Thrown to the alligators.

          Thrown into a dumpster.

          Thrown down a volcano.

          Then there’s her basic and enhanced versions of drowning … etc.

          She’s run through about every deadly scenario she can dream of for the act and disposal.

          Sooner or later, Gretchen will live out her fantasy to kill a willing man.  She’s gotten bored with kinky things that would shock the rest of the world – maybe even the whole fucking universe for all we know.

          Now, it’s knives.  Kind of a Kill Bill theme.  Kind of a time for her to be at her utmost un-kind.

          After all, she should get full use of each of those super sharp chef’s cutting tools she recently ordered from that Ronco guy on TV – just three easy payments of $13.33 and now she can “cut all day,” according to the convincing ad.

          Just like cocks, cunts, tits and nipples, her new stainless steel cutlery came in all shapes and sizes.

          Most think it will be her long-time-slave, Steve.  Monthly, the rich and youngish and handsome and high-pressured LA lawyer flies east, and she flies west from her ivy league college near Boston, meeting for extreme dom sessions in Vegas.

          Hundreds of times, he’s begged her to drown him.  She’s come close, but always (so far) she decides to revive him after their asphyxiation games.

          She’ll find some abandoned little wedding chapel, the kind that has been littering Vegas for decades.  Like I said, like a Kill Bill theme.

          She’s blonde like Uma, but Gretchen is much prettier.  Only one flaw:  she smokes.  Her sultry voice is turning to sand paper, but she doesn’t have a lot of time to talk because there is usually a fresh black cock parked, but pumping, down deep through her lovely lips.

          (No wonder she’s so tight-bodied – not an ounce of fat anywhere on that usually-naked display of feminine perfection.  Probably the all-protein diet of black-cock cum.)

          Steve will be bound naked at the altar, with one hand tied hard to his hard cock, like a rodeo cowboy grabbing the saddle horn for the ride of his life (or death in this case).

          No gag.

          She’ll peel.  She’ll fillet.  She’ll dice.  She’ll slice.

          Amazingly able to concentrate through screams louder than the ass-end of an F-15 on carrier takeoff, she’ll slowly and carefully carve her way to her coronary goal.

          Dazed and agonized beyond belief, he's still beating his meat as he looks down at Gretchen's naked blood-soaked beauty.  Her cute little hands are dripping crimson as Steve's little organic pump is held gently while still beating away.

          With one of those special blades that were surely made more for cock sawing than for turkey carving, she slices off Steve’s little organic genitals.

          His last meal.  His last meal is him.

          She shoves his newly freed cock and balls down his hatch – and then shoves his newly severed heart up her snatch.

          That four-valve human vibrator keeps pulsating.  Or is it the Richter-scale tremors of her own pussy cumming and cumming and cumming?