Under Pressure by Kinto Mythostian I've never really noticed before just how beautiful birdsong could truly be, or how pretty a clear blue sky was. I guess it's true what they say: one's senses are heightened when death is imminent. I'm not afraid, though. I'm even a little bit excited, actually. I volunteered for this and I don't regret my decision one iota. I just wish that I had taken the opportunity to appreciate the pure beauty of the world around me a bit more often. The ability to appreciate beauty is one thing that distinguishes us as sentient beings; a rabbit can't appreciate the glory of a sunset, for example. Perhaps this terminal heightening of the senses is a final gift from the gods, a thank you for my sacrifice here. I am relaxed and at peace, resting not uncomfortably flat on my back on the marble-topped altar in the Academy's Amphitheater. My arms are extended above my head with my wrists bound to metal loops embedded in the altar's corners. My ankles are bound tightly together and additional ropes secure them to loops at the other end of the altar. I am helpless to prevent what will come next, and I wouldn't have it any other way. A gentle summer breeze blows across me, ruffling the russet fur on my face, tickling my pointed vulpine ears. My formal Yellow dress and stockings are hot and somewhat uncomfortable, but it's a familiar discomfort, one I have become well accustomed to during my years at the Academy. This morning, I put them on for the last time and came here of my own free will to face the death I have picked out for myself. I have chosen to be crushed. The instrument of my death is in position, suspended above the altar over my chest and stomach. The apparatus consists of a weighted metal plate, secured on either side of the altar to sturdy metal posts, with a handle on one side to adjust the height. The press will be operated by Danielle, the chief priestess. My life and my death are in her capable hands; I have requested that she not be too quick about it. I look up at the press, and shiver in anticipation. I am anxious to feel it squeezing the life out of my insignificant body. I wish I could get to feel it pressed right up against my fur, the touch of its cold steel against my bare nipples, but I can't - decorum and the Academy Rules require that I be clothed. On the upside, my dress means that no one can see just how aroused I am by my helplessness and my impending death. My sensitive folds are already damp with anxious expectation. I wonder if that sensation will also be heightened. I hope so. Danielle has already asked the Questions, and I have affirmed my decision to die; there is nothing that can be done now to save my life. Danielle and her assistants are making one final check of my bonds and the equipment. My execution will begin any second now. Danielle looks at me and our eyes meet. I nod once. She begins to wind the handle, the screw turns, and the press moves slowly downward. I watch transfixed as it lethargically comes closer and closer to my chest. I breathe calmly, deeply, watching my breasts rise and fall freely for the last time in my life. At the first touch of the smooth metal against my chest, I reflexively exhale sharply out of nervous instinct, trying to make myself flatter. Danielle stops winding and waits for me to relax. I inhale, and my Yellow-clad breasts brush against the steel and a shiver courses through my body. I close my eyes and practice my breathing exercises, calming myself down. With each patient breath, my chest touches my death. Absentmindedly, I rub my thighs together, coaxing my arousal. I groan and flex my fingers; I wish I could touch myself. Danielle begins to turn the handle again. Within a few turns, the entire front of my torso is pressed against the metal, from just above my waist to my upper chest. My breathing becomes shallow as my chest can no longer rise and fall naturally. I squirm, trying to relieve the pressure, but my bonds hold secure. A trill of erotic pleasure goes through me and I moan wordlessly. Danielle gives the handle another couple turns and stops. My breaths are thin, weak, and rapid; my heart pounds furiously, trying to make the most of my diminished oxygen supply. I feel light-headed and my tongue protrudes awkwardly from my mouth. My lungs are on fire and my ribs seem like they're about to crack. My aching breasts are compressed painfully flat, my hardened nipples squashed uncomfortably into my flesh, and yet at the same time it feels so good. I close my eyes and grind my hips as best I can manage with my ankles bound. I crave the pleasure of sexual release, just once more before I leave this world behind. I feel a light touch against my forehead and open my eyes. Danielle is at my side, tenderly sponging the hot sweat from my trembling brow. She smiles beatifically down at me and I manage a faint smile in return. "More," I whisper. Danielle nods and returns to the handle. With each turn, I can feel the terrible pressure on my fragile body increasing. Each breath is more excruciatingly difficult than the last. I can feel my body being compressed, my ribs on the verge of collapse. The agony is intense, and yet so is the pleasure. Inside me, I hear something pop and I cry out in sudden pain. Immediately, Danielle is at my side again. I can barely even breathe, and every inhalation requires monumental effort. This is what death feels like. I am dying, my life rapidly expiring, but I'm not ready to give up just yet - not until I get what I need. Fighting against the powerful force that's flattening my flimsy body, crushing my chest and squeezing my stomach, I muster my last scrap of energy to rub my thighs together one more time. I am rewarded with a white-hot burst of ecstasy shooting through my body as I climax in the most powerful orgasm I have ever felt, the pain temporarily blotted from my mind as I cum into my panties. I cry out in what ought to be a spontaneous howl of pleasure but instead only emerges from my tortured lungs as nothing more than a faint whistle. I try to inhale again, but my breath catches in my throat; the weight and pressure is too great and my beleaguered lungs have stopped working. My heart pounds frantically; it feels like it is beating right up against the hard steel that has me pinned against this sacrificial altar. My tail and limbs begin to twitch randomly, kept from thrashing about by my bondage. I am barely aware of Danielle looking down at me as she compassionately strokes my fur. "Don't fight it," I hear her whisper, "You're almost there." I try to tell my body to relax, but it doesn't respond. I feel my heart stop beating. A numbness begins to come over me and my limbs start to go limp. My brain begins to shut down. I don't feel any pain anymore. I don't feel anything at all, except for a dull sense of calm satisfaction. I don't know where I am. I don't know who I am. My vision is getting dark. Through the quickly descending fog I see a smiling friend standing over me. I die. -- Author's Notes First draft began February 10, 2010. First draft completed February 13, 2010. Editing completed February 17, 2010.