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Joe wanted work real bad. I encountered him earlier last winter walking the streets, offering to shovel people's walks and driveways. He was bundled up as well as he could be in a denim jacket and hooded sweatshirt. He was wearing work gloves and a heavy baseball cap. And he didn't look all that warm in the single digit temperatures. But he did seem like a strong, well built guy who could make decent progress on my long driveway.

There was no way I was going to dig out of all the snow we were getting this winter -- I don't think women should shovel snow period, and especially not when it snows as much as it seemed to be getting ready to do this year -- so Joe and I negotiated a fair price. And he ended up doing a good job.

When I checked out the work and paid him, I suggested that the next time it snowed a lot, that he come by, and I would save the job for him. He smiled broadly, and stretched out his hand to shake on the deal.

As I felt his strength and warmth in the handshake, I wondered whether his full head of brown hair was echoed by a hairy chest, or whether his evidently broad chest was smooth. I wondered whether there was a stream of hair from his navel to his bushy mons Venus, and whether his abdominals were deeply carved, and formed a frame for his slim waist.

I had tried to read the label on his well worn blue jeans, but the leather label was too frayed. Was it a size 28? He was slim, and tall, but by the way he hauled snow out of the way, he had plenty of muscle.

He broke the grateful gaze from his blue eyes, and walked off, turning briefly to wave. It would be pleasant to see Joe again. I would certainly see him again, as all the best long-range forecasts indicated we were in for a snowy winter. I wondered how I might manage to see all of him ... maybe seduce him ... maybe more.
 

Joe was a friendly fellow, and the third time he shoveled for me, I went out to help a bit -- mostly giving hot chocolate and hot brownies, but also spelling him a little while he noshed.

We chatted a little, about the usual empty subjects-- weather, sports, local political ineptitude -- and maybe cutting out an area in the front yard for a flower garden in the spring.

I told Joe to come back later that evening when he was finished earning snow shoveling money for the day, and I'd fix him dinner. He brightened and accepted. He seemed genuinely pleased.
 

I was hatching a plan to see if I could get some more substantial enjoyment out of Joe. He seemed a trusting fellow, who had not been hardened yet by his down and out luck and making do on the streets and in shelters. A home cooked meal would certainly be a treat.

When he arrived, carrying his battered snow shovel, it was already well past dark. He looked pretty exhausted, and as he took off his jacket and dingy sweatshirt, revealing a damp flannel shirt, I caught a glimpse of rippled abdominal muscle as he lifted his arms above his head. It sent shivers down my spine and made my nipples tighten.

I suggested he take advantage of the shower, and that I would hunt up some dry clothes from what I had collected from neighbors to take down to Good Will for him while he got cleaned up.

"Wow," he said, "That'd be great!"

"What size?"

"Twenty-seven waist, thirty-two length fits best, but I can wear twenty-eight, twenty-nine, even thirty. I have a rope to use for a belt if all you have is larger."

"I'll see what I can find."

"Thanks."

So I took him upstairs and showed him the bathroom, and clean towels. I even gave him a disposable razor -- a Lady Schick -- and he took that happily too. I sometimes like the rough stubbly look of the streets, but not on him -- he looks best looking like a "boy", not a "man". His long, well formed neck set off by his strong jaw would look a lot better without a two day growth of brown beard.

I found a couple nice shirts -- a blue, green, red tartan flannel shirt, medium, and a blue and white striped small, which ever would fit -- and brown corduroys -- twenty-eight waist, thirty-one inch inseam ... and a new small-waist jock strap still in the box. He came down wearing the medium shirt, more than a little baggy on him, but he seemed comfortable, and he looked great.

"The other shirt fit better, but I like this one better."

"Looks great."

We sat down to a roast turkey dinner with all the fixings -- a real Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner. He was really appreciative but couldn't eat enough to please me,
"It's so delicious, but I can't force another bite down!"
While he was eating, he admitted,
"No, I didn't make as much money as I'd hoped. I try to make enough for a room and something to eat. This dinner took care of that, but I'll have to go to the mission tonight -- if they have room.

"They don't have room most of the time. If it was freezing outside, they'll let me sleep on the floor, but not when it's not freezing. But that's OK -- I know some places that stay warm -- some heating grates down town."

When it was warmer, he admitted, he would sometimes stay in one of the parks. I suggested
"Well, I think maybe I can help -- if you help me. I take pix for the anatomy department at the med school. They need some human body studies -- of various body types. I don't have any pix of a wiry body like yours yet. I can pay."
He said,
"Heck, for you I'd do it for nothing. But the money would sure help out a lot."

"I'm authorized to pay a hundred dollars -- that's what I paid the football jock last week. How about it?"

His eyes got big in disbelief.
"Gee! That's a lot of money for just sittin' around!"

"Well," I had to admit, "it'll involve a little more than just 'sittin' around' -- to be most useful for research and teaching, some very particular poses will be required ... and you'll have to be nude. Got a problem with that?"

Joe said,
"For a hundred bucks, I'll pose any way you want!"
Then he blushed and added,
"It won't be the first time ... I mean the first time I got pictures taken of me naked ... but that was several years ago -- when I was hustling on the streets. I don't do that no more -- no more for guys. But for you, sure. Just don't want no perverts using them for jackin' off."

"No, no. They'll be academic studies. And your face will be blacked out."

He grinned and effused a little relieved laugh and was suddenly much more relaxed.
 

We finished dinner and as I pushed back from the table, I asked,

"Well, Joe, ready to get to work?"

"Sure thing, Doc," he said. "Who'll get to see these pictures, anyway?"

"Just med students, that's all."

"Any girls?"

"About half our students are women now."

"Yeh!"

"We'll black out your face. But it'd be easier for me if you wore a mask -- the negatives are small and I've ruined more than a few blotting out faces. How about it?"

"Gee, Doc, anything you want, yeh, I'll wear the mask."

"Come on down to the studio, and we'll get started. I'll find something comfortable to use as a mask."

We walked down to the basement. It was warm and had a high ceiling, and was an excellent studio. Joe would be comfortable there, not cold and damp at all.
"OK, Joe, take off your clothes now while I get the lights and cameras set up."
He smiled, and stripped down to his new jock and stood a little nervously.
"Joe, for some of the shots, I'll need you to be completely nude, but for some it's OK if you are wearing your jock strap."

"I guess if I gotta be naked for some of them, I might as well get used to it."

With that he bent to remove his bright-white jock and tossed it casually into a far corner. I studied his body as he moved to remove the last bit of clothing. I know women are supposed to think male genitals are ugly, but I don't -- they often look like a couple pears and a banana ... and Joe's penis was long and uncut and his testes were large and well formed, hanging long and seductive in his silky-skinned, hairless scrotum.

He stood there for a few seconds, posed a little, then as that long, uncut penis of his started to swell and twitch, his face turned bright red and he whispered,

"But maybe I should put on the mask now so I don't get too ... you know ... embarrassed."
He reached out for the mask.
"Fine," I said, "I'll put it on so it's neat, OK."

"Sure," he said, dropping his hand.

I went behind him and got some cotton to put beneath the black silk blindfold. As I fixed the blindfold about his head, I said,
"The cotton is so that the blindfold doesn't shift. And besides, it will make the flash less a bother to you."
He stood with his hands loosely at his sides. When I finished with the blindfold, I let my hands linger at the nape of his firm neck.

It might have been my imagination, but it felt like he pushed his neck against my fingers -- like a cat stroking your hand as you pet him.

"Now, I'll also need you to put on a little posing oil so the surface features show up well, and give the students an easy way to relate the internal anatomical features that will be superimposed on the pictures.

"It won't be messy. Hold out your hand and I'll put some in your palm. You can rub it on. Be sure to put it on everywhere, even your back."

I returned to my photographic preparations while Joe massaged himself quickly with the oil, trying to reach all parts of his body. I eagerly watched him flex, bend, and stretch. He was now completely unaware how much I was studying his sensuous display.

I took the bottle of oil from him, and said,

"You've missed a few spots. Forgive my presumptuousness while I fill in those patches. The photos look silly if there are some bare patches."

"Geeze, Doc, I feel like all I've got now is bare patches!" he said, grinning.

I placed some oil in my hand and blew on it to warm it and rubbed it into the middle of his back. As I lifted his jaw, and rubbed oil on his strong neck and large Adam's apple, I said,
"Even professional models sometimes forget to do their throats."
I jiggled his voice box playfully, and Joe laughed, saying,
"I'm glad I do some things like a pro at least."
When I reached to oil his penis, he shuddered a little then grabbed my hand.
"Joe, just think what a wrinkled dark cock would look like compared to your finely oiled muscles. Gotta do it too."
It wasn't wrinkled and dark, I was just playing on his insecurities. He let go of my hand sheepishly and said,
"Sorry, it was just automatic. Never had a woman grab my dick before. Least ways, not since I was a kid. My girl doesn't even grab it."

"You have a girl friend?"

He looked sheepish, then admitted,
"I used to. I don't have nobody right now. You're the closest thing I have to a friend."

"Maybe we can be better friends, Joe. After a while. Those things take time."

The corners of his lips curled up into a bright smile.
"Well, you're oiled up now. Ready?"
He nodded eagerly and I guided him over to in front of a plain neutral background with the lights aimed just right. I did some shots of him standing, front, back, sides -- hands to the side, hands forward with elbows bent at a ninety degree angle, lats spread with hands behind the neck -- that kind of pix just to get him relaxed.

Then I had him spread his feet and hold his arms out and up like the Da Vinci man in a circle. He reluctantly complained,

"Doc, it's hard for me to hold my arms up like that. I guess I shoveled too much snow today."

"We're almost through with these standing poses. You'll be able to relax more on the next set. But first, see how wide you can spread your legs -- see if you can do a split -- you know, slide all the way down to the floor."

"I'll try, Doc, but I ain't no girl...."

"I can see that...," I snittered.

I took a whole roll as his feet slid farther and farther apart, his knees twisting, his thighs stretching, the various muscles bulging out quite distinctively. He had to pull the cotton wadding from over his eyes so he could see out the bottom of the blindfold so he could balance as he slid down.

He bent forward and stretch his hands out to the sides to steady himself. His low hanging testicles brushed the floor -- that was as far down as he could get before he panted,

"I can't go any lower, Doc. I hope this is far enough -- my thighs feel like they're ripping!"
I stepped over and grabbed his hand and helped him up. He nearly pulled me over as his leg twisted wrong and he fell right on his testicles and gasped then shook his head,
"Oh, man! That hurts!"
I sniggered and he grinned, rubbing his testicles, breathing hard.
"You OK?"

"Yeh, Doc. It happens."

I reached out and cupped his testicles in my palm then fingered them lightly so they rolled back and forth in that silky smooth scrotum. He pulled the blindfold up so he could see better and looked down at my hands anxiously but didn't do anything to stop me.

His penis started twitching and filling and I pulled my hand away and he asked,

"They OK, Doc?"

"Just a little bruised. They'll be more sensitive than usual for a while, but they're fine. No torsion."

"Wouldn't want to lose 'em, Doc."

He looked up and grinned.
"Want to stop?"

"No, Doc. I need the money. Besides, you want it, and it'd take a lot more than cracked balls for me to disappoint you."

I reached out and cupped his testicles again and he didn't move, just watched, breathing deep and hard, smiling. I slithered my fingers so his testicles rolled back and forth inside their silk purse.

Again his penis twitched and started filling. I kept rolling his testicles over each other with one hand and lightly scratched the underside of his penis with my other hand. His penis rapidly grew to longer than the length of my hand -- heel to finger tip -- and bigger around than my wrist.

"Impressive!"
He just grinned and breathed hard. I cupped his testicles and squeezed them hard. He winced and gasped but his penis started telegraphing so I squeezed harder and he breathed harder and whimpered. The mouth of his urethra flared open wide as his penis fluttered like a telegraph key.

I grabbed the shaft of his penis low down, close to his testicles, and twisted in opposite directions -- one hand clockwise, the other counter-clockwise. I read somewhere that this would stop an ejaculation mid-spurt. My fingers wouldn't go all the way round, but it had to do. And it worked -- no ejaculation and his penis stayed hard and ready.

"Ready to go back to work?"
He looked at his throbbing penis and said,
"Like this?"

"Think the women students would be impressed?"

"All right!"

"Put your blindfold back and we'll take some more pix."


I enjoyed guiding his long limbs into the proper positions. He became relaxed with my guidance and I took frequent opportunity to readjust his poses. His slim waist looked especially good with his torso twisted to the side.

I picked up the cotton wads and put them back over his eyes ...

"So the blindfold stays in place ... and the flash doesn't hurt your eyes. The hard stuff is over. Move this way, and sit down."
I led him and put my hands on his shoulders to turn him so he could sit on a low platform. He felt with his hands for the seat, but otherwise he trusted me completely. I then guided him down into a reclining position.

He let his head hang back over the edge of the platform so his strong throat was well displayed.

"That's real good -- shows your neck off very well. That will help the students understand the way the neck works.

"Now, I'm going to have to put your arms and legs in some braces so that all the poses are based on the same basic position. That's real important for comparative anatomy -- for all the poses to be the same."

I was worried how he might react to this. In effect, I was going to lock him to the platform. But since the braces locked silently, Joe didn't seem to know just how securely he was immobilized.

He was completely helpless once I put the metal band in place over his waist. All he did was to say that he hoped he didn't have to hang his head back off the edge too long. I watched his Adam's apple move as he swallowed deeply.

"I'll try to make this part quick. Just try to think about the hundred dollars."
Enthusiastically, with a broad smile, and a deep bobble of his larynx, he exclaimed,
"All right!"

"You've got to stop smiling now. Medical subjects are supposed to look neutral. Not human. Just think of yourself as a hunk of meat right now."

He was certainly an attractive piece of meat. His broad shoulders and the dark nipples on his smooth chest were especially well presented in this pose. His waist was narrow so that there was a lot of space between the small of his back and the platform he was locked to; although Joe was clearly a well formed young man he still had some distinctly boyish features -- I could see his hands and feet, pectorals and abdominals, bicepses and thighs, buttocks and genitals all shrink wrapped in the meat case at the Safeway.

As I was taking a break to move the camera, Joe adjusted his position, and discovered he was locked into position. Even though he was blindfolded, I could tell he was concerned,

"Hey, Doc. I got this thing about being tied up. This one fag I tricked with when I was first out on the streets tied me up and beat so bad I thought I was gonna die. Ever since, I get real freaky when I'm tied up."
He jostled around in the bonds, but since the whole platform was bolted down, he didn't move very much! I enjoyed watching his narrow waist flutter against the narrow steel band around his midsection. He thrashed his head back and forth too, exposing the muscular cords in the sides of his neck. His arms and legs jerked the small distance allowed by the metal restraining his wrists and ankles.
"Joe, you might as well calm down. This is just to make the poses stable. You're letting your penis get soft. We need to fix that." "Hey, Doc, I don't think I can. I mean being tied down and all just makes me panic. Please let me up."

"No can do, Joe."

"Please!"

"Not yet."

"OK, Doc. I'll try. But I don't think I can get it up again."

"That's OK. I've got some tricks."

He didn't realize that he was already the photographic trick!

He seemed to calm down in general. I played with his penis and testicles and his penis did seem to jilt a little, but it just wouldn't get hard again so I stepped over to my grab-bag drawer and found a thick rubber band -- the kind that comes round bunches of broccoli.

I took it over to him and stretched it and slipped his penis through it then lifted his loose testicles and put them through too. I carefully snugged it around the root of his genitals, careful not to snag any pubic hairs. Then, while I held the rubber away, I grabbed the base of his penis and squeezed tight, pulling the blood toward the head then quickly let go and grabbed the base again and squeezed more blood up the shaft.

I kept doing this till his penis was nearly as hard and thick as before. I let the rubber band snug back again to trap the blood in. Then I went back to my drawer and pulled out some thin, nylon fishing line.

The half minute or so it took me to get the line Joe's penis had pumped up hard again. It was just too tempting not to take advantage of. I turned back to my drawer and pulled out a condom and opened it then stepped back and knelt next to him and put my cheek against his erection.

Joe lifted his head to look but, of course, he couldn't see anything with the blindfold on,

"What'cha doin', Doc?"

"Taking advantage of the situation."

He dropped his head back down and sucked in his belly -- hollowing it like a shallow gravy boat between his groin and loins and ribs. I stroked the top of his penis with my cheek then pushed my face past and stroked the underside with my other cheek. It was the most beautiful penis I have ever worshiped and I could feel my excitement pinching my nipples tight, churning my guts.

I ran my lips up and down that magnificent piece of flesh, feeling the excited delight dancing through my whole body -- like someone had turned the lights on really high so everything felt more intense, more vibrant, more alive. I licked the shaft feeling the natural endorphins give me higher sense of well-being and self-assurance.

I took his glans in my mouth and pressed it against my palate with my tongue, squeezing blood out, into the shaft, then feeling the tingling in my nipples and crotch as the blood pulsed back in, filling it even larger, if that was possible.

My insides ached to take him in, suck him in, possess him. I could hear a happy tremolo in his voice as he hummed. I looked to watch his Adam's apple bobbing as I sucked his penis deeper into my mouth, feeling more and more like an animal -- a cat playing with a caught mouse.

I closed my teeth onto his shaft and lightly sawed them back and forth, not biting, just nipping. He sucked his belly in even more -- so much I'd swear I could see his liver and kidneys.

I got up and quickly slithered out of my Levi's then panties and straddled him and grabbed his shaft and aimed his glans as I sat down hard on it, swallowing the whole shaft, sitting down hard on his bony hip bone, feeling his testicles drawn up the shaft spread my vulva even wider -- like a baby's head.

I rode him hard as he bucked his hips, rolled his shoulders, fluttered his belly, bobbed his Adam's apple, flipped his head back and forth. He groaned and tittered, gasped and laughed, totally delighted.

I don't know how long I rode Joe, but it was a while. Then suddenly I had had enough of the wave after wave after wave of intense, safe-feeling, self-fulfilling warmth. I pushed my self up off his still bloated cock. There was a glob of white goo in the end of the condom despite the rubber band making it nearly impossible to ejaculate.

Joe was gasping and saying,

"Thank you, Doc!"
I rolled the condom off and dropped it into his gaping mouth. He startled then started to spit it out. I slapped his face and snarled,
"Chew it, suck out every drop of your cum, slave!"
He muttered something like,
"Yes, ma'am!"
and slowly chewed and sucked and swallowed. I pressed my thumb to his Adam's apple and ordered him to swallow again. He tried but almost couldn't -- he couldn't have if I had kept pressing harder and harder. I relented and his larynx shot up into his jaw then dove down into his throat.

He coughed and blushed, still not able to see whatever I was going to do to him next. He was game -- much more game than he would have admitted earlier -- or I would have asked for. But now I was really eager to get along with the game -- pursue it to the end in a forced march.
 

I went back for that fishing line. I grabbed his still eager, young, thick penis shaft and slipped the pre-tied noose over his flared glans then tightened it under the crown -- with the knot where the flare tapers to nothing at the urethra opening.

He tensed again, sucking his belly in again so hard it contoured over his liver and kidneys and other organs. His head was flopping back and forth and I said,

"Let me give your head a little support."
Joe said,
"Thanks Doc, my neck is getting a little tired of being stretched out like this."
Stepping back to his head, I reached down and cradled the back of Joe's neck, and stroked its firm sides. He moaned and twisted his face to stroke my thigh with his cheek.

As I supported his head, I looped a strong leather strap around his neck, and tied the free end to the nylon cord attached to his cock. Then I dropped his head and he yelped as the weight of his head suddenly jerked the noose tight round his penis, strangulating the head.

His shriek was choked from constriction of his windpipe just above his large Adam's apple. His attempt to swallow was painful -- I watched him wince as his larynx struggled to pass the leather thong wrapped around his neck. He wheezed through clinched teeth,

"Doc, this really hurts. Please stop."

"If you tongue-fuck my hot pussy -- then I'll stop the pain."

"Gee, Doc, all you had to do was ask -- I'd do anything for you. I want to do whatever you want. Just tell me what."

"I know, but it's more fun if I rape you."

"I know what you mean, Doc. I sometimes dream about raping a girl -- not that I'd ever do it. But it's hot to dream."

I straddled his head and clamped it tight between my thighs then snarled,
"Prevert! Fuckin' male prevert!"
I leaned forward and slapped his nipple -- back and forth till the skin round it turned bright red.
"Stick out your tongue, prevert!"
He poked his tongue into my vulva, licking one side then the other as I quickly loosened my thigh-grip, dropped down several inches and clamped tight again, shoving his tongue deep inside me.

He tried to twist his head away -- but not too forcibly -- just enough to play the game. I clamped my thighs tighter and he obediently shoved his tongue up as deep as he could, twisting it side to side as I squeezed down on it.

Joe's hot breath sucked and blew against my vulva as I reached behind and grabbed his hair and held his head in place as I again loosened my thigh-grip and dropped down -- strangulating his noosed penis even more as I pressed his nose and mouth into my vulva and clamped my thighs tight again, smothering him.

Again the waves of warm, self-assuring, self-fulfilling orgasms drove my ecstasy to the heights of heaven as his desperate attempts to shake his head loose and suck air fluttered my sensitive skin. His penis was telegraphing again; the urethra opening flared wide and more white goo oozed out -- the tight rubber band kept it from spurting.

His tongue all of a sudden stopped prodding, his gut stopped fluttering, his chest stopped heaving. I wanted to squeeze his head tighter for several minutes more -- till he was dead, dead, dead in my strong thighs -- it would have been fun, but I wanted more to finish the game I had planned.

I loosened my thighs and let his head fall, twanging the neck-to-penis wire. For a few seconds I was afraid he was dead, but then he gasped and then started panting, sucking air like a jet.
 

I pulled the blindfold off and he looked up to me, then grinned,

"Gee, Doc, that was hot! I thought I was a goner! You really know how to get a guy off!"
I checked the leather cord around his heaving neck, making sure it wasn't getting loose. As I recinched the leather to the fishing line, I jerked his head up so the pressure when I let it go would be more extreme than before.

He tried to hold his head up, to relieve the pressure on both his neck and his cock. Tears formed in his eyes again.

"Gee, Doc, it really hurts. Could you loosen it up, please."
I slapped his face and as he tried to recoil, his cock jerked violently. I continued to slap his face around, and really abuse his tits. His sweaty abdomen heaved with his deep breathing.

Then I let him rest for a few minutes as I slowly sidled to a shelf and got a big waste basket, which I brought over to Joe, and showed him. He looked puzzled. I placed the wastebasket next to his head and asked,

"Think it's a good fit?"

"What do you mean, Doc. Have you decided to make hats?"

Without answering, I put the wastebasket on the floor right beneath his head. He craned his neck to see where I was putting it. I grabbed his jaw and stroked his lips tenderly with my fingers. I watched the blood pound in the two arteries marking the boundaries of his extended trachea. I rubbed his sweating, straining chest with my other hand.

I finally answered not by words, but by going to a cabinet and rolling a column with a motor and blade attached over to his right shoulder. Joe watched me lock the column into place. It was aligned so that the blade would come down just beneath his jaw when it was tipped back. He said,

"What are you going to do with that thing, Doc? What is it?"

"Joe, you know how I told you my fantasy was to rape a guy? Well that's only part of it -- I really want to.... No, I'll let you figure it out.

"See this ... it's a very sharp blade, with a very powerful motor attached to it. And it's aimed at your neck. Want to guess what I'm going to do with it?"

Joe looked at me in deep disbelief and horror. I continued,
"After all, after I raped you, how could I let you go? And it would be too expensive and inconvenient to actually keep you down here ... well, to keep all of you, anyway."

"Oh, Doc, don't kill me. Don't cut my head off. I'd make you a real good boy-toy. I've always wanted to be a woman's boy-toy. I could eat your pussy every morning to wake you up and every night to help you go to sleep. I'll do whatever you want. I can help you with the house, I can clean, I can do anything. I'd make a real good slave-boy, ma'am. You could whip me and burn me with cigarettes and use sandpaper on my tits and make me serve you and your friends tea and cookies and whatever else you want. Just don't kill me, please, Doc...."

He began to cry, and shake his head, repeating,
"No, no...."

"Joe, there's no way I can keep you. A boy toy is expensive. Besides, how will I ever find out if your head fits in the wastebasket if I don't cut it off?"

I kneeled down and caressed his head, looking into his pleading eyes, and said,
"Now, how do you want it--slow or fast?"

"You must be kidding. You can't do this to me! Please don't cut off my head. Don't slice up my neck. I don't want to die."

"Sorry Joe, you've got to die. Just tell me how fast you want it?"

He was quiet for a long time as I caressed his face and stroked his neck, especially the large firm Adam's apple. He finally whispered,
"Fast."

"I'm going to set the machine on automatic, and hold on to your head while it is cut off."

I straddled his head and clamped his head between my thighs,
"I'd really like it if you were tongue-fucking my cunt as your head is cut off."
After a few seconds hesitation, he shoved his tongue up into my vulva and poked it side to side, giving me that warm sense of well-being again as we waited for the machine to throw the blade.

A minute or more passed then there was a loud Djummmmnnn and the blade whacked his neck.
 

Joe's head was severed smoothly. I loosened my thigh-grip and the head dropped it into the wastebasket. His eyes were looking at me the whole time. The blade closed off the end of his severed neck, so there was no spray of blood from his twitching body.

Joe's head fit neatly into the flared opening of the wastebasket -- just fit. There wasn't enough room for it to fall down into the basket itself.

His brow furrowed and his eyes began to look real confused. Smiling, I told his head,

"Looks like I need a little larger wastebasket. Not quite a perfect fit. Here, let me show you what your headless body looks like, Joe."
I picked his head up and held it so he could see his body securely locked to the low block. His limbs were twitching, almost vibrating against the wrist and ankle restraints. I think the eyes widened just a little, and then went blank, but not before I had showed him his own neck tipped back to display the angular Adam's apple ending at the shiny steel blade with just a little seep of blood around the front of his throat.

There was a large puddle of deep red blood forming on the floor, coming out from the back of his severed neck. His cock was still hard -- the rubber bands kept it up -- but now it dribbled piss. I stuck the hard organ in his own mouth and shoved his nose down into his own pubic hair, twisting his head around on the cock.

A little dribble of blood trickled from his relaxed mouth. But by then I was getting no reaction from the severed head. Joe's head was probably dead-dead now, but must have been aware for about a minute.

I sat down, and watched Joe's still, beautiful strong body in the bright photographic lights while I pressed the now still face between my spread thighs, rubbing his nose against my clitoris, working myself into more of a sustained, intense orgasm than I had ever experienced -- even after all the arousal I had experienced tonight.

I hoped that the snow season was over. It would be difficult to find another snow shoveler at this late date.