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Description
You and your wife took your monthly weekend retreat to your mountain cabin again. Though she wants to be here every weekend, and you want to have this kind of fun at home, you both agreed that it was better this way. The cabin would lose its charm if you were always there.

As for the things you did there…well, better not risk someone you know peeking through your windows or arriving unannounced, right? You can’t leave a pair of handcuffs or a set of restraints where anyone can see them if you don’t have them at home.

You arrived twenty minutes ago. Your wife shed both clothes and personality within moments of walking through the door. Her conservative dress and controlling demeanor practically vanished; a quiet, nude, submissive object of your desires was all that remained.

You perused your gear and gadgets. Time ticked on - she stayed silent for you as you made your decisions. You toss her a sheer, revealing body suit. She puts it on and waits for minutes as you gather the harnesses you want to use this time. Again, you toss these at her feet, but you leave the room for the next item you need. You have it in your coat pocket in just over a minute.

You return to see what you hoped for - her fantastic curves displayed and constrained by her cloth and leather. You could see questions in her eyes that she would have launched at you instantly if you two were home, but you weren’t. You were here. You were in complete control. She could wonder all she wanted about what you went to get, but she would not dare to ask you.

”Raise your hands to your shoulders,” you say. She does so. You walk up to her. You grab the metal clasps on the wrist cuffs and latch them to the metal rings on her chest straps. You step back and start circling her. You relish the twists of her hands and her subtle movements of discomfort within her bonds.

After a full rotation, you take a few more steps and stop behind her. She doesn’t turn around, doesn’t try to even turn her head. You pull out the Sonic Knife from your pocket. You press yourself against her rear, place your left hand fully under her chin, and tell her, “Stay still.”

She stands straighter and complies. You pull the knife around and wave it in front of her eyes. She whimpers. Her breathing intensifies. Metal chimes as her hands reflexively pull against her chains. Her ass presses back into your hips. You lift her chin higher and take the Sonic Knife to her neck. She gasps and lets out a moan as you carve through her neck in seven or eight strokes.

Then silence.

You step away with her head and simply watch her. Her knees buckle and straighten in a steady metronome. Her hands attempt to reach above her neck for the head she knows is gone, but her restraints keep her curling fingers just out of reach. She starts to waver - a step to the left, a few steps to the right, a balance-correcting set of steps forward and back.

She’s headless again. Ah, finally, she’s been beheaded again. You both love it for different reasons, but you both love it all the same.

You take as little time as you can putting away the knife and stashing her head somewhere you haven’t hidden it before. Sometimes she finds it and you let her keep it. More often she doesn’t before the weekend is out and you give it back to her. You rush, almost running, back to her.

Your headless wife has started to wander. She knows you; she knows you’re watching her struggle. She knows that she won’t know how long it will be before you touch her again and reveal your presence. For now, she roams helplessly for your amusement and arousal. Her chests jiggles, her ass sways, her arms flap, her fists tighten, her feet stomp. Through the den, around the kitchen, out the back door to the private deck she stumbles clumsily, bumping into walls, falling to her knees and standing again.

Ten minutes this continues. Then a half hour. An hour goes by. You’ve already touched yourself to fruition in the initial dance. You recorded half of it. Finally ready to give her more direct guidance, you grab her. She jumps, then presses herself against you. You unlock the wrist cuffs and guide her to bed.

After that, you let her roam again. This time she’s naked and unrestrained. Her hands are the closest thing to eyes you left her with. Again, you watch. Your beheaded bride explores more of the cabin, but it doesn’t quite look like she’s searching for her amputated mind. She finds cabinets and closets but opens nothing. She touches objects on the tables, but doesn’t slide her hands across the surface to know what’s there. That’s okay. She’ll want her head again soon enough. She prefers to sleep with it attached.

You don’t think that will happen tonight. Not here at your cabin. What happens with her is for you to decide.

—————

How would your weekend with your beheaded babe play out? Find more women in her condition in my $3 a month Patreon, updated on the first of every month: patreon.com/LackingCPU

Description
You and your wife took your monthly weekend retreat to your mountain cabin again. Though she wants to be here every weekend, and you want to have this kind of fun at home, you both agreed that it was better this way. The cabin would lose its charm if you were always there.

As for the things you did there…well, better not risk someone you know peeking through your windows or arriving unannounced, right? You can’t leave a pair of handcuffs or a set of restraints where anyone can see them if you don’t have them at home.

You arrived twenty minutes ago. Your wife shed both clothes and personality within moments of walking through the door. Her conservative dress and controlling demeanor practically vanished; a quiet, nude, submissive object of your desires was all that remained.

You perused your gear and gadgets. Time ticked on - she stayed silent for you as you made your decisions. You toss her a sheer, revealing body suit. She puts it on and waits for minutes as you gather the harnesses you want to use this time. Again, you toss these at her feet, but you leave the room for the next item you need. You have it in your coat pocket in just over a minute.

You return to see what you hoped for - her fantastic curves displayed and constrained by her cloth and leather. You could see questions in her eyes that she would have launched at you instantly if you two were home, but you weren’t. You were here. You were in complete control. She could wonder all she wanted about what you went to get, but she would not dare to ask you.

”Raise your hands to your shoulders,” you say. She does so. You walk up to her. You grab the metal clasps on the wrist cuffs and latch them to the metal rings on her chest straps. You step back and start circling her. You relish the twists of her hands and her subtle movements of discomfort within her bonds.

After a full rotation, you take a few more steps and stop behind her. She doesn’t turn around, doesn’t try to even turn her head. You pull out the Sonic Knife from your pocket. You press yourself against her rear, place your left hand fully under her chin, and tell her, “Stay still.”

She stands straighter and complies. You pull the knife around and wave it in front of her eyes. She whimpers. Her breathing intensifies. Metal chimes as her hands reflexively pull against her chains. Her ass presses back into your hips. You lift her chin higher and take the Sonic Knife to her neck. She gasps and lets out a moan as you carve through her neck in seven or eight strokes.

Then silence.

You step away with her head and simply watch her. Her knees buckle and straighten in a steady metronome. Her hands attempt to reach above her neck for the head she knows is gone, but her restraints keep her curling fingers just out of reach. She starts to waver - a step to the left, a few steps to the right, a balance-correcting set of steps forward and back.

She’s headless again. Ah, finally, she’s been beheaded again. You both love it for different reasons, but you both love it all the same.

You take as little time as you can putting away the knife and stashing her head somewhere you haven’t hidden it before. Sometimes she finds it and you let her keep it. More often she doesn’t before the weekend is out and you give it back to her. You rush, almost running, back to her.

Your headless wife has started to wander. She knows you; she knows you’re watching her struggle. She knows that she won’t know how long it will be before you touch her again and reveal your presence. For now, she roams helplessly for your amusement and arousal. Her chests jiggles, her ass sways, her arms flap, her fists tighten, her feet stomp. Through the den, around the kitchen, out the back door to the private deck she stumbles clumsily, bumping into walls, falling to her knees and standing again.

Ten minutes this continues. Then a half hour. An hour goes by. You’ve already touched yourself to fruition in the initial dance. You recorded half of it. Finally ready to give her more direct guidance, you grab her. She jumps, then presses herself against you. You unlock the wrist cuffs and guide her to bed.

After that, you let her roam again. This time she’s naked and unrestrained. Her hands are the closest thing to eyes you left her with. Again, you watch. Your beheaded bride explores more of the cabin, but it doesn’t quite look like she’s searching for her amputated mind. She finds cabinets and closets but opens nothing. She touches objects on the tables, but doesn’t slide her hands across the surface to know what’s there. That’s okay. She’ll want her head again soon enough. She prefers to sleep with it attached.

You don’t think that will happen tonight. Not here at your cabin. What happens with her is for you to decide.

—————

How would your weekend with your beheaded babe play out? Find more women in her condition in my $3 a month Patreon, updated on the first of every month: patreon.com/LackingCPU