Nicole always went for the dangerous guys, the truly sadistic ones who wouldn’t hesitate to make her scream in agony merely for their sickly perverted amusement. A few weeks ago,
she noticed someone new in the fetish chatroom she often frequented, a sadist who claimed to offer delightfully depraved pleasures where limits and safe words have no meaning. A
terrifying dungeon where women quickly discover that unbearable pain and suffering are considered little more than foreplay. Intrigued, Nicole contacted him, and tonight they finally met.
Tonight, I dressed to impress. Under my knee-length leather coat, I wore my sexiest lingerie, a vintage strapless, satin merry widow, with matching thong panties, seamed silk stockings, and high heels. The directions he sent me led to an old, abandoned-looking warehouse. Inviting me in, he took my coat, and I felt a faint twinge of masochistically erotic excitement at the obvious look of eager predatory anticipation in his eyes at the sight of my sexy lingerie-clad body. Then, escorting me to his dungeon in the warehouse’s basement, he chained my wrists to this wall and picked up that cattle prod.
Over the following hours, he brutally tortured me, forcing me beyond even my considerable masochistic limits with no regard for my pleasure, only his. He tortured me ruthlessly, hurting me in delightfully depraved ways I never imagined I could endure. It was a night beyond exquisite.
Finally, at half past three in the morning, he relented after anally raping me for the fourth agonizing time.
“Well, Nicole. It’s been a lovely evening, but sadly it’s time for tonight’s grand finale.”
Pausing to pick up a blood-stained plastic bucket, “It would be helpful if you’d spread your legs slightly and straddle this bucket. It makes the clean up so much easier.”
My first, pain hazed thought, clean up? What’s he talking about? Then I saw him picking up that scalpel.
“Many women who come to my dungeon thought they were up for the moment, but in the end, they weren’t. I usually just slit their throats, making their painful deaths reasonably quick. However, when it comes to a true masochist like yourself, you deserve a death that’s slower and far more gruesomely agonizing. So Nicole, instead, I’ll disembowel you, brutally cutting your belly open so you can watch your entrails spilling into that bucket as you slowly bleed to death before I dispose of your remains.”
I wanted to protest or perhaps even beg for my life. However, the only sounds that escaped around that ballgag filling my mouth were horrifying cries of pain as that scalpel’s razor-sharp blade effortlessly opened my belly from my ribcage to my crotch in a mind-searing explosion of unimaginable agony.
Nicole’s killer watched from behind his face-concealing mask as Nicole stared down in horror as the first loops of intestines slipped out of her mutilated belly. Fresh tears filled her lovely eyes as she helplessly watched her intestines slowly spill into that blood-stained bucket as her blood gradually soaked her stocking-clad thighs.
In the end, Nicole survived for almost thirty minutes after being disemboweled. Watching as Nicole died, her killer imagined her final thoughts were about what he intended to do with her body after her obscenely gruesome death. Perhaps even darkly erotic thoughts of necrophilia filled her mind in those final moments. Ironically, he knew she never realized the truth.
Briefly leaving the dungeon torture chamber, Nicole’s killer went across the hall and retrieved the gurney. Then, releasing Nicole’s wrists from the restraints, he wheeled her corpse across the hall and into his well-appointed butcher shop. And, like all the women who came before her, Nicole’s beautiful, sexy body was already destined to become little more than succulent roasts, steaks, and chops, to feed the ravenous appetites of his wealthy cannibalistic clientele.