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 Baron’s cherished concubines. The Baron’s 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 you’re on your knees, the heavy wooden block and the dungeon floor before
you soaked in the blood of all the Baron’s 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 husband’s 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 it’s hopeless
to resist, as you lower your neck across the executioner’s block, the blood of all the Baron’s concubines who’ve 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 you’ve 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 dungeon’s blood splattered floor, and in those final seconds of consciousness, you see the horrifying truth
in the cold eyes of the Baroness, her husband didn’t succumb in a moment of sexual excess. It was poison, so predictable...