“The mind of man is forever at the service of evil. Here at the Resort, our scientists strive to perfect new and obscenely creative instruments of torturous death. Of course, for many of our guests, the old ways are still the best. Believe me our ancestors had imaginations that were positively diabolic.”

“Good evening, I’m Helena, and like you, I’m a member of the Resort’s exclusive Vacation Club. As you might already know, the Resort’s historians travel across the globe seeking out ancient and utterly delightful instruments of torture and death all for the amusement of demanding guests like myself. Tonight, with the help of one of the Resort’s professionally trained torturers, I’m honored to participate in the first demonstration of the newest torturous addition to the Resort’s renowned North Tower dungeon, the ‘Governor’s Table.’”

“Its torturous existence revealed only within the journals of one of the Portuguese Brazilian colony's sixteenth-century Governors, the table existed merely to fulfil the Governor’s darkly perverted desires. His journals documented payments made to have countless beautiful women abducted from native villages and brought to his palace to die screaming in agony for his diabolical amusement.”

“Like many of the ancient instruments of torture and death, the ‘Governor’s Table’ is truly diabolical in its simplicity. The victim would be secured, her wrists and ankles locked within the iron manacles linked by short chains to the corners of the table. Once secured, the torturer would simply begin to turn the table’s crank, slowly bringing the table back toward its horizontal position. The terrified victim force to lean perilously over the spikes as the wrist restraints gradually drew her upper body helplessly forward even as the bottom edge of the table steadily rose forcing her high onto her toes. The torturer became adept at recognizing the moment, just a single turn of the table’s crank, before his victim lost her balance and fell upon the table’s brutally sharp spikes.”

Glancing down at the intimidating bulge at the front of the torturers tight fitting leather pants, “Personally, since tonight’s demonstration is intended as a historic recreation, I’ll have no choice but to satisfy all the perverted sexual desires of my rather well-endowed torturer and over a dozen of his sadistically inclined friends.”

Helena paused to smile seductively as she continued, “I imagine all of them eager to spend the evening vaginally and anally abusing me for their own darkly erotic amusement before the evening’s main event begins.”

“With all their sickly perverted sexual appetites sated, the torturer will once again commence to bring the table slowly toward its horizontal position and regardless of my desperate struggles to keep my precarious balance, the moment my toe’s leave the floor I’ll fall helplessly forward impaling myself upon the table’s deadly spikes. Then, with each turn of the table’s crank the angle of the table will decrease gradually causing more of my weight to press downward upon the spike’s razor-sharp tips until the table finally becomes level.”

Helena felt a delightful shudder of almost eager masochistic anticipation coursing through her as she concluded, “Of course, the torment doesn’t end when the table reaches its horizontal position, the sadistic imagination of that sixteenth-century colonial Governor was far to diabolic to let his victim’s off that easy. Instead, the torturer will continue turning the table’s crank, the table tilting past level until I’m hanging head down, my dying body nearly inverted. The Governor’s journals did mention that many of his unfortunate victims survived several hours past sunrise and not just survived but most remain fully conscious, their brutal, unspeakably agonizing torment only concluding when their hearts finally stopped beating.”

Pausing to hand her empty wine glass to the torturer, Helena smiled knowingly as she locked her own wrist within one of the table’s upper restraints, “Lucky me...”