Algeria, 1957.

The heavy iron door came open. Two soldiers dragged the girl in the simple white dress into the room. The two paratroopers sat her down on the wooden chair, fixed her hands to the armrests with two firm leather straps and stretched her legs forward. They placed their ankles in a wooden pillory. Finally, they fastened a leather strap around her neck, binding her tightly to the backrest. Then the two women with the red berets silently left the room, leaving the girl alone.

Djamila felt her heartbeat pounding against the leather strap on her neck. Her bonds did not allow her to move at all. The girl let her eyes wander over her skimpy dress. Her white panties stood out. Further her gaze went over her stretched legs, her bare thighs and knees down to the pillory around her ankles. Finally, she stared at the straps of her flat leather sandals.

She heard footsteps. Through the door stepped Tiziana in a black jumpsuit and pumps. Tall. Cruel eyes. Striking face. Following her was a uniformed girl with a long blonde braid.

The prosecutor dropped the folder she carried under her arm loudly on the table. Then she took a small chair and sat down with it next to Djamila. The girl turned towards her as far as the strap around her neck would allow. She looked into her eyes.

"We can get this done two ways. Either you sign the confession right now or we get it out of you."

"What confession? What am I being accused of?"

"Vanessa, take off her sandals!"

"Wait! You can't do that! I want to see a lawyer! What are you charging me with?"

"I'm not in the mood for games. Vanessa, begin!"

"Oui, Madame."

The blonde girl took a feather and began stroking the bare soles of Djamila's feet. Immediately she tried to pull her feet out of the pillory, but he did not relent. She laughed hysterically as she did everything she could to avoid the tickling under her soles.

"Stop it! Please! Stop it!" she screamed, tugging at her bonds.

After a minute, Tiziana made a slight hand gesture. Vanessa let go. Djamila struggled for breath.

"Three French dead, seven injured. You bastards from the National Liberation Front are getting bolder and bolder."

Djamila's eyes widened in horror and stared at the prosecutor.

"No! This is a mistake. I have nothing to do with the FLN. Do you hear me?"

Tiziana nodded at Vanessa. Djamila tore at her bonds with all her might. Her laughter turned into a scream. She scratched deep furrows in the armrests of the chair with her fingernails.

"We can do this all day. Paris wants a culprit. Save yourself the rest and sign the confession."

"I swear to you, I didn't do anything!"

"Vanessa..."

Again, the blonde girl set to work. This time she let the pleasure last for several minutes. Tears streamed down Djamila's cheeks. Her muscles and lungs ached. She felt she was about to burst. Vanessa squeezed harder with the feather and went under her toes with it.

"Please, stop it!" the girl cried.

"You can resist all you want. In the end you will be found guilty. You know what that means for you. Sign now and the court may let you keep your head."

Djamila's face turned pale. Sweat trickled down her face. The prosecutor turned back to Vanessa. But before she could give the command again, Djamila intervened:

"Don't! I'll sign. Stop it! I'll sign."

Tiziana smiled.

"Good girl."

Vanessa loosened the strap on the right armrest. With a shaky hand, Djamila signed the confession. Sweat dripped onto the white paper.

The two paras entered again, loosened the bonds and lifted Djamila from her seat. The chair was soaking wet. They carried the girl away, threw her into her cell and left. Vanessa stepped through the open door and threw her sandals at her.

"What will happen to me now?"

"Your confession will now go to the special court. Then you will be judged."

The heavy door slammed shut and was locked from the outside.

Djamila sat down on the old mattress and scratched the soles of her feet. She still felt the tingling under her skin.

Hours passed.

She ran her hand over the back of her neck.

"Why did I sign?" the girl thought to herself. "Now my life is in the hands of the judges."

She thought of the machine she had heard so much about. She had seen pictures in the newspaper. The guillotine. Would they behead her with it? The thought was as terrifying as it was arousing.

Djamila wanted to know. To know how it might feel. She put her hair up. Then she lay down on her stomach on the mattress and put her neck on the edge of the bed, staring at the ground. She clasped her hands behind her back as if she were tied up. Djamila felt the soft edge of the mattress under her throat and imagined her neck was fixed in the lunette. Above her bare neck, the sharp blade. She looked down at the floor of her cell.

"That's where the basket would lie. The basket that would catch my head..."

Djamila took her hands from her back and ran them under her dress. Her vagina was soaking wet. She bit her lower lip, closed her eyes and began to stroke her erogenous zones with her fingers. Little by little, she increased the intensity. The girl imagined herself staring into the basket, knowing that with every second the moment of her decapitation was drawing closer. Perhaps the executioner would brush the last hairs from her nape.

She stretched her neck. The weight of her body made Djamila feel the friction against her clitoris intensify. An ever more intense surge of warmth rippled through Djamila's body. Her lust rose more and more.

Now the executioner would put her hand on the lever.

The girl came higher and higher.

She imagined the blade falling down and her head rolling into the basket.

A moment of purest delight passed through Djamila. Her body relaxed completely. All her worries dissolved in a moment of pure contentment.

Two days passed.

The keys rattled in the lock and the door opened. In stepped Vanessa with the two paratroopers.

"Step up to the window there! Hands behind your back!"

Djamila stepped to the window.

"What's the verdict?"

Handcuffs clicked around their wrists. Then Vanessa pulled out a pair of scissors and cut Djamila's hair until she stood before her with her nape bare. The girl looked out the window, breathing heavily.

"What's the verdict!?!"

The two paras grabbed the girl by the arms and led her out of the cell down a long corridor. Djamila knew where they were taking her. The fear of death displaced all other feelings. At the end of the corridor, they opened a wooden door. The prison courtyard opened in front of Djamila. In its centre, the guillotine. To her right, a wooden coffin.

The girl stood frozen, but the soldiers dragged her mercilessly on.

"No. No! Wait!"

In front of the guillotine were a dozen chairs. High French officials had sat down on them. Most were there solely to gawk at the girl's beheading. Tiziana sat in the front row with her legs crossed.

They pressed Djamila against the wooden bascule. The two executioners closed the leather straps and tied her firmly to the bench. The leather was tight against her bare arms. Djamila's abdomen tickled.

She looked at Tiziana through the rails of the guillotine. She was still wearing black. The young woman grinned with a devious expression.

Instinctively, Djamila wanted to shy away, but she couldn't move an inch. Before the condemned girl could form another thought, she felt her feet leave the ground. The next moment she was lying on her stomach. The two soldiers pushed the girl towards the open lunette. Djamila raised her head to avoid bumping her chin against the lower half of the semicircle. Just as her neck was protruding between the two rails, Djamila felt herself being gently but firmly pushed down at the back of her head. Her throat hit the hard wood.

A moment later, the lunette snapped shut over her nape. The girl felt the resistance against her spine as she tried to lift her head. She felt completely defenceless. At mercy. And at the same time, the bittersweet tugging under her abdominal muscles increased.

Her eyes widened in terror as she stared into the basket that was about to catch her head. But at the same time, the thought of what was about to happen kept increasing her arousal. It was exactly as she had imagined. Her young breasts poked against the hard wood beneath her.

Djamila felt Vanessa's fingers under her chin. She stretched her neck. The touch sent a shiver through her spine. Her head trembled over the basket. Glassy beads flowed down her fever-hot temples. Again, she tried to move, but the restraints left no room. Her vagina grew increasingly wet.

She felt all eyes on her.

Her head.

Her nape.

She looked forward and caught sight of Tiziana's feet, to which her head was about to roll. The thrill in her vagina grew sweeter and sweeter. She worked her gaze up her legs and finally looked into her eyes. Her heart pounded in her chest as if it was about to burst. The prosecutor immediately saw what was going on in the girl before her. She liked it.

The spectators stared at her, spellbound. They all sensed that the spectacle was about to reach its climax. With open mouths and greedy eyes, they stared at the twenty-year-old who was now about to be beheaded at any moment.

Djamila's excitement was close to breaking point. She could no longer think. Only feel. Fear and excitement. Her composure hung by a thread. Her whole body was completely tense. The slightest stimulus, anything, would burst the dam between her legs.

Suddenly she felt an intense tickling under the soles of her feet. The dam broke. An orgasm washed up her spine from the soles of her feet and her abdomen. She reared up jerkily, bumping her neck against the lunette. At the same instant, the cold steel kissed her neck. The sudden jerk caused the girl's head spin over, fly over the basket and land in the sand at Tiziana's feet.

The young prosecutor looked open-mouthed at Djamila's head. The decapitated girl's face wore an expression of full satisfaction. Tiziana stared at the severed head lying in front of her black high heeled sandals for a few more moments. Then she rose and walked with unsteady steps to her office. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Vanessa and a female soldier place the headless body in the coffin.

She closed the office door behind her, unzipped her jumpsuit and let it fall to the floor. With only her pumps still on her feet, she sat down on the armchair. She reached between her legs, only to pull her hand up again the next moment. Long transparent threads stretched between her fingers. Her vagina pulsed.

The door opened. In stepped Vanessa, closed the door again and locked it. Wordlessly, she approached Tiziana, who sat in her chair - her head flushed. Then she went down on her knees in front of the prosecutor, and wordlessly began to run her tongue over her vagina.

"Vanessa..." she moaned "...when you tickled her...one last time...hngh...under her sandals... you truly sent her...hngh...to heaven..."

"I know..."