Naked, on your knees, you look up at the Baroness on her throne. You knew, from the moment he died, that this moment would come to pass. You were one of the Baronís cherished concubines. The Baronís personal cadre of willing lustful women whom the Baroness knew about but could do nothing to punish. Sadly, the Baron died of a heart attack, his manhood embedded deep within your throat as he climaxed for his final time. Now youíre on your knees, the heavy wooden block and the dungeon floor before you soaked in the blood of all the Baronís other concubines. The Baroness cruelly keeping you for last, to torment the woman who held her unfaithful husband's dying cock deep within her warm welcoming mouth eagerly swallowing her husbandís cum even as he died. You already know that your death is a forgone concussion, the Baroness forever unwilling to show the woman who gave her dying husband his final moment of sexual pleasure, any vestige of mercy. Naked on your knees, you know itís hopeless to resist, as you lower your neck across the executionerís block, the blood of all the Baronís concubines whoíve preceded you staining the smooth white skin of your throat and chin. Closing your eyes, you pray that the executioner paused to sharpen his axe before your execution, after all the nights of hedonistic pleasure youíve given in his bed, he owes you as much. The sudden explosion of sharp pain as the razor-sharp blade cleaves your slender neck. The overwhelming sense of vertigo and pain as your decapitated head lands on the dungeonís blood splattered floor, and in those final seconds of consciousness, you see the horrifying truth in the cold eyes of the Baroness, her husband didnít succumb in a moment of sexual excess. It was poison, so predictable...