Don’t get me wrong, I knew it’s an honor to take part in this year’s traditional New Year’s Eve celebration at the Resort. Of course, it’s not like they give you the option of refusing, but at least they wave your Vacation Club annual dues for the upcoming year. I’m always up for a party and besides it's the Resort. However, it wasn’t until after eleven thirty that night that I discovered exactly what part I’d play in this evening’s celebration, a fate worse than death, the Iron Maiden. Intellectually, I knew that the Iron Maiden was one of the most brutally torturous ways to die here at the Resort, but one that I’d never quite worked up the courage to experience.

Once the executioner finished securing me helplessly within the Iron Maiden’s claustrophobic form-fitting sarcophagus, he paused to enlighten me concerning my unspeakably torturous fate, “Thirty minutes henceforth, as the clock high atop the castle’s north tower strikes midnight, the spike-lined door of this Iron Maiden will automatically begin to close, until with the final twelfth bell, the door will lock closed, impaling you upon its sharp deadly spikes. Death will not come easily or quick. All of the Maiden’s victims survived for at least two full days impaled upon its spikes, with most lasting almost three days before they finally died. The New Year’s celebration record currently stands at eighty seven hours, or just over three and a half days. Of course, the regeneration staff did need to erase most of that unfortunate woman’s memories of her time in the Iron Maiden just so that they could fully restore her sanity.”

Blinking back her tears, Deb’s final thought as she watched the Iron Maiden’s spike-lined door stating to close, “Eighty seven hours, and they had to erase most of her memories just to preserve her sanity, what a pathetic excuse for a woman claiming to be a submissive masochist. Bring it on...”