Just over a hundred miles outside of Vegas, situated on an old county road, thereís an isolated Victorian-era hotel, a place known by its patrons as the Horror Hotel. An
evil establishment owned by a cruelly sadistic dominatrix, known only as Mistress Dark, the hotelís twenty-eight rooms each containing a different live graphic scene of
unspeakable torture and often death every night.
Room 27, better known as the Balancing Act. The victim, always anonymous within her tight-fitting iron mask. A woman whose name is no longer relevant, referred to by the hotelís staff simply as 156, is the latest woman to occupy room 27ís scene of unspeakable depravity this year.
I have to admit, the thought of auditioning to play one of the Horror Hotelís victims secretly gave me a darkly masochistic thrill. I knew none of itís real, just special effects and acting, but what if it isnít just an act?
It turns out itís not an act, especially after they drugged me, and I awoke to find myself sealed within this claustrophobic iron mask. Trapped within the maskís tight-fitting confines, leaving me blind, with a large phallic-shaped gag, its tip pressing firmly against the back of my throat, uncomfortably fills my mouth and rendering me completely mute.
Thatís how I found myself here in room 27, wearing black seamed stockings, high heels, and this claustrophobic iron mask. Locked in steel restraints, theyíve forced me to kneel upon a painfully sharp metal perch and secured a rope to the top of my iron mask to hold me upright.
I quickly discovered that itís almost impossible to maintain my balance for more than a few seconds. Each time I falter, the iron maskís unforgiving collar bites painfully into my throat, making it almost impossible to breathe. The only way to survive is to regain my balance long enough to take a few desperate breaths before I have to start this fatally dangerous dance all over again.
The show starts promptly at eight and runs until midnight. Moments before the Horror Hotelís doors opened, the staff explained my perilous fate and lit that candle. The far end of the rope, poised just above the candleís flame, has been soaking in a bucket of water since the morning. As the evening progresses, the wet cord will begin to steam, the flameís heat gradually drying out the rope. Then, it will start to smoke as the candleís flame slowly begins to burn through it.
As it turns out, it was my sizeable E-cup breast implants that sealed my doom. When the rope finally fails, and the staff assured me it would happen well before midnight, Iíll either fall back into a tank of highly corrosive acid or forward onto a bed of razor-sharp spikes. However, in Horror Hotelís room 27, the more well endowed the victim is, the more likely sheíll topple forward onto the spikes when the rope finally burns through. Either way, Iím destined to suffer an agonizing death. Itís just that death on those razor-sharp spikes can take as long as thirty minutes, and the victimís gruesome death will be far more entertaining to her audience than if she merely disappears backward into that tank of acid.
And, the reason that the staff refers to me as 156 is that tonight is June 5th, the 156th day of the year. This is room 27, the Horror Hotelís most popular, continuously running, nightly attraction since 2008. So, sit back and enjoy...
Inspired by Zatanna Darkís Hyper-Realistic Horror Hotel series.