(Repost from old Gurochan)

-----
(1/3)

As the woman behind the counter went through the speech, Chelsea let her eyes wander over to the next counter, where men were checking in.

“…be aware that, although we make effort to minimize the risk, accidents can and sometimes do happen…”

She’d heard it all before. She knew the routine. Listen to the little legalese speech, sign the waiver, go in, have a good time. She’d been coming here most Thursdays for years now. She could recite the speech herself.

“By signing this waiver, you agree not to hold the company liable for any injury or loss of life incurred while using the service. If you agree, please say ‘I consent’.”

“I consent,” replied Chelsea. The man going through the other side of the checkin procedure wasn’t very attractive—a little shorter than she’d prefer, a little balder, a little fatter. In a weird way that made things better. He handed over his credit card. Men who come here have to pay. She signed the waiver. Women got in free.

“Alright, cool, you’re gonna be in room three today. Have fun, Chel!”

“I always do,” she smiled. The receptionists all knew her by name at this point, expected her at her normal time. She headed into room three.

—

“Hey Chelsea, welcome back.”

“Hey, Greg.” She smiled back at the doctor. They all knew her as well. Of course, “doctor” was more of a legal fiction than anything. Technically, if you went all the way with it, it counted as physician-assisted suicide, so the people with their hands on the button needed to technically be physicians, but getting certified for this work was something like a two week course rather than eight years of medical school. Chelsea began shimmying out of her dress.

“Okay, you know the drill. If you wish to go through with the procedure, please say the word ‘release’ in a loud, clear, unambiguous voice. You are free to request that we let you leave at any time, just let me know when you’re ready. Think you’re going to go through with it this time?”

Chelsea smirked back at him. “Maybe.” He always asked. She always answered the same way. They both knew she was never going to do it. She was here for a little thrill, to edge herself close, but not to go all the way. She didn’t have a death wish, more of a… death wish wish.

She lay on her back on the bench and scooted into position. Greg carefully pulled her brown hair all the way through so it wouldn’t get caught on anything, strapped her body down to the bench, secured her hands, and flipped the switch that marked room 3 as available. 

Chelsea took a deep breath and looked up at the impossibly sharp metal blade of the guillotine, her heart racing with excitement.

—

“Oh, uh, hi, ma’am.”

“Hi.”


Chelsea couldn’t see who was talking to her given how she was strapped down. He must be new. He sounded new.

“So do I just…?”

“Yeah, go nuts. I’d appreciate lube, especially if you use my ass, and tips are always welcome.”

“A’ight.”

She heard the man undressing. Didn’t hear lube dispenser—was he going in dry or using her pussy? She felt a cock slide into her pussy, answering that question immediately.

“Oh man, this is hot.”

Chelsea didn’t respond. She was looking up at the blade hanging above her like the proverbial sword of Damocles. As the man thrust into her, the guillotine shook slightly. She bit her lip, gasping quietly. The thrusts got faster. He didn’t last long. Newbies usually didn’t.

She was empty again. “Thanks.” “I hope you enjoyed yourself. Come back any time!” She heard the rustle of clothing being put back on. A moment later, the sound of some bills being placed in her tip jar. She thanked him again. Awkward. She heard the sound of the door opening and closing, then opening and closing again almost immediately.

She felt her legs pulled up and some cold lubricant applied to her asshole, then she was being fucked. This was more like it. He was grunting, she was letting out little whimpers. She imagined the blade coming down. She imagined herself falling into the basket below. This guy was lasting longer. She made herself concentrate on feeling every inch of the cock penetrating her asshole, being as present in the moment as she could. Finally, he came, then almost immediately went. She thanked him as she heard the crinkle of some more money going into her tip jar.

The next man used her pussy again. He fucked her hard and fast. She concentrated on the shaking of the guillotine, listening for every little creak. She knew they tested them before every use. She knew they inspected them thoroughly every day. She knew there were safeties, redundant safeties, and redundant safeties to the redundant safeties. She also knew that all of those measures failed in about 0.02% of uses. It was in the waiver she had to agree to every time she came here. 0.02%. More than zero. There was a chance. There was always a small chance that this would be her last moment. She felt herself tensing up and started taking deep, meditative breaths to try to control her orgasm. She didn’t want to come yet. She wanted to keep herself on the edge as long as possible. Another wad of sperm was deposited in her pussy and another wad of bills in the jar.

“How’re you doing, Chelsea?” Greg asked. “Need a break yet?”


“Not quite yet. After the next guy, yeah.”

The next guy took a little while to appear. There were always lulls and rushes. She lay there for the next 15 minutes, looking up at the blade.

“Release.”

She didn’t say it. Not out loud. She just moved her lips. Feeling the word on her tongue. Feeling the motion of it. She moved her hips around a bit, squeezing her pelvic muscles. “Release,” she mouthed again. It was safe. You had to say it loudly and clearly. It had to be unambiguous. “Release.” Just mouthing the word wouldn’t make Greg hit that final button. She could feel the combination of sperm slowly dripping down her cunt. “Release.”