Don't Try This at Home

(decapitation, consensual, m/f, medical)

My wife and I had always been guro fetishists. Even near the beginning of our relationship we found that both of us had taken up frequenting gore- and freakshow-related image boards. Such a connection was, as far as we could tell, rare and special, and in the end it was no surprise that we ended up staying together.

Obviously the sex was the best we could make it without maiming one another. We had tried the old bondage motif, even going so far as long-term bondage (a favorite game of ours was tying up her arms, putting a shirt over them, and pretending she didn't have them, sometimes for a whole weekend or longer) and encasement. Some of the best sex we ever had was the night before I encased her body in plaster (We had wanted to use concrete, but after finding out to our dismay that the curing temperature would kill her, we had to find an alternative). Just the anticipation had been enough to make her wetter than an octopus, and the whole time we went through the preparation process we couldn't stop making love, even as she gradually ran out of holes from the tubes I'd inserted into her orifices.

But, intense and kinky as it was, none of it was really "guro". The greatest shared fantasy of ours that we hadn't been able to experience was headlessness. As for me, while I was mildly intrigued by how it might feel to be headless, what had always turned me on more was seeing a beautiful woman having her body separated from her head. And on her end, my wife had always been turned on imagining herself as one of the women in the pictures.

Yet she didn't want to die, and I had no intention of killing her - no matter how awesome the snuffing was, it would mark the end of our relationship, and I'd never see her again. That thought was too unbearable to ever be worth it. So at first we just wrote it off as something we might try when we're old, or perhaps terminally ill, and ready to die anyway. But still we yearned... and one day, we confronted one another and resolved to find a way to live out this fantasy.

***

Eventually we found the connections to bring our idea to life - I won't go into the details, I'm sure you'll understand why. The setup was thus: there was a hospital room rented out for us, redecorated and with furniture arranged to cleverly hide the medical appliances. Rather than a generic hospital bed was of course a big, fancy one designed for loving couples. The centerpiece of the room was the dramatic silhouette of a guillotine. Outside were a host of doctors, nurses, and assistants, ready to dash in at the drop of a hat, but who for the time being left us our privacy.

And so, the day of our fantasy came. I of course made sure to go through all the necessary mating rituals: the nice dinner, the long, hot shower, the sexy outfit, etc. There was no shortage of foreplay as we made our way into the room, almost as if it were our own bedroom on any other passionate night. Clothes flew off. The air grew hot and moist. The lighting perfectly accentuated the shine of her gorgeous hair, both up top and below, the sparkle of her eyes, and the intensely warm glow of her skin. The sheer anticipation, stronger than it had ever been before, would have been enough to drive us both over the edge by itself, but we didn't let it. Instead we sweetened the occasion as best we possibly could, screwing each other like the last two rabbits in the world trying to repopulate.

As we both made our way up to climax, the fateful moment drew closer. We maneuvered ourselves gradually over toward the guillotine, until her head came to rest on the block. We continued to make love - the goal was for us both to orgasm just as I pulled the rope. And so we worked up to it. Her eyes grew wide with excitement, as I'm sure mine did as well. We were both so very hot and sticky, and ready to finish the night with a bang. As soon as I felt the climax coming, I could tell at a glance hers was too. And so, pulling my own head back at the last moment, I yanked on the rope. For a brief moment my worry tried to stop me, but I had steeled myself earlier with the knowledge that we had both considered this night to be worth the risk.

On the signal supplied by the pulling of the rope, the staff rushed in - there was, of course, not a moment to lose. In an instant the entire atmosphere of the room changed - machines took the place of the furniture, and the lights grew blindingly bright. Doctors bustled about, desperate not to lose a single critical second. In a blur, they attached the arteries of her head to a life support system, and then set to work immediately on the task of carefully stitching her spinal cord back together. This was, obviously, more than just a matter of sewing though. The most important, and bleeding-edge, part of the procedure was the injection of stem cells, which we had cultured earlier from her body, to help the nerves grow back together.

As for myself, nervous as I was I couldn't resist the exhaustion of our sex, and I fell asleep. During the night, they spent several hours putting my love back together and making sure she could hold on to life. When I woke up in the morning, they had all gone save for a single attendant watching over her. My wife was sleeping peacefully, but to my great joy I could see her chest rise and fall in the rhythm of breathing. An EEG near the bed displayed what I had been taught were healthy brainwaves - she had pulled through. Nevertheless, her body still had a lot of work to do to recover from the trauma. She didn't wake up that day, and remained fast asleep through most of the next.

When she finally opened her eyes late the next afternoon, I was right there to greet her. I looked into her eyes, tense, looking for any sign anything was wrong. They sparkled with joy.

"Morning, my love," she greeted, in a whisper made slightly hoarse by the injury to her trachea.

"Do you feel okay? Does anything hurt?" I asked. I could feel very un-manly tears collecting in my eyes.

She closed her eyes for a second in response. "Everything's fine."

"Do you remember it?" There was no need to elaborate as to what I referred.

"Oh, it was wonderful," she cooed, "You should have been there."

"I was..."

"No, you know what I mean... it didn't hurt as much as I expected. It was more like my body just... evaporated away. Like I could still feel it, but it became immaterial, like a ghost. I'm sure it came without me..." Her smile, mellow for most of the story, here became slightly mirthful as the idea of what she was saying hit her. "I can hardly believe we did it. How does it look?"

The scar on her neck was like something out of an extremely sexy version of a Frankenstein film. You know that Tim Burton movie with the undead bride? Kinda like that. "It looks beautiful," I told her, from the bottom of my heart.

"Honest?"

Of course I was honest. For the rest of our lives, the mere sight of the scar was more powerful than any aphrodisiac. I had only to look at it while we made love, and the fetishist in me had his satisfaction. The same went for her - when she saw it in the mirror for the first time, she literally moved her hand to her crotch, without realizing it, as if to masturbate. (The most amazing thing about that? This was before she'd gone through any of her rehabilitation. She shouldn't have been able to move her arm... guess that makes a powerful statement about how much it affected her.)

Obviously people stared. Everyone else thought the scar was horrifying, or even disgusting. Our lives were never the same, in a lot of ways, most of which affected her. Her voice was, fortunately, still beautiful, but it developed a new throaty ring to it. It took years before her motor control was back to a normal level, and many a time she would lose her balance, bump into things, or drop things. Our kinkiness could now never be completely hidden - of course we could pass off the scar as an unfortunate wound from some thug or vehicle accident, but it was still there and people still got freaked out (The first Halloween was so fun...). But it was worth it. We never again felt the need to risk either of our lives on a deadly fantasy, and to this day the scar has been as much of a symbol of our closeness as a wedding band. In short... we've never been happier.