Torture sex was how I died. He was my executioner. I had been sentenced to die by a judge, but this was no ordinary prison. This was an experimental prison exploring new forms of torture and death for women like me. My executioner had been exploring death by Roman crucifixion. Do you know how painful that is? It is a gruesome and painful way to die. Before he nailed me to the cross, however, he whipped me over a hundred times. Both sides of my body were battered and bleeding from the lashes of his whip before he nailed me to the cross with outstretched arms and legs. I didn’t look peaceful nailed to the cross like Jesus. Did you know they don’t nail you by the hands and feet? He drove 6 inch nails into my wrists and my ankles. My entire body weight was being supported by my nailed limbs, which but a strain on my rib cage thus making it torture to just breathe. I couldn’t take in a full breath. I didn’t die of exposure or pain; I died of asphyxiation. I could feel my battered and bloodied body turning blue from lack of oxygen. I could feel myself getting weak. I thought I would be on that cross for days, but it was more like hours. My executioner stood watching me die, aroused. It was like he was looking at a work of art, not a dying woman. I deserved my death, but even as a pain slut, my executioner enjoyed my capital punishment more than me.
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