“I'm moments away from death, my heart is pounding, I'm coming every second, this truly is one of the world's greatest erotic thrills. I regret I only have one life to give for this experience. But it is a life I give freely…”
“Despite the powerful orgasms, I can still see my life flash before my eyes, or at least the moments that brought me to this end…”
“So what do you do… or did you do?” I’d asked my grandfather several years ago. He never talked about his profession other than to say he worked for a place called the Resort and did some freelancing on the side.
“Well.” Not sure if he should continue he breathed deeply, letting it out slowly, buying time, deciding whether or not to tell his granddaughter the secret that his own wife and son never knew.
“Arianna, you’re 18, an adult. I think you’re mature enough to let you in on the secret I’ve kept all these years, but you promise to never tell anyone. I make machines. Perilous Machines. They're a kind of cross between a medieval torture device and a sex toy. They're deadly, but the people at the Resort, they at least get the thrill of a lifetime.” He paused for a moment. “Does this scare you?”
For some reason, I wasn't shocked. Wasn't afraid. Perhaps it was because I was familiar with rotten.com and 4chan, among others. “Rule 34 at its logical end, I guess.” He looked puzzled. “Rule 34 is one of the Rules of the Internet, if it can be imagined, a porn for it exists, though the rule can also be used to describe various kinks. There was a guy in New York City a few years ago who hired a doctor to amputate his leg while he masturbated. All I could think was, man, he can only have his perfect climax twice in his life.”
“Many of the people who use my machines can only ever use them once.”
“Tell me about them?”
“Over the years I’ve made many machines. They range from simple iron maidens and guillotines, to technological wonders such as the Executioner 9000 and the Punisher-2100. My favorites are the unique devices I make for the Resort and its guests, oh those people… swords, slicing tools, buzz saws, and I bring them to life, only to bring their users death.”
He spoke a bit more about his machines, but just hearing about them was enough to wet my panties.
I had many partners throughout college. Young men who can't last long enough to thrill a woman in bed. Amateurs. Men today are terrified of hurting a woman, even if the woman in question can't properly get off without a little BDSM or breathplay, or something a little bit more dangerous like knife play. So my four years of college were extremely dull. Maybe it's because I knew the ultimate sexual thrill would be my last thrill. Period. Maybe I could have enjoyed myself more if I never knew my grandfather's machines existed?
Fast-forward several years and I'm in my late twenties. Grandpa is still alive, but my grandmother, and parents, are gone. Car accident. I was with them. I survived. Buckle up, it saves lives.
And then it happens. My grandfather is diagnosed with with heart disease. He doesn't have long and the odds of a replacement donor heart are slim because of his age. If that wasn't bad in itself, while seeing him in the hospital one day, I faint. I never fainted before. When I come to, a doctor comes to see me. I tell him I must see my grandfather. He shushed me. A grown man shushing someone as though we were in a library?
The doctor is eventually able to tell me my own sort of bad news. A brain tumor. Oh, and with a life expectancy of several months at best. I ignored the rest of his spiel, about time and making the most of what's left, until I catch a piece that sounds interesting and ask for it to be repeated.
The doctor stammers, “Organ donation? That is an option, of course, for most forms of tumor. As long as it does not metastasize, your organs should be viable for donation.”
“I will think about it,” I replied. In truth, I’d already made my decision.
Over the next few weeks, my grandfather and I both engaged in our own treatment regimens. Until I was finally brave enough to ask the question that has been on my mind for over a decade.
“Grandfather, would you… could you build me one of your machines?”
He gently looked up, “I was afraid you’d eventually ask that question.”
“Grandfather, my life is destined to end in one of your machines. I have known, since the first first you told me about them. I’m dying. Allow me to die the way I want to. Allow my life to have meaning. Allow my life's end to prolong yours. End my life and take my heart. Surely one of the resort’s doctors can do the transplant.”
He was quiet for a long moment, then spoke. “I will build your machine. However, I will not take your life. Odd as it seems, I didn’t kill the people who used my creations. They, or their partner, press the fatal button. In a way, I am like Dr. Kevorkian.”
My face filled with joy. My panties became extremely wet. I could not wait. The death I had desired for so long was actually going to happen, and soon! The orgasmic bliss I had longed for for so long was nearly within my grasp!”
“One thing Arianna, we have to do this at the Resort. Surely they will want to film it.”
Of course, anything!
Several weeks later it was finally ready. My grandfather and I flew down to the Resort. On the way, he reminded me I did not have to do this.
I paraphrase Mercutio, my favorite of the Bard of Avon’s characters, “Ask for me tomorrow and you shall find me a grave woman.” Gallows humor, I love it!
A short time later an agent of the Resort ushers me into a room and has me sign a ton of paperwork. A document stating that I am doing this of my own free will. It was my idea! A document agreeing to 10 years of indentured servitude. What they do with my body will not matter to me in a few hours. A hold harmless and indemnify statement. Yeah, whatever. A likeness waiver. I was told it would be filmed for sick fucks. Who knew dying yielded so much paperwork?
I am shown several recordings of young women meeting their end in one of my grandfather's machines. The first video featured highlights of the Executioner 9000 as it gave a blonde woman the thrill of her life over a period of 65 hours. The last one featured a woman named Daphne being butchered by the Waist Chopper of Death. I'm not sure if these videos were meant to further entice me or cause me to have second thoughts.
Finally, the time came. I meet the director, who described the setup and hands me a stack of revealing clothes. After he leaves, I change into an extremely tight tank top, that nicely accentuates my full firm breasts. Admiring my reflection in the mirror, I smiled at the way the tight tank top gives my breasts a seductive bounce that draws eyes to them. A pair of extremely short cutoff jean shorts complete my revealing ensemble.
As I walk out the door I know cameras are already recording and struggled not look into them, well at least not yet. I follow the director’s instruction and start down the stairway at the end of the corridor. The staircase leads down into one of the building’s sterile operating theatres where my grandfather's machine waits in all its diabolical splendor. I haven’t seen his fiendish creation until this moment and even knowing what it will do to me, I still walk around it in awe. This is a priceless gift.
In the middle is a vaguely bedshaped surgical platform. It looks unbelievably evil. Not only are there wrist and ankle restraints, there are two thoracic restraints as well. The wrist and ankle restraints are at the ends of extensions to securely hold my arms and legs. Near the right wrist restraint is a glowing green button, pressing it once activates the machine and once activated it’s impossible to shut off.
My heart beats steadily faster, I can't wait to get the show started. I slowly remove the tight tank top. My extremely firm breasts jiggle and bounce. I prolong the moment for all the members of the audience. I’ve never been a sexual exhibitionist, but I’m immensely overjoyed to have this audience witnessing the final moments of my life.
With a smile on my face, I take off my cutoff shorts. Slowly. I picture my faceless audience masturbating along as I reveal my naked form.
I jump up onto the raised platform and slip my ankles into their open restraints. I lay down and my left wrist within its restraint. Then looking over to my right. As I slide my remaining wrist into its still open restraint. I quiver for a moment as I feel my fingertips brush against the waiting activation switch. I can feel my heart pounding as I take my last few breaths of free air and close my eyes. Silently I remember that I’m doing this for my grandfather. I would do anything for him, I’m just thankful this time it's something that I’ve always wanted to do.
I open my eyes and press the green button. The restraints automatically close, locking me helplessly against the surgical platform. This is it, my ultimate thrill has finally arrived.
The machine starts whirring and what I instinctively recognize as a ribcage spreader comes up and over my chest. There’s a short mechanical whir and a needle painfully sticks into the side of my neck followed quickly by a second needle into the bottom of my foot. The system removes the deoxygenated blood from my body, running through a cleansing cycle that re-oxygenates the blood before pumping it back into my body, keeping me alive even after they’ve removed my heart.
I suddenly feel the platform’s massive vibrating dildo pushing deep into my vagina. I'm already super wet, so it begins plowing me right in the good spot. It's so warm. I'm so aroused it doesn’t take me long to come. The meaty dildo doesn’t stop. In fact, I think it’s gradually starting to gain speed causing my breasts to bounce wildly with each incredible thrust.
I am suddenly aware of my heart beating, it feels as though it’s racing at a thousand beats per minute. The machine starts talking.
“SCAN COMPLETE. OPERATION MODE COMMENCING.”
Here it comes. Another mechanical whir. I helplessly watch as a device on a robotic arm maneuvers between my breasts as I climax with my second orgasm. I struggle against the unyielding steel restraints that hold me, not because I want to be free, it's just this dildo really knows how to treat a lady.
The device activates, and I hear the laser scalpel cutting cleanly into the flesh between my breasts opening my chest. In less than ten seconds, it completes the first part of my inevitable death.
More mechanical whirring. First soft, then harder, accompanied by series of loud cracking sounds, and I'm not talking about the dildo. In my memory, I recall watching open heart surgery videos. This must be the part where a spreader is inserted and gradually spread to hold the incision above my heart open while the surgeon, in this case, the machine, does the cutting.
Now that my chest is opened, I can actually hear the sound of my heart beating. It is racing. There is almost nothing stopping it from leaping out of my chest. I think the surgical array is using a microphone to amplify the sound of my heart for the audience. A third orgasm hits me. I moan, partly in pain, partly in ecstasy.
I haven't been paying attention. What is the machine doing now? I watch a mechanical arm extend over my open chest. I hear the laser scalpel power up for a few short bursts. Snip. Snip. Snip. Aorta… Superior and Inferior Vena Cava.
The mechanical arm moves downward. I can feel it in my chest, rooting around. It feels like hours, but has only been seconds. The mechanical arm turns and I see my heart. My heart's still beating though it is connected to nothing. It is being held by a device that looks like the claw part of a skill crane. It gingerly sets it down in a nearby cooler as the laser scalpel cauterizes the incision in my chest.
That’s it. My heart is now ready to be transplanted into my grandfather. I was told about this part. A technician retrieves the cooler and whisks it away to another nearby surgical suite where my grandfather's already prepped for surgery. If I want to survive long enough to know the outcome of the transplant operation I need to last for at least two more hours. That blonde, in the Executioner-9000 video, lasted 65 hours before her heart finally gave out, surely I can survive for at least two..
After a while, I have lost count of the orgasms. How many in my audience are still watching? Do they pay by the hour or by the number of orgasms? I really shouldn't care about such things.
I hear a noise, someone knocking on glass. I turn my head to look at what I’d thought to be the large mirror on the wall. It’s actually a high-definition display. There are several people on the screen. My grandfather is among them. He has several nurses with him. He’s still connected to a vital signs monitoring device. He already looks so much better. The display becomes a mirror again as I finally lose consciousness...
Arianna’s grandfather and the Resort’s director watched as Arianna underwent the final stages of regeneration, “Have you decided if you’re going to tell her the truth?”
Arianna’s grandfather frowned, “Perhaps eventually but not until she’s fully accepted her new life here at the Resort.”
“I could see how telling her the truth would be received as a profound betrayal of her trust, after all it was like you actually needed a heart transplant. It was just a sadistically inspired lie to gain access to enough genetic material to correct your unforeseen and ultimately fatal genetic drift.”
Shaking his head in frustration Arianna’s grandfather replied, “I know we never expected the early regeneration process would cause unforeseen genetic damage, and that each regeneration cycle the recipient underwent the damage would increase until any further regeneration cycles would result in death. Fortunately for the Resort, the problem was discovered and easily corrected, long before the cumulative damage could affect any of the Resort’s wealthy vacation club members.”
“Yes, it was fortunate that the problem was discovered fairly early, thanks to the frequency of regenerations our Resort companions undergo compared to those of our valued vacation club membership, most of whom undergo regeneration only once or twice a year. Sadly, do to the frequency of their needed regenerations, we did lose over a dozen of our companions before we realized the magnitude of the problem. And, those of us who were early adopters of the process, like yourself, simply abstained from undergoing the regeneration process until the problem was resolved before securing a viable genetic sample to enable the improved process to correct the genetic drift.”
Sensing his friend's concern, the Resort’s director continued, “Come my friend, your granddaughter will be fine, her psychological profile predicts she’ll need only minor enhancements to her already substantial masochistic mindset, after all she was willing to die for you and isn’t that one of the most noteworthy characteristics of our Resorts companions? That, and I’ve reserved us the best table at your favorite Resort restaurant, and taken the liberty of providing us with two of the Resort’s beautiful and willing companions for the evening.”
With that, the Resort’s director and Arianna’s grandfather, a man known to those outside the Resort’s board of directors, simply as the Toymaker, left for dinner. A dinner that would inevitably lead to a delightful night spent within one of the Resort’s exclusive North Tower torture chambers. A night that would culminate with the two friends of over 40 years sharing a vintage bottle of port at sunrise, their less fortunate female companions destined to spend another morning undergoing regeneration.
“I know I'm moments away from death, I'm coming every second, this truly is one of the world's greatest thrills. Happily, as a Resort companion, I get to have this experience almost nightly.”
“To give my life freely for another's pleasure, the greatest rush I’ve ever imagined...”
Story by Benedict Urlaub, check out his work on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Smashwords, including a translation of Josefine Mutzenbacher.