A simple leather strap attached to a two-pronged handle on the other side of the wooden post that stands in the town square. Simple, but not at all insignificant, as it has given the folk so much grief and so much delight over the years. Today they gather in the morning haze again, as a woman is brought out on a small carriage to the spot. She is stripped bare, as it suits the type of her transgression. Close behind, also bare and shackled, comes the man she gave up her good standing for. Her slighted husband stands behind the garotte, ready to give them what they deserve.

The adulteress is led to the stand by two apprentice executioners - both girls of sixteen, slender yet strong - while their master gives instructions to the man who has been given the opportunity to right the wrong he's been done. The sun's slanted rays fall on her luxurious body, eliciting murmurs of approval from the crowd. Her eyes are red from the tears of shame, her wheat-colored hair falls on her shoulders in disarray. The girls drag her to the garotte and fasten her hands to the post, then buckle the strap around her neck. Her chest can be seen rising and falling frantically, as she stands anticipating her execution. Soft, ample mounds of flesh - her succulent brests - quiver as she shivers in the chilly morning wind.

Her husband steps forward and looks her in the eye one last time, regret and anger glowing in his gaze. Neither of them compromises their dignity further by saying something. The official executioner gives a nod to the man, as he puts his hands on the handlebars. He starts to twist, slowly: the strap tightens on the woman's neck, forcing her to stand very straight, but still letting her breathe - barely. Another half twist makes her cough and wheeze; her arms pull on the restraints. The man lets her linger in this position a little,: struggling, face reddening from the pressure on the jugulars. Blood is drumming in her ears. Then he tightens once more, cracking her windpipe and closing off the blood flow to her brain. She kicks and rattles, eyes wide open, tongue forced to hang out between her plump lips. Twitching, spasming, her body is reluctant to give up its tenuous hold on life, but the leather cutting into her tender neck is stronger. One more futile respiratory attempt, and she expires, staring blankly at the audience. Her neck stretches as the dead weight of her relaxing body pulls on it; her legs spread, revealing her dripping, pink pussy. Lifeless, she is now released from the ligature and laid down on the ground by the girls who brought her here. They exchange cheeky glances as they handle the corpse.

"No wonder she attracted more than one man", remarks one of them, and they both giggle. Then they bring her partner-in-crime to take her place. The condemned man stares at the dead body of his concubine, as if stricken by disbelief, while he is readied up for strangulation. The husband gives him a thorough look. There isn't much difference between the two men; muscular farmer both, the offender even slightly shorter and darker. No apparent reason to choose him rather than her lawful spouse. Shaking his head, the latter takes position and grabs the rod again. It takes less for the thicker neck to be constricted; the bulky stallion hacks and gasps at the first turn, then the strap digs hard into his flesh at the second. He strains, closing his eyes, pulling against the leather in a wasted effort to break free. Then his struggle weakens and gives way to the convulsive dying quiver. As his heart finally stops, blood pools downwards in his suspended body and raises his member for all to see. Drool drips from his chin to his motionless chest.

Then his body is laid next to hers and both are loaded back onto the carriage they came on. The show is over; the crowd slowly dissipates. The official executioner pats the recently widowed man on the back and invites him for a beer in the nearest bar.