Grace's Culling Notice
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Before we begin, let me say I know I'm not the first to write using this premise. I can't say for sure where I got it from, except to say that the culling notice premise is not my idea and I remember reading a short story about it years ago. I like my stories to be a little more...sensual, however, so I've written one of my own and set it in a world where the executioner wants you to be as relaxed as possible!
And like the character in some of the more recent stories here (which are great, by the way!) I also have a hair/shampoo fetish so I've tried to work that in as well.
Enjoy!
____
I was working on a term paper in the university library when the notice came. I was half expecting it. I mean, if it was going to happen, right before I graduated and entered the “real world” was the ideal time, right? Only if you didn’t have any plans for the rest of your life, I suppose.
My mouse hovered over the “Urgent” email that had popped up in my inbox. I half wanted to ignore it but I knew what the consequences would be if it was what I was expecting and I didn’t respond.
I clicked on it.
My screen went dark blue for a moment and then four touch screen icons appeared, one in each corner. A pleasant voice came through my headphones.
“Good afternoon Miss Grace Jones. Your termination has been scheduled. Please select your preferred method of termination.” I glanced at the timer which appeared in the middle of the screen and began counting down. “If you have not selected a method of termination by the time the countdown ends a method will be chosen for you. You will be given instructions on when and where to report for termination once you have made your selection.”
So there it was. My culling notice. Food shortages were such that the government had decided not everyone got to live a full, happy life. Some of us, like me, were chosen to give up our places in society. I had hoped with my grades, and my computer science degree under my belt, that my notice wouldn’t come for years but obviously not. Their algorithm had chosen me.
I hesitated. The timer steadily counted down from five minutes. 4:12 seconds left. I had to choose how I wanted to die. Guillotine. Hanging. Electric Chair. Firing Squad. But I didn’t want to die at all. I had so many plans… 3:28.
I knew what would happen if I didn’t choose. The “elected” terminations were held in a more or less controlled fashion. The “unelected” ones were not. The state said you had to die but in that case the method was irrelevant. The termination staff could have all the fun they wanted with you.
2:10.
I didn’t want to hang. They used the short-drop method and that could take forever to kill you. (The termination staff liked to draw it out if they could.) The idea of a bullet blowing my brains across the wall behind me was terrifying…
1:01
And the electric chair was supposed to take forever, too…
I froze. I couldn’t choose. I had to choose…
0:08
My finger ever so slightly tapped the “Guillotine” button.
“Congratulations! You have chosen to be beheaded,” the voice said. “Would you prefer male or female termination staff?”
I didn’t have to hesitate at that one. Maybe I can get her to eat me out one last time, I thought.
“The termination staff at Market Square Processing Center expect your arrival in 3 hours and 19 minutes,” the voice said. “Late arrival is not recommended. Please note that your affairs will be put in order by the state. Again, late arrivals will not be tolerated. Have a nice day.”
I sat back in my chair as the shock wore off. The term paper came back up on the screen but I ignored it. A month shy of my university graduation, and three months before my 24th birthday and my life was to end.
I didn’t feel fear yet. I thought about calling my parents but decided against it. They lived on the other side of the country and there was nothing they could do in three hours. Better for them to get the official notification. I had no girlfriend, either. No loose ends to tie up.
I sat up straight as realization struck me. I might as well have some fun in the time I had left. I grabbed my cell and called my stylist.
“Pam? It’s Grace. Listen, I need a huge favor. My termination has been scheduled and I’m losing my head in a little over three hours. Could you squeeze me in?”
Twenty minutes later I sat in her chair, a towel and cape covering me.
“Isn’t this fun!” she squealed. “I get to give you your death cut!” She’d done my hair since I was a child so I could tell the irony was not lost on her. There were two other clients in the salon, both older ladies under the dryer looking obviously relieved that they weren’t in the hot seat, so to speak.
“So what are we doing?” Pam asked.
“Actually I was thinking just an updo? Something with lots of curls and maybe a braid? But definitely leaving my neck clear.”
“Of course, my dear.” She leaned me back into the shampoo bowl. I knew her scalp massages were heavenly and she did not disappoint. I moaned softly as she lathered me up.
“Don’t be bashful,” she said quietly. “Enjoy it while you can before you’re looking up out of a different bowl.”
With 32 minutes to spare she was done. I examined myself in the mirror, my auburn hair expertly piled up in a shower of ringlets which, thankfully, stopped short of my neck.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked.
“Consider this one on the house!”
“Thanks!” With that I ran out the door, determined to arrive late.
I made it to the reception in Market Square with 4 minutes to spare.
“I’m Grace Jones,” I told the receptionist. “I’m here to have my head cut off.”
The receptionist (she was young, and that wasn’t surprising; termination center employees were exempt from culling notices until they turned 40) took my idea, checked my name off on a list, and directed me down the hallway. “They’re expecting you in B,” she said. “You don’t want to be late.”
I took a deep breath before knocking on the door labeled “B.” It still didn’t feel real. Would I be dead in minutes? Would there be a line? Would I have to wait?
“Come in.” I heard it softly through the door and opened it to enter…an empty room. A desk stood against the far wall, a bin to my left and another door to the right. A gorgeous looking blonde, wearing not a thing at all, sat in the chair by the desk.
“Come on in,” she said again, an eye popping smile on her face. “You’re Grace?”
I nodded, my eyes still fixed on her. She was incredible, from her breasts down to her legs.
She laughed. “Take it all in, honey. The more relaxed you are, the better.”
“Does that mean we can have some fun?” I asked, surprised at my own playfulness.
“Maybe.” She smiled coyly. “You did arrive on time, after all. If you’d been late we’d be having a different kind of fun. But enough talk for now. We do have a schedule to keep. And I love your hair by the way.”
She gestured at the bin. “Your clothes and any personal items go in there. Once that’s done I’ll get you taken care of.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” I said as I stripped.
“It can actually be quite enjoyable,” she answered, “as long as you remember that only one of us is going home tonight.” I tossed my clothes and my few pieces of jewelry in the bin.
“Oh the things I would do to you…” she said after I had finished. She led me through a side door to another room where it sat out in the open. Tilting tray up and straps at the ready. Lunette wide open. Basket in place. Blade raised high. My knees buckled when I saw the blade that would sever my neck.
“I don’t know,” I said, my playfulness fading. “Do we have to move so fast? Why don’t we take our time?”
“Because, my dear, you don’t get to stall.” She ran a finger down my cheek as she said so. Despite my predicament I felt myself get wet. “And if you stall, well, I get to have my kind of fun.” Her finger kept going. “But, if you let me proceed, I’ll make it worth your while.”
I nodded dumbly as I stared into her eyes. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.
She led me up to the board. She paused before strapping me in. “Hmm…” She looked thoughtful. “I’d hate to ruin that hair of yours. We’ll do you this way.” She pushed me chest first against the board and gently but firmly strapped me in. There was no turning back now. She tilted me down so I lay horizontal and my heart began to pound in my chest.
“What about making it worth my while?” I asked softly.
She ran a gentle finger down my pussy. “Patience, my dear, patience.”
She pushed me forward and I obligingly lifted my head to fit the lunette. I whimpered as I saw, clearly for the first time, where my head would land. When she was satisfied my hair was clear of the blade’s path she closed and locked the lunette.
“Come my dear,” she said as she moved around to the guillotine’s controls, “try to relax.”
She ran a finger up and down with my pussy with one hand as she released the guillotine’s safety with the other.
As the tension built and I waited for her to release the blade she kept going. I crept closer and closer to the biggest orgasm of my life.
I moaned out in pleasure just as I was about to climax…and she flipped the switch that sent the blade crashing down onto my neck. My head landed with a thud in the waiting basket. By some fluke of physics I stared up out of the basket just as I had at the shampoo bowl hours earlier.
My executioner hit the switch to start the guillotine’s self-cleaning process and left the room. The last thing I remember is watching as my body and my head fell into the incinerator on the basement floor.
And like the character in some of the more recent stories here (which are great, by the way!) I also have a hair/shampoo fetish so I've tried to work that in as well.
Enjoy!
____
I was working on a term paper in the university library when the notice came. I was half expecting it. I mean, if it was going to happen, right before I graduated and entered the “real world” was the ideal time, right? Only if you didn’t have any plans for the rest of your life, I suppose.
My mouse hovered over the “Urgent” email that had popped up in my inbox. I half wanted to ignore it but I knew what the consequences would be if it was what I was expecting and I didn’t respond.
I clicked on it.
My screen went dark blue for a moment and then four touch screen icons appeared, one in each corner. A pleasant voice came through my headphones.
“Good afternoon Miss Grace Jones. Your termination has been scheduled. Please select your preferred method of termination.” I glanced at the timer which appeared in the middle of the screen and began counting down. “If you have not selected a method of termination by the time the countdown ends a method will be chosen for you. You will be given instructions on when and where to report for termination once you have made your selection.”
So there it was. My culling notice. Food shortages were such that the government had decided not everyone got to live a full, happy life. Some of us, like me, were chosen to give up our places in society. I had hoped with my grades, and my computer science degree under my belt, that my notice wouldn’t come for years but obviously not. Their algorithm had chosen me.
I hesitated. The timer steadily counted down from five minutes. 4:12 seconds left. I had to choose how I wanted to die. Guillotine. Hanging. Electric Chair. Firing Squad. But I didn’t want to die at all. I had so many plans… 3:28.
I knew what would happen if I didn’t choose. The “elected” terminations were held in a more or less controlled fashion. The “unelected” ones were not. The state said you had to die but in that case the method was irrelevant. The termination staff could have all the fun they wanted with you.
2:10.
I didn’t want to hang. They used the short-drop method and that could take forever to kill you. (The termination staff liked to draw it out if they could.) The idea of a bullet blowing my brains across the wall behind me was terrifying…
1:01
And the electric chair was supposed to take forever, too…
I froze. I couldn’t choose. I had to choose…
0:08
My finger ever so slightly tapped the “Guillotine” button.
“Congratulations! You have chosen to be beheaded,” the voice said. “Would you prefer male or female termination staff?”
I didn’t have to hesitate at that one. Maybe I can get her to eat me out one last time, I thought.
“The termination staff at Market Square Processing Center expect your arrival in 3 hours and 19 minutes,” the voice said. “Late arrival is not recommended. Please note that your affairs will be put in order by the state. Again, late arrivals will not be tolerated. Have a nice day.”
I sat back in my chair as the shock wore off. The term paper came back up on the screen but I ignored it. A month shy of my university graduation, and three months before my 24th birthday and my life was to end.
I didn’t feel fear yet. I thought about calling my parents but decided against it. They lived on the other side of the country and there was nothing they could do in three hours. Better for them to get the official notification. I had no girlfriend, either. No loose ends to tie up.
I sat up straight as realization struck me. I might as well have some fun in the time I had left. I grabbed my cell and called my stylist.
“Pam? It’s Grace. Listen, I need a huge favor. My termination has been scheduled and I’m losing my head in a little over three hours. Could you squeeze me in?”
Twenty minutes later I sat in her chair, a towel and cape covering me.
“Isn’t this fun!” she squealed. “I get to give you your death cut!” She’d done my hair since I was a child so I could tell the irony was not lost on her. There were two other clients in the salon, both older ladies under the dryer looking obviously relieved that they weren’t in the hot seat, so to speak.
“So what are we doing?” Pam asked.
“Actually I was thinking just an updo? Something with lots of curls and maybe a braid? But definitely leaving my neck clear.”
“Of course, my dear.” She leaned me back into the shampoo bowl. I knew her scalp massages were heavenly and she did not disappoint. I moaned softly as she lathered me up.
“Don’t be bashful,” she said quietly. “Enjoy it while you can before you’re looking up out of a different bowl.”
With 32 minutes to spare she was done. I examined myself in the mirror, my auburn hair expertly piled up in a shower of ringlets which, thankfully, stopped short of my neck.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked.
“Consider this one on the house!”
“Thanks!” With that I ran out the door, determined to arrive late.
I made it to the reception in Market Square with 4 minutes to spare.
“I’m Grace Jones,” I told the receptionist. “I’m here to have my head cut off.”
The receptionist (she was young, and that wasn’t surprising; termination center employees were exempt from culling notices until they turned 40) took my idea, checked my name off on a list, and directed me down the hallway. “They’re expecting you in B,” she said. “You don’t want to be late.”
I took a deep breath before knocking on the door labeled “B.” It still didn’t feel real. Would I be dead in minutes? Would there be a line? Would I have to wait?
“Come in.” I heard it softly through the door and opened it to enter…an empty room. A desk stood against the far wall, a bin to my left and another door to the right. A gorgeous looking blonde, wearing not a thing at all, sat in the chair by the desk.
“Come on in,” she said again, an eye popping smile on her face. “You’re Grace?”
I nodded, my eyes still fixed on her. She was incredible, from her breasts down to her legs.
She laughed. “Take it all in, honey. The more relaxed you are, the better.”
“Does that mean we can have some fun?” I asked, surprised at my own playfulness.
“Maybe.” She smiled coyly. “You did arrive on time, after all. If you’d been late we’d be having a different kind of fun. But enough talk for now. We do have a schedule to keep. And I love your hair by the way.”
She gestured at the bin. “Your clothes and any personal items go in there. Once that’s done I’ll get you taken care of.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” I said as I stripped.
“It can actually be quite enjoyable,” she answered, “as long as you remember that only one of us is going home tonight.” I tossed my clothes and my few pieces of jewelry in the bin.
“Oh the things I would do to you…” she said after I had finished. She led me through a side door to another room where it sat out in the open. Tilting tray up and straps at the ready. Lunette wide open. Basket in place. Blade raised high. My knees buckled when I saw the blade that would sever my neck.
“I don’t know,” I said, my playfulness fading. “Do we have to move so fast? Why don’t we take our time?”
“Because, my dear, you don’t get to stall.” She ran a finger down my cheek as she said so. Despite my predicament I felt myself get wet. “And if you stall, well, I get to have my kind of fun.” Her finger kept going. “But, if you let me proceed, I’ll make it worth your while.”
I nodded dumbly as I stared into her eyes. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.
She led me up to the board. She paused before strapping me in. “Hmm…” She looked thoughtful. “I’d hate to ruin that hair of yours. We’ll do you this way.” She pushed me chest first against the board and gently but firmly strapped me in. There was no turning back now. She tilted me down so I lay horizontal and my heart began to pound in my chest.
“What about making it worth my while?” I asked softly.
She ran a gentle finger down my pussy. “Patience, my dear, patience.”
She pushed me forward and I obligingly lifted my head to fit the lunette. I whimpered as I saw, clearly for the first time, where my head would land. When she was satisfied my hair was clear of the blade’s path she closed and locked the lunette.
“Come my dear,” she said as she moved around to the guillotine’s controls, “try to relax.”
She ran a finger up and down with my pussy with one hand as she released the guillotine’s safety with the other.
As the tension built and I waited for her to release the blade she kept going. I crept closer and closer to the biggest orgasm of my life.
I moaned out in pleasure just as I was about to climax…and she flipped the switch that sent the blade crashing down onto my neck. My head landed with a thud in the waiting basket. By some fluke of physics I stared up out of the basket just as I had at the shampoo bowl hours earlier.
My executioner hit the switch to start the guillotine’s self-cleaning process and left the room. The last thing I remember is watching as my body and my head fell into the incinerator on the basement floor.
Wow I love that you had one last amazing orgasm before losing your pretty head
what a wonderful world...I see trees in green...I don't love to live in such a world you depict in your excellent story but I've had some fantasies in the same way
Excelent! Once again, you captured an important part of my Fantasy with Grace's mood towards her inminente and inevitable demise. Serious but not tragic, almost playful in certain situations.
"I'm here to have my head cut off" is one of the most arousing lines i've read in Chris forum.
Congratulations!
"I'm here to have my head cut off" is one of the most arousing lines i've read in Chris forum.
Congratulations!
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