For as long as she could remember, Sandy had always found herself inexplicably drawn to the worst kinds of men. It was almost as if somewhere deep down in her subconscious she'd desperately longed for the abuse that inevitability followed.
She'd been dancing at some two bit strip club in LA when she'd met him on that fateful and final day of her mortal existence. He and a few of his gang had stopped in for a few beers. A half dozen lap dances and a few drinks laced with some date rape drugs later and she'd left the club with them. The next thing Sandy remembered was waking up in some cheap hotel.
Sandy awoke to the worst headache she'd ever imagined. She quickly discovered she was lying on her stomach, naked and tied spread-eagled across the hotel room's bed. And judging by the taste in her mouth, her abductors had stuffed her panties in before taping her mouth shut. Turning her head she could see about a dozen or so gang members watching football and drinking beer.
Sandy suddenly recalled a story she'd seen one morning on the news. One of the inner city gangs was abducting strippers and using them as halftime entertainment. At halftime, they would brutally gang rape their victim and after the game, dump her, naked and still tightly bound and gagged, in some dark alleyway. Never really into football, Sandy began to desperately pray that the Raiders would win today's game. Because, from what she remembered from that story, if Oakland won she end up lying in some alley beaten and abused, but if they lost she'd also end up with her throat slit. Sandy was still trying to imagine what the knife would feel like, as its sharp merciless blade slicing through her throat, when she heard a voice on the television announce the two minute warning for the game's first half. And Oakland was already down by seven.
Later that night, Sandy awoke, still tightly bound and gagged, to discover she was lying in an alley behind some old abandoned warehouse near the harbor. She could vividly remember those terrifying final moments of the game. With less then 30 seconds on the clock Oakland was out of timeouts and still down by three. The gang's leader was already on the bed next to Sandy, his knee pressing down against her back as he pulled her head painfully back by her hair, the cold razor-sharp blade of his knife pressed against Sandy's throat in deadly anticipation as the game clock counted down the final seconds of Sandy's life.
Expecting to die but too terrified to watch, Sandy closed her eyes in anticipation of that sharp steel blade slicing through her throat. And because of that, Sandy missed seeing Oakland come from behind to score the game winning touchdown with just 2 seconds remaining on the clock. And while Oakland's come from behind victory did save Sandy's life, all that meant was she'd have to take part in the gang's post game celebration.
Sandy knew she hurt badly, her nose was broken and one of her eyes had swollen completely shut. But she didn't realize just how badly they'd hurt her until she tried get her face out of the puddle of urine and blood she was lying in by rolling up onto her side. Thankfully, she'd passed out sometime during the early stages of the gang's post game celebration and missed the part where they'd broken one of her legs, kicked in the side of her ribcage, and sadistically burned off both her nipples.
Lying alone in that alleyway, lost in pain and misery, Sandy suddenly found herself wishing that they'd at least of had the decency to slit her throat when they'd finished torturing her.
Somewhere, deep down in Sandy's subconscious, the repeated gang rapes and brutal beatings she'd suffered, finally awoke Sandy's long repressed and darkly masochistic inner desires. And, as badly as she tried to deny her true feelings, Sandy knew how much she'd secretly enjoyed most of what those sadistic gang members did to her and at then end just how desperately she'd longed to die for their amusement.
It was then, in that timeless moment of self-realization, that Sandy noticed the strange fog rising from the ground to envelop her, and that strangely accented voice that would change Sandy's life and forever altered her understanding of pleasure, of pain, and even of death itself.
It was on that fateful night, that I willingly accepted that ghostly specter's Faustian bargain and in one last and final act of self-determination, accepted my rightful place as one of Ereshkigal's willing pleasure slaves, destined to spend all of eternity trapped within the Mesopotamian Underworld's endless cycle of pleasure and pain, an eternal cycle of unimagined hedonistic pleasure, of brutal unrelenting torture and death.
And, living an eternal life of willing subservience to Ereshkigal, the ancient Sumerian goddess of death and supreme ruler of the Mesopotamian Underworld, does have its masochistic perks. Of course, these kinds of perks would only appeal to one of Ereshkigal's pleasure slaves. Assuming that it's obscenely brutal and agonizingly torturous, the death goddess often takes sadistic delight in fulfilling her willing pleasure slave's darkest most erotically torturous fantasies, fantasies that always culminate in the pleasure slave's brutal and agonizing death.
And speaking dark fantasizes. I've always fantasized about impalement. That almost indescribably painful sensation, that threatens to overwhelm even my thoroughly masochistic mind's ability to derive pleasure from my torment, as the cold steel shaft slips steadily deeper into my guts. And inevitability, that inescapable moment when the pain finally becomes more than I can bear and all thoughts of pleasure vanish leaving nothing but the agonizing pain. That moment my world of willing submission is inevitability reduced to its rawest essence, unbearable and unrelenting agony.
And those long hours, if not days, of unrelenting agony that I will be endure before I finally die? That's just another inevitable perk.