Whitney felt an overwhelming sense of dread as the executioner, having finished securing her restraints, simply turned and left her hanging helplessly within the dimly lit torture chamber. Watching as he walked away, a faint “Mmmmmmh” of sexual frustration escaped Whitney’s ball gag stuffed mouth as she thought, “What the hell, he didn’t even take the time to feel me up or roughly grope my breasts before leaving.” It was then, in that first moment of utter silence, that she heard the distinctive click of sharp stiletto heels approaching out of the darkness as a sudden deathly coldness envelope her.

One moment Whitney was alone, then suddenly, Ereshkigal, the ancient Sumerian goddess of death and ruler of the Mesopotamian Underworld, was standing in the torture chamber directly in front of her, her glowing red eyes seeming to burn with the fires of hell. Staring helplessly into Ereshkigal’s glowing eyes Whitney was startled to suddenly hear Ereshkigal’s voice in her mind, “So my pretty pleasure slave, you’re this Whitney Prescott woman that all my favorite executioners have been raving about for the past few months. I must say that I’ve been impressed, I understand that you’ve even managed to charm the Marquis de Sade.”

Whitney could see the sudden terrifying change in Ereshkigal’s eyes as the death goddess coldly continued, “I’m sorry to say that tonight your considerable charms are of no consequence, you will soon discover that all I’m interested in is the taste of your pain and I think you will find that when it comes to the art of inflicting pain I can be diabolically creative.” Whitney was still struggling to comprehend the true horror of Ereshkigal’s words when the death goddess brutally stabbed that first steel spike upward through Whitney’s left breast...