Day 1

The girls finally arrive. They lay fully naked on their sleeping mats, in full view of the cameras under the bright overhead lights of the dungeon. I see them finally start to move, still groggy from the sleeping gas they were drugged with. Some of them start to sit upright, rubbing their eyes and trying to understand what happened.

Time to go there and introduce myself.

I get up from my seat in the observation room and walk towards the entrance to the dungeon. Two guards at the door give me a nod and watch me with a silent question in their eyes. I wave at them – I don’t need them inside the dungeon, I’m fully capable of defending myself against a group of drugged girls.

As the automatic doors hiss shut behind me, I find myself looking into eight pairs of eyes, wide with confusion and fear. Girls don’t even make an attempt to cover their nudity, except for Zahra, who tries to curl into a ball, not taking her eyes off me.

I stand before them, every one of them naked, shivering. The way their bare skin catches the dim light makes it hard to look away, but their eyes – they speak louder. Wide, darting, flickering with uncertainty.

"Welcome, ladies," I say, my voice echoing in the sterile space. The words land like a hammer on flesh.

"My name is John. I'll be overseeing your stay here. You'll find it... educational." I let the moment stretch. Let their breathing hitch in tandem.

Then I explain to them the rules of the show.

Silence gnaws at the room as I let my words sink in. The girls' naked bodies seem to shrink inward, pressing against the floor as if trying to disappear. It seems none of them heard the words about the money, instead having focused on the horrifying situation they found themselves in. Astrid whispers something in Swedish, but when I ask her to repeat what she said, she just stares at me with her icy blue eyes.

I wait. When no questions follow, I advise the girls to take some rest before the show starts tomorrow and leave the dungeon.

The night doesn’t bring much sleep. I keep thinking about the day that lies ahead and how the girls must be feeling now that they are fully aware of the situation they are in.

Next morning I return to the dungeon. The girls are already awake, all huddled together in the middle of the room, naked bodies touching each other. As soon as I enter, their barely audible conversation abruptly stops and eight pairs of wide gleaming eyes turn towards me. The girls remain seated, hugging their knees as if this could somehow make them look less naked… or maybe shield them from what’s coming.

“The show starts today,” I announce, stretching my hand out, holding eight small identical wooden sticks. “We’ll decide whose turn it is to die by simple drawing of sticks. Whoever draws the short one, is unfortunately out of luck.”

The sticks glisten under the harsh lights as I present them. The girls hesitate, their bare shoulders tense. My fingers twitch slightly with nervousness, as none of the girls move. They can’t believe this is really happening, and I cannot blame them – I can barely believe it myself.

After a long moment, the first girl – Amara, a gracious brown-skinned Indian – gets up on her feet and tentatively extends her hand. Her fingers brush mine as she takes a stick. The contact sends an unexpected spark through me. Her nails are bitten short but her palm is warm and dry. She looks at the stick in her hand – long.

The others follow in a nervous chain, their movements jerky with fear. Each girl unfurls her fingers slowly, revealing her fate like a flower blooming. A collective gasp rises as the lengths of the sticks become apparent.

Rita – short and delicate – opens her hand, revealing a long stick. A sob of relief escapes her throat as she presses the wood to her forehead in a silent prayer.

Zahra holds her stick at arm’s length, her eyes gleaming as she examines it.

“Long,” she mutters, mostly to herself.

With a corner of my eye I see Cassie's fingers open to reveal a tiny sliver of wood – noticeably shorter than the others. She stares at it, expression shifting from disbelief to dawning horror.

The remaining girls shuffle nervously, watching me for guidance. I notice their breathing synchronize in the shared fear, their naked bodies unconsciously pressing together for comfort.

Cassie suddenly looks up at me, her eyes brimming with tears.

"I... I don't understand," she stammers. "What does this mean? The short...?" She can't even finish the question, her words catching in her throat.

I step closer to Cassie, near enough to smell the scent of her floral shampoo underneath the fear-induced sweat. I try not to notice it, not to see her face as more than just… features. Eyes. Mouth. Skin. Components.

It's easier that way. If she's not a person, this is just a procedure.

Her breathing quickens as I loom before her, the short stick still quivering in her grasp.

"Let me explain, sweetheart," I say, and the false gentleness in my voice surprises even me. Like I'm reading from a script someone else wrote.

I reach out to tilt her chin up with one finger, forcing her to meet my gaze. Her skin feels like warm silk beneath my touch.

"That little piece of wood in your hand? That's your death warrant,” I point to the row of deadly killing machines behind the transparent wall. "It means you die today. But you get to choose how."

My thumb brushes her lower lip, and she flinches as if burned.

My words hang in the air as I point to the machines. Cassie's eyes dart frantically from the glistening guillotine to the circular saw sticking in the middle of a large table, from the shining impaler to the unassuming noose. A single tear rolls down her cheek.

The other girls instinctively back away, creating a circle around her. Their collective breathing grows ragged. Some clutch at their own bodies, as if suddenly aware of how fragile they are.

"You... you can't be serious," Cassie finally chokes out. She looks at the other girls for help, finding none. They look away – at the floor, at the walls, anywhere but at her. "This is some kind of joke, right? For some YouTube prank channel?"

She laughs, but it sounds hollow.

"I'm afraid not, Cassie." I shake my head. "Choose, or I'll choose for you."

Cassie's entire body goes rigid at my words. Her face goes through several expressions – confusion, disbelief, anger – before settling on something worse: understanding. Her fingers dig into her own arms hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents in her pale skin. She's breathing in short, sharp gasps now, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"No, please, I-" she begins, but her voice breaks halfway through the plea. She glances desperately at the other girls again, but they're all looking away. Astrid won't even meet her gaze, her blonde head bowed as if in prayer.

A minute passes in silence before Cassie finally whispers, "I... I choose the guillotine." Her voice is so faint it's almost inaudible.

"The quickest way," she whispers, staring at the gleaming blade. "If this is really happening... if you're really going to..." She can't finish the sentence. "Just make it quick. Please. I don't want to feel it."

"Good choice," I grab Cassie by her arm, her legs already starting to shake and give away.

The other girls shift uneasily as I lead Cassie toward the machines, her not even resisting. Rita's face pales even more. Talia's arms cross protectively over her chest, fingers digging into her own soft flesh. Amara looks away, unable to meet my eyes or those of her doomed companion.

Cassie walks with me on uneven legs like cattle to a slaughter, her gaze filled with desperation that makes my blood quicken. Up close, I can see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat, the slight tremble of her full lower lip. She smells like fear – sweet and metallic – and beneath that, vanilla and salt. It's intoxicating.

I lock the glass door behind us as we enter the machine room and help Cassie lay down on the guillotine bench, her face paralyzed with fear and disbelief.

Metal clicks against Cassie's throat as the lock secures her in place. She's forced to look straight up at the gleaming blade suspended above her, its razor edge catching the dungeon's harsh fluorescent light. Her breath comes in ragged, panicked gasps that make her full breasts heave beneath the bench.

"The others... they get to see me die," she whispers, more to herself than to you. "Oh god, they'll see the blood. They'll hear the... the sound."

Her eyes dart around the room, taking in the other girls pressed against the clear wall, their faces a blur of horror.

I look at Cassie’s body laid bare before me. I have to fuck her – that’s one of the mandatory clauses of my contract. And the way she looks makes it very hard not to want it. I lower my hand and slowly insert two fingers into her pussy, which is surpirsingly wet.

Cassie flinches as my fingers enter her, but she doesn't resist. Her body tenses like a bowstring pulled too tight, muscles coiling in terror even as I begin my slow, rhythmic thrusts. Her inner walls clench around my fingers with every movement, not from arousal but from sheer reflexive panic.

"Please," she whimpers, though I’m not sure if she's asking me to stop or continue.

Her hips jerk slightly against the bench, whether to push away or seek comfort is unclear. The other girls watch with rapt attention, some with visible disgust, others with something like fascination.
My thumb finds her clit, circling it deliberately as my fingers work inside her. Cassie’s breath starts to quicken, but she still can’t take her eyes off the guillotine blade hanging above her.

I slowly pull my fingers out with a wet slurp, making Cassie shudder, but she still won’t look at me. I pull down my pants, and enter her.

The bench creaks as I mount Cassie, her trapped body beneath me shaking uncontrollably. She's so tight around me that every thrust feels like fighting against a vice, her muscles spasming from terror more than pleasure. Her legs try to close instinctively but the restraints keep them spread wide, leaving her completely exposed and vulnerable.

"Stop... I can't... please," she gasps between breaths, tears streaming down her face as she feels me move inside her.

But there's no resistance left in her – just the hollow, desperate pleading of someone who knows they're already dead.

The bench slams against the concrete floor with every thrust, the sound echoing through the dungeon. Cassie's back arches violently as I pound into her, her nails scrabbling uselessly against the smooth metal of the restraints. Her moans have changed from pleading to something raw and broken, her entire body shaking like a leaf in a storm.

I can feel her tightening around me, not in pleasure but in terror – her muscles spasming uncontrollably. Her chest is flushed deep red, perspiration coating her skin as her breathing becomes erratic. The girls behind the clear wall press closer, their faces contorted with a mix of horror and morbid fascination as they watch their companion being used so brutally.

My climax hits like a dam breaking, pumping my seed deep into Cassie's terrified body. She whimpers as she feels it inside her, her thighs twitching uselessly against the restraints. Cum leaks out around my still-hard cock, running down her ass crack onto the cold metal of the bench.

"I'm... I'm pregnant... what if... what if I'm pregnant?"

Cassie sobs the words out, her body convulsing with fresh tears. The other girls exchange worried glances at this – Zahra looks away quickly, while Amara's face shows naked disgust.

“That’s the best part – you won’t live long enough to find out,” I say to her, pressing the button on the guillotine control.

The mechanism engages with a loud hiss of hydraulics, the counterweight dropping as the blade descends in an arc of death. Cassie's head snaps forward as the blade nears, her scream cut brutally short. There's a sickening thunk as the blade severs her neck cleanly, dark arterial spray painting the floor in an instant.

Her head rolls away from her body, landing with a wet thump to face the wall where the other girls are watching, making them spring back in terror. Her lifeless body jerks spasmodically for a few moments, spurting less as her heart pumps out the remaining blood. The dungeon echoes with the wet sounds of her death throes.

For a few seconds, I don't stop. Just keep moving, mechanical, finishing what I started. The body still spasms around me, muscles firing random signals that have nothing to do with life or pleasure or anything human. Headless stump is spilling blood in steady pulses. The absence of a head makes the thrusting feel almost clinical, just my cock sliding in and out of her dead pussy with wet, slurping sounds.

The other girls press their hands against the clear wall, their faces contorted in disgust and terror as they watch me defile their companion’s corpse. Amara vomits violently against the glass, her body wracked with dry heaves while Rita covers her face with her hands, whimpering quietly.

When I finally pull my cock out of Cassie’s headless corpse, that's when it hits me.

What the fuck did I just do?

I killed a girl. Just killed her. While fucking her. And then kept fucking her corpse while her head stared at me from across the room. .

My hands start shaking. Then my arms. Then my whole body, trembling so violently I have to brace myself against the guillotine table. The arousal is gone, my cock now having gone completely limp.

Cassie's head lies in a pool of blood, tangled hair spread around it like a dark halo. Her eyes are still open, expression frozen in that moment between life and death.

I dig my nails into my palm until I bleed, trying to ground myself. Trying to stop the shaking.

It works – for just a moment. Long enough for me to pull my pants back on and signal the cleaning crew to start working.

Two masked workers in hazmat suits enter, methodically cleaning the blood from the floor with industrial pressure washers. They work quickly, their movements efficient as the red stains are transformed into pale water streaks. Cassie's corpse remains restrained on the bench, her empty pussy still dripping onto the concrete as they work around it.

The guillotine is disassembled with practiced ease, the blade carefully wiped clean before being packed away. As they work, Cassie's blood flows beneath the machines toward a drain in the middle of the room. The metallic smell hangs heavy in the air, mixing with antiseptic from the cleaners.
The remaining girls watch the sanitization process with glassy-eyed horror, none of them daring to speak.

The tremor in my body returns as I leave the machine room and enter the dungeon. Amara notices that and is the first to stand up and approach me.

"You... you fucked her corpse," Amara says, approaching me as I re-enter the dungeon. Her voice is soft, almost curious. "After you cut her head off, you just... kept going. How could you... with her like that?"

Her voice breaks on the last word, but she doesn't cry – there are no more tears left.

I don't respond. Can't respond. My throat feels like it's closing up.

"I asked you a question," she presses.

"I heard you," I manage, but my voice comes out hoarse and quiet. "That's what the contract requires," I lie.

Amara scoffs, as if she knows it already.

"Bullshit. That's what you wanted."

I should explain. Should say something. But what? That I wasn't thinking? That it felt like someone else was doing it? That I'm as horrified as she is? That she might be right?

Instead I tell them to relax and take some rest.

The news that no one will die tonight doesn't bring comfort – it merely prolongs the inevitable. The girls shuffle back to their sleeping mats, their movements heavy with dread. Rita immediately curls into a ball, wrapping her arms around herself. Amara wipes her face, still shaking from witnessing Cassie's death. Zahra sits stiffly on her mat, staring straight ahead.

I exit the dungeon on uneven legs, still in shock of what just happened.

Behind me, I hear Amara spit. "Coward."

She's right. But I can't face that yet.

I retreat to the quiet humming comfort of the observation room. The camera feed shows the girls arranged on their mats in loose clusters. Amara and Astrid whisper to each other in hushed tones, their expressions grim. Rita lies curled on her side, staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes. Valeria's fingers trace patterns in the dust on the floor, her movements mechanical. Talia kneads her hands anxiously while Zahra sits rigidly, looking toward the machines that took Cassie.

Their silence feels oppressive, broken only by occasional sniffles or the rustle of shifting bodies. Emily finally speaks, her words carrying across the dungeon.

"How did it... did it hurt? The guillotine."

Her question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken fears.

Amara spits on the floor in disgust.

"She chose the guillotine because it was supposed to be quick. But first..."

Her voice trails off as she glances at the door where I disappeared.

Rita lifts her head from her mat, her voice hoarse with suppressed rage.

"The real torture wasn't the machine. It was watching her get... taken like that while she was still alive."

Her words cut through the room, each syllable weighted with accusation. She knows her words won't change anything, but she speaks them anyway, as if releasing the poison slowly. The girls' movements become more subdued, their earlier whispers dying to absolute silence.

Zahra suddenly stands and walks to the far wall of the dungeon, her bare feet leaving faint impressions in the dust. She presses her palms flat against the cold concrete, shoulders heaving with restrained sobs. The other girls watch her back, none moving to comfort her.

"Maybe..," Rita mutters, her voice carrying the bitter hope of someone who has already accepted her fate. "Maybe there's some way out of this nightmare."

Amara scoffs at the idea, but there's no real conviction behind it. She knows as well as the others that the rules of this game have no loopholes, no escape clauses. Valeria gets up from her mat, walks up to Rita and gently hugs her, whispering something into her ear.

I watch the girls for a little longer and then walk the long sterile corridors of the facility to my living quarters. The night barely brings any sleep – Cassie’s death keeps repeating in my mind – the way she screamed and her head fell off, the way her headless body was still squeezing my cock when the brain already stopped sending signals to it… When this particular thought crosses my mind, I suddenly feel my cock getting harder, much to my own surprise.