Preparations

I can feel the water of the scented bath gently lapping against my skin as very slowly, to add to my enjoyment, I allow my finger tips to gently play with the lips of my vagina, my fingers softly brushing their delicacy, easing slightly upwards to my most intimate part. They play with this little bud for a short time, the sense, the heat of my own sex a long beautiful sensation even as I deny myself the final pleasure of my orgasm.

I can feel my skin softly brushing against the water, my breasts and nipples hard with the excitement of my time; that I have been chosen for this moment. It fills me, like the scent of the water, the smoothness of my skin. Slowly as the slave whispers into my ear, I already know what she has said to me.

"It is time mistress." Her voice seems soft, gentle and I can see that she is nervous, a little frightened or overwhelmed but I have chosen her and my two other handmaidens with great care. They are young, the girl who takes my hand to help me from the sunken bath just eighteen only the day before, even as her two colleagues hold my soft gown for me and help me to my chair. Softly gently their hands move across my body, drying me with the soft towels that they have laid out for me.

These two, the older of the handmaidens of the hour, are themselves still naked; the older, still barely nineteen with breasts that seem almost to glisten with the soft milk that leaks a little from her nipples where she has been brought to lactation for the "hour". She smiles and gently pats her nipple with a cloth.

"Forgive me Mistress, it is difficult," she explains and indeed her breasts seem to burgeon with her milk; making them firm and so hard that they pain her but I only smile at her discomfiture and gently stroke her neck. "It will soon be time. Will you enjoy the milking?" I ask her.

"Oh yes Mistress. I so want that," she explains. I can see now that her sex is wet from the anxiety of her need and I slowly guide the third handmaidens’ hands to it and guide her fingers to the girls slit. Like her hair, the soft whisps' of down above her sex is blond; contrasting with the brunette colored hair of the girl next to her.

"Is she wet?" I ask the brunette. The girl’s fingers glisten with the wetness of her colleagues vagina and she smiles, seeking my consent, my permission. "Taste her wetness then" I say. "Is it good; fitting?" I ask her. The third girl is also young, just twenty and she sucks greedily on her fingers. "Oh yes Mistress, she is very beautiful to eat from. she looks down at the second girls snatch but I deny her the pleasure.

“It is time, you must oil me,” I say to the them but the first girl, her own soft red hair glistening in the rooms lights has already fetched the oil and kneeling in front of me as I take off my bath robe she beings to rub the scented oil into my body. My breasts, the soft feel of her fingers against my vagina lips, the slight odd heat that rises as she massages the oil into my clitoris, whilst her colleagues begin to dress me.

My costume is a part of the hour, a gentle virginal white, soft pretty lace stockings attached to the garters that hang prettily from my waspie. As they bring my panties, I must take them from the proffered silver tray and raise them to my lips, the gentleness of the fabric and their taste against my mouth as I return them, allowing the redheaded girl to put the on me. I carefully step into the panties, can feel the lace of their edges scratching a little against my skin; my sex, the lips of my vagina still visible because they lack a crotch, only soft pretty white lace that surrounds my sex, embraces it.

Finally I step into the shoes that the blond girl holds in readiness for me, even as the brunette retrieves the beautiful lace sleeveless robe that completes my costume , its delicacy a near perfect translucence.

“It is time Mistress, the hour is here,” a voice intones from the doorway. Unlike the handmaidens, the growl of the man’s masculinity. The three handmaidens hurry quickly to don their own garb, pretty pink, lemon and black in colour but the same in substance, a short lace Georgette skirt with tiny matching panties and a bra beneath a jewelled vest the predominance of each vest’s stones matching the colour of the girls clothes.

The younger, the red-head to my rear, the two others to each side of me, together we walk to the doorway in front of us and and go through it onto the balcony beyond; the sun high in the sky now, beating down on our skins.

The man who spoke before goes to the edge of the balcony and taking hold of the staff he carried he smashes its end into the ground. “It is the time, the appointed hour.” He says and the crowd begins to cheer furiously. Behind me I can see that the red head has already seen and I too can see them now, the sharp metal spikes that protrude from the centre of the balcony.

The man, our executioner, for such he is, returns; a large, almost huge man, his woolen cloak surrounding, shading his muscular frame in many ways; the stiff erectness of his huge cock moving a little as he walks. He points to the first gf the metal spikes that jut from the balcony. “It is the hour Mistress, he says. “That the betterment of our village and town is made certain, that the crops may grow in abundance,” he chants. “You accept this charge?” he asks me.

I nod and gesture towards the red headed girl who has moved alongside me.

I can feel the heat within my Vagina and want to reach down and rub myself to find relief but only nod, the two more senior handmaidens already guiding the red-head to her death post. She is shaking visibly, hardly indeed able to walk as if the reality of her death had suddenly occurred to her and, even for a moment, she seems to struggle a little as they pull her panties down and rub oil onto her sex, so that it might more easily side against the impaling rod but I can see that she is as aroused as I am, the movements within her legs as they oil her, the momentary squeeze of their hands by her thighs even as they lift her, her legs suddenly wide apart, her mouth suddenly screaming as she realizes that it is actually going to happen to her and is not a fantasy. She begins to cry, her tears real and streaming against hr face as she begs them. She pleads with them to spare her but the two acolytes are quick and before she can do other than cry out they lower her vagina against the impalement rod. It slides quickly into her and they release her, allowing her own body to impale her now.

She screams again but in agony suddenly as the rod pierces her cervix and pushes into her belly and intestines but her own body weight as slight as it is forces the rod inwards. Her legs shake violently and the blond girl carefully pulls the impaled girls head back a little so that it may enter her neck. She has stopped screaming and I realize that it is because the impalement has reached her vocal cots and soon I can see the look of horror within the girls eyes as it exits her lips, pushing up beyond her now but I can see that she is still alive.

I beckon to the blond lactating girl and instruct the remaining handmaiden to begin to milk her. As she kneels before me the brunet gently kneads her breasts, the milk flowing into the basin the blond girl herself holds beneath her breasts. I can see how much this relieves her, her breasts become softer and she seems, for a moment or two to welcome her milking but the test of her strength is to come. As the bowl fills with her milk, the executioner hands me the knife and reaching down, beneath her breast to her stomach I ram the knife into her but she is a good girl and does not flinch or spill her precious milk but hands the bowl to her friend.

“Please Mistress. I so want to go. It is so painful for me at the moment she explains. I nod and draw the knife over her belly so that her guts empty from her, even as the executioner attaches a small wire garrotte to her throat and finished her quickly before the pain becomes too intense.

As her body drops in front of me, the executioner looks into my eyes and I know that now it is my time. The brunet girl is led to one side and noosed, pulled up against the rope that will end her and I can hear her as she pants, gurgles and fights for life in the minutes that remain to her.

I step forward and opening my legs I slowly ease my vagina onto the second of the impaling rods, knowing that it will not impale me completely. As I feel it cut deeply into my pussy and enter me own belly I look beside me and see that the red-headed girl appears to be dead. She has pissed herself towards the end and I can smell her but the rod that impales me now is not designed to kill but only to hold me like a pig.

The executioner has gone to the side of the balcony and retrieves a large bladed knife from the table that rested there. Slowly deliberately he walks towards me.

“It is the time, the hour Mistress,” is all he says and I nod even as he begins to slowly, gradually, saw at my neck with the knife, to sever my head slowly, horribly from my body.

The preparations for my death have been completed. Now I can only die.