Setting down her wine glass Andria lightly ran her fingertips across the rack’s rough wooden surface before she asked, “This is authentic isn’t it?”
I smiled as I casually replied, “That rack once graced the dungeons of the Spanish Inquisition in sixteenth century Madrid.”
“Does it... work?”
Hearing the excitement in Andria’s voice I paused to take a sip of my wine, “Oh, it works. I hired some of the best craftsman in all of Spain for its restoration.”
Andria smiled as she glanced back at the silently waiting diabolical instrument of torture, “Yes, nice rack.” Pausing to pick up her wine glass, “Still, didn’t it take a truly knowledgeable inquisitor to put the rack to its fullest use without permanently maiming the victim?”
As I refilled Andria’s wine glass I was captivated by her beauty, the seductive lingering scent of her expensive perfume but most of all by that unmistakable look of unbridled carnal lust in her lovely eyes, “Dearest Andria, if you studied the inquisitors detailed accounts of their interrogations, as I have, you would already know that the Spanish Inquisition perfected using of the rack, skillfully extracting confessions without inflicting lasting injury. In the hands of a skilled inquisitor the rack became the Inquisitions preferred form of torture, a terrifying instrument of unrelenting agonizing torment.”
Turning to her host there was a sudden look of seriousness in Andria’s eyes, “Diego, I’ve heard some intriguing rumors, rumors that you enjoy partaking in some of the darker more sadistic aspects of eroticism, that the sound of a woman screaming in agony arouses you.”
Diego said nothing but the sudden cold look in his eyes confirmed Andria’s suspicions, “Over the years I’ve made the acquaintance of many men who claimed to share those darker aspects of eroticism, sadly it’s been my experience that when the moment of truth arrived they’ve always seemed to have, how shall we say, performance issues when it came to actually inflicting pain.”
Diego noticed a faint smile on Andria’s face as she continued, “So Diego, here we are, all alone at your country villa in this rather well appointed ‘museum’, standing before this utterly enticing rack. So, do I really have to ask?”
Andria spent the weekend as Diego’s guest, her desirable nude body stretched helplessly upon Diego’s rack, her desperate high pitched screams of agony delightful music to her cruel host’s ears. Following the tradition of those ancient inquisitors Diego spent the long hours gradually tightening the rack, each notch tighter invoking hours of renewed screams of pure agony from Andria’s lovely lips.
As the long hours passed Diego slowly became enthralled with Andria’s unbounded willingness to endure the rack's brutal torment. Unlike all the other women who’d graced his rack Andria never pleaded for mercy or begged for release and unlike so many others when he’d asked if she wanted a safe word, she’d simply smiled and said no.
In the end, Andria spent 48 agonizing hours upon Diego’s rack screaming in unrelenting agony before Diego finally released her, her first words as he unlocked the manacles from around her badly bruised wrists, “That was incredible Diego, it everything I imagined and so much more.” Pausing for a moment, she added, “Although next time you put me on the rack I’d like to be gagged and I’m going to wear my tightest corset. I think between the gag and the corset I should be constantly short of breath, which should heighten me overwhelming sense of terror nicely.”
Six months later, Andria and Diego wed in a small private ceremony in the chapel of his villa followed by a month long honeymoon at a place Diego referred to merely as the Resort.
She dreamt of unrelenting agonizing torture, he more than welling to oblige her. A match made in the darkest blood soaked depths of the dungeon...