Last Rites

The worse Master was, Frances knew, the more he expected her to thank him. Anal rape (which he knew she hated) was high on the list. So were beatings with a sharp cane over her pussy, and so was being exhibited in public. But there were also more devious subtle tortures and humiliations, for which payment was always exacted.

She had met him by accident. She had come to him willingly and had been slowly drawn into the snare of such extreme sensual gratification that it went deep into her soul, far beyond mere sex or pain. She had walked down that path, at first revelling in it, her young mind sated with lusts she had not imagined could exist. The feel of silk being ripped from her body, tight collars, the rattle of heavy chains as she was taken: it was a fairyland. The kiss of a crop over her skin. Then, as she felt the snare had shut around her tender body and there was no longer a way out, she trod with a slower and more measured pace, still excited by her captivity, by being owned. And after that she felt that they had finally reached that still point in the centre of the snare, where she was as fixed as his slave as he was as her Master, both confirmed in their roles. She could not - did not want - did not have the will to leave.

"We're going to a party tonight" he told her one morning. "You'll be grateful I took you - you might learn something as well. All of us will be there, with our latest slaves. There's a treat in store for you." He licked his lips.

"Thank you, Master" she said almost reflexly.

"You're welcome" he replied, as automatically.

Master, she discovered when it was altogether too late, belonged to a society. All men like him. They came together; sometimes, to flaunt their slaves, to play cards and to swap victims for a night and to boast to each other in front of the girls of what cruelties they would inflict in private. Other times to watch shows of unbelievable savagery. There was a seemingly endless supply of young women to take part in the shows. Sometimes one of the slaves would be selected at the last moment for the spectacle while her Master would enjoy himself with the pretty newcomer. Frances could never understand what happened to the girls who only appeared for a night and Master would only answer in vague generalities. Perhaps there were clubs like this all over the country and girls were posted around to give live shows until a Master purchased them? Had they all come willingly at the start, like Frances, and been drawn deeper and deeper until their complicity was total?

The erotic world of the initial months had fallen away from her and she was now caught in a hell frozen of feeling, of sensation only. Was there an ending? Was there some presiding power who controlled it all, who manipulated both the emotionless slave girls and their uncaring Masters in an elaborate dance, orchestrating entrances and exits? One thing Frances knew: there was no other reality but this one and she had willed it on herself.

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At the party, Frances sat sprawled between the open legs of her Master who was lounging naked on a large armchair. Like the other slave girls in the darkened auditorium she was scantily dressed - she had on just a short skirt around her hips and of course her collar and heels. Her soft naked breasts lay pressed against her Master's leg. All six Masters were in the room, each with their private slave, and each in the same naked state. By tacit consent they ignored the presence of each other although the girls sometimes exchanged glances as if by accident. Since the armchairs were arranged in a half circle around the brightly lit central area of the room this was possible from time to time.

There was a smattering of applause from the Masters as the last act finished. The featured rapist took the pale little girl he'd deflowered into his arms and almost tenderly took her off. Her arms, head and legs dangled listlessly on either side of the man's sweaty, heavy back as they disappeared behind the curtain. Master had cum earlier on, and Frances' task now was just to stroke his cock and thighs. Masters only wanted hand and mouth jobs in public - anything else interfered with their enjoyment of the events. Master absent-mindedly petted Frances's head as the bloodstained sheet was finally taken away by two attendant women in their shiny black plastic uniforms, and the small couch on which the act had taken place was wheeled away.

There was a silence as the final act began. A beautifully dressed girl - not more than eighteen Frances estimated - walked slowly into the centre, curtsied, and moved to one side. Frances knew her: she had been a slave to one of the Masters for as long as Frances had been made to attend: a new girl was kneeling in her place and Frances had not noticed. The girl on stage had gorgeous red hair that tumbled down in ringlets to her breasts and down her back. Her dress was a pale cream with little golden stitches and she was barefoot. The dress came down to mid-thigh and had a long V down the front - Frances could see her generous cleavage and the hint of a golden bra. The girl just stood there, peering into the audience. Her face was completely impassive, although she was trembling a little and breathing through slightly parted lips. Her breasts rose and fell with her breathing. Frances felt her Master guiding her hand to his cock, and saw that Master was starting to be aroused again. A soft gentle stroking to start with. His gaze was fixed on the girl.

She stood there, not moving, for a while. Other Masters were also getting aroused. Frances felt really sorry for the girl and whatever fate was in store for her.

The curtains parted and a long high wood and metal contraption was wheeled in by the women. There was a murmur in the audience when the thing arrived in the lighted area: it was a guillotine! The attendants manoeuvred it so it was turned slightly to one side and they fastened the wheels so it would stay in place. They rocked it to and fro to check that it was secure. Then one of them laboriously pulled the rope that raised the heavy shining blade up, to the top of its traverse and locked it in place. The top part of the lens in which the victim was to place her head was raised a few feet and also locked in place with a metallic 'snick'. Meanwhile another attendant came back with a large shallow wickerwork basket, showed it to the audience, and then faced the girl who took it mechanically in her arms, cradling it to her stomach.

The women withdrew and the girl and her basket and the guillotine were left, illuminated in the harsh spotlights that played on the centre area. There was a hushed silence. All watched the girl.

For a while she stood quite still, holding the basket, looking at the Masters. She began to sway a little on her feet and suddenly knelt and put the basket down to one side of her. There was a soft sigh from the audience as she put her hands to the sides of her dress and pulled it up, off her slender body. The golden bra was matched by a brief thong that just hid her sex. Almost like a mechanical doll, she turned to one side, then the other, and then slowly and deliberately walked the semicircle in front of the Masters, keeping her head up and hands to her sides, her large breasts held high. She turned, and retraced her steps. Each Master saw the perfect line of her young figure: the slender tummy, the neatly shaped ass, the cleavage held by her bra. Her long fingernails and her toenails were painted the same gold colour as her underwear. She came full circle, to rest just behind the basket.

Slowly, as if in a dream, she put her arms behind her and undid the catch of the bra. Her breasts tumbled out as she discarded the garment, and dropped it in the basket. She slipped down her thong, revealing a perfectly shaved pussy. The thong went into the basket as well. She moved in front of the guillotine and faced the audience, holding herself to attention. Frances noticed her line of gaze was no longer on the Masters - she was looking up at the ceiling. Perhaps the sight of her Master with his new girl in her place playing with his cock upset her. She abruptly turned round, displaying her bottom, parted her legs, and then bent over, hands clutched to her ankles. Frances could see her breasts tumbling down, and her ass bud and vagina clearly displayed. She was leaving nothing to the imagination. Her pussy was pink and open - Frances wondered if she'd had sex before she'd come on - although there were no cum stains that she could see. He ass showed the usual signs of hard usage. Frances felt her own ass bud twinging in sympathy.

She stayed like that for ages, shifting slightly from one leg to the other, her thighs and ass rippling with her movements. Then, abruptly, she straightened up again and walked to her basket. She gathered up her dress and folded it carefully down into the basket on top of her discarded underwear, patting it smooth. Quickly now, she picked the basket up and placed it in front of the guillotine. She took a long look at the basket and gave it a small prod with her delicate foot. Again. Finally as if satisfied with its position she took one pace back and nodded to herself. She stood, one hand supporting her on the guillotine and then turned round to face the side of the frame.

Her legs were parted to either side of the upright, and she slowly pressed her body against the polished wood, rubbing her tummy and pussy against it, arms up, and breasts on either side. It was almost as if she were making love to the dreadful instrument. Her lips came into contact with the wood, and she kissed it, tenderly, like a lover taking leave of her man. She massaged her breasts against the frame. Her movements became swifter, as if there was an urgency to it. Frances could hear her breathing faster - surely she wasn't going to have an orgasm!

When she let go and turned to face the audience, her nipples were hard and her face was flushed. What sort of sexual high was she getting from this? Eyes half closed, she ran a hand down the front of her body from her bare neck between her breasts over her tummy and let her fingers stay longingly over her opened slit. She looked for a long time in the direction of the man she had served. Was she nearing her orgasm? Master's cock was rigid by now and he pulled Frances's mouth over it roughly. Frances tasted the full length of cock in her mouth but her Master then more gently disengaged her after a few hard sucks. His hands turned Frances' head so her gaze was back on the scene.

The girl had gone behind the guillotine, and with one last ironic glance in her Master's direction, knelt down and lowered her head on the bottom part of the lens. She pulled her long red hair into a knot, and fixed it up so her neck was bare. She'd be looking straight into the basket, Frances reckoned, looking at her neatly folded dress. Her fingers slipped up one side of the frame and found the lever that loosed the top part of the lens. Her fingers trembled, and then pulled. There was a sudden resounding CRASH as the top part of the lens came down and encased her head. Her body jerked uncontrollably and Frances hoped there was enough space in the lens for her neck. There must have been, because after a moment, the girl gathered her wits about her, pulled her legs back together in a tight kneeling posture and paused, hands on either side of the frame.  There was space under the lens and all the audience could see her kneeling, her breasts dangling down. There was a quiver in her breasts and her fingers gripped the side of the frame so tightly that her knuckles gleamed white. She turned her head slightly this way and that, as if easing herself in the lens, getting used to its hold on her. It was clear that there was no escape. Her head was stuck fast.

There was another long period of silence. Frances watched, horrified. Surely there was some kind of end to this and the girl would eventually be freed from the guillotine, take her bow, and make way for the next act? The runs for the blade of the guillotine were on the audience side of the lens. Like the blade, they glistened with bright smooth steel.

The girl's right hand crept slowly up the side of the frame and met the lever that would release the blade. Her knuckles touched it and she flinched, withdrew a fraction, and then with a hiss of breath, curled round it. The silence was total, except for the sound of her breathing which could be heard throughout the darkened auditorium. Masters and slaves were fixed to the sight. Would Frances have to start sucking now, she wondered, while the girl posed defenceless, death only a bare movement of her fingers away? No, Master had almost forgotten his slave. Frances dared a quick glance around and saw all the other eyes fixed to what was about to happen. Please God, no! Frances prayed to herself. What must have induced the girl to have brought herself to this?

Frances heard a short convulsive sob, the girl's hand twitched, and suddenly the blade came flashing down, swishing on the perfect runners and with a dull THUMP! severed the girl's head from her body.

The head with its knot of red hair seemed to jump from the blade and flew in a short arc to land neatly inside the basket. The Masters all sat upright to watch it as it landed on one cheek. Did the doomed girl see her neatly folded dress zoom towards her open eyes? Were her eyelashes still flickering? Her jaw had dropped her mouth was wide open and blood was pooling from her neck.

Slowly, the rest of her body began to spurt blood in gouts to the slowing beat of her heart. Her naked body fell away, her legs and arms thrashed convulsively and her torso fell backwards to land her sprawled on her ass, her legs still twitching, doubled under her, her open pussy displayed fully to view. It took a while for her body to die. Frances wondered how long her head had lasted in consciousness in the basket. Surely the force of the blow had stunned her before it had cut her head off? She found that tears had started to roll down her face. Sounds from the rest of the audience told her she wasn't the only one crying. She heard a SMACK as some Master corrected his slave. She looked up at her Master.

"Now, Master?" she whispered, kissing the exposed head of his cock. He looked down at her between his legs and gave a quiet shake of the head. "In bed" he mouthed to her. "I'm so hard I'll be taking you all night" he added in a low voice. "That should make you very grateful."

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Master had been watching porno while he lay on top of Frances, squashing her down mercilessly with his cock stuck deep up her asshole. The video was of the girl with the guillotine. He'd watched it so often that Frances knew every moment of it by heart by now. This time, as the blade came down, he erupted in an orgasm into her. She felt his cock throbbing in her, his body stiffening on top of her, she felt the spurt of semen, the wetness on her thighs.

"That was fuckin' good" he gasped. "You liked it as well, didn't..." His voice trailed off and he looked at the screen. "How the fuck...." Frances looked up and saw the girl again, as she was when she was alive. The camera had captured her head and bare shoulders, to the tops of her breasts. Close up, Frances saw she had the smooth, almost translucent skin that some red-haired women were prized for. She'd been talking while Master had finished cumming, and now she and Master just lay there, Master still on top of her, watching.

"... your humanity, sisters, you're still alive and by now I'm surely dead." Her voice had a mellow, warm sound. "Please don't harden your hearts against me. If you can find it in your hearts to pity me now, the way I am, God will have mercy on you, too. I'm here for another hour at least, maybe as long as five or six, but this body that I've cared for, washed, dressed, cleaned and made pretty will soon become a pile of bloody shreds, cut up and hacked around, food for dogs. In the end, I'll be dust and ashes. Imagine that! I once thought I'd live to a ripe old age and marry and have children, but that's not to be. Please don't laugh! There must be a God somewhere who'll make all this right."

She turned her head this way and that, showing a little of her firm chin in the profile. She turned back to the screen. Frances suddenly had the crazy notion the girl was addressing her!

"You'll always be my sisters. Please don't despise me for what I'll do. I too was kidnapped and sold to a Master. Well you know what? Not everybody was born smart or could avoid it. When I'm gone, think of me as I once was, innocent and a virgin at 16 - though no grace or pretty words saved me from this hell into which I've got dropped. We're all in it really, aren't we? Each of us has been stung by evil in our hearts. There must be a God somewhere who'll make all this right."

She bowed her head. The camera moved back and caught her holding her breasts together, looking down at them, smiling gently. She looked back up, shoulders straight and released her breasts.

"We've been pissed on and shat on, we've been starved and beaten black and purple. We all suffer from piles because of repeated and brutal anal rape. We've done it with eyes wide open and we've done it blindfolded. We've all been shaved from head to toe and presented like a tasty dish to slobbering perverts. We never for a moment had it easy: do this, do that, fuck twenty guys tonight, always hassled by our Masters, our tits sometimes like raw red pincushions. Nobody who wasn't one of us would ever believe it, would they? There must be a God somewhere who'll make all this right."

She looked to one side. Was her Master there, watching, approving, enjoying himself while she spoke her last words? Was her successor there, kneeling between his legs, masturbating him?

"My Master. You have the power of life and death, of course, and you can decide how badly or well I'll die. Will I suffer hell on earth while I'm still alive? I know I've nothing to do with the decision, so I'll leave it at that. It just makes me break out into a cold sweat thinking about it. Girls. There's no point in mockery. There must be a God somewhere who'll make all this right."

Her face looked straight out. She stared out for minutes from the screen, and then slowly faded out. Into blackness. Frances knew that she was as guilty as the nameless girl and everyone else. Who had spoken out, who had resisted, who had said, no, you can't do this to another human being? Nobody. Not one of them. Who had said, no I'm not grateful for the obscene things you do to me, I hate them?

Master pulled his cock out of her ass (which also hurt, getting his fat cockhead through her ass hole.) He turned her to face him, stroking her sweaty body. Their legs wrapped around each other.

"You think I'm a dirty perv, don't you, Frances? A guy who just gets his rocks off hurting girls and humiliating them, yes?" He kissed her face tenderly. "Well perhaps you know I'm not. This is what is real."

And Frances knew that one day, her part of the dance would come to an end, and then she too would atone. Whatever horrible fate was wished on her, she knew she'd embrace it and for once she would be truly grateful. Because there must be, she fervently believed, a God somewhere, wherever, who would take the evil from her heart and make all of it right.