Monica gasped with delight, the moment she saw it, “Isn’t this that diabolical vertical buzzsaw featured last fall on ‘The Insidiously Perilous Adventures of Daphne Danger’?”

Nikki, the guest reservation's specialist with the Resort’s concierge desk smiled, “Actually Monica. The buzzsaw featured in the show's recent episode, The Vertical Buzzsaw of Doom, is a highly modified version of one of these, the Resort’s newest and most popular attractions, the Vertical Buzzsaw Mark 6. For the show, they replaced the saw’s normal countdown timer with Daphne’s Perilous Termination Timer and removed the restraint’s tension adjustment controls.”

Laughing, she continued, “Of course, to add a dramatic sense of tension, on the show there’s always a slim chance that Daphne might avoid her perilous demise. Something, I think we can both agree our guests would find profoundly disappointing.”

A dark smile of masochistic understanding appeared on Monica’s face, “Yes. I can see how that would be a disappointment. So, how does this diabolical attraction work?”

“The restraint system is actually a tension adjustable vertical rack that holds the victim’s body tautly stretched helplessly above the buzzsaw’s blade. With the victim secured within the rack’s restraints, the upper control adjusts the distance between the woman’s crotch and the blade. The recommended minimum space is six inches, although the settings allow considerable variation. So, depending upon their torturer’s whim, some of the buzzsaw’s victims end up suspended as much as two feet about the blade, while others end up with the blade’s teeth digging painfully into their crotch.”

Gesturing toward the vertical rack's controls, Nikki continued, “Once, the victim’s desired distance from the blade is set, the lower control determines the rack’s tension, anything from uncomfortably taut to excruciatingly painful.”

A thoughtful expression on her face Monica casually asked, “Intriguing, and the buzzsaw’s activation timer?”

A knowing smile appeared on Nikki’s face, “The delay timer is adjustable allowing for a delay of anywhere between zero and sixty minutes. Personally, I’ve come to prefer the default ten-minute setting. For me, it’s just long enough for that delightful sensation of terror to build before that buzzsaw switches on.”

“You mentioned that this is one of the Resort’s most popular attractions, so how long would I have to wait if I wanted to make a reservation?”

A surprisingly sadistic look of eager anticipation slowly appeared in Nikki’s eyes, “Actually, at the Resort’s concierge desk, we take pride in anticipating our valued guest’s desires. So when you inquired about seeing our newest attraction, I took the liberty of making you a reservation. If you’d like to change, we’re only fifteen minutes into your three hour reservation block.”

“Three hours?”

“Yes, fifteen minutes for the victim to change clothing and to be secured within the vertical rack, followed by up to a sixty minute buzzsaw activation delay. The cleanup crew usually arrives with fifteen minutes of the saw’s activation giving them at least ninety minutes to bag the victim’s remains for transport to one of the Resort’s Regeneration Centers and attraction cleanup before the next scheduled guest arrives.”

Glancing over at the buzzsaw’s razor-sharp blade, Monica felt a delightful sensation of icy cold terror as she tried to imagine what it would feel like to have that spinning blade ripping through her guts, “Yes, I imagine that buzzsaw does make quite a mess. So, where do I change?”

Ten minutes later, I was hanging helplessly by my wrists with the buzzsaw’s deadly blade poised about six inches below my crotch, the muscles of my body slowly growing taut as I watched Nikki carefully adjusting the vertical rack’s tension setting. I could feel that familiar dull ache between my shoulders gradually spreading down along my spine as the rack continued to tighten. My breathing becoming steadily more difficult as the growing tension caused my abdominal muscled to stretch taut. Nikki only relented when she finally noticed my labored breathing.

Turning away from the rack’s tension control, the look of agony on Monica’s lovely face came as no surprise but the look in her eyes told a far different story. Pausing to run her hand up along the taut flatness of Monica’s abdomen, “Interesting, every muscle stretched tighter than a bowstring, the pain you’re enduring must be exquisite and yet, the look in your eyes tells me you’re actually enjoying this aren’t you?”

Unable to draw enough air into her lungs to respond, Monica simply looked into Nikki’s eyes and nodded.

“Incredible, working here at the Resort, I’ve met more than my share of devote masochists but trust me when I say, babe you’re in a league all your own. I’m sorry. I was expecting you to cry out long before I stretched you this tight. Honestly, I didn’t realize my mistake until I noticed you starting to have trouble breathing. Give me a moment to back down the rack’s tension.”

Monica could feel the fire in her shoulders and hips gradually fading, her breathing returning to normal as the rack’s tension gradually decreased, “That’s good Nikki, thanks.”

Pressing her hand against Monica’s still tautly stretched abdominal muscles, “Simply incredible, every muscle in your body is still stretched agonizingly taut and you’re enjoying this?”

Smiling as she responded, “Actually, at this level, I find the pain to be almost orgasmic. I will admit I should have said something when I started having difficulty breathing but I was already too far into the zone to realize the danger.”

“Well, I’ll say it again, I am truly impressed. The only women I know with a higher masochistic pain tolerance then you are the Resort’s professional companions, on the rack most of them don’t start screaming until their shoulders dislocate.”

Monica smiled but said nothing. She didn’t think it prudent to mention the rack's tension had already dislocated both her shoulders several minutes before she started having difficulty breathing. However, what happened next came as a complete and unexpected surprise.

Reaching up, Nikki drew Monica’s head forward until their lips met in an unexpectedly passionate kiss. Monica felt her heart skip a beat as Nikki’s tongue slipped sensuously deep into her mouth. Finally breaking their lingering kiss, Nikki smiled at the look of surprise and passion in Monica’s eyes, “If you’re interested, after they take you out of the regeneration tank, drop by the concierge desk and ask for me. There are so many delightfully diabolical amusements here at the Resort I’m just dying to show you.”

Pausing to lean past Monica, Nikki pressed the start button on the buzzsaw’s activation countdown timer, “So enjoy, I’m going to leave you now so that you can spend the next ten minutes imagining, in obscenely graphic detail, what that buzzsaw is going to do to you. Then, when it finally switches on, you’ll discover, that when it comes to buzzsaw’s, reality always exceeds your darkest fantasizes.”

It’s funny what your imagination conjures up when you know the exact place and time that you’re going to die a horrible and extremely unpleasant death, the darkly perverse thoughts that become all-consuming as those final minutes trickle down into mere seconds. You know that buzzsaw’s blade is supposed to stop just as it reaches the base of your throat but what if it doesn’t? You’ve heard all those darkly whispered rumors of women killed on the Resort’s buzzsaw’s, the times where that blade fails to stop before it slices through its victim’s skull. They say, if you’ve recently gone through the regeneration process, they can reconstruct most of your memories, but still, there’s no guarantee. And, I’ve heard that most of these women eventually chose to have their minds wiped, their brains imprinted with a computer created hybrid personality created from the thoughts of a multitude of the Resort’s professional companions, their bodies doomed to become Resort’s companions until their DNA signature degrades to the point where the regeneration process starts to fail.

Still it’s ironic, that in those last fleeting seconds as I listened to the ominous sound of that buzzsaw spinning up between my thighs, my final thoughts before I surrendered myself to the overwhelming pain, “Damn, why did I decide to wear my favorite swimsuit, I look so hot in this one and in a few seconds it’s going to be totally ruined!”

It turns out Nikki was right. Regardless of how brutal your imagination, when it comes to the buzzsaw, the harsh reality always exceeds your darkest fantasies, or in my case my worst nightmares.

The sudden pain instantly overwhelming even my darkly masochistic ability to turn pain into pleasure, that unspeakably sickening sensation as that powerful spinning blade rips its way upward through my guts. I struggle to scream but the only sound, the whining hiss of the buzzsaw as it smoothly slides upward through my torso, bisecting my diaphragm as its spinning blade cuts upward into the cleavage between my breasts.

I can feel myself going into shock as I sense the blade stopping as it finishes cutting through my sternum. The incredibly pungent stench of blood and gore as my mutilated insides continue to splash all over the floor as the welcome darkness finally claims me.

Monica spent the next 39 hours within one of the Resort’s regeneration tanks while swarms of nanites suspended within the tank’s fluid tirelessly worked to repair her obscenely mutilated remains. Rebuilding her spine from the seventh vertebrae downward and installing an entire set of newly vat grown internal organs to replace those destroyed by the buzzsaw’s blade, the nanites finished with a thorough health check both to confirm their work and to correct any issues that might have arisen since Monica’s last regeneration. In this case, an early stage cavity in her number 2 molar and flushing the trace amounts of alcohol left in her system after she’d enjoyed a glass of champagne with lunch before visiting the Resort’s concierge desk.

Several hours later Monica awoke, rested and refreshed, in the bedroom of her private Resort villa, all evidence of the unspeakable trauma she’d so willingly endured completely repaired, with only her hauntingly delightful memories of her gruesome and brutally agonizing death the sole evidence that she’d died. That, and the professionally edited and produced high-definition video of her obscenely messy ordeal, already waiting for her in her Resort email’s inbox.

Standing alone on the balcony of her Resort villa, the inviting warmth of the setting sun on her skin, Monica thought about the promising evening to come. Earlier that afternoon she’d contacted Nikki at the Resort’s concierge desk and arranged to share dinner and drinks at the Grotto, one of the Resort’s most exclusive restaurants. Gleefully anticipating her call, Nikki had thoughtfully arranged for a little after dinner entertainment in one of the Resort’s infamous North Tower medieval themed torture chambers with one of the Resort’s renowned torturers, a man known for his sadistic brutality as a torturer as well as his incredible stamina and skill as a cruelly demanding lover. Known for his fiendishly diabolical ability to blur the line between pleasure and pain, most of his victims have a difficult time deciding which they died from. All of which sounds heavenly, in a darkly submissive and masochistic way.

Of course, that did leave Nikki and me with a bit of a quandary, one highly skilled torturer, two utterly masochistic women desperate for his cruel attentions. Nikki, being the sweet darling she is, and a devoted employee at the Resort’s concierge desk, immediately suggested that as a Resort guest, I should be his victim.

I felt my heart skip a beat at the obvious undertone of masochistically erotic frustration in her voice as a solution to our shared dilemma suddenly occurred to me, “Nikki, let’s wait and decide over drinks who gets to be the torturer’s next victim.”

I could hear the sudden confusion in her voice, “Alright. We'll decide over drinks. Our reservation at the Grotto is for eight this evening, so I arranged for one of the Resort limos to pick you up at your villa around seven thirty. I’ll meet you in the bar.”

Smiling as I pressed the end call button on my encrypted Resort cell phone, I considered what Nikki’s reaction might be to my rather creative solution to our dilemma. Already intimately familiar with the brutal delights waiting within the well-equipped torture chambers of the Resort’s North Tower, I decided we’d settle this, over drinks, with a simple coin toss.

The loser gets strapped into the torture chamber’s Iron Maiden, doomed to suffer a slow lingering death of unrelenting agonizing torment that should last at least two or more unspeakably torturous days before she finally dies. The winner gets the full and undivided attentions of our cruel and rather well-endowed torture, whose sole task is to keep her alive and suffering in unrelenting agony until the loser in the Iron Maiden finally dies.

After this, and when we’ve both recovered from regeneration, I plan to invite Nikki over for dinner and drinks at my villa. Although, I‘m still not sure which of us will end up getting handcuffed to the bed...