Far beneath the desolate surface of the Mesopotamian Underworld, in one of the countless subterranean torture chambers deep beneath Ereshkigal's palace, Bell stood shackled patiently awaiting nightfall and commencing of this night's entertainments. Having served as one of the death goddess Ereshkigal's willing pleasure slaves for well over a century, Bell held no illusions concerning her role in this night's fiendishly torturous entertainments.

Once the young bride of a high ranking Confederate officer, Bell had watched helplessly as her world of wealth and privilege came to a fiery end. Her husband killed at the siege of Vicksburg, her families plantation sacked and burned by advancing Yankee troops, Bell found herself alone, a penniless refugee desperate to escape. It was then, at a refugee camp outside the smoldering ruins of Atlanta, that one of Ereshkigal's ghostly envoys approached her with an offer, accept eternal servitude as one of the death goddess Ereshkigal's willing pleasure slaves. Accept the obscene bargain of the death goddess and enter willingly into the Mesopotamian Underworld's eternal cycle of unimagined pleasures, of unimagined fiendish agonizing tortures and death, and in exchange for your willing acceptance of eternal torment in the service of the goddess Ereshkigal, you will be granted eternal youth and beauty.

Even now as she hears the sounds of the goddess approaching, Bell could feel her body responding with growing excitement at the prospect of the agonizing torture and death that lay ahead. Because deep down Bell knows she already longs for the obscene brutality to come. Once, back before she willingly accepted her subservience to the death goddess, this realization might have embarrassed her but no more. Now Bell reveled in the knowledge of how her body responds to the pain.

That even knowing the agonizing torment that lay ahead, she'd still shutter at the merest touch of Ereshkigal's cold leather gloved hands or the sensation of Ereshkigal's whip slicing into her tender exposed flesh. And that goddess would find Bell's lips open to the Ereshkigal's deepest, most sensuous, most demanding kisses with pure unbridled lust. And that the goddess would find Bell longing to use anyway and everyway the goddess desired. To be made to scream from both erotic bliss and from unimagined agony.

Bell knew, that in the long hours of brutal libertine excess to come, her body, as always, would respond with equal delight, both in the pleasures and in the pain, and that deep within the depths of her soul she longed to endure both extremes of the flesh. It only seemed far that having given her eternal life, the goddess should take sadistic amusement in her willingness to endure endless nights of agonizing torment and death merely for Ereshkigal's amusement, and of course, Bell's.

Although long accustomed to the masochistic natures of her pleasure slaves, Bell's utter willingness to endure unimagined brutality still impressed the goddess of death. Ereshkigal smiled at the look of fatalistic despair visible in Bell's lovely eyes at the sight of that cruel Morning Star, its heavy iron ball covered with long sharp spikes. Originally developed to defeat the thick steel plate armor worn by knights in the late middle ages. Ereshkigal looked forward to seeing what kind of lasting impression it would make on Bell's badly abused flesh.

Staring at the hideously brutal implement of death the goddess held oh so casually in her leather gloved hand, Bell felt a sudden coldness deep within her. Already battered and bruised, thanks to the long and agonizing hours of the Ereshkigal's attentions, Bell knew she was reaching the end. With every painful breath she drew she could feel the broken ribs within her side. The steady dull throbbing in her guts, an intimate reminder of the internal injuries she'd already suffered. That steady agonizing burning that engulfed her, an unrelenting reminder of Ereshkigal's whips ability to exact unimagined suffering. Even still, staring at the heavy spike covered ball of that evil looking Morning Star, Bell could already feel her pulse quicken at the thought of what it would feel like to have those obscenely sharp looking spikes slicing into one of her breasts.