4 - Becky plays with the blade

Panting, some degree of sense returned to Becky as she knelt there on the guillotine. Despite everything, she had just placed a lot of trust in her father’s craftsmanship, to throw her neck over the lunette like that. She hadn’t locked herself in, but that blade above her was real. If her motions had loosened the rope holding it in place, and it came loose, she would have had less than a second to move before the blade struck her.

Even so, most of her attention went to the strange contraption below her head.

The basket she remembered being there in her childhood had been moved, and there was some sort of makeshift ramp, maybe more accurately described as a Rube Goldberg machine made of poorly cut scraps of wood that did not look at all like her father’s craftsmanship, or Ben’s. Still quivering where she had come, she followed the device with her eyes. It was like a track for toy cars, not unlike one Ben and his father had built, but sized for rolling heads. Even she could tell it would not work, though it seemed like its purpose was to roll a severed head down a slide and then somehow jump it up onto a table on the other side of the guillotine. She had not even seen this while arguing with Ben, but the only conclusion she could come to was that her mom had built it. What was it for?

She finally, somehow reluctantly, detached herself from the guillotine that she now found so thrilling, and squeezed her way behind the little table her mom had built. She knelt and rested her chin on it to see her perspective from that angle, and realized with a touch of horror, and another touch of perverse kinship, that she had not been the first woman in her family to use this guillotine the way she had.

The table provided a perfect view of the guillotine, but more importantly, its purpose seemed to be to give the beheaded victim the best possible view of her body.

There were so many things wrong with it. First, the severed head would not have nearly enough momentum to make the jump onto the platform. Second, a head was not a ball and would not roll evenly enough to even make it that far. Third, if it somehow did deny physics and leap up onto the platform, there was no guarantee it would even land facing the right way.

Her mom had built this one-handed, she realized. Logic was not Becky’s strong suit in the first place (which was part of why Ben’s infuriated her), but what logic she did have went out the window when she was good and horny. She knew that was true of most people.

Becky understood her mother, she thought. They had the same hair, eyes, body, and perversions. They had the same personality, the implications of which Becky never allowed herself to fully explore. Even now, at the perfect opportunity to think this through, Becky chose instead to go and unwind the rope holding the guillotine’s blade in place. She would not stick her neck under it, of course. She just wanted to see it fall.

She undid the knot and wrapped the coarse rope around her hand. She pulled and released, letting the heavy blade come down and pull her arm up toward the pulley before she pulled down and reset the blade to its highest point. It was good and heavy, more than enough to lop someone’s head off. She remembered what it had done to the watermelon when her father had demonstrated it all those years ago. Back then, it hadn’t even crossed her mind to fantasize about her own death. It was half cool and half scary. She hadn’t needed her parents’ warnings against playing on this historic death machine.

She considered leaving all of this for the night and going to bed, but looked down and found herself still a soaking mess with her shorts and panties around one ankle, and her body still covered in sweat and juices. There was no way she was going to risk Ben seeing her like this, after she had told him to go jerk off alone.

Reminded of his strangely thoughtful gift, she took another sip of the energy drink he had left her, then realized how thirsty she had become and drank the rest. Curious, with the rope still in hand, she balanced the empty can on the lunette, then let go of the rope.

The blade hissed down. An instant before impact, Becky was suddenly worried about the amount of noise it would make. But the crash, though noisy, did not hurt her ears. Unfortunately for the can, it had been cleanly bisected, and its top half rolled onto the first plank of the makeshift track, lost its momentum, and clattered onto the floor.

Of course the track wouldn’t work.

But the guillotine certainly had.

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