10 - The death she always wanted

Back in the present, Stacy turned her head, enduring the cut of the blade, just enough to see the model spaceship, bolted down all those years ago, groaning and tilting down and further down, little by little as the bolts popped out, one by one.

She froze.

Becky's body in her arms, her pussy tight against the girl's thigh, Stacy could only watch as, in the space of two seconds, the model's nose slipped neatly between the scaffolding of the guillotine and came down hard, like a gigantic wooden hammer, on the top of the blade.

Schunk.

Pain filled her neck, sensation vanished beneath it, and Stacy felt herself falling.
Her nose bonked the spicy novel, and her head rolled until she was facing up. Thoughts fled, and all that went through her mind was exactly what she saw and heard: two bright streams of blood sailing over the blade, splashing against the nose of the model ship, then past it and all around as Stacy's naked, sweat-soaked figure sat up. She could see her own large breasts bounce as her hands groped feverishly where her head should be. Blood splashed her fingers and squirted left, then right as her body swayed and shuddered.

What Stacy's severed head could not see, but which Becky's sightless eyes witnessed in plain view, was her mother's voluptuous frame convulsing in a frenzied, primal dance atop Becky's still form. The slick, glistening flesh of their pussies met in a desperate, grinding clash, each thrust frantic and mindless. Her breasts, heavy and pendulous, slapped against Becky's chest with wet, meaty thuds as her hips bucked and swiveled with a disoriented, brainless fervor.
Stacy's fingers, unguided and reflexive, dug into the soft mounds of Becky's breasts, blindly kneading the smooth flesh, like a massage with sweat and love juices for oil, mixed now with the blood from Stacy's neck that splattered down onto her daughter's tight body.

Stacy's body arched suddenly into a rigid, trembling curve. A geyser of translucent juices erupted from her convulsing cunt, spraying over Becky's hips and belly with a shimmering coating. For a moment, her voluptuous form balanced on the knife's edge between life and death, trembling on the edge of orgasm and collapse.

Then the strings of life fell loose. Stacy's full figure collapsed onto Becky's, their bodies splashing together in a morbidly alluring heap of glistening limbs and heaving, bloody breasts. The last vestiges of life pulsed through her in a series of violent shudders, each tremor sending ripples through the juicy flesh that pressed against her daughter's. Gradually, the spasms subsided, leaving only the soft, rhythmic drip of mingled juices and blood onto the wooden floor below.

Unlike her daughter, Stacy's head outlived her body. She had just died in exactly the way she wanted, but all she felt was regret. Anger. She had wanted one last explosive orgasm, the best and last of her life, something final and mind-shattering to send her off ... but her head had been lopped off, and her body had taken that last desperate orgasm all for itself. She had felt nothing but pain in her neck, and emptiness.

It wasn't fair.

She wanted to undo what had just happened. If she had known when that model was going to knock the blade through her neck, she would have done things entirely differently.

What had she done wrong? Where had she gone wrong?

Was it the divorce?

Why did she divorce him so quickly after he lost his job?

Was it the other man who had been seducing her? The one who she found out later was only pretending to be wealthy?

It must have been him. It was all his fault, that lying cheat. Her ex-husband had failed in his duty to provide for her when he got fired, and the man she chased after that had deceived her with false wealth. The next one had abused her trust. The one after that was a liar. The one after that was another fraud, and again, and again, and again.

The answer clicked in her final seconds, just before she lost too much blood to think.

It was all of them.

It was all their fault.

Green eyes rolled up in her skull and the last spasms of energy in her body spent themselves on pointless little twitches of her fingers.

What remained was the obscene still-life of two lusciously voluptuous bodies locked in a final, perverse embrace on the guillotine. The younger, taut with teenage perfection, lay pinned beneath her mother’s matured flesh—a woman who had just begun to relinquish that youthful tautness for the full swell of ripened sexuality. Both bodies gleamed with a slick sheen of sweat and their own copious fluids. The guillotine platform was soaked to a similar sheen with the mingled evidence of their frantic, desperate orgasms—transparent juices intermingling with the darkening pools of freshly spilled blood. Stacy's full breasts, heavy and luscious even in death, pressed firmly against Becky's perky mounds, nipples still erect in a final state of arousal. The mother's rounded ass, still glistening from her own climax, rested atop Becky's slender legs which remained slightly spread—bent in the position of her final, fatal climax. Their pussies remained pressed together in one last intimate proof of their shared depravity.

Nearby, two beautiful severed heads gazed sightlessly upon the beauty and the carnage: Becky's, positioned carefully on the makeshift table, stared with clouded green eyes at her mother's body draped over hers; Stacy's, wedged in the blood-slicked basket, gazed upward at the murderous blade and the model ship above it that had, in the manner of a monkey’s paw, granted her twisted deathwish.

A peaceful silence filled the barn, interrupted only by the slow, steady dripping of blood from the guillotine's blade and from its platform, as well as the other fluids which had been spilled there. The model spaceship which had put an end to the noise creaked and groaned as it slowly tilted back to its original, precarious position.