock forward to rain his
last juice down on those of us in the front.

The men's' final humiliation came after most of the mob had left and
there was only a small crowd of women and some children, boys and
girls staring up at at the rampant corpses, pointing and giggling at
the sight of their perpetual erections.

Among us came a woman carrying an expensive looking camera. Her face
was flushed with excitement, her pupils widely dilated as she pointed
her camera to capture the hanging corpses from many different angles
and vantage points.

Laughingly, she explained that she had photographed both hangings from
her hotel window and would be selling those photo sets to collectors,
while the pictures she was taking now would be seen around the world.
We laughed with her as she twisted the zoom lens and Damien's cock
head swelled to fill the entire frame, a last trickle of cum dribbling down
the shaft.


				Addendum
			       by Damien

Ah, such cruel women!

They see us struggling for air, strangling in our nooses, our cocks
swelling in a last erection.

Do they think to help us? Does even <u>one</u> think to climb a ladder and
distract us from our final agony with her mouth or even her hand?

No, they
just stand there, watching, jeering, and rubbing themselves.

And, as a final humiliation,
one of them takes pictures of us, to sell without even paying a royalty
to our estates.


 ===========================================================

Did you like this story?  You can find more at
	http://www.nyx.net/~anon3a9c/fair/entry.ssi
-- 
A. P. Damien
Replies directly to this address will NOT be anonymized.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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