Amy could hear the whoosh as the flames took hold in the barbecue pit. A few minutes later there was movement in the entrance to the tent. A man entered, wearing an open rough leather vest crisscrossed with bandoliers of bullets, carrying a rifle with a bayonet. It was Kevin Warren.

Miranda gasped and gawked. "Daddy!!! What are you...?" Words failed.

Kevin grinned at her. "Preston and I were talking about you, and I don't know what gave him the idea -- I didn't ask him -- but he offered me a chance to take his role for him. He's got a daughter of his own, of course. Maybe that's why."

As Amy tried to accommodate the idea of her father being sentimental about her, Miranda ran towards Kevin, stopping in front of him. She shrugged with frustration and giggled. "I can't hug you, Daddy. I've got my hands tied."

He reached out for her. "S'okay, Princess. I'll do it for both of us."

She leaned against him, feeling good in his arms one last time. "Oh! Speaking of princesses -- he told you all about what you're supposed to do, right?"

He tapped his head. "Got it all up here. I understand it's not as big a deal as what you and Andrew will be doing."

She rubbed her head against his chest. "Daddy, you were always so supportive of what I wanted to do, going to the Academy and all. I was so happy when I saw you were going to be here to see what it was all for. And now to see you're going to be part of it..." She looked up at him again, wide-eyed. "Is Preston going to let you do the carving too?" She bit her lip, hoping so fervently that her father could have this traditional paternal privilege, usually lost to a man when his daughter married or became a slave.

Kevin grinned and nodded. "Some of it. I'll get to carve off a piece of your butt for myself, maybe a few more slices, but of course he and Andrew will get to do the choice bits."

She nuzzled his chest again. "I'm so glad. Wish I could watch you."

He laughed. "I know, Princess."

Miranda gasped. "Oh! If you're the sergeant, I just realized what you'll get to do at the very end. It'll be just as if we had a barbecue at home!"

Kevin grinned and nodded. "I'm really grateful to Preston for giving me the opportunity."

Amy wondered whether she would want her own father to watch her hang when her time came. She felt sure she didn't want Andrew there. And yet... Amy knew she herself was a different person from the one she had been just yesterday. In three years, maybe even Andrew could change.

Miranda looked up at her father once more. "Speaking of what it's all for, we'll never get to it if we don't get out of here."

"You're right about that. I guess I've got the first line." He bent and kissed her cheek, then went to the tent entrance, calling out loudly, "Commander, our squad has found the princess! She was hiding in the scullery."

Amy could hear Andrew's voice calling back, "Excellent, sergeant! Bring her to me!"

"Yes, sir!" Kevin drew back into the tent, and signaled with his hand for Miranda to move ahead of him. As she passed him, he grinned and mouthed, "Love you!" Amy could see Miranda look up at him, and suspected she'd said the same back to him. As Miranda exited the tent, Kevin drew his rifle up and held it with the bayonet at her back, and followed her out.

Amy bolted out of her hiding place, already hearing a rising of murmurs from the partygoers watching the beautifully robed, crowned, barefoot princess approach. Amy stopped a few feet from the tent entrance, knowing that the dimness of the lighting at that point would mask her presence from any eyes looking in from the bright sunlight. She could see Kevin marching Miranda across the yard. Amy shook her head in wonder. Miranda, despite her unseen bound hands, was walking so regally, her whole posture projecting grandeur and haughtiness, her tiara glittering brilliantly in the sun, as she was marched towards the stage, on which Andrew stood in a casual slouch, his own rifle dangling from one hand and the other on his hip. Most of the audience was facing the stage, but with heads turned to watch the progress of Miranda and Kevin. Kevin poked his daughter in the back a couple of times with the button-protected tip of the bayonet, and each time Miranda, in exaggerated reaction to the strength of the poke, stumbled momentarily and squeaked in fury at the indignity. After the third poke, Kevin barked, "Move faster, royal pig!"

Far to the right of the stage, the recently-lit cooking fire blazed merrily, a long spitpole standing upright against the side of it. Amy agreed with Miranda on the aroma, reminiscent of many fine barbecues. There was no meal as satisfying as girlmeat roasted outdoors.

As the pair passed the watching crowd and came to the side of the stage, Amy emerged from the tent and drifted towards the rear of the onlookers, edging her way through with a few shoulder nudges and polite "Excuse me"s until she reached the front, just a few feet from the stage.

There were three steps at the side of the stage leading up to its carpeted surface. Andrew stood about ten feet from these steps, about halfway between them and the raised platform at the center of the stage. Behind and to the right of the platform, Big Bill stood with his huge arms folded on his chest, now costumed in the same manner as Andrew and Kevin. Amy goggled at the musculature of his exposed chest and arms.

Also behind the platform but to its left, Andrew's side, Beth stood with her hands behind her back, in something resembling a parade-rest posture, facing front, the expression behind her shades unreadable.

Amy moved a few feet to her right to get closer to the platform, her mouth open with awe. She knew her life, from this day forward, would revolve around what she was seeing now, for the first time up close.

The surface of the platform was about four feet square, and raised about two feet above the surface of the stage. Beneath the platform was a complex-looking mechanism, and a wooden lever stood upright from the side of the mechanism, projecting above the edge of the platform on the side nearest Andrew. And above the platform, the noose dangled.

Amy examined it as closely as she could from where she stood. It was made from very thick, smooth-looking rope, tied, of course, in a hangman's knot, and hung down from a horizontal wooden beam, itself projecting out from a vertical one at the back of the stage.

Amy's observations took just seconds, but she knew the image would stay with her all her life. Her first look at the center of her life.

She looked back to her left, where Miranda had mounted the steps, prodded again by her father's bayonet. Amy could see Miranda's face clearly, her grim expression, her eyes filled with utter disdain for the man Kevin had addressed as "Commander." Good, Miranda! thought Amy. That's the way to treat Andrew.

When Miranda was halfway to him, Andrew held up his hand. "Stop right there, wench."

Miranda stopped, glaring at him, her head held high. "Sir! You may not address me in that manner. To you I am 'Your Highness,' assuming I give you leave to speak to me at all!"

"To me, you're just a royal pain in the ass." The audience chuckled. "Do you know that your father and brother are dead, and that only you remain of the corrupt family that has oppressed us for so long?"

Miranda hung her head. "I did not know. I mourn for my people, who have lost a leader of uncommon valor and dedication to them."

"Not at all. I'm standing right here. I await my acclamation as president of a free republic, but there's one last bit of unfinished business. The last member of the deposed royal family must be executed."

Amy could see that Andrew held a card in his palm, small enough that it probably contained only key words as reminders of the dialogue. He didn't seem to need it; he must have spent a lot of time studying the script.

Miranda looked at him in horror, and turned to face the audience in front of the stage. "My people! With the passing of my father and his heir, I am your lawful queen and monarch. I command you to arrest this pretender and conduct him to the deepest dungeon where he may spend his days regretting his crime against you!"

In response, Preston, standing in the crowd, raised his fist in the air and shouted, "Hang her!"

Behind Miranda, Kevin raised his rifle above his head and took up the cry. "Hang her! Hang her!" Within seconds everyone was shouting the same words together. Amy, her heart racing in excitement for Miranda's big moment, shook her own fist above her and joined in. "Hang her! Hang her!"

Andrew raised both hands, and the chanting subsided. Above the last voices, he shouted, "The people have spoken. Hear me now!" He waited for complete silence, and turned towards Miranda. "Your Highness," he used her title with an ironic sneer, "I hereby sentence you to be hanged by the neck until you are dead!"

She shouted defiantly, "You may not! I will not suffer the fate of a common criminal!"

Andrew exclaimed, "Your family's criminal corruption has been a curse on our people for generations! You have brought contempt on the traditions of royalty. Remove that robe, whose color you are not fit to wear!"

Miranda gasped and took a small step back, and squeaked as Kevin poked her back again with the bayonet. "S-sir! Your scruffy men stripped me of my clothing and left me nothing but this robe to wear! No man may look at me that way except the one who is chosen for my husband! The lives of your men are already forfeit for seeing what they have seen. You must not condemn these good people before us to the same fate."

Andrew smiled. "I don't believe that will be a problem. As my first presidential act, I hereby declare that every man here is your husband!" Everyone laughed.

Andrew took a step forward, reaching towards the front of her robe. Miranda stepped back again, feeling the bayonet once more, and shouted, "You may not! Do not touch me!"

Andrew tucked his rifle under one arm, and took hold of the ends of the sashes holding the robe closed, one in each hand. With a dramatic jerk, he pulled on both at once, loosening the slip-knots.

The untying of the sash holding the collar of the robe closed allowed the metal band in the collar to spring open, and, as it pushed off against the back of Miranda's neck with a "boing" sound, the whole robe suddenly sprang back off her shoulders to drape itself over the startled Kevin's rifle.

Every audience member jumped slightly at the unexpected movement, but that initial reaction was overwhelmed an instant later by a loud, collective gasp. The man next to Amy exclaimed "Holy shit!" under his breath, while his girlfriend in front of him breathed an astonished "Wow!" Even Beth was staring at Miranda, though Amy had no doubt Beth knew Miranda's body with the intimacy only lovers can have. And Kevin, standing behind Miranda, gawked wide-eyed as he let the robe slip off his rifle to the floor of the stage without seeming to notice.

Amy herself realized her jaw was hanging open, and she was incapable of closing it. She had seen Miranda naked for a good part of the last hour or two, but was still not prepared for this. She saw now what the primary purpose of the cooking oil had been. She hadn't been able to see this effect in the dim light of the tent.

Miranda was the most incredible sight Amy had ever seen, as she stood there with her hands behind her, her head held proudly, her shoulders back and breasts thrust forward. In the sunlight, every square inch of her oiled skin glistened. Every cut of every muscle, every soft feminine curve, was picked out by the light in exquisite detail and made somehow more real than reality itself. Miranda was not simply a princess. She was a glowing golden goddess.

For at least a minute, Andrew stood blinking, his mouth half open, his eyes fixed on Miranda, not appearing to know exactly where he was or what he was doing. Suddenly he twitched and looked around, and clearly realized the next move was his.

He smiled (shakily), and took a couple of casual steps to the side so that she was between him and the audience. He said to Miranda, "There's still a way you might save your life. Face me and get down on your knees."

Miranda continued looking straight ahead defiantly, and Andrew caught Kevin's eyes and gave him a barely noticeable gesture with his head and eyes, Kevin also having lost the thread of the production to some extent. Kevin nodded back and put his hand on Miranda's shoulder, shouting, "You heard him, wench! Get down." He appeared to be turning her with his hand to face Andrew, away from the audience, and pressing her down, though it looked to Amy as if Miranda could have resisted if the scene had been real. Miranda sank down onto one knee, then the other.

Amy realized the staging at this point had the purpose of letting the audience see clearly, as Miranda had told her in the tent, that her hands were very securely tied. There was a little more elaboration on the tableau forthcoming. Andrew barked, "Bow down!"

Miranda shook her head vigorously, until Kevin pressed the tip of the bayonet against her shoulder. "Down, he said!" Slowly and gracefully, Miranda bent at the waist and leaned forward until her head was touching the stage.

Amy smiled in admiration of the many levels of thought that must have gone into creating this scenario. The intention here must have been to give the men a nice, long look at Miranda's bottom and swollen pussy; for the women, there was the view of the taut rope running between Miranda's buttocks and pussy lips -- no doubt they could imagine exactly how that would feel, to a greater extent than the men could. It had its effect: around her Amy could see the men shifting their stances slightly to accommodate growing erections, which had no doubt gotten their start at the moment of disrobing; meanwhile, Amy easily heard the girlfriend of the man next to her make a sound halfway between a sigh and a squeak, and saw her reach towards her crotch and start rubbing herself, looking as if she might not even realize she was doing it, so great was her concentration on the sight in front of her.

Andrew snapped at Miranda, "Now, common wench, member of a disgraced family: you may keep your life if you swear your allegiance to the republic, and to myself as its president, and vow to discard all pretentions of royalty, on your father's cursed name! Swear it!"

Miranda, still on her knees, her head still on the stage, her bare butt high in the air, Kevin's bayonet now pressed against her neck to hold her that way, said in a furious voice, "Never! I would rather die than swear such a thing! And it is your own name that is cursed, not my father's!"

Andrew took a step back. "Very well. As much as I hate giving you what you want, it seems I will have to. Sergeant!" He looked at Kevin and gestured towards the platform. "Take her away to the gallows."

Miranda straightened up, still on her knees. "No! That is not a death for a princess of the realm! Allow me a sword and I will take my own life. It is not for you to take it!"

Andrew pointed again. "Take her, Sergeant!"

Kevin nodded. He prodded her with the bayonet.

As gracefully as she had gone down, she rose to her feet and turned towards the platform. She walked towards it, snapping angrily at Andrew, "The curse of this deed be upon you!"

In spite of its two-foot height and her bound hands, Miranda stepped up onto the platform lithely, and Amy could see that her eyes were bright with excitement, the corners of her lips twitching upwards. This is it! thought Amy. Everything she has worked for the last three years, all the studying, all the practicing, all the workouts in the gym, every minute of it has been for this.

As Miranda stood on the platform, facing the audience, shouldering the noose out of the way to hang behind her, Andrew said, "Executioner! I have need of your services."

Behind the platform, Beth saluted. "Yes, sir!" She hopped up onto the platform beside Miranda. Her own costume, now seen in its proper context, gained its own deserved attention from the audience -- she was both extravagantly sexy and frighteningly ominous.

On the other side of the platform, Big Bill moved forward slightly, still to the rear but closer. It occurred to Amy that Bill's presence was meant to discourage attempts by any member of the audience to touch Miranda while she was hanging. Amy was sure it was a 100% effective deterrent. Amy also recalled that any use of cameras of any kind was prohibited during the hanging. Every guest had been told that. It was perfectly understandable: filmed performances would amount to stealing something the Academy was trying to sell. Big Bill probably had the additional duty of enforcing that ban.

Amy watched, fascinated, marveling at the years of expertise that went into Beth's deceptively simple role in the show. As she took hold of the noose, lifting it over Miranda's head and dropping it down around Miranda's neck, slipping its coils down the rope to make it fit snugly, then, with intense concentration, shifting it slightly so the knot was in exactly the right place, Amy realized that Beth's performance, brief as it was, was as important and as demanding of intense training as Miranda's. The length of Miranda's forthcoming display owed as much to Beth's skill as to Miranda's years of practice.

At last a look passed between Miranda and Beth that probably would only be noticed by someone concentrating as intensely on the scene as Amy was: with the tiniest nod and flick of her eyes, Miranda acknowledged that the noose felt right and she was ready. Beth gave a similar tiny nod, and jumped down from the platform.

Andrew had stepped to the side of the platform and grasped the wooden lever. "Are you ready to die, common wench?"

Miranda glowered at him. "I dispute your right to sentence me so, but I will die with the dignity required by my station." She looked out at the audience. "Farewell, my people. I love you no less. I believe your loyalty has been stolen by this rascal and renegade, who will no doubt show his true colors soon, and you will see you have been deceived. I go now to join my father and brother in honor beyond the grave."

Andrew said, "Very nice speech. Now die, wench!" The attention of the audience shifted towards him, as he gave the lever a sharp pull. The mechanism, now engaged, did not drop the platform at once, but instead started it sinking very slowly to the stage. Only Amy, unable to let go of Miranda's eyes, was watching her at the instant that Miranda returned her look, her mouth again curving up into a tiny smile. Miranda winked at her, and mouthed, "Good luck," as the platform started its descent.

All eyes were back on Miranda now, as the platform continued sinking, and everyone, including those onstage, seemed to be holding their breaths. Ironically, the only one who was breathing was Miranda, who closed her eyes in concentration as she slowly took in a deep breath, slowly let it out, and slowly took in another. She opened her eyes and flicked them briefly to the side, and Amy realized she was timing her breaths with the disappearing slack in the rope.

Amy didn't realize her hands were clenched until she felt her fingernails cutting into her palm, didn't know she had gone an endless time without blinking until her eyes started burning. She opened her hands, and reluctantly blinked, grudging the few milliseconds of sight it cost her.

It seemed to take forever, but at last the rope pulled Miranda by the neck up onto her toes, and then the very tips of them. Amy could hear a slight choking sound from Miranda's throat as her toes slipped along the surface of the platform and lost contact.

All the muscles in Miranda's legs stood out as she stretched them to their fullest possible extent, her toes seeking some sort of support as she hung by her neck. She kicked out as if trying to walk up a flight of steps, her whole body twisting and shimmying like a fish hanging from the end of a pole. Every tensing, flexing, writhing muscle was picked out in sunlight reflecting from her oiled skin.

The platform continued descending, at last reaching the level of the stage, leaving Miranda's feet kicking at least ten to twelve inches above it.

The most prominent muscles of all were in her neck. Amy had seen any number of hangings on television, mostly female petty criminals and losing game show contestants, and had never seen the neck muscles in any dangler stand out to quite such an extent. But of course, thought Amy. Think how much time she's spent doing this.

Amy wasn't sure what prompted her to watch Miranda's head exclusively for a time. While the rest of her body twitched in seeming random motions, Miranda's head seemed to roll in a little more organized motion, left, back, right, back, left, repeating in a regular length of time. It was hard to pick out against the background of all her other movements. Amy had to continue watching for several minutes to make sure she wasn't imagining it.

A change in the rhythm in another part of Miranda's body made Amy's attention shift again. Miranda was swinging her legs in a complex pattern, and Amy wasn't sure what the purpose was until she realized Miranda's whole body was starting to turn. She was facing to stage left now, and in another minute was turned to face the back of the stage.

Judging from the reactions around her, Amy knew the move was intentional and had a purpose. Miranda wanted the onlookers to be able to see her from all sides. Now Amy could see the veins of Miranda's arms stand out with the strain as she struggled to free her hands, while the muscles of her back and buttocks rippled with her efforts.

She was thrusting with her pelvis as well now, and yanking straight upward with her hands, and Amy suddenly realized: she's rubbing her pussy with the rope! It came back to her that Miranda had laughed about Amy's observation that she couldn't use her hands any more, and mysteriously hinted they weren't as useless as they seemed. Amy understood at last: she was working to bring herself to orgasm!

The same thought seemed to occur to everyone at once; a ripple of gasps swept through the crowd of onlookers. As they watched, Miranda began the swinging kick again, slowly turning back to face the front of the stage, while still continuing the jerky thrusts with her pelvis. Sweat was running freely down her legs and stomach, on her breasts and in between them, atop the layer of oil, dripping audibly onto the platform below her. Her breasts bounced with each twitch of her hips.

The man next to Amy had his hands in his pants pockets, as the front of his pants bulged out and twitched with movement. In front of him, his girlfriend was now industriously rubbing her mound through her pants without trying to disguise it, making soft moaning sounds. Amy realized for the first time that she was rubbing herself as well. The tingling in her pussy barely penetrated the tumult in her mind.

A few minutes later, Miranda suddenly stiffened, her mouth wide open in a silent shout, and her whole body spasmed seemingly independently of all her other movements, overwhelming them within seconds. The man next to Amy said in a surprisingly squeaky, tight voice, "Holy shit, she just came," barely getting the last word out before shuddering suddenly, with a loud grunt. Amy realized, amazed, that he had just ejaculated in his pants himself. She heard several other almost animal sounds, coming from both men and women. She made a guess that at least half of the onlookers had just had orgasms. Andrew had a visible erection under his pants, though his recent exploits with Miranda in the tent probably made it impossible for him to go all the way just now. Among the men, Kevin was the only one trying to hide his state of arousal, looking uncomfortable. Amy felt very close to an orgasm herself, but she couldn't spare the attention to her own sensations that a climax required; every atom of her consciousness was devoted to Miranda.

Miranda herself was tiring at last; as the orgasm subsided it appeared to drain away a lot of energy with it. She was still kicking, but more listlessly, almost a token effort. For several minutes more the kicking continued, spasmodically, gradually becoming little more than twitches. At last she went limp for a moment, then with determination wriggled her feet, pointing her toes towards the floor as if somehow she might reach it after all this time. She stopped again, once more hanging limp, as the rope turned her slowly left, and slowly back to the right. A gush of liquid suddenly emerged from between her legs, released from her bladder to spill out on either side of the rope, some of it falling directly to the floor below her and some of it running down either leg to drip from her toes. Her eyes, still open, were glazed now, looking at nothing. Amy concentrated intently, but couldn't see a sign of the slightest movement.

The glow of Miranda's skin was still dazzling. Still a golden goddess, now lifeless.

First one member, then another of the audience began clapping. The applause immediately spread through the entire group of onlookers. Amy found her hands pounding each other without her having consciously asked them to.

The man next to Amy whispered reverently, "Thirty-one minutes."

She did it!! thought Amy, clapping her hands more enthusiastically. She had wanted to be able to go thirty. Maybe that was a record, though she hadn't said so. She'd have to ask Beth later.

Everyone was talking at once, mostly expressing amazement, and in a few cases some embarrassment -- there was no way for several men to hide the darkened spots in the front of their pants. Amy heard one man say, "I've heard about what it's like, so I stuffed some tissue in my underwear before I got here."

Amy looked away from Miranda for a moment and saw Andrew looking questioningly back at Beth. She, in turn, was looking at something she was holding in her hand. For a couple of minutes motion seemed suspended onstage, while the chattering continued down below, and Miranda continued to hang limply by the neck with a vacant stare, twisting slowly from side to side in the light breeze. At last Beth gave Andrew a small nod, and Andrew waved his arms for attention.

"A new republic is born today," he shouted as the crowd quieted. "The royal family is no more. No longer will we suffer under their corruption."

From within the crowd, Preston shouted back, "How do we know the princess is dead?"

"There's one way to find out. Sergeant?"

Amy saw that Kevin had reached to the end of his bayonet and popped loose the button that had covered it. He strode up in front of his late daughter, raised his rifle, and quickly thrust the bayonet deep into her stomach, just below her sternum. As her body swung back with the force of the blow, blood gushed out of the wound briefly to run down her stomach and splatter to the floor, but it slowed immediately, with no pumping heart to push it. This, Amy realized, is what Miranda had been happy about in her last conversation with her dad: that he would get to make the first cut, as a father should, opening her up to be stuffed before cooking. Miranda must have felt the day was working out perfectly in many unexpected ways.

Andrew threw his hands up in the air and shouted, "Okay, let's get the royal carcass cooking!" There was a loud cheer from the assembled partygoers, and a general withdrawal towards the barbecue pit.