Ever since he bought it for his studio I could not take my eyes off it. It gave me the erotic chills every time I laid eyes on it. It was beautiful, yet deadly.
He told me it had a strange history. It had three previous owners. And there had been three previous deaths attributed to the blade.
The first death went to a magician’s assistant. Somehow there had been a miscalculation. The audience knew it was not a trick when blood was seen flowing profusely out of the severed neck.
When the head was pulled out of the wicker basket, blood dripped from severed flesh. Three women in the audience fainted. The magician was charged with involuntary manslaughter despite his protests the machine shouldn’t have worked that way at all.
The second death occurred in a museum where the guillotine was put on display. The story was told of the poor magician’s assistant, how beautiful she was and the accident that had claimed her. The guests were always captivated by the retelling. It was said that more than a few women stared at it as though transfixed.
Late one night a museum attendant and her boyfriend snuck inside and went down to check out the deadly blade. He claims she wanted to stick her head inside and feel the raw power of kneeling at death’s door. He was sure the blade was locked into position. But somehow it fell anyway. He too was arrested and charged accordingly.
A few weeks later the curator had the guillotine taken out of the museum. She’d told others she believed it was haunted. That was the reason for the first two deaths and she was determined not to risk any more lives.
She had it locked in her basement. She was determined not to display it in public ever again. But there were several requests to have it returned as people were now fascinated with its reputation.
One morning the curator did not show up for work. An intern was sent to her home. She was found beheaded in her basement in her night robe. There was no indication who might have wanted her dead.
Three deaths attributed to it were enough to cause the museum to get rid of it. That’s how my boyfriend got hold of it. And that’s when I first laid eyes on it in his studio.
He said he was using it for models to pose. I asked if he would give me the chance to stick my head through the lunette. He told me he wasn’t ready for that just yet.
I fumed at his reluctance. I believed I would make a great model. He just smiled and said the time wasn’t right.
I waited impatiently for a week until I could wait no longer. I went to his studio when he was away. When my eyes took it in I felt a strange compulsion.
There was a pillow on the floor. It looked like it was for the head and it was stained in red. It was some coloring he must have gotten his hands on to sprinkle onto the fabric.
I stuck my head into the lunette and felt something I had never felt before. So I found his camera and put it on a tripod. I used the timer and began to take my own pictures.
Each time I posed I removed another article of clothing. The whole experience was strangely thrilling. It’s as though I felt a presence there with me, encouraging me to pose again and again.
I finally stripped down until I was only wearing my stockings, heels and lacy panties. Then I posed some more, setting the timer to record the pictures. I was breathless, but now I experienced what felt like a strange compulsion… along with a fear I had not felt previously.
A part of me wanted to stop. But I couldn’t make myself end my impromptu photography session. It was as though the blade kept calling me back, compelling me to return and expose my graceful neck time after time.
I reset the timer on the camera. Then I posed in a crouching position. I propped myself up by my arms, stuck my head through and presented myself in a submissive pose. It was as though I was offering myself to the blade above.
In my last moments I felt that presence, something dark and sinister. Then the camera started snapping pictures in rapid-fire succession of its own accord. I had failed to set the timer; it should not have gone off.
I opened my mouth to scream, only for the blade to come whooshing down. My cry was silenced as my head rolled onto the floor. My body rose upwards, my hands reaching for a head that was no longer there. Then my body tiredly fell over sideways, jerking and spasming in its death throes.
They were going to arrest my boyfriend for my murder. But there were several witnesses attesting to his whereabouts. The camera had time-stamped the moment of my beheading, indicating he could not possibly have been in the studio at that moment.
There have been no arrests for my murder. The crime continues to go unsolved. And the guillotine now lies in the hands of another owner.
2018 (written Sep 6 ’18 by riwa. Inspired by the pictures found on the Internet.)