The two young prisoners approached the platform, visibly shaking with fear. The older of the two was nineteen-year-old Henri Lechasseur, a slim and well-muscled young man. He had bright green eyes and curly black hair that fell to his neck. His cheeks were smooth with only the slightest dusting of a mustache on his lip.

Four female prison guards escorted him, holding his arms and pulling him forward whenever he faltered. His hands were tied behind him with a rope which ran around his waist and back to his wrists. His eyes were wide with fear, and they wildly searched the crowd and the excited faces staring back at him.

“Non! Non! Non!” he muttered audibly, as he was forcibly hauled up the steep stairs onto the guillotine platform.

The other youth, Leon Aymard, had long black hair that grew down over his ears. Sweat ran down his face and stained the front of his rough farmer’s tunic. With his smooth upper lip and cheeks, he looked even younger than his seventeen years. The leggings he wore were a snug fit, accentuating his muscled thighs and calves, exuding the power of a youthful male. His hands too were tied securely, bound together behind his waist. Chuck could see the terror in the boy’s eyes as they brought him through the crowd, only a few feet away.

It’s difficult to imagine this youth committing a crime of lust or passion against women, Carter thought. It seemed almost a shame to unman him, so full of life and budding sexuality was he, just crossing the threshold into manhood.

Chuck turned his attention to the third prisoner, behind the youths. He was a portly middle-aged man, perhaps 45 years of age, with a bit of a pot belly. His name was Georges Moreau. What had his crime been? Chuck wondered. It was hard to imagine him doing anything of a sexual nature anymore, let alone a crime of sexual abuse or violence. The hair on the back of George’s head was surrendering to advancing baldness, but he still had most of it. He needed a shave, and the soft roundness of his face attested to a live of ease in Marseilles. He stared at the ground, unwilling to look at the rowdy crowd shouting for vengeance and blood. As Chuck watched, Georges and the second youth were forcibly hauled up the steps by more policewomen, and brought across the stage toward the guillotine.

Awaiting them was Sylvie Bourg, the long-time Governess of Voile’s gaol. She was a stern-looking woman of fifty-two, slender and well-groomed and - to Chuck’s discerning eyes - enormously attractive.

Sylvie had led an intriguing life. Prior to her entering Voile’s system of public justice, she had been a nun. She always maintained that her reason for leaving the sisterhood was because she had suffered a crisis of faith, and she didn’t feel she was suited to the vocation. However, many in the village felt there was more to the story than she had let on. Perhaps, they suggested, Sylvie seemed to enjoy her new vocation a little too much. It was well known that in the gaol she was known as La Vipère – The Viper!

Sylvie stepped forward to face the gathered citizens of Voile, attired in a most intimidating official uniform. Holding the decree documenting the first prisoner’s punishment, she addressed the crowd:

“The prisoner, Georges Moreau, sentenced to five years for rape, found in the act of masturbation whilst under the detention of the town of Voile, is hereby sentenced …” – there was a tense and deliberate pause before she concluded her recital – “...to be unmanned!”

Chuck, not yet well-versed in the French language, could make out only a few words of her statement. However, her declaration stirred up considerable cheering and whistling amongst the crowd.

“Who is that?” he asked Margot.

“That is Governess Bourg,” she replied. “She is a wonderful woman. She arrived in our village from far away, as you did, but it was some thirty years ago – before I was born.”

“How did she come to be Governess?”

Margot smiled as she recalled the changes in the village following Sylvie Bourg’s arrival.

“She was welcomed into the town, and she decided to repay the citizens for their hospitality by introducing an effective system of justice. Before that, there was much social unrest – too much crime, and corrupt officials who would not enforce the laws.”

“I see,” Chuck said, greatly intrigued.

“She was soon appointed Governess of the prison and our court judge.”

Fascinated, Chuck returned his attention to the proceedings on the stage.

The prisoners visibly shuddered as they heard the decree of the Governess, whilst the crowd become more excited and rowdy. The contrast between the noisy onlookers and the three on stage was stark – the prisoner’s faces were white, eyes wide with fear. As the audience noise grew, Henri – the youngest of the three – lost control of his bladder, and a wet stain appeared and spread across the front of his pants.

The two youths were dragged to a post at one end of the platform by the guards and positioned back-to-back, with ropes looped several times around them, firmly restraining and binding them to the post. It looked like George’s time had come.

Chuck suddenly noticed that all around him, beautiful young women were approaching the males in the crowd. Money changed hands as some of the men gave a few paper francs, or a handful of coins, to the women. Then they paired up and walked away together, through the crowd.

“What is going on with these young ladies?” Chuck asked. “Where are they going?” He couldn’t imagine anyone leaving, just before events got underway.

“Oh, they are our local prostitutes,” Margot replied. “Public floggings, executions and especially the penis guillotine are their most profitable opportunities. Often men are aroused by these …activity …and the ladies bring them to the balconies around the square.” She turned and nodded behind them and upwards, toward the two-story tile-roofed buildings surrounding the square.

Chuck could see a man sitting in a chair on one of the balconies with his trousers down around his ankles. The head of a young whore rose and fell rapidly between his thighs.

“The excitement gives them need for release, so the prostitutes suck them as the men watch the sentence.”

“Mon Dieu!” Chuck exclaimed involuntarily, astonished at such public displays of sex. “What kind of a village is this?” he asked himself. It was incredible – beyond anything he had ever imagined. Looking to his left, he saw another whore unbuckling a man’s pants and taking his ample penis into her hand. He was already as hard as rock as she began to masturbate him slowly, surrounded by the crowd, who appeared to entirely ignore them.

“Some of the locals are not terribly wealthy,” Margot giggled. “They can only afford the hand.”

Suddenly, a deliciously beautiful girl with raven black hair and a warm smile approached Chuck and asked him something in French. He looked at her, shook his head with incomprehension.

“She wants to know if you would like her to relieve you,” Margot explained.

Overcome with shock and embarrassment, Chuck impulsively said “Non - non, merci bien.” The charming woman next to him laughed sympathetically

“You may regret that,” Margot said, directing her gaze pointedly toward a spot somewhere below Chuck’s silver Texas-sized belt buckle. Chuck glanced down involuntarily and saw that his erection had betrayed him, quite visibly tenting the front of his summer-weight trousers.

Up on the platform, Georges Moreau didn’t struggle. It was almost as though he knew he deserved his punishment, or was at least resigned to it. As the crowd watched, one of the female guards grabbed his shirt at the nape of his neck and jerked it hard, back and downward, tearing the thin cotton fabric. In seconds he was shirtless, displaying his fat belly to all. Another guard roughly yanked George’s pants down, and they collapsed into rumpled circles around his ankles. The crowd roared approval. His penis, in his fear, had shrunken down to just a fat nub, barely visible through his pubic hair. Rivulets of sweat ran down Georges’ face and back.

As two gendarmes held him securely by the elbows, another guard approached the prisoner. She was a hardened-looking woman of about forty, not attractive in the conventional sense but, strangely, as arousing to Chuck as the Governess had been. Her name was Doriane Lisle, the prison’s Preparations Officer.

Doriane knelt in front of the prisoner and quickly tied one end of a long cord tightly around his testicles. Then she withdrew a round, flat tin from a small satchel fastened to her waist. She opened the container, dipped two fingers into the greasy-looking substance it contained, and began to apply it roughly onto the shrunken nub of the prisoner’s manhood. Georges gasped as the cold grease was smeared over the stubby shaft of his flaccid penis. Doriane said something in French as she stroked him.

“She said she’s getting him ready for Madame Guillotine,” Margot translated quietly into Chuck’s ear. Chuck was again astonished at the public display of sexuality – now directed at the prisoner. He stared at Margot again, more questions in his eyes.

“Yes, he should be … erect … most hard penis, when she takes it off,” she explained in her lovely French accent, nodding toward the guillotine for emphasis. “Not for his pleasure, of course! But that way, she takes …” – she made a quick chopping motion with the edge of one hand, into the open palm of the other – “she cut off as much as possible.”

Good lord, thought Chuck. He’s going to be at full erection when they chop it off! He felt an empathetic swelling of his own organ, as he contemplated what was about to take place.

Chuck watched the woman’s hand on the prisoner’s phallus, stroking proficiently, with an added twisting motion as she pumped it up and down. The shrunken member began to betray its owner, visibly swelling in her hand, growing longer and thicker. Doriane was clearly experienced in the art of pleasuring a man. As she worked on him, her prisoner could not help but recall the countless times he had been ordered to perform cunnilingus upon her in the gaol. It never failed to bring him to a turgid solidity.

Georges began to jerk against his bonds, struggling to move, trying to prevent his manhood from responding – knowing his erection would be the prelude to unmanning. But his efforts were fruitless, and as Doriane caressed him, his penis continued to grow and stiffen, almost as though it wanted to be hard and ready for its imminent removal. He groaned with the irresistible compulsion of her relentless manipulation.

The crowd was cheering as they watched his phallus grow, until it was long, stiff, and eager. Doriane paused and squeezed it firmly, as if to assess the quality of his erection. She seemed to want it harder, and continued to work in the thick lubricant, even faster than before. As she did so his appendage continued to stiffen and rise. In four minutes she had transformed it from a shrivelled, terrified nub of flesh to a rampant, thick and throbbing vessel over eight inches in length. One could imagine it was eager for the blade, oblivious to the terror filling its owner.

With full erection achieved, Doriane skilfully brought him to the brink of ejaculation with her hand, and then abruptly ceased. She glanced across to the Governess, who shook her head gravely.

“He’s nowhere near handsome or well-endowed enough to deserve that,” Sylvie said, coldly. “Bring him to the edge again, and then execute sentence.”

Doriane laughed, as did the other guards. She took hold of his member once more and began to slide her lubricated fingers along the length of his slippery shaft. Georges moaned involuntarily, with delightful desperation. Perhaps, he thought, if he could be silent, he could trick this sensual guard into taking him over the edge, into sweet release, before his unmanning.

But Doriane, served by two decades of practice, was far too experienced to be taken in by such transparent tactics. She sensed his penis swelling abruptly, growing even more rigid, and instantly, cruelly, withdrew her lubricated fingers at the critical moment. Georges’ eyes widened with horror and desperate arousal, on the edge of ejaculation – so close to what surely would have been his final orgasm. Doriane quickly looped a short leather cord around his penis at the base, pulling it tight and tying it.

Georges was ready. The female guards moved quickly in well-trained synchrony. Doriane retrieved the loose end of the cord tied to around the prisoner’s testicles, and tossed it to another guard standing next to the guillotine. The guard threaded it through the lower aperture of the lunette, moved to the far side of the machine, and began to pull it toward her. As the slack was taken up, Georges was abruptly yanked forward by his testicles, crying out in pain and almost losing his balance before the guards at his elbows stabilized him, pushing him forward roughly.

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd as they watched him being pulled to the guillotine by his testicles. In seconds, his bulging belly was pressed flat against the machine as one guard guided his rigid penis through the upper lunette opening, while another used the cord to pull his testicles through the lower opening. They quickly closed and latched the hinged top and bottom lunette pieces around his genitals. Finally, the guards pulled a broad leather strap tightly around his lower back, just above his buttocks, and secured each end to one of the massive vertical posts of the guillotine. The effect was to press him firmly against the machine, with no slack for movement. Everything that made Georges a man was now trapped, in the path of the waiting blade.

Georges knew the utter hopelessness of his predicament, but struggled vainly, desperately. He was powerless to avert the execution of his sentence.

Chuck glanced at the two teenagers, taking in the unmistakable look of horror on their faces. The crowd was euphoric, laughing and calling out insults as they watched. A slow drum roll began, and then Doriane reached for the lever on the side of the machine.

Georges Moreau shouted “Non!” as the release was tripped. As he screamed, the black iron blade accelerated downward past his horrified face, did its work, and slammed into the stops at the bottom of the guillotine.

The entire machine rocked from the impact as the blade came to rest. Chuck stared at the silver bowl, which suddenly held the Frenchman’s thick penis, cleanly removed. Under it, his large testes rested, still wrapped in their wrinkled scrotum. Georges’ expression was one of total surprise, his mouth agape, eyes wide. He looked down at the bowl. The shock and suddenness had anesthetized his excruciating pain.

“Non!” he screamed again, before the embrace of Morpheous took hold of him.

The crowd roared their approval. Two guards held Georges in a standing position as the leather strap over his buttocks was undone, then unceremoniously dragged his unconscious form away from the machine. Chuck’s eyes were transfixed, staring at the point from which Georges’ erection had once proudly projected. The leather tie around the short stump of remaining penis was still in place, minimizing blood loss, and the skin that had once attached his scrotum was tied off with the other tight loop of cord. The only evidence of Georges’ former genitals was two blood-red discs of raw flesh, centred within the loops.

The man on Chuck’s left suddenly groaned and ejaculated under the skillful ministrations of the prostitute’s hand. Thick globules of creamy-white seed fell to the ground as she continued stroking him, synchronizing with his spasms of release.

On the platform, the heavy iron blade was hoisted back to the top of the guillotine, and the release mechanism was reset. ‘Madame Guillotine’ was ready to unman the next prisoner.

Next: Young Henri Loses It