Standing imperiously atop my four-inch heels, like a beautiful black-widow spider closing in on her helpless prey I descend the staircase to the ground floor. There, my young lovers look to me fearfully as I approach.

- What's this? My two lovebirds don't seem very pleased to see their Lady Executioness!

I tease them.

- Look at these beautiful boots I wear just for you!

I present my superb boots just in front of their dewy eyes. As is usually the case with condemned slaves who haven't long to live, I do not hear the requisite, servile compliments. As such, I will be much more severe concerning their execution -as whenever I do not receive appropriate worship of my precious boots. I say, matter-of-factly, as I walk to the door:

- Well... you will now follow me, and shortly we shall be finished with you.

To the gas chamber! Located in the adjoining annex, my custom-designed playhouse awaits them -merely some dozen meters from here. We pass through the atrium and enter my chamber of executions -a rather large, private arena without windows. The ceiling of my lovely death-chamber is eleven-feet in height, and tiled with perfectly spotless white ceramic on every surface. At the center of the room is a circular, stainless-steel and Plexiglas enclosure, the dimensions of which are twenty-five feet, on each side, by six-feet high -surrounded by a low bench-like construction for which to allow a Lady to sit or place her foot upon. This is my personal gas chamber!

With the slightest touch of a button upon the electronic console (located on one of the nearby columns), a section of the chamber raises vertically with a menacing hiss to allow my poor, doomed convicts entrance. As usual, the slaves have no clue what to expect -which suits me very well, as it prevents any 'unplanned' panic from interrupting the procedure. I stand on the edge of the entrance and usher them along into the translucent enclosure.
I'm in a cheerful mood, as is usually the case when I begin such an execution in my gorgeous executioness boots! I smile serenely as I urge them on gently, but firmly, into the death-chamber with softly insistent pats on their behinds from the end of my riding crop. I can see in the eyes of the anemic young girl that my broad smile is mistaken for mercy.

- Here is where we must part. Get inside now.

- W-what do we have to do inside? she asks in perfectly sweet innocence.

- Haven't you guessed, my little slavegirl?
In sudden, sorrowful realization, she lowers head.

- We are going to...Here?

- Yes, exactly! Here your boyfriend and you will die!

- How? Will it hurt?

- Not to worry, I set everything up nicely. Of course, you'll suffer a bit, but only because this gives me such pleasure.

- Don't make us suffer, I beg you!Haven't you guessed, my little slavegirl?

I grin while she starts to moan.

- Please... Do it as quickly as possible...

- Ah, but you must pay for your faults: Lady Meredith didn't sentence you to death for nothing! And, to make matters worse for you both: you didn't even compliment me on my boots!
The young waif begins to sob in earnest, pleading with her eyes.

- Y-you...

- That's enough! Don't you ever shut up? Get inside now, I've had enough of you!

Beneath my icy gaze, they slowly enter in the gas chamber. I regard them coldly -now utterly devoid of emotion- as they obey. I shove the boy sharply when he delays the door's closing. Once he's clear, the door glides into place with cold, mechanical precision -clicking firmly into position with utter finality.
The chamber -now locked and hermetically sealed- is ready. I commence the final (delightful) phase.
I ease onto my plush, luxurious leather armchair upon a raised platform beside the Plexiglas chamber of doom, and languidly cross my legs high enough to fully display my gorgeous boots to the pitifully unfortunate slaves - and in doing so, slightly reveal my quite-expensively-stockinged thighs as well. Leisurely, I place a finger on the gas lever, located beneath the left armrest.
How could I not I savor this instant? Totally at my mercy, I'm still able to pardon them: my pitilessly capricious whims being their ultimate authority. I am an absolute, omnipotent Goddess and they are but mere helpless playthings! What fun!

I gaze down at my little slave-toys for a short while, as my glitteringly bejeweled finger teasingly fondles the gas-release lever.

They just stand shivering before me, and I detect a great sadness in girl's soft, doe- like eyes. The boy turns away (there's no doubt he's quite terrified).

Hmm -are they entitled to live? Shall I take this last opportunity to have mercy upon these poor, helpless slaves? Their very lives are completely under my control. I could spare them, but...

No.
Slowly, I push the lever with one finger, and make myself comfortable in my armchair to watch their final sufferings....................................................................

... to be continued ...