A highly successful author of horror and suspense novels, ones where the heroine rarely survives, Felicity was in her mid-sixties when she was approached by the Resort to join their technical staff to help develop new and creative deadly delights for their exclusive Vacation Club torture chambers and dungeons. It wasn’t until her first regeneration, that they discovered her hidden and darkly masochistic desires. After she revived, with her chronological age reset to her mid-twenties, the director of recruitment asked if she’d be interested in becoming a Resort companion as well as consulting occasionally with the technical staff on creative ideas.

Shocked at first, by the realization that they’d learned all my darkest hidden desires, as our conversation progressed, I became intrigued by the implications of what he was saying, “So, the Resort companions routinely get tortured to death simply for the amusement of your Vacation Club members?”

Smiling he responded, “Yes, along with a significant number of the Vacation Club members themselves.”

“I’m certainly tempted by the idea of becoming a Resort companion, would it be possible to try this once before having to commit to a full ten-year contract?”

“I’m certain it’s possible, would you be interested in trying it tonight?”

“Yes, that would be great, but on one condition.” Pausing for a moment, I continued, “I’d like you to change my appearance first, I don’t want to do this looking like a younger version of myself.”

“Not a problem, we do feature modification using the regeneration process all the time, just give me a moment to pull up this afternoon’s schedule.”

Two hours later, I walked into one of the Resort’s regeneration centers, where the attendant greeted me. “Welcome back Felicity, I understand you’ve requested us to change your appearance, do you have any specific requests?”

Smiling, I replied, “Actually, the director, and I spent the last two hours discussing the possibilities, so I made a list. Except for making my nose smaller, the other changes are merely cosmetic. Keep the same hair style but I’d like to be blonde, lighten my complexion, change my eye color to grey, make my lips fuller, increase my bust size to at least a D-cup and reduce my waist to twenty-two inches.”

The technician entered the regeneration parameters and confirmed the changes, “Once you’re under, the entire process should take no more than forty minutes before you wake up. Since we’ll have to alter cartilage, the nose modification is the most time consuming, the rest, including the mental conditioning, should only take a few minutes at most.”

My last thought, as the anesthesia took hold, “Mental conditioning, what the fuck!”

Forty minutes later, with my newly blonde hair still damp from the regeneration tank’s fluid, I walked out of the center a new woman. The attendant even lent me her lab coat. I’m going to have to stop at one of the island boutiques on the way back to my villa to buy some new clothes, my enhanced breasts making it impossible for me to button my blouse.

Eight o’clock that evening, I was standing within one of the Resort’s North Tower torture chambers, my wrists secured within steel manacles chained to the chamber's ceiling, a thick penis shaped gag strapped securely within my mouth, wearing nothing but black lace top stockings and matching six-inch spike heeled pumps.

My high-heel clad feet were just starting to ache, when a man dressed in black wearing a face concealing executioner’s hood entered the torture chamber. Ignoring me helplessly standing there, he went to one of the nearby tables and selecting several irons placed them in one of the flaming braziers to heat.

Finally turning toward me, I could see the look of evil anticipation in his eyes, “Lady Francesca, did you truly believe your distant relation to the royal family would allow you to escape the consequences when your illicit sexual affair with the prince came to light? When the queen learned of your intimate relationship with her teenage son, she didn’t hesitate in signing the warrant for your execution. The queen’s orders were quite specific. Your death will not be an easy or quick one.”

I felt my heart skip a beat as he spoke. This was the opening monolog from the final chapter of my first book, “A Royal Affair,” and I was playing the part of the story’s heroine, Lady Francesca. The executioner’s next terrifying move, he picked up that heavy flogger, only confirming he intended to faithfully follow my story line.

All through that night and the following day, I endured agonizing torture and vile abuse at the skilled hands of the executioner. Whipped, raped and sodomized so many times I lost count, my body slowly mutilated with red-hot irons and dozens of razor-sharp skewers. Of course, just like in my story, he reserved the worst for the start of the grand finale, using red-hot pinchers to cruelly remove my nipples and clitoris.

I felt a sudden sensation of overwhelming fear, as I helplessly watch the executioner picking up that knife. I knew the regeneration process could fix everything that he’d done to me so far, but I wasn’t completely sure that it could fix what he was about to do to me.

Grabbing me roughly by my throat, he stabbed that knife’s razor-sharp blade deep into my upper abdomen. I could feel the tip of the blade scraping against one of my vertebrae as he slowly twisted that blade painfully back and forth inside me, before he brutally pulled the blade downward through my guts, disemboweling me in an unbelievably agonizing explosion of blood and gore. I was still staring in horror, at the sight of my mutilated inside’s spilling out onto the torture chamber’s floor, I think I was having an orgasm as I lost consciousness.

The next morning, when I woke up after finishing regeneration, I returned to the recruitment director’s office and happily signed a ten-year Resort companion contract, one with the option for an unlimited number of future renewals...