The castle overlooking the city fell out of repair in the late 1600s. It remained empty until the cultural revolution of the 1970s when its newly elected board of trustees realized the castleís potential profitability as a fetish playground. They renovated the castle, turning its sixteen bedrooms into luxury fetish-themed accommodations. At the same time, they assured the dungeon torture chamber retained its darkly ominous environment, its instruments of brutal torture promising their masochistically inclined guests a torturously authentic experience. The castleís guests never realized that many of the most beautiful women willingly entering this torture chamber never left it. Their bleached bones piled against the chamberís walls, the only reminder of their ultimately fatal visit.

Entering the castleís ancient dungeon torture chamber, Paige was a ravishingly beautiful fetish vision of willing masochistic submission. Far more erotically enticing than if sheíd been completely nude.

I desperately longed to embrace all my darkest masochistic nightmares without fully realizing the price that some of the torture chamberís more brutally diabolic amusements might demand.

It only took a single glance for the chamberís sadistically demanding torturer to decide Paigeís fate.

Waiting until Paige finished her glass of wine, he took the glass from her hand and strapped her wrists tightly behind her back. He used a second leather strap to encircle her elbows, drawing them together until they touched before buckling it uncomfortably tight. Then grasping the ring dangling at the front of her slave collar, he led Paige toward the back of the torture chamber, her lovely eyes growing wide with terror as she realized he was leading her toward the chamberís ominous-looking Iron Maiden.

Unlocking the Iron Maiden, the torturer swung its heavy metal door open and forced me to step up onto the Maidenís raised stone pedestal. An involuntary gasp of fear escaped my lips at the sight of all those impossibly sharp-looking spikes lining the interior of the Iron Maidenís door. Still starring at all those terrifying-looking spikes, the torturer forced me back into the Maidenís form-fitting claustrophobic metal sarcophagus and started strapping me into the Iron Maiden.

Tightening the final strap securing Paige helplessly within the Iron Maiden, the torturer smiled evilly beneath his face-concealing hood, ďPaige, your agonizing death within the Iron Maiden will not be easy or quick. The Maiden exacts a terrifying price on its victims, a slow lingering death of suffering in unrelenting agony as you slowly bleed to death over two or three days.Ē

Starring at all those spikes, especially the two horrifying ones destined for my eyes, the torturer slowly started to close the Iron Maiden. I still couldnít believe that the torturer actually intended to finish closing that Iron Maidenís door. I thought that he was merely trying to terrify me and, in fact, utterly succeeding in doing so.

The torturer could see the look of overwhelming terror in Paigeís eyes the moment before the approaching spikes pierced them. Her high-pitched scream of pure agony echoed off the torture chamberís ancient stone walls for the moment before the Iron Maidenís heavy spike-lined door closed, muffling her desperate cries.

Paigeís cries and faint moans of agony grew steadily weaker until late on her second night within that diabolic Iron Maiden, her tormented cries finally ceased. Knowing from experience that blood loss had finally rendered Paige unconscious, he left her in the Maiden until the morning to give her time to finish bleeding out. The next day, he added her acid-bleached bones to one of the chamberís steadily growing piles, appending Paigeís name to the long list of beautiful women whoíd paid the ultimate price for indulging in the torture chamberís diabolic amusements...