Execution Night: Playful 'Possum
by Kinto Mythostian


I take a modest bow as the crowd cheers the mare's passing and linger a moment to appreciate the tableau. The regal thoroughbred's well-toned body, so vivacious only a few moments ago, is now suspended motionless, her powerless hooves dangling high above the ground, her graceful neck stretched to an unnatural length. The pungency of her piss stings my nostrils as her bladder releases onto her walnut thighs, steaming in the cool autumn breeze. I wish I could stay longer and admire, but there are still four gibbets to be filled. 

I descend the steps from the platform to the tent where the quartet of remaining volunteers no doubt await my return anxiously. I push aside the flap and stand tall to better command their attention. 

Except, no one looks my way.

Three of the volunteers are focused on the fourth. My brow furrows. What is she...? Is that...? 

I cast a quick glance to the table where the collars lie; sure enough, only three belts of black leather are there. The fourth is being twirled like a miniature hula hoop around the prehensile tail of an opossum volunteer as she gyrates back and forth in an impromptu performance, her back to the entrance, dancing to music only she can hear. She is already mostly stripped, her torso completely bare from neck to nethers, wearing only black-and-turquoise striped thigh-high leggings and matching armwarmers. She has numerous piercings, no two alike, in her oversize mottled pink ears and several smooth steel barbells piercing her tail ladder-like near the tip. The other three volunteers are smiling and laughing, enthralled as the boldly ornamented marsupial shakes her booty and various other body parts, and I must suppress the reflex to crack a small smile myself. 

I clear my throat loudly.

I have the immediate attention of three of the volunteers. The opossum turns her head to look back over her shoulder, the collar still spiraling around her tail. "You're back sooner than I expected," she remarks casually; I notice she has piercings in her nose, lips, and tongue as well.

"Are we in trouble?" asks another of the volunteers nervously.

"Yes. The punishment is to be hanged by the neck until dead," teases the opossum, still dancing.

"No," I reassure, "Merriment is hardly protocol in these circumstances, but there is no rule against it. I like to see my gallowsfruits enjoying themselves. Of course... All good things must come to an end. Come here, dear, and let's put that collar where it belongs."

"Sweet!" The opossum does a pirouette and flicks her tail, sending the collar spinning up towards the ceiling. The leather ring brushes the canvas and falls back towards me before I snatch it out of midair.

"Aw. I was trying to get it over your horns. Can I try again?"

"No."

She shrugs and presents her throat, her toothy mouth in a beaming smile. Now that she's facing me and standing still, I can see two more rings piercing the lip of her marsupial pouch.

"Do you submit?"

"You have to ask?"

"There are rules."

"Fine. I officially waive my rights to life and liberty but not the pursuit of happiness and remit myself to the custody of the executioner. Now hurry up and hang me."

"Patience," I say, suppressing a smile. I buckle the collar securely around her neck, officially marking her for death. "Strip," I command.

"I already did."

I indicate her leggings and armwarmers. "You're supposed to be naked." 

"All my important bits are. Please can I leave them on?"

"If you refuse to take them off..."

"Yes?"

"The punishment is to be hanged by the neck until dead," I say with a wink.

"It's a fair cop," she shrugs, smiles, and puts her hands behind her back. She chitters as I bind them in place, her armwarmers preventing the leather straps from digging too deep into her wrists. "You enjoy your work, don't you?" she says conversationally.

I clip a leash to her collar and brush my finger along her pulsing throat. "Immensely." I give the leash a tug.

"Bye, gals!" she calls out to the three remaining volunteers as we leave the tent, "I'd love to stay and hang out, but I have to go hang out."

I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling as I do so.

She practically skips up the steps, so eager she is to meet her death. There are the usual cheers and applause as we reach the platform, but several spectators in one corner of the stands are clearly making an effort to be heard above the general din with wolfwhistles and catcalls. 

 "Friends of yours?" I ask the opossum.

"Uh-huh," she says, "We drew straws to decide which of us would hang tonight."

"And you lost?"

"No, silly! I won!" She beams toothily.

The cheers descend into silent hunger as we pass the lifelessly dangling wolfess and mare on our way to the third gibbet. The marsupial's nose twitches as she sniffs the air, tinged with lupine and equine musk. I tether her leash to the rail and she watches eagerly, grinding her thighs together as I deliberately tie one end of the coil of rope into a noose.

I unhook her leash and she scurries forward to stand on the X scratched into the trapdoor without me even having to direct her. She chitters and fidgets gleefully as I lower the noose over her head and adjust the lethal knot snug around her excitedly quivering neck. As I throw the loose end over the gibbet arm she balances on tiptoes and I oblige her by leaving as little slack as possible. As I busy myself with knotting the rope securely to the rail she twists her head back forth, savoring the rough feel of the rope rubbing against her hide.

She speaks up as I approach to hood her. "So does the condemned get a last request from her executioner?"

"Perhaps."

"Please?" She attempts to give me doe eyes, though an opossum is no cervine and never will be. 

"Alright. Tell me. What is so important that you would like to be your final act as a living, /breathing/, creature?"

She shudders with an erotic trill. "You do have a way with words. It's nothing much, but... may I have a kiss?"

"Acceptable," I nod. 

I hold her by her shoulders and draw her in close, and she leans into me pressing her chest to mine. Our muzzles meet and our lips part. She tastes of cinnamon lip gloss. I give myself to her, holding nothing back, and she reciprocates. Her numerous needle-sharp teeth rasp against my tongue as our kiss deepens. I feel her piercing brush my lip as her tongue slips inside my own mouth. I wrap one arm around her waist and clutch her nude bosom to mine; I slide my other hand inside the fleshy warmth of her pouch to fondle her baker's dozen of teats. Her pulse pounds with passion, giving in to the heat of the moment. Down below, I can feel her prehensile tail curling around my leg and snaking up my thigh to poke under my skirt.

Mid-kiss, she makes a sound of confusion. I can feel the pierced tip of her tail prodding around my nethers, clacking metal against metal.

Our lips draw apart. "Is there a problem?" I ask with a smirk, knowing full well the cause of her surprise.

"Where's... Are you...?" Her look of befuddlement is so cute.

"Nothing so exotic as that. It's a chastity belt," I whisper.

"But... Why?"

"You volunteered to die an agonizing death and you're asking me 'Why?'"

"Fair point. But... you have to watch all us hot girls hang and you can't even...?"

I shake my head no.

"That must be frustrating."

I lean in close so my lips are right beside her mottled pink ear, "Exquisitely." I gently peck the edge of her ear and she shudders.

"Well... wow... I guess I'll just have to cum hard enough for both of us, eh?"

"I don't doubt you have it in you." My hand still in her pouch, I give one of her nipples a sharp tweak; the back of my hand brushes against fabric. "What's this? It seems I'm not the only one hiding something." I extract a pair of pink panties from the opossum's pouch and give her a questioning look.

"They're hers," she nods towards the late mare, "Well, they were. She left them behind in the tent..." She smiles guiltily.

I hold them to my nose and give them a sniff; the thoroughbred was hot and ready long before her dance began and the pink cotton is heavy with her musk. I can certainly sympathize with the opossum wanting to save them. A wicked idea creeps into my mind. "Contraband. Let's just put these someplace safer, shall we?" The opossum watches as I drop the panties into the leather hood she will soon wear, right where her nose will draw her final breaths. 

She smiles. "I suppose it's no less than I deserve, eh?"

I spread the slit at the back of the hood and motion to pull it over her head.

"Wait."

I pause. "Hmm?"

"Last words?"

"Haven't you dragged this out long enough already?"

"I won't get another shot at this," she says frankly.

"Very well."

The opossum turns to face out over the audience. In a loud, clear voice she proclaims, "Live for the moment. The moment is all you have."

"Well said."

She gives me a last smile, the last expression anyone will ever see from her, and I pull the brown leather hood over her head, pinning her pierced ears flat to her skull, making sure the mare's musky panties are positioned where she will have no choice but to breathe through them.

I step back and take in the sight. She is perched on the tips of her toes, the turquoise and black of her woolen accoutrements contrasting sharply with the dull gray of her fur. Her tail twitches back and forth restlessly, the pierced tip curled into a little U. Her vulva is visibly swollen and wet, anxious for the thrill that awaits. She is presented to be snuffed; noosed, hooded, and bound helpless, surrendered completely to the whims of her own pleasure and that of her audience. I grasp the lever firmly in one hand, her life poised on a hairtrigger release.

"Take a deep breath, darling," I say in a voice loud and clear enough for everyone to hear. I watch the opossum's chest swell proudly with her last breath. When it reaches its peak, I throw the lever. The trapdoor bangs open, dropping her a scant few inches into death's hungry embrace. The crowd roars its approval as the rope snaps taut and the stout noose sinks deep into the fragile flesh beneath her chin. 

For barely a moment she dangles near motionless, stunned by the abrupt choke of the coarse hemp, but almost immediately she begins to kick, her black-and-turquoise strobed legs a blur as the instinctual fight for survival takes hold. Her muscular tail twists behind her in calligraphic curlicues.

In no time at all, the doomed marsupial begins to take control of her struggles, the random flailing of agonizing reflex giving way to kicks that are rhythmic, purposeful; riding the pain like a professional. She has practiced, no doubt, with her catcalling friends; I can hear them calling out above the din of the audience even now, egging the marsupial on, eager to make themselves heard to her above the throbbing of her own heart. After tonight they will never enjoy her company again, never hear her laugh or partake in the warmth of her flesh, but I don't expect they will have much time to mourn; no doubt most of them have no intention of seeing the festival's closing ceremony themselves. 
 
The opossum's prehensile tail curls back around her legs and towards her front; I realize her purpose only a moment before. There is nothing standing in her way as there was when she tried the trick on me; the marsupial jabs her tail directly into her glistening vagina, sinking it in deeper than I would have thought pleasurable or even possible. The strategically placed piercings near the tip rub bump-bump-bump against her clitoris like a living dildo. An ecstatic whistling squeal can be heard faintly behind the drool-stained leather hood as the opossum tailfucks herself to an almost instantaneous orgasm.

As the creaking rope inch by inch squeezes the life from her body, death claiming her one denied breath at a time, her tail writhes inside of her like thHe tentacle of an especially violent and nymphomaniacal chthonic god; it is a rare volunteer who can show me something I've not seen before. The opossum is rough and merciless, milking herself for all she's worth, abusing her body like there's no tomorrow - which, of course, for her there isn't.

Meanwhile, hidden behind my long skirt, my vulva burns against the confines of my chastity as I watch the intense display, the sweet pain of enforced denial as acutely excruciating as ever. The hooffingers of my right hand claw at the impervious metal, probing the keyhole that keeps my flesh sealed safely from any touch. I want nothing more than to give in and just masturbate here and now until I'm lightheaded, but this is the sweet poison I crave and have chosen, just as the asphyxiating opossum before me has chosen hers. Though my keyholder is nowhere near, I know they would approve of my agony, and paradoxically the thought only makes me more aroused.

The audience of course does not notice my own private anguish, transfixed as they are by the far more entertaining display being put on by the condemned marsupial. Again and again the strangling opossum pumps her tail back and forth, driving it deep into her own dripping sex. It is quite a show, baring everything to her audience in a lewd spectacle of raw sex. She pushes herself to orgasm after orgasm, her viscous juices leaking out around her tail, soaking into the wiry fur of her thighs, staining her leggings. Even after she runs dry she keeps up the pace, her female organ clenching and throbbing as she powers on heedless of the pain.

As every executioner knows, however, nothing good can last forever. Patient death always wins in the end, and the noose's effects begin to take their toll on the exhibitionist opossum. The vigor and energy of her performance has come at the expense of longevity. Her thrashing movements become less controlled and more erratic, her thrusts less powerful. I can practically feel her trying to coax one more orgasm from her abused cooch, but I fear she simply doesn't have the strength.

Her wool-warmed legs fall limp as she concentrates the last minim of her energy on her tail. With one last powerful spasm of strength the opossum buries the tip deeper than ever; she must be practically tearing through her own cervix. Her suspended body convulses sharply forward, her clawed toes clench, her hooded head raises a fraction, and a ripple propagates down her tail from the base of her spine all the way to the tip embedded inside of her. Though no more nectar leaks out, her vulva contracts sharply in one final, soul-quaking climax.

Her last reserves spent, the opossum at last surrenders herself to the beckoning darkness. Her asphyxiated body slumps limp, every muscle relaxing, chin sagging, toes unclenching. Slowly her tail slides free of her vulva, soaked thoroughly with her own nectar. The piercings at the tip emerge one at a time. Bump. Bump. Bump, against her raw and exhausted clitoris, her toes trembling faintly with each touch. With a final wet squorlp the tip comes free and her tail heavily drops to dangle heavily beneath her, deadweight.

The tail tip curls for a moment into a U and then uncurls, straight and controlled only by gravity. A warm trickle of urine soaks into her orgasm-stained leggings. She is, for the first time since I've met her, completely motionless. Another life cut brutally short in its prime.

The crowd erupts in applause.






First draft begun November 1, 2012. First draft completed November 13, 2014. Yes, two years. Shut up. Editing completed January 2, 2015.