John came home from the office, only to see his secretary’s car already in his driveway. Expecting her to be eagerly awaiting
him in bed, he was shocked to see her note waiting on the dining room table.
I’ve known for some time about your collection of medieval horrors. I'm waiting downstairs to fulfill all your darkest desires.
All my love, Marsha
Racing downstairs, John found the concealed entrance to the hidden chamber that housed his collection partially open, the lights already on within. Swinging open the door he stepped inside only to see his usually demurely dressed secretary Marsha, wearing a provocatively revealing fetish themed latex and chain bodysuit and matching black high heels.
“John, you seem to have an impressive collection of authentic medieval instruments of obscenely torturous death. And, if I’m not mistaken, that’s a fifteenth-century Spanish Iron Maiden standing behind me. I understand that in the final days of the Inquisition, the Spanish perfected the Iron Maiden’s barbaric brutality, female heretics sentenced to die within its obscenely claustrophobic spike-line interior, doomed to suffer in unrelenting agony for almost a week before finally gaining the release that comes with death.”
Grinning mischievously, as she watched the look of surprise on John’s face slowly change to one of darkly evil anticipation, Marsha continued, “I think you’re beginning to sense that I share your interest in medieval instruments of torture and death, but of course, from a slightly different perspective. So, what does a girl have to do to be subjected to a slow agonizing death within your fiendishly diabolical Iron Maiden?”
Seeing the look in Marsha’s lovely green eyes, John was eagerly anticipating the delightfully intoxicating sound of her desperate dying screams. After all, even with the distraction of her seductively revealing cleavage, he’d noticed Marsha’s wrists, already securely handcuffed behind her back...