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Message-ID: <34166asstr$1008771004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Laura Davis" <ldavis4@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Immediate Future or The Call of the Rope.  
Date: Wed, 19 Dec 2001 09:10:04 -0500
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<1st attachment, "ROPE.txt" begin>

The Immediate Future or The Call of the Rope by Laura Lynn Davis.
 Copyright 2001.

F solo, F/F, M/F, MMMMMMMF, FFFFFFF incest

Author's Note: This story is fiction but there is a lot of *me*
in it.  I often fantasize about being hanged.  It turns me on and
I can't explain why.  I certainly don't want to hang in RL, no
more than men who fantasize about castration actually want to be
castrated.  I most often fantasize about being arrested, tried,
and convicted of a crime I didn't commit.  Then I'm executed,
hanged naked before an unruly crowd.  Also, I fear anal
intercourse but, perversely, it turns me on to think about it.
---------------------------------------

	My SO and I broke up in late summer.  She just packed up and
moved out one hot August afternoon.  As she carried the last box
of her belongings out to her car I continued to plead for an
explanation.  Finally, she stopped and looked back at me.  "Sara,
I'm just not in love with you any more."  She paused and glanced
around to see if anyone was nearby.  "You're just too damn morbid
for me.  You dream about hanging and it scares me!"  She paused
and shook her head.  "I don't understand it.  You're a beautiful
young woman.  You should be thinking about happier things."  She
stared at me for a moment and then turned and walked out to the
car.  I watched her drive away, sad because I knew she was my
last connection with the world of the living.

	A few days later I drove to a marine supply store on the coast
and bought fifty feet of 1/2 inch hemp.  I spent several weeks
practicing in my spare time before I managed to create a perfect
noose, the kind you see in movies.  It's not as easy as it looks.
 At least it wasn't for me. All the while, I was working at the
supermarket while finishing my courses for my master's in
history.  My thesis was waiting but I had all the time in the
world to finish it, or no time at all.

	The perfect noose needs the perfect tree limb or the perfect
gallows.  I didn't have the skills necessary to build the gallows
so I began talking long walks in the woods, looking for that
perfect limb.  I found it in late October, about a mile from the
apartments.   I brought the rope out a couple of days later and
positioned it over the limb.  I didn't have any trouble.   My
tomboy tree climbing skills were rusty but I managed.

	I bought a small (48") wooden stepladder at Home Depot.  I got
it on sale and was pleased to have saved $9.34 on the purchase. 
I carried it out to the tree and hid it under some dead leaves. 
The next day I went out and tried the noose on for size.  It was
October 29th, a warm day for New England in late October.  I
didn't feel all that uncomfortable when I took my clothes off and
set up the ladder.  I climbed up and slipped the noose over my
head.  When it was snug I stood there and thought about how it
would feel to step off the ladder.  The fall probably wouldn't
break my neck.  I didn't want that, I wanted to strangle slowly,
twisting and kicking as my life drained away.

	But something wasn't right.  I removed the noose and climbed
down from the ladder.  My nipples were hard and I was wet.  I
straddled the ladder and squeezed my breasts, pinching and
pulling my nipples while I rubbed myself against the smooth wood.
 I triggered my orgasm by reaching back to play with my anus.  As
I shivered and shuddered I realized what was wrong - my hands had
to be secured behind my back.

	I hid the ladder, got dressed, and pondered the problem while I
walked back to my apartment.  A visit to a police supply store
over in Newton solved my problem.  I told the man I was buying a
set of handcuffs for my boyfriend, a cop, who'd lost his.  He
showed me a couple of models and demonstrated them.  I bought the
least expensive pair they had.  Back home, I practiced with them.
 I put one of the keys on a string around my neck.  The other I
tied to my left wrist with a shorter string.  I practiced putting
them on with my hands behind my back and unlocking them with the
key attached to my left wrist.  After a week I was satisfied I
could lock and unlock them with ease.  I didn't want to get
caught nude and handcuffed and not be able to free myself.  I
wanted to hang.  Rape wasn't part of my plans.

	November was brisk and cool but warmer than normal.  I went out
almost every day.  I'd take my clothes off and fold them neatly.
Then I'd set up the latter and climb up on it.  After a long look
around I'd slip into the noose and adjust it.  Then I'd fasten
the handcuffs to my right wrist and bring my hands behind my back
and fasten the cuff onto my right wrist.  Then I'd stand there
and stare out into the woods.  The cold would have hardened my
nipples by then and I'd have Goosebumps.  I stand there and stand
there, sometimes for as long as fifteen minutes. Then, if it
didn't seem like the right time I'd unlock the handcuffs, remove
the noose, and climb down the ladder.  Then I'd straddle the
ladder and grind my vulva against the seat while I played with my
tits.  My orgasms were intense and very satisfying.

	Often, at home, I'd wonder if I was just doing it for the
orgasms, the deliciously intense orgasms that I never experienced
at any other time.  And it wasn't for lack of trying.  I  went
out almost every night.  Some nights to regular bars where I'd
pick up a guy and let him fuck me. Being a leggy, beautiful
blonde meant I didn't often get turned down.  I insisted on safe
sex, not for my sake but for the sake of those who were going to
fuck me before I danced on the air.

	Other nights, I went to lesbian bars where I was equally
successful.  But the lesbians were more knowing than the guys,
not as deferential, rougher.  On quite a number of occasions I
was pushed up against a wall in a dark alley and stared up at the
sky while my jeans were pulled down and I was brought to orgasm
by hand or tongue.  Often, I was slapped and told to strip and
get down on my knees.  On those occasions I gave but rarely
received.  On a couple of occasions I was taken into the back
room, or a basement, stripped, and used by several women in
succession.    I know they enjoyed debasing me because I'm
beautiful and I cried convincingly. But, in truth, I felt nothing
more than momentary shame or equally fleeting pleasure.

	The worst times, or the best, were those times when I went to a
gay bar where the local leather crowd hung out.  The first time I
went they laughed at me when I talked about safe sex. The ripped
my clothes off and fucked me in the ass.  Then they tossed me out
into the alley with the other garbage.  They were always hostile
and I was often slapped around before I could ask to be used like
a boy and used hard.  Then, while I was being fucked in the ass,
my tears were genuine.  One night, after being roughed up, I was
stripped and fucked in the ass by at least a dozen guys.  Cum was
running down my thighs like water when they put me on my knees
and used my mouth like a cunt during a second go around.  That
night was the night I was forced to crawl to my car naked while
they whipped me with leather belts.  I spent two days in bed.

	It's winter now, late January, and bitter cold.  I go to the
tree once or twice a week.  The noose is frozen and can't be
adjusted.  The rope is dirty, no longer the bright length of hemp
I brought home in August.  I still strip naked and stand on the
later, shivering, for as long as I can stand the cold.  Spring
will be here in eight weeks.  The air will grow warm and the rope
will be pliable again.  And it will call to me and one warm day
I'll answer the call at last.

	None of this would have happened if daddy hadn't gone away.  I
was safe and happy when daddy was home.  He loved it when I kept
my uniform on until he got home.  By then mommy would be at work.
 Daddy loved to see me in my short plaid skirt and knee socks. 
He said I had the best legs and the prettiest knees - he'd have
me stand by his chair while he sipped his beer and he'd gently
stroke the backs of my bare thighs.  Slowly, carefully, his hand
would go higher and higher until he touched my panties.  Then
he'd pull them down and tell me what a pretty ass I had while he
fondled it.  After a few minutes he'd let me sit on his lap and
he'd continue to stroke my bare thighs while I unbuttoned my
blouse and unhooked my bra.  I couldn't be naked yet, it was
against the rules, but I could open my blouse and let him see and
play with my pretty titties.  Then, when I was ready, with hard
nipples and a wet pussy, I could take everything off but my knee
socks.  And, if I'd been a good girl, daddy would let me get down
on my knees and take his hard cock in my mouth and get it wet
before he picked me up and eased me down on it.  I liked it when
he guided it into my wet little pussy but it hurt when he put it
in my ass.  But I learned to like it there, too.  But then he
went away and left me alone with mommy. She beat me and called me
whore and slut.  And, as it turns out, she was right.

The end.


<1st attachment end>


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