Execution Night: Opening the Festival by Kinto Mythostian The sky is aflame with the crimson glow of a sailor's sunset. Furs of every gender and species pack into the outdoor theater in the crisp autumn air. Fur, feathers, and scales jostle for position in the seats as attendants light the torches that will provide illumination for this moonless night's festivities. On the stage high above the ground, a row of six gaunt gallows stand sentinel above a row of six trapdoors. -- In an unadorned canvas tent out of sight behind the stage the volunteers wait. They all look at me as I enter, but when I neither acknowledge nor address then after a couple minutes they revert to their own private worlds of anticipation. I look them over, a grin creeping across my face. Tonight, the first night of the festival, these six will hang; their lives and deaths are in my hands. I pick up a black collar from a table beside the entrance and knead the supple leather between my hands, ready for the neck of whoever shall be my first victim. The sweep of my gaze comes to rest on a fay silver wolfess, dressed in a yellow sundress and standing apart from the rest. She is facing away from me, her argent tail hanging nearly motionless. I silently approach and place my hand on her shoulder. She starts and turns to face me. "Oh! Uh, hello." "Hello, my little gallows-fruit." She shivers. The other volunteers have already turned to watch us, ears perked to hear every word of our exchange. The wolfess looks around at them uncertainly before asking me, "So, um, which one of us is first?" I look her up and down. She's hardly more than five feet tall, with a gently curved chest and a slender build. "You." "Me? Open the festival?" Her blue eyes open wide. "Why not?" "I can't... I mean, I... I'd rather not go first." "You don't have a say in the matter." "But surely... I know, I'm quite plain... maybe someone more exotic would be..." She looks around at the other volunteers for support, but they nod encouragingly back at her. "I don't want someone 'more exotic.' I want you." I grip her shoulder more firmly. "To be hanged? To die?" "That is what you volunteered for, is it not?" I ask not unkindly. She nods meekly. I release her shoulder and kneel before her, offering up the leather collar. "Please, my dear, I want you to open the festival. Will you do me the honor of christening my gallows?" My gesture surprises her and she is momentarily taken aback. She looks down at her toes, trying not to meet my gaze. Her claws uncertainly scuff at the floor; she clasps and unclasps her hands. I wait; there is no hurry, and I cannot force her submission. Besides, my posture puts me at the perfect height to whiff the faint savory arousal hidden behind her dress; at least part of her is anxious for the gibbet. After several moments she looks back into my eyes. "Yes," she whispers; her voice is timid but her eyes sparkle with guilty excitement. I stand up, smiling. "Thank you, sweetheart. I promise you, it'll be like nothing you've ever felt." She makes no resistance as I fit the collar around her neck and buckle it loosely in place. She is mine now, her sentence official. "Or will ever feel again. Take off your clothes." The collared wolfess strips off her dress obediently; she has nothing on underneath. Her lustrous silver fur is the color of the full moon, glowing like platinum in the lantern light. Her tail curls around her front and her hands cover her pert breasts in reflexive modesty. I crack a wry smile before taking hold of her wrists and gently but forcefully guiding them away from her chest and behind her back. She moans quietly as I tightly bind her hands in place with thongs of leather. "Tight enough for you?" I tease as I clip a leash to her collar. "Yes, my executioner." "Very good. Let's get you hanged." I smack her playfully on her ass and she yelps in surprise. I grab a long coil of rope and a dark leather hood, and walk out through the tent flap with her following, the leash hanging slack between us. The random hubbub of the crowd quiets and morphs into unified applause as the wolfess and I emerge into the dying glow of the sunset. I spare the many-hued multitude only a passing glance before I begin climbing the steps up to the gallows platform, moving slowly to give the wolfess time to absorb everything and the audience time to absorb her. I hear her gasp as her eyes adjust to the light and she stumbles slightly walking up the steps; perhaps she hasn't been expecting this big a crowd. The applause fades into a hungry silence as we reach the platform, but I still do not acknowledge the audience as I hook the wolfess's leash onto a metal hook fixed into the thick log railing. With deliberate action I fashion one end of the coil of rope into a noose, taking care to let her see every step in the construction of the instrument of her death. Her blue eyes watch in rapt attention; with her tail curled between her legs she grinds her thighs together slightly, the thick fur of her tail rubbing against her arousal. I unclip her leash from her collar and point to an X scratched deep into the planks of the trapdoor. The wolfess gulps and wordlessly steps forward to stand on it, her clawed footpaws planted firmly on the last solid surface she will ever feel. She looks down towards the ground far below, avoiding looking at the congregated mass of furs in the seats. I present the noose to her and slowly guide it around her snout. She leans into it, moaning slightly and nuzzling the coarse rope as it passes her cheeks. The rope forces her sharp lupine ears flat and they spring instantly back into place once the loop is past. When the noose is in place above her collar and just below her chin, I cinch the knot tight against the nape of her neck. She gasps sharply as the hempen embrace constricts against her silver fur. "That's just a taste, condemned," I whisper as I stroke the soft fur on the back of her head. She whimpers in response and her tail quivers back and forth. I throw the loose end of the rope over the gibbet and haul until it is stretched nearly taut above the wolfess; I secure the rope to the railing at the back of the platform. She is standing perfectly straight, no longer able to avoid gazing at the audience that has gathered to watch her die. She clenches her legs tightly together, pinching her tail. She turns her head to watch me as I walk back to her, her fur bunching against the thick knotted rope and a nervous smile on her face. "There's so many of them," she whispers hoarsely to me. I only nod in response. I stand behind the noosed wolfess with one arm on either side of her and hold the hood in front of her muzzle. I open it wide, spreading it from the slit that is cut into the back to accommodate the knot of the noose. She wrinkles her nose reflexively as the aged leather draws closer to her face, and yet she seems relieved to have her view of the audience eclipsed. The hood is old, veteran of many executions, saturated with drool, sweat, and the stale smell of death. As it envelopes her head the weight of the leather folds the wolfess's sharp ears flat - for good this time - against her skull. Her senses muffled, every sensation will become amplified as the life is choked from her body. Her features shrouded behind the hood's cloying darkness, she becomes just an anonymous wolfess to be snuffed. No name, no face; an object of lust for the lecherous audience. I lean against her, gently massaging her tense shoulders. "Relax," I whisper into the slit at the back of the hood. "You only get to do this once. Savor it. Don't worry about them out there. You don't have much longer; don't waste your precious time on stage fright." Her tail begins to uncurl from between her legs, and I offer an encouraging hand. I press my fingers to her labia, feeling the moist arousal hidden between her thighs. "I want you to dance like nobody's watching." "I will, my executioner," she sighs and leans back against me, her bound arms pressed to my chest, her tail brushing against my legs as it wags. Her preparations complete, I at last step forward to address the crowd. All eyes are on me, all ears perked. The theatre is silent save for the crackling of the torches. "This wolfess is going to die." A cheer rises from the crowd. "I invite you to look at her. Take her in. Rape her with your eyes, her whole body laid bare. Beautiful, virile, in the pink of health. And tonight she will hang. "She has committed no crime. She is in service to no god. She is going to die solely for your entertainment and for the promise of an orgasm like no other. "Imagine yourself in her place. Imagine the bite of the noose, the darkness of the hood. Imagine knowing that you will not live to see tomorrow. Imagine your future, your hopes, your dreams, your plans, and imagine all of them forfeit for the fleeting bloodlust of a crowd of strangers and your own primal desire. She has chosen this fate, volunteered to surrender her life for a spectacle. How many of you will choose the same before the festival closes? "Imagine that as you fap yourself numb while she dances with death, and enjoy." I stride back to the railing and grasp the lever. "Are you ready, sweetheart?" I call out to the moon-furred wolfess waiting anxiously beneath the moonless sky. Her tail has started to curl back towards her legs and her knees are knocking together nervously; but I can smell the heated musk of her arousal, and her vulva is still throbbing with excitement. She hesitates, then wags her tail once and nods confidently. Her breast swells with one final deep breath. "We'll see you on the Other Side. Let the festival begin!" I throw the lever and the trap bangs open to the cheers of the crowd. First snippet begun June 29, 2012; first draft begun in earnest August 30, 2012. First draft finished September 20, 2012. Editing completed September 28, 2012.