As the woman behind the counter went through the speech, Chelsea let her eyes wander over to the next counter, where men were checking in.
“…be aware that, although we make effort to minimize the risk, accidents can and sometimes do happen…”
She’d heard it all before. She knew the routine. Listen to the little legalese speech, sign the waiver, go in, have a good time. She’d been coming here most Thursdays for years now. She could recite the speech herself.
“By signing this waiver, you agree not to hold the company liable for any injury or loss of life incurred while using the service. If you agree, please say ‘I consent’.”
“I consent,” replied Chelsea. The man going through the other side of the checkin procedure wasn’t very attractive—a little shorter than she’d prefer, a little balder, a little fatter. In a weird way that made things better. He handed over his credit card. Men who come here have to pay. She signed the waiver. Women got in free.
“Alright, cool, you’re gonna be in room three today. Have fun, Chel!”
“I always do,” she smiled. The receptionists all knew her by name at this point, expected her at her normal time. She headed into room three.
“Hey Chelsea, welcome back.”
“Hey, Greg.” She smiled back at the doctor. They all knew her as well. Of course, “doctor” was more of a legal fiction than anything. Technically, if you went all the way with it, it counted as physician-assisted suicide, so the people with their hands on the button needed to technically be physicians, but getting certified for this work was something like a two week course rather than eight years of medical school. Chelsea began shimmying out of her dress.
“Okay, you know the drill. If you wish to go through with the procedure, please say the word ‘release’ in a loud, clear, unambiguous voice. You are free to request that we let you leave at any time, just let me know when you’re ready. Think you’re going to go through with it this time?”
Chelsea smirked back at him. “Maybe.” He always asked. She always answered the same way. They both knew she was never going to do it. She was here for a little thrill, to edge herself close, but not to go all the way. She didn’t have a death wish, more of a… death wish wish.
She lay on her back on the bench and scooted into position. Greg carefully pulled her brown hair all the way through so it wouldn’t get caught on anything, strapped her body down to the bench, secured her hands, and flipped the switch that marked room 3 as available.
Chelsea took a deep breath and looked up at the impossibly sharp metal blade of the guillotine, her heart racing with excitement.
“Oh, uh, hi, ma’am.”
Chelsea couldn’t see who was talking to her given how she was strapped down. He must be new. He sounded new.
“So do I just…?”
“Yeah, go nuts. I’d appreciate lube, especially if you use my ass, and tips are always welcome.”
She heard the man undressing. Didn’t hear lube dispenser—was he going in dry or using her pussy? She felt a cock slide into her pussy, answering that question immediately.
“Oh man, this is hot.”
Chelsea didn’t respond. She was looking up at the blade hanging above her like the proverbial sword of Damocles. As the man thrust into her, the guillotine shook slightly. She bit her lip, gasping quietly. The thrusts got faster. He didn’t last long. Newbies usually didn’t.
She was empty again. “Thanks.” “I hope you enjoyed yourself. Come back any time!” She heard the rustle of clothing being put back on. A moment later, the sound of some bills being placed in her tip jar. She thanked him again. Awkward. She heard the sound of the door opening and closing, then opening and closing again almost immediately.
She felt her legs pulled up and some cold lubricant applied to her asshole, then she was being fucked. This was more like it. He was grunting, she was letting out little whimpers. She imagined the blade coming down. She imagined herself falling into the basket below. This guy was lasting longer. She made herself concentrate on feeling every inch of the cock penetrating her asshole, being as present in the moment as she could. Finally, he came, then almost immediately went. She thanked him as she heard the crinkle of some more money going into her tip jar.
The next man used her pussy again. He fucked her hard and fast. She concentrated on the shaking of the guillotine, listening for every little creak. She knew they tested them before every use. She knew they inspected them thoroughly every day. She knew there were safeties, redundant safeties, and redundant safeties to the redundant safeties. She also knew that all of those measures failed in about 0.02% of uses. It was in the waiver she had to agree to every time she came here. 0.02%. More than zero. There was a chance. There was always a small chance that this would be her last moment. She felt herself tensing up and started taking deep, meditative breaths to try to control her orgasm. She didn’t want to come yet. She wanted to keep herself on the edge as long as possible. Another wad of sperm was deposited in her pussy and another wad of bills in the jar.
“How’re you doing, Chelsea?” Greg asked. “Need a break yet?”
“Not quite yet. After the next guy, yeah.”
The next guy took a little while to appear. There were always lulls and rushes. She lay there for the next 15 minutes, looking up at the blade.
She didn’t say it. Not out loud. She just moved her lips. Feeling the word on her tongue. Feeling the motion of it. She moved her hips around a bit, squeezing her pelvic muscles. “Release,” she mouthed again. It was safe. You had to say it loudly and clearly. It had to be unambiguous. “Release.” Just mouthing the word wouldn’t make Greg hit that final button. She could feel the combination of sperm slowly dripping down her cunt. “Release.”
She was still very much on edge as the next client finally entered the room, then entered her. Her whole body was tingling. She felt alive, more alive than any other time in the week. She whispered “Release”, adding just the tiniest bit of voice to it. Still not enough for Greg to hear. She was still safe. It was still fine. She didn’t want to die. She wasn’t going to die. “Release.”
“Oh shit, dude, this bitch fuckin’ said it,” the man moaned, and she felt the thrusts of his orgasm.
Chelsea bit her lip. Deep breaths. Don’t come. Not yet.
“I didn’t hear it,” replied Greg.
“Come on, man, she said it.”
“Sorry, dude. She’s got to say it louder if she wants it. Those are the rules.”
Chelsea’s body was on fire. Still, she held it down. She wanted this feeling to last. The feeling of being on the edge. This had happened a few times before, where the man fucking her heard her. It always sent her into overdrive. She had to be careful, it was addictive. She’d started out being very careful not to make any noise, not to say anything that even resembled the word.
But a year or so in, she’d started mouthing it for that little extra thrill.
Then a year after that, she’d started whispering it. She certainly wouldn’t say it any louder than she had been, though, to be safe.
After the man left, Greg marked the room as offline and helped Chelsea out of her restraints and into the bathroom stall. Her legs were pretty wobbly.
Tomas: Hey, do you know where my red hoodie is?
Chelsea: I think I saw it in the kitchen
Chelsea’s body was still flooded with endorphins as she sat on the toilet texting her husband.
Tomas: Found it. Thanks. Having fun at work?
Chelsea: Oh, you know it. Nonstop thrills.
She loved her husband. He was amazing, kind, handsome. They didn’t have their own kids, not yet, but he was great with other couples’. Everything a woman could want. Almost everything.
Chelsea: It feels like customers have been riding me all day.
Tomas: Aww, poor bby. I’ll give you a nice long massage when you get home.
Chelsea: You’re the best. I don’t deserve.
Tomas: YOU’RE the best. Kisses!
Tomas thought she was at her normal job, her Sunday-to-Wednesday job. He didn’t know what she did with her Thursdays. The tips she got here were far more than she ever made at her regular 9-5. It was a nice little bonus. Of course, she didn’t do it for the money.
After she flushed, she took a moment to look at herself in the mirror. At 27, she was starting to notice the first hints of age, but she was still taught and tight in all the right places. She and Tomas had been married for five wonderful years. She’d been coming here for four. The sex with Tomas was amazing. He was vigorous, consistent, never selfish. She always achieved orgasm.
She always thought about the guillotine.
She’d caught herself whispering “release” when Tomas was fucking her on more than one occasion. Of course, he didn’t know what she really meant. He’d never come to a place like this. He was faithful. Plus, he would barely even spank her in bed, much less get off on fucking a random woman who might ask to have her head lopped off at any moment.
Sometimes she thought of Tomas while she was strapped down. Imagined him having a secret dark side. Imagined him flying into a rage seeing her spread and dripping with other men’s come, overpowering the doctor attending her, and pressing the button himself. She imagined him calling her a whore, a cheating slut, a filthy cunt. She imagined him lifting her head from the basket and giving her mouth one last good fuck.
She took a long drink from one of the little water bottles the company provided in the bathroom. It’s important to stay hydrated. Stay hydrated, stay healthy.
He was in her ass, her legs up on his shoulders, his whole weight leaning into her.
“Say it. Say it, bitch.”
Her mouth was moving. Forming the word at his command. Sometimes regulars did talk to her.
“Fucking piece of meat. Tell him to release the blade. Tell him you want me to be your last.”
Most guys just wanted a warm willing hole to stick their dicks in. Some guys, though…
“Say it. Say ‘release’. You know you want to. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want it.”
She saw herself at the edge. He was the devil on her shoulder. He was the call of the void. She’d heard his voice before, on more Thursdays than she could remember. She’d also heard his voice in her head, with Tomas, commanding her in a way her husband never did. He’d heard her voice too. It was why he kept coming back to her, why he learned her schedule. She’d never seen his face, but they’d heard each other’s voices. “Release,” she said, barely audible, just barely.
“Louder. Louder girl. Shout it out.”
“Release.” Quieter. Just a whisper. She didn’t want to die. She was in control
“You little tease. I want to feel that ass of yours grab my dick when your head pops off. Say it!”
She bit her lip. She was close. So close. Deep breaths. So close.
“You KNOW you WANT it you WHORE you FUCKING SLUT you CUNT fucking SAY IT.”
His thrusts punctuated his sentence. The guillotine shook with each thrust. Zero point oh two. It could just come down. It could fall at any second, regardless of what she said or didn’t say. Deep breaths. Her lips moved. She said the word. Quietly. Oh so quietly. She said it for him. Just loud enough for him to hear. Quietly. But… louder. Louder than she had ever before.
“Worthless fucking cunt. Filthy cock tease cumdumpster. I fucking hope your worthless meat ends up in the fucking dumpster.”
She heard him putting on his pants.
She heard a rustle of money.
He was always one of her best tippers.
The door opened and closed again.
“Doing okay, Chelsea? That was pretty intense.”
Greg was so sweet. One of her favorites. One of her favorite potential executioners. Her favorite potential murderers.
She was at the edge of the cliff. “Do you ever take a turn, Greg?”
She thought about Greg fucking her. She wondered why she’d never really thought about it before. Her killer. Her murderer. She thought about him giving her a good long fuck and then hitting the button himself.
“Can’t. Ethics violation to have sex with a patient.”
“Yeah, but I’m not *really* a patient…” She imagined his cock thrusting into her. His hands on her. His come in her. He always asked her if today was the day. Maybe today was the day. Maybe today was the day for him.
“Sorry. I’d lose my job, probably never be able to work in the industry again. Nice as it is to think about, it’s not worth it.”
Chelsea rolled the sentence around in her mind. “Not worth it. He doesn’t think I’m worth it. My life isn’t worth it. I’m worthless.” She was at the edge. Right at the edge. She was breathing.
The door opened again.
“Hey man, is it cool if we both give her a go?”
“Yeah, that’s allowed, right?”
Two men had entered.
“As long as everyone’s clear on the risks, It’s up to her,” Greg responded. “But, you know, she can’t give the command if her mouth is full.”
“Nah, that’s cool, we just wanna fuck her, not snuff her.”
0.02%. She’d done the research on that figure. There had been studies. She’d done some googling. In a private browser window, obviously, to be safe.
“Yes. I’m fine with that.”
Two hundredths of a percent. A disproportionate number of that percentage was when a threesome was involved. Something about the extra vibrations, the way the second man might sometimes grip the edges of the guillotine.
She took a deep breath. There was a cock in her mouth, and another in her pussy.
She closed her eyes. Her face was being fucked. Her lungs were burning. Of course, sometimes a man would just choke a woman to death. That wasn’t included in the 0.02%. She couldn’t breathe now. She felt herself getting closer to the edge of the cliff. Her toes almost off. She couldn’t breathe. The cock was thrusting down into her throat. Men were advised not to fuck her throat. Men were advised that if they accidentally snuffed a woman this way, they could be held criminally liable for her death. She couldn’t breathe. The waiver she signed specifically recommended against it. She couldn’t breathe.
He pulled out and came across her face. She gasped for air. There was sperm in her eye and it burned. Her throat felt rough. She was in control. She was still alive. She was breathing. She was safe. She was taking deep breaths. She was at the edge of the cliff. The man in her pussy came, almost as an afterthought. She barely felt it. They were gone.
“Need another break, Chel?”
“Yeah. I could use some water.”
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was matted with sweat and come. Her eyes—one bloodshot, unfamiliar—looked back at her. She saw a wild animal in the mirror. She wasn’t there. This animal that almost looked like her was there. She saw the beast whisper “Release” to her with her own mouth. She was standing up. She wasn’t strapped in. She could say it louder. It was safe. “Release,” she said, clearly, in her normal speaking voice. It felt good. The rumble of it in her abused throat was soothing. She checked the time on her phone. She had time for one or two more. She always wanted more, but she had to leave herself time to get cleaned up and calmed down. Time to fix her makeup and her hair so she could stroll innocently back into her real life for another week.
She slid a hand down to feel her pussy, dripping with come. How many men? She’d kind of lost count. She knew it wasn’t too many, but it was still too much for stupid worthless animal like her remember. Animals can’t count. She ran her finger around her clit, staring into her own eyes. “Release,” she said again. Loudly. Clearly. Unambiguously.
She closed her eyes, took another drink of water, took a few deep breaths. She wiped off her face.
This had to be the end. Her last for today. She knew her limits. She’d been edging herself all day, keeping herself from coming, and she knew the endorphin high was dangerous. She needed to come, and she needed to ask to be let out of the guillotine. Right after this last man.
She grunted as he entered her. She felt raw. Guys had been using lube, but still. She had to come, though. She needed that rel…she needed to come so she could get herself cleaned up and not spend the rest of the day a drooling mess.
She thought about the man from the reception area. What if a man like that were the last man to ever touch her? Maybe he was fucking her right now. She imagined that she felt his belly against her body. She imagined that those moans she heard were coming out of his mouth. That’s all she deserved. A mediocre, anonymous man. That’s all she was worth. Tomas could do much better. He was such a wonderful husband. She didn’t deserve him. She deserved a dumpy man who had to come to a place like this to get his rocks off. She deserved an old, bald, fat, short man. She deserved less than that.
Her pussy was a dull ache. The man fucking her was not really even necessary at this point. She was so close to the edge.
She mouthed the word. She silently mouthed the word with each thrust. “Release.”
It was time. She wanted to come. She needed to come. She needed to end it. She thought of Tomas and his kind brown eyes looking down at her. “Release.” She tasted the idea of his disappointment on her lips as she said the words. She was a worthless, base animal. “Release.” She was a set of holes to be used, not a human who deserves love. “Release,” she whispered. She was so close. So close to the edge. She just needed to tip herself over. She just needed a little bit more. “Release.”
“Fuuuuck,” she heard the man say in his nasal voice. Maybe it really was that man. Had he been here all day? “Release,” she moaned quietly in response. Such an ugly, disgusting little man, but all she deserved. She was coming. “Release.” She was finally coming. Her whole body was tense and shuddering. All over, every nerve ending on fire, a day’s worth of pent up arousal finally paying off. “Release.” She felt like she was flying. She opened her eyes wide, a smile on her face. She saw Greg. What a curious expression on his face.
She couldn’t see the blade.
She told Greg to let her out. She’d gotten her orgasm. She was done. Her mouth didn’t make a sound. Weird.
She replayed the last couple of seconds in her mind. She had just whispered it. She’d been so safe, so careful. She was going to get all cleaned up and go home to Tomas tonight, the perfect picture of a doting and faithful wife.
She’d been coming. She’d whispered the word. She’d been moaning. Her vocal cords… What was she looking at? Where was the blade?
She felt like she was flying.
She felt like her whole body was numb with pleasure.
Numb. Numb with pleasure.
She couldn’t feel her body.