5 - Becky tempts and teases Fate

Becky’s hands grew warm and tingly as she pulled the blade back up and wrapped the rope back in its place. She did not tie it, but friction seemed to keep it in place well enough. Then she looked down at the failed track and the basket which had been pushed aside. Carefully, so as not to damage anything, she pulled the track away from the guillotine and pushed the basket back where it belonged. She noticed her book at the bottom, where it had fallen.

It had been a good book, but it was not quite extreme enough. The ending Becky had come up with was ten times hotter than boring old werewolf rape. Every dark romance under the sun has a scene where the man lost control and had his way with the heroine, but he never gave her what she really deserved. Dark romance heroes were like most men: way too nice, way too restrained, while playing at some facsimile of ancient warrior brutality that they would never really have for lack of ancient wars where they could cultivate that trait.

A real werewolf would not have tolerated the bratty heroine for more than a few seconds before raping her and deleting her head from existence.

It had taken this one fifteen chapters, and he hadn't even had the balls to crush her stupid slutty skull.

Dissatisfied and feeling hot again, Becky laid face-up on the guillotine, shut her neck in the lunette, and closed her eyes. In her mind, she took the werewolf away and replaced him with an ancient warrior. Her imagination was not quite vivid enough to hold all the details in her head at once, but she made sure he was muscular, tanned from his time fighting under the sun, and simultaneously in some superposition of armored and shirtless. He wore a helmet, which seemed almost unbidden from Becky’s mind. She had planned to give him a handsome face, but there was mystery this way, so she kept it. In her mind's eye, she was a woman of his enemy’s tribe who had argued at length to let the barbarians in and give them refuge. Now she was laid out before one such barbarian. She protested and pushed against him, but this bloodlusted warrior did not tolerate her resistance for even an instant. He slapped her face with the flat of his bare sword, punched her in the belly, and without a moment's hesitation, penetrated her hard and fast.
Becky’s fingers simulated the violation, rather inadequately, but her mind did the heavy lifting. She imagined that his cock was as hard as his sword, and as thick as her wrist. He was not interested in her pleasure. He was simply taking what was his, what was owed to him as his birthright, for he was a man of war. His thrusts were deep and brutal, his hands were rough as he slapped her face, choked her, squeezed her tits, and gripped her waist to fuck her more roughly. He had no interest in foreplay, and as he pumped into her, he insulted her: "Worthless whore. Be a good girl and squeeze tighter."

In the real world, Becky’s legs tensed and quivered and she began to bounce on the wooden platform again. Heat from her arousal and the energy drink flared up within her. She arched her back, listening to the squelching sounds of her fingers on her pussy in the silence of the barn. It was such a distinctive, erotic sound, and so wonderfully perverse to hear while riding a guillotine.

“Worthless fucking woman,” she whispered to herself, pretending it was the warrior’s voice. “You’re a weak traitorous coward who sold out her people. I expect better even from my enemies.”
“Please, mercy!” she whined, both hands at her pussy to try and approximate the warrior’s size. Inadequate again, but she was far too horny right now to quit and go find a toy of the right size. He slammed her head against the ground as he raped her, he punched her, he spit in her face and choked her as he came gallons inside her. He came so much that his cum instantly filled her womb and spilled out obscenely from her pussy, surely impregnating her. With her fingers and imagination working in tandem, she came to a shaking orgasm, bucking and thrashing as her fluids sprayed over her hand, her legs, and the platform.

The warrior's sword came down hard on her neck, its tip splitting her throat in two and chopping straight through her spine, effectively beheading her while her head was still mostly attached. In her mind, her body’s convulsions were frantic, pure reflex and instinct and sexual energy reacting to her violent end even with her spine and brain detached. Watery eyes stared up at the man who jerked his sword first to the right, and then the left to completely sever her head.
Becky’s shoulders slammed against the lunette, her ass hitting the platform and rising up again as her back arched and she balanced on her heels. She slipped on her panties and shorts, which were still bunched up around her ankle, and hit the platform again, rattling the entire contraption. Juices squirted so far out her pussy that she felt them splatter on her toes, but the string of orgasms was far from over. The warrior, still rock hard, mounted her head on his massive cock like a trophy or a codpiece. He grabbed her hair and, as she watched her headless body squirt blood from one end and cum from the other, he fucked her severed head like a toy. She watched the head of his cock come out of her mouth again and again, glistening with his precum and her own blood. Gripping her head tight, he shoved it down to the base and came, a huge spurt of white semen soaring in a well aimed arc to splatter on her body’s trembling tits and down her open throat. Her body convulsed and made a gurgled choking sound as that thick warrior semen slipped easily down into her stomach as a fitting last meal for a girl like her.
Becky heard a hissing sound in the real world, oddly close.

Her eyes snapped open.

Her fantasy blinked out of existence and every cell in her body flung itself into survival mode.
Muscles fired with a once-in-a-lifetime urgency. Becky threw the lunette high off her neck and sat up with a speed that caused a tearing pain in her side. She felt the blade catch the tips of her hair and then crash down with a sound much louder and much closer than when it had bisected the empty drink can.

Silence followed, broken only by Becky’s panting, heaving breaths and the rapid, deafening pounding of her heart.

She had not tied the rope.

She had trusted friction to keep it in place. Friction had worked hard, but she had masturbated so vigorously that it has come loose despite its best efforts.

Becky held up her hand and stared at it. Glistening juices connected three of her fingers. She had very nearly died a sudden, bloody death, and it was her own lustfulness which would have caused it.

She dropped her hand to her heaving breast, taking deep breaths and collecting herself.

This was, by far, the greatest thrill she had ever felt in her life.

Guilty, self-conscious thoughts once relegated to little corners in the back of her mind, now berated her for her mindless depravity. These responsible pieces of herself rebelled and threatened to take control from the stupid, horny bitch presently in the driver’s seat.

“Calm down,” she murmured to herself. “I’m not gonna do that again.”

-