Alix (M/F)

[StringTheorist]

Alix (M/F)

I have just learned a little about editing a post I have made. I'm going to follow some suggestions about adding a trigger to this posting and remove a little over-detail.

Warning This story has a subject with suicidal tendencies. Readers who might not appreciate this topic should give it a pass.
I'll also make a few edits. ST


Alix (M/F)

“There, last screw.”

“Are you finished?” asked the sad woman, Alix.

“Would you like to be the first up the finished stairs?” Ryan asked in return.

She nodded, and slowly got to her feet from where she had sat all afternoon, on a small step, elbows on knees, head held in her hands. Ryan noted how dull and lifeless her eyes appeared. She was dressed in a dark cotton blouse, dark slacks, with a grey bandana holding her hair in place. Drab, to say the least.

They were a strange pair, not in any way related to each other, the house or the owners.

Irene and Jack had bought the house in the country about 20 miles from the airport after Jack retired. It was a second marriage for both. Irene worked mostly from home, or travelled by air about the country. Right now, both were away, Irene on business, Jack to a funeral for a retired co-worker several hours away.

The house was fairly small, with a double car garage connected to the house by a covered breeze way. Whoever designed the garage had anticipated using the attic space over the garage as storage, for the space had a floor, and the roof rafters were 2x8 wood pieces, obviating the need for a truss arrangement. Irene and Jack had decided to make the space into a guest bedroom, usable at least spring to fall. They needed to have stairs and a deck built to access the attic.

But Jack was not very much of a handyman, and had got his brother, Mark, definitely a handyman, involved in the question of how to get access to the attic of the garage, the existing ladder arrangement being quite unsatisfactory. Mark had designed a deck outside the back of the garage where there was a door into the attic, and steps leading to the deck. During design he had talked it over with Ryan, a friend who helped build volunteer homes for those not able to afford houses otherwise. While Mark encouraged his brother to hire a contractor, in the end he undertook the construction himself.

And Ryan tagged along with his friend, as he liked construction work, and was at loose ends having lost his wife recently to pancreatic cancer. His wife and Mark’s came from the same Scandinavian country and had linked up through embassy functions.

Ryan and Mark had worked for several days, with the objective of finishing today. But Mark had broken a tooth last night and was waiting to be fixed up by his dentist, and Mark’s wife had gone with him to drive him home. Ryan had come out to finish up the railing on the stairs and drive a couple of screws home.

Irene had persuaded Alix, the daughter of a friend, to come over to look after providing a meal for Ryan and open the house for him. Alix had her own tragedy.

So Ryan had worked and Alix prepared what was supposed to be a meal for about 5 but was shared by the two, mostly in silence, though Ryan tried to get her to talk about herself.

Alix climbed the stairs, noting that the handrail didn’t wobble, nor the stairs spring. A very sturdy creation.

Mark’s wife, Toni had taken pictures with a digital camera during the construction, and Irene had shared them with her friend via email, who passed them on to her daughter.

Alix remarked, “When I saw the first picture, there was just one post. It looked like it was for burning Joan d’Arc at the stake. Then the second post and the beam was added, and it looked like a gibbet, like they used to use to hang criminals in England, where they would stand people on a cart, put a noose over their heads from the beam, and drive the cart away, leaving the condemned to strangle.”

“Well, it’s different now.”

“Yes. You could have put a trap door in the deck.”

“Quite an imagination, you have.”

Alix looked up at Ryan, sighed, and muttered, “Oh, well.” She turned to the door into the attic, pushed it open, and went in. “It’s quite big,” she commented.

Indeed, it was spacious, with good headroom near the centre, close to 20 feet long. Already Irene and Jack had stored some stuff inside, old chairs, Christmas boxes, a bed set.

“What’s this?” Alix asked, pointing to a very narrow chair with a tall back, with the back being about 8 inches wide, tall enough that a person’s head would be able to rest against it while seated.

“It’s probably a chair for an entrance hall, for people to sit on to remove shoes or winter boots. It’s narrow, say to fit behind a door in a fairly narrow hall or entrance way. I don’t know why it has such a high back other than to make it not look like a children’s seat.”

Then he added, “It looks a bit like a Spanish garrote.”

Alix turned to him, “A what?”

“A Spanish garrote. Used in Spain and the ex-Spanish islands in the Caribbean to execute people.”

“How does it work?” Alix asked, with more strength and interest in her voice than she had all day.

“One way is for the person to be executed to stand or sit against a post, which has a hole in it at the neck line. A rope or cord is passed around the neck of the person, through the hole in the post. Behind the post the cord is tied around a bar of wood or metal. By twisting the bar around, you tighten up on the cord around the neck, strangling the victim.

“Variants exist, for instance a wheel can he attached to the rope behind the post to make it easier to turn. Another variant has a metal band which goes around the neck of the victim, and the wheel pushes a wedge through it against the spine of the victim, snapping it. There’s a version with two loops locked around the neck, one fixed, the other pushed by some wheel mechanism which shears the spine as they pass.”

“You seem to know a lot about them.”

“Oh, I chanced across them on the ’net one day. Besides, you seemed to be interested in executions.”

Alix looked carefully at the chair, tracing it with her hands, almost caressing it. “Look, there’s some holes in the carving all the way through the back, one would be about neck height.”

“Umm,” responded Ryan, wondering if he had made a mistake in mentioning what it appeared to him.

Alix sat on the seat and leaned her head against the back rest, feeling for the hole she had found. Then she placed her hands behind the back and shut her eyes.

“I recall that a victim’s hands were tied in front for the post was too thick generally to put the hands behind it. The post probably had to be very sturdy for the victim probably thrashed about in an attempt to escape. I don’t think death would be instantaneous, especially for the strangulation. It might take several seconds to sever the spinal cord in those variants. Probably the hands were tied down, possibly to the seat. I didn’t see an explanation why a seat, the victim could stand against a post. Maybe the seat brought the lever or wheel down to a convenient height for the executioner; I don’t know and hadn’t wondered why until now.”

“I want to feel it. Would there be something to secure my hands and put a cord around my neck?”

“That could be dangerous.”

“You’ll keep me safe.” Some confidence, considering she did not know him at all.

“I’ll see what I can find down stairs.” He returned a few minutes later; Alix had not moved from where he left her.

“Look, I found some heavy elastics that had been used around the bundles of balusters that formed the uprights to the railing on the stairs and the deck.”

Alix continued to look straight ahead, save her eyes were closed. “Fasten my hands.”

Ryan doubled the loop of one elastic, spread it out, went behind the chair and passed it over her wrists crossed behind the tall back. “You will be able to pull your wrists out of the elastics quite easily,” he explained.

“Now around my neck.”

“It’s dangerous to place anything tight around one’s neck.”

“So explain men’s ties.”

Ryan linked three of the elastics together, passed them around her neck and, with difficulty, through the hole in the upright behind her back. There he placed a stick he had found through the loops, and twisted it around once.

“An executee should be blindfolded; use my kerchief,” Alix instructed.

Ryan complied, then stepped back to look at the woman with the strange requests. He noted how her face had changed from a sad lifeless form to one that was enjoying the moment. Her nipples poked lumps through the cotton of her blouse, somehow held taught by the way her hands were behind her.

“Tighter,” she instructed.

Ryan turned the stick around once, then stated, “That’s as tight as I’m going to make it.” He looked to see if her face was turning red as a sign the blood flow was constricted.

Smiling, Alix responded, “That’s enough. Don’t be surprised if .. if I ...”

Her body shuddered and she gasped for air. Ryan moved in to release her, but noted she wasn’t in trouble.

“... well, I just had one, an orgasm,” she completed as she calmed down.

“Don’t you think I should release you?”

“About next century will do. It’s been a long time since I had something like that. Let me enjoy the afterwards, the glow, the satisfaction.”

So Ryan sat on the plastic covered bed, carefully and quietly arranging his own male response, though not climatic, watching the woman for signs of problems.

He thought she was going to fall asleep, head fall forward, and choke. But she just sat upright, content, relaxed, at peace.

After a half an hour, she said clearly, calmly, “Rape me.”

“Pardon? Do you want to be released?”

“I said, rape me. Pull my pants off and take me.”

“No,” Ryan said, “I won’t.” He had visions of being charged with assault, his word against a victimized woman’s. He hurried over, removed the blindfold, undid the elastic at her neck, and freed her hands.

“I’ll never force a woman to have sex. I wouldn’t mind making love to a bound partner in pretend, but never would I want to appear to force her, to do something to her. Let’s get out of here.” With that, he shooed her out the door, and took the elastics and her kerchief and the stick out, hooking the door behind him.

“I only wanted you to have some pleasure.”

“Well, you frightened me a little. I appreciate the thought. I’ve had a good erection since you sat on the chair, and at my age, that’s almost as good as the climax. But we don’t know each other; it wouldn’t be right for you or for me.”

“My ex wouldn’t think so. He’d have taken me fastened to the chair, even if I strangled while he was having his pleasure.”

“Well, I’m not your ... Anyway, I was thinking about something.”

“What?”

“I’ve heard or read,” Ryan explained, “that a man being hanged has an orgasm. No explanation if he’s conscious or aware, especially if his neck is broken. I was wondering if the same happens to a woman. Probably, from your reaction.”

She nodded.

“It’s about time I left,” Ryan said, gathering his tools from the deck and making his way down the stairs. “Did you note that there are thirteen steps? The traditional number to a scaffold,” he added.

A week later Ryan received a call from Jack, thanking him for the work he had performed, inviting him to come out to dinner sometime. No mention of Alix.

Ryan figured that he had got his number from his friend, glad there wasn’t a repercussion about the person they had left to look after the house.

But he did receive a call a month later from Alix, early one morning. After asking how he was, and if he was busy, she stated, “I need to sit in the chair again. They are away. Meet me at Irene and Jack’s place in half an hour.”

“Well, I don’t ...”

“Just come!” With that directive, she hung up.

Alix was there ahead of him. From the bicycle standing in the driveway, he concluded she had pedalled over, possibly even had called from the house.

“What’s up?”

“I need to sit in the chair again. Come.” With that she picked up her knapsack and headed up the stairs. “I’ve been thinking of this for the last month.”

Ryan followed.

Alix pulled some stuff out of her bag, rope, scarves, and surprisingly a ball gag. She presented a hank of quarter inch rope to Ryan and turned around, instructing him, “Tie my hands tightly so I won’t be able to free them.”

“At least you are sensible on the thickness of the rope, too thick and it’s hard to tie someone effectively; too thin and it digs deeply into the flesh. You’re sure you don’t want the elastics?”

“I want not to be able to escape. Tie them firmly.”

Ryan arranged her wrists crossed, then using the centre of the rope, wrapped it twice around the wrists in a vertical orientation, twisted the ropes across each other, to wrap twice in the horizontal direction. He pulled the rope snug, then wound the ends around the ropes between her wrists to cinch them. He tied the knot where he felt she could feel it with her fingers and be able to free herself.

“Hurry up before I have my climax, before I am ready.”

“Women can have multiple climaxes,” Ryan retorted.

“I don’t know, and I wouldn’t want to find out that we can’t,” she replied. “Blindfold me.”

Ryan applied one of the scarves, led her over to the chair and raised her arms so that they reached over the back. He noted she had already placed a rope through the hole in the back, but he left it hanging there for a moment.

Alix seemed to be gritting her teeth, biting her lip in an effort to postpone the imminent climax.

Fetching more of the rope, Ryan quickly tied her legs together at the knees and ankles, then wound another rope around her waist forcing it back against the back.

Then he flipped the loop over her head, drew it tight from behind, noting she had provided a suitable stick to insert it into the loop he formed after knotting the cord behind the chair back. He twisted it twice; carefully watching her face.

Alix stopped holding back her readiness and exploded.

About fifteen minutes later, Ryan was still carefully watching her, even feeling her fingers to see if they were getting cold from time to time.

Alix started talking.

“I have been pretending that I am dead, enjoying the peace and tranquility, the euphoria. Now I have a request. Ryan, you will note that there is a digital movie camera pointing at me, recording everything I have asked you to do, what you have done.

“I want you to know that everything I have is now yours. I give you everything of mine you want.”

Ryan started to speak, “What...”

“Be quiet. I’m giving you everything I can. Now I want you to put the ball gag in my mouth, then turn the handle on the garrote until I am dead.

“Please.”

Ryan was silent for a while. He wasn’t surprised that Alix was suicidal - the symptoms of depression were evident the previous time he met her.

“I can’t.”

“Please,” she pleaded. “There is a note telling you how to dispose of my body in a way it will never be found. You’re scot free. My savings are in cash in the bottom of my knapsack.

“I just want to die. Screw me, fuck me if you want, either before I’m dead or after. But help me die.”

“No.”

“No?” she sobbed, “why?”

“What I would want from you is something you couldn’t give.”

“What’s that?”

“I want you to live.” Ryan went over and released the garrote at her neck.

“Besides, killing you would be a crime, no matter what the tape would say. Assisting you to commit suicide is also a crime. And a killer can’t profit from his crime, so I wouldn’t be able to keep your savings.”

Alix slumped against the chair. “I’ve been planning this ever since we found this chair. I’ve nothing to live for.”

“Can you have another orgasm?”

“I doubt it.”

Ryan reached down to untie her waist, then went around to untie her hands,

“Leave them tied for a few minutes,” she requested, “my legs as well.”

“Well, OK,” Ryan responded, a bit against his better judgment. He wanted to get away from this woman, attractive as she might be, but not in this mental state.

“I’ll move you to the bed.”

“Whatever.”

He laid her down on the plastic on top of the mattress. But she wasn’t quite comfortable.

“Would you lie down too, and let me rest my head on your shoulder?” she asked faintly. “That way I might be comfortable.”

So Ryan arranged her to lie beside him, head on his left shoulder, body leaning against his, the plastic covering creaking a little as he arranged them.

“I so want to die.”

“Why?”

“I was in an abusive relationship. Not physical, just mental. Nothing I did, said, thought was right. He took away my self, destroyed me. Then he left for another woman. Even now, I failed. You wouldn’t turn the crank and let me escape. Now I’ll have to find a way to kill myself. I so wanted to die on that chair after a glorious orgasm - he wouldn’t even let me have one, or accused me of pretending to have one so I didn’t know what was right. But the two in that chair, they were real.”

“Yes. I’ve never seen a woman come like that.”

“Have you ever considered suicide? How?”

Ryan paused, then said, “Well, one time, or period.”

“When?”

“I thought my wife was getting ready to leave me. We did something, then after she changed. Stared to become more independent, do things I usually did, such as fill the car with gas. Stopped hugs or asking for a shoulder to doze on early in the morning. Avoiding physical contact. Becoming a little more snarly with me - ‘of course it will poison you’ about some food that I don’t eat. We’d always been somewhat independent people, usually only eating together for dinner. She’d read, I’d watch TV, or play on the computer.

“I decided that if she did leave me, then I’d commit suicide.”

“What was the trigger?”

“Well, just between us,” Ryan forgot the camera was still running, “I used to have her tie me up. We started tying each other up, but one day I went too far and she stopped allowing me to tie her. But she would ‘torture’ me a couple of times per year. Tie my hands behind my back, and my feet. Then leave me for half an hour, blindfolded. Then return ‘find’ me, and masturbate me.

“One day I asked to be taken to the basement and fastened, rather elaborately, to one of the posts holding up the beam of the basement. She did, left me for a while, returned and whacked me off. But our relationship changed. No contact. It didn’t help that a few days later her mother and nephew and wife came to visit. Her mother was here for a month and a half. I guess stressful.

“But I became depressed, convinced she was working behind my back to organize a departure. I waited, planned, I guess like you planned. But one morning, early, before her mother awoke, she came on to my shoulder, we snoozed like that, then made love. It was almost better than our regular efforts as I was able to get and hold an erection for a longer time.

“After her mother left, she visited the doctor with complaints of pain in her chest. They discovered pancreatic cancer from which there’s no recovery, it seems.”

“Oh.”

“I’m so ashamed. I never treated her as I should. I am always self focused, involved with work. She deserved better than me in life, someone more her intellect, more caring, compassionate. Someone to share her love of reading, buy the things she wanted, fix up the house. I wanted to save money for our old age - her grandmother died at 95, her mother turned 90 last year. So we expected she would live to be at least 90. I expected to pass away at about 70, so wanted to hoard our resources to ensure she would live comfortably in her old age.

“What a turn. Now all I have is memories of times I did or said the wrong thing - to her, to someone at work, elsewhere. These thoughts come back to haunt me, every day, several times per day.

“I’ll remember you, how I disappointed you in not terminating your misery. In not having sex with you last time.

“If you do succeed in dying, through something I have shown you, such as the chair, it will haunt me forever.”

“Why don’t you do it now? Just garrote me first - let me have another orgasm first, then end your life?”

“If one dies, one solves his or her own problem. But creates two or more for those that are left. If you die, your mother would be distraught, and her husband, and my friends. You must have others around you - I don’t know about your father. About the only one who might benefit is your ex - perhaps he would gloat, get your estate, be free of your presence. I don’t know if you had children...”

Alix shook her head, “He never wanted any. Had me get fixed. Not him.”

“My children would be shocked. And my brothers, and my friends.

“I have some volunteer commitments that someone else would have to shoulder. Lots of people would be affected.”

“I never thought of it that way.

“How would you do it?”

“So you can follow? Well, ...”

“No...”
ST: I've edited out some bits.

After a while Ryan patted her back with his left hand, and she slumped closer.

“This is how my wife used to lie on me.” He rubbed her back.

“Mmmm,” she murmured, wiggling closer till her whole body rested against his, listening to the thump, thump of his heart, smelling a little of his body odour, finding nice pressure on her left breast as it pressed against his chest, warmed by his body. His hand, subconsciously continued to caress her back, down between her bound hands.

She lifted up her face for a kiss, and received one.


An hour later, he turned her her over and freed her hands. She hadn’t wanted them freed, or rather, she had wanted them not to be freed, though of necessity Ryan had had to release her legs to remove her pants and other clothes before continuing his attention to her body.

“Last month, you said you wouldn’t with me tied up.” She smiled to show she wasn’t offended.

“That was different. Last month it would have being doing something TO you. Today, I was doing something FOR you, WITH you. Together, not forced.”

“I have a thought,” they both managed to say together, looking over at the chair, “I wonder if they would give us the chair?”

ST
© 2023

[slackywacky]

That was interesting, but a touchy subject, not something often used in items on this board. Well written.

[StringTheorist]

Thanks for your comment, @slackywacky .
I'll keep it in mind when I look at other of my stories to post.

ST

[Boundcurious]

That was interesting. Personally I would have requested a trigger warning if ever you do similar again

[The G-Man]

That was an interesting story, and one I wouldn't expect to see here. Its well-written and is giving me food for thought.

[Ovi1]

This one definitely deserves a trigger warning, but it also deserves a place on this website as it is a very well-written story

[harveygasson]

I agree with the other commenters that a trigger warning at the top of the post would be handy but I also want to compliment you in a particularly well written and interesting story. I found myself very taken with it and enjoyed it a lot in a different way to many other stories on the site. Thank you for posting it

[Boocola]

I'm suicidal and I wasn't triggered, but I do agree that there should be a warning.

[StringTheorist]

Thanks to all of you who posted: @slackywacky , @Boundcurious, @The G-Man, @Ovi1, @harveygasson, @Boocola

What is a trigger warning? Is there an example?

How do I edit something I have posted as I would like to tone it down a bit and I could add a "trigger warning"

Thanks for taking time to comment, much appreciated.

ST

[GreyLord]

I just found this story so I am commenting late. Like others, I agree that it is very well written and unusually fascinating. Perhaps we all have some fascination, to some degree or other, with death.

...
What is a trigger warning? Is there an example?
...

Like ST, I am curious about a trigger warning. Would love to be enlightened.

[StringTheorist]

To those who have commented so far - @slackywacky , @Boundcurious , @The G-Man
@Ovi1 , @harveygasson , @Boocola @GreyLord

I've edited my post to include a warning about the subject matter which I hope meets the concept of "trigger".

I've not found a "how-to" page (or post) for relative new-comers to learn tricks. I do recall a post about tips for reviewing your post before submitting it but don't recall where it is. I wondered about a bookmark facility and GreyLord was kind enough to point me at it. I wanted it to find a favourite of mine by bokmarking Summer Fun by @Uchiha Madara

ST

[Ovi1]

Hi ST,

thank you for the very considerate update of the original post, I hope we have not scared you away from remaining an active member in this forum.

Unfortunately I cannot help you with any forum mechanics, but like someone pointed out in a different thread, most functionalities are discovered by just clicking a lot of buttons until you find the function that works.

[Boundcurious]

Sorry I don’t log in much and missed your query. What uou’ve done is great - thanks!