“Come back to my place, you’ll just love my ‘man cave’. I promise. It’s truly to die for,” he said. “It’ll be fun,” he said.
I know. I let a total stranger at a fetish themed costume party pick me up, foolish, or maybe it was just the tequila talking, or perhaps I still have a thing for tall, dark and mysterious men who frequent fetish clubs while dressed as medieval executioners, one whose ‘man cave’ actually turns out to be a terrifyingly well-equipped chamber of horrors. Of course, it may also have been whatever he’d slipped into my drink. One minute he was successfully seducing me at the party, the next I awoke here, chained against the wall in his basement with this uncomfortably oversized rubber ball gag stuffed deep within my mouth.
The after-effects of whatever drug he’d used slowly began to fade, and I managed to get up from where I’d awoken sitting on the cold hard floor and regained my feet and relieve the painful ache of the tight steel manacles around my wrists. Unfortunately, managing to get back onto my feet also gave me a much better view of the chamber’s horrifying decorations.
Eyes wild with fear, I felt a sudden cold knot of terror deep inside my chest as I realized this chamber wasn’t your typical well-equipped BDSM playroom, but a horrifyingly real chamber of horrors filled with some of medieval history’s cruelest instruments of diabolical tortures. Everywhere I looked, yet another horrifying example of barbaric cruelty. There was an immense Spanish Horse, its steep wooden sides whose apexes ended with a razor-sharp looking steel blade. An intimidating Judas Cradle, its massive raised iron point gleamed in the chamber’s overhead lights. Across the chamber, a rack, considered one of the most painful forms of medieval torture. Hanging from the chamber’s high vaulted ceiling a suspension bar, the usual restraints missing from the chains dangling from its ends, replaced instead by two large and cruel looking barbed iron hooks. Everywhere tables covered with whips and a mind-numbing assortment of medieval torture implements. And finally, standing alone against the chamber’s back wall, a shocking horror from my deepest nightmares, a soft gasp of horrifying surprise escaping my gag filled mouth as I stared helplessly at that ominously waiting Iron Maiden.
Startled, by the sound of someone unlocking the chamber’s door, I turned and stared in fear as he walked in carrying an open bottle of wine and a single wine glass.
Watching from beneath his executioner’s hood at the way shock and surprise rendered his lovely guest speechless, Paige’s host smiled darkly. “Paige, it’s good to see you’re awake. I have to admit that I’m still working out a few final kinks in the drug cocktail I use. It renders most of my victims easily susceptible to suggestions for about 15 minutes before losing conscious for about an hour. Disappointingly, a small percentage still slips into a coma and never awake.”
Setting down the bottle of wine and the glass the executioner shoved Paige back against the cold stone wall as his leather gloved hands roughly toyed with firm fullness if her black latex covered breasts. A sudden blush of heated embarrassment appearing on her face as her throbbing nipples grew painfully erect. And, that sharp hiss, one that had far more to do with pleasure than with pain, escaping Paige’s tightly gagged mouth, as he slowly crushed their hardness between his fingers.
Pausing to cup Paige’s magnificent breasts in his gloved hands, the executioner smiled, “When I first saw your impressive cleavage, I’d planned to strip you nude and suspending you on this evil-looking breast hooks, use my heaviest whip, spend a few delightful hours enjoying your screams as I slowly beat you to death. It wasn’t until I was securing you against this wall that I fully comprehended just how ravishingly beautiful you truly are my dear. And that it would be a terrible waste to ruin such beauty so hastily, especially with tonight being the start of a four-day bank holiday, so I paused to reconsider your fate.”
Sliding his hands upward he cupped the sides of Paige’s face, raising her face until their eyes met, “Such beauty demands a lingering and far more agonizingly torturous demise then merely being beaten to death while hanging from iron hooks. Your beauty deserves nothing less than the slow agonizing death that only the diabolically spike-lined confines of the Iron Maiden can offer.”
Later, as I stood helplessly bound within the claustrophobic confines of the Iron Maiden’s metal sarcophagus, I watched as the executioner paused to pour himself a glass of wine, “I find the slow torturous death of a beautiful woman within the Iron Maiden is best enjoyed while savoring an exquisite vintage for my extensive cellars. Over the coming days, as you slowly die in unrelenting agony for my amusement, you should be honored to knew that I’ve decided the perfect accompaniment for your exquisitely agonizing death is this rare bottle of 1945 Château Mouton-Rothschild.”
Watching as the Iron Maiden closed, that horrifying spike-line door swinging slowly toward me, I wondered what he would have thought if he’d known, as he’d casually said, “It’ll be fun,” that if he’d just told me the kind of perilously torturous fun he’d really had in mind, he wouldn’t have needed to drug me...