For as long as I can remember, the idea of enduring a slow and torturously painful death within the Iron Maiden has always been my darkest, most intensely erotic nightmare. For years, I’ve dreamt of the castle guards dragging me down into the blood-soaked depths of the dungeon. Once there, the dungeon staff strips me naked and secures me within the Iron Maiden’s claustrophobic metal sarcophagus.

Tonight, after all these years, the moment that haunts my darkest nightmares had finally arrived, I was standing helplessly within this Iron Maiden’s horrifying confines, waiting for the man of my nightmares, the one destined to consign me to my diabolically torturous fate, the direct descendant of the fourteenth-century High Executioner of Nuremberg, the Resort’s own infamous Crimson Executioner.

I could see the look of enraged anger in the Crimson Executioner’s eyes the moment he entered the dungeon. Grasping the edge of the Iron Maiden’s open door, he slowly started to close it, “Don’t waste your breath begging for mercy harlot, you’ll find neither mercy nor forgiveness within these walls. I promise your death will not be easy or quick. The Crimson Executioner demands you atone for your sins with pain and blood.”

I lasted for almost two and half days, or precisely fifty seven hours and twenty seven minutes before I died in unrelenting agony to be exact. The experience was truly glorious, two and a half days of unspeakably agonizing torment. The Iron Maiden’s razor-sharp spikes positioned to maximize my suffering without the risk of inflicting any quickly fatal wounds. Death within the Maiden is truly a diabolically cruel and drawn-out affair that I never imagined, even in my darkest nightmares, would be this exquisitely torturous.

“Welcome to the Resort, where whatever you desire, even your darkest nightmares, can be experienced, if you dare...”