Needin' Hangin'

Written April 2020

Somewhere out west, 1891

Delmore and Brent were a couple of lanky guys in their mid-30s who knew they were pretty much no-account varmints, drifting from directionless jobs in different towns and supplementing that with some minor thievery and other things their fathers would not approve of. They were riding some backtrails on a sunny day looking for something Brent saw a couple of days ago. They rode about an hour before they came upon the site. Brent hadn't told Delmore what it was, so when he saw it, it about knocked him off his horse. Out in the middle of nowhere, a few miles from the nearest house that they saw, a tree stood with a noose dangling from a low branch -– a whole gallows set-up all ready to go. “What the hell...” was all Delmore could say. There was no hangman or anyone else there, but there was a sign.

“Brent, you read that, I never did learn my letters,” Delmore said. Brent dismounted and walked to the sign, squinted, and started to read aloud.

Sometimes a man comes to realize that he needs hanging. If that's your situation, feel free to use this noose. Don't matter why, just slip the noose around your neck and swing. Be sure to make the loop snug so you don't suffer more than you have to. Mr. H. Williams will make sure your remains are handled in a respectful way.

“Who wants to do that?” Delmore said. “Most varmints I know, they's trying to run from the noose, not towards it.”

“Wait, there's a footnote,” Brent said, pointing at the second paragraph. “ 'Gentlemen, if there's one among you what could use a noose to fix his ways, you may use this gallows to do so.' “ Brent looked at Delmore with a grin after reading that line.

“Don't lookit me like that,” Delmore growled.

“I'm just jokin'.”

They both looked over the scene. The noose ran up over the foot-thick branch and back down to where the long end of the rope was tied around the trunk. Under the noose was a piece of a log a couple of feet long, stood up on end. There was a wooden platform, resting on the ground, on which the log stood. The sign was posted to the right, and to the left on the platform was a box with a label reading Clothes & Personal Effects. “Look, Del, they thought of everything,” Brent said as he pointed at a pair of handcuffs dangling from a hook sunk into the tree. Brent could see Del thought the whole thing was a damn-fool idea.

It was quiet except for occasional noises from the two horses and the breeze in the trees. The two varmints looked around, partly to make sure there wasn't any posse coming up on them, which had come to be a useful habit for them. Partly, being this close to a gallows made them both feel a bit strange.

“I'm gon' do it,” Brent said.

“Gon' do what?”

“Gon' hang.”

“What the fuck, you outta your mind?”

“Delmore, you know the shit we've done over the last few years. Maybe you don't feel anythin' 'bout it, but I ain't gonna be able to keep runnin' from it. I been thinking, it's time to pay up.” Brent was unbuttoning his shirt and when he was done he took it off and tossed it into the box. “Besides, it's a nice setup. Beats being strung up 'front of a crowd in a town somewhere with 'em jeering at ya.”

“So that's why you drug me out here,” Delmore said, “to watch you hang yourself?”

Brent had his left boot off and was taking off the right one. “A man don't wanna die alone, Del,” he said as he put the boots in the box, then even removed his hat and put it in the box. Then he started unbuckling his pants.

Delmore was pretty much beside himself. Brent shucked his dungarees, folded them so the stuff wouldn't fall out of the pockets, not that there was money in them, and put them in the box.

“OK, but why you gotta do it naked?” Del whined as Brent stuck his thumbs in the waistband of his long johns and slid them off his ass.

“Maybe someone could use these clothes, well, not these, but the other stuff,” Brent said. “I ain't gonna need 'em.” With the underwear and socks in the box, Brent was buck naked in the afternoon sunshine.

“Look, Del, you said las' night you wanted to light out for Texas. Just stay till I'm gone, and then head out. You get my horse and saddle. Do what you need to with 'em, the money'll help if you sell 'em.”

“Well, I appreciate that, Brent,” Delmore said hesitantly. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he just sat on his horse looking resigned. They both eyed the noose.

Brent moved over to the log and put a foot up on it. “You forgetting something?” Delmore asked.

“Oh yeah,” Brent grinned and went for the handcuffs. He put one cuff on the left wrist. “Ain't had cuffs on me in a couple of years. Didn't think I'd missed 'em.”

“Once a varmint, always a varmint,” Delmore said.

“ 'Cept I'll be a dead varmint by sundown,” Brent said. He went back to the log and put a foot up on it, and Delmore could see more than he wanted to of Brent's crotch. It looked like his buddy kind of liked this process. Brent got both feet up on the log gingerly. “This ain't steady,” Brent said.

“Careful, you might hurt yerself,” Del replied.

“Wouldn't want that.” Brent got his feet spread out as much as he could to be stable, and then he was looking straight through the loop of the noose. He grasped it with both hands and slipped it over his shaggy head. When the noose cleared his chin, he adjusted it so the loop was high enough on his neck to clear his Adam's apple, then pulled the seven-turn knot close to the back of his head.

“Make sure it's snug, so's you don' suffer,” Delmore said. “Like the sign says.”

Brent pulled it again, maybe a little tighter than he needed to. The rough rope dug into the skin of his neck.

Brent stood a moment, and then decided he needed to pull on his cock and balls. “Pardon me,” he said to Delmore. Brent's equipment was pretty loose.

“Yer crossin' the line between comfort and perv,” Delmore said. Brent just grinned. Before Delmore realized it, Brent had put his hands behind his back and the second cuff clicked closed around his right wrist.

“That better?” Brent asked. But with his hands restrained solidly behind his back, Brent's cock got stiffer.

“Yer pecker seems to like this . . . yer a varmint AND a pervert,” Delmore said.

Brent looked down and blushed a little. “Yeah, I guess I might be,” he agreed sheepishly. He stood carefully on the log, no way to hide anything now. Delmore mostly looked at Brent's face, when he wasn't scouting the landscape for intruders.

“You gon' change your mind?”

“Naw … I'm good,” Brent replied. “ 'Less you wanna give me a tug, maybe.”

“It's bad luck to touch a guy's pecker when he's standin' on a gallows,” Delmore said.

“Shitbird,” Brent called him. They both chuckled.

A moment passed. “You gon' get this over with so I can make tracks 'fore sunset?”

“Yeah, I s'pose. Thanks for . . . for everything, Delmore.”

Delmore just tipped his hat.

Brent adjusted his feet so his toes were on the edge of the log. “Here goes,” he said. Then he pushed and the log easily tipped over behind him. Brent dropped, well, kinda sagged actually, and dangled from the rope, his feet a few inches off the platform. His naked body swung slightly forward and back, then a little side-to-side. Brent's head was forced down by the knot behind his head but he was just able to look up and catch Delmore's eyes. Brent tried to breathe in but only managed a gagging noise. Delmore couldn't help but see Brent's cock grow even stiffer and he recalled that some guys managed to shoot when they were hanged. He had to shift his position in the saddle, as he realized his own cock was getting uncomfortably cramped while he watched Brent hanging with almost a full hard-on.

Brent kicked a little, and his eyes got wide in surprise for a moment. Then his face relaxed again and Delmore saw that maybe his friend had passed out. Brent was still swinging, though otherwise he didn't move much. Wait – then he stiffened, and relaxed. And then a big twitch shuddered through his body. There were a couple more of those, and then Brent seemed to go still and stay that way. Soon the rope no longer swung him and the naked man dangled over the platform, dead or close enough.

Delmore removed his hat. He sidled his horse so that he could see better. Brent's pupils were dilated as he stared blankly at the ground. His eyes weren't closed but otherwise he looked like he was just asleep. This close, Del could smell Brent's sweat from his final struggle. Brent's still-fat cock dripped a little; he hadn't shot but he had gotten close.

Delmore noticed something by the sign. It was a small pad of paper with a charcoal pencil resting on it. There was a note that, as much as he could tell, read “If you want, sign your name here” and Delmore gave it a thought, then he dismounted and picked up the pencil.

Brent Harbaugh

Born 1858

Died 1891

A varmint, but not to bad a guy anyways

Delmore put the pencil down, grabbed the reins to Brent's horse, mounted his own, and, with one last look back at his dead friend, headed out across the prairie for Texas.

Brent stayed put as the sun set and dark fell over the land. In the morning Harv Williams came by and found Brent waiting for him, looking kind of pale and maybe stiff. By noon, Harv had a hole dug and soon Brent was in it, getting dirt shoveled on him. When Harv was finished, he put the cuffs back on the hook, collected all Brent's clothes in a sack, and headed back to town, leaving the gallows set up for the next guy who needed hanging.

Happy new year check-in

Welcome to 2019, noosers. We made it out; let's just hope that going from 2018 to 2019 isn't like jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire, huh?

I've gotten some comments recently and I'm sorry that I have not replied yet. I'll try to reply properly soon.

One of the comments contained a query about a couple of posts where I listed other noose-related sites. Those have become suddenly horribly outdated since Tumblr.com decided to ban porn and similar adult content in December 2018. A few Tumblr sites are still alive, somehow, but most operators of noose and breath control sites either moved or shut down. More than a few disappeared without a forwarding web address. So we have quite a scattered landscape now. I myself had a non-noose Tumblr, which I've shuttered in protest of the whole mess.

Anyway, I'll try to update the posts with links, or maybe just make new posts. There's always the chance I'll come up with a new story soon, too. Thanks for following my blog, however you do so.

Naked Volunteer

What do ya know, a new story!

I walked the dusty streets over to the edge of town where the gallows stood. Mr. Hartness stood leaning against a rail near the scaffold, looking through a magazine or something. The burly, older man looked up as I approached.

“ 'Afternoon,” he said.

“You doing hangin's today?” I asked, trying to look calm.

“Yep. Sheriff ain't booked me yet. Ya got someone who needs hangin'?”

I paused a second, then said “Yer lookin' at him.”

Short update to say I'm not hanging somewhere

The Breath Control Network has been down for a couple of days, at least, as of this writing. In fact, the entire host it resides on, grou.ps, is down. As disappointing as the network has been lately in general, it doesn't get much more disappointing than not being up at all.

I should update my list of links in this blog. Sites come and go, especially on Tumblr.

As usual, I have one or two stories in my head trying to find their way into words on the computer. Sorry to say, they are not trying very hard.

I'll link to a very horny story by cbrdrew, which I discovered last week. It has a lot to like:
- Hallow's Eve Gallows, part 1
- Hallow's Eve Gallows, part 2

Vignette

Written 13 December 1996. It might have been on the old blog, I don't remember.

The man on the horse has five pairs of eyes on him, hard unforgiving eyes shaded by cowboy hats. His own cowboy hat lies on the ground over there. The breeze brushes his bare chest, ruffling the fur there. His hands are tied behind his back with rough hemp rope. Another rope circles his neck and runs up to and over the branch over his head, down to the tree trunk where it's tied off with a solid knot. The posse surrounding him glares, waiting. The five of them are in leather chaps, dusty boots, work shirts and dusters. They've stripped the man of his shirt and chaps, leaving him in his jeans and boots.

The horse shifts under the man's weight. The man has his head bowed a little, sometimes looking up into the eyes of the posse that had captured him. He fought them at first but there were too many, they were too strong, and they had him on the ground and tied up fairly quickly. The rifles that they held on him helped convince him that there wasn't much he could do now. Well, he knew they'd be coming for him someday, and he'd die an outlaw's death on the end of the posse's rope.

So he sits and waits. His heart thumps loudly. Even though he knew it was coming, dying isn't something that's easy to meet calmly. Still, he's not begging for mercy. He's silent, knowing that whatever he has to say now would be wasted on the ears of the posse. He notices the warmth and hardness in the crotch of his jeans. He'd heard that getting hanged could excite a man. So far, strangely enough, it looked to be true. He'd seen a hanging once, a judicial one in town, and he remembered the sight of the victim dangling limp at the end of the rope for a long time.

The leader of the posse comes up and asks for any last words. The outlaw is silent. The leader waits a moment, then with his hat swats the horse on the rump and yells. The horse bolts. The man instinctively squeezes the flanks of the horse in an effort to stay on. But the rope pulls him off the back of the horse. He swings wildly back and forth in wide arcs. The swinging serves to set the knot tighter around the outlaw's neck. His pendulum motions wane. He's trying not to kick or struggle much, because his throat is almost closed off now with only a little air getting through his tortured windpipe. But panic finally grips him, and the dance starts. He stretches for the ground, kicking a little. He tries to pull his hands free from the ungiving rope holding his wrists behind him. His mouth opens wider but he only gags. His face reddens and his eyes bulge. Soon he's not making any sound—the noose has closed tightly around his neck, admitting no air to his straining lungs. His struggles are more frantic now. The posse just watches from about 10 feet away, most still mounted on their horses. One surreptitiously rubs his own crotch with the stock of his rifle once or twice.

The man does a fine rope dance, his dusty boots kicking at the air while he jerks and spasms trying to get free. His motions change slightly, and soon the posse sees a dark spot grow on the man's jeans around where the bulge in his crotch is. At about the same time, his eyes turn glassy and he loses consciousness. He's still fighting though, boots still dancing, but his efforts are ineffective and losing momentum. After a few more minutes, his spasms subside into twitches, then one more twitch and he sags limp on the noose-rope. A bigger dark stain grows now on his jeans as his bladder lets go and he pisses himself.

The leader of the posse motions and they ride away, satisfied that the man they leave hanging from the tree will no longer rustle their herds. In the quiet of the late afternoon, the only noise is an occasional creak of the rope as the outlaw hangs nearly still. His face is frozen with mouth slack, head canted to one side by the rope. He almost looks peaceful now, dangling from the noose. The toes of his boots point downward toward the grass; their only movement now comes when the wind comes up.

Tomorrow the sheriff will ride this way and find the outlaw, who'll be cold and stiff by morning. The sheriff will have his deputies dig a grave right there. They'll cut the outlaw down and dump him in the grave, still wearing the rope around his wrists and his noose. He'll be face down, and they'll shovel the dirt onto his back. When they finish, they'll ride away, leaving the outlaw to his unmarked grave in the middle of the prairie.

Story: Intoxication

Looky here, a new story! Writing was completed 27 May 2018, but I've been working on it since February 2018..

It's another Saturday night in the frontier town of Dinkins Creek. You drink at the saloon and have a good time, and then around closing time you head back to where you're bunking on the far side of town, boots scuffling up dust on the streets as you go. You think, “maybe I had a little more whiskey than usual, but damn it was good....” It's a little out of your way, but you take a detour to walk by the gallows on the north side of town.

Four weeks ago, they hanged a guy who raped and killed a woman. Of course the whole town turned out to watch as the sheriff, a preacher, and the hangman prepared the man and then dropped him through the trap, giving him a six-foot ride to a broken neck. The crowd started breaking up a few minutes after the drop, having seen what they wanted to see, but you and a few others stayed until the doc came out with a short ladder and his stethoscope to listen to the guy's chest. When the doc declared that death had indeed occurred, the man was lowered from the gallows and put in a pine box. Later that night, you had your beers at Dolan's saloon, where a few people were still discussing the hanging but most were not. Then you decided to walk by the gallows on your way to your bunk. When you saw the gallows that night, it looked as if nothing had ever happened. You just looked around for a few minutes, thinking about the event you'd witnessed, then moved on.

Story: Too Easy

Another really old story, this time from 1997 with a few minor edits today. Part of it was true back in the day. I haven't done much self-bondage lately though. Maybe I should.

I got home from work late, because of too much work to do and too much traffic. I needed some escape. I decided that my special little ritual would be just the thing. Off came the work clothes, socks, underwear, watch. When I was naked, I felt immediately better and my cock woke up and started growing. I dug out everything I needed from the cabinet by the bed, then got on the bed to get started.

First was a six-foot length of rope which I used to tie around my ankles. I used another slightly longer rope to tie my legs just below my knees. I took a shorter rope and bound up my cock, with a couple of extra loops around my balls to stretch them out. I had a good boner going so I tied the rope tighter so that everything would stay tied if I got soft later. Then I fastened my leather restraints around both wrists, leaving the lock on the bed ready for later.