Gretchen thought she knew what to expect when she made her request. She wanted something old school. Something assured to be barbarically cruel and utterly merciless. So, she contacted the Resort’s concierge desk and made an appointment. That night, rather than visiting one of the Resort’s infamous north tower torture chambers, she was taken instead, gagged and with her wrists bound behind her back, down to the castle’s faithfully restored, yet rarely visited dungeons, those that lie ominously deep beneath the castle grounds.

Reaching the dungeon, they led her down a long cell lined corridor toward the dungeon’s ancient torture chamber. As the heavy doors open, a soft involuntary gasp of dreadful surprise escaped Gretchen’s lips as she smelled the faint but unmistakable scent of spilled blood and entrails and visible in the glowing torch lit chamber, the piles of carelessly strewn human bones. Suddenly, Gretchen felt her breath catch in her throat, standing before her, in the center of the chamber, an utterly horrifying instrument of obscenely torturous death, the massive iron impalement post. Staring in horror at that massive iron post, Gretchen instantly recognized it as a faithful recreation of one she’d seen on display in the castle’s museum, the last remaining example of the iron impalement posts that once graced the battlements high above the castle’s main gate.

Staring at that horrifyingly ominous impalement post, Gretchen felt any lingering vestiges of eager masochistic anticipation quickly succumbing to an overwhelming sense of unanticipated horror. In the castle’s museum, she’d read of how those brutally oversized impalement posts were used to punish the wives and daughters of nobles found guilty of treason. Gretchen could feel her heart pounding as she recalled the disgusting and highly graphic descriptions of the cruel agonizing deaths those unfortunate women suffered.

Running his fingers down across the tip of the massive iron shaft the executioner smiled at the look of overwhelming fear that suddenly appeared in Gretchen’s lovely eyes, “As you know, this intimidating iron impalement post is an exact replica to the impalement posts that once graced the battlements high above the castle’s main gate, the last remaining example prominently displayed in the castle’s museum.”

Gretchen could see the look of darkly evil anticipation in the torturer’s cold eyes as he continued, “Tonight, you will be impaled upon this shaft’s unforgiving iron tip. The walls of your vagina slowly and painfully stretching to accommodate this post’s intimate violation, and depending upon how much you struggle and the strength of your vaginal muscles it could take an hour or more, before the post’s smoothly rounded tip finally reaches your cervix.”

“Of course, it doesn’t really matter how hard you struggle. All women struggle to avoid the inevitable. It's instinctive. And yet, despite your struggles the unyielding iron tip’s steadily growing pressure will eventually cause your cervix to rupture, allowing the impalement post’s massive iron shaft to slide upward through your abdomen. Inevitably, in the end gravity always wins. In a few hours at most, you’ll be fully impaled, the post’s blunt tip lodged behind either your left or right collar bone, and tightly wedged into place between your shoulder blade and spinal column.”

“Then, as was custom 600 years ago, you will be left to endure a slow lingeringly torturous death, helplessly impaled upon the post’s massive iron shaft, death only coming after several long and extremely excruciating days of unrelenting torment. ”

Gretchen thought about objecting, but her tight-fitting gag harness with its built in and surprisingly realistic, yet oversized penis gag rendered any last minute objections on her part, mute. In the end, it did take over two hours before the impalement post’s tip reached her cervix, and several intensely masochistic orgasms later, finally rupturing her cervix, almost six hours more before the blunt tip of the impalement post reached the underside or her right collar bone, the impalement post just tall enough to keep her desperately stretching toes from reaching the torture chamber’s floor.

Gretchen managed to survive almost four days before she succumbed to the inevitable. Still, she delightfully discovered along the way, that while obscenely unpleasant, the sickening experience of riding that massive impalement post satisfied one of her darkest masochistic desires. In fact, so satisfied, that after a few hours spent at one of the Resort’s regeneration centers, Gretchen contacted the Resort’s concierge desk and made another appointment...