“Since my late teens, I’ve had a fascination with the classic horror movies of the sixties and seventies but on a stormy night like tonight, one darkly ominous scene from a
particularly memorable movie always seems to haunt my darkest dreams. In that movie, the maid saves the hero by intentionally spills of glass of poisoned wine, but for her
betrayal, the Count’s Butler consigns her to a fate worse than death.”
“The maid, helplessly bound spread-eagle upon a large wooden St. Andrew’s cross is ominously suspended over a bed of sharp spikes. Behind the cross there’s a long balance arm,
at its lower end, is a metal hook that’s securing the other end of a long chain that’s preventing the cross from falling forward onto the spikes. At the other end of the arm,
hangs a large wood bucket that’s gradually filling with water. As the bucket fills the arm’s balance shifts, the end of the arm with the hook that's securing the chain slowly
starts to rise, allowing the cross to gradually tilt forward toward the spikes.”
“One of the most suspenseful moments of the scene comes as the end of the balance arm with the hook raises higher, the chain supporting the cross ominously starts to slide toward
the end of the hook. Every upward movement of the arm causing the chain to slip steadily further along the length of the hook until that fateful moment arrives when the chain finally
slips free.”
“As expected in those early horror films, the hero manages to break down the door saving the maid, just the chain slips free of the hook, by stopping her horrifying plunge toward certain
death upon the spikes.”
“Of course, in my darkly ominous dreams, I’m the one tied to that St. Andrew’s cross. Oh, and I’m not wearing a prudish seventeen hundreds maids dress, instead I’m wearing sexy lingerie,
stockings and high heels. The pathetically loose ropes binding that maid’s arms and legs to the cross have also been replaced by ones that stretch my body helplessly taut across the cross,
the waist rope replaced by a painfully tight crotch rope, the back end of which is tied off on the same ring that secures this end of the chain to the back of the cross. And that cloth gag
covering the lower half of the maid’s face, replaced by an oversized jaw-straining ball gag strapped uncomfortably deep within my mouth.”
“Oh, unlike in that movie, in my dreams I’ll have far more time to enjoy my darkly diabolic peril.”
“By reducing, the steady trickle of water into the bucket down to a slow unsteady drip, it will take over an hour before that balance arm even begins to move, then almost another thirty
minutes before I hear the chain start sliding along the hook and at least ten minutes more before it finally manages to slip free.”
“And this time, there’s no hero coming to save me, no last moment rescue from certain death. Instead, I helplessly plunge to my death, the impact of the heavy cross driving those spikes
completely through my body, imbedding their sharpened tips into the wooden cross that’s lying on top of me.”
“And the worst part, impaled upon those torturous spikes, I’m not only alive but surprisingly still conscious. Coughing up blood with each desperate breath I manage to take, each breath
harder to draw than the last, as I slowly drown in my own blood. Still, despite being agonizingly impaled on those spikes, it still takes another twenty minutes of suffering before I finally
bleed to death.”
“I’ll freely admit that most would consider my dreams to be darkly twisted nightmares, but I don’t. Instead, I find them delightfully erotic...”