In a pool of candlelight a beautiful young woman hangs suspended by her wrists. Alone, her nude form stretched tautly spread-eagle by the chains, she is completely helpless and utterly vulnerable before the unfeeling eyes of the cameras as she awaits the brutality to come.

Despite, or perhaps heightened by, the dull throbbing ache radiating from her tautly stretched arms and shoulders Alyson had never felt more alive than she did at this very moment. For as long as she could remember darkly erotic visions had haunted Alyson's dreams, dark nightmarish visions of helplessly enduring brutal torture at the hands of a cruel merciless fiend all before the eyes of some vast unseen audience.

Frustrated by the knowledge that fulfillment of her darkest most erotic fantasies could never be, Alyson kept her most intimate desires carefully hidden from those around her. Dark masochistic fantasies of total submission without limits, of willingly enduring cruel agonizing torment, all too merely sate the sadistic appetites of her unseen voyeuristic audience. Perhaps, that's why it came as a complete shock to discover, quite by chance, that a world existed where her darkest hidden fantasies could come to life.

Attending an internet marketing convention in San Francisco, Alyson accidentally overhead two of the attendees quietly discussing a new website one of them had recently discovered. An expensive pay-per-view site, coming from a server somewhere in South America, streamed videos of beautiful young woman being brutally tortured to death. Obviously drunk, the two never realized the woman seated alone at the table behind them overheard their whispered conversation, or like them, that she was also fluent in Chinese.

Returning to her hotel room, Alyson turned on her laptop. The next morning, rather then returning home to Boston, Alyson boarded a flight to Rio de Janeiro. She already had an appointment to meet the pay-per-view website's producers.

The sun was just beginning to set as I arrived at the address provided by the website's producers. Paying the cab driver I stepped out of his cab and willingly entered into my darkest erotic fantasy.

The air of the warehouse felt warm and moist against my skin as I removed my sundress and sandals and gave them to the waiting production assistant in exchange for a pair of black stiletto high heels.

An incredible feeling utter vulnerability swept over me as I walked out into the waiting candle light, the distinct clicking of my high heels echoing off into the darkness. But that had been hours ago, before I truly understood the meaning of total vulnerability.

The website went live with my video stream just after sunset. A beautiful woman hanging suspended helplessly from her wrists, her sexy desirable young body fully exposed before their eyes, the silence broken only by the faint sound of her breathing.

Alone, in a pool of candlelight in darkened soundproof warehouse on the outskirts of Rio de Janeiro, Alyson awaited the fulfillment of her darkest more erotic fantasy. With her long blonde hair braided into a single long ponytail and dressed in just high heels and an identity concealing black leather hood, Alyson hung helplessly suspended in midair before the unfeeling eyes of the hidden video cameras.

Ironically, the tight fitting black leather hood had been my own idea. In my fantasies I've always wanted to suffer in anonymity, my identity an eternal mystery to those watching my cruel torment. The hood's large padded leather gag completely filled my mouth stifling my loudest screams and if I start to lose my nerve, silencing any desperate last minute pleas for mercy.

In explaining why they were putting Alyson in suspension at sunset, several hours before her torture would commence, the producer suggested that she think of the evening as foreplay. Smiling as he described Alyson's coming evening of suspension as an exquisitely dark and erotic display of hedonistic submission that would only heighten the audience's sadistic anticipation. And while completely true, the producer failed to mention the darker more insidious reasons for starting Alyson's suspension at sunset. It only took one glance to see the masochistic eagerness clearly visible in Alyson's lovely blue eyes.

At first the discomfort of my tautly spread-eagled position only helped to heighten my already overwhelming sense of vulnerability. In those first few minutes I felt more alive, more aroused, than I'd ever imagined possible. But then, as those first few exquisite moments of taunt discomfort gradually became long hours of unrelenting pain, I finally discovered the true reason for the prolonged hours of sadistic foreplay. Before the real entertainment of the night commenced, they wanted to break my spirit and exhaust my body, to force me to embrace my masochistic need to suffer agonizing torment with all my soul.

In the end I discovered all that mattered was the moment, the complete and total fulfillment of my most erotic and masochistic fantasy. Finally, with a sense of overwhelming desire, I finally heard the executioner's hob nailed boots against the warehouse's concrete floor as he approached. I only hoped that the executioner was as skilled with his heavy flogger as the producer had promised.

I could sense the executioner pausing to admire my nude form, his darkly hooded eyes drinking in the beauty of my helplessly displayed body, the enticing swelling of my bosom with each breath I took. I felt my heart pounding in my chest at the obvious signs of my almost overwhelming state of sexual arousal, the finally inescapable betrayal of my own body, the throbbing erectness of my nipples, the moist folds of my sex, the damp sheen of wetness visible at the apex of my tautly stretched inner thighs.

I felt my heart starting to race at the thought that this anonymous hooded executioner found me deeply desirable, and that while he longed to take me for his pleasure, that was never his intent. That tonight the pleasures he would demand of me would be a darker and as far more insidious nature, the pleasures of inescapable and unrelenting pain.

Helpless to escape my chosen fate, I listened to the footsteps of the executioner as he moved to stand behind me, the subtle swooshing of the flogger as he shook out its heavy knotted tails. The arrival of that indescribable moment of total and utter vulnerability, that moment you find yourself holding your breath in desperate anticipation as the executioner raises the flogger and sends it heavy tails slicing down toward your as yet unblemished flesh.

Alyson screamed in pain as she felt the heavy tails of the flogger slicing into her back. Nothing in her darkest most masochistic fantasies could have prepared her for the agonizing explosion of pain that accompanied the sickening impact of the flogger against her vulnerable exposed back.

She could feel tears welling up in her eyes as the true nature of her utterly perilous position finally sank in. Alone here in this place she was truly at their mercy, theirs to do with as they like.

A brief sudden chill of previously unimagined foreboding passed through Alyson's nude and helplessly suspended young body. What if in their fulfillment of my darkest erotic fantasy these people decided to take my fantasy to its horrifying and inevitable conclusion? What if this wasn't merely a fantasy? What if, all along, they actually intended to whip me to death?

Poised in that timeless moment between the sting of that first stoke of the whip and the arrival of the second stoke Alyson found herself consumed by an overwhelming sense of erotic fulfillment. That moment when she realized that secretly, deep down, she actually hoped that they would whip her to death. That this night would actually be her last, a night of unrelenting and agonizing torment, a night that ends with her eventual death at the end of the whip, that darkly erotic night she'd fantasized about for far too long.

Out in the darkness beyond the candlelight the producer watched as Alyson's execution progressed. The erotic way the young woman's sexy body thrashed with each new impact of the flogger against her once unblemished skin. He listened to the delightful muffled sounds of her desperate high-pitched screams of unrelenting torment.

He had been right about this one from the start. Unlike those unfortunate young women that usually stared in his productions Alyson turned out to be an unfulfilled masochist, one that actually longed to suffer in agony for his world-wide internet audience of sadists. Perhaps if she hadn't been so quick to agree to his terms she might have noticed that none of the ladies that graced his torture chamber ever made a repeat appearance.

Perhaps it was the greatest irony of all, that unlike the others, Alyson actually paid to be here.