Robyn had been doing kinky fetish photo and video shoots for several years. While she’d found some of the fetish themes sick and repulsively perverted, she’d ignored
her distaste and did the shoot anyway. That was until tonight.
The shoot started typically. There was an actual dressing room, where I changed into a breathtakingly tight white latex bodysuit with sheer black tights, latex gloves,
and matching knee-high ballet boots with spike heels. Although the boots were a bit much, overall, it was a far more modest outfit and a nice change of pace from the
more revealing attire usually worn in most of my previous fetish-themed photo shoots.
However, it was the video shoot’s setting that concerned me. Don’t get me wrong. The bondage was pretty light compared to most photo shoots, just wrist cuffs chain
linked to an overhead spreader bar. Even when the photographer used a remote to raise the spreader bar, stretching my arms taut, he relented before the seven-inch heels
of my boots lifted off the floor. The real problem was that the place looked like an actual torture chamber, and by that, I mean the props and the blood stains on the floor
seemed authentic. And, most troubling, so did all those razor-sharp spikes mounted on the wall behind me.
After making some minor adjustments to the lights, the cameraman turned to me, pausing as he pulled a face-concealing black leather hood over his head, “Robyn, usually fetish
cameramen want one of two things, for their models, to look like they’re either enjoying the scene or in pain and worried about what they’re doing to her. Tonight, I’m looking
for something more intense. Terror.”
Pausing to switch on the three video cameras, “Tonight, don’t think of me as your cameraman, but as your executioner.”
“So, in the opening scene, you’ll imagine that you are alone in this torture chamber, desperately struggling to escape your restraints. And, with every look over your shoulder
at those razor-sharp spikes, your terror only grows until it threatens to overwhelm your senses. I want to see that terror and desperation on your face and the fear in your eyes.”
“After recording about fifteen minutes of you futilely struggling to escape, I’ll enter the torture chamber, a scene that I’ve already recorded, and walk to where you’re still
helplessly struggling and grasp you by your throat. I want you panicking, desperately begging for your life, promising to do anything I want or desire if I should only spare your life.”
“That’s the moment I’ll shout ‘Silence’ and force this ballgag into your mouth, strapping it tight before delivering my monolog.”
“The only mercy you’ll ever see in this blood-soaked place of pain is the final mercy of death. Before this night ends, I will delight at the sight of you suffering an obscenely slow,
agonizingly torturous death, brutally impaled upon those spikes.”
“Then comes your death scene. The hoist will lift you about a foot into the air, where you’ll continue to struggle for several minutes before I press the remote’s red release button,
sending you sliding back onto those deadly spikes.”
“Of course, your part in the production ends before that happens. After that, all you’ll need to provide is a long, blood-curling, ballgag-stifled scream, along with about twenty minutes
of cries, whimpers, moans, and one final death rattle exhale. All the rest is CGI generated.”
Well, Robyn played her part to perfection. Of course, she didn’t realize I strive for authenticity in my video productions and never use CGI. But, by the time she did, she was already
diabolically impaled upon those deadly razor-sharp spikes. Oh, and it also took Robyn over forty agonizing minutes to finish bleeding out, almost twice as long as I’d expected her to survive...