Prologue: 9AM

Woody put on a pair of pink sneakers, went to the snuff fair and headed straight for the hanging carousel. He chose a horse with a relatively low risk orange noose: a small chance of being pulled into the air for the entire five minute ride.

He was okay for about a minute, experiencing a few seconds of hanging at a time before the noose let him down again. But the third time the noose pulled him up, it locked in that position. By the time the ride ended, Woody was just meat.

That Afternoon

Connor was really worried about his brother. Woody had left early in the morning, and Connor suspected that he’d gone to that carnival, the one that opened just two days ago. Connor had tried calling him, but it just rolled over to voicemail.

Connor drove to the fairgrounds and bought a ticket. He didn’t even bother reading the big sign over the entry gate. He walked into the fair grounds and looked around trying to find Woody, but there were way too many people. He wandered aimlessly, checking different attractions.

Connor spotted a familiar looking mane of golden hair. He rushed forward and stepped right into a puddle of dirty water, getting his running shoes soaking wet. He pulled out his phone again, angrily dialed Woody, and heard a familiar ringtone coming from a nearby trash bin. Connor looked inside and found Woody’s phone, jeans and favorite sweatshirt.

Connor realized he’d been searching in the wrong places: Woody must have finally decided to fulfill his fantasy. He continued walking around, but now he was checking each booth that he came to. He saw people dying, fucking, jerking off but no sign of his brother.

Connor had been avoiding the food places: if he found Woody there it would be too late. But at last there was nowhere else to look. He browsed through stalls and dining tables -- but how would he recognize Woody in a slice of roast, a sizzling steak or a freshly made sausage?

Then Connor spotted a familiar looking pair of sneakers on a shelf next to a BBQ place. He picked them up: the pair that Woody had bought the previous week. It was too late to save Woody.

Connor started toward the exit, but his sneakers were soaked with dirty, bloody water ... and Woody’s sneakers -- the same shoe size as mine -- were clean and dry. He took off his wet shoes and put on Woody’s, then started walking back toward the parking lot.

As he got to the center of the fair, a man in a striped shirt came up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “On behalf of the fair, I’d like to thank you for volunteering. As it happens, we need somebody to demonstrate our newest game. But we’ll have to get you out of those clothes.”

He was surprised. What does this guy mean about volunteering? “Listen dude, I just lost my brother and I don’t have time for this crap. I didn’t volunteer for anything and like hell I’m stripping here in front of all these people.” He tried to free himself from the man’s grip.

“You’re wearing pink sneakers. Didn’t you see the sign when you entered the fair?” The man pointed at the sign:

Anyone wearing pink sneakers inside the Snuff Fair is considered a “volunteer” and may be fucked, tortured and/or snuffed as the finder chooses.

“Now get out of those clothes.” The staffer’s grip tightened until it was nearly painful.

“This is ridiculous! How can my choice of shoes allow you to snuff me? And these aren’t even mine. They’re my brother’s...”

The grip on Connor’s shoulder tightened even further. The chances of getting out of this were starting to look pretty slim.

“Well, congratulations. You get to demonstrate the new Autohang at the quoits booth. I’m told it’s really good. Gives the demonstrator lots of time to enjoy the experience.”

“Just a demonstration, right? And do I really have to be naked for it?”

“Yeah, you need to be naked. If enough customers manage to get their quoits on the right pin, they’ll wanna watch you get hard as the noose tightens, and then see you cum when you get hoisted up.”

Noose? Hoisted? This doesn’t sound good! Well ... nothing for it but... Connor nodded and started taking off his clothes. He tried to cover himself but realized that it was pointless given what the man in stripes said. Modesty didn’t seem to be much observed here anyway. Woody had been a naturist, as comfortable naked as clothed. But Connor was very conscious about his body in public. [i]It’s a good body[i], he reassured himself. He went to the gym four days a week, and was proud of his sculpted muscles. Connor carefully folded his jeans and shirt, then looked around and spotted an empty bench. He gestured, and the staffer walked him over there. Connor put his clothes there and left the backpack underneath it, then did his best to cover his privates.

It’s just like a new gym routine. Connor tried to think of stuff that would turn him off, but his dick had it’s own mind. Well to be perfectly honest, the public nudity is exciting.

The staffer marched Connor what seemed like halfway across the fair to a booth. There was a slightly chubby man behind the counter, an empty noose at one side, and a stacked redhead at the other side with a noose around her neck.

That naked girl on the other side of the booth is pretty attractive. And she looks like she’s enjoying this. A lot. Damn, this isn’t helping me lose that erection.

Surprisingly the rope tied around my neck also feels oddly erotic. In a way I can’t wait to feel it tightening, even though I would really rather not be here. And my dick isn’t going down -- it’s harder than ever.

The redhead smiled at Connor. “I’m Luna. and you’re...?”

“Connor.”

“I kinda hope I’ll get to watch you do the jig, but, well, most of the players who have the skill to get the hanging peg are men who like to hang girls, so the odds are you’ll get to watch me kick my way to whatever comes after.

The operator picked up a microphone. “Come one, come all. Only $10 per quoit. Aim for the pink pegs to raise the cute girl on my left, aim for the blue pegs to raise the guy on my right. But be careful: if you get one of the orange or green pegs, they’ll be loosened instead. Oh, and if you can ring the tall pink or blue peg at the back, they’ll hang for real.”

A young brunette came up to the booth. Connor had a soft spot for that particular kind. Normally I’d try to get her number, but I’m kinda tied up right now. I wonder how things will go. She handed some money to the booth operator, got some quoits in return, and started tossing them. It looked like she was mostly aiming for the blue pegs. The first two throws landed on the table, missing all the pegs. What a relief. But the third quoit leaned against a blue peg. Connor felt the noose tugging slightly. He could still breathe even though the rope was uncomfortably tight around his throat. He was held like that for a minute, or maybe a little more. It was hard to focus in this situation. But as suddenly as the noose tightened, it loosened again. Well, that wasn’t so bad.

Connor was still getting used to breathing comfortably again when a quoit hit the tall pink post, started to bounce off, then ended up leaning against it.

The redhead rose into the air. Her legs kicked as she danced at the end of the rope.

Connor’s eyes lingered on her thrashing body; he was mesmerized by her dance and barely noticed that his dick was getting even harder. But all too soon she was slowly lowered back on her feet. Connor was a bit disappointed: part of him wanted to see her get hanged for real. Or... is there part of me that wants to hang like that?

“I suggest you get used to having an erection in public,” the booth operator said, “There’s a good chance you’ll be wearing it for the rest of your life. And an even better chance that you’ll be using it -- depending on the customers’ preferences, of course.”

The operator repeated his “Come one, come all” pitch.

The brunette dug into her purse, gave the operator a fifty, and got five quoits. The first two missed. The third one leaned against a blue peg, and the rope around Connor’s neck retracted until the noose was uncomfortable. After a minute it loosened again.

The brunette threw again. This one dropped neatly over a pink peg. The rope around Luna’s neck moved up a few inches, and she had to stand on her toes to breathe.

The last throw leaned against the pink post at the back. There was a humming sound and the redhead was lifted into the air. Her feet started kicking immediately, but there was something about her face: she was enjoying this. She hanged like that for a minute, then the rope let her down onto the ground again.

Nothing happened for several minutes. Then a tall man in faded blue jeans and a tan polo shirt stepped up to the booth and laid two twenties on the counter. The operator gave him four quoits.

The first throw went around a blue peg. Connor’s rope moved up a few inches as before, but this time it stayed that way.

The second throw missed.

The third throw leaned against a pink peg. Luna was raised until her toes barely touched the ground. Her face, fairly calm until now, got a panicked look as she tried to breathe, without success.

The fourth throw went around a blue peg, and Connor’s noose tightened until he could barely breathe. He now had a choice: going up on the balls of his feet or rasping, barely adequate breaths.

Polo shirt said asked the booth operator a question, then counted the money in his wallet and jogged off toward the center of the fair.

This time the rope stayed tight, and Connor was forced to make a difficult choice between the demands of his leg muscles and his lungs. He balanced on the balls of his feet for a couple of breaths, then let himself down to rest his leg muscles for a few seconds. I wonder what that beanpole was talking about with the booth owner. He wanted some more quoits and didn’t have money? Or maybe he wanted to volunteer for the attraction. That would be good: my ‘testing’ this device would be over and I could get out of this insane asylum ... Well at least I’m not as bad off as that girl. Even without looking Connor could hear her fighting and gurgling.

The man returned and laid four fifties on the counter. The counterman handed him a large cardboard box. Polo shirt took his clothes off and put them in the box; when he pulled his briefs down, his erection sprang up. The counterman handed him a small squeeze tube.

He walked over to Connor. “Hi, my name is Blake. Please turn around and face the wall. And don’t worry: I’ll be gentle.”

Connor was horrified: I’m no more than a sex object. I’m a naked attraction -- and cheap fuckmeat -- in the middle of a snuff fair, and no one even cares if I’m gay or bi or straight! Connor tried to protest, but the man pushed him gently but firmly against the booth’s wall. The noose tightened, and Connor realized he couldn’t talk. The air he was getting was just enough to keep him from panicking. The only sound he managed to get out was a low gurgling in between raspy breaths.

Connor just wished all this would end. The lubricant felt cold as it was spread on his rear entrance. Connor brought his heels together and clenched his buttocks, trying to at least delay the inevitable. Blake pressed up against Connor’s asshole, then stopped.

“This is going to hurt like the devil if you clench up tight like that. But if you relax, it will be painless at worst and who knows, you might even enjoy it. You wouldn’t be the first virgin I’ve introduced to the joys of anal.” Blake’s words and soothing tone of voice did nothing to alleviate Connor’s outrage.

There was no escape. Blake waited a couple of seconds, then started slowly pushing himself into Connor’s ass. Connor gave up and relaxed. He felt a little pressure on his sphincter at first, then the slow movement as Blake slid slowly into his ass. It feels good! Why...? How...?

The erection that had embarrassed Connor earlier was now the least of his problems. He was starting to see black spots appear before his eyes. Connor moved closer to Blake, just a few inches to loosen the pressure from the noose -- but also pushing Blake’s cock even deeper into his ass. At this point Connor didn’t care: he needed air. He was rewarded with shallow breaths, air again filling his lungs.

Blake reached around and wrapped his hand around Connor’s cock. It was warm. And slippery.

Connor became aware of three things. First, every time Blake pushed all the way in, his hips pushed Connor up, making it easier to breathe. Second, there was a pulse of extra pleasure every time the tip of Blake’s cock rubbed a certain spot inside him. And third, Blake’s hand didn’t feel much different from a girl’s vagina.

Blake was right. I’m starting to enjoy it. Does this mean I’m gay? No, I really like girls. Bi? Well, if I survive this I’ll have to experiment, I guess. Would a guy’s mouth feel any different from a girl’s?

“Enjoy it while you can, bub,” Blake whispered. His hand stroked Connor a little bit faster.

Blake thrust a little faster, then faster still. And then quick, short strokes, his cockhead just barely inside Connor’s sphincter.

Connor felt Blake come, and a few seconds later felt wave after wave of pleasure as his cock squirted sperm onto his belly and Blake’s hand. Connor couldn’t remember ever cumming so hard. And here he was ... spread and taken, driven to a humiliating orgasm in front of dozens of strangers. But it feels so good.

“Wow. You’re a good lay, kid. If you weren’t already this guy’s property -- he pointed to the operator -- I’d take you home and let you find out what my mouth can do.”