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For Hanging And Noose Lovers!

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Inspired by user mvalim’s manipulations on DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/mvalim

She told herself that she would not struggle. She would not give them the pleasure of watching her kick and thrash in her final moments. They had caught her. That should be victory enough.

1572548183260.jpeg

For the first few heartbeats after the smirking man pulled the stool out from under her, she succeeded. To be fair, it was more shock than anything that kept her from struggling. Her brain could not process the sudden input: the loss of solid ground, the vice grip around her throat, the unsettling feeling of her head supporting her entire weight. For just a few seconds, she hung still, staring forward, the perfect image of revolutionary resolve.

Then, as her brain started to translate the flood of new sensations, it tried to take a breath. No air came, and that’s when the thrashing and the kicking started.

1572548214149.jpeg

One instinct, a base, primal impulse took over her mind. Breathe! Air! I don’t want to die! Find air!

She wanted to claw at the rope squeezing her neck, but her hands were tied behind her back. She kicked and twisted and squirmed. The pressure behind her ear became a pounding agony. Her limbs tingled and blackness ate into her vision.

Breathe! Live! Air!

Her body, in its instinct to live, brought her knees to her chest and kicked down hard. The movement did nothing but spin her around on her rope and use up the last of her strength. She couldn’t see anything anymore, just darkness. As she gurgled and pissed, the last rational corner of the girl’s consciousness was horrified.

Don’t die like this!

1572548274862.jpeg

She died just like everyone else brought to those gallows, kicking and struggling. Also like everyone one else, within minutes there was no sign of her struggle to live save for the small puddle on the ground underneath her corpse. Her body hung placidly, swaying gently, a look of deceptive peace on her face.

1572548294864.jpeg
 
Another mvalim manip that was begging for a story.

1572661856165.jpeg

It took 15 minutes for the occupying soldiers to catch my fiance, discover the stolen letters she carried, haul her to their gallows, and hang her.

We met in our first year at University, just before the war. We were Classics majors, students who read the great romances and chronicles of a bygone age and imagined ourselves in the roles of the ancients. Heroes in our own story.

She told me who her father was the morning after we made love for the first time. As I watched her dress, she told me that she had to go to a family event. Her father, you see, was one of the richest men in the country. I must have looked ridiculous, springing up
naked out of bed in shock. This girl, who just hours before, had gotten on all fours and told me to cum inside her, was heiress toa fortune! If I had gotten her pregnant, I was dead!

I didn’t need to worry. She was on birth control, of course. We dated and studied and fucked without a care in the world.

Until the war.

The enemy soldiers occupied the city almost
immediately. We were on the border, a cosmopolitan, idyllic little college paradise. Not worth defending, in other words. They closed the university, took it as their headquarters, and tossed we students out.

We joined the resistance. I snuck into the university, stole supplies and arms and took the odd shot at a soldier. Her father collaborated and sold weapons to the occupiers. She took correspondence, plans, and maps from his office and passed them along to our nation’s noble army. Here we were, just like the heroes of old, fighting a merciless enemy with our guild and wits. We agreed to marry when the war was over. We would hold our wedding to celebrate victory and raise our children in the world we helped create.

One summer morning, they caught her. Someone followed her to the meeting place with her army contact. The man got away, but the occupiers discovered the stolen documents. It didn’t matter who her father was. Partisans and spies were to be hanged immediately.

One of my friends burst into our safe house and shouted the news. “They’re going to hang Marina!”

I sprinted to the square faster than I had ever run before. I got there just as the soldiers were subduing her rich father, who had come to beg for his daughter’s life. My Marina stood alone on the gallows, a rope around her neck, looking into the crowd that had come to watch her die. The officer in charge spoke the usual words about spies and crimes and hanging by the neck until dead and do you have any last words, but I could hardly hear it over the pounding rush of blood to my ears.

Lovely Marina’s shoulders shook as she sobbed. From the back of the crowd, I heard her sweet, tender voice.

“I don’t want to die.”

It should have been my moment. I should have sprinted my way to the front of the crowd, pushed away the soldier on guard, grabbed my love and pulled the noose over her head, and run away with her to freedom.

Instead, I stood frozen as they hauled on the rope and hoisted the love of my life into the air.

She started kicking and thrashing almost immediately. The crowd went completely silent. So much that I heard her choking and gurgling from so far away. My beautiful Marina bucked and kicked, reaching with her feet for the post of the gallows, desperately seeking some kind of purchase. The soldiers laughed at her and pushed her away, letting her swing from one side of the gallows to the other.

One of my friends covered my mouth as I moaned in grief. My Marina fought the noose for several minutes, and we stayed for all of them, as all the assembled onlookers were required to do. Only after she was still and the urine stopped dripping from under her dress did the officer give the usual speech about the fate of spies was it safe to go.

My Marina hung in the square for three days, until they caught another one of us and cut her down to make room to hang him. I rescued her body from being tossed into the mass grave outside of town and buried her myself.
 
Last edited:
Migoz2 said:
Edward Fitzgerald's translation of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam is always good for a paraphrase

A rope of pure hemp dangling from the Bough
A leather whip, a pair of cuffs - and Thou
Above me, swinging in the dance with death
That dance with death were all I need for now
Click to expand...

you're such a cultcha vultcha, Migoz :)

B118AA6.jpgB118A88.jpgB118B20.jpgtumblr_lx7n1byzSD1r3mxodo1_500.jpgB118A99.jpghangIMAGE0013.JPGhangstable_girl_left_hanging_in_the_field__by_mercymagnet-dcgxpu1.png
 

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Aedile said:
Inspired by user mvalim’s manipulations on DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/mvalim

She told herself that she would not struggle. She would not give them the pleasure of watching her kick and thrash in her final moments. They had caught her. That should be victory enough.

View attachment 770012

For the first few heartbeats after the smirking man pulled the stool out from under her, she succeeded. To be fair, it was more shock than anything that kept her from struggling. Her brain could not process the sudden input: the loss of solid ground, the vice grip around her throat, the unsettling feeling of her head supporting her entire weight. For just a few seconds, she hung still, staring forward, the perfect image of revolutionary resolve.

Then, as her brain started to translate the flood of new sensations, it tried to take a breath. No air came, and that’s when the thrashing and the kicking started.

View attachment 770013

One instinct, a base, primal impulse took over her mind. Breathe! Air! I don’t want to die! Find air!

She wanted to claw at the rope squeezing her neck, but her hands were tied behind her back. She kicked and twisted and squirmed. The pressure behind her ear became a pounding agony. Her limbs tingled and blackness ate into her vision.

Breathe! Live! Air!

Her body, in its instinct to live, brought her knees to her chest and kicked down hard. The movement did nothing but spin her around on her rope and use up the last of her strength. She couldn’t see anything anymore, just darkness. As she gurgled and pissed, the last rational corner of the girl’s consciousness was horrified.

Don’t die like this!

View attachment 770014

She died just like everyone else brought to those gallows, kicking and struggling. Also like everyone one else, within minutes there was no sign of her struggle to live save for the small puddle on the ground underneath her corpse. Her body hung placidly, swaying gently, a look of deceptive peace on her face.

View attachment 770015
Click to expand...
How long will the body be allowed to remain hanging, as a warning to others? The longer the better. Should be an hour at the bare minimum.
 
Aedile said:
Another mvalim manip that was begging for a story.

View attachment 770600

It took 15 minutes for the occupying soldiers to catch my fiance, discover the stolen letters she carried, haul her to their gallows, and hang her.

We met in our first year at University, just before the war. We were Classics majors, students who read the great romances and chronicles of a bygone age and imagined ourselves in the roles of the ancients. Heroes in our own story.

She told me who her father was the morning after we made love for the first time. As I watched her dress, she told me that she had to go to a family event. Her father, you see, was one of the richest men in the country. I must have looked ridiculous, springing up
naked out of bed in shock. This girl, who just hours before, had gotten on all fours and told me to cum inside her, was heiress toa fortune! If I had gotten her pregnant, I was dead!

I didn’t need to worry. She was on birth control, of course. We dated and studied and fucked without a care in the world.

Until the war.

The enemy soldiers occupied the city almost
immediately. We were on the border, a cosmopolitan, idyllic little college paradise. Not worth defending, in other words. They closed the university, took it as their headquarters, and tossed we students out.

We joined the resistance. I snuck into the university, stole supplies and arms and took the odd shot at a soldier. Her father collaborated and sold weapons to the occupiers. She took correspondence, plans, and maps from his office and passed them along to our nation’s noble army. Here we were, just like the heroes of old, fighting a merciless enemy with our guild and wits. We agreed to marry when the war was over. We would hold our wedding to celebrate victory and raise our children in the world we helped create.

One summer morning, they caught her. Someone followed her to the meeting place with her army contact. The man got away, but the occupiers discovered the stolen documents. It didn’t matter who her father was. Partisans and spies were to be hanged immediately.

One of my friends burst into our safe house and shouted the news. “They’re going to hang Marina!”

I sprinted to the square faster than I had ever run before. I got there just as the soldiers were subduing her rich father, who had come to beg for his daughter’s life. My Marina stood alone on the gallows, a rope around her neck, looking into the crowd that had come to watch her die. The officer in charge spoke the usual words about spies and crimes and hanging by the neck until dead and do you have any last words, but I could hardly hear it over the pounding rush of blood to my ears.

Lovely Marina’s shoulders shook as she sobbed. From the back of the crowd, I heard her sweet, tender voice.

“I don’t want to die.”

It should have been my moment. I should have sprinted my way to the front of the crowd, pushed away the soldier on guard, grabbed my love and pulled the noose over her head, and run away with her to freedom.

Instead, I stood frozen as they hauled on the rope and hoisted the love of my life into the air.

She started kicking and thrashing almost immediately. The crowd went completely silent. So much that I heard her choking and gurgling from so far away. My beautiful Marina bucked and kicked, reaching with her feet for the post of the gallows, desperately seeking some kind of purchase. The soldiers laughed at her and pushed her away, letting her swing from one side of the gallows to the other.

One of my friends covered my mouth as I moaned in grief. My Marina fought the noose for several minutes, and we stayed for all of them, as all the assembled onlookers were required to do. Only after she was still and the urine stopped dripping from under her dress did the officer give the usual speech about the fate of spies was it safe to go.

My Marina hung in the square for three days, until they caught another one of us and cut her down to make room to hang him. I rescued her body from being tossed into the mass grave outside of town and buried her myself.
Click to expand...
Sounds like somebody needs to build more gallows so that more bodies can hang at the same time as an even greater warning to any possible offenders in the future.
 
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