Chapter 21: Conclusion

Three Months Later

I shuddered, shifting my footing on the custom-designed platform, my heart fluttering. I heard the growing murmurs of club members from beyond the curtains that enclosed Grant and me in the party pavilion’s hanging cage. I whispered to Grant, “They’re starting to let them in. This is really it!”

Grant smiled calmly and kissed my shoulder. “Listen to me. As soon as we’re up in the air, we’ll be at home. We’ll stop being nervous right that instant.”

I couldn’t see any signs that Grant was nervous to begin with, but my nerves steadied a little. He was right, of course. Home was hanging by the neck. All of my tensions would drain away, as they always did. Everything would flow naturally.

We had been counting the days from when the Dean had approved our idea to this first public performance. We had spread the word out beyond our immediate circle of friends after that, and, a few at a time, every Academy student and teacher had come by Larry’s and Laney’s room to watch the practice sessions in which we gradually developed our routine, occasionally making suggestions for additions. Most of the Third Years expressed the wish they had seen something like this earlier in their student days—by now, they were all so fully absorbed in preparing for their own post-graduation solo performances that they had no time to try this: it required many hours of practicing brand-new techniques, different from standard hanging. The First Years all wished they felt the confidence in their abilities they would need to give it a try, but watching us always seemed to leave them in awe.

The most satisfying thing to us was that it left our fellow students, in all of the classes, horny.

I took a deep breath, trying to clear my mind. I whispered, “Half hour, right?”

Grant nodded. “Supposedly. Most guests should be here by then.”

I put my arms around Grant’s waist and rested my head on his shoulder, and Grant did the same. This works both ways now, I thought. The physical contact between us that calmed Grant so much in the first weeks after That Night, as I thought of it—we both need that now. I could feel peace washing through me from any part of my body that was touching Grant. I could tell from Grant’s soft sigh that he was feeling the same thing.

The murmurs grew louder. A few minutes later, the other First Years began their one-at-a-time entrances—I could tell by the reactions. Conversations between guests and students began, and from all around came the sounds of curiosity. None of the members had been told what to expect.

The next time, of course, they would know. Assuming there was a next time. If there was enough positive response to tonight’s show, announcements of the show beginning the next First Year party would go out in the mail. The party, starting an hour earlier than usual, would begin with our performance; members would pay a steep premium for admission at that earlier time. Members who didn’t want to pay the extra price would be admitted at the regular time for the regular price.

It all depended on how the show went tonight.

For the hundredth time, I reminded myself to relax. No matter what, I wouldn’t be the direct beneficiary of the proceeds from future shows, if any. As a slave, I had no legal means of controlling any of the money. It would all go to the Academy. And the Dean understood that this was in the nature of an experiment that he was willing to try. It was clear that we wouldn’t suffer any penalty if it didn’t work out. But this was important to me for reasons unrelated to monetary rewards.

Denise’s voice called for everyone’s attention. Even expecting it, I was still a little startled. Denise was sharing dorm parent duties with her new roommate Paul now that Bridget had been sold and hanged. Denise was serving as spokesperson for the First Year class.

Denise began, “On behalf of the Hanging Academy and all of the First Year students who will be your hosts tonight, I’d like to welcome all of you to tonight’s party. Of course, at the end of the party, you’ll be able to see a member of the class, April Bonaventure, snuffed in a hanging she hopes all of you will enjoy.” The background noise of quiet conversations among the guests grew momentarily louder—Perry’s hanging four months ago, followed by Connie’s at the most recent First Year party two months later, had led the club members to have a high regard for the techniques of the First Year class.

Denise continued, “We have something a little different for you at the start of tonight’s party. Two of our students, Amy Cameron and Grant Sadler, are going to put on a hanging show of a type new to the Academy and, as far as we know, never before done anywhere. The only thing I’ve been asked to say is that the Academy wants all of our guests to understand that this hanging will not be fatal. Our performers will end the show alive and well, though for dramatic purposes they will appear to be dead. Afterwards, each student’s services for tonight will be auctioned to the highest bidder.”

Grant and I were both a little disappointed with that. We had wanted to be offered for rental as a pair, but the Dean strongly felt that it was crucial for every graduate to have consummate skills at satisfying the sexual desires of their owners, and it was unlikely we’d be sold together. The parties were exactly the place where students honed those skills. He did, at last, promise to study the videos of our private sessions, and to allow us to work together starting in a year or so, once he was satisfied that our solo sexual skills were up to Academy standards.

Denise went on, “Aside from that, please remember that this will be a dramatic performance, and we ask that you have respect for the performers, for the benefit of those around you.

“And now, without delaying any further, I present Amy and Grant, as well as Jackie and Erland, who will play their executioners.”

The curtain surrounding the hanging cage began to roll itself upward from the bottom, seemingly of its own accord. There were several appreciative gasps from the audience when we were revealed as the occupants of the cage.

Grant and I were standing on the platform, back to back, so that after the unveiling everyone could have a frontal view of one of us. We were already naked—we had decided that raising the curtain, would serve in place of the usual dramatic shedding of clothes prior to the hanging. By the reactions of the audience, I think it worked very well. Of course, Grant always had the same stunning effect on the occupants of any room he entered, whether clothed or naked. But this time it seemed to me that the gasps came in equal numbers from the viewers on my side of the cage. Maybe I’m looking better than I imagined. I struggled to keep the grim, determined look on my face.

Each of us was holding the other’s right hand with his left in a lover’s grip of interlaced fingers, with our arms straight down at our sides.

I looked over toward a barred window to the secure area and saw that Larry and Laney were looking on from behind the window, as promised. They had begged to be allowed to attend the party, but the Dean had decided that security for a party involving the whole large First Year class was hard enough to maintain without adding extra students from other classes. Also, he didn’t want to set a precedent that might lead to the security nightmare of keeping track of the entire student body in the semi-secure Party Pavilion. Our best friends had a limited view from where they were, but Larry grinned suddenly and gave me a thumbs-up signal. I closed both eyes briefly in a double wink that wouldn’t be perceived as breaking character.

I couldn’t see Grace; she may have been on the other side, facing Grant. But I spotted Benjamin at the far edge of the crowd, and again suppressed my instinct to smile and wave at him. It was easy to interpret the smile on Benjamin’s face. He knew he’d been the inspiration for this.

The Dean himself was in the pavilion. From what I’d heard, this was the first party he had attended in several years.

Jackie and Erland, dressed in the traditional black outfits their roles required, wove forward from opposite sides of the room, each carrying a length of rope and a rolled-up scroll. They stopped in front of the cage. Jackie facingme, Erland facing Grant. As they unfurled their scrolls ceremoniously, the room became as quiet as if everyone in it had suddenly vanished. Speaking somewhat louder than normal, Jackie and Erland began alternately reading lines from their scrolls—Erland’s idea, so that neither Grant nor I would spend the entire reading facing away from the speaker:

“Amy Cameron...” began Jackie.

“ ... and Grant Sadler,” continued Erland.

“You have been found guilty of the attempted murder of our beloved emperor...”

“ ... and have been sentenced to death by hanging, as a penalty for your crime.”

“Furthermore, in recognition of the conspiratorial nature of this heinous act...”

“ ... each of you is condemned to watch the other die.”

“The court has decreed that, if you express your sincere regret and your love for the emperor...”

“ ... your sentence will be commuted to a lifetime of solitary imprisonment.”

“Have you anything to say?”

I straightened, glared defiantly at Jackie and spat—carefully directing it straight down to the platform, though I don’t think I could have reached any of the onlookers from where I was—and growled, “I say that to the emperor.”

Behind me, Grant said to Erland, “We’d rather die together than live apart!”

Erland responded, “Very well! Turn and face each other!”

We complied, renewing our grip on each other’s hands afterwards. I lifted Grant’s hand to my lips and kissed the backs of his fingers. “One last time together, my love.”

Grant responded by kissing my fingers. “We’ll make the last time the best.”

Erland opened the cage door, entered and sprang up onto the platform behind Grant, then Jackie got up behind me. Jackie said sternly, “Hands behind you!” I crossed my wrists behind my back so that Jackie could tie them, while Erland tied Grant. Grant and I had agreed that the inability to use our hands would make the movements that we could manage seem that much more erotic. In future shows we would vary the format, but this was what we had decided on for the first program.

Then, with solemn formality, Jackie and Erland placed the dangling nooses over our heads and tightened them around our necks. They stepped down from the platform and backed out of the cage to kneel beside it, leaving us alone, waiting to be hanged.

With the rope caressing my throat, my attack of nerves had washed away unnoticed. You can’t be nervous when you’re being yourself. Until now, I had played a role. From here on, what remained would be the ultimate expression of myself. Grant and I each took a small step forward, each putting his left foot between the other’s feet and right foot on the outside, the other’s left thigh between their legs. I looked into Grant’s eyes, my lips almost touching his, and said quietly “I love you.” I knew everybody in the hushed room would be able to hear it.

Grant said equally quietly, “I love you,” and moved his head barely an inch farther forward to kiss me.

The kiss was Denise’s cue. The platform that we stood on was not only wider than a normal one, to accommodate both of us, but also had a remote control, which Denise held in one hand. As we kissed, Denise pressed the down button, and the platform began descending. We held the kiss, but with our mouths closed and breathing deeply through our noses in preparation for the hypoxia to come.

As we lost contact with the platform and hung freely, we did as we had practiced so many times. I tightened my feet around Grant’s left ankle and pulled my body forward, in slow, deliberate motion, pushing my knee between Grant’s legs. Grant did the same to me. We continued the motion until our upper bodies were pressed together, our bellies rubbing against each other, my breasts against his chest. Each of us then rocked our hips backward slowly, almost ritualistically, pulling our upper bodies apart while our legs remained intertwined, then thrusting forward again—lovemaking as ballet.

The onlookers stared raptly at the erotic display we were creating, they didn’t notice the work going on below the waist. The flexing, tightening, and relaxing of thigh muscles was visible, but only seemed a minor addition, contributing to the general arousal but not otherwise significant. But it was the most important part. As Grant’s left thigh reached my crotch, I tightened my thighs on it, and pushed myself upward, feeling the pressure of the rope around my neck gradually vanish as it stopped having to support my weight. Now I could breathe, and the blood could flow to my head. After taking several breaths, I gradually relaxed my legs, and felt Grant in turn tightening his. Grant used his thigh muscles to lift himself, and I felt the strain on my neck muscles as they supported our combined weight. After Grant had taken his breaths, he relaxed his legs, and I began the cycle again.