The Fantasy

By DX

Copyright 6/2026, all rights reserved.  

 “I like your guillotine.”  She wrote.

 I had come to the phase of my villainy where I was untouchable, and in my arrogance, I flaunted my power and posted pictures of my, ‘historical project’: A fully functional guillotine.

 “Thank you.”  I posted to the chat, showing my humble side.  I then went on about the design, the technical, boring stuff, the chemical properties of the varnish and how the synthetic make up differed from what they used during the French Revolution.

 “I would love to experience your guillotine.”  She wrote.

 I was in an on-line kinky chat group, in the political rant section, and was loosely following along a discussion of the have nots demanding the power to take money from the wealthy and redistribute that wealth as the have nots saw fit.  Amongst the cries of Eat the Rich, I posted my guillotine, its iconic, terrifying blade, sharp and shiny.

 “Well,”  I joked, responding with a winking smiley face.  “It’s an experience to die for.”  I then quickly posted about my hidden improvements to the design, and although it perfectly resembled a device from 1793, it was far more efficient.  I then talked about the history of problems it had, which resulted in the need for the Titus hair cut to ensure the falling blade had no obstructions.

 “You can cut my hair, if you want.”  She replied.

 This wasn’t the first time someone flirted with my guillotine on-line.  It had a presence.  It was, and still is, a beacon of power.  A machine built to brutally lock someone in place, control them completely, and render them utterly helpless.  Then with a casual, effortless tug of a cord, drop a blade to efficiently slice off a head.  

 It carried a certain authority.

 Authority, power, and control, are sexy as fuck.

 When strapped down to a guillotine, the head is isolated, as if it has already been cut off.  The victim can only peer down at the darkness of the waiting basket, a shadowy oblivion.  The executioner can see the head, locked in the lunette, and the body strapped to the bascule, as two separate things.  The executioner can briefly enjoy the incredible sense of power standing there, holding the cord, knowing with a pull they will end a person.

 It’s magic.

 Then there is the strange dynamic of holding a severed head, watching it blink, its eyes roving around, trying to speak.  The head is helpless, and the executioner, empowered.

 For the fetishist, it is a power dynamic that turns them on; the complete submission, the surrender of everything, the acceptance of worthlessness, giving their life cheaply to the pleasure of another.

 “I read,” she wrote, trying to match my academic tone and failing.  “the victim would give a little somthin’ somethin’ to the executioner.  A little motivation to make sure it goes well.  Maybe you could have your fun as I lay on your guillotine with my head locked, looking into the basket, maybe a head or two already in there, the blade about to fall—you take me from behind, and just as you’re about to blow your load, drop the blade so my wet pussy goes into spasm and milk your big, hard cock—and all I have is the final feeling of orgasm as you fuck me hard.”

 And there it was, someone looking for a little roll-play.  It was a kink site, and like everyone there, she was looking for a little sexy play, a little spark.  Some person, claiming to be a female in her late twenties, was having a little fantasy, perhaps masturbating as she wrote, a vibrator buzzing away near her clit.

 I poured a little cold water on them.  “My model is a fully functional reproduction.  To experience its features would be a one way trip.”

 “I would like to die on your guillotine.”  She wrote.

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Copyright 6/2026, all rights reserved.  
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Beach Ball Thief.
By DX

Copyrighted 5.2023 all rights reserved.

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 It was late afternoon when the man and the woman made their way slowly down the boardwalk.  The opulent, autumn sun sat on the edge of the sea, and cast long black shadows across the pier.  It was the end of the season, and the crowds were all gone, leaving the beach all but desolate, save the never-ending mournful cry of the gulls and the insistent crash of the waves.

 The man limped painfully, and drunkenly, and needed to lean on the woman.  She was easy to lean on, however.  Her sun drenched face was framed by her raven hair that lifted and waved to the slightest breeze.  He could feel her warm, corpulent breast agains his arm, and the rub of her callipygean hip against him as she all but held him up.

 When the pain began to overtake him, she glanced up at him and gave him a gentle smile to revive him.  “There,” she pointed with a nod.  “We can sit on the bench and rest.  Just a few yards more, all right?”

 The bench looked tiny and far away, but the breath of her perfume and the dance of her sparking eyes drew him in like a siren’s call.  “Yeah, I’m good.”  He mumbled and shuffled on.  “Where are we?”

 “The beach.”  She stated the obvious.  “We wanted to watch the sunset, remember?”

 He nodded.  “Yeah, yeah, right…”. He stumbled, and leaned on her.  “Ugh, this hurts.  Why does this hurt?”

 “Just a little while longer.”  She said softly.  “You can manage a little while longer.”

 He winced.  “Yeah, I’m good.”  He aimed at the bench.  “You’re going to suck me off, right?  That’s the deal?”

 “I said jerk you off, and we did that already.”  She said as they approached the bench.  “Here you go, nice and slow, and sit.”

 He moaned and grimaced as he shifted on to the bench.  “Oh, fuck!”

 She glanced around but they were all but alone.  “There, that feel better?”

 “Yeah, I guess.”  He sat up and leaned forward.  “Ow, fuck.”  He hissed.  “Why do my balls hurt?”

 She pushed him back on the bench as she took her seat beside him.  “That’s because I banded them.  You didn’t even notice when I was jerking you off.”  She her eyes flashed at him coyly.  “Well, there was the drugs, of course.  You like the drugs?  Right?  Feeling good?”

 “Fuck yeah!”

 “Shhhhh.”  She scolded him.  “Language.  It is a public beach you know.”  From the board walk it was roughly two hundred yards to the water’s edge.  She looked up and watched a man walking his dog off in the distance.  Two women jogged by, their feet splashing in the water.  Down the long corridor of wood, a food vendor pushed his cart towards the parking lot as the cold wind swept in from the sea.

 They were alone.

 He leaned over to her.  “Are you gonna suck me off now?”

 “I jerked you off already, don’t you remember?”

 “Yeah, yeah.  I remember.”  He didn’t. 

 “It was good, right?  You blew a big load, remember?”

 “It was a big load.”  He said, nodding off a little.

 She nudged him.  “Don’t fall asleep yet.  A little longer, okay?”

 “I couldn’t sleep if I wanted.”  His head snapped back and his eyes glared as he forced himself awake.  “I blew such a load my balls hurt.  Why do my balls hurt?”

 “Because they are dying.”  She said warmly and happily.  “It should hurt a little.”

 
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Beach Ball Thief
By DX
Copyrighted 5.2023 all rights reserved.

[email protected]