Entering one of the exclusive Vacation Club torture chambers situated high in the North Tower of the Resort’s authentic medieval castle, a castle that once stood on Germany’s Baltic coast, Prue gasped as she felt her heart began to race with a delightful sensation fear. The chamber contained an assortment of some of the most diabolical medieval instruments of brutal torture she’d never imagined seeing outside of a museum.

The grieving widow of a gifted molecular biologist and entrepreneur, killed in a terrorist attack on his lab complex outside London, she’d never known her late husband had been one of the Resort’s founding directors and the person directly responsible for the development of the Resort’s extraordinary physical regeneration process. A frequent guest here at the Resort Prue had cherished memories of nights spent in the Resort’s famed non-Vacation Club BDSM night clubs being delightfully tortured and used by her late husband, over 50 years of memories of nights that never happened. In reality, Prue’s husband had brutally tortured her to death over 2500 times in the Vacation Club’s exclusive dungeon themed torture chambers, her dying memories overwritten with far more romantically inclined fetish themed ones during her visits to the Resort’s regeneration center. That was until tonight.

Prue turned toward her ominously back clad torturer with a dark look of anticipation in her eyes, “Just so we both understand what’s at stake here, in his will my late husband bequeathed me his seat on the Resort’s board of directors, but to sit on the board I have to prove myself. So tonight, after having under gone regeneration to restore my youth, you the Resort’s most brutal torturer is going to have his way with me, a night devoid of passion or pleasure, instead a night of agonizing unrelenting torture climaxing in my slow painful death. And assuming that I manage to endure it all I’ll wake up at the Resort’s regeneration center and take my husband’s place on its board of directors. However, should I, at any time during the night, use our agreed up ‘safe word’, the torture will stop and I will immediately be terminated, my corpse to be disposed of at the Resort’s crematorium.”

Seeing that all too familiar look of submissive masochistic anticipation in Prue’s lovely eyes the torturer smiled beneath his face concealing black leather hood. Already looking forward to the delightful sound of her desperate screams, it was nights like this that always reminded him of just how much he truly loved his work...