Every character in this story is over 18. I'm 22, and the men arranging the scene are all at least 30. My name is Régine, and I live just outside Paris. This story ends happily. No one is hurt.
I tend to use the same words in all my stories, e.g., calling my snatch my girlhood or my bunny hole. So, should you see my words in other stories, don't think I copied them. I wrote them. My stories all have the same pattern: a girl gets naked, tied up, screwed, or otherwise used, and everything ends happily. This story is similar to one I wrote before, maybe six years ago.
It's Friday, après-midi, and I'm off on my Honda to Rue Gabrielle for a "hanging" scene, my first. I'm the one who's going to be "hung" as I'm young, female, and have a nice body. Of course Paris is full of young females with nice bodies. But not all of them are willing to get naked and be at least halfway tortured or otherwise abused to provide entertainment for enthusiasts of the genre.
It's a twenty-minute ride from my apartment to the Atelier, above which the scene will take place. I've been there before. I'm getting to be a favorite player. I have a pretty face, nice hair, big boobs, a flat tummy, a nice round ass, and nice legs. I'm also athletic, a swimmer and a runner, physically up to withstanding the punishment one must endure to survive in the industry. Always on time, I pull my motorbike into a convenient spot among the many other two-wheeled vehicles. One sees parked cars along some streets, but rarely a car being used. Montmartre was built for something different than cars. It's a place for enjoying life. It is a beautiful place to be, especially in the summer.
I head up to the second floor, at least in Europe it's the second floor. To my American readers, it's the third. Up there, hopefully, no one will hear me scream. And I will, sometimes acting, sometimes not. My putative hangmen greet me cheerily. My films sell well. There are three men, two dressed in camouflage gear, they will do the technical stuff, another dressed in more normal clothes, he will appear in the film. I imagine I'll soon be dressed only in my winning smile, but, it turns out, they'll provide me a garter belt, garters, and stockings, so I won't be entirely naked. But viewers will be able to see all the parts of me that matter to them. They speak in English. They are Germans and I am Dutch, so English works best. We will do the film in English. Most customers understand at least some English, though the plot is simple enough that one need not necessarily understand what's said to enjoy it.
"Thank you for doing this," the one in street clothes says.
"Happy to."
"May I inquire, why ARE you doing this?"
"Money. And I've never done any breath play. I get offers, but have always refused. But I would like to get the work, so here I am to learn."
"Sehr gut!" Mostly, they speak in English. He says something to his compatriots in English, to be polite, I figure. I tell him to speak to his buddies in German if he likes, and he does. They busy themselves setting up their gear. Half an hour later, they are ready. There are film cameras, lights, and microphones, because there is some dialog. Also, a computer and a large monitor to display what is going onto film. The scene will be shot against a black background. The only equipment is a stool upon which I will stand to be hung, a chair for the guy to stand on when he put the noose around my neck and tightened it down, a noose made of a thick red rope hanging down from a rafter, and some white cotton rope to tie my wrists behind my back. The noose looks exactly like the ones one always sees, with a coil of rope just behind the victim's head.
While the two buddies set up the gear, the one in street clothes hands me a garter belt made of a thin strip of cloth, thin enough to ensure it will not obscure the view of my genitals once my panties are off. It has white trim on top and a red and white frilly lining on the bottom. Then he hands me a pair of white mesh stockings which come up to mid-thigh.
"Please, if you would put these on."
"OK." I look for a place to dress. All I have to do is pull up the garter belt far enough so it will stay on me, pull on the stockings, and attach them to the belt, but it's a matter of principle. Despite the fact I'm just minutes away from being otherwise naked, I want to dress and undress in private. It's customary. There's no place to do it, but I get as far away from the men as possible.
I come back, suitably attired to start the scene, and the one in street clothes explains what they want. The plot is simple. Why all this is happening would be explained by a female voice just as the film is starting. I will enter a room dressed in my shift, my American-style panties, the undies they supplied, and my clogs. I figured it's not clear whether the undies they provided will go well with my simple shift, but the viewers won't notice. I will be seized from behind and chloroformed, or something of the like, and rendered "unconscious". Lying on the floor, I will be stripped of my dress, my panties, and my clogs. I will sometime later awake, naked except for my garters and hose, my hands tied behind my back. I will be forced up on the stool and the noose placed around my neck. During all of this, I should plead for my life.
At length, the stool will be kicked away, and I will hang. Hang for real. I think it was at this point that I started to realize what was about to happen. And it made me horny. I felt my nipples harden under my shift, and that funny little feeling I always get inside me as I start to get wet inside. I was about to hang by my neck. Long enough to be convincing. Maybe two minutes. That is the challenging part. That is the dangerous part. The part I had come here to experience. How was I going to manage that? I thought, the red rope is thick and will be up under my chin, not around my neck. And, there will be no drop when the stool is removed, because I knew beforehand the noose will be pulled up until I am standing on tiptoe. Other girls did it. I could do it.
