Read the original 'Jenny' for context regarding the characters.
*****
Jenny Friedman picked the perfect shade of lipstick to wear to wear for her execution today. The condemned murderess is standing just a couple feet away from me on the other side of the bars, her orange lips pouting as she waits for me to escort her to the gas chamber. Only the bars separating us keep me from pressing my lips against hers. The gleam in her eyes beckons me to open the cell door and have my way with her on the cot rather than watch her choke and cough in the cloud of cyanide gas in which she will soon be immersed. She knows that only a last minute stay from the highest court in the land can save her life and that her time is about to run out.
The prisoner doesn't know it yet, but I am to be her executioner. If the court doesn't issue a stay, it will be my task to pull the lever that drops the cyanide pellets into the basin of acid beneath her seat, releasing the lethal hydrogen cyanide gas that will asphyxiate her.
Maybe she thinks that she can trade her body for her life. The guard standing outside her cell definitely has the hots for her. He is almost convinced that she didn't commit the murder the state says she must die for and that he is about to put an innocent young woman to death. If anyone can get her out of this he can.
I watch her wrap her lips around her index finger and slowly push it in and out of her mouth, hinting what her lips or pussy can do for me.
Maybe she thinks that rather than see her be gassed, I'll pull a gun on the warden when we and take him hostage. Or, better yet, take hostage a young female witness who might have a kid or two. That would surely get her out of this prison or get both of us killed.
But maybe this siren isn't so innocent and, while we're in the throes of passion, plans to stab me in the throat with a shiv and then find a hiding place in the labyrinthine passages of this old building while I'm bleeding to death.
But she's wrong. Her time's up. She's not going to get a stay. She's going to sit in that gas chamber and inhale the fumes. Nothing can stop that. And it's not because I don't have the hots for her or I'm afraid she'll kill me.
It's because I'm not going to let the quarter million dollars go to waste that I've spent to renovate this old jail. Declared a historical site, I've helped it be turned into a museum, the entrance fees to which go to fund the nonprofit that preserves other historic sites throughout the city in which I live. In a wing not open to the public, I have had a death chamber built so I can act out my kinky fantasies. Adjacent to it is a block of cells where my prisoner can await her mock execution.
My hard on has made a tent in my trousers as I survey my scrumptious wife standing behind the bars of the cell, clad in a black bra that barely covers her nipples, a matching g-string, and nothing else. That she has decided to look her best for her execution almost spoils the scene.
The nails at the end of her long slender fingers wrapped around the black bars separating us are painted scarlet. The diamonds surrounding the ruby implanted in a gold band on her right fourth finger glisten in the stark white light. She has not taken her engagement ring and wedding band off her left fourth finger.
The diamond earrings she got for our anniversary adorn her earlobes. A silver Star of David emblazoned with diamonds dangles from a silver chain around her neck. Decorating her navel is a silver hoop.
Hebrew letters spelling 'L'chaim' are written in henna on her right arm and a blue henna chain encircles her left arm.
Her chestnut curly mane falls to her shoulders. Bangs hang over her forehead. The blush that gives a healthy glow to her cheeks reminds me of what will be missing after her character is put to death. Just the right shade of foundation has made her face radiant in the stark white illumination of her death cell and the dank corridor that leads to a replica of the California gas chamber. Mascara, thick black eyeliner, and light blue shadow combine to make her eyes both slutty and sad; maybe in the hope of being so alluring I'll forget about my creepy fantasy and just fuck her instead.
But Jenny indulges my fetishes more than willingly, sending me to ecstasy just as the vanilla pleasures she enjoys do the same for her. Sometimes we even mix things up. She likes cunnilingus just as much with her wrists bound with her stockings to the posts on either side of our bed as she does with her hands free running her fingers through my hair.
But I'm not going to fuck her yet, no matter how much we both want it. The show must go on. Waiting in the ersatz death chamber to which her character will soon take her last walk, paid by the hour, is a film crew waiting to record her execution.
Today I have made the mistake of allowing the lead actress in my scene keep her mobile phone with her. The screen flashes on and I curse to myself upon hearing the buzz alerting the user of the arrival of a text message, knowing that the distraction will persist until the buzz is acknowledged. I'm careful to hide my annoyance lest it spoil her mood and prevent my star from giving her best performance.
The seductress vanishes. Dr. Jenny Friedman's brows furrow as she contemplates how to solve whichever obstetrical problem has been posed to her. But my displeasure goes away as I take in Jenny's curves while she leans against the wall banging out a text message.
She tosses the phone onto the cot. Turning again to me she is back in character, smiling lasciviously, no longer the caring doctor ready to cheerfully come to the assistance of any pregnant woman in need of her services regardless of the time of day or whether her husband wants to ravish her.
The lascivious smile still on her face, she saunters over to the bars of the cell. She wraps the fingers of both her hands around the bars and thrusts out her chest, exposing the little cleavage that isn't already showing. I follow her eyes down to the tent my rigid cock has made in my trousers.
"Nice," she remarks.
I then feel her left hand gripping my member and hear her giggle.
"I like him," she whispers.
Her hand moves up and down the shaft of my cock. I don't try to stop her but nor do I undo my trousers.
She then bats her mascara laden lashes and informs me, "This bad girl can help him if you help her."
"You're not getting out of this. You're going to sit in that gas chamber until the warden say it's time for us to open up the door and carry your body out. And face it. Then you'll be dead."
She forms her lips into an oval.
"But first wouldn't you like me to wrap these lips around that hard cock of yours? Wouldn't you like to cum in my mouth, squirt your jizz on my face, fuck me in the ass, or fuck my pussy the old fashioned way?"
"It took half a year to get that thing built and, goddamn it, I'm going to use it!" I exclaim, breaking character, half annoyed but almost ready to cum.
She picks up her mobile phone, leans against the wall again, kicks off her sandal, extends her left leg, and then slowly runs her heel down her right shin, all the while with a naughty grin on her face. As the phone screen flashes on, she says, "Just give me a minute."
I watch her long slender fingers dance on the mobile phone screen. An image of her favorite hunk with his flowing black hair, deep dark eyes, and his naked chest glistening with beads of sweat flashes onto the screen. I shouldn't be jealous but I hate her infatuation with him.
Jenny places her index finger to her lips and begins to fellate it again. She shoots a glance toward me and sees I'm still not ready to make love to her. Her index finger alights on the screen of the phone and swipes across it, displaying image after image of my talentless rival in different alluring poses. Happening upon one she finds particularly pleasing, her hand migrates to her crotch and her fingers disappear beneath the cloth of her g-string.
Unable to stand her teasing anymore, I turn the key and throw open the door to the cell. My wife makes no objection when I seize the phone from her hand and toss it on the cot. She immediately engulfs me in her arms and our lips lock in a passionate kiss, her ardor providing assurance that her love is only for me and not the vapid creature she had been ogling.
My cock slips into the groove between her labia as our tongues dance together. She does not stop grinding on me when our lips part and moans softly as we continue our embrace, cheek to cheek.
When she finally releases me I whisper into her ear, "It's time."
She saunters over to the mirror above the sink, the few steps taking longer than necessary in an attempt to extend her character's time on earth by a few seconds. I watch her cover up a tiny pimple beneath her chin with a dab of foundation, apply another coat of lipstick, add a little more blush to her cheeks, and then inspect her work in the mirror. After running her brush a few times through her hair and then opening the bottle of foundation to apply some to an imaginary blemish on her forehead, she turns to me and asks, "Do you like the way I look?"
It's something she need not be concerned about as long as she's married to me.
But before I can answer, the sound of a few notes from 'Pachelbel's Canon in D' emerges from her phone, indicating a caller's need for her medical expertise. "Shit!" she exclaims, sincere in her pique over the interruption of my fantasy. She picks it up from the cot and looks at the screen, sighing with relief before spitting out the words, "I'll call you back later!"
She powers down her phone and hands the device to me, which I slip it into my pocket. She then places her hands behind her back, offering me her wrists, now ready to begin the last walk.
I see Jenny's face in the mirror contorting into a frown as I finish clamping the manacles around her wrists. She turns to face me and our gazes meet, and with the lasciviousness gone from her countenance, her eyes plead with mine to spare her from the gas chamber.
I kneel down to shackle her ankles.
"No! No!" she exclaims.
Her right ankle breaks away from my grasp. I grip it firmly with my left hand and plant it on the floor as she continues trying to move it away.
"You must let me. I'll have to call for help and you'll get pepper spray in your eyes if you don't let me restrain you. You don't want this to be any worse than it has to be."
"I didn't do it. I'm not guilty! You must know that I could never kill anyone!"
"I know but the jury said you did and that's what the law goes by."
"I don't want to die!"
"I don't want to see you die either. But it won't take long. You'll go quick."
"That's not what I've heard. The other guards make sure we know how awful it is. It doesn't matter how long you hold your breath. No one's ever been able to make themselves pass out by not breathing. No matter how much a person is determined not to breath in the gas, they always end up doing it.
"And as soon as it hits your lungs you start coughing. And when the first coughing fit ends, you take in a bigger breath and cough even more.
"Your instincts make you try to get away from the gas, so to get out of the chair you're strapped into, people thrash around and push so hard against the straps that they sometimes even break their bones. It must hurt really a lot when the gas gets into their system because their faces get contorted like they're in the worst pain a person can be in.
"And they say a person can stay alive for fifteen minutes before it's over, coughing and choking with their arms and legs and head thrashing about, wide awake and knowing what's happening until the very end. Do you want to see that happen to me?"
"There's nothing more I can do. It's going to happen whether I lead you down that corridor or not, because someone else will. Don't you want me to be there?" I ask as I clamp a shackle around her right ankle.
"I love you!" she proclaims, looking down at me as I clamp the other shackle around her left ankle.
"We've become good friends. I'm sorry it happened this way."
I stand up and take her arm and nudge her forward to begin her last walk.
"Goddamn it! We're not just friends. I've been in love with you ever since I laid eyes on you. And I know you're in love with me. We need more time!"
My victim presses against me and I take her into my arms. She moans when my erect member slides into the groove between her labia. I don't try to make it stop when her pudenda begins grinding against my crotch.
She breaks free from my embrace and turns to her side. With her wrists still cuffed behind her back, she threads the tongue through the buckle of the black leather belt that holds up my trousers and manages to release the prong. Her fingers search for the button on the top of my pants, and it is soon unfastened. She then pulls down the zipper, exposing the glistening head of my tumescent cock.
The condemned woman kneels before me, grasps the waistband of my underpants between her teeth, and jerks my shorts down to my knees, leaving some of her orange lipstick on the fabric. My cock free, she watches it flop back and forth a couple of times and then looks up at me.
The leer on her face tells me she wants to do it with me more than anything else, even being alive. I watch the tip of her tongue circle her lips before she goes down on me.
I let out a sigh as my cock slides into her mouth. The character that I play is single and a virgin. He has never even made out with a girl.
I journey back in time to when I was a pimple-faced adolescent nerd who thought he'd end up working in a lab somewhere and never, ever, get laid. Instead, I launch myself on an alternative timeline, somehow embarking on a career as a corrections officer.
On this unlikely timeline, I guard the women on death row and dream about being the knight in shining armor who will save one of them from the gas chamber. Far off the timeline in which I am a billionaire happily married to the shackled woman with my cock in her mouth, I am now a man who is helpless to save from execution by lethal gas the woman who is fellating him.
The condemned woman's lips slide up and down the shaft of my erect cock and the tip of her tongue circles the corona, landing on the frenulum where it pleasures me with little licks and flicks. Almost ready to cum, I wonder if the woman who is fellating me will get mad if I shoot a load into her mouth, even though she's swallowed my semen scores of times in real life.
But she expels me just before I reach the point of no return and ascends from her knees, planting kisses on my torso. My arms wrap around her, our lips meet and, as my character kisses her, it is as if I am kissing a woman passionately for the first time.
She breaks out of our embrace and sits on the cot, beckoning me to join her. I uncuff her hands and push her head down onto the pillow. I then reapply the manacles to her wrists, shackling her to the spindles at the head of the cot. I move to her feet and free her ankles from the shackles. She patiently waits as I position her feet on either side of the cot. I thread the long tethering chain through the spindles at the foot of the cot, and clamp the shackles around her ankles again, spread eagling her.
She is breathing hard now, passion in her eyes, waiting for me to fuck her, pulling against the chains that keep me from her embrace. I get scared. What if someone sees us? What diseases might she give me? What if she gets pregnant? And then I chuckle to myself about the last worry. She ain't having no baby since she'll be dead within the hour.
"I want you inside me!" she cries out, the chains rattling as she struggles in vain to free her limbs.
I wonder if they take vaginal swabs after women have been executed to see who they've fucked to help them escape.
I mount the cot and kneel between her legs, watching her trying to lift her torso off the cot to kiss me, and then falling back, her efforts stymied by the chains securing her wrists and ankles. She lifts her pelvis, thrusting it at me, but is unable to reach the hard mass between my legs. She grimaces with frustration, unable to pleasure herself or me.
I look at the innocent woman who is about to die, desperate to be loved before the end of her life by the man whom she has fallen for, trembling as I worry that any second someone will appear and discover us. That behind the heavy green metal door at the end of the corridor are crystals of hydrogen cyanide waiting to be dropped by me into a vat of acid to kill the woman lying beneath me seems absolutely real.
I finally muster the courage to do what we both want. I lower myself onto her body and start rocking my pelvis on hers, just like she did to me. The look of a caged animal leaves her face. She dreamily gazes into my eyes and her struggles against the chains stop.
I move the flimsy piece of cloth that guards her pussy to the side. Her eyes close and she moans softly as I penetrate her. Our lips meet and our tongues dance in the ballroom that our two mouths joined together have become as I thrust in and out.
My misgivings vanish. I don't care what happens as long as I can fuck her. The door to the cell just a foot away, I'll slam it shut with my foot if anyone comes upon us. And after I expel my seed into her and they get the door open, I'll fight with every bit of strength I have to keep my woman from being taken to the gas chamber.
My lover doesn't waste any time. Knowing she is about to die, she thrusts her pelvis up and down beneath me, frantic to have a climax. I feel feel her body go limp as we kiss and I realize she has just orgasmed.
Suddenly she closes her legs and expels me. Instead of basking in the afterglow from making love to a woman for the first time, I look down at her, astonished.
"We can finish this if you can keep them from gassing me!"
I prop myself up on my elbows, my cock still hard as a rock. It surprises me to be angry with a creature who has given me such pleasure. I try to penetrate her again but she won't let me enter her.
"Get dressed! You're not going to be able to save me if you bring me there with your dick hanging out of your pants."
I reflexly do as she tells me. Looking down at her as I pull up my zipper and then buckle my belt, I wonder if she will reveal to the warden what we have just done.
A raspy voice sounds from my walkie-talkie, "Bring her in." Then there is silence on the line.
I look at the wet spot my precum has made on the front of my pants.
"Don't worry. I won't tell them what we just you just did to me."
I remove the shackles from her wrists. I then pull her hands behind her back and reapply the manacles to each wrist, my anger making me put them on tight this time. I unshackle her ankles. She places her feet on the floor and gets back into her sandals. I clamp the shackles to her ankles, crunching her skin against her tibia.
"Ouch!" she complains.
"From here on I'm just your guard."
I rise to my feet and take her right arm and coax her to move forward.
"I know I'm not going to die. You'll come up with something," she says with certainty.
I urge her forward and we exit the cell, the tether between her ankles rattling as it drags across the floor. I get hard again looking at her shackled wrists and ankles.
My anger is replaced by hopelessness. I will never get to spill my seed inside her. And maybe she just came onto me so I'll do something foolish in the execution chamber to buy her more time.
"That was your first time you were ever with a woman, wasn't it?"
I nod affirmatively, refusing to speak to the person who has just duped me.
"You're only my second. The guy I killed was the first. So if you die saving me, it will be according to pattern."
Jenny isn't supposed to ad lib. The damsels in distress in my fantasies are always innocent. I'm not the kind of person who would quixotically give his life to save a woman who's guilty, no matter how much I like fucking her. So I guess her character is going to have to die this time.
I say nothing as I escort my charge on her last walk.
"I wish I had let you cum. That wasn't very nice of me."
I stop.
"Goddamn it! Quit pretending. I know this was all about getting me to make some kind of scene in the death chamber to put a stop to things!"
Her jaw is limp as she looks at me with astonishment.
"I'm no fucking criminal. I don't kill people every day!" she shouts incredulously
"Arthur was better off dead. He was really torn up that his kids wouldn't talk to him anymore after they found out about us. He couldn't face life without me or them. He cried after every time we made love. I couldn't stand it any more. And rather than his greedy kids getting the half a million dollars when he died, I thought I should be able to pay off my student loans and then live a little nicely.
'I do love you. If you get me out of this we can still have a life together."
"What the fuck do you want me to do?"
"I don't know! Break the lever that drops the cyanide pellets. Tell them that some gauge is reading wrong and that the gas will leak out of the chamber. Take me out of this place through a secret passage. Convince everyone I'm innocent so none of them will be able to kill me. Just stop this from happening!"
"There are guards on the other side of both of those doors. There are no secret passages. And they tested the gas chamber yesterday. They killed a rabbit in it. And all inmates say they're innocent. We guards are used to hearing it. There's no way out for you."
She casts down her eyes.
"So I guess I really should have let you cum. But I love you. I wish things had turned out differently. And you'll find another girl someday."
She turns and looks at me, hoping that her story had been believed.
Our faces move toward one another. I've fallen for her again. We share a final kiss that lasts longer than it should. Tears are streaming down our faces when our lips break apart. I then take her arm and nudge her forward. The sound of her chains rattling echoes through the corridor as she resumes her last walk.
We reach the heavy metal door. I grab the handle and open it, the dank corridor illuminated by light streaming in from the death chamber.
As the door opens, my victim's eyes widen as she regards the dull green octagonal chamber of death in which she will soon sit. The door to the gas chamber is wide open, revealing the single seat in which she will be strapped while she dies.
From the left side of the chamber extends a lever bent upward at a right angle, its end covered by vinyl. It is the lever I will pull to drop a cheesecloth bagful of ersatz cyanide pellets into a basin of ersatz acid, from which ersatz hydrogen cyanide will bubble, causing the occupant's ersatz agony and death.
Flanking the gas chamber stand two women, one black and one white, dressed in guards' uniforms as am I, seeming like angels guarding the gates to the netherworld, their stern expressions informing that no resistance will be tolerated as they prepare to cast into Hell the reprobate whose violation of the Law offends their Boss.
To the right of the gas chamber is a lectern at which an older gentlemen dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and red tie stands. He plays the warden, who will give me the command to drop the ersatz cyanide pellets. The severe expression on his visage conveys the opprobrium of the state at the heinous crime for which the woman standing next to me is about to die. Behind him is a telephone mounted on the wall, its white plastic a symbol of hope.
Undergraduate university students obtaining their education on my tab bear solemn expressions as they sit in the witness area, their cell phones heaped together in a box at the entrance to the death chamber lest a text or a call distract them from the task of witnessing the ersatz death of one of their fellow citizens. The non-disclosure forms they've all signed lie in a neat stack next to their cell phones, providing injunctive relief against anyone who is tempted to let the media inform the other 99% of America what a naughty billionaire does in his spare time.
Our cinematographer, a fat man with with four days of stubble on his chin and hair in a ponytail, is pointing a video camera at the two stars of the scene, waiting for the condemned woman to walk her last twenty feet. The murderess gulps and then proceeds on her own volition straight to the gas chamber, her expression impassive, as I struggle to keep pace.
The white guard takes her arm to steady her as she steps over the metal lip to enter the chamber. Both of the guards follow her inside. The black woman prods her to turn around so that her back is facing the seat. I then step inside and unshackle the condemned woman's wrists and ankles.
Jenny's limbs free, she dutifully sits down in the chair. I grab her left wrist while the black guard seizes the other. We anchor them onto the arms of the chair as the condemned woman sits motionless, staring blankly ahead. She winces as the black guard pulls the wrist strap tight and buckles it, her character perhaps relishing the opportunity to teach the ultimate lesson to a reprobate who is for a change not a member of her race. I apply the strap on my side more gently and pat the condemned woman on the hand, which she acknowledges with the hint of a smile. I then thread the free end of the chest strap through the buckle, pull the straps tight beneath her breasts, and secure her torso to the back of the chair. The white guard then secures her upper arms to the back of the chair while I apply straps to her ankles, securing both to a bar between the chair legs.
I paste three electrical leads to Jenny's chest and attach the wires to a device that in real life would send signals to a heart monitor and allow the exact moment of the occupant of the gas chamber's cardiac arrest to be recorded.
I then step in front of the victim to inspect my work. I am rock hard and my heart is pounding as I gaze at the beautiful condemned woman, helplessly waiting to be surrounded by a cloud of hydrogen cyanide, hoping for a miracle to avoid breathing in the deadly gas that is about to fill the chamberd so she can enjoy our love.
She tests her bonds and frowns upon finding them secure. I lean over and kiss her on the cheek and she thanks me with a wan smile.
I follow the other two guards out of the gas chamber. The hinges screech as I close the metal door. I take hold of the metal wheel the metal wheel in the center of the door, which looks innocently like the steering wheel of a car. It graciously turns silently as I hermetically seal the victim inside. On each of the other seven sides of the lethal chamber is a large window through which the witnesses and prison staff will view the condemned woman's death agony.
I take my position at the lever that will drop the pellets. Jenny is staring straight ahead at the door. Through the glass on the other side of the chamber I see the witnesses whispering to each other. Upon regarding the scowl on the warden's face each witness in turn resumes their solemn demeanor.
The woman strapped to the chair looks up at the single light directly above her illuminating the inside of her death chamber. The videographer comes over next to me and points the camera lens at the victim. She takes a few rapid breaths and shoots a quick glance at me and then turns her head and studies the witnesses.
The warden nods and I open the valve to let the ersatz acid flow into the basin beneath the chair in which the ersatz cyanide pellets will dissolve. Startled by the noise of liquid flowing, Jenny casts her gaze downward and then looks at me, bites her lower lip, and pleads with her eyes for me to stop the process.
The telephone rings.
The warden picks up the microphone. The eyes of everyone in the death chamber are upon him as he picks up the microphone and announces to the condemned woman who can hear him through a speaker inside the lethal chamber, "You've been granted a stay while the justices vote on whether to hear your appeal.
Jenny sighs with relief and relaxes.
"May I escort the prisoner back to her cell?" I ask.
"No. They will take a vote and notify us shortly whether to proceed," the warden replies.
The second hand circles the clock once and then twice and finally a third time as everyone waits for the telephone to ring again. Jenny squirms in her seat. Her heart rate surges on the monitor.
The warden picks up the telephone before the first ring is over.
He mutters a few unintelligible words to the caller and turns around to hang up the receiver. Returning to the lectern, he studies the prisoner's death warrant as if to make sure it hasn't expired or that the wrong prisoner is about to be executed. He takes a sip of water from a glass at the top of the lectern, casually turns a page, and then takes his pen from his shirt pocket and writes something, perhaps signing his name.
Finally, he looks at the woman in the gas chamber and picks up the microphone. Jenny gazes into his eyes for a hint of her fate as everyone present listens to him clear his throat.
"Ms. Friedman, I'm sorry. The judges have voted not to hear your case. Do you have any last words?".
Jenny's back stiffens and her eyes dart about until they find the intercom above the door.
"I'm innocent! I didn't kill Arthur! Please don't do this to me!" she falsely cries out to the box above the door to the chamber as if within it is some entity that could save her life.
Tears stream down her face as she strains against her bonds.
"The execution shall proceed!" he then informs the room.
Jenny looks at me. Terror is in her eyes. I shrug my shoulders. The lever that I will pull to drop the cyanide pellets is visible to her through the window and onto it she fixes her gaze. I place my right hand on the black vinyl covering the top of the lever and watch the condemned woman violently shake her head no. The camera lens is a foot away zooming back and forth from my hand to the woman sitting helplessly in the gas chamber.
I hear the warden clear his throat again, registering his impatience. My gaze and the camera lens shift to him. I see him nodding his head yes, meaning it's time.
I look at Jenny inside the chamber. She is still shaking her head no, struggling to free her limbs, pleading with me not to drop the pellets that will kill her. But someone else will do it if I don't. There'd be no point in her sitting inside there waiting any longer than she has to.
The eyes of everyone in the death chamber are now on me. The creaking sound of metal against metal reverberates from the walls as I pull the lever back. I feel strangely disconnected-like it's not me dropping the pellets that will kill the person inside, but some entity controlling my arm.
Now knowing her doom is imminent, like a rodent placed in a bell jar in an experiment to prove the need for living things to have oxygen, Jenny faces forward and begins to hyperventilate, filling her lungs with sweet air for perhaps the last time. I take at least five seconds to pull the lever all the way.
By the time I let go bubbles have already formed in the basin beneath Jenny. Startled by the sound of bubbles bursting, she looks down to her side and sees a tendril of gas sneaking out from under her chair. She turns her face away and I then see her chest slowly expand as she sucks in a deep breath. She glances at me and finding no help, her eyes dart to the warden and the witnesses and the telephone, hoping to be spared the cruel punishment that awaits her.
Wispy white tendrils arise from around the chair. Jenny's countenance becomes animated with horror as she holds her breath while the gas envelop her. She makes another futile effort to free herself from the straps and then turns her head away from a wisp of gas that has drifted to her face.
She throws her head back and takes in a shallow breath to obtain a few seconds more of life, hoping to not yet fill her lungs with the ersatz hydrogen cyanide befouling the air around her. She looks at me, her lips sealed, and then casts her gaze upon the door, pleading for me to let her out before it's too late. I shake my head no and watch her again thrash about, as if after escaping her bonds she will find someway way to exit the hermetically sealed chamber.
I watch her chest expand involuntarily a few times as she hungers for oxygen but she refuses to part her lips to draw in a breath. She writhes in the chair, this time more forcefully. My underdrawers become wetter as I watch her biceps and triceps contract and her toes flex as she desperately tries to break free of her restraints.
She takes one more look at me. Seeing that I will be of no help, she turns her head to face the door. I watch her mouth open and her chest expand as she draws the lethal gas into her lungs.
Her chest heaves violently as she coughs, expelling a cloud of gas from her lungs, but then her instinct to breath forces her to reflexly draw in another breath from the cloud of gas in which she is now immersed. Just as foretold by her other jailers, she coughs and then wretches, but nothing comes out of her stomach. Suppressing the urge to cough, she turns to me, her head trembling, pleading for help. I shake my head no and turn away.
The cameraman scans the death chamber, zooming in on the faces of the other players. The witnesses, eyes transfixed at the sight of the woman in the chamber, aghast that she is still struggling to stay alive, display pity on their faces, the memory of her having taken someone's life no longer in the forefront of their minds. The black guard who helped strap Jenny in the chair regards her with schadenfreude and a tear trickles down the cheek of her white counterpart. The warden, impassive, looks away from the chamber to the clock, perhaps wondering how long he will be forced to witness the agony of the chamber's victim.
I turn back and cast my eyes on the woman in the chair, realizing that justice is being done, and deciding that I myself am a fool for having succumbed to her entreaties. Every breath she draws in is followed by a coughing spasm, and on her face is the panicked expression of someone hungering for air as they drown. Her eyes flit wildly about, desperately searching for a rescuer, drawing sympathy from the witnesses who nevertheless make no moves to lodge a protest against the suffering of a fellow human.
Aware that the woman in the chamber is just a murderous psychopath who used me and would make me suffer the same fate as that of the man for whose murder she is being executed, I experience no guilt as the site of her agony makes more secretions emerge from the meatus of my cock. I see the black guard, her eyes also affixed on the victim's struggles, nod with approval.
Replacing the prisoner's desperate hope is fear, the emotion written on the faces of even the most hardened psychopaths as they forfeit their lives for their misdeeds. And, as she tries to wriggle her right hand out of the leather strap securing her wrist to the armrest and her pelvis thrusts back and forth, grinding her pudenda against the seat of the chair in a futile attempt to gain leverage to break the straps securing her ankles, I imagine her frustration at not being able to get her finger between her legs and bring herself to one final climax to the image of her lover.
I glance at the cardiac monitor and see that my victim's heart is racing and going in and out of chaotic rhythms as it dies from lack of oxygen. I look back to Jenny and she is looking at me, disappointment showing through the grimace of unrelenting pain displayed on her face. She then slowly turns her face forward.
Her movements slow and her eyes glass over. Her face relaxes and her mouth falls open. The cough reflex gone, her chest smoothly rises and falls, her brain stem having now taken over, futilely commanding her to shallowly inhale and exhale the noxious fumes.
Finally her chest stops moving and her head falls backwards. I expect to hear the alarm of the monitor emit the high pitched tone indicating cardiac arrest, but instead she draws in one more breath and slowly turns her head toward me. My eyes meet her dead stare through which she gives me a glare of reproach. I do not look away until her head lifelessly falls to her chest. On the monitor each heartbeat follows the next by a longer interval until there is a flatline across the screen. I bow my head and, remembering the love I felt for her, fight back tears as the alarm screeches, indicating that my task has ended.
Upon hearing the high pitched whine through the speaker in the gas chamber indicating her character's demise, Jenny lifts her head and looks at me, concern registered on her face as she chews on her lower lip, surveying my expression for the critique of her acting that I will display.
I smile and her eyes follow mine downward. She strains to see over the bottom of the window where my crotch is hidden from her sight, and a smile lights up her face when her eyes look upon the big wet spot stretched over the bulge in my pants. I give her a thumbs up.
I leave my station to unseal the gas chamber. Our make up artist emerges from the background and hands me a bouquet of roses to reward my wife for her stellar performance. I turn the wheel in the middle of the door to open the chamber, concentrating on the task at hand to make my hard on go away. A cloud of carbon dioxide puffs out when the hermetic seal breaks and, as the door opens, Jenny's countenance emerges, an impatient look on her face.
She breaks into a smile upon seeing the bouquet of roses. Anxious to be united with my lover, I stumble over the metal lip on the threshold of the gas chamber, flailing away at the cloud of ersatz cyanide that has just killed my imaginary victim.
Securing my balance upon reaching my lover, I lean over the chair. With the cameraman at our side, the lens pointing at the smiling faces of the leading actor and actress, I see the red light go on as our lips lock and I exchange a passionate kiss with my still helplessly restrained wife.
I unfasten the straps from her wrists and she takes the flowers from my hand, then stretches to thank me with a kiss on the cheek. Her mouth forms into an oval as she regards the bulge in my pants with mock astonishment.
My wife, still restrained in the chair, furrows her forehead and glares at me sharply, not yet angry, but telling me it's time for her to have a rest. With a mock frown, I unfasten the wrist, arm, and chest straps. Her fingers run through my hair as I undo her ankle straps. I take one more look at her sitting inside the gas chamber and then extend my hand to help her to her feet.
I shake hands with the crew and hand them white envelopes bearing their names as they file out of the ersatz death chamber. Jenny kisses each one on the cheek before they are allowed to take her leave. The cinematographer is a professional of some note, and I spend a few minutes assuring him I will continue sending checks to the African children whose lives it has become his passion to save.
Shortly thereafter my ersatz prison is empty except for me and my wife, who is nowhere to be found.
I open the heavy metal door to the cell block from which the spirited character my wife played took her last walk and stealthfully move down the corridor to the open cell door at the end of the corridor, hoping to surprise the occupant. Arriving there, I find Jenny brushing her hair. She has not heard me and I drink in the site of her primping herself, just for me.
She fixes her eye makeup, applies a fresh coat of lipstick, and leans forward to carefully inspect her visage for flaws as I silently observe her. Finding one, she covers it up with a dab foundation. Satisfied with her appearance, she turns away from the mirror.
"Oh!" she exclaims, surprised by my presence.
"You were awesome."
"I hope so," she declares with fake annoyance and begins taking off her jewelry.
"You look pretty."
"Why thank you. And how long were you out there watching me?"
"I got here while you were brushing your hair."
"But what if I did something disgusting? What if I was picking something out of my teeth? Or what if I farted?"
"I like watching you primp for me. It reminds me that you're mine. And I don't know why I haven't ever heard you fart. It must be hard to hold them all in."
Now bereft of jewelry, she approaches and presses herself against me. My arms reflexly wrap around her and she leans back, falling into my embrace.
"Did you like what your fellatrix did to you before you killed her in the gas chamber?" she whispers in my ear.
I nod yes. The look in her eyes tells me enjoyed playing my victim in the bit of naughtiness that just transpired.
"Did she almost make you cum?"
I nod yes again.
"Would you rather have cum in her pussy than see her be gassed?"
I shake my head no.
The corners of her mouth turn down into a frown.
"So did I look like I was in pain?"
I nod yes again.
"Did I die well?"
"I don't want my fantasy girls to die. I like rescuing damsels in distress. But you left me no choice. You were guilty."
"But sometimes murderesses get life in prison."
"Don't worry. I have another fantasy in which your character and mine meet and fuck on another plane of existence."
"Can we fuck on this plane of existence now?"
Our lips hastily meet. I fumble to unhook her bra as she grinds her pudenda against mine. I finally undo the clasps and the straps fall loosely onto her shoulders. Our lips break apart and her head falls back. Her body tenses and she moans softly.
She breaks away from my embrace and falls backward onto the cot, her head landing on the pillow. She casts her bra away as I climb on the cot to join her. She lifts her legs to let me pull off her g-string. I then accept the invitation to apply my tongue to her clitoris. It is already erect and she runs her fingers through my hair as I pleasure her.
I move on top of her and sandwich my cock in the groove between her labia. She lifts her hands to embrace me but I seize her wrists, place them above her head, and trap them against the mattress, as if she is my prisoner again.
My roughness does not quell her passion, and she begins feverishly kissing my chest and neck. Our lips find each others and we exchange a passionate kiss as I slide my rigid member into her wet pussy. Our lips part and an expression of delight registers on her face as I thrust in and out. I release her hands and place my palms flat on the mattress as she wraps her arms around me.
She draws me to her lips for another kiss. As our tongues tangle, I feel myself weaken. But I so much do not want to cum yet.
When our lips break apart, I see that she too is on the verge. Her breathing is irregular and shallow and her eyes are glazed over like in the gas chamber. The little moans and grunts she makes distract me and I manage to hold off ejaculating a little longer.
Suddenly the tension leaves her body. Her breathing deepens. Jenny has climaxed. With no reason to hold back now I shoot my load into her pussy and collapse out of breath on top of her.
After we enjoy the afterglow for a few moments, she reaches into my pocket and retrieves her smartphone. I watch her flip through her email. Finding what she is looking for, she holds the phone up for me to see. On the screen is displayed an ultrasound image that I recognize as that of an embryo in utero.
"Rick, we made a baby!" she whispers.
*****
Jenny Friedman picked the perfect shade of lipstick to wear to wear for her execution today. The condemned murderess is standing just a couple feet away from me on the other side of the bars, her orange lips pouting as she waits for me to escort her to the gas chamber. Only the bars separating us keep me from pressing my lips against hers. The gleam in her eyes beckons me to open the cell door and have my way with her on the cot rather than watch her choke and cough in the cloud of cyanide gas in which she will soon be immersed. She knows that only a last minute stay from the highest court in the land can save her life and that her time is about to run out.
The prisoner doesn't know it yet, but I am to be her executioner. If the court doesn't issue a stay, it will be my task to pull the lever that drops the cyanide pellets into the basin of acid beneath her seat, releasing the lethal hydrogen cyanide gas that will asphyxiate her.
Maybe she thinks that she can trade her body for her life. The guard standing outside her cell definitely has the hots for her. He is almost convinced that she didn't commit the murder the state says she must die for and that he is about to put an innocent young woman to death. If anyone can get her out of this he can.
I watch her wrap her lips around her index finger and slowly push it in and out of her mouth, hinting what her lips or pussy can do for me.
Maybe she thinks that rather than see her be gassed, I'll pull a gun on the warden when we and take him hostage. Or, better yet, take hostage a young female witness who might have a kid or two. That would surely get her out of this prison or get both of us killed.
But maybe this siren isn't so innocent and, while we're in the throes of passion, plans to stab me in the throat with a shiv and then find a hiding place in the labyrinthine passages of this old building while I'm bleeding to death.
But she's wrong. Her time's up. She's not going to get a stay. She's going to sit in that gas chamber and inhale the fumes. Nothing can stop that. And it's not because I don't have the hots for her or I'm afraid she'll kill me.
It's because I'm not going to let the quarter million dollars go to waste that I've spent to renovate this old jail. Declared a historical site, I've helped it be turned into a museum, the entrance fees to which go to fund the nonprofit that preserves other historic sites throughout the city in which I live. In a wing not open to the public, I have had a death chamber built so I can act out my kinky fantasies. Adjacent to it is a block of cells where my prisoner can await her mock execution.
My hard on has made a tent in my trousers as I survey my scrumptious wife standing behind the bars of the cell, clad in a black bra that barely covers her nipples, a matching g-string, and nothing else. That she has decided to look her best for her execution almost spoils the scene.
The nails at the end of her long slender fingers wrapped around the black bars separating us are painted scarlet. The diamonds surrounding the ruby implanted in a gold band on her right fourth finger glisten in the stark white light. She has not taken her engagement ring and wedding band off her left fourth finger.
The diamond earrings she got for our anniversary adorn her earlobes. A silver Star of David emblazoned with diamonds dangles from a silver chain around her neck. Decorating her navel is a silver hoop.
Hebrew letters spelling 'L'chaim' are written in henna on her right arm and a blue henna chain encircles her left arm.
Her chestnut curly mane falls to her shoulders. Bangs hang over her forehead. The blush that gives a healthy glow to her cheeks reminds me of what will be missing after her character is put to death. Just the right shade of foundation has made her face radiant in the stark white illumination of her death cell and the dank corridor that leads to a replica of the California gas chamber. Mascara, thick black eyeliner, and light blue shadow combine to make her eyes both slutty and sad; maybe in the hope of being so alluring I'll forget about my creepy fantasy and just fuck her instead.
But Jenny indulges my fetishes more than willingly, sending me to ecstasy just as the vanilla pleasures she enjoys do the same for her. Sometimes we even mix things up. She likes cunnilingus just as much with her wrists bound with her stockings to the posts on either side of our bed as she does with her hands free running her fingers through my hair.
But I'm not going to fuck her yet, no matter how much we both want it. The show must go on. Waiting in the ersatz death chamber to which her character will soon take her last walk, paid by the hour, is a film crew waiting to record her execution.
Today I have made the mistake of allowing the lead actress in my scene keep her mobile phone with her. The screen flashes on and I curse to myself upon hearing the buzz alerting the user of the arrival of a text message, knowing that the distraction will persist until the buzz is acknowledged. I'm careful to hide my annoyance lest it spoil her mood and prevent my star from giving her best performance.
The seductress vanishes. Dr. Jenny Friedman's brows furrow as she contemplates how to solve whichever obstetrical problem has been posed to her. But my displeasure goes away as I take in Jenny's curves while she leans against the wall banging out a text message.
She tosses the phone onto the cot. Turning again to me she is back in character, smiling lasciviously, no longer the caring doctor ready to cheerfully come to the assistance of any pregnant woman in need of her services regardless of the time of day or whether her husband wants to ravish her.
The lascivious smile still on her face, she saunters over to the bars of the cell. She wraps the fingers of both her hands around the bars and thrusts out her chest, exposing the little cleavage that isn't already showing. I follow her eyes down to the tent my rigid cock has made in my trousers.
"Nice," she remarks.
I then feel her left hand gripping my member and hear her giggle.
"I like him," she whispers.
Her hand moves up and down the shaft of my cock. I don't try to stop her but nor do I undo my trousers.
She then bats her mascara laden lashes and informs me, "This bad girl can help him if you help her."
"You're not getting out of this. You're going to sit in that gas chamber until the warden say it's time for us to open up the door and carry your body out. And face it. Then you'll be dead."
She forms her lips into an oval.
"But first wouldn't you like me to wrap these lips around that hard cock of yours? Wouldn't you like to cum in my mouth, squirt your jizz on my face, fuck me in the ass, or fuck my pussy the old fashioned way?"
"It took half a year to get that thing built and, goddamn it, I'm going to use it!" I exclaim, breaking character, half annoyed but almost ready to cum.
She picks up her mobile phone, leans against the wall again, kicks off her sandal, extends her left leg, and then slowly runs her heel down her right shin, all the while with a naughty grin on her face. As the phone screen flashes on, she says, "Just give me a minute."
I watch her long slender fingers dance on the mobile phone screen. An image of her favorite hunk with his flowing black hair, deep dark eyes, and his naked chest glistening with beads of sweat flashes onto the screen. I shouldn't be jealous but I hate her infatuation with him.
Jenny places her index finger to her lips and begins to fellate it again. She shoots a glance toward me and sees I'm still not ready to make love to her. Her index finger alights on the screen of the phone and swipes across it, displaying image after image of my talentless rival in different alluring poses. Happening upon one she finds particularly pleasing, her hand migrates to her crotch and her fingers disappear beneath the cloth of her g-string.
Unable to stand her teasing anymore, I turn the key and throw open the door to the cell. My wife makes no objection when I seize the phone from her hand and toss it on the cot. She immediately engulfs me in her arms and our lips lock in a passionate kiss, her ardor providing assurance that her love is only for me and not the vapid creature she had been ogling.
My cock slips into the groove between her labia as our tongues dance together. She does not stop grinding on me when our lips part and moans softly as we continue our embrace, cheek to cheek.
When she finally releases me I whisper into her ear, "It's time."
She saunters over to the mirror above the sink, the few steps taking longer than necessary in an attempt to extend her character's time on earth by a few seconds. I watch her cover up a tiny pimple beneath her chin with a dab of foundation, apply another coat of lipstick, add a little more blush to her cheeks, and then inspect her work in the mirror. After running her brush a few times through her hair and then opening the bottle of foundation to apply some to an imaginary blemish on her forehead, she turns to me and asks, "Do you like the way I look?"
It's something she need not be concerned about as long as she's married to me.
But before I can answer, the sound of a few notes from 'Pachelbel's Canon in D' emerges from her phone, indicating a caller's need for her medical expertise. "Shit!" she exclaims, sincere in her pique over the interruption of my fantasy. She picks it up from the cot and looks at the screen, sighing with relief before spitting out the words, "I'll call you back later!"
She powers down her phone and hands the device to me, which I slip it into my pocket. She then places her hands behind her back, offering me her wrists, now ready to begin the last walk.
I see Jenny's face in the mirror contorting into a frown as I finish clamping the manacles around her wrists. She turns to face me and our gazes meet, and with the lasciviousness gone from her countenance, her eyes plead with mine to spare her from the gas chamber.
I kneel down to shackle her ankles.
"No! No!" she exclaims.
Her right ankle breaks away from my grasp. I grip it firmly with my left hand and plant it on the floor as she continues trying to move it away.
"You must let me. I'll have to call for help and you'll get pepper spray in your eyes if you don't let me restrain you. You don't want this to be any worse than it has to be."
"I didn't do it. I'm not guilty! You must know that I could never kill anyone!"
"I know but the jury said you did and that's what the law goes by."
"I don't want to die!"
"I don't want to see you die either. But it won't take long. You'll go quick."
"That's not what I've heard. The other guards make sure we know how awful it is. It doesn't matter how long you hold your breath. No one's ever been able to make themselves pass out by not breathing. No matter how much a person is determined not to breath in the gas, they always end up doing it.
"And as soon as it hits your lungs you start coughing. And when the first coughing fit ends, you take in a bigger breath and cough even more.
"Your instincts make you try to get away from the gas, so to get out of the chair you're strapped into, people thrash around and push so hard against the straps that they sometimes even break their bones. It must hurt really a lot when the gas gets into their system because their faces get contorted like they're in the worst pain a person can be in.
"And they say a person can stay alive for fifteen minutes before it's over, coughing and choking with their arms and legs and head thrashing about, wide awake and knowing what's happening until the very end. Do you want to see that happen to me?"
"There's nothing more I can do. It's going to happen whether I lead you down that corridor or not, because someone else will. Don't you want me to be there?" I ask as I clamp a shackle around her right ankle.
"I love you!" she proclaims, looking down at me as I clamp the other shackle around her left ankle.
"We've become good friends. I'm sorry it happened this way."
I stand up and take her arm and nudge her forward to begin her last walk.
"Goddamn it! We're not just friends. I've been in love with you ever since I laid eyes on you. And I know you're in love with me. We need more time!"
My victim presses against me and I take her into my arms. She moans when my erect member slides into the groove between her labia. I don't try to make it stop when her pudenda begins grinding against my crotch.
She breaks free from my embrace and turns to her side. With her wrists still cuffed behind her back, she threads the tongue through the buckle of the black leather belt that holds up my trousers and manages to release the prong. Her fingers search for the button on the top of my pants, and it is soon unfastened. She then pulls down the zipper, exposing the glistening head of my tumescent cock.
The condemned woman kneels before me, grasps the waistband of my underpants between her teeth, and jerks my shorts down to my knees, leaving some of her orange lipstick on the fabric. My cock free, she watches it flop back and forth a couple of times and then looks up at me.
The leer on her face tells me she wants to do it with me more than anything else, even being alive. I watch the tip of her tongue circle her lips before she goes down on me.
I let out a sigh as my cock slides into her mouth. The character that I play is single and a virgin. He has never even made out with a girl.
I journey back in time to when I was a pimple-faced adolescent nerd who thought he'd end up working in a lab somewhere and never, ever, get laid. Instead, I launch myself on an alternative timeline, somehow embarking on a career as a corrections officer.
On this unlikely timeline, I guard the women on death row and dream about being the knight in shining armor who will save one of them from the gas chamber. Far off the timeline in which I am a billionaire happily married to the shackled woman with my cock in her mouth, I am now a man who is helpless to save from execution by lethal gas the woman who is fellating him.
The condemned woman's lips slide up and down the shaft of my erect cock and the tip of her tongue circles the corona, landing on the frenulum where it pleasures me with little licks and flicks. Almost ready to cum, I wonder if the woman who is fellating me will get mad if I shoot a load into her mouth, even though she's swallowed my semen scores of times in real life.
But she expels me just before I reach the point of no return and ascends from her knees, planting kisses on my torso. My arms wrap around her, our lips meet and, as my character kisses her, it is as if I am kissing a woman passionately for the first time.
She breaks out of our embrace and sits on the cot, beckoning me to join her. I uncuff her hands and push her head down onto the pillow. I then reapply the manacles to her wrists, shackling her to the spindles at the head of the cot. I move to her feet and free her ankles from the shackles. She patiently waits as I position her feet on either side of the cot. I thread the long tethering chain through the spindles at the foot of the cot, and clamp the shackles around her ankles again, spread eagling her.
She is breathing hard now, passion in her eyes, waiting for me to fuck her, pulling against the chains that keep me from her embrace. I get scared. What if someone sees us? What diseases might she give me? What if she gets pregnant? And then I chuckle to myself about the last worry. She ain't having no baby since she'll be dead within the hour.
"I want you inside me!" she cries out, the chains rattling as she struggles in vain to free her limbs.
I wonder if they take vaginal swabs after women have been executed to see who they've fucked to help them escape.
I mount the cot and kneel between her legs, watching her trying to lift her torso off the cot to kiss me, and then falling back, her efforts stymied by the chains securing her wrists and ankles. She lifts her pelvis, thrusting it at me, but is unable to reach the hard mass between my legs. She grimaces with frustration, unable to pleasure herself or me.
I look at the innocent woman who is about to die, desperate to be loved before the end of her life by the man whom she has fallen for, trembling as I worry that any second someone will appear and discover us. That behind the heavy green metal door at the end of the corridor are crystals of hydrogen cyanide waiting to be dropped by me into a vat of acid to kill the woman lying beneath me seems absolutely real.
I finally muster the courage to do what we both want. I lower myself onto her body and start rocking my pelvis on hers, just like she did to me. The look of a caged animal leaves her face. She dreamily gazes into my eyes and her struggles against the chains stop.
I move the flimsy piece of cloth that guards her pussy to the side. Her eyes close and she moans softly as I penetrate her. Our lips meet and our tongues dance in the ballroom that our two mouths joined together have become as I thrust in and out.
My misgivings vanish. I don't care what happens as long as I can fuck her. The door to the cell just a foot away, I'll slam it shut with my foot if anyone comes upon us. And after I expel my seed into her and they get the door open, I'll fight with every bit of strength I have to keep my woman from being taken to the gas chamber.
My lover doesn't waste any time. Knowing she is about to die, she thrusts her pelvis up and down beneath me, frantic to have a climax. I feel feel her body go limp as we kiss and I realize she has just orgasmed.
Suddenly she closes her legs and expels me. Instead of basking in the afterglow from making love to a woman for the first time, I look down at her, astonished.
"We can finish this if you can keep them from gassing me!"
I prop myself up on my elbows, my cock still hard as a rock. It surprises me to be angry with a creature who has given me such pleasure. I try to penetrate her again but she won't let me enter her.
"Get dressed! You're not going to be able to save me if you bring me there with your dick hanging out of your pants."
I reflexly do as she tells me. Looking down at her as I pull up my zipper and then buckle my belt, I wonder if she will reveal to the warden what we have just done.
A raspy voice sounds from my walkie-talkie, "Bring her in." Then there is silence on the line.
I look at the wet spot my precum has made on the front of my pants.
"Don't worry. I won't tell them what we just you just did to me."
I remove the shackles from her wrists. I then pull her hands behind her back and reapply the manacles to each wrist, my anger making me put them on tight this time. I unshackle her ankles. She places her feet on the floor and gets back into her sandals. I clamp the shackles to her ankles, crunching her skin against her tibia.
"Ouch!" she complains.
"From here on I'm just your guard."
I rise to my feet and take her right arm and coax her to move forward.
"I know I'm not going to die. You'll come up with something," she says with certainty.
I urge her forward and we exit the cell, the tether between her ankles rattling as it drags across the floor. I get hard again looking at her shackled wrists and ankles.
My anger is replaced by hopelessness. I will never get to spill my seed inside her. And maybe she just came onto me so I'll do something foolish in the execution chamber to buy her more time.
"That was your first time you were ever with a woman, wasn't it?"
I nod affirmatively, refusing to speak to the person who has just duped me.
"You're only my second. The guy I killed was the first. So if you die saving me, it will be according to pattern."
Jenny isn't supposed to ad lib. The damsels in distress in my fantasies are always innocent. I'm not the kind of person who would quixotically give his life to save a woman who's guilty, no matter how much I like fucking her. So I guess her character is going to have to die this time.
I say nothing as I escort my charge on her last walk.
"I wish I had let you cum. That wasn't very nice of me."
I stop.
"Goddamn it! Quit pretending. I know this was all about getting me to make some kind of scene in the death chamber to put a stop to things!"
Her jaw is limp as she looks at me with astonishment.
"I'm no fucking criminal. I don't kill people every day!" she shouts incredulously
"Arthur was better off dead. He was really torn up that his kids wouldn't talk to him anymore after they found out about us. He couldn't face life without me or them. He cried after every time we made love. I couldn't stand it any more. And rather than his greedy kids getting the half a million dollars when he died, I thought I should be able to pay off my student loans and then live a little nicely.
'I do love you. If you get me out of this we can still have a life together."
"What the fuck do you want me to do?"
"I don't know! Break the lever that drops the cyanide pellets. Tell them that some gauge is reading wrong and that the gas will leak out of the chamber. Take me out of this place through a secret passage. Convince everyone I'm innocent so none of them will be able to kill me. Just stop this from happening!"
"There are guards on the other side of both of those doors. There are no secret passages. And they tested the gas chamber yesterday. They killed a rabbit in it. And all inmates say they're innocent. We guards are used to hearing it. There's no way out for you."
She casts down her eyes.
"So I guess I really should have let you cum. But I love you. I wish things had turned out differently. And you'll find another girl someday."
She turns and looks at me, hoping that her story had been believed.
Our faces move toward one another. I've fallen for her again. We share a final kiss that lasts longer than it should. Tears are streaming down our faces when our lips break apart. I then take her arm and nudge her forward. The sound of her chains rattling echoes through the corridor as she resumes her last walk.
We reach the heavy metal door. I grab the handle and open it, the dank corridor illuminated by light streaming in from the death chamber.
As the door opens, my victim's eyes widen as she regards the dull green octagonal chamber of death in which she will soon sit. The door to the gas chamber is wide open, revealing the single seat in which she will be strapped while she dies.
From the left side of the chamber extends a lever bent upward at a right angle, its end covered by vinyl. It is the lever I will pull to drop a cheesecloth bagful of ersatz cyanide pellets into a basin of ersatz acid, from which ersatz hydrogen cyanide will bubble, causing the occupant's ersatz agony and death.
Flanking the gas chamber stand two women, one black and one white, dressed in guards' uniforms as am I, seeming like angels guarding the gates to the netherworld, their stern expressions informing that no resistance will be tolerated as they prepare to cast into Hell the reprobate whose violation of the Law offends their Boss.
To the right of the gas chamber is a lectern at which an older gentlemen dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and red tie stands. He plays the warden, who will give me the command to drop the ersatz cyanide pellets. The severe expression on his visage conveys the opprobrium of the state at the heinous crime for which the woman standing next to me is about to die. Behind him is a telephone mounted on the wall, its white plastic a symbol of hope.
Undergraduate university students obtaining their education on my tab bear solemn expressions as they sit in the witness area, their cell phones heaped together in a box at the entrance to the death chamber lest a text or a call distract them from the task of witnessing the ersatz death of one of their fellow citizens. The non-disclosure forms they've all signed lie in a neat stack next to their cell phones, providing injunctive relief against anyone who is tempted to let the media inform the other 99% of America what a naughty billionaire does in his spare time.
Our cinematographer, a fat man with with four days of stubble on his chin and hair in a ponytail, is pointing a video camera at the two stars of the scene, waiting for the condemned woman to walk her last twenty feet. The murderess gulps and then proceeds on her own volition straight to the gas chamber, her expression impassive, as I struggle to keep pace.
The white guard takes her arm to steady her as she steps over the metal lip to enter the chamber. Both of the guards follow her inside. The black woman prods her to turn around so that her back is facing the seat. I then step inside and unshackle the condemned woman's wrists and ankles.
Jenny's limbs free, she dutifully sits down in the chair. I grab her left wrist while the black guard seizes the other. We anchor them onto the arms of the chair as the condemned woman sits motionless, staring blankly ahead. She winces as the black guard pulls the wrist strap tight and buckles it, her character perhaps relishing the opportunity to teach the ultimate lesson to a reprobate who is for a change not a member of her race. I apply the strap on my side more gently and pat the condemned woman on the hand, which she acknowledges with the hint of a smile. I then thread the free end of the chest strap through the buckle, pull the straps tight beneath her breasts, and secure her torso to the back of the chair. The white guard then secures her upper arms to the back of the chair while I apply straps to her ankles, securing both to a bar between the chair legs.
I paste three electrical leads to Jenny's chest and attach the wires to a device that in real life would send signals to a heart monitor and allow the exact moment of the occupant of the gas chamber's cardiac arrest to be recorded.
I then step in front of the victim to inspect my work. I am rock hard and my heart is pounding as I gaze at the beautiful condemned woman, helplessly waiting to be surrounded by a cloud of hydrogen cyanide, hoping for a miracle to avoid breathing in the deadly gas that is about to fill the chamberd so she can enjoy our love.
She tests her bonds and frowns upon finding them secure. I lean over and kiss her on the cheek and she thanks me with a wan smile.
I follow the other two guards out of the gas chamber. The hinges screech as I close the metal door. I take hold of the metal wheel the metal wheel in the center of the door, which looks innocently like the steering wheel of a car. It graciously turns silently as I hermetically seal the victim inside. On each of the other seven sides of the lethal chamber is a large window through which the witnesses and prison staff will view the condemned woman's death agony.
I take my position at the lever that will drop the pellets. Jenny is staring straight ahead at the door. Through the glass on the other side of the chamber I see the witnesses whispering to each other. Upon regarding the scowl on the warden's face each witness in turn resumes their solemn demeanor.
The woman strapped to the chair looks up at the single light directly above her illuminating the inside of her death chamber. The videographer comes over next to me and points the camera lens at the victim. She takes a few rapid breaths and shoots a quick glance at me and then turns her head and studies the witnesses.
The warden nods and I open the valve to let the ersatz acid flow into the basin beneath the chair in which the ersatz cyanide pellets will dissolve. Startled by the noise of liquid flowing, Jenny casts her gaze downward and then looks at me, bites her lower lip, and pleads with her eyes for me to stop the process.
The telephone rings.
The warden picks up the microphone. The eyes of everyone in the death chamber are upon him as he picks up the microphone and announces to the condemned woman who can hear him through a speaker inside the lethal chamber, "You've been granted a stay while the justices vote on whether to hear your appeal.
Jenny sighs with relief and relaxes.
"May I escort the prisoner back to her cell?" I ask.
"No. They will take a vote and notify us shortly whether to proceed," the warden replies.
The second hand circles the clock once and then twice and finally a third time as everyone waits for the telephone to ring again. Jenny squirms in her seat. Her heart rate surges on the monitor.
The warden picks up the telephone before the first ring is over.
He mutters a few unintelligible words to the caller and turns around to hang up the receiver. Returning to the lectern, he studies the prisoner's death warrant as if to make sure it hasn't expired or that the wrong prisoner is about to be executed. He takes a sip of water from a glass at the top of the lectern, casually turns a page, and then takes his pen from his shirt pocket and writes something, perhaps signing his name.
Finally, he looks at the woman in the gas chamber and picks up the microphone. Jenny gazes into his eyes for a hint of her fate as everyone present listens to him clear his throat.
"Ms. Friedman, I'm sorry. The judges have voted not to hear your case. Do you have any last words?".
Jenny's back stiffens and her eyes dart about until they find the intercom above the door.
"I'm innocent! I didn't kill Arthur! Please don't do this to me!" she falsely cries out to the box above the door to the chamber as if within it is some entity that could save her life.
Tears stream down her face as she strains against her bonds.
"The execution shall proceed!" he then informs the room.
Jenny looks at me. Terror is in her eyes. I shrug my shoulders. The lever that I will pull to drop the cyanide pellets is visible to her through the window and onto it she fixes her gaze. I place my right hand on the black vinyl covering the top of the lever and watch the condemned woman violently shake her head no. The camera lens is a foot away zooming back and forth from my hand to the woman sitting helplessly in the gas chamber.
I hear the warden clear his throat again, registering his impatience. My gaze and the camera lens shift to him. I see him nodding his head yes, meaning it's time.
I look at Jenny inside the chamber. She is still shaking her head no, struggling to free her limbs, pleading with me not to drop the pellets that will kill her. But someone else will do it if I don't. There'd be no point in her sitting inside there waiting any longer than she has to.
The eyes of everyone in the death chamber are now on me. The creaking sound of metal against metal reverberates from the walls as I pull the lever back. I feel strangely disconnected-like it's not me dropping the pellets that will kill the person inside, but some entity controlling my arm.
Now knowing her doom is imminent, like a rodent placed in a bell jar in an experiment to prove the need for living things to have oxygen, Jenny faces forward and begins to hyperventilate, filling her lungs with sweet air for perhaps the last time. I take at least five seconds to pull the lever all the way.
By the time I let go bubbles have already formed in the basin beneath Jenny. Startled by the sound of bubbles bursting, she looks down to her side and sees a tendril of gas sneaking out from under her chair. She turns her face away and I then see her chest slowly expand as she sucks in a deep breath. She glances at me and finding no help, her eyes dart to the warden and the witnesses and the telephone, hoping to be spared the cruel punishment that awaits her.
Wispy white tendrils arise from around the chair. Jenny's countenance becomes animated with horror as she holds her breath while the gas envelop her. She makes another futile effort to free herself from the straps and then turns her head away from a wisp of gas that has drifted to her face.
She throws her head back and takes in a shallow breath to obtain a few seconds more of life, hoping to not yet fill her lungs with the ersatz hydrogen cyanide befouling the air around her. She looks at me, her lips sealed, and then casts her gaze upon the door, pleading for me to let her out before it's too late. I shake my head no and watch her again thrash about, as if after escaping her bonds she will find someway way to exit the hermetically sealed chamber.
I watch her chest expand involuntarily a few times as she hungers for oxygen but she refuses to part her lips to draw in a breath. She writhes in the chair, this time more forcefully. My underdrawers become wetter as I watch her biceps and triceps contract and her toes flex as she desperately tries to break free of her restraints.
She takes one more look at me. Seeing that I will be of no help, she turns her head to face the door. I watch her mouth open and her chest expand as she draws the lethal gas into her lungs.
Her chest heaves violently as she coughs, expelling a cloud of gas from her lungs, but then her instinct to breath forces her to reflexly draw in another breath from the cloud of gas in which she is now immersed. Just as foretold by her other jailers, she coughs and then wretches, but nothing comes out of her stomach. Suppressing the urge to cough, she turns to me, her head trembling, pleading for help. I shake my head no and turn away.
The cameraman scans the death chamber, zooming in on the faces of the other players. The witnesses, eyes transfixed at the sight of the woman in the chamber, aghast that she is still struggling to stay alive, display pity on their faces, the memory of her having taken someone's life no longer in the forefront of their minds. The black guard who helped strap Jenny in the chair regards her with schadenfreude and a tear trickles down the cheek of her white counterpart. The warden, impassive, looks away from the chamber to the clock, perhaps wondering how long he will be forced to witness the agony of the chamber's victim.
I turn back and cast my eyes on the woman in the chair, realizing that justice is being done, and deciding that I myself am a fool for having succumbed to her entreaties. Every breath she draws in is followed by a coughing spasm, and on her face is the panicked expression of someone hungering for air as they drown. Her eyes flit wildly about, desperately searching for a rescuer, drawing sympathy from the witnesses who nevertheless make no moves to lodge a protest against the suffering of a fellow human.
Aware that the woman in the chamber is just a murderous psychopath who used me and would make me suffer the same fate as that of the man for whose murder she is being executed, I experience no guilt as the site of her agony makes more secretions emerge from the meatus of my cock. I see the black guard, her eyes also affixed on the victim's struggles, nod with approval.
Replacing the prisoner's desperate hope is fear, the emotion written on the faces of even the most hardened psychopaths as they forfeit their lives for their misdeeds. And, as she tries to wriggle her right hand out of the leather strap securing her wrist to the armrest and her pelvis thrusts back and forth, grinding her pudenda against the seat of the chair in a futile attempt to gain leverage to break the straps securing her ankles, I imagine her frustration at not being able to get her finger between her legs and bring herself to one final climax to the image of her lover.
I glance at the cardiac monitor and see that my victim's heart is racing and going in and out of chaotic rhythms as it dies from lack of oxygen. I look back to Jenny and she is looking at me, disappointment showing through the grimace of unrelenting pain displayed on her face. She then slowly turns her face forward.
Her movements slow and her eyes glass over. Her face relaxes and her mouth falls open. The cough reflex gone, her chest smoothly rises and falls, her brain stem having now taken over, futilely commanding her to shallowly inhale and exhale the noxious fumes.
Finally her chest stops moving and her head falls backwards. I expect to hear the alarm of the monitor emit the high pitched tone indicating cardiac arrest, but instead she draws in one more breath and slowly turns her head toward me. My eyes meet her dead stare through which she gives me a glare of reproach. I do not look away until her head lifelessly falls to her chest. On the monitor each heartbeat follows the next by a longer interval until there is a flatline across the screen. I bow my head and, remembering the love I felt for her, fight back tears as the alarm screeches, indicating that my task has ended.
Upon hearing the high pitched whine through the speaker in the gas chamber indicating her character's demise, Jenny lifts her head and looks at me, concern registered on her face as she chews on her lower lip, surveying my expression for the critique of her acting that I will display.
I smile and her eyes follow mine downward. She strains to see over the bottom of the window where my crotch is hidden from her sight, and a smile lights up her face when her eyes look upon the big wet spot stretched over the bulge in my pants. I give her a thumbs up.
I leave my station to unseal the gas chamber. Our make up artist emerges from the background and hands me a bouquet of roses to reward my wife for her stellar performance. I turn the wheel in the middle of the door to open the chamber, concentrating on the task at hand to make my hard on go away. A cloud of carbon dioxide puffs out when the hermetic seal breaks and, as the door opens, Jenny's countenance emerges, an impatient look on her face.
She breaks into a smile upon seeing the bouquet of roses. Anxious to be united with my lover, I stumble over the metal lip on the threshold of the gas chamber, flailing away at the cloud of ersatz cyanide that has just killed my imaginary victim.
Securing my balance upon reaching my lover, I lean over the chair. With the cameraman at our side, the lens pointing at the smiling faces of the leading actor and actress, I see the red light go on as our lips lock and I exchange a passionate kiss with my still helplessly restrained wife.
I unfasten the straps from her wrists and she takes the flowers from my hand, then stretches to thank me with a kiss on the cheek. Her mouth forms into an oval as she regards the bulge in my pants with mock astonishment.
My wife, still restrained in the chair, furrows her forehead and glares at me sharply, not yet angry, but telling me it's time for her to have a rest. With a mock frown, I unfasten the wrist, arm, and chest straps. Her fingers run through my hair as I undo her ankle straps. I take one more look at her sitting inside the gas chamber and then extend my hand to help her to her feet.
I shake hands with the crew and hand them white envelopes bearing their names as they file out of the ersatz death chamber. Jenny kisses each one on the cheek before they are allowed to take her leave. The cinematographer is a professional of some note, and I spend a few minutes assuring him I will continue sending checks to the African children whose lives it has become his passion to save.
Shortly thereafter my ersatz prison is empty except for me and my wife, who is nowhere to be found.
I open the heavy metal door to the cell block from which the spirited character my wife played took her last walk and stealthfully move down the corridor to the open cell door at the end of the corridor, hoping to surprise the occupant. Arriving there, I find Jenny brushing her hair. She has not heard me and I drink in the site of her primping herself, just for me.
She fixes her eye makeup, applies a fresh coat of lipstick, and leans forward to carefully inspect her visage for flaws as I silently observe her. Finding one, she covers it up with a dab foundation. Satisfied with her appearance, she turns away from the mirror.
"Oh!" she exclaims, surprised by my presence.
"You were awesome."
"I hope so," she declares with fake annoyance and begins taking off her jewelry.
"You look pretty."
"Why thank you. And how long were you out there watching me?"
"I got here while you were brushing your hair."
"But what if I did something disgusting? What if I was picking something out of my teeth? Or what if I farted?"
"I like watching you primp for me. It reminds me that you're mine. And I don't know why I haven't ever heard you fart. It must be hard to hold them all in."
Now bereft of jewelry, she approaches and presses herself against me. My arms reflexly wrap around her and she leans back, falling into my embrace.
"Did you like what your fellatrix did to you before you killed her in the gas chamber?" she whispers in my ear.
I nod yes. The look in her eyes tells me enjoyed playing my victim in the bit of naughtiness that just transpired.
"Did she almost make you cum?"
I nod yes again.
"Would you rather have cum in her pussy than see her be gassed?"
I shake my head no.
The corners of her mouth turn down into a frown.
"So did I look like I was in pain?"
I nod yes again.
"Did I die well?"
"I don't want my fantasy girls to die. I like rescuing damsels in distress. But you left me no choice. You were guilty."
"But sometimes murderesses get life in prison."
"Don't worry. I have another fantasy in which your character and mine meet and fuck on another plane of existence."
"Can we fuck on this plane of existence now?"
Our lips hastily meet. I fumble to unhook her bra as she grinds her pudenda against mine. I finally undo the clasps and the straps fall loosely onto her shoulders. Our lips break apart and her head falls back. Her body tenses and she moans softly.
She breaks away from my embrace and falls backward onto the cot, her head landing on the pillow. She casts her bra away as I climb on the cot to join her. She lifts her legs to let me pull off her g-string. I then accept the invitation to apply my tongue to her clitoris. It is already erect and she runs her fingers through my hair as I pleasure her.
I move on top of her and sandwich my cock in the groove between her labia. She lifts her hands to embrace me but I seize her wrists, place them above her head, and trap them against the mattress, as if she is my prisoner again.
My roughness does not quell her passion, and she begins feverishly kissing my chest and neck. Our lips find each others and we exchange a passionate kiss as I slide my rigid member into her wet pussy. Our lips part and an expression of delight registers on her face as I thrust in and out. I release her hands and place my palms flat on the mattress as she wraps her arms around me.
She draws me to her lips for another kiss. As our tongues tangle, I feel myself weaken. But I so much do not want to cum yet.
When our lips break apart, I see that she too is on the verge. Her breathing is irregular and shallow and her eyes are glazed over like in the gas chamber. The little moans and grunts she makes distract me and I manage to hold off ejaculating a little longer.
Suddenly the tension leaves her body. Her breathing deepens. Jenny has climaxed. With no reason to hold back now I shoot my load into her pussy and collapse out of breath on top of her.
After we enjoy the afterglow for a few moments, she reaches into my pocket and retrieves her smartphone. I watch her flip through her email. Finding what she is looking for, she holds the phone up for me to see. On the screen is displayed an ultrasound image that I recognize as that of an embryo in utero.
"Rick, we made a baby!" she whispers.