6 - … she said, lying.

She pulled the blade back up and tied it as firmly as she could. Then, to screams of protest from her sensible side, and rabid cheers from the side which had just brought her to a string of powerful organs, she laid back down on the guillotine, raised the lunette, and let it fall back over her neck. The clash of instincts in her mind made her tremble and moan, half from fear and half from arousal.

This time, as a concession to her sensible half, the rope was tied and she was perfectly safe. Her sensible side argued that she was still laying in a live guillotine and using the threat of death for stupid short-term pleasure.

Her other side argued that was the point.

She squeezed her breast until it hurt, reviving the fantasy of the ancient warrior, and she bid him plant his boot in her chest as her headless body quivered.

As if with a mind of his own, the ancient warrior instead removed his helmet to reveal the face of Ben.

“Unbelievable,” he said, placing her severed head in the crook of her arm, facing up so that she could see him kneeling in front of her still-twitching body. “You couldn’t get enough of shit-testing me, so you went and shit-tested Fate.”

Becky heard a snap, and then a familiar, ominous hissing. Heart leaping into her throat, she threw the lunette up as high as she could and went to sit up.

Her ass slipped on the platform, slick with her own juices.

She fell back down into the half-moon crescent, and the lunette came back down just ahead of the hissing blade.

Panic flared up in Becky's stomach.

“Help me!” she cried out to the armored figure of Ben in her mind.

“What do you want from me?” he said, face impassive. Then, with just the slightest hint of mockery: “I’m jerking off alone in my room.”

The blade sliced through Becky’s neck in an instant. The fantasy was gone, and Becky was left with nothing but real-world consequences. The world spun forward, completely out of Becky’s control. She saw the guillotine and the barn from a unique low angle, impossible to achieve with a body in the way. She caught a glimpse of the book that had fallen in the basket as her head rolled, then she found herself looking up at the fallen blade. Two bright red streams of blood squirted over it, landing with audible splatters on the floor behind the basket and inside it, coating Becky’s face in her own blood. She could hear her body thrashing on the platform, even if she could not see it. She saw only the red stump of her neck, her opened esophagus and the cross section of her spine, and the arteries that still sprayed those two jets of warm blood onto her helpless face. For a moment, she felt her body’s legs kick the guillotine frame from her perspective at a bizarre angle. The sensation of the impact registered through some phantom connection that had not yet faded.

Then it faded.

Becky’s body outlived her severed head: she heard it still bucking, writhing, and convulsing as her senses faded to black.

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