Chapter 4

I reached into my shoulder bag to take one last look at my notes. I stopped as my fingers touched the paper. I don’t need it. I know what’s on there. I rubbed the folded paper with my fingertips, withdrew my hand and closed the bag.

I was sitting in the outer office of Dean Porter. The director of admissions, Ms. Bennett, had conducted me here from her office, leading me through a heavy door that she opened with a magstripe card. I’m in the student area! I exulted as the door closed and locked behind me, and Ms. Bennett led me through a maze of corridors behind it. This is where Miranda lived! And where I’ll live, until I’m sold to be hanged!

I was wearing the same outfit I’d worn when I picked up the application. I decided it gave the right message—serious, not flirty. I closed my eyes and repeated the mental exercise I’d been practicing all morning, suggested by an article I’d read. I’ve already done the interview, I told myself. It went great. I’m remembering it now.

It seemed to help. Thoughts of Andrew, of the consequences of failure, disappeared into the background.

I jumped only slightly at the sudden buzz on the Dean’s secretary’s desk. She was smiling at me. “You can go in now, Amy.”

I smiled at her, my heart thumping but not nearly as badly as I’d expected. I’ve already done it. This is just remembering. At the door I hesitated. I should probably knock. I did so, and heard a voice saying “Yes, come in.”

Dean Porter was rising from his desk, holding his hand out, a smile on his face. “Nice to meet you, Amy.” I shook his hand and he gestured towards a chair in front of his desk. I sat, putting my bag on the floor beside me. Again resisting the feeling of wanting to look at my notes one more time.

The Dean sat back down, leaning forward with his arms on his desk, but looking relaxed and friendly, not at all predatory. “Well, Amy, I’ve read your application, of course, and I’m very impressed with your grades. There’s one question we don’t ask on the application, because I like to hear it straight from the applicant. Putting you on the spot, a little. Tell me, why do you want to be a student at the Hanging Academy?”

I was ready for that one. During all my speculations on what questions I might be asked during the interview, that one seemed obvious. “I’ve thought about that a lot, sir. Not because I didn’t know, but because so much crowds into my head when I think about it. The main thing is ... a really good friend of mine said to me one time, that when I thought about my goals in life, that a goal is something I needed to find inside of me, and it should be the thing I want the most of all. I really understand that.”

“It can’t be something someone else picked out for you, because you can’t stick with that. And I know what I want the most. I didn’t find it by ... sort of an elimination process, like deciding all the things I don’t want to be and saying, hmm, what’s left? I know it because I feel it everywhere inside me, not just in my head. It’s in my heart, my fingers and toes, my...” I laughed slightly, “ ... my neck; what I want, what fills me up with meaning and gives me a goal to follow, is the Hanging Academy.” I took a deep breath, and smiled. “I want—need—to be in the Academy because the Academy is in me.”

The Dean blinked, and smiled. “Okay, I’d say that’s an answer.” He looked down at a folder on his desk. “I was interested to see that you’ve participated in two hangings already, as a sub-assistant. At least I guess that second one must have happened by now, though it hadn’t yet when you filed the application. You did go to that one, right?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir. That was for Beth Downey. And the first was for Miranda Warren.”

“How did you come to be involved in those ... oh, wait.” He rubbed his head as if trying to verify his memory. “Cameron. Are you related to—what was the name—Alex Cameron?”

“Andrew, sir. He’s my brother.” Most of the time wished I could deny a relationship, but at least here it helped me explain what had happened. “Well, my father actually bought Miranda, but in Andrew’s name.”

The Dean nodded. “So that hanging was at your home.”

I nodded again. “Yes, sir. She did a really wonderful job. Oh, and Beth too, of course. Beth had so much energy! She needed all of that.” I’d been concerned that dwelling too much on Miranda might put me on dangerous ground. If it seemed to the Dean as if my commitment to the Academy dated only from little more than a month ago, that could call its permanence into question. Inside, I knew that in some sense, I had been waiting to go to the Academy my entire life. I simply hadn’t been conscious of it until recently. But in any case, it was better to avoid too much talk of Miranda.

Porter chuckled. “I’m sure she did. I was just recalling that six men bought her.”

I nodded. “Four of them did her inside the tent, and two of them played her Master and his chief slave captain, so she gave them oral sex right up on the stage while she was begging them to spare her life. Oh, I don’t know if you know, she was doing the Runaway Slave scene.”

He nodded. “I recall that, yes. And Miranda was the Princess. So you’ve seen two different scenarios, not just the two hangings. Did you prefer one of them?”

“I wanted to wait on that until I saw more of them. Oh! That reminds me, I was going to ask. I noticed there weren’t any Academy students at either hanging, just graduates like Beth to help Miranda, and Winifred to help Beth. Do students go sometimes? It seemed like that would be such a valuable learning experience.”

The Dean nodded. “On occasion, to observe, but meanwhile our students do get experience assisting with hangings in front of real audiences, at the parties. You know about the parties?”

“Yes, sir.” Miranda had mentioned that one student was always hanged to death at each party, which was part of why many students didn’t graduate. “I can see that’s invaluable, but I thought maybe seeing the real cream of the crop in the one performance they’d trained so long for, the one that it’s all about ... just seeing that would be such an inspiration for all the students. And they could really be part of it! In the Runaway Slave, for example, it seemed like something was missing. There should be some other slaves to witness the runaway’s hanging—that would be why the runaway’s Master is hanging her, so the other slaves can see it and be terrified of the consequences of a failed escape...” I stopped and grinned. “I’m sorry, I’m letting my mouth run on.”

Porter waved his hand, “No, that’s fine. So you’re saying students could fill that role, and they’d have the experience of not just seeing a hanging show, but actually being part of it.”

I nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir! And the roles they play would add to the realism at the same time, so the audience could get even more out of it. In the Prince show, a student could be ... the prince’s personal manservant, who is captured in the scullery with the prince, and he’s dragged in along with the prince and cries as he watches his Master dying. Something like that.”

The Dean looked at me thoughtfully, biting the side of his lip. “I have to admit we hadn’t really thought of all the advantages participation could have, beyond just witnessing the show. As I said, students do attend the shows on occasion, but ... well, I can see we’ve got to put some thought into this.”

This really has to help!

Dean Porter pulled his thoughts back to the present. “Now, your application doesn’t mention it, but I assume you’ve had some practice of your own at hanging already.”

I fought to hold my smile. This was another question I’d considered obvious, and I’d thought a long time about how I might win my way back from the disadvantage this put me at. Lying to the Dean was out of the question—he and the staff would know immediately that I’d never done it before. “No, sir.”

The Dean’s right eyebrow went up. “Never?”

I shook my head, managing still to hold onto my smile. “I’ve wanted to so much, really. But I told myself, you’ve got the best instructors here at the Academy. I know you can teach me techniques I could never have found on my own, and if I did it myself, I knew I’d get into some bad habits I’d have to unlearn after I got here. Like if you taught yourself to drive a car, and then a driving instructor at school started sitting with you and saw all these things you were doing that weren’t safe, and told you to do things differently, but the habits were so ingrained by then that it was really hard to stop.” I grinned. “I should be saying me, not you. That’s actually me. Anyway, in hanging, bad habits would mean you never survive to graduation!” I fixed my eyes on his. “And I’m going to graduate.” I said it with all the conviction I could muster.

He smiled at me. “All right. Now, I’d like you to do something for me. Stand up please.”

I did, trying to settle my stomach which was suddenly twisting. I thought I knew what must be coming next.

“Now take off all your clothes.”

I had guessed correctly. One absolute requirement of all graduates, besides unparalleled prowess at erotic hanging, was that the graduate must present a body that would arouse the witnesses at a show immediately, independent of their final struggles. And a complete lack of self-consciousness about showing it. I was at a disadvantage again on both counts, notwithstanding Andrew suddenly being hot for me—I had only recently made any efforts to develop my body, and equally recently gained any experience at showing myself naked to anyone.

I had worked to prepare myself mentally for this. As soon as he spoke the words, I reached up to unbutton my blouse, smiling, while telling myself, I’ve already done this, it went really great, he liked my body, it was fun. I’m just remembering it now. I peeled off the blouse and unhooked my bra and kicked off my shoes. I’m remembering this, it’s already gone great! I unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor, and without hesitating pulled my panties down and kicked them gently to the side with my foot.

I looked down at the Dean, and smiled as I saw him nodding slightly. My confidence blossomed full-force when I heard him say, “You’ve been doing some working out, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Right now I’m working on my tummy and my butt.” I tensed my stomach muscles to bring out my abdominals, then turned around and poked lightly at my left buttock with my finger. “I just got the exercise equipment recently, so I’m not where I want to be yet. And I know you’ve got better equipment and professional instructors, so I’m really looking forward to that.” I had decided not to say anything about my breasts. I suspected a lot of candidates were most insecure about their breasts—or cocks—and I wanted to give the impression that I was comfortable about mine.

The Dean nodded. “When we get applicants who have seen one of our hangings, they’re usually concerned that they don’t match up with the graduate physically. I’m not so interested in what you are now, as much as I am in where you might be able to go from here. I’ve got a good eye for what you might look like in three years.” He gestured. “You can sit down again, Amy. Don’t get dressed yet. And keep looking ahead.”

He walked around behind me, and I sat patiently, waiting, not trying to follow him. Of all the things in the interview, this was the one thing I had known for certain to expect—Miranda had demonstrated it for me.

“Now, don’t react to what I’m about to do. I’m going to put my hands around your throat and squeeze, and I want you to keep your hands in your lap and resist trying to reach up.”

“Yes, sir.” I closed my eyes and tried to keep breathing evenly as my heart thumped.

I felt his palms gently press on either side of my neck, the tips of his fingers very lightly compressing my windpipe. I wanted not to react at all, as if this were all a matter of course. Miranda had done it from in front of me, so this was a little different, but I still felt confidence based on that earlier experience.

I was hoping I could feel the same level of excitement I had when Miranda had done it—yes! As it became harder to draw a breath, I felt the beginnings of the same floating sensation, the same ... I remembered the word “exultation.” It came on more quickly than it had with Miranda, as if that earlier experience had sensitized me to it. I had known to expect it this time. I couldn’t breathe at all now, and felt the joy bursting from me, covering my skin, I could feel a tingle between my legs, in my throat, in my head. I didn’t know how long it went on. Time was the least important of all my perceptions. Eventually, as before, redness started to press in from the sides of my field of vision, and I wanted to swim towards it, feel it cushion me all around like a bed of flowers...