.. beg permission!” The masochism he’d learned to enjoy in having his spirit crushed beyond redemption, was illuminated to its full extent, his cock pulsing rigid below him in the need to know the final ecstasy of feminine spite as he croaked out what had been commanded of him, a chorus of applause and the cynical laughter of the two most satisfied women, awarding him cutting and lusty humiliation.“I beg ... beg your permission ... permission to be ... be ... executed.” That cynical laughter increased, as did the pressure of the cord about his neck, as the two women at the fore of the feminine audience savoured his pathetic situation, Christina Mills, the first to taunt him with utmost pleasure.“Well you have my permission to die, you know I’ll be thinking of all those times you escaped justice ... you’ll not escape it now ... watching you expire before my eyes will be such a pleasure.” Sarah Cripps indulged in the concurring applause as she watched him squirm his cock while Hortense. He was looking at the paper with a magnifying glass. He wondered how this document had come to be reposing in Diana's attic. He tried vainly to recall the names of all the fellow conspirators. Maybe hthe brain might begin to function after another glass of her excellent old Cognac? Diana must be psychic! The glass was refilled without his needing to make the slightest sign. What a splendid girl!"Who owned this place before you, my dear?" I think he was called Ferguson. I'm sure that was his name. Did you have a fellow student of that name?"Of course! Old Fergie! It must have been he who had pocketed the parchment. And he did hail from these parts. It was Ferguson who knew about the old legend and had kept his comrades entertained with tales of the awful doings of the Spirit of the Old Wood. On stormy winter nights his tales had gone down very well, as they supped old port and listened to Fergie's tales against the scary background of the rain beating upon the windows and the wind.
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