When Jen, my submissively masochistic lover, and museum curator, invited me to a private viewing of the museumís newest exhibit, torture, and capital punishment through the ages. I thought I knew what to expect. I was wrong.

Arriving after the museum closed for the night, I used the card key Jen had given me to enter the building and followed her directions to the new exhibit. Jen was standing there, holding a glass of wine and dressed in a revealing red bodysuit with matching high heels, a set of chain-linked steel manacles already dangling securely around her left wrist. And she was wearing that intimately familiar black leather slave collar sheís been wearing every night in our bed for the past two years.

ďFirst, no questions David. Tonight, Iím yours to do with as you please, no limits, no safe words. Tonight, youíre free to use me, abuse me, torture me, and even kill me merely for your darkly sadistic amusement. Iíve already bribed the morning cleanup crew to dispose of my body and clean up the mess. Any lingering blood stains will simply add an air of authenticity to the exhibit.Ē

Smiling that seductive little grin that first attracted me, ďIíve longed for this night since we first met. To die for a lover who truly appreciates my sacrifice is such a masochistically erotic rush. So David, do me. Honestly, here we are in a room filled with the most diabolical instruments of tortuous death ever conceived by man, and we both already know itís doubtful Iíll be alive in the morning to feel any regrets...Ē