I had entertained myself and the King for years with ritualized sexual slayings of peasant girls within our castle's play room. It seems only fitting that in these frenzied days after the uprising and rebellion, that I be here to entertain the peasants in kind. I know that the families of some of my victims are in the crowd, cheering for my death. I will give that to them with a smile on my face.
My wrists are bound tight behind my back and the sharp tip of the spit is centered on the opening to my womb. As the jubilant crowd jeers me at, I squeeze down on the thick shaft inside me and rise my desire up to near bliss. I plan to die in pleasure just as I gave pleasure to the girls I played with before they died in confusion, their lithe young bodies sweating and convulsing.
I loved that look on their sweet young faces, realizing that they are in the process of dying as ecstasy roars through their tender flesh. No girl I murdered ever died in agony, I owed them that kindness in their final moments.
But I know my method of death will be agony, but I will strive with every ounce of my being to make it blissful, with the hope that the small death takes me before the big one does.
I am nearing my explosion, my little death, so I turn to my executioner.
“Do it.” I strain, holding my little death at bay, “Do it.”
She smiles and waits, teasing me, knowing my lower belly is quivering on the edge and savouring my torment to hold myself there and not spend too soon.
This is too much - do it now, please do it now.
I hear the trap door clatter open and the floor disappears beneath my feet. there is that instant of floating weightless before the earth pulls hard at my feet and I plunge down, the spit slamming hard against my womb. I feel the shock wave pound up through my belly, my stomach bloating from the violence, my chest suddenly aching from the pressure.
I squirm and cry out, failing at my resolve to wrap my thighs around the spit and remain rigid and upright, to put on the best show these peasants had ever seen; to show them that a noblewoman has grace and poise that she carries to her own grave.
Alas, it is not to be so.
Carnal are my thoughts as I slowly slide down the spit; I recall the invasion of my belly by every cock I have encountered, the girth and length of Nubian slaves being the ones that left me sweating and breathless and hollow after they spent their seed inside me; I can feel once more the slender arms of the peasant girls as they played between my open thighs and I commended them to push their clenched fists deeper, deeper, deeper, me wanting to feel the crook of their elbow pressed firm against my sopping, oily crotch; and I can feel the quickening of every small death that racked my body and left me quivering face down on the floor, giving my little playthings a momentary reprieve from the sexual deaths I planned for them.
I feel my womb stretching within me, pulling my sex inside itself as it presses upward, the force immense. I feel stuck there, wondering if my womb is so sinuous that it will resist this enormous pressure, but with a shock I feel it burst and my sex slides back to its normal position and the hard steel is transiting my belly, my entrails like ropes coiling around it as it travels upward.
With those sensations comes my little death, or should I say little deaths, for they come in strong clenching stutters inside me and I cry out with them and thank the godess of lust and carnality for her blessing.
Pressure rises in my stomach as the source of my bliss moves ever upward. I do my best not to, but I cannot resist the convulsions of my overfilled gut and I heave and gag, and with each straining contraction a little death blooms bright in my core.
I feel the ecstatic pain as my stomach bursts and the spit rides higher, finding the bottom of my throat, sliding up my gullet making my convulsions strong and wavelike. I feel it rise so quickly, I feel a desperate madness to beg my god to slow down this final act; to let me savour it, but the earth pulls me ever downward at its own pace.
It fills my throat now, so I tilt my head back and open my mouth just in time to feel it compress the root of my tongue and the tip slides up out of my mouth to the cheers of the peasant crowd. Yes, you worthless rabble - this is how a queen dies.
I feel and see the veil of death sweep over my body and face, I am sliding into oblivion and the last thing I feel is my anus loosen and gape as I shit myself when my feet touch the ground and my legs fold under me.