8 - Stacy’s lust and Becky’s body

She looked, and found two big, shocked green eyes staring into hers. Sightless. Becky’s face was pale, spattered with her own blood. A little book from Stacy’s collection rested in the basket beside her daughter’s beautiful severed head, partly covered with her hair.

It was the sort of thing Becky and Stacy both loved to read. Her little girl, her perfect reflection, had gone and gotten herself killed in the exact same way her mother so often fantasized about. The perfect, final act of submission. The ultimate punishment.

Stacy felt herself growing wet. Behind the shock that she was certain would collapse into grief at any moment, this was the hottest thing she had ever seen. Becky's body was flawless, utterly gorgeous even without her head, her skin glossy with a coating of sweat and juices.

She looked at her daughter's headless body with a rapidly growing desire. The body was still twitching out its last tiny vestiges of energy, a reflexive dance of death that was strangely erotic. Stacy felt a pull, a dark fascination that she couldn't ignore. Her daughter had died very recently. Her body, when Stacy placed a hand on her chest, was still warm.

She looked at the door. She had seen Ben go to bed, so she was alone in the barn with her daughter, who had just died in the most erotic way Stacy could imagine. It was an opportunity she would never get again. If she waited, her shock would settle into grief, and she would never feel this way again.

She plucked her daughter’s severed head from the basket and hugged it to her breasts, careless of the blood now staining her camisole.

“My sweet, beautiful little girl,” she cooed. “How dare you go and die in such a ridiculously sexy way without telling me …”

She reached out and gave the rope a pull to reset the guillotine, but found that it had snapped, after all these years. That meant that Becky had died accidentally, while teasing and tempting fate, just as Stacy had done so often. What had caused the rope to fray? Was it the repeated tugs Stacy had given it over the years, trusting her first husband’s craftsmanship to protect her from herself?

Stacy kissed her daughter’s forehead, paused, then abandoned her shame and kissed the girl’s soft, cooling lips. What a pure, sweet taste she had.

“I think I might have got you killed, Becky … sorry about that, but the way your body looks, you must have really, really enjoyed it.”

She placed the girl's head on the little table beside the guillotine, then softly touched the pussy of Becky’s headless corpse. Still wet. Soaking wet. By whatever reflexes her corpse still had, there came a twitch and a tiny squirt, likely all she had left after making such a mess of herself.

A whining sound escaped Stacy's throat, a longing little whimper. "Oh fuck, that's hot ..."

Her gaze raked over Becky's pretty, girlish figure. A possessive heat rose up from between her legs.

That gorgeous young body belonged to her. Not even Becky had any say over what Stacy did to it now.

Another thread of decency frayed and snapped.

Her own clothes became another thread to be snapped. She peeled them away with desperate, trembling fingers and swung a leg over the platform, over the dead girl. Positioning herself, she lowered her hips in a slow, deliberate motion. Heated, dripping wet folds met the slimy, soaked flesh of her daughter's mound. A jolt shot up her back the moment their pussies pressed together, and she moaned Becky's name quietly under her breath.

She began to move, a slow rock of her hips that sent waves of pleasure crashing through her body with each repeated thrust. The sheer wrongness of it made her want it more and more, having such passionate lesbian sex with her daughter's sexy little body.

“You're so beautiful," she moaned, leaning down over the girl's wet body. Their breasts pressed together, nipples glancing off each other. "... even like this, you're beautiful."

She began to grind faster, harder, imagining the moment the blade fell from its snapped rope and clipped her daughter's head off. What kind of sound had she made? Stacy imagined it was a long, orgasmic moan that turned into a yelp as she realized what was happening, and then that yelp was swiftly, permanently, silenced.

“I hope you weren't too frightened, Becky ..." she murmured, hands to the girl's breasts, kneading them softly at first, and then more roughly as she sped up. "But ... it would be really, really hot if you were."

Becky's head watched from the table with clouded, sightless eyes. It was a really hot expression, Stacy thought. She had always imagined it would be her own head there, somehow, someday. But this was better. Way better. This way, she was alive to experience it.

“How do you like it sweetie? The perfect view of your perfect little body. ”

Stacy watched the girl’s beautiful breasts jiggle along to her movements, their supple weight shifting with each lustful thrust of her hips. She lusted so badly for that perfect, tight little teenage body she had once bore herself. Becky's nipples, hardened into perfect little peaks, dragged against Stacy's own swollen breasts, sending electric jolts of pleasure straight to her pussy. The sight of her daughter's flawless, glistening white skin made Stacy's mouth water. She leaned down, her breath hot against the girl's cooling skin, and captured one perfectly stiff nipple between her teeth, sucking hard enough to leave a faint mark.

"Look at you," Stacy groaned. "Such an erotic, tight little figure, even now. I just wanna sink my teeth in and eat you up …"

She could still feel warmth radiating from Becky's corpse. It would not last long. Stacy's hips moved with increasing urgency, grinding their slick folds together in a rhythm frantic and nearly worshipful.

Nearing climax, Stacy looked over at the blade resting just below the lunette where it had fallen and lopped Becky’s head off. She looked down at the mess her daughter’s blood had made. It was a beautiful, patterned array of splatters which had by now pooled out into little rivers, seeking their way downhill toward the drains at the edges of the barn. Some blood still dripped slowly from the blade. Stacy could hear the little slaps as the droplets hit the bottom of the basket. Much louder were the distinctive, juicy slaps of Stacy's hips against Becky's.

“I bet you were just like I wanted to be. I wish I could have seen it … oh, what a thrill that would have been, to see my own daughter scream and come and squirt as her head was ... fuck ...”

Stacy felt her pussy convulse in orgasm, pressed tightly against Becky's. She felt her juices mix with her daughter's, felt the heat of arousal still burning within her. Desperate, she grabbed Becky's head from the table and pressed her lips hard against her daughter's, a frantic, one-sided kiss that nonetheless made Stacy's orgasm even more powerful. She moaned into Becky's dead lips, kissing her with abandon as the slimy squelching sounds from below began to sound almost like splashes with so much fluid released. She held that kiss, her tongue exploring Becky’s slack mouth, until the final spasms of her orgasm subsided.

Panting, she leaned back, holding the severed head up by its hair like a trophy, admiring her daughter once again. Every part of her was beautiful, but those bright green eyes, even as they clouded over, were wonderfully captivating, and deeply familiar. They were, after all, the same eyes she saw in the mirror every day. The same beautiful eyes that had captivated so many men, and now, her.

"What a waste," she whispered, tracing her thumb over Becky's lips. "A hot, messy, utterly erotic waste ... but such a perfect end."

-