Vlad the Impaler watched in shock as Faith, once the devote and utterly submissive wife of a strict 17th century Puritan Minister, worked the
smooth steel shaft of the impalement post with all the skill of an erotic dancer in a late 20th century strip club. Even after more than six
centuries of service within the dungeon torture chambers of the Mesopotamian Underworld Vlad still couldn’t fully comprehend how these women so
willing endured their agonizing deaths night after night.
It felt almost surreal, Vlad knew that the thought of impalement utterly terrified Faith but here she was happily twirling around the brutal steel impalement post that she’d already died upon countless times. Vlad instinctively knew that when the time came Faith would submissively surrender, allowing him to tightly bind her wrists and then her elbows tightly behind her back. Than after Vlad rolled the platform up against the impalement post she’d willingly ascend the steps and offer no resistance as he turned her back to the impalement post and lifted her over its tip. Vlad enjoyed the way Faith’s eyes suddenly opened wide as she felt the blunt unyielding tip of the impalement post’s cold steel shaft painfully stretching her anus as it forced its way upward into the depths of her straining rectum until the heels of shoes once again touched the raised platform.
Faith could feel her heart racing as Vlad carefully positioned her feet until she stood with just the toes of her shoes balanced precariously on the edge of the raised platform as he tightly bound her ankles together behind the impalement post’s shaft. She knew from vast amounts of personal experience that her coming death would be a long and torturously drawn out affair.
While impalement remained a common form of death within the blood soaked confines of Ereshkigal’s torture chambers, with Vlad it was truly an art. It really didn’t matter whether the impalement post entered through your rectum or more commonly your vagina Vlad was a diabolic genius when it came to guiding its brutal passage through your body. It’s not a matter of if but simply of when the tip of the post will slide upward into my chest, slip safely between my lungs, past my heart and reach the underside of my trachea. From there the tip slides quickly up your throat, forcing your head back as it exits your mouth. Still, while there are far more painful ways to die in the Underworld’s dungeon torture chambers few are more terrifying then facing Vlad the Impaler. Unlike the shorter impalement post more common within Ereshkigal’s torture chambers Vlad’s impalement posts have a smooth rounded tip designed to minimize the damage it causes as it makes its way upward through your body. And while it definitely fills your throat invoking a constant choking sensation, the impalement post’s shaft is just slender enough to allow its victim enough air to remain conscious. Ironically, Vlad’s victims usually expire by drowning on their own saliva. The shaft of the impalement post holds your head back making it impossible for you to drool, while its thick shaft makes it impossible to swallow, so over time your saliva slowly trickles down your throat and collects within your lungs until you drown.
Finished tying Faith’s ankles tightly together Vlad reached down and gave the wheeled platform a firm push, sending it rolling across the torture chamber and far beyond the reach of Faith’s frantically reaching toes.
Desperately trying to slow her decent downward unto the brutal impalement post Faith stared into the cold darkness of Vlad’s eyes. She’d seen the way he’d stared as she so wantonly danced around the impalement post for him, the sudden bulge in his pants that her sensual gyrations around the post induced. Even now as the impalement post slowly slid deeper into her body she could see the way Vlad’s eyes lingered over the fullness of her bosom, the swelling of her hips and the way her shaved crotch so scandalously exposed her feminine charms to his gaze. She longed to be his, to spend all of eternity fulfilling his every desire his every need, with him she’d finally come to accept her deeply concealed masochistic desires, her insatiable need to suffer in agony for another’s amusement. Vlad was nothing like her despicable old Puritan Minister of a husband, who while cruel was completely clueless when it came to satisfying his young wife’s darker desires. Having learned from one of Ereshkigal’s troll guards that she would be once again entertaining Vlad the Impaler that night she’d happily forgone all food and drink. The last time she’d died by his hand she’d lasted well into her third day, perhaps this time she’d finally impress him be making it to the forth.
Watching Faith’s eyes as she slowly started to sink onto the impalement post, Vlad could see that enticing mix of terror and pain in her pretty eyes as she instinctively fought to squeeze that deadly inescapable shaft between the insteps of her shoes in what they both already knew would be an ultimately futile attempt to keep the post from slipping deeper into her body. And, while he’d never admit it, Faith had long ago become one of his favorites. Perhaps it was merely her 17th century Puritan values that let her so willingly embrace her fate here in the darkest reaches of the Underworld’s torture chambers but he simply didn’t care about her reasons only her suffering and the last few times here in his own realization of hell she’d managed to last well into her third day before dying and Ereshkigal was pleased. And just where in the Mesopotamian Underworld did a 17th century English Puritan learn how to pole dance like that?