death of a femboi

At precisely three o'clock in the afternoon, you arrive at the abandoned factory I had instructed you to go to. Dressed quite prettily, but somberly - a frilly black funeral dress, with red highlights. The side slits run from the hem to your underarms. You have no panties on, but you are wearing black lace gloves and a red lace bra. Your makeup is perfect.

You enter the factory and see a large box with a doorway. Entering it, you find a Victorian-styled parlor, complete with roaring fireplace - a cozy place for a lady to die. First - because these affairs must proceed properly - we have tea and biscuits. You are a little frightened at first; you did not want to die by poison, but the food is wholesome and an afternoon tea becomes your final meal.

It is now time to move on to the afternoon's festivities - your funeral, so-to-speak. It will not have a deceased body; only a live one which proceeds to annihilation.

There are two tests I have devised to ensure your desire to die; you will not kill yourself, because that would not be proper for a lady of your demeanor. No, you will be killed, but after passing the two tests, spaced apart.

The first test is the destruction of the boi. I hand you a loaded .38 revolver with the safety off, and move your dress aside to expose your penis and scrotum. I help steady your aim at the base of your penis, and cock the hammer. All you have to do is pull the trigger - with luck, only once, but it may take three shots to completely remove your external genitalia. You initially scrunch your face in anticipation of the pain, but I remind you that looks of that nature are not proper in a lady of culture doing what is necessary. You take a few deep breaths, and your face is impassive as you pull the trigger.

BANG! Another shot will be necessary, I fear, and I reaim the gun and cock the hammer. You struggle to hold your face impassive and not betray any sign of pain as you pull the trigger again. Another BANG! and that which made you a boi falls into a pan I have placed on the floor, to protect the carpets. I take a poker from the fireplace, and cauterize the wound. A small whimper escapes your mouth as you flesh burns, but we cannot have you bleeding all over the place for these proceedings.

Ah, the funeral preparations! I have not taken the fun out of funeral for you. I place a strapon on your head, holding a stick of wired dynamite, half into your mouth; I raise my bum to your head, and you fuck my arse with the dynamite. It is enjoyable for us to share one of the means of your final destruction, coming from your mouth and penetrating my ass. After ten minutes - we must move this thing along to be accomplished before evening - we stop this pleasant little endeavor. The dynamite remains strapped in your mouth; it mars your face a bit, but needs must.

I take a second stick of dynamite, and wire it to the other; then I have you stand on a chair. I penetrate your arse with it; it matters not how narrow or wide you are, for I have put a sharp steel tip on the end. It takes but a few seconds to bury it completely inside of you.

The second of the two tests has arrived. I lower a noose for you to put your head into. It is positioned for strangulation, not a neck break. You protest that you wished to die prettily, but I assure you that before your prettiness flees, you will die; and as there will be no corpse, there is no need to worry your little head about that. You could die by strangulation, so this is the final test of your resolve to die. Smiling, you put your head through the noose and I tighten it around your dainty neck.

I take a few steps away and zip down my pants. My cock in one hand, the controls for the dynamite in the other, I tell you to kick out the chair. You do, and after an initial gasp, you perform quite admirably, smiling even as you gasp for oxygen while your throat is crushed. The lack of air to your lungs ennervates me and I soon start to ejaculate. I press the button to trigger the dynamite in your bum, blasting your legs and guts, then a second later, I activate the dynamite in your mouth, shattering your skull and dropping what little is left of your corpse out of the noose and on to the floor.