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Ever since he stood in that crowd watching the execution of Louis the 16th, former King of France, he’s been mesmerized by that machine. He had read of one just like it before, a contraption titled ‘The Maiden’, a grossly painful way to go out he presumed. He had watched the head of the King be held up and tossed off into the crowd, watching as everyone had started rushing to the limp body as though they were desperate for the blessing of the holy crimson liquid leaking from the neck where the head should have gone. It had caused a loud crack once it was pushed against Louis’s head. A sound that echoed throughout a moment of silence.
Maximilien had grown addicted to watching this machine work with each execution. Each time a life was killed he would get closer and closer to it, until he was close enough that the blood would splat against his once pristine coat. He had grown obsessed. Then the revolution happened, and in 1789 he had been elected by the other Jacobins, and soon came to power within the recreated republic. He used it righteously at first, a polite, radical man devoted to his country. But eventually things started to heat up. As the Jacobins rose higher and higher to power, so did he, practically becoming their main representative within the broken mess that they had called France.
It had been quite a bit since this had happened though, and Robespierre became more than addicted to beheading the other political parties in order to make sure the Jacobins stayed in power. They executed whoever questioned them, up to the point of targeting fellow, less extreme radicals from their same party. Currently, the guillotine sat in a lonesome room, dark and cold, dried blood smeared against the never dulling blade of the device. In walked Maximilien, a small smile on his face when his eyes landed on the guillotine herself.
“Hello, dearest.” He cooed as though the device had been alive. He walked closer until he was directly in front of the 15 foot instrument. “Beautiful as always…” He said to it, staring up at the blade, holding a look adorned with affection on his features. He would walk over to the side of the guillotine, reaching out and caressing the rope that was currently held up by the déclic and bringing a hand up to very delicately caress it with the tip of his finger. One wrong move and the blade could easily fall.
Robespierre didn’t know what to feel about this affinity for the guillotine. It wasn’t natural, it was strange, but he was fully aware of the way it made his heart flutter like no other woman could. He ended up pulling the latch, releasing the string and watching as the blade fell down harshly onto nothing. It sent a shiver down his spine. “Never gets old.” he muttered under his breath with a soft snicker, imagining the vivid image of what his guillotine would look like now if there was but a man laying down on that wooden bed to be the one to feel her wrath. The imagery of glittering crimson fluid coating the blade of his love stirred a warmth deep within him that coated the apples of his cheeks before it went down into his body. He slowly strutted over, leaning down to caress the flat top of the fallen blade, a smile on his face.
“I hope to see you covered in the beautiful blood of those democrats soon, my love.” He said to the guillotine, leaning over and placing a kiss to one of the side crossbars. He had been kissing the guillotine for a while now, but each time it became less and less surprising to him that he did it, though that didn’t stop him from questioning himself. Before long, as his mind continued to picture gory scenes of the executions to come, he felt himself get warmer and warmer before eventually – his breeches got tight. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment with himself as he looked down, and witnessed exactly what the guillotine had stirred in his loins. He sighed softly, but ended up offering a soft laugh at himself. “Look at what you do to me, Madame. It’s as though I were a little boy seeing what's beneath a woman's dress for the first time.” He teased, even though the machinery he was flirting with wasn’t conscious.
He really reflected for a moment, feeling a desperate building of neediness he hasn’t felt long past his teenage years. He hadn’t been with a woman in a long period of time, with the closest he's gotten was the eldest daughter of the Duplay family and even that had been purely platonic. He looked around for a moment, as though to check if anyone else was around as though he had suddenly become paranoid, before he caved to the feeling currently burning in his pants. He speedwalked over to the door, making sure it was locked, before proceeding to draw the curtains to each and every window within the room. He would then go back over to his love, before stopping a couple inches away from it.
He stood there, stumped for a good moment. When he had started making the room private, he had intended to simply pleasure himself near the guillotine before leaving, but suddenly he had started to think a little more. Was it possible? The instrument had no wet holes like a real woman, and surely they didn’t consider a possible different way when constructing it. But even then, he decided he had been determined enough to find a way.
It started simple, as he removed his half-erect spindle from his breeches, his breath hitching the tiniest tad as he started to gently pump his hand around the length which was around 6 inches. He whimpered softly as he traced a hand on the rope that let itself loosely hold the blade. He would walk around the side of the guillotine before letting himself sit against the bascule of the machine and letting his legs straddle the sides of the smooth polished wood, before he continued gentle rubbing against the staff of his penis. He whimpered pathetically like a kicked dog, but he wanted more. He longed to be inside the guillotine, though of all things to be possible, that in particular wasn’t. He ended up reaching over with both hands, grabbing hold of the rope that held the blade with his doodle still out of his pants as he started to pull the blade up, up, and up. Once at the top, he made sure he had a good grip of it before letting one of his hands travel back down to his erection, starting to rub it again before letting go of the rope and watching as the blade swiftly fell.
The rough movement made the machinery tremble and shake, and the loud noise of the blade hitting just wood made a loud enough noise to make him jolt even despite expecting it. He would just kind of stare at it for a good moment, before scooting closer. He now sat directly in front of the hole the guillotine had for a man’s neck to fit through, currently being completely cut off from the guillotine between the thin wooden lunettes. He hesitated, before bringing his hips close and letting the tip of his spindle to place but a kiss against the smooth, cold blade of her majesty as he referred to her in front of the public. The cold contrast to his hot heat made him let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, as heat rushed to his cheeks. “Madame guillotine...” He muttered with a short groan, saying the name of the killing machine as though it were just a woman. His woman.
He took his hand away from himself, bringing both hands to grip the rope as he let out another sound. He had pressed his hips further against the cold metal, knowing it was safe enough to not cut himself since the whole blade was concealed within the lunettes. Thats when he started to very gently rock his hips, small breaths coming from him with each movement as he felt the metal turn slick from the smearing precum starting to coat it just like the blood of the executed did. It felt good. The cold metal against his erection was a feeling he had never felt before. One he considered better than if the Maiden had been a real woman, though he didn’t know if that was because of his lack of sex in the past several years or simply if it were true.
As time went on, he had started to thrust his hips against it more vigorously, saying words of endearment to the contraption as he felt the cold turn warm while he humped like a dog in heat. “You’re heavenly..” he whispered to himself, feeling his need get more and more desperate as time went on. Eventually, he caved. He needed something more.
Before long, he decided more is exactly what he’d get. He used both hands to grab onto the rope, the part on the outside that helps to pull the mouton up, which caused a sound similar to the unsheathing of a sword. He pulled higher and higher, until the blade rested at the top of the 15 tall structure, watching it dangle overtop him with newfound heat flooding to his erection. He froze for a good minute, staring up at the risk he was taking and trying to decide if it was worth it. Until he bucked his hips forward, rubbing himself on the top of the circle that had been carved into the lunettes long ago. He let out a quick moan that fell short not long after it was first made. He started to thrust against roughly, chasing his orgasm like he chased the people’s approval. They would never approve of something like this, would they? The thought only made him harder. He held onto the rope as though his life depended on it, both from the overwhelming pleasure and slight fear at the risk he was taking.
He sped up his pace, getting a good grip of the rope with one arm before he let go with the other, bringing his now free hand down to wrap around the side of his cock that wasn’t receiving the friction when it was thrusted forward, creating a simulation of proper sex despite it being his hand. The feeling made him let out a choked noise, focusing deeply on the feeling that the instrument was giving him. “I love you.” He whispered to her, as though she had felt the same. As though ‘she’ wasn’t just a guillotine. He had a hard time holding back, and before long he found himself reaching his climax.
“Good God.” He whined out in a girlish whimper, thrusting against the top of the lunette and into his hand harshly as he felt the waves of pleasure crash over him, sperm starting to leak from the tip. He let out several breaths, before letting himself relax a bit. This wasn’t a good idea however, because due to the loosened grip on the rope, it had fallen from his arm and the blade suddenly fell. He pulled his body back as quick as he possibly could, just in time for the device to shake from the harsh force of the guillotine cutting into nothing. He breathed heavily, feeling the rush of adrenaline start to fade into relief of two kinds once he noticed he was ok. He let out a final sigh, before pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket, softly starting to rub himself clean. When he was done, he gently tucked himself back into his pants, and chuckled. “Was the scare needed, ma cher?” He teased it as though it could be heard. With that, he stood up, brushing himself off.
“For now I must be off. I have more people to see and more Jacobins to lead.” He explained, leaning over and giving one of the support beams a small kiss, before he started to make way towards the door. “I’ll be back eventually. Soon enough, France will be mine, right?” He said with a chuckle, unlocking the door, and simply leaving. The guillotine would sit there, unmoving, unhearing, and unknowing. She was not a Madame. She was an intricate killing machine. Even then, that never stopped Robespierre’s love.