The president’s mistress

“The defendant will rise and face the bench.”

Judge Markstein knew the law was unjust, but it was clear that the sentence was necessary anyway. Even counsel for the defense had made it clear. People needed a scapegoat for the country’s troubles, and the “family values” demagogues had whipped the faithful into frenzy over the President keeping a mistress. The mobs would demand a death, and the unfortunate defendant was the logical victim. This convenient trial would provide them with the sacrifice they wanted.

“You have been found guilty of eighteen counts of violating the Access to High Officials Act. Your repeated private, ex-parte visits with President Dapoemian have been proven beyond a reasonable doubt, and the court has no choice but to sentence you to die. In deference to your gender, you will be escorted from here by an all female squad selected from the elite corps of the Secret Service, and your executioner will be a member of that squad.”

Markstein looked up and seemed to be addressing someone near the back of the room. “Take the prisoner away and execute the sentence upon her. This court is adjourned.” Judge Markstein rapped the gavel. So this was it. Milla wasn’t sure she minded. Better that she die than for the country to dissolve into riots and rebellions. Things had gotten really bad, and people were blaming it on her. It was the new prudishness of the radical right, she knew. Besides, she didn’t really want to go on living without the twice weekly visits from her Mikey. She loved him, and would gladly give her life to get him out of this mess. She had predicted this even before her arrest, and had made her peace with her impending death while the trial wound to its dreary close. At least she’d managed to get her attorney to keep the trial short; dragging it out with a useless attempt at defense would have been more than she could have stood.

Sensing a movement behind her, Milla turned and noticed a group of women standing near the back of the courtroom, all dressed in identical dark grey dresses. For a moment she wondered if they were clones. Then one walked up to her. Mr. Allan, her attorney, shook her hand and gave her a look that somehow conveyed “I’m sorry,” “I wish I could have done better for you,” and “good luck,” all at once. The strange woman stuck out her hand and Milla reached to do the same, but the woman grabbed her wrist in a come-along hold. She led Milla to the back of the courtroom, where two of the others took a heavy plastic tie and fastened Milla’s wrists together behind her. Milla guessed that these were the Secret Service squad the Judge mentioned; there seemed to be about fifteen of them.

The squad took Milla to an enclosed van and tied her into one of the seats in back. They all got in efficiently and the one who had initially grabbed her got in and started driving. Milla’s hard-won resolve started to waver as she wondered where they were taking her, and when and how she would be killed. After what seemed like hours but was less than half an hour by the dashboard clock, the driver stopped the van and the doors were opened. As they helped her out, Milla saw a private garden of some sort. A beautiful place to die, but it made her sad, remembering the happy times when she had sometimes walked with Mike in the Rose Garden. Two of the women chained one of her legs to an interior fence, and then the driver came forward again. “We have decided to draw straws to see who has to kill you,” the driver told her, “We’re sorry to have to do this to a sister, but you did commit a capital crime and the good of the country demands this. I can only assure you that we’ll make it as quick as we can.”

Milla still didn’t know how she was going to die, but at least the driver seemed to be promising it would be soon. One of the women opened a valise and they all took things out of it and pulled them over their heads, then they went into a huddle. After a couple of minutes they turned around and Milla saw they were all wearing black cloth hoods. One of them stepped forward and removed her hood.

“Hello, Milla. My name is Andrea and I’m going to be your executioner today.” Close up, Andrea no longer looked like a clone. Her glossy brown hair reached to her waist; Milla estimated her age at around 30. Andrea took a moment to look over the prisoner she was to execute. Milla’s dress and calm demeanor were a surprise. Andrea had no idea how someone being held on a capital charge could array herself like that. The prisoner was dressed in a freshly pressed blouse and tight skirt, stockings and medium heels; her dark brown hair hung to her shoulders and she had brushed it until it was lustrous. It was set off beautifully by her brown clothing. Her sheer black stockings could hardly have taken the stress of the exercise yard in the federal jail. And her shoes, where did a prisoner get heels like that?

Milla looked into the other’s eyes and was sure that for all the driver’s assurances of sisterhood and sympathy, this one would enjoy killing her. She could sense Andrea’s envy of her milky-white skin and nearly black eyes. This struck Milla as odd; Andrea’s face was pretty enough though not as beautiful as Milla’s. And Milla would die for that nearly perfect body that the clinging grey knit dress showed off. Also, she sensed there might be some sexual interest involved; there seemed to be something…kinky…about this agent. And Andrea didn’t seem to have any weapons, so Milla still had no idea how she was to be executed. Perhaps some sort of martial art? Surely a Secret Service agent would know at least one. Milla was certainly helpless enough, with her hands tied behind her back and one leg manacled to the fence. Whatever it was, Milla wished Andrea would hurry up and get it over with. Andrea smiled slightly and moved forward until she was almost touching Milla. Suddenly she wrapped her two legs around Milla’s one free leg; Milla tried to pull her leg free but found it was immobilized. Andrea must be stronger than she looked.

Then Andrea put her hands gently around Milla’s throat, the thumbs resting lightly in the hollow where her throat met her chest. Milla’s eyes widened as she realized how she was going to die. This wasn’t going to be pleasant, but she could imagine plenty of worse deaths. Her legs started to shake a little as she thought about wanting to breathe and not being able to. She remembered how she would sometimes hold her breath as long as she could while watching a magic escape act on TV; she’d always had to give up after about a minute. This would go on and keep on getting worse until she died. She shivered a little and hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much. Andrea watched her victim’s eyes as Milla realized what was in store. This woman with perfect skin was in her power, and Andrea would get to feel Milla’s death struggles. “I won’t squeeze too hard at first,” she whispered. “We don’t want you to get an unseemly coughing fit, now do we?”

Milla shook her head, a tiny side-to-side movement of her chin. Her voice seemed stuck in her throat, and she felt like she was having trouble breathing even though Andrea wasn’t squeezing yet. Andrea found this very satisfying; the prisoner was already afraid of her. She went on, “It won’t take long to stop your breathing. I’m just going to give you a few seconds to get used to the pressure.” She squeezed slightly with her thumbs and Milla could feel her throat constrict; she could still breathe without too much trouble, though. Andrea listened to the raspy sound of Milla’s breathing and smiled again, then slowly increased the pressure. In a few seconds she heard the rasping noise change to an irregular snoring sound. She eased up just a little and hissed, “Take a deep breath and enjoy it, kiddo. It’s the last one you’ll ever get.”

Milla made the most of the opportunity, pulling as much air as she could into her lungs, despite the effort required to get it past the pressure on her throat. Then she felt Andrea’s fingers start to slowly tighten again. Andrea looked down at where her thumbs were digging into Milla’s neck, and increased the pressure until the snoring noise stopped completely. It was amazing, how little effort was required to make that beautiful dent in the hollow of the other woman’s throat and cut off her breath. Milla’s eyes held a look of determined resolution when Andrea looked into them again, but that look slowly changed as Andrea’s fingers dug into that milky throat. She’d started counting seconds when Milla’s breathing stopped, and it took less than 30 for that determined bravery to turn to desperation.

Soon Milla’s chest was heaving with the effort to get rid of the stale air trapped in her lungs. Andrea reveled in the sense of her power over the condemned woman’s life and breath. She smiled into Milla’s eyes as the desperate look turned to fear, then slowly to utter panic. Andrea could feel the trembling and Milla’s struggles, transmitted though the leg trapped between her own and found it was getting her excited. Milla’s upper body started thrashing around, trying to pull free from Andrea’s hands around her neck. But Andrea merely held on tighter, looking deep into the other woman’s eyes, and savored the pleading look she found there. The change that had come over Milla was amazing. She had come here meekly, obviously intending to submit to the death awaiting her. But now, with death so near, she was struggling like a tigress, slamming her body into Andrea, then twisting away to one side or throwing herself back against the fence, trying to get free.

Andrea glanced down to see her thumbs digging very deep in Milla’s neck. Further down she could see her victim’s breasts heaving in a rapid, panting attempt to get air. And Andrea was breathing fast too. Holding onto Milla was getting harder as the struggles got wilder, and Andrea could feel a growing excitement, a tingling feeling in her breasts and between her legs. Andrea was almost surprised Milla hadn’t managed to break her spine with her violent struggles. Andrea looked up to Milla’s face again; the other woman’s eyes were starting to bulge from their sockets as she strained for air. This was a moment to savor; it was unlikely Andrea would ever again have someone’s life in her hands again. She held on tight and met the bulging eyes again. “Sssh. Sssh,” she whispered, “it’s OK, and it’ll be over soon. Less than a minute now, and you’ll sleep…forever. But go ahead and struggle, it uses up your air and you’ll be done that much sooner.”

The struggles slowed down a little and became less violent. Andrea wasn’t sure if Milla had heard her or was just becoming weaker. The trembling had stopped now, but Andrea could still feel the motions of Milla’s upper body through the leg she was holding between hers. The condemned woman’s mouth was open in a desperate stretch for air. The struggles started to weaken, and Milla’s swollen tongue started to emerge from her mouth. Andrea wrapped her legs tighter around Milla’s as her excitement started to grow out of control. She felt a tremendous sense of power as the other woman’s life faded in her hands and the woman’s struggles changed to small movements of the chest muscles. Andrea clamped her mouth tightly closed to hold in a scream of pleasure as her power over Milla’s rapidly dwindling life force translated into an enormous orgasm. When she regained control, she found her thumbs incredibly deep in the other woman’s throat. Her legs were clamped so hard around Milla’s they were starting to hurt. The victim’s upper body sagged limply in her grasp, the head lolled forward almost onto the chest.

Andrea forced herself to breathe normally and held onto Milla’s neck until finally another woman stepped around behind the prisoner and grabbed a wrist. After a few seconds she nodded to Andrea, “its over.”

Andrea relaxed her thighs first, she knew they’d be bruised for days from the way she’d abused them today. Then she slowly, almost lovingly, released her grip on the dead throat. Her hair was all sweaty near her scalp and down the back of her neck; she would have to wash it tonight. The squad formed up, took the manacles off the dead body, and carried it away to be buried in accordance with the President’s directions. Andrea considered her sore thumbs and aching thighs, and decided it was worth it. It seemed to her that after she’d reassured the other woman Milla had acted as though she didn’t mind so much, perhaps even enjoyed her last moments a little. Perhaps they had both had orgasms. She wondered what it had felt like for Milla to be strangled like that. Comments?