Amy had receded to her accustomed place in the background from the moment she'd said, "Miranda, this is Andrew," and the attention of Andrew and his circle of friends had focused wholly on Miranda. A smaller knot formed around Beth, who would herself have been the center of male attention in any environment not containing Miranda. Amy watched in awe as Miranda handled the conversations with aplomb, appearing to make every person who addressed her, male or female, feel as if they were Miranda's special friend. Did she learn that at the Academy too? Amy wondered.

Every few minutes, Amy noticed, Miranda's gaze would turn to the stage to her left, with its raised platform in the middle and prominent noose dangling above it. The moment she had seen it as she and Amy emerged from the house, Miranda had let out a gasp of excitement, and her hand, perhaps unconsciously, had drifted up towards her neck. During her more recent looks at it, her hand seemed to move down to the front of her skirt. Amy was close enough to see the girl's hips twitch beneath her short skirt, as if she were feeling tingling between her legs.

James cleared his throat. "Miss Cameron, there is another guest at the front door."

Why is he telling me? she wondered. "Who is it, James?"

"He says he is Miranda's father. I thought someone in the family should receive him." It was obvious to Amy why she was the choice -- her father and Andrew both looked very occupied. She followed James into the house.

A friendly-looking man about Amy's father's age was waiting in the foyer. He smiled as Amy approached him. "Hi. Kevin Warren. I'm Miranda's dad. You are...?"

Amy held out her hand and shook with him. "Amy Cameron. Welcome to my dad's house, my brother's party." Somehow Amy's greetings always assigned an "and then there's me" role to herself. "I'm glad you could make it. Miranda seems... well, she's really nice."

He beamed, obviously taking pride in his daughter. "I'm not too late, am I? Is she still talking to the guests?"

"Oh! Right. If you'll follow me, we'll go see her."

As they came out the back door, Miranda was laughing heartily at something someone had said -- probably Amy's dad, from the way Miranda was looking at him. Miranda turned as Amy cleared her throat. "Mir..."

Miranda gasped and grinned. "Daddy!!" She threw herself at him and enveloped him in a crushing hug. "I'm so glad you're here!"

Her father laughed. "What did you think, Princess, I'd miss your big day?"

Miranda looked up at him, laughter dancing in her eyes. "Oh, Daddy, that's so funny! You always called me that, and you probably didn't even know I'm a real princess today!"

He looked puzzled. "Eh?"

She whispered in his ear, "They wanted the princess scenario. Never mind, you'll see what I mean." She kissed his cheek and let go, and frowned suddenly. "Where are the girls?"

"Oh, Melissa's watching them. She's old enough to babysit now."

Miranda shook her head in wonder. "It's so hard to think of her as being sixteen. But I wish they could be here."

"I know, Princess, and they wanted so much to come and see their big sister get cooked, but I was thinking the atmosphere might get a little rowdy here for them. I told them we'd probably roast Melissa in a few years. That settled them down a little."

"But you'll take back some of me for them to eat, won't you?"

"Of course, Princess! There's no way I'd let them miss getting some of their sister inside them."

She hugged him again. "I'm really glad." She waved her arm. "They've got some beer in that cooler over there, or if you want a drink from the bar it's there." She indicated the makeshift bar, behind which the hired bartender nodded at the new arrival.

Amy's dad had come over, holding out his hand. "Preston Cameron. Nice to meet you. Quite a girl you've got here."

Kevin grinned. "Always knew it. Kevin Warren." They shook hands as Andrew approached. Andrew shook hands with Kevin rather dismissively and turned immediately back to his friends, summoning Miranda back to the group with a peremptory hand gesture. Ever the asshole, thought Amy.

Amy's dad was still standing with Kevin. He put his hand companionably on Kevin's shoulder. "Now, of course we own Miranda, but I think her father should get a nice choice cut. I'm a father myself." Amy winced, not so much at the thought of her father scarfing down a piece of her, but at the more distasteful image of Andrew consuming her. Maybe, she thought, I should sell myself to a cannery before it's too late. Or I could... No, that's crazy. Miranda was just being nice, saying all that.

"Oh, no, really, I don't want to take any of the best parts away from you. If you could just fix me up a steak from her rump, that'd be fine."

Preston smiled with evident relief. He'd felt obligated to offer, but he'd clearly been hoping for a good-sized helping of Miranda's breast meat. Andrew, of course, would get to consume the tender lips of her womanhood. Preston clapped Kevin on the shoulder again. "Deal! Get you a drink? I'm buying," he grinned, his idea of humor.

Amy heard Kevin say, "Sure," as they drifted off towards the bar.

Amy didn't have her watch on, but she felt sure fifty minutes had passed. She drifted slowly across the yard towards the tent that had been erected by Academy workers earlier in the week. She didn't feel nervous, well, not very nervous, at the possibility of Andrew noticing where she was going -- his attention was, again, fully occupied, as was that of his friends and their dates. It was not like anyone would miss her. She felt a little more nervous approaching Big Bill. She looked up at him hesitantly, took a last quick look behind her, and turned back to him and whispered, "Squatcho," feeling a little silly. She was relieved when he nodded and stepped slightly aside. She turned around for one last look, and tried to be casual as she eased back through the entrance to the tent.

The interior was dimly lit by two battery-operated lanterns on opposite sides. The backyard grass served as the floor. Beth had already dropped off her satchel and opened it. A lovely, heavy-looking fake-fur robe was hanging from a hook on one wall of the tent, to give it time for the creases from its confinement in the satchel to fall out. Aside from that, the tent's only furnishings were the satchel and a mattress, the latter covered in silky-looking sheets, with very sheer, gauzy curtains hanging down on its four sides from rods mounted above it. With nowhere else to sit, Amy parted the curtains at one corner and sat on the edge of the mattress. The bed arrangement, obviously, must have been installed when the tent was erected.

Amy was just deciding she must have misjudged the time when she suddenly heard voices coming nearer, Miranda's saying, "Now, give me some time to get ready. I'll give you a signal when it's time for you to come in." Amy wasn't sure whom that was addressed to. She could hear Kevin's voice. "I'm so proud of you, Princess." There was silence for a few beats; Amy suspected Miranda was giving her father one more hug. The silence terminated in the sound of a light kiss, Miranda saying, "I love you, Daddy. Thank you, for everything."

Kevin responded, "Love you too, Princess. Go knock 'em dead."

Amy heard Miranda's now-familiar laugh. "No, Daddy, that's what they do to me."

Seconds later Miranda breezed into the tent, alone. Beth, presumably, was still "mingling," and now getting her deserved share of admiration. Miranda smiled as she saw Amy sitting on the bed, and quickly came over, brushing the curtain aside to sit beside her.

Amy started to speak, but Miranda quickly put her finger to her lips, and whispered "Wait a sec." She listened, and as soon as Amy recognized Andrew's voice at some distance, Miranda nodded and said quietly, "Okay, just wanted to make sure nobody important was listening in." She grinned, rolled her eyes and said, "Whew! Glad that part's over. I just can hardly wait for the Big Moment."

Amy marveled at the girl's enthusiasm. "I guess it's not really just a moment, is it? Is it true what I've heard, that you can keep kicking twenty, twenty-five minutes or more?"

Miranda's eyes were alight. "Theoretically even thirty-five, but I've never heard of any girl going that long. I'm hoping for thirty. All the third-years have to get to where they can swing and kick at least fifteen minutes. It's a test you have to pass. I was kind of scared of that when I heard about it my first year, but I got to where I can do that easily. "

Amy gawked at her. "Scared? You?"

"Of course! Everybody is. But I just kept telling myself, they let you in this place, they believe in you. And I made myself believe in myself."

Amy shook her head. "I don't know if I'd believe in myself."

Miranda reached up to cup both hands on either side of Amy's face, and locked eyes with her. "Yes, you can. You already do. You just haven't told yourself yet."

Amy tried but couldn't pull her eyes from Miranda's. "I could never be in the Hanging Academy, though."

Miranda tightened her chin in mock exasperation. "Sure you can. You didn't say if your grades are good. But they're all A's, aren't they?"

Amy looked down, finally. Her excellent grades embarrassed her a little. Andrew had always called her "the Bookworm," with a snarl, among his other less complimentary names for her. "Well, yeah."

"I could just tell. And..." Miranda looked around. "Where's a mirror? There must be one in the satchel." She got up and rooted around in the bag, at last pulling out a hand mirror with a satisfied grunt. She handed it to Amy. "Hold this and look at yourself." As Amy complied, Miranda knelt in front of her, and reached up and in under Amy's hair with her fingers, lifting it up and back. She fiddled with it, her teeth unconsciously biting down on her lip as she concentrated, trying out various arrangements. At last she smiled. "Okay, imagine this hair in front is a lot shorter. You'd brush it towards the sides, like wings. Not bangs." Miranda used two fingers on each side like scissors. "Everything below my fingers isn't there. Then it gets a little longer as you go back, and layered, and hangs to your shoulders in back. Can you see it that way?"

Amy stared at the mirror, gradually seeing her hair in her mind's eye as Miranda described it. She smiled in spite of herself. "Yeah, I've seen girls with it that way. They always look kind of cute. But you have to have the right face for it."

Miranda sighed with exasperation and grinned. "You do, Amy! You aren't seeing yourself like other people see you. I promise, that would look just right for you."

Amy looked away from the mirror, to Miranda. She could see the girl was absolutely sincere. She nodded. "Okay. I'll... I'll try that." She felt a rush of adrenaline. Consciously, she felt a little nervous at the idea of trying a new look. Would people just laugh at her?

"Great! And they've got professional hairdressers at the Academy. They could make it look just perfect. Tonight I want you to look at yourself in the mirror again, see your hair that way, and try to see yourself like you were a stranger. See yourself the way I see you. Promise?"

Not quite sure why she was feeling excited, nor whether she should allow it to continue, Amy nodded. "I promise. But... well, look, about hanging. I don't know if... well, I mean, it's still kind of scary."

Miranda looked thoughtful for a moment. She put the mirror down. Still kneeling in front of Amy, she said, "Don't get panicked about what I'm about to do. Don't resist. Just go with it. I won't make any sudden moves. I'll take it really slow. And I'll know when to stop, I promise."

Amy blinked, not understanding what Miranda was talking about. Miranda reached forward slowly and put her hands on the side of Amy's neck, the base of her palms across Amy's carotids, her thumbs over her windpipe. She let them rest there, and asked quietly, "Trust me?"

Her heart pounding, suspecting she knew now what was happening, Amy nodded, wide-eyed.

Miranda began to squeeze, tightening her grip on Amy's neck by tiny degrees. Amy felt her pulse pounding in her neck, her heart pumping more quickly by the second. Miranda, her voice as soft as a breeze, said, "Relax, Amy. No need to be tense. Just let it happen, let it happen..." Her voice trailed off to nothing at the end.

Amy took a slow breath, found that her internal tension was indeed abating. Miranda began squeezing harder.

Amy felt herself getting lightheaded. It was harder to breathe, but somehow that didn't matter. Her whole body seemed to be becoming weightless, as if she could float to the top of the tent if Miranda weren't holding her down.

At last she couldn't breathe at all. She was floating, she was sure of it. A feeling of... she didn't have a word that fit it, but it was spreading through her body. Exultation. Something like that.

There was a buzzing in her ears, a red tinge creeping in from the sides of her vision. Suddenly Miranda let go. Amy brought her hand up to her throat, gasping for breath, a look of wonder in her eyes, her mouth an O of amazement.

Miranda beamed at her and hugged her. "You're definitely Academy material. No doubt about it."

Amy felt breathless again, for a different reason now. "You really do think so, don't you? You aren't just saying it?"

Miranda threw up her hands, grinning. "Amy, what am I going to do with you? Look, maybe this will convince you." She began rooting in the satchel again, in a side pocket finding a folded form and a pen. "We always carry these around in case a recruiting opportunity comes up."

She spent a few minutes writing intently on the form, then handed it to Amy. "Amy, go down to the Academy as soon as you can. Take off school if you need to. Look for the Admissions Office, and give them this. You'll have to send transcripts later, and have an interview, and pass a test that's a lot like the one I just gave you. But with everything else you have going for you, a recommendation from an Academy student, especially a graduate, is going to carry a lot of weight. I can't promise you anything, except to say you've got a really good chance. And that's the honest truth."

Amy read quickly what Miranda had written on the form, and reread it, hardly believing it. She looked up at Miranda, while carefully folding the form and putting it in her pocket. "Thank you." On impulse, she reached out and hugged Miranda. Then she looked at the entrance to the tent and put her hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry! You told them you needed time to get ready, and I've been taking it all up!"

Miranda smiled and shook her head. "I don't need any time getting ready. I just wanted them to think that. This hasn't been my time. It's been your time."

Amy looked at her, speechless.

"I better get on with the next part of the show, though. Your brother and your dad get to spend a little time with me, in here. Look..." Miranda looked around. "See where the side of the tent kind of folds in a little, over there? Duck into that, and it goes without saying, be quiet as a mouse." She grinned. "I want you to see another thing you can learn at the Academy: how to wrap a man around your little finger."

Amy looked at her with extreme skepticism. "A man, maybe. Not Andrew. You aren't going to be able to play with him."

Miranda smiled knowingly. "Just watch." She gestured to the hiding place.

Miranda watched Amy, to be satisfied she was sufficiently hidden, then went to the entrance of the tent. Amy couldn't hear her say anything, so presumably her appearance alone was enough to tell Andrew his presence was invited.

Andrew entered the tent with a smirk. His quick look around took in the bed, the... well, the bed was all there was to take in, really. He walked over to it, bent down, and stroked the fabric, his smile spreading wider. He stood suddenly and turned to face Miranda. Amy, her heart pounding, chanced a quick peek, and saw that Andrew was facing away from her. She kept watching, ready to duck back farther into her hiding place when the need arose.

Andrew gestured imperiously at Miranda. "Okay, bitch, strip."

Miranda took a step closer to him, looking up at him with an expression somehow submissive, innocent, yet fully self-possessed at once. In a silky voice, projecting desire, she responded, "Are you sure you don't want to take it slower, Master? We have all the time we need, and I just want to make you feel good." She bit her lip, inclining her head forward but still keeping her eyes aimed upwards at Andrew, even, to Amy's amazement, batting her eyes briefly.

Andrew snorted. "It's not about what you want, bitch. I own you." He gestured again. "Take it off."

Miranda stepped still closer, her eyes never leaving Andrew's. Her voice, still silky but growing husky, said, "Master, I am yours to command. But I must tell you this. When I do my rope dance later, I can do much better if I'm allowed to take my own sexual pleasure beforehand. It calms my body, fills me with good air, helps me kick longer. I know my master would want his friends to remember the show at Andrew Cameron's all their lives, as the best they've ever seen." Stepping still closer, she slipped her arms around Andrew, pressed herself against him, looked up and kissed him softly.

Amy couldn't see Andrew's face, but his whole posture shouted that an internal battle was going on. Amy shook her head, astonished. She knew, herself, that Miranda had found exactly the right button to push. Andrew would do anything to tower above his friends, to be an object of their awe. But the reason Amy understood that was because she'd lived with Andrew for eighteen years. Miranda had somehow seen into the depths of Andrew's being in an hour.

Miranda slipped her arms farther around Andrew, resting her chin on his shoulder. Catching Amy's eye, Miranda stuck up her little finger behind Andrew's back and twirled it in a circle.

Amy had to jam her fists into her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

Andrew heaved a heavy sigh. "Okay, so what do you need to do?"

Miranda turned her head and kissed his neck. She breathed against his throat, "Oh, Master, what I need is what we both need. Just lay back on the bed and I'll satisfy both of us."

Andrew backed towards the bed, momentarily tangling himself up in the curtain before irritably brushing it aside and sitting on the bed. Miranda nodded encouragement, and he lay on his back, looking up at Miranda. Amy wondered whether Andrew had ever let a woman be on top before.

Miranda knelt on the bed straddling his hips, and began rocking her own hips as she teasingly began pushing the bottom of his shirt upward. When little more than his stomach had been revealed, she leaned forward and kissed the bare skin, sighing as if just being able to touch him were her fondest dream. He automatically raised his arms as she pushed the shirt up higher, until it eventually cleared his head.

On top or otherwise, Amy felt absolutely sure Andrew had never let a woman take control to this extent.

Miranda smiled, her eyes half-lidded, and whispered, "Ooh, I think we need to get even," reaching with her hands down to opposite sides of the bottom of her halter top and slowly pulling it upwards. As she undulated with her whole upper body from her hips up, it must have taken twenty or thirty seconds for the halter to clear her breasts. At last she pulled it over her head and off.

Amy wished she could take a chance on seeing Andrew's expression. The sound of his breathing indicated his mouth was hanging open.

Miranda reached up and cupped her hands under her breasts, giving them soft squeezes as she moaned softly. "I love squeezing my breasts. But it's even more fun when somebody else does it for me."

Amy could see Andrew's hands shaking as he reached up for the offered treat.

Miranda leaned farther and farther forward until her nipples, both of them as she twisted from side to side, were brushing across Andrew's mouth. She stopped twisting at last to let him suck.

Amy heard Andrew moan involuntarily as Miranda straightened up, scooted a little ways down the bed and reached for Andrew's crotch. "Let's see what's under here. Maybe you've got something for me." She unzipped his pants. The bulge had already been obvious, and more so when only covered by his undershorts.

Miranda grinned and whispered, "Oh, I love how that looks! Let me get a better look." She pulled down the shorts, freeing his erection to spring up towards the ceiling like a jack-in-the-box. Ignoring it for now, she pulled his pants and undershorts the rest of the way off, leaving him, much to the contrary of his original intention, the first in the room to be naked.

She inched forward along his body again and, as she leaned ahead onto her arms to dangle her breasts over his face again, she brushed her skirt against his balls, moaning, her eyes closed.

Suddenly Andrew clenched his hands into fists and grunted urgently, "Shit!" A cascade of semen shot from his cock, making a sticky streamer along his stomach halfway to his chin. As Amy suppressed another burst of laughter, she could see Andrew pound his fist once on the mattress in frustration.

Miranda said quickly, "I'm sorry, Master! Let me clean that up for you! We don't want you all messy." As he started to wave her off angrily, she bent forward and started licking the ejaculate off his stomach.

He protested, more weakly this time, but seemed unable to resist the sight and feel of this heavenly body licking him clean.

She started from the far end of the stream, and slowly approached his cock, now deflating and laying on its side like a punctured sex doll. When she reached it, she took the flaccid thing in her mouth, moaning to the accompaniment of wet sucking sounds.

Once more Andrew looked as if he was starting to push her away, and once more stopped, as if her sensational sexiness and her relentless attentions were overwhelming the sudden shortfall in his sex drive. In a few minutes she was bobbing her head up and down on a newly reinstated erection. Amy marveled, certain now that Miranda could do absolutely anything.

Five minutes could hardly have passed before Miranda whispered, "Are you ready for my pussy now?" Amy could see Andrew nodding weakly, with a moan. Slowly, sensuously, Miranda slid both her skirt and her soaked panties down her legs, sat again on Andrew's hips and guided his erection into her, as he put his hands on her hips to steady her. She looked up at the ceiling of the tent, her eyes closed, and began using her legs to lift her weight slightly and then drop, letting Andrew's cock partly leave her and then slide its full length back into her again.

After just a few minutes, Andrew grunted and jerked, as Miranda stiffened and let out a soft cry of pleasure. She continued riding him until his spasms subsided, then smiled down at him and raised herself enough to let his shrinking cock out of her with an audible pop.

Out of breath, she leaned over him, supporting her weight with her arms, and asked, "Did I give you pleasure, Master?"

Andrew breathed out an inarticulate "Unnh," squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head to clear it, and finally managed to get out, "Uhh, yeah, yeah, definitely."

Miranda squeaked with happiness. "I'm so glad!" She bent down to kiss him, and rolled to the side, lying down beside him and stroking his stomach with her arm. "I hope you'll always remember me when I'm gone." With a wry smile, she asked, "Will there be anything else, Master, or are your friends getting eager for their dinner?"

He looked at her as if not quite remembering what she was referring to, and suddenly exclaimed, "Oh! Right." He got up and started looking for his clothes.

She got up as well, and pulled her panties and skirt on, and wriggled back into her halter top. "Don't go before I get you your costume." She jumped up and felt around in the satchel, pulling out a few items. "Do you want to put these on now, or take them back into the house and wait until it's time?"

Andrew still seemed partly stunned. "Ahh, I'll put them on now, I guess."

She nodded. "Okay. You shouldn't put your shirt on, then," stopping him in the middle of that act. She handed him a rough suede vest. "Here, this will make you look like a rugged revolutionary." She giggled.

He shrugged into the vest. There was no front closure for it; it simply hung open displaying his (fairly) manly bare chest. Once he'd finished discovering and accepting the absence of buttons, she handed him a complicated set of wide leather bands studded with rifle bullets. "Ammunition bandoliers. Do you see how this goes on?" He fumbled with it for a moment, and she said, "Here, let me help you with that."

Satisfied that he was suitably attired at last, she handed him the last item, grinning. "Can't be a successful revolutionary without plenty of firepower." It was a wooden rifle, skillfully crafted and painted to look very authentic. "Now, you've got that little script card, right? In case of forgetting lines?"

He took the rifle, and spent a moment getting a feel for its balance and finding a way to carry it casually. "Are we going out there now, or do you need time to get ready?"

"Well, I will need some time, but first I'm supposed to see your dad, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." He smiled. "Getting impatient, I guess."

Amy couldn't stop marveling at the change in Andrew's demeanor. She couldn't recall him acting this politely with anyone. Certainly nobody female.

Miranda stood on her toes and kissed him one more time. "If you're going now, could you tell your dad to come in?"

He grinned. "Sure. See you later." He made an improvised salute with the rifle, laughed, and walked out of the tent.

Miranda breathed a sigh, and her eyes then widened in alarm as she caught sight of Amy starting to leave her hiding place. Miranda shook her head quickly and waved Amy back, putting her finger over her lips, turning back towards the entrance just in time to see Amy's father enter the tent.

Miranda grinned and reached up to put her arms around his shoulders -- Andrew was just a few inches taller than Miranda, but Preston was at least a full head above her. "I'm so glad to have a chance to spend some time with you alone."

Preston looked at his watch, a habitual gesture. Miranda caught the look. Looking at the watch herself so he'd know she'd seen him, she looked up at him with a cute pout. "I think you should put that away in your pocket, sir. Don't you want to get your money's worth?"

Amy almost gasped out loud. Miranda knew his buttons too!

In later times, Amy tended to date her absolute commitment to entering and passing through the Academy to this moment. When she and Miranda had talked about it earlier, Amy had been thrilled that Miranda had considered her worthy of trying to follow the same path through life that Miranda herself had followed. The hanging part was a little scary, of course. But watching Miranda deal so easily with the very men who had so dominated Amy's life beyond her control... If the Academy was a place she could go to be half as smart as Miranda, to be half as self-confident, to feel half as fulfilled and half as happy, then that was where Amy would dedicate herself to going. And if the fullness of Miranda's life derived from her focus on being hanged, then Amy would make that the focus of her own life.