I’m looking for a stranger in the night. I need a little danger in my life, tonight… Pat Benatar

I usually don’t do things like this, tonight I went to one of Hollywood's more upscale fetish nightclubs looking for a stranger to do thoroughly obscene things to me. I wore a scandalously low-cut red dress, one that revealed not only a breathtaking view of my cleavage but also exposed to view, the three silver chains linking, the easily visible through the thin silk of my dress, nipple rings. While it’s low cut back, revealed the tight lacing of my corset, with just a glimpse of my matching thong and upper ass cheeks, to anyone standing behind me.

Two hours later, after fending off several creepy guys and two even creepier women, all who stared at my breasts rather than into my eyes, I was about to give up hope for the evening. That was until the bartender brought me a glass of champagne. Looking at the bartender questioningly, he smiled, “Complements of the distinguished looking gentleman in the dark grey suit at the far end of the bar.”

Glancing over, I felt my heartbeat quicken. He was in his late fifty’s or early sixty’s, with just a hint of grey in his hair, his dark grey, tailored Amonie suit, perfectly accenting the grey in his neatly trimmed beard. Struggling to break eye contact, I took a sip of the champagne. It tasted incredible, questioningly turning to the watching bartender.

“It’s his. We keep a few bottles here at the club for him. I looked it up a while back. It's produced by a winery in Champaign France, one that’s been bottling champagne since the early fourteenth century, a bottle of this, costs over two thousand dollars. Oh, and with a very generous tip, he also picked up your bar tab.”

Thanking the bartender, I picked up my glass of champagne and walked down the bar taking the empty seat next to him, his eyes never leaving mine. Well, one thing led to another, and less than an hour later we left the bar together.

Of course, Marcus lived in a beautiful Beverly Hills mansion, with a stunning view of the city skyline. That, and as promised, a very well-equipped dungeon, and since this wasn’t another episode of the rich and shameless, we skipped the house tour and went straight down to his dungeon, where he wasted no time in chaining my wrists to the wall.

With my wrists secured, Marcus paused to caress the side of my face, his fingers sliding along my jaw line as his thumb brushed along my cheek bone. I felt his other hand pressing against the small of my back as he embraced me. Then, leaning forward our lips met, in a lingering and deep sensuous kiss, the taste of the champagne still fresh on his tongue, as I felt his hand on my back sliding downward toward the zipper of my dress, while his other hand slipped around to the back of my neck to unhook the halter neck of my dress.

My dress undone, our body’s briefly separated, it was less than an inch but more than enough to allow my dress to slip downward, past the swelling of my hips, down along my stocking clad legs to pool around my high heels. The fact that his eyes never left mine, the most romantic moment of the evening so far. Overwhelmed, I leaned into Marcus, my rock hard, aroused nipples grinding painfully against his muscular chest as I kissed him, our lip's meeting in a passionate explosion of pure erotic pleasure as our tongues intertwined.

Pulling away suddenly, Marcus smiled and turned toward the wall of cabinets lining the dungeon’s far wall. Opening one of the draws, he removed something and turning, walked back toward me. In the bright overhead lights, I could see he was holding what looked like a black leather panel gag, but as he grew closer, I realized it was a penis gag. It's phallic shape impossibly long and thick. Its huge black rubber cock slid over my tongue as it filled my mouth, the gag’s bulging tip pressing firmly against the back of my throat, as Marcus tightened its strap.

“Well my dear, I think it’s time for me to slip into something a bit more diabolical, but before I go, I thought you might enjoy a bit of mood lighting.”

Walking over toward the door, Marcus paused, opening a small panel, flipped a row of switches. Suddenly, the wall-mounted torches, that I’d thought were merely decorative, burst into flames. A moment later the iron brazier, holding several evil-looking branding irons and long handled pinchers, all of which I’d also believed to be just another artistic touch, burst into flames as well. With the torch's burning, he flipped another switch and the bright overhead lights quickly grew dimmer until they finally went out completely. Smiling, he flipped the panel’s final switch to turn on the interior lights within the upper glass door cabinets on the dungeon’s far wall to illuminate their terrifying contents.

Staring in horror, at the contents of those cabinets, I barely noticed Marcus leaving the dungeon. The cabinet on the left contained a large assortment of whips, floggers and riding crops. The cabinet to the right contained what appeared to be several electro-torture machines and by this, I don’t mean tens units. These looked like antiques and judging by the German markings they once belonged in a Gestapo or Stasi torture chamber. However, it’s the center cabinet that’s the most terrifying, at the top hung half a dozen gleaming swords, below the sword's hung rows of knives and surgical instruments and at the bottom of the cabinet, stood several glass jars each filled with dozens of sharp-looking metal skewers.

Finally, looking away from those horribly sharp-looking blades, I tried to calm myself. In that moment, my eyes fell to that burning iron brazier, the tips of its demanding irons and pinchers already beginning to glow red-hot in the flames.

In that timeless moment, the truly diabolic nature of the evening finally sank in. Tonight, I’d found someone far more than a “little dangerous”. Instead, after enduring the long coming hours of agonizing torture and mutilation at his cruel hands, I would die, my unpleasantly painful death serving merely as the finale of Marcus’s evening of darkly sadistic amusement. Sadly, that oversized penis gag he’d stuffed in my mouth would prevent me from thanking him as I died.


Hours later, as Marcus fed the last pieces of Karen’s dismembered body into the flames of the incinerator, he still found the look in her eyes as she died profoundly disturbing. That, as he slowly pushed the razor-sharp blade of that knife through the mutilated remains of her left breast, the blade slipping between her ribs and stabbing deep into her heart, that Karen as she died, still seemed to be enjoying the evening...