Coming home, Blair’s master David found this note on the kitchen table.
Sir. I have a surprise waiting for you downstairs in the dungeon. Love Blair.
Stopping to change into his black leather torturer’s costume, David followed her downstairs.
Seeing David in that torturer’s uniform and face-concealing hood, I felt an ominous sensation of evil foreboding as my demanding master entered the dungeon torture chamber.
Poised provocatively upon the dungeon’s brutal torture rack, I smiled seductively, “Good evening Sir. As usual, I’m yours to use in any way you desire. However, for tonight,
I do have a special request.”
Trembling at the look of darkly eager interest in my master’s hooded eyes, “Tonight, I want to embrace all my darkest masochistic desires regardless of the cost, with no safe words or limits.”
I felt a delightfully chilling sensation of fear as I continued, “Sir, tonight, please don’t merely be my torturer. Rather, I want you to be my brutally sadistic executioner. Use this rack to
hurt me, to make me scream in unbearable agony as you slowly and brutally torture me to death simply for your obscenely cruel amusement.”
Several long, painfully torturous hours later...
I quickly noticed how much my master enjoyed his new role as my executioner, tightening the rack another notch or two about twice an hour. While spending the rest of the night either fucking
me senseless or using the heavy leather flogger and electric cattle prod to enhance my suffering.
The first few hours on the rack had been delightfully exquisite, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure to feed my darkly masochistic desires. My high-pitched screams steadily grew more desperate.
With each click of its ratchet, the rack drew my body painfully tighter, intensifying my already delightfully agonizing torment.
As the hours passed, the intensity of the unrelenting agony I was helplessly enduring started to exceed even my considerable masochistic ability to find pleasure in my suffering. Realizing that
my executioner was about to tighten the rack another brutal notch, I cried out in panicked desperation, “Please, Sir, I beg of you, no more.”
Looking down at me, my executioner paused, his hands poised to tighten the rack. Then, releasing the rack’s wheel, he lightly caressed the side of my face before stuffing that ballgag deep into my
mouth and strapping it painfully tight.
“Silly girl, you foolishly expected mercy from your executioner? In this place, death is the only mercy that awaits.”
A moment later, I screamed in horrified disbelief as I felt the rack tighten two more agonizingly painful notches, although even I had to admit my ballgag-stifled screams did sound damn sexy.
Early the following day...
About to tighten the rack another notch, Blair’s executioner reconsidered. He realized that another notch or two at most and the tension would dislocate her shoulders and begin to destroy the tendons
and cartilage of her joints. A few notches beyond that, the tendons anchoring her abdomen muscles and diaphragm to her ribcage would fail, making it impossible for her to breathe and dooming her to a
slow, truly unpleasant death by suffocation.
He briefly considered stopping at this point, leaving Blair to suffer in agony for a few more hours at the rack’s current level of tension before releasing her. Standing there, with his hands still
grasping the rack’s wheel, he recalled the last thing she’d said before he secured to the rack, “make me scream in unbearable agony as you slowly and brutally torture me to death simply for your
obscenely cruel amusement.” Blair’s own words sealed her torturous fate.
A darkly sadistic smile of evil anticipation slowly spread across his executioner’s hood-concealed face. Blair had already been suffering upon the rack for over twelve hours. If he was careful and slowed
the tempo of adding to her torment, perhaps no more than a single additional notch tighter each hour, she might survive at least twenty-four excruciatingly torturous hours on the rack before she finally
died. After all, she did say she wanted to die for her executioner’s obscenely cruel amusement.
Tightening her grip, Blair’s executioner slowly turned the rack’s wheel until he heard its ratchet click an agonizingly painful notch tighter to the renewed sound of Blair’s screams. Picking up the cattle
prod, he paused to admire the delightfully erotic way that ballgag stifled her screams before positioning the prod directly against her clitoris and switching it on.
Later that evening...
David transferred Blair’s remains to the gurney and wheeled her down the hall for disposal within the flesh-consuming flames of the crematorium. Feeding her body into the fire, he
smiled as he reflected. A submissive masochist when she’d accepted my collar, Blair had been his possession for over two years before she finally asked me to be her executioner. Of course, she likely
expected the fantasy, not the reality. Still, Blair lasted just over twenty-seven obscenely amusing hours before she finally died screaming in agony for his amusement.
Tomorrow, he’d go online to invite another of his submissive followers to accept his collar, taking Blair’s place within his dungeon torture chamber.
When a woman asks someone to be their executioner, she should never assume the person she’s asking believes it will just be a fantasy...