Last night, my loving master told me he would fulfill my darkest masochistic desire, to suffer a slow, excruciating death by hanging. He was honest, which is one of his
most endearing traits. I turned thirty just a few months ago, so I knew this night was coming. He didn’t admit it, but I knew He’d found someone new, another younger
submissive interested in gallows games, so I’d become expendable. Tonight, after so many years, he’s not going to relent and lower me down just before I lose consciousness.
Instead, tonight I’m going to hang until I die.
Since I first met him, I’ve fantasized about this night, to know that when he kicks that stool from beneath my feet, I’m destined to die a torturously unpleasant death.
But, at least I know I’ll go out with a bang. Before I dressed for my execution, he ordered me to insert that painfully oversized vibrating butt plug, the one he knows I
hate, deep into my rectum. That and the uncomfortable catheter plug in my bladder because we both hate it when I make an annoying mess as I lose consciousness.
Downstairs in our dungeon playroom, he’s already ominously laid out the restraints for tonight, a leather strap for my wrists, another for my elbows, a third for my ankles,
and a final strap for just above my knees, and a painfully large ballgag for my mouth. Just enough restraint to rob me of any delusions of escaping my torturously diabolic fate
while letting me vainly struggle against the inevitable for his darkly twisted amusement.
After all, he promised me a deliciously perilous night, one to die for...