In her long centuries of service to Ereshkigal, Amy had come to appreciate some of the finer things that eternal life the Mesopotamian Underworld held for a willing pleasure slave. And while she reveled in the endless days of un-imaged carnal delight, it was the inevitable coming of night that always seemed to excite Amy the most. To watch as the sun sank toward the horizon and to know with absolute certainty that the moment it finally set the goddess’s troll guards would be coming with their iron shackles and chains. Knowing that she’d once again find herself within the underworld’s endless dungeon torture chambers, there to helplessly endure long hours of unspeakably torture before enviably dying in unrelenting agony and all the while knowing that she was willingly enduring night after night of agonizing death merely for the darkly sadistic amusement of Ereshkigal, the goddess of death.

Even now, after enduring countless nights of torture and death, Amy felt a nearly overwhelming sensation of erotically masochistic lust threatening to overwhelm her senses as she helplessly watched Ereshkigal select the first, of what Amy knew would be many, brutal instruments of torture that she’d painfully endure before the night ended in her death.

For Amy, it always came down to anticipation, that brief moment as she watched Ereshkigal, or one of her army of diabolically skilled torturers, preparing to hurt her in ways that for most mortals went far beyond comprehension. And, like all of Ereshkigal’s willing pleasure slaves, when it came to brutal torture the finer things truly mattered, especially when it came to pain...