Posted by Sawney Beane on September 24, 2006 at 04:26:01:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #72
INEVITABILITY
by Sawney Beane
19 September; 19 November 1999
3,498 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 with gynophagic intent. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This one is basically another one of my psychological dramas asking that perennial question, "How does it feel to know you're about to die?" The rest is setting up an excuse for a girl to willingly allow herself to be executed.
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My fate was not entirely sealed until the moment I placed my neck in the cradle. Actually, even then I could have averted my destiny had I been quick enough. But once Carl had snapped the top half of the collar over my neck and had locked it in place, I knew nothing could change the inevitable fact that the shiny bloody blade of the guillotine would soon sever my neck and end my life.
The feeling that shuddered through my tingling body at that moment was unforgettable, both terrible and orgasmic. I stared down at the bloodstained satin lined basket below me and imagined what I would see as my head fell into it and looked back up at the blood cascading from my severed neck. It was glorious.
Carl was not a bad man by any means, if you could call him a man. I am sure he was considerably younger than me. But he was bloodthirsty in his own charming way, and no amount of screaming would have convinced him to release me once I was locked in place. It was far easier to drop the blade, and how long was I going to complain after all? The time for second thoughts was long past, and he was already licking his chops at the thought of consuming my tender young body. Who could blame him? Even if he did already have my best friend Marie's head in the basket and her body on the butcher's block, how could he resist the opportunity to take a bite out of me?
Fortunately for me, I wasn't having any second thoughts, so Carl need not worry about the moral dilemma. I was ready to call it a day and leave this world in a spectacular way. It wasn't really a new idea for me. My death had been more or less preordained more than ten years earlier. When I was about sixteen, I made the conscious decision that I would burn as brightly a possible for a time and then go out on top. The idea of growing old had never appealed to me, and I had no intention of putting off today's pleasures for the sake of tomorrow. So I set off on a hedonistic agenda that filled my days and nights with pleasure beyond my wildest dreams. There were bad times, of course, but all in all, I think my twenty-seven years have been about the best years anybody ever lived.
Sex was, of course, a big part of my life, and I can't even count how many people and how many ways I have experimented in this area. After a while, I decided to make a career of it. After all, they say you should do what you know and love, and even if I didn't intend to live beyond the age of thirty, I still had to pay the rent and eat in the meantime.
I was not technically a prostitute; at least I don't choose to believe so. I prefer to think of myself as an entrepreneurial nymphomaniac. One would be surprised how much a girl can make off of men's gifts. Guys learn quickly when they don't get second dates from the best lover of their lives without offering various expensive gifts. Some things like bottles of wine and articles of clothing could be very useful to me, while most of my other needs were covered by what the pawnshops pay for perfectly good jewellery.
So I prospered. For the last several years I have partnered with two other girls with similar outlooks on life as my own. It surprised me later on to realize how similar Marie's ideas were to my own. Betsy seemed eager as well, but I'm not as certain of her sincerity. Of the three of us, she has a little more of the abused childhood and teenage runaway in her than Marie and I did. She is a year or two younger than us and not as strong-willed anyway, so I hoped we didn't get her into anything we shouldn't have. I am confident, however, that Carl would let her back out if she had second thoughts, so I didn't really worry that much about her.
Ever since I was twenty-five, I have been keeping my eyes open for good ways to exit my life. You would be surprised how difficult it is to find an appealing death! I wasn't interested in throwing myself off a bridge or building, and I couldn't see myself shooting a hole in my head or taking pills and dying alone on the floor in a pool of blood and vomit. There's nothing appealing about any of that.
The trouble is, I am very proud of my great looks. Modesty aside, I have a terrific body. Medium length brown hair; blue eyes; great breasts, not too large and not too small; a fabulous firm arse; and slender smooth legs no one can take their eyes off of, men and women alike. I have it all, and part of my motivation for not growing old is that I don't want to see my beautiful body gradually destroyed. So you see the problem I had. Deaths that were squalid or downright gory did not fulfil my needs. Trouble is death tends to have negative effects on one's body.
Nothing presented itself until Carl came along, and it was more than a year after I met him that the opportunity made itself clear. It wasn't the sort of thing you talked about with new acquaintances. He was just out of college when I met him a couple of years ago, and at first he was just another one of my many lovers. He'd take me out to dinner and sometimes a movie. Then we'd go back to his place, and the fun would begin. Once we'd fulfilled each other's wildest (so I believed) desires for most of the night, I'd go home with some very nice gifts to get me by. He must have been a rich kid, because he never had trouble supporting me. It was mutually very enjoyable and went on for over a year.
Then one day I was feeling very friendly and confided my deepest secret to him. I told him about my suicidal plans and difficulties in finding a suitable way out. His first instinct was to try to talk me out of killing myself, but there was something odd about his manner then. About an hour later, I guess he decided it was safe to tell me his secret, and he floored me with it. He said that he didn't want our dates to end, but that if I insisted on dying, he would like to have the opportunity to consume my body. He didn't use those words, but that was it. He was a cannibal, and he wanted me to be his long pig! As if to somehow soften the blow he slid down and started licking my pussy submissively. But I couldn't stop thinking about what he had said, and I was still in shock when it came time for me to go home.
Cannibalism is not something you take to immediately. In fact, I was entirely revolted. All I could think about was the blood and gore, and my intestines spread out on someone's kitchen table. I hadn't grasped the sexual connotations of cannibalism. It never occurred to me that it could be erotic to eat and be eaten. I suppose at some level it is obvious. Men always speak of women as food, but I always took it as purely figurative when someone called me a tasty dish. I made an excuse the next week when Carl called to set up a date. He seemed desperate by the following week when he called again, but by then I had had a revelation.
Somehow I got over my mental block and saw beyond the fact that my body would be hacked to pieces, and I thought about Carl holding my severed breast on a platter ready to have dinner. He would stroke it and admire it and savour each and every bite. Here was probably my only hope of dying in a way that validated my body. Any way I chose to die, my body would be destroyed, and if I lived, it would shrivel until it was horrible to look at. Only through cannibalism could my body meet its fate lovingly. Every bit of me, inside and out would be the object of someone's affection and deep admiration. Before Carl called that next time, I had decided that I would be his meal.
It took several months for us to work out the details. During those weeks, we saw each other more and more often and had the greatest sex of my life. We never tired of discussing our conspiracy. It turned out that he wasn't actually a cannibal. He had fantasized about it for some time, but had not actually put his desires into practice. Even more surprising to me, I discovered that he was far from unusual. As it turned out, there was a surprising number of men and women alike who would give almost anything for the chance to consume another human being, especially one as delicious as I intended to be. Carl, as it turned out, had connected with several of these deviants during his college years and carried out extensive correspondences on the subject, mostly through the Internet, which I take it is where these people hang out. Also, I found it interesting that practically none of these self-styled cannibals had ever actually engaged in cannibalistic acts, probably for lack of available meat.
Carl, never the selfish type, proposed that I become the guest of honour at a sort of cannibal convention, which he volunteered to arrange. This sounded illegal and highly risky to me, but Carl was convinced he could pull it off with a minimum of risk and that he could get several dozen friends to attend from practically every part of the civilised world. I immediately saw that this sort of event was exactly the glorious end I had been looking for. Ideally, I had intended to live until I was thirty, but opportunities like this don't come every day, so I just had to take it. In the end, I was sure I wouldn't miss the extra two or three years.
Meanwhile, I had confided my intentions to become a cannibal queen to my two roommates, Betsy and Marie. At this stage, Marie surprised me more than anything else in my life by exclaiming that she had for years fantasized about being consumed. She begged me to let her join the party, which I found an exciting prospect. Carl later assured me that there would be no shortage of mouths to feed, so the more the merrier. Marie and I chatted excitedly about our endgame for hours. All the while, Betsy was strangely silent.
I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me so much. Marie had all along shared my intention of not growing old, and we had discussed it at length. However, it surprised me that she had thought of the culinary exit strategy when I had never conceived of it.
A few weeks later, Betsy came to Marie and me and solemnly asked if she could join us in our destiny. I didn't dislike the idea of all three of us going out together in glory, but it worried me that Betsy was perhaps doing this more because she didn't want to go on living without her two friends rather than for a real desire to be consumed, or even to be killed for that matter. In the end, we allowed her to come along. There wasn't time or desire in my short life for me to take responsibility for others. It was her life to spend as she wished.
And so that is how Betsy, Marie, and I came to be in Carl's basement taking turns on his homemade guillotine. We arrived at nine o'clock in the evening, and we were scheduled to be decapitated starting at midnight. At first I thought beheading was a bit too gory a way to go, but Carl convinced us that it was not only the fastest and most painless way to die but also one of the few ways that didn't damage the body. He said our heads would have to be removed before cooking anyway, since they would not be very attractive after coming out of the oven. He promised that he would display our heads in the dining room during the feast and that he would personally cook and eat our heads afterwards. So he had single-handedly assembled a working guillotine. Special guy that Carl.
Also, I had originally wanted to meet all of the people who would feast upon our bodies. I thought we could have a little reception before dinner, but Carl believed that this would be a logistical nightmare, since it was no easy thing to prepare a woman for the oven and all that had to be done, especially for a novice like himself. Since he intended to bring in close to sixty guests from all over the place, he preferred to have the feast over a weekend and to get us ready during the preceding week. Thus, when we arrived on Tuesday evening for our decapitations, there was just Carl and two other guys waiting for us.
Somehow the guys got it into their heads that they would each have to fuck each of their three willing victims in turn, which was entirely within the spirit of our death party, so we went along with it. They got our clothes off in short order and we paired off.
Of course, as everyone knows, it is a bit unrealistic to expect a man to fuck three girls in the space of an hour. He's just not designed for that. Carl, of course, was clever enough to choose me as his first sexual partner and we had a memorable last roll in the hay right next to the guillotine. Betsy was pleasing the hell out of a skinny guy named Tom; while Marie gave athletic Rick the ride of his life. After half an hour's fun, we traded off, and I tried to get it on with Tom, but he didn't have much left. Rick was even worse after that, but all in all it was quite a nice orgy.
So then it was time to get down to business. We had about two hours left to us before our scheduled demise, and there was much to be done. Carl had read all about the things you have to do to make a woman ready to be food, but those fantasy cannibals didn't know the half of it. The details are not all that interesting, but by the time we were done, I was feeling cleaner than I had ever felt in my life, and I couldn't stop rubbing my fingers along the recently shaved contours of my genitals. In fact, we had shaved every part of my body except my head, and I kicked myself for not experimenting with this earlier.
We were ready to go at about a quarter to midnight, and the three guys busied themselves with preparing the guillotine while Betsy, Marie, and I sat in a circle and tried to bid each other farewell in the most dignified and nonchalant way possible, which wasn't very carefree at all since each of us had giant butterflies in our stomachs that were threatening to choke us to death before we actually took our turns on the guillotine.
I had initiated this scene, but I did not determine the order of our departure from the world. We had agreed upon the order between ourselves several days earlier. I was to be second by default. Marie wanted to be first because she feared that she might lose her resolution if she had to watch one of her friends dying on the guillotine, although I really doubt that she would have. On the contrary, Betsy wanted to be last because her greatest fear was that she would die and then we would back out and leave her head the only one in the basket. It was unfounded and showed her insincere motives. Both Marie and I didn't care who went with us to the afterlife. We were in it only for our own gratification, but Betsy apparently was in it more for its dubious social aspects. Not my problem.
So the time for Marie to give us our last tearful hugs came and went and she walked unhesitatingly across the room and stretched her gorgeous tanned body out on the bed of the guillotine and gently rested her neck in the cradle. Carl snapped it closed and locked her in. Then he thanked her somewhat formally and assured her that she would be an integral part of a truly spectacular meal. Tom apparently had a more sensuous approach, and he did not hesitate to stroke Marie's smoothly shaven genitals as Carl reached for the release cord.
Marie gasped, and her body rhythmically tensed and relaxed as Tom sent her to the moon one last time before Carl had a chance to send her to the afterworld. I watched in speechless fascination as the shiny virgin blade hurtled down toward my best friend's neck and brought her life to a sudden end mid-gasp. Her head rolled gently into space and landed with and audible thump in the padded basket. I fancied that I could see her falling in slow motion. I almost fainted from excitement.
I heard quiet sobbing from behind me. It was Betsy. She wasn't holding up very well. The guys cheered but managed to do it somewhat solemnly. My whole body suddenly went cold as I realized I was seconds away from being the next lobster out of the tank. It was a pleasant sort of mortal fear, however, half orgasm and half rushing down the big hill on a roller coaster.
Carl turned to me and said with a hungry smile, "We're ready for you next, my love."
I hugged Betsy tightly and whispered in her ear, "It's OK if you don't want to go through with it, but if you don't I hope you will stay for dinner." I meant it.
Instead of walking straight to the guillotine, I detoured around to the basket and picked it up. I lifted Marie's head out by its blonde locks and stared into her open eyes. They were already glassy and staring. There was a slight smile on her face, a slight upturning of the lips, but it looked like her last seconds had been pleasurable. I handed the head to Tom who placed it respectfully on the side table next to where they had moved her body. Then I replaced the basket next to the guillotine and looked up at the blade. It was still shiny, but now it glistened with the blood of my recently decapitated best friend. I walked over to my place and laid myself down on the fatal bed of the guillotine. As my neck touched the recently used cradle, a drop of my friend's blood landed on the back of my neck in a tiny mortifying splatter. Carl snapped the top down and sealed my fate.
It can't have been more than a minute since I took my final place in life, but it seems like an eternity. I feel intensely aware of every sound in the room, Betsy's sobbing, Rick trying to comfort her, Tom's nervous giggling, and Carl moving toward my genitals. Marie is making no sound at all, but she is most dominant in my mind right now.
Strangely, I completely missed Carl's polite benediction, but I heard his send-off speech to Marie, and mine couldn't have been much different. Carl has the release cord in one hand and my clitoris in the other, and I can already feel myself hurtling into space, but I struggle to keep my sexual ecstasy from overpowering the rush of my realized mortality smashing against my head. I know instinctively that the blade has been released; perhaps it is a subtle change in Carl's ministrations to my genitals or in Betsy's lamentations. I know I am beyond anyone's power of salvation, and that my end is as imminent as it is inevitable. I feel fulfilled and peaceful and incredibly turned on.
I can almost hear the sound of the blade hurtling through the air at my white vulnerable neck, and the chilling thrill running through my body is indescribable. Marie and I are going to make one hell of a meal. I don't think Betsy will go through with it. I don't much care. I myself am only a few scant inches away from culinary glory.