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I can't remember how I came to be here.

They told me I'd killed someone after a night of drinking, but I don't remember it. I only remember them hunting me down like a dog, that's not the kind of thing anyone forgets. I remember the courts, the judges as they looked down on me and the jury who had no interest in seeing things my way. The carriage to the prison had been lopsided, and the guard had been short. I remember a lot of things, but I don't remember killing anyone.

"Regardless", the judge had said at the time. "The fact is that your wife is dead, and you killed her. That you had been drinking is entirely inconsequential in that respect, sir."

So now I'm here, locked in a cage like the animal they say I am, waiting for my turn to dance the jig. The prison is dark most of the day, little light able to bypass the thick walls that held us. It's been almost two years, I think, since I last felt more than a sliver of warm sun on my feathers. That wasn't what gets to me in the night, though. It's the sound of the gallows down the hall; that's what gets to everyone as they wait their turn. I can hear it in my sleep, I can hear it when I eat, I'll hear it when I'm dead; I swear to God himself I believe I will.

As I sit, my naked back pressed against the cool stones of my cell wall, another line passes. They march the prisoners to be executed that day right past us on purpose, always naked. Some sobbed as they marched past us, others stood indigent, as if their pride being intact would somehow affect the outcome of their march. Occasionally one would walk by with a prick as hard as the prison stone itself; those were always a treat. They'd go to their dance smiling. I always wonder, as I see them file past, which would I be? A sobber, with a stick up my ass, or with a hard cock? I always hope it's the latter, but it's hard to say.

Only one sobber today, the other two sport stiff dicks that leave my eyes lingering. Just like that, however, they're gone. I start my countdown. As usual it takes four minutes before the first trapdoor gives way, filling the hallways with a distinct clattering sound. I'm already stretched on my bed by then, naked as those prisoners had been, naked as we all are in this prison.

I stroke myself as I listen to the silence that follows that first noise. My cock throbs with the knowledge of what was happening down that hallway right now. The first boy, the sobber, an otter, was gasping and struggling at the end of his rope. I can't see it, but I know it's happening. As my breathing quickens, I close my eyes and wait. I don't think of the otter swinging on his rope, the sobbers were such a turn-off. Instead, I think about what's coming next; how long would it be?

Minutes pass, the otter must have a good set of lungs on him. When what I waited for arrives, I arch my back.

CLATTER!

It's one of the stiff boys. I can only imagine how it looks, but I have my ideas. I begin to stroke more swiftly, my balls jostling as I rut into my own pumping fist.

The trapdoor gives way. The boy drops with a startled croak, the coarse rope digging into the short fur that covers his throat. He can't breathe, but he can kick, and as his tongue is forced from his mouth by the tight cinch on his throat he does just that.

I moan out softly into the uncaring darkness of my cell as I picture the unknown boy die. They had sent me here a lover, a provider... a husband, and now look at me. I bury my beak into my feathered arm as if trying to hide myself from my own eyes. Still, I squeeze my cock, fingertips dragging against that hot skin so tenderly, I bite my own tongue.

His cock is slapping against his lower belly, pre-cum oozing down the underside even as his cheeks begin to purple. The third boy is watching, waiting for his turn, forced to endure his own death not once but in spirit with each boy that goes before him as well.

My brow furrows. I try to focus on the dancing boy.

He cums in his final seconds of life, a final show of self-gratification in spite of his situation. White cum spurts in small archs from the tip of his aching cock, a final rocking jerk of his hips ensuring some reaches the edge of the trapdoor and stains the wood of the gallows he swings upon.

I gasp out loudly as pre-cum oozes down to pool against my stroking fingers. By now the second boy has probably been positioned. As if on cue, I hear it again.

CLATTER!

I almost cum right there and though I hold myself back, it isn't for long. Seconds pass and as the first thought of the second boy, a tiger as I recall, strikes me I realize my struggle is futile. Musky cream spurts like a pleasure-filled volcano from the tip of my cock. It lands in a warm rain against my chest and belly, forming puddles in my feathers even as more joins it; I don't cry out, but gods I want to.

It lasts a minute, a day, a year, oh gods, I don't care; even just a second is an escape from the drab walls around me. As my spent cock softens, my brain trapped in the downy afterglow, I drift to sleep.

"Prisoner 64201. Stand at attention!" The sharp voice wakes me. It's the ward captain. "Open the cell, seems our friend here is up for early release." It's a tired joke that's overplayed by the captain, sometimes they fell for it but I'd heard it too many times. I grow grim; it was time. As I step from the cell I spot the line of boys waiting for their turn to swing. I'm shackled and attached to the long chain that keeps all of us connected.

"Not often we get to see a gryphon swing," teased one of the guards. "Especially with that, eh boy?" He swats the hard shaft and pins it against me. I tense up and try to fight the blush I can feel creeping into my cheeks. The guard just shakes his head and releases me when I don't give him the satisfaction.

I can't help but grin at the minor victory; I also cherish the knowledge of what kind of boy I would be.

"Take 'em down!" cries the captain. There are four others joining me today, and I'm at the end. I was in for a long wait in the courtyard that we soon find ourselves in. The gallows stand like a dire warning that it was far too late to heed. We're left standing in a row near the small half-rotted wooden steps which led up onto the platform. The captain tells us to stand up straight and die good deaths, as if there was such a thing.

I don't recall much of the boys ahead of me. My mind was deadened to what happened outside of it, save for the aching need in my balls and the sound of that trapdoor as the boys dropped one by one into its ever-hungry maw. One of them came as he died, a ferrat, tall and skinny like many of his species he put on quite the show. My cock aches all the harder as he falls limp, I notice there are two boys still ahead of me.

The next two go without much of a fight, their bodies cut down and added to the pile which had begun to form beneath the trapdoor. It's my turn.

The steps creak under my feet as I climb them, my shackles removed only as two guards move to block the stairs off of the platform.

"Next." The captain still fancies himself a comedian. I move into position and close my eyes as they fit the noose over my head. I'm tall, I can feel the slack on the rope as the noose's knot rests against my shoulder. They tie my arms, a joke after unshackling me, and even go so far as to bind my wings. They stare at me once they finish and I stare back, trying to ignore the insistent aching of my cock. No words are spoken as the lever is pulled.

CLATTER!

Immediately the air is sucked from my lungs as the noose tears into my neck. My head snaps to the side when I reach the bottom of my fall and immediately I hear my own raspy wheezing filling the air. My feet kick, I don't know why, I certainly don't tell them to do it. My tongue juts from between the sharp curves of my beak, eyes wide as if trying to soak in every last speck of light before meeting the darkness that was coming. My arms buck against the unforgiving rope that binds them and I feel drool trickling down my chin.

My mind wanders to strange places as my cheeks' red colour slowly deepens. Was someone masturbating to this within the cells? Were they listening? Gods, I hope so. I hope I give them an orgasm so strong that they spend years talking about it, being remembered by proxy was still being remembered.

My lungs burn as I try to suck in breath desperately, my vision is darkening and my head is pounding with trapped blood. Minutes pass like this and my struggles are weaker than I want them to be. I feel like a ragdoll, muscles spasming and twitching with a frequency that greatly alarms my fading mind. Then I cum. It pulses from me like a fountain, nearly striking one of the guards as I fire one last load-- my last contribution to the world-- in a streak across the gallows. It's like my dick was a musket, oh god. It feels so good! I can see stars explode! Stars! It must be heaven, I must be dead and those stars must be heaven! Yes! Maria! I'm coming. I'm coming. I'm coming. Maria. I'm sorry I killed you.

The captain watched stonyfaced as the gryphon's eyes slipped closed at last, his tongue lolling from his beak limply and his cock dripping with the release that had made such a mess of the gallows.

"Stupid bastard" the captain grunted, "now we're the ones stuck cleaning that up."

"What'd 'e do?" asked one of the guards, eyeing the still twitching form of the large avian male.

"Came all over my gallows, you twit! You were standin' right 'ere when 'e did it!" The captain's voice nearly sent the guard scuttling backwards, but he stood his ground and found the strength to answer.

"No, why'd we 'ang 'im, sir? What'd 'e do?"

"Oh, 'ell if I know. That's 64201, yea'?" The captain seemed to compose himself somewhat, distracting himself with the question. "Killed 'is wife or some shit, cut 'im down, will ya?"

64201's body fell with a meaty thump as it hit the bodies that had already piled up beneath it. His dick was still hard and the guard found he had to admire anyone who went out on their own terms so completely, but they had to prepare the gallows for the next batch. A bit of salt is thrown onto the bodies, a superstition and more practically for the preservation they'd need before they could be dumped into the river nearby.