It was early evening when the torturer returned to the Inquisition’s torture chamber, where they’d spent the last three days interrogating Lady Alessandra on the charges of practicing
witchcraft and dark magic, charges she refused to confess to, despite the brutal questioning she’d undergone.
“Good evening, Lady Alessandra. I’m here to inform you that you will be taken to the town square at sunrise and burned at the stake for witchcraft.”
Confused, I replied, “Burned at the stake. How can the inquisitors sentence me to die even though I never confessed?”
Smiling darkly, “Your fate was preordained the day your wealthy husband died, your ‘confession’ written long before they brought you here and put you to the question. One of the
Inquisition’s scribes even forged your signature.”
Seeing the sudden look of horror on Lady Alessandra’s face, “This was never about all those false accusations of witchcraft. Those merely gave the Inquisition an excuse to arrest
you. So that, with your confession, the church could seize the lands and wealth you inherited from your deceased husband.”
Shocked by the church’s unexpected ruthlessness, “How can the church get away with this, and how many other women have already died simply to enrich the church?”
“More than you might imagine.”
“Why are you telling me this? You must know that I’ll tell the crowd the truth when they ask if I have any final words to say before they burn me.”
Amused by her ladyships naivety, “That’s highly unlikely since you’ll already be dead when they chain you to that stake. Since they forced you down onto this seat’s spiked dildo
earlier today, your brutally agonizing death became inescapable.”
“Known as the witch’s perch, you may not have noticed as they impaled you sexually on that dildo, but all those spikes curve slightly downward to act as hooks or barbs if you try to
lift yourself off that diabolic perch. I’ve never witnessed a woman willingly ripping her guts out by attempting to stand. They always need some encouragement once seated upon the perch.”
Pausing to gesture toward the two hooks hanging ominously just above Lady Alessandra’s head, “Before I release your restraints, I’m going to lower those hooks and use them to skewer
each of your breasts. Then, I’ll unlock your neck and wrists, tying your wrists behind your back before releasing your leg restraints.” Glancing at the white-hot skewer he was holding,
“What do you intend to do with that skewer?”
“Once I’ve inserted those hooks, I will use this skewer to cauterize the wounds in your breasts. I’d hate for you to bleed out too quickly and miss all the excitement.”
With Lady Alessandra’s breasts skewered and the wounds cauterized, he removed her restraints, tying her wrists before going over to the wall-mounted winch and slowly drawing those breast
hooks upward until the chain grew taut. He could see the look of fear in her eyes quickly changing to pain as he continued to crank the winch, her desperate screams of agony echoing off
the torture chambers walls as those hooks pulled her slowly upward, the dildo’s barbs gradually ripping the walls of her vagina apart as the blood began to run down the insides of her Ladyship’s thighs.
I could feel my insides slowly being torn apart by that dildo’s barbed spikes. This horror was more brutally agonizing than anything I’d ever imagined enduring. The pain continued, growing
worse with each passing second until the final row of that brutal dildo’s spikes slipped out of the mutilated remains of my vagina. To my horror, the torturer didn’t stop turning that crank,
slowly drawing me upward until my toes barely reached the floor, even as my blood poured down from my crotch, painting that evil witch’s perch bright red before splashing down to join the
growing pool beneath my toes.
As I hung there by my breasts, quickly bleeding to death, the moment’s irony didn’t escape me. The Inquisition tortured me and was now murdering me simply to seize my late husband’s property and fortune,
never realizing I was actually a witch...