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From: "A. P. Damien" <APDamien@mediaone.net>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 30 Nov 2001 09:22:10 PST
Subject: {ASSM} ASA Story: Vietnam 1968 (M/F, snuff, hanging) (REPOST)
Date: Fri, 30 Nov 2001 19:10:05 -0500
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Organization: Just hanging around
Keywords: hanging, strangulation, breath control, rape, snuff, death,
Vietnam

This story was written by Jack Milton.  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 includes descriptions of a man being murdered, a
woman
being choked during sex, then raped, then murdered by hanging.  Lethal,
non-consensual.

                                 VIETNAM 1968
                                by Jack Milton

None of us ever talked about it after the war, but I think it should be
written down while I still remember so vividly the details of what
happened
on July 11, 1968 in a small village close to the Cambodian border in
Vietnam.  That was the night that my squad captured a viet cong agent
responsible for a number of terrorist attacks, including the blowing up
a
Siagon club filled with Americans.

We were sent out into the field with orders to find a viet cong agent
who
specialized in delivering bombs.  Our orders said we were to capture and
deliver this person to an ARVN officer, colonel Ng, for execution.  The
ARVN
had been trying to eliminate this enemy agent for a long time and they
had
claimed authority for the execution.   Army Intelligence has always been
an
oxymoron, but they had done their work thoroughly in this case.  I was
surprised when we were shown photographs of the agent, a slender, 28
year-old vietnamese woman with long hair and a small scar over her left
eyebrow.  They even told us where we would be most likely to find her.

It took a week to finally snare her, but we surrounded her in a hut
where
she was busy having intense sex with one of her male counterparts. The
man
was lying on top of her, pumping her cunt as hard as he could.  And he
had a
belt pulled tightly around her neck while he fucked her.  We could hear
her
hoarse breath coming out through her wide open mouth, her head thrown
back
as far as it would go.  The two of them were obviously into it.  The
poor
bastard was close to cumming when sergeant Burkette burst into the hut,
followed by Whitmire and Donato, who were both PFC's, and myself.  We
caught
them totally by surprise.  He pulled out of her in a fright as we made
them
stand with hands on their heads.

The woman wasn't bad looking--if any woman living in filth could be said
to
look good.  But she had nice tits, small and firm, and she had a flat
stomach and she had shaved her pubic hair to a small patch over her
mound.
She stood there, hands on her head, the belt still wrapped around her
neck.
This was the right woman though, no question about it.  The face, the
scar,
it was her.  She cursed angrily at us.  I never learned more than a few
words of Vietnamese, so I only recognized the swearing.  The Sergeant
shoved
his gun into her face and said "Shut the fuck up!"  She fell silent.

Her sex partner stood equally silently beside her.  He still had an
erection and it was still throbbing.  Suddenly he made a dash for the
bed,
coming up with a pistol--a US army service revolver.  The sergeant shot
him
immediately.  I half expected him to do the same to the woman, and so
did
she.  But he did not.

Instead, he looked at us and said "Let's get her out of here.  Tie her
hands behind her back, we're taking her to colonel Ng."

"Where is he?" I said.  I had only been briefed on what I needed to
know,
where to find the woman.

"At the temple," Burkette replied.

We all knew where that was.  About two kliks east of our position was a
village that was now dead.   We'd circled cautiously around it on our
way to
capture the woman, less than an hour earlier.  In the village was a
small
temple.  It was a stone building, tall for such a small village, with a
wood
shingled roof.

"Why the temple?" Whitmire said.  We all wondered the same thing.

"'Cause those are our orders" Burkette told us.  He slipped her loose
robe
over her naked shoulders, leaving her bound hands still behind her, but
hidden from view.

The sergeant hustled us out of the hut and directly into the forest.  He
grabbed the belt round her neck so she couldn't run and he led her, like
a
dog on a leash, the entire two kliks.  We kept our guns trained on her. 
She
said nothing.  She spoke no english, and seemed not to understand us. 
It
didn't matter.  She was our prisoner and she understood that well
enough.

A squad of ARVN soldiers stood guard around the temple.  They motioned
us
inside with our prisoner.

Colonel Ng was waiting for us.  My first impression was that he was
dangerous.  A small but powerful man, he had the look of authority that
indicated he was in total command here.  Whatever he said was law.  We
were
the Americans, the serious military force, but this was his country and
we
were visitors here in this remote jungle village.

"You have done good work bringing her here.  As a reward you may stay
here 
and watch the traitor die," he said.  He said it as though he was
granting
us a great honor.  The woman made no sign that she understood.  I
realized
that she spoke no English.

"What are you gonna do?" Donato said.

"I am going to hang her," colonel Ng said flatly.

"What?"  Donato couldn't believe what he was hearing.  He wasn't the
only
one.  I had an immediate urge to get the hell out of there.

"You are not invited to participate," colonel Ng said.  "You are only
invited to watch.  However, you can wait outside if you wish."   Clearly
he
wanted us to stay despite the offer to leave.  The man wanted an
audience.
I believe he really liked executions.

I almost accepted the offer to leave, even if it meant displeasing
colonel
Ng, but I didn't.  The truth is that I knew the woman was under a death
sentence.  There was nothing I could have, or would have, done about
it.  I
just wanted to get home in one piece.  Also, I have to admit that the
prospect of watching her get hanged had a certain macabre appeal.  I had
seen people die a lot in vietnam, and I hate to say that my initial
shock
over seeing death was greatly dulled.  It's a casualty of war, you lose
that
ability to feel shock over seeing the death of another person,
especially a 
stranger.

Sergeant Burkette pulled us aside and said "Consider it a war
experience,
boys,  The colonel is going to hang her regardless of what we do.  And
remember, he hasn't invited his own men to watch, just us."

I didn't see what difference that made, but there was no further
discussion
about it.  I guess we were all pretty high on adrenaline after breaking
in
on the prisoner while she was getting laid.  Seeing her lying there
naked,
being choked with a belt, pumping like mad, and then seeing her partner
get
shot, it really got us spiked up.  I just hoped the execution would
would be
quick so we could get the hell out of there.

Burkette formally handed the prisoner over to colonel Ng, saying "She's
all
yours, sir."

The colonel removed her robe, revealing her nakedness once again, and
led
her to a bucket sitting in one corner.  He spoke to her in Vietnamese
and
she started swearing back at him.  The colonel yanked the belt around
her
neck tight and pressed his face up close to hers.  Again he spoke to
her.  I
didn't know what he was saying.  He grabbed her shoulder and roughly
forced
her down into an uncomfortable squat over the bucket.  He screamed
orders at
her, and to my surprise she began to shit in the bucket.

I was completely confused, until Burkette whispered in my ear that
people
empty their bowels when they are hanged.  I guess colonel Ng didn't want
to
make a mess in the Temple, even if it was alright to perform an
execution
there.  It was as logical as anything else in vietnam.

When she was done, he offered her a piece of newspaper to wipe her ass
with.  It was the one thing she could do with her hands tied behind her
back.  At last, the colonel allowed her to stand up.  He shouted another
order, which brought one of his guards inside.  Colonel Ng handed the
bucket
of shit to the soldier, who accepted it and left.

"I hate the smell of shit," he said to us, smiling.   Colonel Ng was a
strange case, a man who was alternately savage and cordial.

Then, suddenly savage again, he hauled the woman by the leash to one of
the
wood posts which supported the roof frame.  It was quite sturdy--this
was
the most substantial building I'd seen in any vietnamese village.  The
roof
peaked at about fifteen feet, supported by a half-dozen large posts and
cross braces.  He placed her back against the post and bound her already
tied wrists securely to it.  She was going nowhere, and she knew it. 
Tears
started streaming from her eyes and she began to protest.  Colonel Ng
cuffed
her hard across the face and unleashed a long, angry denunciation in
vietnamese, of which I understood nothing.

"Perhaps we should gag her," the colonel said to us, with a
conspiritorial
smile.

"An excellent idea," the sergeant said.  Burkette was very excited by
the
turn of events.

Colonel Ng took a khaki handkerchief from his pocket and stuffed it in
her
mouth.  She immediately tried to spit it out.  Once again, she recieved
a
backhand across the cheek for he trouble.  Then the colonel took out a
roll
of tape from a US army first-aid kit and wrapped it around her stuffed
mouth.  She could make as much noise as she wanted, but only a muffled
sound
would come out.  It didn't matter anyway.  There was nobody around to
hear
anything but the ARVN soldiers and us.  And the soldiers outside weren't
going to say boo, no matter what sounds came from within.

The colonel looked at her in appraisal and began to rub his crotch with
one
hand.  "Before she dies, I have some personal business to prosecute," he
said seriously.

And before I knew it, Colonel NG had his pants open and his cock out.  
He
was quite well endowed for a small man.  He pressed himself up against
the
prisoner and rubbed his thick erection against her pussy.  She shook her
head wildly as he pressed himself inside her.

"She is tight," he said.  "So very tight for a woman of her age."

We watched as the colonel rode her there standing up against the pole. 
It
didn't take long for him to cum deep inside her neatly trimmed pussy.  I
made a silent bet that this wasn't his first rape.

"Who would like to fuck her?" he said, grinning.  "Please, indulge
yourselves."

Sergeant Burkette wanted to.  I could see it in his face.  But he
didn't.
Delivering the prisoner for execution was a matter of orders, and
watching
the execution was not prohibited, but having sex with her was not an
order.

"No thank you, colonel," Burkette said.  But he would have done it if we
weren't there.  I'm certain of that.

"Very well," the colonel said.  "That is your choice."

The prisoner still had the belt wrapped around her neck.  I thought the
colonel would hang her with that, but he had a more classic idea of
hanging
a prisoner.  He removed the belt and reached into a duffel bag for
something
to blindfold her with.  He came up with a piece of black cloth.  The
woman
squirmed and moaned under her gag as he covered her eyes.  I don't know
if
she had figured what was up, but she knew she was deep trouble.  She
didn't
cry or sob though.  She was tough and she hated us all, American and
ARVN
alike.  Given a chance, she would have slit all our throats with
pleasure.
She also was a person who liked to kill.  She understood death and it
was
her ally.

Once again, the colonel reached into his duffel bag.  This time he took
out
a long piece of rope.  He had come prepared.  She couldn't see a thing
as 
colonel NG tied a hangman's noose in one end of the rope.

"That's much better than a belt," the colonel said, admiring his
handiwork.
It was a perfect noose.

"You know that knot well," I observed.  "Done this before?"

"Many times," the colonel replied.  "It is my job."

He wasn't kidding.  He was a professional executioner who took rare
delight
in his work.

Since there was no ceiling in the room, the colonel easily tossed the
noose
over one of the roof joists and situated a wooden bench beneath it.  He
tied
off the other end of the rope on one of the upright posts and he was
ready.

I hadn't fucked the prisoner, but just looking at the noose dangling
there
in the center of the room, and seeing her there naked and bound, had me
hard
as a rock.

"Now we are ready," Colonel Ng announced.  "You may asssist me," he
intoned.  Once again, it was an order not a request. "Bring the prisoner
to
the gallows."

Sergeant Burkette and Whitmire untied the woman from the post and walked
her to the bench, holding her arms--which were still tied securely
behind
her back.   She resisted, but they had her firmly in hand.  The colonel
reached out and grabbed her nipples in his hands, making her cry out
beneath
her gag.  He pulled her forward by her tits as Whitmire and Sergeant
Burkette forced her up onto the bench where she stood squirming.  I
think
she was beginning to get the picture now.  There was no question about
it
when Colonel Ng slipped the noose over her head and pulled it tight
around
her neck.  She started jerking around and screaming with rage into her
gag
when he did that, but there was really nowhere she could go.

Colonel Ng untied the othe end of the rope and pulled tightly to take up
the slack.  He pulled so tight that he forced her up onto the balls of
her
feet.  All that remained now was to kick the bench out from under her to
hang her.

"I think she should see this," the colonel said.  And so saying, he
removed
her blindfold.  "Shall I remove her gag?"

No one said anything.  We just stood there looking at her.  I remember
exactly how she looked, naked, her firm little tits standing out
proudly.
Her nipples were fully erect.  I had a momentary urge to suck on those
hard
nipples, but I didn't.  Her hands, still tied behind her back , twisted
and
writhed, in a desperate attempt to escape their bonds, but Burkette had
bound her wrists like a boy scout and there was no way she could get
loose.
And I distinctly recall how long her neck looked with the noose
stretching
it so high, and how the muscles on both sides of her throat flexed as
she
twisted her head helplessly.  Colonel Ng had placed the noose on the
side of
her head just behind her ear, and it was pulled so tightly that it made
her
head tilt slightly.  Her neck and her chest were glistening with sweat. 
She
swallowed each breath with a deep gulp which made her chest heave up and
down.  But she had to breath through her nostrils because of the gag.

"Yes sir.  Take the gag off," I blurted out suddenly, surprising myself.

"Be my guest," the colonel said.

I stepped up to her and removed the tape around her mouth.  She spit the
ball of cloth out of her mouth without any further help, and opened her
throat to take in a rough sounding gulp of air,  knowing that if it
wasn't
her last one it was damned close to it. I listened to her breathing.  It
sounded like it had back when we surprised her with a cock inside her
cunt
and a belt around her throat.  She liked being strangled and fucked. 
She
was already choking a little, a preview of what was soon to come.  She
stared at me with her mouth still wide open in an O and I stared back,
strangely fascinated.  After a few seconds she averted her gaze.  I
think
she had accepted her death at that moment and just wanted to get it over
with.  That's when I backed away.

Colonel Ng went to her and stood directly in front of her.

"It's time," he said to her.  "I want to see you dance for me."  Then,
without any more ceremony, he kicked over the bench.

I was stunned, but I just could not look away.  She started running on
thin
air.  That caused her to swing around wildly.  Her whole body jerked and
pumped, exactly like she was fucking.  I realized that we'd interrupted
her
fuck session before she had reached an orgasm.  It looked like she was
having that orgasm now, dangling by her neck for the enjoyment of enemy
soldiers whom she hated so much.  Her bladder opened up and a thin
stream of
urine trickled down her legs.  Her eyes were wide with panic and her
mouth
worked wordlessly like a fish out of water gasping its last.

The rope bit tightly into the smooth skin of her neck, and her tongue
bulged out luridly.  She swung and kicked and my cock throbbed like it
never
had before.  She kicked desperately, seeking the foothold that was not
there
for her.  After several minutes of hanging by her neck, her face turned
a 
nasty purple color.   He legs moved on automatic, still pumping her
crotch
back and forth like it was filled with the biggest, hardest penis she'd
ever
been impaled on.  She dangled and twisted at the rope's end for what
seemed
a terribly long time, although it couldn't have been much more than four
minutes before it was over.  I swear she came just before she stopped
moving, her body bending in the middle and convulsing with a strong
orgasm.
I'm not saying she enjoyed it, but she died cumming.  Finally, she lost
consiousness and hung still, her feet pointing straight down.  Her
bladder
was empty now, but droplets of juice from her sopping wet vagina
spattered
onto the puddle below her.

We stood and watched her swing gently for another five minutes or so. 
By
that time there was no chance she was still alive.   When we left, she
was
still hanging, turning slowly from side to side.   Colonel Ng dismissed
us,
repeating that we had done an excellent job and that he would recommend
us
for medals to our commanding officer.  A medal was something I had no
use
for whatever.

Nobody said anything on the hike back to base.  We saw no enemy
soldiers.
We saw nobody at all the entire return trip.  And we never spoke about
what
we had seen and even participated in.  But I thought about how public
executions had been performed for all but a brief period in human
history.
They're still done in some contries.  And people had loved them. 
Hangings
in particular were well attended, like baseball games.  It was prime
entertainment for many people and it was not looked upon as a bad
thing.  I
only felt strange about it because of my veneer of civilization.  But
under
that thin covering I was no different from anyone in the crowd at
countless
hangings. 

I had joined the army to kill the enemy and I did shoot at a lot of
people.
I'm certain I killed some that I didn't see during firefights.  And once
I
even shot an enemy officer with a high-powered rifle at long range.  I
never
questioned the need to execute enemy agents, but this execution was
somehow
different.  It was not, strictly speaking, an act of war.  I suspected
that
colonel Ng would be hunted down as a war criminal if the North
vietnamese
prevailed.  War had allowed his peculiar fantasies to become reality. 
He
had been given a pass to indulge his most base desires, and he had
embraced
the opportunity.  The war had made him insane and it had done the same
to
us, although to a much lesser degree.

I know that the war itself was insane and that we were caught up in that
madness, having been in the jungle for so long, fearing for our lives
every
minute.  Many of my closest buddies died in Vietnam.  I sometimes think
I
was meant to die there too, but that woman died instead.

What we saw that night has lost much of it's reality to me.  It's as
though
I watched a play a long long time ago.  It's a different world where I
live
now.  And although I lead a fairly dull life--what we think of as
"normal"
in America--I'm not really that same as I was before.  Still, I keep
coming
back to the image of that woman, standing on the bench with the noose
around
her neck.  And I ask myself what is normal?


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

Did you like this story?  You can find more at
	http://www.nyx.net/~anon3a9c/fair/entry.ssi

The author would also like to hear about it.  You can write me and
I'll pass it on to the author.  Remember, feedback from the readers
is the only "payment" the author gets.

But if you think stories about people getting strangled or hanged, even
killed, during sex are icky and shouldn't exist, don't come whining to
me.
Why did you read it if you don't like stories of that type?

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