“You want to be – what?” Asked Tom.
“Executed,” replied Mandy forthrightly. The four men of Tommy’s Tornadoes paintball team looked at each other with expressions ranging from stunned bemusement to careful consideration.
“I don't want to die, for heaven’s sakes,” the Goth girl went on. “But for reasons of my own I want to experience being executed – stood up against a wall and shot, bap-bap-bap. You guys are paintballers – you’d make a perfect firing squad.”
“Perfect? Asked Pete.
“Nonleathal,” she replied in exasperation.
“Yeah, we’re paintballers – we’ve been hit with these things. Do you know how much a paintball hurts?” asked Randy.
“That’s all right – as long as it doesn’t do any permanent damage.” she replied.
“Damage – that’s another thing. What about your eyes?” said Pete, holding up his facemask.
“Prisoners to be shot usually get blindfolded,” she answered. “Will you do it for – to me?” She batted her big brown eyes at them.
In the end they couldn’t raise enough objections to the determined girl, and they agreed to 'execute' her the following Saturday before their usual game.
On the appointed day, the four friends lounged in the basement under Tom’s house. Mandy was doing girly things in a bedroom at the other end. “Hurry up, Mandy!” shouted Pete. “We’ve got to get to the field yet today!”
“Don’t rush me,” came her muffled voice, “It’s not every day a girl gets executed.” Finally the door opened. Mandy had changed completely from her usual Goth look. She wore a white blouse, a long, dark-red skirt, dark stockings and gleaming black high heeled shoes. Her hair was blonde instead of purple, and she had on feminine makeup. “There – how’s this?” she pirouetted.
The boys sat up and paid attention. “Th-that’s just fine,” stammered Randy.
She stood before them, swinging flirtatiously from side to side.
“Very hot,” said Tom, warmly.
“Cute,” added Sam.
“Better than you usually look – Hey!” exclaimed Randy.
“Are we going to do this? We got a game,” said Pete.
“Well? What’s all this?” she asked finally, looking at the crude table that had been set up, with the old flag somebody’s father had brought home from the Army had been pinned to the wall behind it.
“We thought you’d want a trial, first,” explained Tom. He grabbed up a piece of rope and came up to her. Trying to be rough, he jerked her arms back and tied her hands behind her back. “Stand here,” he ordered as he herded her into place in front of the table. “Court-martial is now in session,” he intoned. “Case of Mandy Jenkins, suspected of – what?”
“Treason,” said Randy.
“Spying,” said Sam.
“Delay of Game,” said Pete, checking his watch.
“Consorting with the enemy!” said Tom categorically.
“What’s ‘consorting’,” asked Sam. Tom whispered in his ear. “Ooooh,” he realized. “But if she gives us a —“
“That would be consorting with the good guys, not a shooting offense at all. Now--Guilty or not guilty?”
“GUILTY!” said the men.
“I appeal!” added Mandy, a little miffed that they hadn’t waited to hear her plea.
“Denied!” said Pete.
“Is this trial going to drag on all day?” asked Pete, still thinking about the paintball game.
“No. Sentence is – DEATH! By firing squad! To be carried out – IMMEDIATELY!” The men stood up and formed a square around Mandy. “Fooooorwarrrrd – March!” intoned Tom. The briskly walked to the basement stairs with the bound girl between them. There was some confusion at the stairs, as they couldn’t walk up them at the same time. Finally Tom went up first. He turned around and watched as Mandy climbed up. With her arms tied back he got a nice view down the front of her blouse. She was followed by Pete, Randy and Sam, who watched as her ass swung sweetly beneath her bound hands.
The reason that the execution had been set for Tom’s house was that there was an old steel post set in the concrete patio in his back yard. The post was a few feet in front of the brick back wall of his house. Another plus was that there were bushes all around, so that the neighbors couldn’t see in. In all ways, an excellent place to shoot a woman. The four men re-formed, and they marched the condemned girl to the post. Mandy had to tiptoe over some soft ground, then her heels clicked as she walked resolutely to the post.
“Guys – why don’t you form a line over there-- try to look like a firing squad?” Tom hinted.
“Mmmm — Naaa,”said Pete. Finally Tom let them help tie Mandy up. Quickly untying her hands, he re-tied them behind the post. Then he draped a doubled line around the post behind her neck, over her shoulders, and under her arms, pinning her shoulders back. He wrapped the ends around her waist and knotted it. Meanwhile Pete knelt at her feet. Nudging her high heels together, he tied her ankles, then secured them to the post under the hem of her long skirt. Randy gathered the skirt fabric and tied her legs just above her knees.
“Now – will you go over there and try to look like a firing squad?” hissed Tom. He wanted her to see them lined up to shoot her as she stood tightly bound. The guys shuffled off and formed up, cradling their paintball guns. Tom stood next to Mandy, trying to think if he’d overlooked anything. He noticed that she was trembling. “You want to go through with this?” he asked, concerned.
“Y--Yes,” she replied. “The judgement of the court martial must be carried out. It’s just – more authentic than I imagined.”
With a nod, Tom produced a set of paintball goggles. They had tinted plastic lenses, so that they looked black from the outside but the wearer could still see. “You’ll be able to watch yourself die,” he said coldly as he covered the tightly bound girl’s beautiful eyes. He stepped back and treated himself to a look. Mandy stood against the post in her finery. Her upper body was roped in a way that made her torso an inviting target. Her legs were neatly tied together, her weight on her high heels. She twisted her bound hands behind her, nervously, and her chin quivered authentically.
Tom then marched over to where Pete, Randy and Sam stood, cradling their paintball guns. He picked up his own weapon, then turned and faced the girl who stood, tied to a post, awaiting her fate. Her shoulders were pulled back by the ropes, making her breasts thrust out. Although her eyes were covered, he knew she could see them. She would see the muzzled pointed at her, see the puffs of gas as the balls flew into her.
He glanced down the firing line. Pete was glancing around, apparently still worried about getting to the game. Randy was looking at Mandy dispassionately, as if the tied girl was just another target. Only Sam had a slack look on his face, staring at Mandy with ill-concealed lust. Tom felt a certain amount of lust himself, looking at the pretty, sexily-dressed blonde girl, roped up and blindfolded, waiting to be blasted.
Mandy twitched, twisting a bit against the ropes binding her. Tom sighed. “O.K, boys,” he said, “Just like I told you.” He had briefed them on the way to shoot that would safely give Mandy the sensations she wanted.
“Ready,” – they checked their weapons, making sure there would be no misfires.
“Aim!” – four paintball guns snapped up to point at the bound girl. Mandy gasped, and strained involuntarily at the ropes.
By arrangement, they did not shoot together. Tom went first, followed at half-second intervals by Sam, then Randy, then Pete. Then Tom fired again, and the other three went in sequence, so that eight paintballs hit the girl in the space of five seconds. Tom’s first ball struck Mandy between and beneath her breasts. The bright red ball splatted against the soft white fabric of her blouse, eerily like the blood-splatter of a real bullet hitting her body. The other balls struck one after the other, splatting red just as if she was being shot multiple times.
At the first impact, Mandy had gasped, her red-lipsticked mouth open in surprise. Then she had twitched as each ball struck, jerking at the impacts, straining at the ropes binding her, her face contorted in pain, the cords of her neck standing out.
“Oh! Ahh! Ohh!,” she exclaimed as the balls struck, then she was silent, grimacing as the balls struck her. Tom was surprised to see red dripping from the corner of her mouth.
After the last shot, she stood for a moment, the front of her white blouse a red, sodden mess of impacts. Then her knees buckled, and she sagged downwards. Her torso drooped against the ropes binding her, remaining mostly upright. Her head fell forward, blonde hair swinging to cover her face. She hung there, a dead thing pinned upright by the ropes. Red fluid dripped to the ground in front of her shoes.
The firing squad members lowered their weapons and looked at their handiwork: A “dead” girl, tied to a post in front of a wall. Sam looked over at Tom. “Now What?”
“We dispose of the corpse, of course,” he said casually. “C’mon.” He led the guys up to where Mandy hung from the ropes binding her to the post. He removed the goggles / blindfold. He had Randy hold her body as he quickly cut the lines binding her hands and body, leaving her legs tied. Then he and Randy hoisted her body between them and carried her back into the house. Mandy swung limply between them, her eyes closed, her head lolling.
They placed her body on the sofa and folded her arms over her sodden chest, and stood back.
“She looks like the guest of honor at a funeral,” commented Randy.
“Can we get to the paintball field, now?” complained Pete.
“Not yet,” said Tom. “First we get a bit of – necrophilia.”
“All RIGHT!” enthused Randy.
“Hmmm. All right, but after we go right to the field,” allowed Pete.
“What’s that?” asked Sam. Tom whispered in his ear. “Oh!”
Tom deftly snipped the ropes binding the girl’s legs, spread then apart, and lifted her red skirt to cover the mess on her blouse.
The “corpse” twitched a little, a small smile appeared on her face.