Maritta sat alone by the boudoir window, staring out at the waves crashing against the rocky coast far below, as she awaited the arrival of her date. The Resort’s concierge desk had been kind enough to arrange something special for her this evening.

Hearing the front door of my private villa opening just down the hall, I turned away from the window, my heart skipping a beat as a distinguished-looking gentleman wearing a Victorian-era suit entered the room.

Staring at the beautiful scantily clad woman sitting on the edge of the windowsill, he smiled at the sight of the restraint already locked around her right glove sheathed wrist, “Good evening Maritta. You are more lovely than I could have imagined, and I see you’ve followed the concierge desk’s instructions.”

Smiling at the compliment and his authentic-sounding English accent, I locked my wrists together behind my back as he approached, “Thank you, kind Sir. But you have me at a disadvantage. It seems the concierge desk failed to inform me of your name.”

Towering over her, he paused to run the fingertips of his gloved hand lightly across the side of Maritta’s face before slipping his hand around the back of her neck. Smiling, he grabbed a handful of Maritta’s hair and roughly pulled her head back. An instant later, a sharp gasp of pain escaped her lips as he slipped the blade of his knife deep into her upper abdomen, “An unfortunate oversight, but for this evening, you may call me Jack. Jack the Ripper.”

Staring up into his cold merciless eyes, I could feel him slowly twisting that blade within my guts, each brutal twist sending delightful explosions of mind-searing agony coursing through me.

Seeing the tears welling up within Maritta’s captivating eyes, Jack stopped twisting the blade, a smile of sadistic satisfaction appearing on his face, “Not to worry, it would be far out of character for me to allow you a quick death Maritta. I promise you that your death will be an agonizingly gruesome and unspeakably long, drawn-out affair.”

I felt him slowly pulling his knife out of my belly, pausing with just its tip still inside me.

“Oh, I almost forgot to mention, this wouldn’t be a truly authentic date with ‘Jack the Ripper’ if it didn’t include a great amount of mutilation before I finally allow you to die.”

I felt the razor-sharp tip of the blade sliding downward, leaving a breathtaking line of agony behind, as it effortlessly opened my belly from the underside of my ribcage to my crotch.

Easing Maritta off the windowsill and down onto her knees, Jack briefly set aside his knife, then thrusting his hand deep into her ruined abdomen, pulled out a handful of intestines.

On my knees, staring in horror as my intestines spilled to the floor around me, I suffered in silent agony for almost an hour. As time passed, it was steadily growing harder to breathe. I wanted to thank Jack, but I couldn’t summon the energy to speak.

Watching the steadily growing pool of blood around Maritta’s legs, Jack realized it was time for the evening’s grand finale. Drawing his knife, he grasped a handful of her hair, pulling her head back as he brought the blade of his knife to her throat, “Regretfully, it’s time for us to conclude this lovely evening, Maritta. I’ve done extensive research about Old Jack. The police of the time had it all wrong. Jack was a sadistic and highly skilled surgeon. They thought he cut his victim’s throats and then mutilated them. They had it all backward.”

That razor-sharp blade sliced deep into my throat, the coppery taste of warm blood filling my mouth as I felt it running down through the cleavage of my breasts, then darkness.

Maritta’s time in the regeneration center was uneventful, removing her digestive tract and several internal organs that had lost their vitality as she was dying. The regeneration process rebuilt her body in just a few short hours.

She awoke in the center’s recovery area, except for the memories, physically no worse for the experience.

That evening I was back at my villa. It’s a dark and stormy night, a powerful tropical storm pounding the Resort’s private island. A limo will arrive shortly to take me to the Resort’s North Tower, a place of unspeakable medieval torture and debacle. I don’t have the details of what’s in store for me, but the Resort’s concierge desk promised I’d find it delightfully torturous...