Don't Try This at Home
(decapitation, consensual, m/f, medical)
My wife and I had always been guro fetishists. Even near the beginning of our relationship we found that both of us had taken up frequenting gore- and freakshow-related image boards. Such a connection was, as far as we could tell, rare and special, and in the end it was no surprise that we ended up staying together.
Obviously the sex was the best we could make it without maiming one another. We had tried the old bondage motif, even going so far as long-term bondage (a favorite game of ours was tying up her arms, putting a shirt over them, and pretending she didn't have them, sometimes for a whole weekend or longer) and encasement. Some of the best sex we ever had was the night before I encased her body in plaster (We had wanted to use concrete, but after finding out to our dismay that the curing temperature would kill her, we had to find an alternative). Just the anticipation had been enough to make her wetter than an octopus, and the whole time we went through the preparation process we couldn't stop making love, even as she gradually ran out of holes from the tubes I'd inserted into her orifices.
But, intense and kinky as it was, none of it was really "guro". The greatest shared fantasy of ours that we hadn't been able to experience was headlessness. As for me, while I was mildly intrigued by how it might feel to be headless, what had always turned me on more was seeing a beautiful woman having her body separated from her head. And on her end, my wife had always been turned on imagining herself as one of the women in the pictures.
Yet she didn't want to die, and I had no intention of killing her - no matter how awesome the snuffing was, it would mark the end of our relationship, and I'd never see her again. That thought was too unbearable to ever be worth it. So at first we just wrote it off as something we might try when we're old, or perhaps terminally ill, and ready to die anyway. But still we yearned... and one day, we confronted one another and resolved to find a way to live out this fantasy.
Eventually we found the connections to bring our idea to life - I won't go into the details, I'm sure you'll understand why. The setup was thus: there was a hospital room rented out for us, redecorated and with furniture arranged to cleverly hide the medical appliances. Rather than a generic hospital bed was of course a big, fancy one designed for loving couples. The centerpiece of the room was the dramatic silhouette of a guillotine. Outside were a host of doctors, nurses, and assistants, ready to dash in at the drop of a hat, but who for the time being left us our privacy.
And so, the day of our fantasy came. I of course made sure to go through all the necessary mating rituals: the nice dinner, the long, hot shower, the sexy outfit, etc. There was no shortage of foreplay as we made our way into the room, almost as if it were our own bedroom on any other passionate night. Clothes flew off. The air grew hot and moist. The lighting perfectly accentuated the shine of her gorgeous hair, both up top and below, the sparkle of her eyes, and the intensely warm glow of her skin. The sheer anticipation, stronger than it had ever been before, would have been enough to drive us both over the edge by itself, but we didn't let it. Instead we sweetened the occasion as best we possibly could, screwing each other like the last two rabbits in the world trying to repopulate.
As we both made our way up to climax, the fateful moment drew closer. We maneuvered ourselves gradually over toward the guillotine, until her head came to rest on the block. We continued to make love - the goal was for us both to orgasm just as I pulled the rope. And so we worked up to it. Her eyes grew wide with excitement, as I'm sure mine did as well. We were both so very hot and sticky, and ready to finish the night with a bang. As soon as I felt the climax coming, I could tell at a glance hers was too. And so, pulling my own head back at the last moment, I yanked on the rope. For a brief moment my worry tried to stop me, but I had steeled myself earlier with the knowledge that we had both considered this night to be worth the risk.
On the signal supplied by the pulling of the rope, the staff rushed in - there was, of course, not a moment to lose. In an instant the entire atmosphere of the room changed - machines took the place of the furniture, and the lights grew blindingly bright. Doctors bustled about, desperate not to lose a single critical second. In a blur, they attached the arteries of her head to a life support system, and then set to work immediately on the task of carefully stitching her spinal cord back together. This was, obviously, more than just a matter of sewing though. The most important, and bleeding-edge, part of the procedure was the injection of stem cells, which we had cultured earlier from her body, to help the nerves grow back together.
As for myself, nervous as I was I couldn't resist the exhaustion of our sex, and I fell asleep. During the night, they spent several hours putting my love back together and making sure she could hold on to life. When I woke up in the morning, they had all gone save for a single attendant watching over her. My wife was sleeping peacefully, but to my great joy I could see her chest rise and fall in the rhythm of breathing. An EEG near the bed displayed what I had been taught were healthy brainwaves - she had pulled through. Nevertheless, her body still had a lot of work to do to recover from the trauma. She didn't wake up that day, and remained fast asleep through most of the next.
When she finally opened her eyes late the next afternoon, I was right there to greet her. I looked into her eyes, tense, looking for any sign anything was wrong. They sparkled with joy.
"Morning, my love," she greeted, in a whisper made slightly hoarse by the injury to her trachea.
"Do you feel okay? Does anything hurt?" I asked. I could feel very un-manly tears collecting in my eyes.
She closed her eyes for a second in response. "Everything's fine."
"Do you remember it?" There was no need to elaborate as to what I referred.
"Oh, it was wonderful," she cooed, "You should have been there."
"No, you know what I mean... it didn't hurt as much as I expected. It was more like my body just... evaporated away. Like I could still feel it, but it became immaterial, like a ghost. I'm sure it came without me..." Her smile, mellow for most of the story, here became slightly mirthful as the idea of what she was saying hit her. "I can hardly believe we did it. How does it look?"
The scar on her neck was like something out of an extremely sexy version of a Frankenstein film. You know that Tim Burton movie with the undead bride? Kinda like that. "It looks beautiful," I told her, from the bottom of my heart.
Of course I was honest. For the rest of our lives, the mere sight of the scar was more powerful than any aphrodisiac. I had only to look at it while we made love, and the fetishist in me had his satisfaction. The same went for her - when she saw it in the mirror for the first time, she literally moved her hand to her crotch, without realizing it, as if to masturbate. (The most amazing thing about that? This was before she'd gone through any of her rehabilitation. She shouldn't have been able to move her arm... guess that makes a powerful statement about how much it affected her.)
Obviously people stared. Everyone else thought the scar was horrifying, or even disgusting. Our lives were never the same, in a lot of ways, most of which affected her. Her voice was, fortunately, still beautiful, but it developed a new throaty ring to it. It took years before her motor control was back to a normal level, and many a time she would lose her balance, bump into things, or drop things. Our kinkiness could now never be completely hidden - of course we could pass off the scar as an unfortunate wound from some thug or vehicle accident, but it was still there and people still got freaked out (The first Halloween was so fun...). But it was worth it. We never again felt the need to risk either of our lives on a deadly fantasy, and to this day the scar has been as much of a symbol of our closeness as a wedding band. In short... we've never been happier.
(school, surprise gore, eyes, cons.)
Her classmates filled the small room, packed tight against one another but leaving some space around her. All their faces glowed with anticipation; the whole graduation day had been filled with a spirit of camaraderie, the students all excited for each other. Even if they had never known one another over the last few years, every soul was happily congratulating his or her peers, cheering for them and egging them on as they stepped up to the mirror to complete their final test.
As she stood before the mirror, she looked down at the objects in her hands: a knife in one, the handle warmed by the hands of all the students who had used it before her; and in the other hand a small glass jar filled with an antiseptic solution. Below the mirror was a sort of lectern with a socket in the center just large enough to hold the jar - rather like a cupholder. The mirror itself loomed before her in that intimidating way in which only a mirror can, her reflection staring back with all her anxiety on full display. Behind her she could see the expectant faces of all her classmates; unbelievable as it may have been, every one of them had passed the test and was waiting on her to follow them.
She placed the jar into the socket and raised the knife to her face, taking a deep breath. For the last three years she had been preparing for this moment; she remembered all the classes, the new language she'd had to learn, the training she had undergone to use the new tools she was soon to start using. She was completely ready, and yet, now that the moment was here, it seemed so intimidating. She glanced at the knife; this close to her eye, its every detail was sharply visible. The blade had of course been cleaned after every use, but a single ominous drop of blood remained on the handle. The knife itself curved gracefully both parallel to and perpendicular to its edge, its form following its very specific function. The edge was immaculate, not a single tiny kink, notch, or dull spot having been allowed to exist on it.
With the glowing faces of all her peers clustered around her into a solid wall of anticipation, she inched the knife blade closer to her face. Her heart was racing and time seemed to crawl like the slowest of snails, but eventually she felt the cold metal prick her skin. Now was the moment of truth - she had to execute her task perfectly. She pressed the point deeper into her flesh, the smooth, sharp edge slicing easily through it. She could feel sensations in places she had never felt anything before - the sharpness and coldness of the blade even as it penetrated deep inside her head. She rotated it in the well-practiced circular motion she all her classmates had been taught. When it completed a full circle, she felt her eyeball tip ever so slightly out of its place, touching her hand gently as if to kiss her farewell. She put the knife in her other hand and then grasped the eyeball - this part she knew was best done quickly, before the dryness of her hand made it too painful. Thus, in a swift motion, she plucked it away from her face and dropped it into the jar.
The pain was almost unbearable, but, she told herself, if everyone else had been able to take it, so could she. Her friends' cheers bolstering her, and her mind resolute, she brought the knife back up to her face again. Through her remaining eye she could see that it was now covered in blood, from the tip all the way down the handle to where it was dripping down the length of her arm. The fluid was warm and tickled slightly. She again pressed the point into her skin - it was easier the second time, the adrenaline rush making her motions swifter and less hesitant. She repeated the circular motion, and again her eyeball tipped out onto her hand, the world seeming to whirl around her as it did so. For the second and last time, she held it between her fingers, and then yanked it out and dropped it into the jar. The moment she did, the lights in the room went out - well, they hadn't really gone out, had they? As she thought about it amid the congratulatory cheers of her classmates, she started to feel both proud and incredibly turned on at the reality of the situation. She could scarcely believe she had done it! She had passed the test and graduated! All those years of lessons and practice were finally complete, and soon she would receive her very own cane and glass eyes.
She felt a hand take hold of hers, that of the assistant teacher who had been assigned to lead her to the clean-up room. There, her face was wiped clean of blood, and she was given bandages over her newly-vacated eye sockets. Then she was led back out to rejoin the other students. They cheerfully received her, patting her on the back and congratulating her. The last of the students finally ready, the crowd bustled out into the auditorium to be awarded their diplomas and canes. The diplomas were written in Braille, but as for the canes... Every year a new color was chosen, and the students graduating that year wouldn't get to see them before the ceremony. Unless someone told them, they would never know what color their canes were.
And now a new one!
Blinding light filled the tiny cell in which my siblings and I had been held captive. Finally! Until now darkness had been all we knew. I hoped with all my might that I might be the first one chosen, and before I even had time to start feeling nervous, so it was! I found myself being lifted free into the fresh air and sunlight.
For but an instant I was able to glimpse my brothers and sisters gazing up at me wistfully from inside the cell. I wished them the best of luck and hoped that, though I had been chosen first, they might all be released soon afterward. I didn’t have much time for goodbyes, though, as just as unceremoniously as it had opened, the cell was slammed shut again and my poor family was once again left in darkness. As for me, in a moment’s time I found myself pushed into a new and different cell by myself.
This new cell was much, much smaller - more like a coffin, to be honest. I could handle the claustrophobia; after all, my family and I had spent so much time huddled against one another in our prior imprisonment, with barely room to think, that we’d all managed to grow accustomed to it. What really scared me was the loneliness and uncertainty. What was happening? Would I be trapped in here for who knows how long, this time by myself, or might this merely be a temporary holding area for me before my true release as I hoped?
Once again I hardly had time to dwell on my present circumstances before being violently jerked into some new situation. A few seconds went by in tense silence, and then all of a sudden I felt a violent poke in my rear. Some kind of metal spike was jamming itself into me - I was being raped by a machine! Was this my fate? Was I to be abused and destroyed by this mechanical penis, never to see the outside world or meet my destined one as I had always dreamed?
In a single swift motion, the spike drove itself deep inside me and I felt my insides being touched and stirred up where they never had before. It was somehow extraordinarily painful and yet oddly pleasurable all at once. It drove deeper and deeper, never stopping or pulling back as it relentlessly tore me apart from behind, and as it did so I felt some sort of eruption building up inside me. What was this feeling I had never felt before? Would I ever get to experience it again, or would I die here having only done it this once? For some reason, terrifying as it was, the latter possibility aroused me even more, and before I knew it my lower half was bursting in an ecstatic surge.
Just as I felt myself coming to a climax, I also felt myself being thrust forward. The front of the tiny container had opened up, allowing me to rush through it into some sort of long, dark tunnel - but behold! There was a light at the end! I would be free after all! Before I knew it I had reached the end and found myself completely unbound in every way.
Not only was I unbound, but I was flying! I glided forward effortlessly as if in a dream, almost too fast to see the world around me. It was full of shapes and colors altogether unfamiliar and was immensely exciting. That wasn’t even the best part, though - in front of me I saw a beautiful figure which I knew was my fated one, the one I and every one of my brothers and sisters had reassured each other we would one day find and the one alongside whom we would each live out our lives and eventually die happily. It had seemed at times a certainty, yet at others like a tenuous pipe dream - but in a single glance I knew it was no dream at all but a very true reality.
She was absolutely stunning, dressed impeccably and with her head turned to the side in just such a way as to reveal the side of her neck peeking out from under her hair. Unfortunately I didn’t get much time to look at her at the speed I was going, and in a few moments I found myself barreling into the side of her head. The soft skin caressed me for a mere instant before I smacked headfirst into the rigid wall that was her skull. My face was smashed horribly and I was in unbearable pain. I knew I was being deformed irreversibly and would look ghastly to everyone for the rest of my life. Could this beautiful angel ever come to love me as I knew I must look now?
Even that wasn’t enough to stop me, though, and it hardly even slowed me down. I continued to rush forward through the wonderfully soft tissue of her brain. Brain matter surrounded my naked body on all sides like a giant pool of gelatin. It was slimy, but in the pleasant way one’s tongue is slimy during a deep kiss, and it was warm and welcoming. Every part of me was being caressed by this incredible substance and I hoped that I might come to rest inside here and spend the rest of my life bathed in it.
But alas! It was not to be. Before long I smacked into her skull once again, and much as I hoped I might bounce off and remain inside, I was moving much too quickly. It gave way with barely any resistance, even as it crushed my mangled body even further, to the point where I knew for a fact that I wouldn’t survive much longer. Whereas before the bone had merely opened up a tiny hole just big enough for me to fit through, this time it shattered around me and left a wide opening. Fragments and droplets of blood flew alongside me in a great shower.
What a tragedy! I had failed! Rather than become one with my destined person, it seemed my fate now was to die cold, disfigured, and alone on the side of the road, cast away and forgotten like so much garbage. What had I ever done to deserve such a cruel fate? I could think of nothing - I had been good my whole life! And yet here I was doomed to a sad and lonely death.
But wait! What was that in front of me? Something very soft-looking was standing directly in my path, and in the nick of time I realized that it was in fact the breast of my true fated one. I had been mistaken - the girl I had passed through moments ago hadn’t been my fated one at all. Lovely as she had been, the new girl in front of me was all the lovelier, and this time I was absolutely certain that she was the right one for me. I had felt certain before, but as it was now, it was as if all the stars in the universe had aligned just to bring me to this moment.
I welcomed my fate with joy as I plunged into the inside of the breast, the soft tissue barely providing any resistance at all. I moved through a layer of fat, then muscle, then cartilage, and finally muscle once again. At that point my mangled body could go no further, and at last I came to rest inside the wall of her heart. I had finally met my destined one and we had become one in the most romantic of ways. My life was complete.
I heard voices mumbling something I didn’t entirely understand. Something about an operation - removing something. Not me! Please, not me!
One of them muttered something about “inoperable” while another said something about “a miracle.” I couldn’t hear them very well, though - the muscle wall surrounding me was constantly moving and thumping, obscuring their words. I could, however, make out a quiet beeping noise in the distance: Beep. Beep. Beep. It pulsed in a steady rhythm for a long time, long after the voices had gone and been replaced by other voices.
These new ones sounded softer and somehow worried and joyous all at once. They said something about “love” and “thankful” and going “home.” Indeed, I knew I had found my home, and I was glad to still be loved, even after all the abuse I had suffered. Truly these were kind people who knew better than to judge a book by its cover, and I was grateful to find myself, and my fated one, among them. Furthermore, rather than die as I had thought I would, somehow the love of my fated one had kept me alive, and I was grateful to live together with her happily for many years thereafter.
That bullet, through an unknown mean, made say "It's cute"...
That's a very creative... and trippy story.