Story: SB052 Losing One's Head


Posted by Sawney Beane on August 14, 2006 at 23:36:01:

The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #52

LOSING ONE'S HEAD

by Sawney Beane

28 May; 7, 9 November 1997

1,841 words

DISTRIBUTION NOTICE and DISCLAIMER: Sawney Beane requests that any distribution of this work of fiction remain within the realm of social responsibility. This story is suitable neither for minors nor for the seeming majority of adults who have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality. It is pure fantasy, which means that, for whatever reason, someone has found it interesting to think about the events depicted herein. It does not in any way mean that the author would like to see this fantasy become reality, so if you are the type of person who might be swayed into doing something irrational by reading a work of fiction, the author respectfully requests that you decline to read further.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Sawney Beane, originally a native of Edinburgh, lived for twenty-five years in a cave on the coast of County Galloway, subsisting on the flesh of unfortunate travellers, roughly a thousand of them all told. He and his wife raised a large family of eight sons, six daughters, eighteen grandsons, and fourteen granddaughters. Eventually, the family was captured, and the whole lot was brutally and unjustifiably tortured and executed without trial. Since his death in the early 17th century, Beane has reformed his ways and now confines his atrocities to his literary endeavours.

WARNING: This story contains scenes of consensual snuff and gynophagia. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is another story that was inspired by an imagined scene. I'm not sure where it came from, but this one came just about fully formed into my mind one afternoon. Then it took me several months to finally get it written down.
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Sarah had only a brief moment of indecisiveness, but it was early in the morning long before her husband had awoken. For one brief moment she considered the possibility that maybe she had made the wrong decision, that perhaps the day was not meant to proceed as she and Greg had planned it. But then she regained her senses and returned to making breakfast for her husband.

When Greg did finally make his groggy appearance in the kitchen, she hurriedly fed him and urged him on with the impatience of a six year old on Christmas morning. It seemed as if the events of the day would never get started, but perhaps this was because she had already been through over three hours of giddy preparation during which she made every attempt to make every aspect of her appearance perfect. She had very nearly succeeded; and, now that it was approaching 10:00 am, she wanted to get down to business.

At long last, Greg and Sarah walked hand-in-hand out to their back yard and gazed at the old stump on which the most important event of Sarah's twenty-six year life was about to occur. It had been nearly five years since the tree had blown down on their wedding night. It had been almost as long that Sarah had imagined and fantasized about what was about to take place. But now it was real, and a shiver of anticipation ran up her delicate spine to the dark braid emerging from the back of her spinning head.

Greg uttered a hoarse and obligatory, "You sure about this, hon?"

Sarah did not reply but slipped the silk bathrobe off her shoulders and allowed it to flutter to the ground. She wore no underwear this day, so she now stood fully nude save the pair of sandals she wore. Fortunately the fence was high enough to prevent the neighbours from partaking of the breathtaking sight. Greg was enthralled with the beauty of his wife but was not given much of a chance to admire her because she was walking away from him and positioning herself to one side of the old stump.

Sarah fell to her knees and knelt beside the stump and then placed her fine body across the smooth, wide surface, her chin just hanging over the other edge. She held her arms tight to her sides and awaited her husband's assistance. He dutifully picked up the leather straps attached to the ends of a metal bar that had been driven through the base of the stump.

Sarah felt dreamily aware of every sensation as Greg buckled the straps across her shoulder blades. The leather pressed tightly into her back and pressed her arms tight against her sides in a most indescribably sensuous way. Her breasts were compressed against the smooth surface of the stump, which had been mercifully weathered. Sarah felt as one with everything that existed. She knew that for her this moment, this position, this predicament was the most perfect she would ever see. Then her stomach jumped in giddy anticipation as she heard the grinding sound.

Greg was sharpening her axe once again, and he was taking his time about it. It was not necessary in any case, as he'd worked on the axe for hours over the last few weeks, and its blade was now sharp enough to shave an ant. Still, he gave it one final session with the grinding stone. Sarah did not know if it was for her benefit or for some motive of his own, but she grew ever more excited as the delay and the ominous noise heightened her anticipation. Suddenly, the noise stopped, and Sarah heard her husband walking solemnly to her side.

Greg took up his position and intoned in a voice Sarah had never before heard, "Does the condemned have any last words before her execution is carried out?"

"I, who am about to die," she said, "confirm my eternal love for my executioner and for his blade, which is about to grant my greatest wish. I am ready to proceed."

Greg sighed and smiled at the same time and brushed Sarah's braid to one side before touching the blade of the axe gently against the back of her neck. This brought another shiver of ecstasy out of the woman along with a thin line of blood. Then Greg raised the axe slowly. When it had reached its apex, Sarah could tell by her husband's resolute grunt that her end was near. Greg steeled himself to drop the axe and to end his marriage. Both man and wife were locked in a state of supreme anticipation. Just then the phone rang.

Greg hesitated...another ring...he waited...another ring...another ring... It was clear that the caller was not going to give up. Greg's initial instinct was to finish the execution and then to answer the phone, and he prepared to swing the axe, but a small frustrated voice from his bound wife stayed his hand, "Wait, Greg, answer the phone. I can't die with that keeping me from concentrating on the moment."

Greg wordlessly complied and slipped through the open kitchen door to the ringing telephone. The agonized female voice that greeted him when he answered plead, "Please, Greg, don't kill our daughter!" Greg discussed the matter with his in-laws for several minutes before glumly hanging up the phone and reporting the disturbing conversation to his wife.

"It was Jack and Linda begging for your life."

"My parents? But we discussed all of this with them last night! We convinced them that this was the right thing to do!"

"Apparently, they reconsidered," said Greg dryly.

"Did you take care of them?"

"No."

"Well?"

"They're coming over."

"What!"

"Right now."

"Fuck!" the exasperated woman on the chopping block moaned in mostly imagined pain.

"Do you want me to let you up?"

"No, that would give them too much hope, but you'd better cover my arse before they get here."

Greg draped the abandoned silk bathrobe over the back of his restrained wife and sat down beside her to await the confrontation. The in-laws didn't live very far away, so the wait was a short one.

Upon arrival, Jack immediately assaulted Greg with his accusations. "How could you think of murdering my daughter? She's your wife, for God's sake!"

"I'm not murdering her," Greg replied patiently, "She wants to be killed, and it's perfectly legal; we got the licence last week."

"But you talked her into it," returned the undaunted father, "how could you do that to her?"

"I didn't talk her into it," replied Greg with weakening patience, "She practically begged me to do it!"

And so the conversation went on for many minutes. Meanwhile, the mother Linda was pleading with the girl strapped to the stump. "Darling, why would you want to let him kill you? Weren't we good parents?"

"Don't worry, Mom," Sarah explained, "It doesn't have anything to do with you."

"But why then?"

"It would be very difficult to explain, but it's what I want. When are you going to realize that I'm not your little girl anymore? I have to make my own choices!"

"And we're supposed to let you throw your life away like this? After all we did for you!"

"I'm sorry, Mom, I really appreciate all that you've done for me, but now you just have to say 'good-bye' and go home. I'm not going to change my mind."

And so that conversation went on even longer. By the time Greg and Sarah had convinced the latter's parents that they were unlikely to prevail in this dispute, it was nearly noon. Sarah ached from her hours in bondage. After all, she had only expected to be strapped down for a few minutes before her death. Finally, the distraught parents were convinced to go home. Sadly they went, and Sarah and Greg did all they could to get back in the mood.

Greg removed Sarah's robe and picked up the axe. Sarah, however, no longer felt the way she had earlier in the morning, and Greg was a bit listless as he raised the axe again. He was almost relieved when he heard his wife say, "It's no use, Greg, I'm just not in the mood right now, and there's no way you'll have time to get anything in the oven in time for lunch anyway. Why don't you let me up, and I'll make you a nice lunch. Then we can fuck one more time and you can execute me in time for dinner."

Greg complied and followed his stiff wife into the kitchen. She didn't bother to put any clothes on as she walked to the refrigerator to start making lunch for her loving husband. There wasn't much in the freezer; the couple had cleared out most of the mundane food in anticipation of the more exotic meat to come. Sarah managed to uncover a pair of sausages and set about boiling them.

Just then the phone rang. Greg answered it unenthusiastically. "Hello, Greg, I'm begging you, don't hurt Sarah." It was her father Jack again.

Greg sighed deeply and replied, "I'm sorry, Jack, but we did it right after you left. I was just getting ready to put some of her in the oven."

Sarah knew what he was talking about and wasn't sure whether to giggle or moan. She knew it was the right thing to do if they ever wanted to be left alone, but she also felt a bit odd about lying to her parents.

"I'm sorry to hear that," replied Jack with a mournful sigh. The sounds of the mother crying in the background filled Greg's ears. "I thought you were a better man than that."

"If you two want to come over for dinner next week, I'd be happy to have you," replied Greg with dignity, "I've got plenty of great food stored away now."

"That's sick, Greg," replied the father, "We won't be coming over again, ever." Then he slammed down the phone.

Greg returned the receiver to its hook and faced his wife. "I don't think they'll interrupt us again, darling."

"Good," she replied coyly as she served the sausages and sat back to watch him eat, "because I've got quite an afternoon planned for us. First you're going to take me to the bedroom and fuck my brains out. Then we'll take a long hot shower together, and then I'll be ready for you to strap me down again and let me taste your blade. If you want, you can have breast for dinner." She pushed her left mammary in his direction for emphasis. Sarah was once again in the mood to be decapitated. She was sure that after lunch, they could restart their day and make it even better than the first time around.

"I think I'll take you up on that offer, precious," Greg replied.

He did, and the last two hours of her life were everything she'd ever hoped they would be.