For as long as I can remember Iíve had what I call ĎDreams of Steel,í or perhaps, as what would be more likely be described by many as horrifying ĎNightmares of Steel.'

Iíve always thought these dreams started when I witnessed a scene in a 60ís horror movie as a child. A woman dressed all in white, her wrists bound to an overhead beam, while before her stands the villain, dressed in black, holding in his hand a long thin bladed sword, its sharp deadly point poised mere inches from her belly. She desperately begs and pleads for mercy but the villain merely smiles as he runs her through with his sword, savagely twisting the blade back and forth within the womanís guts as she dies screaming.

In the long years since Iíve endured almost nightly visions of being brutally stabbed to death by all manner of edged weapons, everything from swords to knives, spears and even by a machete.

In perhaps, the darkest of these intensely erotic dreams, like that doomed women in that 60ís horror movie, Iím dressed in white but wearing a rather more revealing ensemble. And while my wrists are bound to an overhead beam, Iím hanging suspended with the toes of my high heels barely able to brush the floor. And alas, tonight there will be no last minute begging for mercy, not with that oversized white ball gag strapped tightly within my mouth.

Suddenly, a man dressed in black steps out of the shadows, in his hand a horrifying sword, its long thin blade gleaming in the light of the fireplace, as he approaches. I feel my stomach muscles tighten in fearful anticipation as I recognize the type of sword heís carrying, one almost identical to the sword used in that 60ís horror movie, a medieval Rapier, over three feet of deadly razor-sharp steel.

I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as he silently raises the sword upward until its deadly tip hangs poised mere inches from my white satin and lace sheathed navel. That horrifying look of sadistic delight appearing in his eyes just before he runs me through, the Rapierís razor-sharp blade slipping effortlessly through my guts until the bladeís hilt presses firmly against my belly.

Tears well up in my eyes as the pain threatens to overwhelm me, the sickening sensation of cold steel shifting deep inside me with each shallow breath, I manage to take. That horrifying explosion of mind-numbing agony as my killer starts to savagely twist that blade back and forth within my ravaged guts, like nothing Iíd ever imagined enduring.

Finally satisfied, my killer pulls the Rapierís blade out of my mutilated guts and steps back to admire his deadly handiwork as I gradually bleed out. The blood running down my legs feels white hot against my skin, each breath harder to take then the last, the room steadily grows dimmer, until the darkness at last claims me.

Somehow, every time I have this dream, Iíve always awakened to find myself incredibly aroused, my panties soaking wet from my juices. My nipples painfully erect. A single brush of my fingertips across my throbbing clitoris is usually all it takes for me to achieve that first incredible orgasm...