Samantha had been on the island three days before the secret police arrested her as she was leaving one of the island’s beachfront bars. At
first, she’d claimed to be a tourist, just a school teacher from Duluth. She might even have avoided any serious questioning, if they hadn’t
discovered the hidden photos on her phone, incriminating photos, photos that documented the execution of political prisoners at the island’s
concentration camp. After that, her interrogation was far less cordial.
Stripped of what little protection her thong bikini provided, they chained her down, inserting large metal probes deep within her rectum and vagina, with painfully tight alligator clips crushing her nipples and clitoris, all wired back to an ominous looking electrical box.
“You will tell us your real name and who you work for.”
“Listen, this is all a misunderstanding. I don’t know how those horrible photos got onto my phone. I’m just a school teacher here on vacation.”
Samantha’s interrogator just smiled and switched on the electricity. Surprisingly she held out far longer than he’d expected, over three hours and five voltage increases before he finally broke her resistance.
Struggling to catch her breath, “Please, no more. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. My real name is Samantha Williams, and I work for an NGO affiliated with the United Nation’s Human Rights Commission. I was sent to retrieve those photos from someone willing to reveal your country's human rights violations.”
“Who provided you with these pictures?”
Samantha shook her head, “I don’t know. I was to go to the outdoor café across the plaza from the presidential palace at noon yesterday, order lunch and activate my phone’s mobile Wi-Fi hotspot. I was to remain there until one o’clock. Anyone at the café or anyone who passed within a thousand feet of where I was sitting could have sent me the photos with complete anonymity.”
When informed of Samantha’s arrest and the nature of the photos discovered on her phone, the island’s dictator was displeased to say the least. His displeasure is where I come, I’m his favorite executioner. Concerning Samantha’s fate, all he said was to ensure that her death is slow and as excruciatingly painful as possible. Something I fully concurred with once I discovered just how devastatingly beautiful she truly is.
Setting aside my executioner’s axe, I activated the torture chamber’s array of HD video cameras and strapped an oversized ball gag deep within Samantha’s sensuous mouth. Then releasing her from her awkward bound position, I carried her over to the impalement post. A faint high-pitched cry of terror escaped her tightly gagged mouth as I forced her down upon the impalement post, the post’s thick, smoothly pointed tip, invading the straining depths of her obscenely violated vagina as she sank helplessly downward onto its unyielding steel shaft.
Samantha screamed in agony as I felt her body’s descent onto the impalement post suddenly stop. Instinctively, she brought her legs up, trying to grasp the post’s smooth steel shaft between the insteps of her feet, in a desperate attempt to lift her cervix off the tip of that invading impalement post. Try as she might, she only managed to gain a few seconds relief before her feet inevitably slipped, allowing the post’s tip to once again painfully press upward against her cervix.
Stepping back I watched Samantha’s desperate struggles with amusement. Having killed well over a hundred women on this very impalement post, I knew that regardless of how hard she fought, eventually the tip of the post would rupture Samantha’s cervical muscles allowing the unyielding steel shaft to slip upward through her guts. In my experience, most women seemed to struggle for about an hour or so, with the longest, a cute nineteen-year-old soccer star with a rebel boyfriend, lasting almost two hours before the inevitable happened. Of course, I also looked forward to seeing how many orgasms Samantha managed, that desperate up and down rocking motion providing just enough friction to make her climax multiple times.
Leaving the torture chamber I was eagerly looking forward to the morning, it would be interesting to see if Samantha manages to survive the night. If I wasn’t mistaken, once her cervix fails, and she slides fully down onto the impalement post’s shaft, if she can stay up on her toes, she should be just tall enough to relieve most of the post’s pressure against the underside of her diaphragm and keep herself breathing. Then, assuming she survives the day I intend to disembowel her at sunset, the professionally edited video of her slow torturous demise soon to become our latest snuff film...