Amy reached for her purse, wanting to take one last look at her notes. She stopped her hand as her fingers touched the paper. I don't need it, she told herself. I know what's on there. She rubbed the folded paper with her fingertips, withdrew her hand and closed the purse.

She was sitting in the outer office of Dean Porter. The director of admissions, Ms. Bennett, had conducted Amy here from her office, leading her first to a heavy door that she opened by swiping a magstrip card through a reader. I'm in the student area! exulted Amy as the door closed and locked behind her, and Ms. Bennett started leading her through a maze of corridors behind it. This is where Miranda lived! And where I'll live, Amy told herself, until I'm sold to be hanged!

Amy was wearing the same outfit she'd worn when she picked up her application. She decided it gave the right message -- serious, not flirty. She closed her eyes and repeated the mental exercise she'd been practicing all morning, suggested by an article she'd read. I've already done the interview, she told herself. It went great. I'm remembering it now.

It seemed to help. Thoughts of Andrew, of the consequences of failure, were pushed to the background.

She jumped only slightly when she heard the sudden buzz on the dean's secretary's desk. Amy looked up to see the secretary smiling at her. "You can go in now, Amy."

Amy smiled at her, her heart thumping but not nearly as badly as she'd expected. I've already done it. This is just remembering. At the door she hesitated. I should probably knock, she thought. She did so, and heard a voice saying "Yes, come in."

Dean Porter was rising from his desk, holding his hand out, a smile on his face. "Nice to meet you, Amy." He shook her hand and gestured towards a chair in front of his desk. She sat, putting her purse on the floor beside her. Again resisting the feeling of wanting to look at her notes one more time.

The dean sat back down, leaning forward with his arms on his desk, but looking basically friendly, not at all predatory. "Well, Amy, I've read your application, of course, and I'm very impressed with your grades. There's one question we don't ask on the application, because I like to hear it straight from the applicant. Putting you on the spot, a little. Tell me, why do you want to be a student at the Hanging Academy?"

Amy smiled. She was ready for that one. During all her speculations on what questions she might be asked during the interview, that one seemed obvious. "I've thought about that a lot, sir. Not because I didn't know, but because so much crowds into my head when I think about it. The main thing is... a really good friend of mine said to me one time, that when I thought about my goals in life, that a goal is something I needed to find inside of me, and it should be the thing I want the most of all. I really understand that. It can't be something someone else picked out for you, because you can't stick with that. And I know what I want the most. I didn't find it by... sort of an elimination process, like deciding all the things I don't want to be and saying, hmm, what's left? I know it because I feel it everywhere inside me, not just in my head. It's in my heart, my fingers and toes, my..." she giggled briefly, "...my neck, that what I want, what fills me up with meaning and gives me a goal to follow, is the Hanging Academy." She took a deep breath, and smiled. "I'm here in the Academy because the Academy is in me."

The dean blinked, and smiled. "Okay, I'd say that's an answer." He looked down at a folder on his desk. "I was interested to see that you've participated in two hangings already, as a sub-assistant. At least I guess that second one must have happened by now, though it hadn't yet when you filed the application. You did go to that one, right?"

Amy nodded. "Yes, sir. That was for Beth Downey. And the first was for Miranda Warren."

"How did you come to be involved in those... oh, wait." He rubbed his head as if trying to verify his memory. "Cameron. Are you related to -- what was the name -- Alex Cameron?"

"Andrew, sir. He's my brother." In general Amy always wished she could deny a relationship, but at least here it helped her explain what had happened. "Well, my father actually bought Miranda, but he put her in Andrew's name."

The dean nodded. "So that hanging was at your home."

Amy nodded again. "Yes, sir. She did a really wonderful job. Oh, and Beth too, of course. Beth had so much energy! She needed all of that." Amy had been concerned that dwelling too much on Miranda might put her on dangerous ground. If it seemed to the dean as if Amy's commitment to the Academy dated only from little more than a month ago, that could call its permanence into question. Inside, she knew that in some sense, she had been waiting to go to the Academy her entire life. She simply hadn't been conscious of it until recently. But in any case, it was better to avoid too much talk of Miranda.

Porter chuckled. "I'm sure she did. I was just recalling that six men bought her."

Amy nodded, her eyes wide. "Four of them did her inside the tent, and two of them played her master and his chief slave captain, so she gave them oral sex right up on the stage while she was begging them to spare her life. Oh, I don't know if you know, she was doing the runaway slave scene."

He nodded. "I recall that, yes. And Miranda was the princess. So you've seen two different scenarios, not just the two hangings. Did you prefer one of them?"

"I wanted to wait on that until I saw more of them. Oh! That reminds me, I was going to ask. I noticed there weren't any Academy students at either hanging, just graduates like Beth to help Miranda, and Steffi to help Beth. Do students go sometimes? It seemed like that would be such a valuable learning experience."

The dean nodded. "On occasion, to observe, but meanwhile our students do get experience performing partial hangings in front of real audiences, at the parties. You know about the parties?"

"Yes, sir." Miranda had mentioned that one girl was always hanged to death at each party, but not the others practicing partials. Of course, at that point Miranda had been trying to explain why many students didn't graduate. "I can see that's invaluable, but I thought maybe seeing the real cream of the crop in the one performance they'd trained so long for, the one that it's all about... just seeing that would be such an inspiration for all the students. And they could really be part of it! In the Runaway Slave, for example, it seemed like something was missing. There must be some other slaves to witness the runaway's hanging -- that would be why the runaway's master is hanging her, so the other slaves can see it and be terrified of the consequences of a failed escape..." Amy stopped and grinned. "I'm sorry, I'm letting my mouth run on."

Porter waved his hand, "No, that's fine. So you're saying students could fill that role, and they'd have the experience of not just seeing a hanging show, but actually being part of it."

Amy nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir! And the roles they play would add to the realism at the same time, so the audience could get even more out of it. In the Princess show, a student could be... the princess' personal maidservant, who is captured in the scullery with the princess, and she's dragged in along with the princess and cries as she watches her mistress dying. Something like that."

The dean looked at Amy thoughtfully, biting the side of his lip. "I have to admit we hadn't really thought of all the advantages participation could have, beyond just witnessing the show. As I said, students do attend the shows on occasion, but... well, I can see we've got to put some thought into this."

Amy beamed at him, proudly. This really has to help!

Porter pulled his thoughts back to the present. "Now, your application doesn't mention it, but I assume you've had some practice of your own at hanging already."

Amy fought to hold her smile. This was another question she'd considered obvious, and she'd thought a long time about how she might win her way back from the disadvantage this put her at. Lying to the dean was out of the question -- he and the staff would know immediately that she'd never done it before. "No, sir."

The dean's right eyebrow went up. "Never?"

She shook her head, managing still to hold onto her smile. "I've wanted to so much, really. But I told myself, you've got the best instructors here at the Academy. I know you can teach me techniques I could never have found on my own, and if I did it myself, I knew I'd get into some bad habits I'd have to unlearn after I got here. Like if you taught yourself to drive a car, and then a driving instructor at school started sitting with you and saw all these things you were doing that weren't safe, and told you to do things differently, but the habits were so ingrained by then that it was really hard to stop." She grinned. "I should be saying me, not you. That's actually me. Anyway, in hanging, bad habits would mean you never survive to graduation!" She fixed her eyes on his. "And I'm going to graduate." She said it with all the conviction she could muster.

He smiled at her. "All right. Now, I'd like you to do something for me. Stand up please."

She did, trying to settle her stomach which was suddenly twisting inside her. She thought she knew what must be coming next.

"Now take off all your clothes."

She had guessed correctly. One absolutely requirement of all graduates, besides unparalleled prowess at erotic hanging, was that the graduate must present a body that would arouse the witnesses at a show immediately, independently of what she was doing with it. And besides the body, she must have a complete lack of self-consciousness about showing it. Amy suspected she was at a disadvantage again on both counts, notwithstanding Andrew suddenly being hot for her -- she had only recently made any efforts to develop her body, and equally recently gained any experience at showing herself naked to anyone.

She had worked to prepare herself mentally for this. As soon as he spoke the words, she reached up to unbutton her blouse, smiling, while telling herself, I've already done this, it went really great, he liked my body, it was fun. I'm just remembering it now. She kicked her shoes away as she peeled off her blouse and unhooked her bra, her mind almost blank now on the present, insisting to her it was really past. She unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor, and without hesitating pulled her panties down and kicked them gently to the side with her foot.

Naked now, she looked down at the dean, and smiled as she saw him nodding slightly. Her confidence blossomed full-force when she heard him say, "You've been doing some working out, haven't you?"

She beamed at him. "Yes, sir. Right now I'm working on my tummy and my butt." She tensed her stomach muscles to bring out her abdominals, then turned around and poked lightly at her left buttock with her finger. "I just got the exercise equipment recently, so I'm not where I want to be yet. And I know you've got better equipment and professional instructors, so I'm really looking forward to that." She had decided not to say anything about her breasts. She suspected strongly that a lot of admission candidates found their breasts the feature of their bodies they were most insecure about, and she wanted to project the impression of being all right with them. Amy knew hers were the same size as Miranda's -- not as firm now, but the dean would know she could get to that state.

The dean nodded. "When we get applicants who have seen one of our hangings, they're usually concerned that they don't match up with the graduate physically. I'm not so interested in what you are now, as much as I am in where you might be able to go from here. I've got a good eye for what you might look like in three years." He gestured. "You can sit down again, Amy. Don't get dressed yet. And keep looking ahead."

He walked around behind her, and she sat patiently, waiting, not trying to follow him. Of all the things in the interview, this was the one thing she had known for certain to expect -- Miranda had demonstrated it for her.

"Now, don't react to what I'm about to do. I'm going to put my hands around your throat and squeeze, and I want you to keep your hands in your lap and resist trying to reach up."

"Yes, sir." Amy closed her eyes and tried to keep breathing evenly as her heart thumped.

She suppressed a squeak of excitement as she felt his palms gently press on either side of her neck, the tips of his fingers very lightly compressing her windpipe. She wanted not to react at all, as if this were all a matter of course. Miranda had done it from in front of her, so this was a little different, but Amy still felt confidence based on that earlier experience.

She had been hoping she could feel the same level of excitement she had when Miranda had done it -- yes! As it became harder to draw a breath, she felt the beginnings of the same floating sensation, the same... she remembered using the word "exultation." It came on her more quickly than it had with Miranda, as if that earlier experience had sensitized her to it. She had known to expect it this time. She couldn't breathe at all now, and felt the joy bursting from her, covering her skin, making her tingle between her legs, at her throat, in her head... She didn't know how long it went on. Time was the least important of all her perceptions. Eventually, as before, redness started to press in from the sides of her field of vision, and she wanted to swim towards it, feel it cushion her all around like a bed of flowers...

The dean let go suddenly, and Amy slumped forward slightly and gasped for air, almost automatically reaching up to her throat and steeling herself against the instinct, not sure she was supposed to do that even now. She locked her fingers around the arms of the chair, breathing deeply, starting to return to normal.

Without her having noticed his movement, she saw suddenly he was crouching in front of her, looking down between her legs. She followed the direction of his gaze, and grinned as she understood that he was seeing what he was looking for: beads of milky liquid coating her vaginal lips. It wasn't just a matter of her being able to accept being strangled. He needed to know how excited it made her.

The dean stood, smiling, and walked back behind his desk and sat. "Well, it has been a pleasure meeting you, Amy. You can get dressed now. Do you have any questions before you go?"

Amy reached for her panties and pulled them on, suddenly feeling an explosion of excitement welling up in her. It's over! I think I did it! I didn't forget anything, and I said everything I wanted to say! "No, sir. I just wanted to say it's been an honor meeting you and... if it's okay to say this, I hope I meet you again."

He chuckled. "Nothing wrong with saying that, Amy. Now, you know we have many more interviews to do, and we don't notify anyone of admission until we complete the process, right?"

Amy finished dressing quickly, and was doing the last buttons on her blouse. "Yes, sir. Ms. Bennett said August 15?"

"Around then, yes. We do get some of the rejections out earlier than that. It's easier deciding on some of them, of course."

"Yes, sir. I'll be looking forward to hearing from you." She grinned cautiously. "I think."

He held out his hand and she shook it. "Best of luck, Amy, no matter what."

"Thank you, sir."

"Ms. Bennett should be waiting for you in the outer office." He smiled. "She hasn't been there this whole time, but she knows about how long an interview lasts. She can take you on a short tour of the facilities, if you want."

Amy's eyes grew wide. "Oh, yes, sir!"

Amy stood transfixed in the doorway of the gym, her head turning slowly to take in the sights in front of her.

All of the girls were wearing similar uniforms, consisting of nothing more than a trim bra, smaller and more revealing than a sports bra, especially of cleavage, but appearing to give very adequate support, and shorts that looked like cotton and were only a little longer than full panties, but looser at the bottom while hugging the hips. Most of the girls wore very lightweight sneakers, though some were barefoot. Ms. Bennett had explained the class colors to Amy. The uniforms were white for the first year students, aqua for the second years, and for the third years a deep, beautiful blue that looked like the sky away from the sun just after sunset.

There was a class distinction in the girls' collars as well. The first and second year students wore loose, silvery metal rings around their necks, doughnut shaped except for being very thin, probably only a quarter-inch think, that rested at the bottoms of their necks, while the third years had cloth chokers like the ones Miranda and Beth had worn. Amy hadn't seen any up close enough to read them. She asked Ms. Bennett if the collars all had the girls' names on them. Ms. Bennett responded that those of the second and third year students did, while the first years' collars identified each of them only as "Slave Girl."

Amy nodded, understanding the pride the girls must feel as they advanced through the various uniforms and collars.

The nearer end of the room was filled with various pieces of exercise equipment, many of them occupied by students, their skin glowing with sweat as they went through their exercise routines, chatting with each other to pass the time. At the farther end, attracting most of Amy's attention, was an array of nooses with platforms underneath them, similar to the ones Miranda and Beth had used at their hangings. That makes sense, thought Amy. They get used to a particular type of platform, which sinks at a certain rate. That makes it easier for them to time their breathing before they lose their footing on it and start hanging from their neck.

At present a group of first year students was gathered around the nooses, apparently a class in progress. It was evident that a young woman, dressed in the same style as the students except that her bra and shorts were bright red, was the teacher for the class. If there's an emergency, thought Amy, the teacher is very easy to spot. The teacher herself looked barely older than the students, and Amy suspected she was probably a recent graduate, waiting to be sold for her own show -- Miranda and Beth had both done the same work after graduation.

At a distance of about a hundred feet, Amy wasn't able to hear what the teacher was saying, with all the nearer voices in between, but Ms. Bennett had stopped here, and Amy knew this was as close as any outsider would be allowed to get. As Amy watched, rapt and wide-eyed, one of the students, a pretty, slender redhead, naked, her hands cuffed behind her, mounted one of the platforms. They must always do it naked, Amy thought, right from the first. So they get used to doing it that way. The teacher arranged the noose around the girl's neck and started speaking to her, touching the back of the girl's head for a time as if explaining some part of the technique being demonstrated, occasionally turning to speak to the other students, probably to ask questions for them to respond to, or to explain some facet of the art. At last the teacher pulled the lever and, for the third time, Amy watched an Academy student hanging.

This one, not surprisingly, wasn't nearly in the class of Miranda or Beth. As she kicked awkwardly, the teacher gave her some instructions, and Amy could hear the other students contributing comments. After about five minutes, by Amy's watch, the girl was already slowing, her kicking more spasmodic. Amy found she was rubbing her mound as she watched. She was thrilled to see the performance, even though the girl's time didn't come close to Miranda's or Beth's. I'll be able to do it this long by the end of my first year, she thought. At least, I guess I'd better be.

The student, though tiring, did look as though she could go a little longer, but the teacher brought the platform back up, and the girl's feet, desperately straining downward, touched the surface and took her weight once more. She began breathing in great gasps as the teacher loosened the noose, nodding her head as the teacher spoke to her, probably a critique. At length the teacher patted the girl on the arm, and unlocked her handcuffs. The girl went to retrieve her clothes and the teacher turned to another girl.

Next to Amy, Ms. Bennett spoke. "Are you ready to go, Amy?"

Amy took a deep breath. "I don't ever want to leave, but I guess I'd better. I just hope I can come back."

Ms. Bennett smiled. "I hope so too, Amy." She led Amy back through the corridors, a few times passing students coming the other way, in twos and threes, chatting and laughing on their way wherever they were headed. Amy tried to read their collars, but they were past her too fast.

At last they reached the heavy door through which Ms. Bennett had conducted Amy into the restricted area of the school. As she had on entering, Ms. Bennett took out the magstrip card and swiped it through a reader, opening the door. Amy felt as if she were leaving part of herself behind when she walked out through the door. She had to come back here to live the rest of her life. She had to.

In her car at last, Amy felt the bubble of excitement within her burst out of her, like a thousand gaily colored balloons falling out of the netting in the ceiling at a big celebration. She pumped her fists over her head and let out a shout. I did it! I did it! I got through and didn't screw up!

But I won't know if it's good enough. Not for weeks.

Fumbling with her purse, she pulled out her cell phone. She hadn't planned to make a call. She hadn't planned anything post-interview, hadn't imagined herself that far into the future of the day, so focused had she been on this one event.

She shouted joyfully into the phone as soon as it was answered. "Scott?"

"Amy, hi! Are you..."

"Scott, could we go to a movie or something? Then come back to your place later? I have to unwind."

"Umm... is that good or bad? I was going to ask how the interview went."

"I think it went okay. I think, I think, I think. Anyway, I didn't mess up or spill coffee all over his suit or anything like that. It's over now, and I feel like I've got all this energy!"

Scott laughed. "The energy part sounds good. There's a matinee at the Rally 16. Want to see 'Hired Gun'? Molly Thackerey's last role. They snuffed her during filming. One o'clock?"

"That sounds great. I'll meet you at the box office. See you in a bit."

They lay together in Scott's bed in his off-campus apartment, naked, stroking, kissing. Amy felt relaxed. No worries about Scott's purposely absent roommate barging in. Scott brushed back a strand of Amy's hair. "You know I'm just really glad we could have some times together. Nobody hopes you get in the Academy more than I do."

She giggled. "That does sound like you're trying to get rid of me. But I do appreciate that, I really do."

He shrugged. "Even if it wasn't for that, I'd always know you could get drafted tomorrow, say. Or your dad could decide to eat you. There's never such a thing as forever. Except memories. Remembering you will be no problem."

She kissed him. "That's really sweet."

He grinned. "Hey, can you do that pussy-suck thing?"

She giggled and kissed him again. "You like that, huh?" She had found it in a book that gave it a long, clinical-sounding name.

He rolled his eyes and grimaced. "Naw, hate it."

"Yeah, right." She got up on her knees, straddling him. "So? Turn over." Underneath her he grinned and rolled onto his back, his erection standing straight up.

She eased herself down on him, taking him inside her. She sighed as she felt his full length within her, then tightened her vaginal muscles as she pushed her weight upward with her knees. He groaned at the intense sensation, as if a mouth deep enough to take his full erection and narrow enough to hug its full length were sucking on his shaft. She let go and slid down on him again, then tightened and rose again.

Through gritted teeth, he managed to say in a tight voice, "You're getting better at that every time... AHH!"

"You're a good... ooh!... practice partner... aiee!"

Silent now, except for sighs and grunts, she worked a little faster, the combination of movements getting easier as she fell into a rhythm. She squeaked as he reached up for her breasts, cupping his hands around them and gently squeezing them in time with her motion.

Faster now... everything smooth, flowing, slick with her fluids, gripping, sliding... there now, there, there... THERE!!!!!

Amy went over the edge first, shouting and quaking, and the spasming of her internal muscles along his shaft set him off with a shout echoing hers, spurting into her, filling her. She threw her head back, her mouth open wide in a silent cry as she felt him moving within her, so warm and wet between her legs where her whole world existed for an instant.

She collapsed forward onto his stomach and stretched out on top of him, both of them spent, grinning weakly and giving each other soft kisses.

He said softly, "See, that's what I mean about memories."

She laughed and kissed him again.