Home.. Charnel Pit.. Deserving a Fate Worse Than Death

When Samantha opened the package from Tom, she felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of that white satin and lace vintage early 60’s long-line open-bottomed girdle, a matching padded bra and tan seamed silk stockings, all of which would just look heavenly with her vintage white Marilyn Monroe dress and matching stiletto heel pumps, an utterly perfect ensemble for tonight’s special long-awaited celebration.

As expected, Tom met me in the foyer of his historic Hollywood Hills mansion, my sexy Marilyn dress, quickly lying discarded upon the foyer’s floor, my wrists bound tightly behind my back for the familiar trip downstairs to the entrance of our secret dungeon torture chamber, a place I’ve come to appreciate as my personal chamber of terrifying masochistic delight.

Since an early age, Tom and I have both shared a love for those classic early 60’s horror movies. Films like the Castle of Blood, the Whip and the Body, Crypt if the Vampire, the Long Hair of Death and Nightmare Castle but our personal favorite has always been the Italian classic “La Vergine di Norimberga” or better known on its American release, “The Virgin of Nuremberg.”

The daughter of our mutual father’s second wife, I was just seventeen when my older half-brother Tom seduced me, an unforgettable night of unbridled debauchery where he violated every orifice of my tightly bound body multiple times. And even though he’s married now, our incestuous love affair has endured for well over a decade. Hell, he had me the night before his wedding, even though I was his blushing bride’s maid of honor.

Sharing my desires, my step-brother Tom spared no expense in equipping our private dungeon with brutally unspeakable instruments of torture to fulfil all my darkest masochistic fantasies. Countless nights spent dangling from my wrists, my desperate screams echoing off the sound-proof walls as his whip left crimson contrails of fiery agony across the smooth whiteness of my skin. Of long weekends spent upon his rack, my taut body stretched beyond any vestiges of masochistic pleasure, my shoulders threatening to dislocate if he tightens the rack another notch.

While I’ve always loved Tom inviting me over for a night of torturous debauchery in our private dungeon playroom, it’s our special, 60’s horror movie themed nights that I’ve loved the best. Night’s that I live out many of my darkest nightmarish fantasies, to be that scantily clad 60’s horror movie damsel in distress, a beautiful woman helplessly doomed to suffer a fate worse than death.

Of course, I’ve yet to experience my darkest, most erotic nightmarish fantasy, one that has haunted my dreams since I first watched the movie “Virgin of Nuremberg” as a teenager, death within that movie’s diabolical Iron Maiden. That memorable horror movie opens with a beautiful woman screaming in agony as she dies within the movie’s horrific Iron Maiden. The victim’s mutilated bloody corpse discovered still strapped within the Maiden by the movie's leading lady, who inevitably finds herself also trapped within that same deadly Iron Maiden, with the fiendishly cruel executioner slowly closing the Maiden’s spike-line door. Sadly, she's rescued, the hero saving her from a slow agonizingly torturous death helplessly impaled upon the Maiden’s sharp spikes.

Death in the Iron Maiden, a diabolically brutal form of torturous execution, once reserved exclusively for women found guilty of adultery or unrepentant promiscuous behavior, for me, my ultimate fate worse than death, and one that sadly always seemed beyond reach. That was until Tom heard of a reclusive maker of exquisite instruments of torture and death, a man known as the “Toy Maker,” who for a small fortune was all too willing to bring my darkest fantasy to life. Using a full body, MRI that shows the exact position of every organ and major blood vessel within my body, along with a full body plaster cast of me wearing the same vintage lingerie and high heels that I’m wearing tonight, he created what he claims to be his greatest work.

A custom-designed Iron Maiden, its sharp spikes positioned to maximize its victim’s agonizing torment while avoiding fatal damage to her vital organs to ensure she endures a lingering death of unrelenting agony. An Iron Maiden intended exclusively for the torturous execution of a single woman and at long last to fulfil my darkest torturously deadly fantasy, to suffer that slow agonizing death within the Iron Maiden I’ve longed to experience for far too long.

So, here I stand, strapped helplessly within the claustrophobic confines of my personal Iron Maiden. My half-brother Tom waiting patiently, in his crimson executioner’s uniform, for the clock to chime midnight before he begins to close the Iron Maiden’s deadly spike-lined door, the door locking shut, painfully impaling me on the Maiden’s spikes just as the twelfth and final gong of midnight sounds.

Ironically, it somehow seems fitting that the dreams of death within the Iron Maiden that have haunted my darkest erotic nightmares for the last twenty years have inevitably come to fruition. I doubt any medieval judge would have hesitated to condemn me to die in the Iron Maiden, my ongoing incestuous affair with my half-brother Tom certainly qualifying as unrepentant promiscuous behavior, not to mention our last few years of adultery since his marriage.

So, in a few minutes, I’ll experience for myself if the Toy Maker’s horrific claims actually come true. That, I’m fated to survive for at least three full days trapped in unrelenting, agonizingly painful torment, a slow steady trickle of blood gradually filling the large basin carved into the Iron Maiden’s stone base, until I finally bleed out.

And happily, I already know with absolute certainty, that this time, there will be no hero coming to save me from my diabolically torturous fate, a fate that promises to be far more excruciatingly painful than any mere death...