How can Marcos sit there, so smug, enjoying his glass of wine while the remaining minutes of my life are counting down? Iím going to die for his amusement. I thought he loved me, but one innocent night out with my ex, and heís going to snuff me? I mean, I think the whole doomed damsel in distress thing is really hot, but I never imagined, even in my darkest nightmares, that Iíd end up dying impaled upon these razor-sharp spikes.

I know I should be screaming, begging for my life, but I refuse to give Marcos the satisfaction. Iíd rather die in agony. Something Iím horrifying aware will likely happen in the next few minutes instead of giving him the pleasure of me begging for my life. So, fuck you, Marcus. If Iím going to die, at least Iíll die with what little dignity I have still intact.

Sadly, for Maria, there would be no dignity or last-minute reprieve.

As the timer reached zero, Marcos enjoyed the look of abject horror in Mariaís eyes as the spikes started moving toward her.

...

Marcos frowned as Mariaís head slumped forward a few minutes later as she finally lost consciousness. Although sheíd cried out as the spikes slipped deeper into her body, she never screamed. Pouring another glass of wine, he watched as Maria finished bleeding out.

The obscenely brutal spike press had been a gift from the Resortís toymaker, a gift which Maria would soon long to regret. Like his other former women, after spending a few hours in a cryogenic container, Maria would awake to discover she was now just another indentured Resort companion. Of course, while he was looking forward to torturing her to death upon his next visit to the Resort, he knew that the Resortís mental conditioning would erase all memories of Mariaís former life. So, perhaps the next time she dies upon the spikes for his amusement, sheíll scream...