From: email@example.com (Damien)
Subject: AR: Images [1/1] Fm, hanging, gasping, mast
Keywords: hanging, strangulation, breath control, transvestite
NOTE: Don't write asking for stories you missed. I'm "going out of business" early this month and won't respond after that. See the "Summary of the hanging story archive" article for instructions on getting them from Deja News.
This story is fiction. Any resemblance to actual individuals, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Posted by permission of the author.
This story is for the erotic enjoyment of open-minded adults who
might enjoy reading it. If you are under the age of 18, don't read
this -- read some less explicit story.
This story contains extremely strong hardcore stuff, including
graphic depictions of hanging/strangulation. Don't read any further if this
* * * WARNING! * * *
[The following warning cribbed from one of Sarge's]
Don't try this at home. And if you _think_ you'd like to experiment
with asphyxia as a sex aid, at least read the alt.sex.bondage FAQ and
Ol Sarge's Breath Control FAQ first!!!
DO NOT, DO NOT try this kind of activity by yourself!! About 200 people
DIE in America each year doing this sort of thing -- people who had no
idea of how dangerous this activity is, and who had no intention of
dying. People who took very careful precautions, but died regardless.
* * * WARNING! * * *
Note: Flames cheerfully ignored. Other stories about breath
Before we start, I want to say that this is ONLY a story. Stephanie
(all bow towards wizvax) allowed as to how she has fantasies that would
probably be fatal if she ever acted them out. So do I, this is one
Around 200 people a year die in the United States doing things like this.
Oh yes, before I go, there's just one more little thing:
This is not to be confused with Suki's image series, I
started working on it long before Suki began posting those
wonderful little vignettes.
The ol' Sarge
Making his first attempt at publishing erotica,
and just about as nervous as his second
(the first time you're clueless)
helicopter ride to a hot LZ.
Copyright (c) 1992 by Hope/Sarge, This file may be redistributed electronicly only if the following two conditions are met: (1) This copyright is retained with the file and (2) that you make no further restrictions on resdistribution.
He looked up and was entranced by the image in front of him. A young woman, somewhat plain and thin but with a magnificent head of very wavy auburn hair. She was dressed in the highest of fashion, 1876 fashion that is. Her emerald green taffeta dress had a tight fitting bodice, tight enough to make it quite clear that she was wearing a very restrictive corset. Her figure was nice, not spectacular, but nice, as would be expected of a lady. In the mirror to one side of her he could see that her dress buttoned up the back, with at least a couple dozen small jet buttons. The dress seemed to hang straight down from her waist to the floor in front. On the sides it spread out a little, but in back, where the bustle was, it extended back more than a foot. The perfect image of a young lady of fashion, except for one tiny anomaly.
Around her waist was a very wide leather belt, covering the sumptuous fabric, her wrists were held to the sides of the belt by straps buckled snugly around them. Her elbows were held together behind her back by a tightly buckled narrow leather strap. Who was this prisoner? Was it Christine Daae, held against her will in the catacombs below the \Opera Populare/, to sing for Eric? A maiden abducted for some Oriental Potentates Hareem? Constance Blunt, captured and bound for ravishment by Jack? The images conjured up by these thoughts chased through his mind.
She moves, swaying slightly as she shifts her weight. Her dress comes alive in a soft shimmer of highlights as the watered silk fabric settles into its new position. A sound! her head snaps around, breaking eye contact with him, her hair alive, seeking flight. Seeing nothing, she turns back to him, her mane of hair lagging slightly, dancing on its own, then lying still again. Her colour is high, strong, no fainting damsel this, even helpless as she now stands.
She stood on a low platform, a tall step up. On each side of her, several feet away was a well braced solid square wooden post, above her, resting on the side pieces was another, well braced to them. In front of her was a wooden lounge chair, at least that is what it appeared to be, the tall back sloped back fairly steeply, the arms were very high. At the side of each of the front legs was what appeared to be a shackle, with an open catch.
The door opened and his wife entered, she was quite handsome, but not in a cute or pretty way, more Angelica Houston than Barbie Benton. She had jet black hair done up in exact period fashion to match her black and white 1876 dress. As she glided across the room towards him, he marveled at the grace with which she moved. She stepped up to him and held the items up for his inspection.
"Once we start, there's no backing out, no safe words, nothing like that" He only nodded, unable to speak clearly. She reached up and softly said, "Bend your head down". As he did, she pressed the ball into his mouth, then stepped around behind him and buckled the first buckle drawing the gag into his mouth. On the side again, "Lean down a bit farther, please". Stiffly he complied. She deftly buckled the top strap behind his head, pulling the gag even deeper into his mouth. "OK, stand up dear ... now you're sure?" Again he nodded. She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him, "I do love you dear". "Hie huuu hoo hoo", he tried to say the same, but the ball filling his mouth prevented any sound coming out except for humming noises through his nose.
She took the noose off of her arm and reached up, again he bent forwards as she slipped it over his head. She stepped behind him and fiddled with something, then reached up and slid the noose into place behind his ear, then pulled on the rope, and pushed on the knot until the rope was just as she wanted it to be. She reached behind the post and clicked something. He heard a humming noise behind him and in a few seconds the rope began to stir, another click and the hum deepened in pitch, the knot began to push he head to the side and forward just a little. Just as the pressure began to rise there was another click and the humming and the knot stopped. She looked at him again and said, "Last chance to back out, you're very sure?". As well as he could he nodded. She smiled like the cat between the mouse and its hole, then pressed herself against his front, "Yes, I think that you ARE sure. But you're in for a surprise you know, we're not going to do this in the usual way". "Mummmmmm?"
"You'll see," she stepped down, and he looked past her. The young woman had changed, she now had a large red ball drawn tightly into her mouth, narrow black straps led around her hair to the sides, trapping it against her face, covering much of it, more straps led from the side of the ball up in an inverted V to meet between her eyes, then as a single strap back out of sight over the top. The thick silky braided nylon rope that encircled her neck made a pleasing contrast with her hair and dress. The rope ended almost out of sight, well behind her left ear in a bulky hangman's knot that started at her neck, and ended almost at the top of her head. It trapped her hair around her neck giving the appearance of a auburn scarf over her head and neck. Her face was slightly flushed, and had a faint sheen of sweat. She was breathing with very shallow, quick breaths, almost panting.
His wife glided to the chair and turned to face him, she backed up to the chair and lowered herself gracefully into it. Leaning down she raised her skirt just enough to expose her ankle which she quickly clamped into the shackle, latching it closed, the the other ankle was likewise trapped. She paused, savoring the moment and her prisoner, then turned to the timer and murmuring to herself turned the dial to 3 minutes, then to 4, "Yes four minutes should be just about right, Four minutes, that's enough". She leaned over and picked up a belt from the table, and old belt worn and obviously discarded, even the buckle was broken, the tongue missing. She placed the belt around her neck and through the buckle, then leaned back in the chair and reached both hands over the back with the end of the belt, fiddled for a moment, and then sat back up. Or tried to, before she got half way up the belt tightened and pulled her to a stop, momentarily a look of irritation crossed her face, and she leaned back, reached over and fiddled some more. This time when she sat up she made it all the way up. "No this won't do either." She leaned back again this time she made it most of the way up, she adjusted the belt around her neck, then leaned really hard up to it. Her eyes bulged just a little and her face darkened slightly, she leaned back. "Just right", she smiled at him again.
She unbuttoned the front of her skirt enough to admit both of her hands, then she reached over to a small cup beside the timer and dipped the fingertips of one hand into its contents. She reached over to the timer and flipped the safety cover off of the arming switch with her thumb, and then pressed the arming switch. "Ready dearie?". Again he nodded. She pushed the start button with her thumb, and the sweep second hand began to revolve. Then she placed both hands into the opening of her dress and began to move them, slowly at first, then faster. Her eyes were half open, and kept glancing at him then to the clock and back.
"Wait a second", he thought, "this isn't how it's supposed to be, she should be playing with me". He began to get nervous, after all something could go wrong, dead wrong. He looked at the young woman, she was even more flushed than before, her hands were trying to pluck at her skirt, but tightly restrained, could only touch the belt. Her eyes were wider than before, with more than a hint of panic in them, he felt it.
His wife began to lean up to the belt drawing it snugly around her neck, tighter than the noose around his. The timer began its second trip around. He felt the panic begin to rise in him, he began to struggle to get his arms loose, but the strap holding her elbows tightly together prevented the young woman from getting any leverage against the wrist restraints and her hands just flopped up and down. He tried to step away but the noose was too tight, he couldn't even turn around. As she struggled her dress swayed, heavily, sensuously. The timer began its third trip around ...
He though about how he had gotten into this sweet predicament.
Twenty minutes ago his wife had said to him "Honey, you know
that hanging game that you like to do?". "Yes?", of course he
did, it was one of his favorite breath control games. "Well,
I'd like do do it today. I've had an idea that will make it
... oh ... interesting, I think". "Well, go on", he was
interested, almost every one of his wifes variations on their
usual games was interesting, to say the least. Some of the
were really wild. Sometimes she was the victim, struggling
with a noose snuggly around her neck while either she
masturbated or he masturbated her, and then hoisted for a few
seconds just as she orgasmed. But usually he was the victim,
tightly bound, masturbated to the point of orgasm, then the
platform would drop and he would dangle at the end of the rope
while he came, and for a few seconds more.
"I want to dress you up, I mean really dress you up, first.
Then I'll show you exactly what we'll do". It didn't take a
whole lot of convincing, he really did enjoy dressing up in
womens clothing, not to try to be a woman, but just for the
soft silkyness of it. Besides when he was dressed, his wife
became a real bondage nut, tying him almost as tightly as he
They went into the bedroom and he began to remove his shirt.
"Not so fast, let's get me ready first".
"Sure, whatever you want".
"Get the black and white dress out please, I'll get the
He went to the walk in closet and rummaged along her side until
he found the dress that she wanted, as he lifted to off the
rack he heard her say, "and bring the large container next to
it". There was a large clothing hanger hanging to the right of
her dress he lifted that off too.
"Honey, this one is awfully heavy, are you sure that it's the right one?"
"Yes dear, it has everything that you'll need in it except for the wig".
She had already removed her clothing and put on her underthings.
"Please help me with the corset".
He picked up the corset and approached her, she turned around
and he put the corset around her waist, hooking the first of
the posts into the busk. Quickly the corset was hooked, and in
a few moments he had drawn the laces as tight as they could go
and tied them off. She stepped into her petticoats and then
slipped her button shoes on. He dropped to his knees and began
to fasten them up as she slipped the dress over her head. By
the time she had it arranged to her satisfaction her shoes were
finished. Except for her short blond page boy she was the
perfect image of a ladies maid from 1876. She corrected the
fault in a few seconds with a little nylon wig cap over her hair
and a black wig over that, all done up in cigar curls, very period
"All right dear, now it's your turn". She turned to the
cloths hanger, "Please remove your clothing". As he
rapidly complied she opened the hanger and began to remove
items of womans under clothing from the last century. By
the time that he was down to his shorts she had removed
almost everything from the container. "Those too", she
said. Then she handed him a set of knee length silky
"Bloomers, the string ties in the front. Brassiere, you
know how that goes, breast forms, right and left. Chemise,
the buttons go in front."
As she handed him each item he put it on, enjoying the
silken feel of the feminine clothing ,and the changes in
his shape. Hose, stockings really, he sat down a pulled
them on, pulling up the bloomers to get them in position,
then added a garter on each leg.
"Now your corset, turn around please".
He did and she returned the favor that he had earlier done for
her. In a few minutes the corset was laced quite tightly, or
so he thought, his breathing was shallow, all in the chest.
It made his bust move up and down alluringly. He would find
out the truth about tightness in a few more minutes. She sat
him down and applied a small amount of makeup, "A little
lipstick, just for color", as she described it. She left the
room and returned almost immediately with a long wavy auburn
wig. She placed a wig cap on his head, making sure that all
of his hair was tucked up under it, and then twitched the wig
into position over it, pinning it into place with pin after
pin. The feel of all that lovely hair on his shoulders, and
hanging down his back to his shoulder blades, and in front to
the top of his brassiere made him shiver with anticipation.
"You know", he said, "I really don't make a bad looking woman,
"Quit fishing for complements wench, or you'll feel the flat of
my hand where it'll do the most good".
He shut up, spankings were not his thing, although he got an
unreasonably large number of them when dressed. His wife was
really into them, well into giving them anyway.
She had him stand up again and hold onto the door jamb. She
untied the laces, and began to pull the corset tighter.
"Hey wait a minute dear, you're going to cut me in two".
"Don't be silly, besides you'll never fit into your outfit like
She continued to pull and tug and soon his waist was even
smaller that it had been before. "OK, I think that that will
His breathing was even shallower, and his breast more animated.
She picked up a stack of petticoats and sorted through them,
"This one first, then these, then this one under all of them".
The last one seemed to be much narrower that the others, he knew
why that was. He began to pull them on one at a time, the
heavy fabric felt rich and slippery to his hands, and twice a
petticoat slipped through his fingers to the floor. She picked
up the next item of clothing, it looked like a cross between a
cloth sausage and a bird cage, seeing the question in his eyes
she said, "This is a bustle, it makes your rump bigger" and
smacked him across his with the palm of her hand. She passed
the straps around his waist and then adjusted the bustle so that
it was in exactly the right place.
"Now for the crowning glory", she turned to the container and
extracted a seemingly endless piece of black trimmed emerald
green taffeta. Turning to him and lifting it up she said, "If
you'll put your hands through ...", he put his hands through and
she pushed, pulled, lifted, wiggled, tugged and finally got the
dress and bodice over his head and torso. As they struggled
with it, the dress rustled loudly, the sections rubbing across
each other made a sensuous shirring sound. She lifted the
bodice and he put his arms into the sleeves, then she pulled the
bodice up, and stepping behind him began to button it up the
back, button after button, hook after hook, soon it was snug all
around. In the mirror, he watched her dressing him, the image
of a young lady and her maid. She had, of course, been right he
could never have gotten it on before. He critically examined
the dress, green with black trim, the skirt had several layers
of draping across the front, each trimmed with tiny black
tassels. What appeared to be row after row of button loops,
each with its own small decorative jet toggle covered the front
of the bodice. The tight sleeves ended just below his elbows,
in a spray of black lace several inches long. He felt the
skirt, it was smooth and very stiff but strangely soft, as the
touched it he was aware of the sheer weight of the dress. "It
must weigh 20 pounds", he thought. He took a hold on the dress
and experimentally swung it a bit, it rustled softly, and its
weight swayed his body, just a little. He swung it harder and
felt it pulling at his waist and the bodice. He reached up to
feel the tight sleeves and found that he could raise his hands
no higher than his shoulder, the sleeves were that tight. His
wife grinned, "Perfect, a young lady should depend on her maid
for everything". He ran his hands over the tightly fitted
bodice, the smooth shiny fabric felt like soft steel under his
fingers, the texture of the decorative button loops a
counterpoint in black.
She brought forth the last item in the container, a wide
polished black leather belt, very wide, at least a foot or more,
with 3 buckles at the opening and a wide strap a quarter of the
way from each end. She turned him around and reaching around his
narrow waist, wrapped the belt around it. Quickly she inserted
the center strap into its buckle and pulled it up. She turned
the belt around his waist a few inches, then pulled it back a
bit, the opening was now right in the center of his back,
straddling the row of closely spaced buttons, the two wide
straps were exactly at his sides. She pulled the buckle tight
and then inserted the tongue and slipped the end under the
retainer, the other two buckles quickly followed. Then she
turned him back around and took his right hand and placed his
wrist in the strap on that side of the belt, wrapped the strap
tightly around his wrist, and then slipped the end of the strap
through the waiting buckle. His left hand likewise quickly
lost all freedom of action.
"Now, we want to make sure that your hands stay secure dear".
Stepping behind him she took a leather strap and wrapped it
around his elbows, just above the ends of the sleeves, and then
carefully drew them together, as his elbows got closer together
his breathing became even shallower and more rapid as the motion
available for inspiration became less and less, when his elbows
met she smiled. Back in front of him, she pushed him gently
back, as he stepped backwards he felt the fabric around his
legs, pressing and gently restraining his motion towards the
wall. The bustle hit the wall with a firm thump, and he felt
the dress swing against his legs again. "This is going to be
very interesting", he thought, it was the first time that he
had ever worn period womens clothing.
First things first", she smiled and stepped up to him, "I always
wanted to kiss a lady dressed like this". She reached around
him and pulled him to her, their corsets and breasts met, then
their lips, she pressed in on him, bending him backwards over
the unyielding bustle. He reached with his hands to embrace her
but could only get his fingertips just to her waist. He pushed
as hard as he could, but only got another half inch. His head
touched the wall, then as she pressed in on him, tilted forward,
his shoulders and elbows touched the wall seconds later, at
almost the same instant. He tried to pull her to him, but his
elbows against the wall gave him no freedom. She pressed her
groin against his for a long moment, and then pulled away,
slipping through his fingers.
"Well I'd say that your arms are securely fastened".
She pulled up a stool and sat on it. "Left foot please". He
lifted his left foot up, and she pulled a black, high sided,
high heeled shoe onto it, then buttoned it up, ten buttons at
least. "Right foot", she released the left foot. He tried to
put it on the ground and stumbled, the heels were huge, at
least 6 inches if not higher. "Honey, I can't stand in these".
"Don't worry, you won't have to for very long". He struggled to
keep his balance as she placed the other shoe on his foot, and
buttoned it up also, leaning his bustle against the wall seemed
to help. She stood up and taking his elbows in her hands
guided him out into the hall and down the corridor towards the
play room door. Again there was the soft, clingy feel of the
petticoats around his legs, impeding motion.
She opened the door and guided his unresisting body into the
room. She had set the bondage rack up as a gallows, with the
drop platform, and the lowering winch. Well, now he knew just
what was going to happen. He began to tremble with excitement.
They approached the platform, he tried to step up, but the
petticoats did not allow him enough leg movement to get his
foot onto the platform. She lifted his skirt and then the
petticoats, caressing his leg as she did so, and helped him
stand on the platform. Turning him to face the chair and
mirror she said, "I'll be right back", and left ...
The second hand began its final sweep. Panic rose in the young woman, she was trying to speak through the gag, but the tight corset, snug bodice and bulky ball allowed her to produce only murmurs and soft incoherent sounds.
His wife was really straining against the belt, her face was quite dark and she was making gurgling sounds. The timer slipped to zero, he tried to shout "No!" but the sound was cut off to a gurgle, as with a snap the platform below the young woman's feet dropped to the ground, she also dropped, but only about an inch as the remaining slack in the noose was taken up. Her feet appeared, as if by magic, below the hem of her dress, reaching down, then out and around. He heard the hum of a motor running, and knew that he would live, then gave himself up to the struggle.
At first the noose was not too tight nor too painful, but as her feet danced around trying to find something to support her it slowly tightened. She could still breath, with gurgling noises much like the woman in the chair was making, when she breathed out she made a gurgling sound, and when she breathed in, a horrid snoring sound. She was twisting now, slowly turning.
The haze of hair around his face that had appeared when the gag and noose were applied had blocked off his view of his wife, in fact all that he could see now was the bodice of his green dress and the wide square post passing across his vision.
As he turned further, he saw a mirror below him angled up so that he could see the entire view. In the image her kicking feet were limited in scope by the strong hem of the petticoats. Her buttoned shoes had heels that were much too tall, not that it mattered as they weren't touching anything except air. He tried to still the dancing feet, and for a moment they paused. The noose was buried in her throat, almost covered by the wild mane of auburn hair. He though that she was, perhaps, the most striking thing that he had ever seen. The feet began dancing again, and he felt the heavy weight of fabric that surrounded his legs, caressing, soothing, restraining. The woman's image slowly turned away and the other post passed slowly before him. He watched the image in the mirror on it, he watched her eyes, they looked back, panic stricken, out of a darkening face.
Then they too turned away and his wife appeared, her hands were moving so rapidly that they almost blurred, she relaxed just a bit against the belt and took a long shuddering gasp of air, then snapped back against the belt. He tried to breath, there was a gurgle as he exhaled some air, but when he tried to inhale, nothing. Suddenly his wife began to thrash about, straining against the belt and ankle restraints, for several seconds she made no sound at all and then went limp and fell back against the chair, releasing the belt. Her breath sighed out, then back in again.
That left only him, and the image in front of him. Her feet were kicking widely now, stopped only by entrapping fabric, with every kick the dress rode up, and fell again. The dress itself seemed to be alive, swaying and moving almost independently. Her head was tipped quite far forward, the noose biting deeply under her chin. The only sounds in the room were the continuous rustle of taffeta from his dancing feet, the creak of the gallows, an occasional gurgle and a faint humming. Her head was no longer tipped to the side, but was tipped forwards by the knot which had worked its way further around as the noose tightened and was now near the back of her neck. Now he needed a breath of air, very badly. Again he tried to breath, more gurgles, and no air. He felt the pressure rise in his groin, up, up, up. He tried to shout as he came ... only a gurgle.
His wife swung away again. "If I can just reach my feet up and put them around the post in front of me..." he thought. He tried to swing his feet up, but as they went forward his bustle went back and nothing much else happened. He tried again, more forcefully, pulling his feet up and kicking them out, except that when he kicked his feet, instead of shooting out to the post, they went down, and when his legs straightened with a jerk, he felt the noose tighten some more. Again he tried to shout, nothing now, not even a gurgle. He tried to scream, as loudly as he could ... only the rustle of taffeta, the creak of the rope around his neck, and a faint hum.
The face of the image swinging by in the lower mirror was dark, almost purple, the bulging eyes wild and mad, there was no intellect behind them any more, just panic. Her feet were flailing around wildly, he tried to still them again, but the movement never paused. Her hands were franticly straining upwards as far as they were able. As she passed from view the feet changed motion, began kicking up and down. Each kick tightened the noose still further. Another post, again the feet went up, the bustle back and the feet dropped with a jerk. Now the noose was very painful. The other mirror was partially hidden from view by his hair falling around his face, the chin pressed down towards the straining bosom. But he could see the jerk as each foot kicked, the noose tightening, slowly working its way around her neck, the head bobbing down just a little with each jerk.
As he swung around to the front again, he could see that the knot was actually on the other side of her neck now, the noose had tightened so far. Her feet were almost still, only pushing down and waving in small circles, trying to reach the ground now only inches away, only her hands still moved with any rapidity, fluttering like birds. His vision was beginning to dim, from the sides, and he heard a ringing sound, way off in the distance. Now he was facing his wife again, her eyes were open and she was watching like a snake watches a bird, slowly rubbing inside her dress.
Then as everything faded to red and then slowly to black he felt the tips of his shoes brush the floor, and then again. Then he was able to actually press with the toes of the shoes, his vision began to clear but he still couldn't breathe, he strained his neck muscles and tried again ... nothing. Now he was actually standing on his heels, in the image the knot was lowering away from her head, red face straining for air, but the noose was still tight around her neck.
His wife was bent over fiddling around her ankle. Then she was up, and coming to him, reaching around to the knot and pulling on it. He gasped in air, panting through his nose, trying to breath around the gag. She didn't remove the noose, only loosened it, pushing it back around to the left side. She reached over behind the post and flipped a switch, the humming stopped and the knot with it, still touching his head. She hugged him, speaking soft nothings, then, "poor baby, are you all right?". He nodded, breath whistling in and out as rapidly as nostrils, corset and bodice would allow. She ground her crotch against him and kissed him again and again, all around the ball gag, on the ball gag, on his cheeks, his hair, the noose. She ran her hands across his bodice, cupped the breasts, then pulled him to her and hugged him. His breathing began to slow from its frantic pace. She continued to hold him, caressing, lifting his skirts to fondle him. He began to get excited, whatever she wanted, even a spanking would be fine.
She smiled at him and said, "That was really hot, let's try it again".
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