I’ve always been fascinated with torturous death. I’ve long ago discovered that the more brutally gruesome the woman’s death, the more delightfully erotic it seems.
For me, the medieval dungeon torture chambers hold a darkly masochistic appeal. I often fantasize about being that doomed damsel in distress. My naked body stretched to the breaking
point on that rack while being slowly tortured to death with whips, sharp flesh-rendering tools, and hot irons. Or, perhaps, they put me in the Iron Maiden, leaving me to endure several
days of unrelenting agony before I finally bleed to death.
Or, perhaps I’m being publically executed, hanging upside down by my ankles as my executioners position a sharp two-person treesaw between my legs and use it to cut me gruesomely in half.
Or, forced to kneel with my head over the block and beheaded by the executioner’s axe, or even impaled and left to suffer a slow, agonizing death in the village square.
I’ve also fantasized about being executed as a witch, burned at the stake for the villager’s amusement. Or, perhaps, they hung me by my neck from the gallows, leaving me kicking and
struggling for almost 30 obscenely unpleasant minutes before I finally strangled to death.
There are so many wickedly curious obsessions to choose from. Perhaps, someday one of them might even happen to me...
A girl can wish, can’t she?