How can Marcos sit there, so smug, enjoying his glass of wine while the remaining minutes of my life are counting down? I’m going to die for his amusement. I thought he loved me, but
one innocent night out with my ex, and he’s 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 I’d 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. I’d rather die in agony. Something I’m 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 I’m going to die, at least I’ll 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 Maria’s eyes as the spikes started moving toward her.
...
Marcos frowned as Maria’s head slumped forward a few minutes later as she finally lost consciousness. Although she’d 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 Resort’s 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 Resort’s mental conditioning would erase all memories of Maria’s former life. So, perhaps the next time she dies upon the spikes for his amusement,
she’ll scream...