The House of Horrors, better known as the Ranch, is the playground of the rich and shameless. Located in the Nevada desert, members can indulge in any darkly amusing sin imaginable, including the brutal murder of beautiful women.

Shortly after her father unexpectedly died, Sasha discovered heíd been a long-term member of the Ranch. A search of his laptop revealed heíd been a member for over twenty years and a calendar documenting the dates of his visits. There was also a curious reference to several dozen womenís names with dates that matched the dates on his calendar. However, it wasnít until Sasha finally managed to open his safe that she discovered a box of DVDs, each labeled with one of the womenís names, and learned the horrifying truth about the Ranch. Each of those disks contained a snuff video documenting the agonizingly torturous death of the woman whose name appeared on the label. Worst of all, in those videos, her father had brutally murdered all those women.

Some women would have been horrified, and most would have gone to the police, but I wasnít like most women. Instead, I spent the coming weeks researching everything I could learn about the Ranch from my fatherís laptop and various dark web sources. I also watched all those horrifying snuff videos several more times before finally destroying my fatherís computer and running all those disks through my office shredder. Checking public records, I was shocked to discover how many women had gone missing from the Reno, Los Vegas area over the years. They were primarily high-end escorts and Vegas showgirls, several dozen prominently featured in my fatherís brutally obscene DVD collection. Still, there had been hundreds more and no investigations over the years. Realizing the extent of the Ranchís influence, I decided to confront them directly.

Of course, unlike most women, I had ulterior reasons for not going to the police, quite the opposite of my fatherís darkly sadistic ones. Iíd always harbored secret damsel in distress fantasies, ones where there was no knight in shining armor riding to my rescue. In my dreams, I was that girl in mortal peril who didnít get away. The one fated to die screaming in unrelenting agony for the evil villainís sadistic amusement. And, this was my chance to finally live out that fantasy, even, or perhaps because Iíd likely die in the process.

Several weeks later, with my wrists secured to the wall within one of the Ranchís basement torture chambers, I helplessly watched in eager masochistic anticipation as the wealthy gentleman whoíd paid considerable money to torture me to death entered the torture chamber.

Unlike the Ranchís regular victims, I already knew what happened to women brought to this terrifying place. Hence, the Ranch management went into unspeakably graphic detail concerning what this wealthy gentleman intended to do. I guess they were trying to frighten me into backing out. Now, staring at that obscenely cruel chain flail ominously hanging from that hook next to me, I felt my heartbeat quicken as a delightfully overwhelming sensation of fear coursed through me.

That ominous flail consisted of three lengths of heavy steel chain, each link of those chains having two razor-sharp blades protruding from its sides so that with each vicious swing, the flailís deadly blades would cut steadily deeper into my flesh. They also mentioned that this gentleman usually starts with his victimís breasts, stripping away the womanís skin and the breast tissue beneath in what promised to be a delightfully gruesome display of blood and torn flesh that only ends when my ribs become visible.

Next, heíll move his cruel attention to my abdomen and hips, stripping away the flesh and muscles of my lower torso until those blades finally slice my belly open, brutally spilling my entrails onto the torture chamberís floor.

The spikes mounted on the wall behind me merely enhance my suffering. With each savage swing of that flail, the powerful impact of its heavy chains will drive me painfully back against those spikes, gradually tearing my back and buttocks to shreds as this unspeakably torturous evening progresses.

Picking up that flail, my killer paused, roughly fondling my corset-compressed breasts. Then stepping back, he brutally swung that flail across my chest, its sharp blades effortlessly shredding the upper part of my corset and slicing agonizingly deep into my breasts as the gag-muffled sound of my desperate scream filled the torture chamber.

As the evening progressed, I must admit that sadistic bastard was good. He took his time, giving me almost enough time to recover before that flail sliced deep into my breasts again. The pain was exquisite, everything Iíd imagined, as my blood slowly soaked the black satin of my corset as the hours before he finished with my once-inspiring breasts passed.

When he finally relented, briefly setting aside that flail to wipe my blood off his face and pour himself a glass of wine, all I could do was stare in horror at the sight of my blood-spattered ribs now visible where my magnificent breast had once been.

Over the following torturously agonizing hours, my killer slowly destroyed my belly. That unforgiving flail stripped away the skin, then my abdomen muscles, until just after dawn, the flailís blades finally cut deep enough to open my belly. Already weak from blood loss, all I could do was hang helplessly from the wrist restraints, the spikes stabbing painfully deep into my back as I watched in sickening horror as my intestines spilled out onto the torture chamberís floor.

My final thought as I slowly died, at least I had the chance to live out my darkest erotic fantasy, especially since it had been truly worth dying for...