In my earliest memories, imagining myself being tortured had a calming effect so reliable, I almost always used it to fall asleep. Not to be too boring (!religion mention warning!) but I was surrounded by imagery of torture and suffering from a super young age, not just j*sus but also Joan of Arc's burning was a big one. I also read many books about torture in my early years, there's a lot of extremely vivid, graphic imagery in books about Chr****n martyrs.
All that changed when I became an atheist. I finally allowed myself to see the eroticism. I finally admitted it was me who wanted to be crucified, nobody else. My body on display, writhing, suffering, in agony. It was all clear and I left the guilt and shame of it behind.
Sex, pain, humiliation, shame...all of these things are connected to the sensitivity of the genitalia and societal demand to hide it. Nothing could be more fucked up and obvious than targeting it, exposing it, and displaying it. And we human animals are truly monsters, capable of violence of all kinds. The best we can do is admit it's arousing and keep it safe and sane when we play or make art about our fantasies.