mitchman515
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The decision to build a gallows hadn't come from very high up, it would have never been approved. Sgt. Thompson knew that, and so hadn't asked permission. He had a little bit of a renegade streak, and was prone to entertain his sadistic side from time to time. It was part of the reason he was good at his job. So one night, bored in the hot desert of Iraq, he roused his buddy, Scotts, in charge of the deployment's engineering corps unit.
"Wanna build something fun?"
***
The engineer corps kids had no idea why they were working on a gallows that day. But the orders were clear when they had worken up: a team of six of them were to construct one before the week was through. They didn't question orders, they were soldiers. They didn't have guns or engage enemies, but soldiers nonetheless.
The plans were simple enough-- the only part of the build that called for any thought at all was the hoisting system. Orders were that it be automatic. A red button meant up, a black button meant down. The wiring was basic, and it was a simple calculation to determine the necessary power of the motor to do the lifting of up to 400 lbs.
In the end, it was manual labor, like everything else the engineering corps kids did out there. Most of them shared a subtle resentment of their position as grunt workers, and it only helped fuel the quasi-friendly rivalry between the engineering unit and the combat units.
Out in the hot desert sun, six young engineers labored shirtless with sweat on their brows, sometimes a cigarette perched between their lips, for six days before they finished their task, a whole 26hrs ahead of schedule.
***
"Isn't it great?" Thompson asked, admiring the new structure in the twilight.
"Badass." Scotts replied. "But what are we going to do with it?"
"I don't know. It was just for fun." Thompson had a sly smile on his face. "We should start by testing it I guess."
"On whom?"
"One of your kids?"
Scotts thought for a moment. "It *would* be fun."
"Got anyone in mind?" Thompson took a drag on his cigarette, eyes still on the gallows.
"They're all the same to me." Scotts waved his hand dismissively. "You pick one."
"Who was in charge of the team building it?"
"Pvt. Erickson."
"We have a winner." If the men had been drinking, they would have cheersed to it.
***
It was hot the next day, just like it always was. By the time the sun was at its highest point in the sky, Sgt. Thompson had rounded up his entire 32 person unit and told them what was going to happen. Thompson's excitement was contagious, and soon even the soldiers with serious reservations about their Seargant's plan succumbed to pack mentality. Every soldier out there had lost friends in combat, except the engineering kids. It was where the good nature of the unit rivalry got blurry. And good entertainment was hard to come by these days.
They were gathered around the gallows as Scotts made the call for Pvt. Erickson. He was off duty, shirtless and enjoying a cigarette, but reported as ordered to the gallows, with a military salute to Sgt. Thompson.
"At ease, Private." Thompson ordered.
Erickson dropped his hands to his sides, relaxed his posture. "What can I do for you, Seargent?" he asked. He was aware of the crowd, staring at the two of them, but didn't dare ask about it.
"I want you to stand right here, son." Thompson ordered, pointing to the spot of dirt directly beneath the noose.
Erickson had no idea where this was headed. The crowd did. He was nervous, but complied. You always complied when a Seargant ordered you around.
"Now, take off your pants. Let's see what you got under there." He wanted his men to be entertained.
"I don't understand." It was as much of a protest the private knew he could get away with.
"You don't need to understand," Thompson replied, terse but no anger. "If I want to see your goddamn Johnson to take pictures of it and send them to your grandma, then that's what's going to fucking happen."
Erickson knew better than to fight. Trembling ever so slightly with embarassment, he removed his shoes and socks, and slowly pulled his pants off. Standing there in just his boxer-briefs, he was a fine male specimen. Early 20s, toned and defined. He was slim and fairly short, with almost black hair and brown eyes. He hesitated for a second before lowering his underwear, but did it with the calmness and certainty of a soldier following orders, and stood under the noose buck naked.
Thompson grinned. It was a penis like any other. They were really pretty nondescript until they were erect-- penises. Only then did you discover their full size, quirky proportions, awkward tilts.
"You got a girl back home, Private Erickson?" Thompson asked.
"Yes sir." Erickson replied, military formality in his voice. He was being hazed somehow, he was certain, and was determined to take it with dignity.
"When was the last time you fucked her with that cock there?" Thompson pointed.
"Uh.. about eight months ago, sir." Things had turned beyond weird, but there was no sense in not playing along with the Seargent's line of questioning.
"Was it good?"
Erickson could feel the tingle start in his groin as his mind was thrust upon the memory. They had been in the kitchen of her apartment. It was a fuck full of lust. Her brave soldier boyfriend headed off to Iraq. She had wanted it to be raw. "Y.. Yes sir."
The crowd watched as Thompson's question had the desired effect. "Is it making you hard thinking about it?" Thompson asked with a grin.
"Yes sir."
"Do you use rubbers when you fuck her?"
"Yes sir. We... we didn't want her getting pregnant before I left."
"But you want to try when you get back to her. You want to shoot your seed deep inside her pussy."
Erickson had a full on erection by now, and everyone in attendance was using it as a visual aid for the story being told to them. They were picturing Private Erickson at home, plowing that cock into some faceless broad, hoping his seed would spurt forth and bear fruit. His cock was thick and circumsized, probably just a little under seven inches long. A nicely proportioned head, no curve, but a distinct lean to the left. Taut balls hung beneath. His girl back home loved that he had a big dick.
"Yes sir. I think she's the one. I think I'm ready to have kids." Sgt. Thompson liked this answer. It made what was coming seem all the sweeter.
It was time to get things moving. "Pvt. Erickson, you led the team that constructed this gallows, is that correct?"
"Yes sir."
"How does it operate?"
"You noose the victim, and..." Erickson stopped talking when Thompson reached for the noose.
"Like this?" Thompson asked innocently as he slipped the noose over Erickson's head.
Erickson swallowed. This was getting dangerous. But he didn't dare defy his superior, and stood still. His erection started to falter.
"Yes sir, like that." Erickson nervously pointed to the two-button control panel. "Red is up, black is release."
"How would you rate the build quality of this gallows, Private?"
The question confused Erickson for a moment. "Uh, excellent, sir."
"It will withstand the weight of any man up to 400lbs?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?" Thompson began increasing the pace of the questions.
"Yes."
"Did you take into account the victim's struggles?
"Uh.."
"Might the rope come loose?" Thompson was rapid firing now.
"No." Erickson was mildly annoyed his skills as an engineer were being questioned, and was getting tripped up by the pace of the questions.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"Are you willing to bet your life against it?"
He had already said yes before he realized the question had been phrased backwards: he had wagered that he would live only if the gallows failed.
The crowd was completely silent. "Let's find out."
Erikson had only a moment to let disbelief cross his mind. Surely he couldn't have just made a binding agreement to let himself be hanged.
Thompson knew Erikson's oral agreement didn't mean shit. This was all kinds of illegal no matter how you cut it. He didn't care. He slammed his palm on the red button and the rope instantly went taught. The electric motor clicked into a lower gear and began slowly pulling upward.
Erickson was on his toes. "Black button," he gurgled. "Hit the black button." As if the red button press had been a mistake. Private Erikson's feet scraped the ground as he felt the rope pulling upwards. He thought he could feel his neck stretching like an elastic string. Was this really happening? Why did no one help him?
The faces in the crowd stared intently. They knew he'd be up in the air soon, that a powerful motor was pulling him skyward. They had no idea that it was a Dressen brand 1400 watt AC induction electric motor capable of producting 2000lbft of torque doing the dirty work. Erikson did. The split-phase capacitor was why the rope was able to snap from loose to taut so quickly. It had been his idea.
The crowd was silent as Pvt. Erickson's feet left the ground and he was drawn into the air, thrashing and gurgling. Someone let out a cheer first, and then a laugh. Erikson's hands were at his throat, his chest heaving in agony. His face started to turn red and his erection started to reappear. It was a surprise to most people in the crowd, drawing hoots, hollers, and sarcastic cat calls. Sgt. Thompson just smiled. He'd seen it before.
His fat cock flopped wildly while Erikson kicked and gurgled. Now that he was hard again, the crowd was gleefully reminded that Pvt. Erikson's fucking days were over. They tried to picture his girl back home. Surely somebody knew her name? Track her down and fuck her harder and longer than Erikson ever did.
Inevitably, Erikson's heart gave out and the struggles stopped, but not before he had had a chance to put on a good show. A solid 5 minutes of what looked like conscious agony, swinging around. Then another ten of death throes, involuntary jerks and seizures that looked so primal, Erikson hardly looked human. And then the shit and piss, but no one wanted to remember that part.
"Looks like Erickson built us a solid gallows here, boys." Thompson addressed the crowd as he picked up Erikson's clothes lying in a heap in the desert sand. "But it's back to work now." He fished something out of a pants pocket. "Who wants a cigarette?"
"Wanna build something fun?"
***
The engineer corps kids had no idea why they were working on a gallows that day. But the orders were clear when they had worken up: a team of six of them were to construct one before the week was through. They didn't question orders, they were soldiers. They didn't have guns or engage enemies, but soldiers nonetheless.
The plans were simple enough-- the only part of the build that called for any thought at all was the hoisting system. Orders were that it be automatic. A red button meant up, a black button meant down. The wiring was basic, and it was a simple calculation to determine the necessary power of the motor to do the lifting of up to 400 lbs.
In the end, it was manual labor, like everything else the engineering corps kids did out there. Most of them shared a subtle resentment of their position as grunt workers, and it only helped fuel the quasi-friendly rivalry between the engineering unit and the combat units.
Out in the hot desert sun, six young engineers labored shirtless with sweat on their brows, sometimes a cigarette perched between their lips, for six days before they finished their task, a whole 26hrs ahead of schedule.
***
"Isn't it great?" Thompson asked, admiring the new structure in the twilight.
"Badass." Scotts replied. "But what are we going to do with it?"
"I don't know. It was just for fun." Thompson had a sly smile on his face. "We should start by testing it I guess."
"On whom?"
"One of your kids?"
Scotts thought for a moment. "It *would* be fun."
"Got anyone in mind?" Thompson took a drag on his cigarette, eyes still on the gallows.
"They're all the same to me." Scotts waved his hand dismissively. "You pick one."
"Who was in charge of the team building it?"
"Pvt. Erickson."
"We have a winner." If the men had been drinking, they would have cheersed to it.
***
It was hot the next day, just like it always was. By the time the sun was at its highest point in the sky, Sgt. Thompson had rounded up his entire 32 person unit and told them what was going to happen. Thompson's excitement was contagious, and soon even the soldiers with serious reservations about their Seargant's plan succumbed to pack mentality. Every soldier out there had lost friends in combat, except the engineering kids. It was where the good nature of the unit rivalry got blurry. And good entertainment was hard to come by these days.
They were gathered around the gallows as Scotts made the call for Pvt. Erickson. He was off duty, shirtless and enjoying a cigarette, but reported as ordered to the gallows, with a military salute to Sgt. Thompson.
"At ease, Private." Thompson ordered.
Erickson dropped his hands to his sides, relaxed his posture. "What can I do for you, Seargent?" he asked. He was aware of the crowd, staring at the two of them, but didn't dare ask about it.
"I want you to stand right here, son." Thompson ordered, pointing to the spot of dirt directly beneath the noose.
Erickson had no idea where this was headed. The crowd did. He was nervous, but complied. You always complied when a Seargant ordered you around.
"Now, take off your pants. Let's see what you got under there." He wanted his men to be entertained.
"I don't understand." It was as much of a protest the private knew he could get away with.
"You don't need to understand," Thompson replied, terse but no anger. "If I want to see your goddamn Johnson to take pictures of it and send them to your grandma, then that's what's going to fucking happen."
Erickson knew better than to fight. Trembling ever so slightly with embarassment, he removed his shoes and socks, and slowly pulled his pants off. Standing there in just his boxer-briefs, he was a fine male specimen. Early 20s, toned and defined. He was slim and fairly short, with almost black hair and brown eyes. He hesitated for a second before lowering his underwear, but did it with the calmness and certainty of a soldier following orders, and stood under the noose buck naked.
Thompson grinned. It was a penis like any other. They were really pretty nondescript until they were erect-- penises. Only then did you discover their full size, quirky proportions, awkward tilts.
"You got a girl back home, Private Erickson?" Thompson asked.
"Yes sir." Erickson replied, military formality in his voice. He was being hazed somehow, he was certain, and was determined to take it with dignity.
"When was the last time you fucked her with that cock there?" Thompson pointed.
"Uh.. about eight months ago, sir." Things had turned beyond weird, but there was no sense in not playing along with the Seargent's line of questioning.
"Was it good?"
Erickson could feel the tingle start in his groin as his mind was thrust upon the memory. They had been in the kitchen of her apartment. It was a fuck full of lust. Her brave soldier boyfriend headed off to Iraq. She had wanted it to be raw. "Y.. Yes sir."
The crowd watched as Thompson's question had the desired effect. "Is it making you hard thinking about it?" Thompson asked with a grin.
"Yes sir."
"Do you use rubbers when you fuck her?"
"Yes sir. We... we didn't want her getting pregnant before I left."
"But you want to try when you get back to her. You want to shoot your seed deep inside her pussy."
Erickson had a full on erection by now, and everyone in attendance was using it as a visual aid for the story being told to them. They were picturing Private Erickson at home, plowing that cock into some faceless broad, hoping his seed would spurt forth and bear fruit. His cock was thick and circumsized, probably just a little under seven inches long. A nicely proportioned head, no curve, but a distinct lean to the left. Taut balls hung beneath. His girl back home loved that he had a big dick.
"Yes sir. I think she's the one. I think I'm ready to have kids." Sgt. Thompson liked this answer. It made what was coming seem all the sweeter.
It was time to get things moving. "Pvt. Erickson, you led the team that constructed this gallows, is that correct?"
"Yes sir."
"How does it operate?"
"You noose the victim, and..." Erickson stopped talking when Thompson reached for the noose.
"Like this?" Thompson asked innocently as he slipped the noose over Erickson's head.
Erickson swallowed. This was getting dangerous. But he didn't dare defy his superior, and stood still. His erection started to falter.
"Yes sir, like that." Erickson nervously pointed to the two-button control panel. "Red is up, black is release."
"How would you rate the build quality of this gallows, Private?"
The question confused Erickson for a moment. "Uh, excellent, sir."
"It will withstand the weight of any man up to 400lbs?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?" Thompson began increasing the pace of the questions.
"Yes."
"Did you take into account the victim's struggles?
"Uh.."
"Might the rope come loose?" Thompson was rapid firing now.
"No." Erickson was mildly annoyed his skills as an engineer were being questioned, and was getting tripped up by the pace of the questions.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"Are you willing to bet your life against it?"
He had already said yes before he realized the question had been phrased backwards: he had wagered that he would live only if the gallows failed.
The crowd was completely silent. "Let's find out."
Erikson had only a moment to let disbelief cross his mind. Surely he couldn't have just made a binding agreement to let himself be hanged.
Thompson knew Erikson's oral agreement didn't mean shit. This was all kinds of illegal no matter how you cut it. He didn't care. He slammed his palm on the red button and the rope instantly went taught. The electric motor clicked into a lower gear and began slowly pulling upward.
Erickson was on his toes. "Black button," he gurgled. "Hit the black button." As if the red button press had been a mistake. Private Erikson's feet scraped the ground as he felt the rope pulling upwards. He thought he could feel his neck stretching like an elastic string. Was this really happening? Why did no one help him?
The faces in the crowd stared intently. They knew he'd be up in the air soon, that a powerful motor was pulling him skyward. They had no idea that it was a Dressen brand 1400 watt AC induction electric motor capable of producting 2000lbft of torque doing the dirty work. Erikson did. The split-phase capacitor was why the rope was able to snap from loose to taut so quickly. It had been his idea.
The crowd was silent as Pvt. Erickson's feet left the ground and he was drawn into the air, thrashing and gurgling. Someone let out a cheer first, and then a laugh. Erikson's hands were at his throat, his chest heaving in agony. His face started to turn red and his erection started to reappear. It was a surprise to most people in the crowd, drawing hoots, hollers, and sarcastic cat calls. Sgt. Thompson just smiled. He'd seen it before.
His fat cock flopped wildly while Erikson kicked and gurgled. Now that he was hard again, the crowd was gleefully reminded that Pvt. Erikson's fucking days were over. They tried to picture his girl back home. Surely somebody knew her name? Track her down and fuck her harder and longer than Erikson ever did.
Inevitably, Erikson's heart gave out and the struggles stopped, but not before he had had a chance to put on a good show. A solid 5 minutes of what looked like conscious agony, swinging around. Then another ten of death throes, involuntary jerks and seizures that looked so primal, Erikson hardly looked human. And then the shit and piss, but no one wanted to remember that part.
"Looks like Erickson built us a solid gallows here, boys." Thompson addressed the crowd as he picked up Erikson's clothes lying in a heap in the desert sand. "But it's back to work now." He fished something out of a pants pocket. "Who wants a cigarette?"
