Tamara’s Self Bondage Experiment

WARNING Do NOT try this at home, the story is presented here as a fantasy/warning only, to attempt this in real life may result in injury or death. Tamara’s Self Bondage Experiment Tamara S Sbf; harness; toys; insert; cuffs; gag; susp; nipple; climax; stuck; true; cons; X “I couldn’t believe how tight the straps were. They were tight – TOO tight! I struggled, I twisted, I tried anything I could do, but the straps and leather cuffs just held me so firmly tight. I was stuck and worse still by my own hand. No chance of release, no chance of help. Yet another wave of panic spread over my body, quickly followed by another wave of pleasure from my constant stimulation. I was now certain that without help coming soon that I would go completely crazy suspended here…..” ...

For the Camera

In a darkened room, a screen flickers into life. It shows a featureless white room, in which a man and two women stand in a line, facing the camera. All are wearing plain black carnival masks. The man and one woman are dressed in figure-hugging black bodysuits, with only their hands and heads exposed. The woman in the centre - let us call her ’the star’ and the other ’the woman’ - is elegantly clothed in a knee-length black dress, high heels, and sheer black hosiery. The woman’s hair is as short as the mans, while the star’s long black hair falls unbound down her back. ...

Site Canteen 2

(story continues from Site Canteen) Part 2 I slept soundly during the night, or for a number of hours anyway, but at around 7am, I began to come back to the waking world thanks to the noises of the construction site around me. Despite being sealed in plastic and buried in the canteen waste, the beeping of the machines, and the sounds of the men talking came through. At first, I was disoriented and did not know where I was. Feeling the waste pressing around me, and the sheen of sweat on my skin, I began to panic, and tried to thrash around. This was a useless attempt, as the waste had me pinned under its wet weight, and trying to move was virtually useless. ...

The Opening

“I’d like to take you home and get you plastered.” Jan barked out a laugh. Henry you don’t have to get me drunk to have your way with me. True, they hadn’t slept together, but they were at that point and tonight was as good as any. Besides work had been hell and she hadn’t tied one on in a long time. Still, if she was going to have sex she’d like to remember it. ...

The Women Digesting Snake Club 2: Snakegirlkat

(story continues from The Women Digesting Snake Club) Part II: Snakegirlkat offers her body as food. Arrival As you all know, Snakegirlkat decided to donate her gorgeous body to the “women digesting snake club”. Kat was not unknown to the underground vore society as she was active in many different vore forums, posting stories and sharing her vore fantasies with other vore possessed people in the net. Although Snakegirlkat was a very self confident intelligent young woman, she considered herself as nothing more than a sex slave and pretty meat for hungry serpents. Since her childhood she had fantasies about getting devoured by huge amphibians and reptilians, getting digestive alive in their stomach. Snakes where her favourite predators and after discovering the “women digesting snake club’s” homepage, she decided at the age of 27, that is was time to fulfil her purpose as a beautiful young woman. ...

First-Hand History 2

continued from part one Part Two “Ok, looks good. Fan out in pairs and get started. I’ll watch for sentries.” Nodding, the others fanned out silently. Watching them go, Melissa Roberts sighed with relief. On her first, nearly disastrous, trip to Egypt’s past, she’d come alone. This time, she’d brought a team. This meant support, even if it did require a certain loss of modesty. Glancing down at herself, Melissa shook her head ruefully. In the interest of speed and security, it had been decided to send the team together all at once. With such a large send, the power demand was very nearly at the limits of the system, so in order to reduce demand, the team had been allowed nothing that would increase the mass of the send. Unfortunately, this included clothing. Basically, the entire team had arrived at their destination totally naked. ...

Formula 54

Based on an idea by Hypercat *** The clock was ticking. Even now, well after midnight, when nobody was around, the chief was anxious. Secret midnight rendezvous at abandoned prisons could have great repercussions if they were caught. “Where are they?” “On their way,” his assistant said. “Good. Doc?” The prison doctor opened his stainless steel case and pulled out a syringe, depressing the plunger ever so slightly. A small squirt of green liquid squirted onto the floor. “The formula is ready.” “Good.” “Relax chief. If this goes according to plan, we’ll all be very rich. Nobody’s going to be coming around here. After all, you have the keys to this place, right?” “I do doc. But if this gets out, we’re all going to be in a mess of trouble.” There was a distant clang as a giant pair of gates opened, followed by footsteps. But the chief wasn’t nervous. This was expected. The door to the underground cells was opened, one of his deputies entering. “Sir, they’re here.” “Bring ’em in.” Two push carts were wheeled into the room. A squirming form was strapped to each one. The chief eyed the two women, oogling their forms, Sealed head to toe in thick, body hugging latex sheathes, they were squirming for all they were worth, fighting against their bonds. Seeing them strapped down so helplessly, he found his desire and arousal rising. He would have loved to take them and have his way, but knew that this was not the time. This meeting was strictly business, not pleasure. He walked over, inspecting them more closely, rubbing his hands over their coated bodies. Imprisoned beneath an inch of latex, they squirmed under his touch with delightful intensity, trying to get away. The belts securing them to the hand trucks ensured they weren’t going anywhere. “Looks like everything’s in order,” he said. “I gotta tell ya doc, this stuff is amazing.” He pinched the latex, tried to grab it, but the material remained firm and unyielding. “They’ve got anything on underneath this?” “No,” the doctor said, reviewing some charts. “They’re as naked as the day they were born.” The chief smiled. “All right, let’s get this underway,” he stepped aside. “Doc?” The doctor walked over, the syringe in hand. “Tell me again, what does this stuff do?” the other guard asked. “This is an experimental serum our good chief recovered in a drug raid,” the doctor said. “Code named Formula 54. Essentially a libido drug, it is supposed to skyrocket the sex drive, so much so that a human will want to have sex with anyone or anything around them. These two will be our first test subjects.” “Why the secrecy?” “If we can perfect and sell it, we’d have so much money we’d be set for five lifetimes. Can you even imagine how much money the public would pay to get a drug that sends your sex drive through the roof?” The guard thought. “A pretty penny.” “Indeed.” The guard looked at how much they were squirming. “Looks to me like they had second thoughts doc.” “They only volunteered for the drug. I didn’t tell them about the latex,” the doctor said with a smile. “I wanted to test out my latest, unbreakable latex material. So far, that test has been working splendidly.” “Who are they, anyway?” “Antoinette and Bonnie, a pair of lovely interns. I’m sure that once they experience the joy of this drug, they’ll be more than happy to volunteer for any other experiments I may conceive.” Walking up to the first woman, the doctor pushed the needle into a small piece of exposed flesh and injected the liquid. Pulling the syringe out, he squirted some of the latex on, which then covered up the skin and merged seamlessly with the rest of the sheath. Going over to the second woman, he repeated the procedure. “So what now?” The doctor put the empty syringe into a sealed bag. “We wait. It will only be a few minutes.” The women went still, no longer attempting to escape. In fact, it seemed as if they were asleep, as they were perfectly still, the only sign of life coming from the slow rise and fall of their chests. Then the first one began to struggle, fighting against her straps. The second woman followed a few seconds later, and soon both were thrashing against their bindings, their muffled moaning and groaning audible even through the latex. “Fascinating,” the doctor said. “It’s working faster then I expected.” The women were screaming now, fighting against their belts as hard as they could manage, bucking and kicking, squirming as if in a mad frenzy. “How long is this going to last doc?” The chief asked. “I’m not sure. Could be a few minutes, or it could be a few hours.” The women were thrusting themselves into the straps, knocking the carts over. But after landing on the ground, they thrashed on the ground, pressing their groins into the cement, trying to stimulate themselves. “Fascinating!” the doctor said. “The dosage apparently is twice as potent as I imagined!” The chief walked over and undid the straps on the hand trucks, lifting one of the women to her feet. He could feel her struggling within her cocoon, fighting to turn and press herself onto him, to achieve physical union. Simply feeling her latex pressing itself up against him was intoxicating. “You said these ladies would try to have sex with anyone or anything?” “Yes.” “Then let’s see how they react to each other.” The second woman was unstrapped, and the two were pressed together. For a moment they went still, as if surprised to actually be touching each other. Then they began to writhe and struggle, pressing against each other, thrusting their groins, even though it was impossible to have their vaginas touch. That small fact however, wasn’t enough to stop them from trying. “Oh my,” the doctor said. “Two heterosexual women fighting to have sex with each other, I think this experiment was a resounding success.” As the doc scribbled down some notes, the chief’s radio crackled. “Yes?” “Chief, we got trouble!” A voice on the other end said. “The mayor thinks you’re up to something and he’s sending in a squad to check it out!” “Shit. Doc, get your stuff out of here! Now!” “Already on it.” His suitcase was latched shut. “I shall join you all later, after I’ve analyzed my data.” As he ran out, the guard looked at the two women. “What do we do with them? It’s going to take too long to get them out to the truck.” The chief looked around, spotted a small hole in the ground. “Here, the obuliete.” “The what?” “It’s a small coffin sized cell built for one person. Nobody will look for them there.” “But how are we going to fit both in?” The chief held up several straps and belts. “Tie them up.” The two quickly went to work, wrapping the belts around the two women, buckling them together, until they were nothing more then a single wiggling unit fighting to get even the slightest stimulation, the belts effortlessly holding them together. The trap door was opened. With the cell’s tiny size, it was difficult to shove the two in, but the chief and his guard managed, shoving them in feet first, until they were tightly nestled inside, pressing their mouths together in a futile attempt to kiss. The lid was closed, sealing the two inside. A lock was put in place, ensuring that nobody would be getting inside any time soon. “All right, let’s get out of here. We tell the mayor that we were investigating an attempted break in, capishe?” “Right chief.” “Good man.” The chief looked down at the trap door. “Lucky gals, wish I had someone that horny trying to kiss me.” “If we get that drug perfected, we will.” The two smiled, leaving. They did run into the group sent by the mayor, but their cover story worked fine. The chief planned to come back and get the two women the next day, only to discover that the building had been given an overnight demolition job, where it would be bulldozed to the ground, the basement sealed up, never to be accessed again. He never did find out if the mayor had somehow found out about their scheme, but if he did, the mayor was going to ensure that the group would never meet in the building again. Deep inside their tiny tomb, Antoinette and Bonnie squirmed and struggled, restrained and encased inside their latex cocoons, arms and legs immobilized, their mouths sealed, their horny genitals touching, yet kept separate from each other. Unaware of their impending entombment, they didn’t care. In their drug induced stupor, they didn’t have a care in the world as they lived out the rest of their short lives in total bliss.

Formula 54

Based on an idea by Hypercat *** The clock was ticking. Even now, well after midnight, when nobody was around, the chief was anxious. Secret midnight rendezvous at abandoned prisons could have great repercussions if they were caught. “Where are they?” “On their way,” his assistant said. “Good. Doc?” The prison doctor opened his stainless steel case and pulled out a syringe, depressing the plunger ever so slightly. A small squirt of green liquid squirted onto the floor. “The formula is ready.” “Good.” “Relax chief. If this goes according to plan, we’ll all be very rich. Nobody’s going to be coming around here. After all, you have the keys to this place, right?” “I do doc. But if this gets out, we’re all going to be in a mess of trouble.” There was a distant clang as a giant pair of gates opened, followed by footsteps. But the chief wasn’t nervous. This was expected. The door to the underground cells was opened, one of his deputies entering. “Sir, they’re here.” “Bring ’em in.” Two push carts were wheeled into the room. A squirming form was strapped to each one. The chief eyed the two women, oogling their forms, Sealed head to toe in thick, body hugging latex sheathes, they were squirming for all they were worth, fighting against their bonds. Seeing them strapped down so helplessly, he found his desire and arousal rising. He would have loved to take them and have his way, but knew that this was not the time. This meeting was strictly business, not pleasure. He walked over, inspecting them more closely, rubbing his hands over their coated bodies. Imprisoned beneath an inch of latex, they squirmed under his touch with delightful intensity, trying to get away. The belts securing them to the hand trucks ensured they weren’t going anywhere. “Looks like everything’s in order,” he said. “I gotta tell ya doc, this stuff is amazing.” He pinched the latex, tried to grab it, but the material remained firm and unyielding. “They’ve got anything on underneath this?” “No,” the doctor said, reviewing some charts. “They’re as naked as the day they were born.” The chief smiled. “All right, let’s get this underway,” he stepped aside. “Doc?” The doctor walked over, the syringe in hand. “Tell me again, what does this stuff do?” the other guard asked. “This is an experimental serum our good chief recovered in a drug raid,” the doctor said. “Code named Formula 54. Essentially a libido drug, it is supposed to skyrocket the sex drive, so much so that a human will want to have sex with anyone or anything around them. These two will be our first test subjects.” “Why the secrecy?” “If we can perfect and sell it, we’d have so much money we’d be set for five lifetimes. Can you even imagine how much money the public would pay to get a drug that sends your sex drive through the roof?” The guard thought. “A pretty penny.” “Indeed.” The guard looked at how much they were squirming. “Looks to me like they had second thoughts doc.” “They only volunteered for the drug. I didn’t tell them about the latex,” the doctor said with a smile. “I wanted to test out my latest, unbreakable latex material. So far, that test has been working splendidly.” “Who are they, anyway?” “Antoinette and Bonnie, a pair of lovely interns. I’m sure that once they experience the joy of this drug, they’ll be more than happy to volunteer for any other experiments I may conceive.” Walking up to the first woman, the doctor pushed the needle into a small piece of exposed flesh and injected the liquid. Pulling the syringe out, he squirted some of the latex on, which then covered up the skin and merged seamlessly with the rest of the sheath. Going over to the second woman, he repeated the procedure. “So what now?” The doctor put the empty syringe into a sealed bag. “We wait. It will only be a few minutes.” The women went still, no longer attempting to escape. In fact, it seemed as if they were asleep, as they were perfectly still, the only sign of life coming from the slow rise and fall of their chests. Then the first one began to struggle, fighting against her straps. The second woman followed a few seconds later, and soon both were thrashing against their bindings, their muffled moaning and groaning audible even through the latex. “Fascinating,” the doctor said. “It’s working faster then I expected.” The women were screaming now, fighting against their belts as hard as they could manage, bucking and kicking, squirming as if in a mad frenzy. “How long is this going to last doc?” The chief asked. “I’m not sure. Could be a few minutes, or it could be a few hours.” The women were thrusting themselves into the straps, knocking the carts over. But after landing on the ground, they thrashed on the ground, pressing their groins into the cement, trying to stimulate themselves. “Fascinating!” the doctor said. “The dosage apparently is twice as potent as I imagined!” The chief walked over and undid the straps on the hand trucks, lifting one of the women to her feet. He could feel her struggling within her cocoon, fighting to turn and press herself onto him, to achieve physical union. Simply feeling her latex pressing itself up against him was intoxicating. “You said these ladies would try to have sex with anyone or anything?” “Yes.” “Then let’s see how they react to each other.” The second woman was unstrapped, and the two were pressed together. For a moment they went still, as if surprised to actually be touching each other. Then they began to writhe and struggle, pressing against each other, thrusting their groins, even though it was impossible to have their vaginas touch. That small fact however, wasn’t enough to stop them from trying. “Oh my,” the doctor said. “Two heterosexual women fighting to have sex with each other, I think this experiment was a resounding success.” As the doc scribbled down some notes, the chief’s radio crackled. “Yes?” “Chief, we got trouble!” A voice on the other end said. “The mayor thinks you’re up to something and he’s sending in a squad to check it out!” “Shit. Doc, get your stuff out of here! Now!” “Already on it.” His suitcase was latched shut. “I shall join you all later, after I’ve analyzed my data.” As he ran out, the guard looked at the two women. “What do we do with them? It’s going to take too long to get them out to the truck.” The chief looked around, spotted a small hole in the ground. “Here, the obuliete.” “The what?” “It’s a small coffin sized cell built for one person. Nobody will look for them there.” “But how are we going to fit both in?” The chief held up several straps and belts. “Tie them up.” The two quickly went to work, wrapping the belts around the two women, buckling them together, until they were nothing more then a single wiggling unit fighting to get even the slightest stimulation, the belts effortlessly holding them together. The trap door was opened. With the cell’s tiny size, it was difficult to shove the two in, but the chief and his guard managed, shoving them in feet first, until they were tightly nestled inside, pressing their mouths together in a futile attempt to kiss. The lid was closed, sealing the two inside. A lock was put in place, ensuring that nobody would be getting inside any time soon. “All right, let’s get out of here. We tell the mayor that we were investigating an attempted break in, capishe?” “Right chief.” “Good man.” The chief looked down at the trap door. “Lucky gals, wish I had someone that horny trying to kiss me.” “If we get that drug perfected, we will.” The two smiled, leaving. They did run into the group sent by the mayor, but their cover story worked fine. The chief planned to come back and get the two women the next day, only to discover that the building had been given an overnight demolition job, where it would be bulldozed to the ground, the basement sealed up, never to be accessed again. He never did find out if the mayor had somehow found out about their scheme, but if he did, the mayor was going to ensure that the group would never meet in the building again. Deep inside their tiny tomb, Antoinette and Bonnie squirmed and struggled, restrained and encased inside their latex cocoons, arms and legs immobilized, their mouths sealed, their horny genitals touching, yet kept separate from each other. Unaware of their impending entombment, they didn’t care. In their drug induced stupor, they didn’t have a care in the world as they lived out the rest of their short lives in total bliss.

Heaven and Hell

Once upon a time, there was a man named Kenny. Growing up, he had heard many stories about Heaven and Hell, and how the good and the bad would go to their respective places after death. But he had never given the matter much thought, never believing in an afterlife. So he went about his life, unconcerned about what was to come. However, when Kenny died, he was surprised to find himself in the afterlife. He was even more surprised when a divine guide came to show him both Heaven and Hell, so he could choose his final destination. They first went to Hell. It was a bare, boring place built of grey concrete, with nothing to stimulate the senses. And there were many there, all restrained in various ways, but most were mummified, wrapped up head to toe in wrappings that they would never escape from. And as far as Kenny could see, everyone was struggling and fighting with each other, trying to escape from their bondage. Those who still had some mobility were struggling to run, but tripped and fell on those who were mummified. In anger, they would then kick and attack the mummies, who were helpless and unable to fight back. Kenny was horrified. This looked like a terrible place, and he didn’t want to stay here. He begged his guide to take him to Heaven. Anything would be better then Hell. The two went to Heaven. But Kenny was horrified to see that it was exactly the same as Hell. It was built of grey concrete, and was filled with people restrained and mummified, a state in which they would remain forever. People were struggling and wiggling, trying to escape from their restraint, even though it was futile. “I don’t understand”, Kenny said to his guide. “Heaven looks just like Hell. How can that be?” “Take another look”, his guide told him. ...

Island of Rebirth

Somewhere within the world’s oceans, there is an undiscovered island. To try and find this island is a futile endeavor, for it is too well hidden, and cannot be found, even with modern technology. Then again, some aren’t sure if this island is of the earth, or if it exists on a separate plain of existence. The island itself is not very big, for it is roughly the size of Hawaiian island, Maui. It is a pleasant land, where the air is constantly warm enough that one can walk around naked and feel comfortable. When it rains, there is always ample time to find shelter, but if you want to stay outside, that’s not a problem, for the rain is warm, and never cold. There are no animals on the island, no annoying insects or dangerous jungle creatures. The only sounds you’ll hear as you walk through the jungles and forests are the trees slowly moving back and forth, and the soft breeze blowing through them. What is perhaps most interesting is that the island is in a state of constant twilight. It is never quite fully night, yet never fully day. More often then not, you’ll be walking around, with the stars providing light. Yet, even in the darkness, there are no terrors to be found on this island, and nothing to fear. You cannot be hurt, nor can you be killed, even if you were to fall off a cliff. The island has not changed since when the first people came here, long ago. Yet, the island does not have a permanent population, for the residents come and go. How long they stay varies; some stay for a few weeks, others a few years, and some stay for decades. The main factor is the others you meet here. With no airports, boats, trains or roads, it seems impossible to find this place, and yet everyone does arrive, eventually. But they don’t arrive by their own conscious effort. All travel arrangements are apparently made and prepared, and when someone arrives, it is not via boat, plane, or even canoe. They arrive in the ground. When someone arrives at the Island of Rebirth, others go to meet them. They travel into the jungles and the forests, until they arrive at a gravesite. There, they take shovels, and dig into the earth, until they find a coffin. Taking that coffin, they remove it and open it up, finding a mummy inside, tightly wrapped. Removing the mummy, they remove the wrappings, until they at last reveal the newest arrival to the island. How old this individual will be varies. Some are young or in middle age, others old. But that does not matter, for within a few days, everyone will either age, or reverse in age, until they are all 35, in the peak of life and health. When the individual first awakens from their slumber, they are inevitably confused, wondering where they are. The last thing they remember is dying, either by accident, or of disease, or old age. But they are helped by the island’s friendly and peaceful inhabitants, who explain what is going on. They have arrived on the Island of Rebirth. They are given warm robes to wear, though at any time they can change into whatever clothing they’d like. What distinguishes the residents of this island is that they are all made of up of kinky people; individuals who enjoyed the sensual arts of sex and intimacy, who enjoyed playing and the arts of restraint. Therefore, virtually all the people wear all manner of kinky clothes; everything from rubber to neoprene, to latex and fishnet stockings. On this island, with its calming, peaceful atmosphere, there is an aura of acceptance that everyone shares, where you are free to be yourself. After the initial shock and surprise at being retrieved from their grave, the individual will sleep for a while, and then wake up to find themselves at age 35. From here, they can explore, and it isn’t long before they find other kinky individuals like themselves. So, naturally, they start to play. All manner of kinky games are played across the island; anything and everything is acceptable, for with the risk of injury or death gone, people are finally free to indulge in their deepest fantasies, and will find many willing partners who will gladly share the experience. If you walk into one part of the forest, you’ll find several people in straightjackets, dangling upside down from tree branches. Continue on to the large lake, and you’ll find others turned into inflatable pool toys, and floating around. If you were to dive under the surface, you’d find many at the bottom, their arms tied behind them, and their legs shackled to concrete blocks. And yet, all would be willing participants, knowing that they cannot be hurt or feel pain. Eventually, by desire or curiosity, you would join them in their play, trying all manner of situations out, seeking what excites you best. But as time goes on, and the playtimes continue, a pattern inevitably emerges: Everyone starts to seek out relationships with another, seeking constant company in each others presence; and here the true purpose of the island is revealed. The Island of Rebirth may seem like a never-ending playground for the kinky and the sexual, but in fact, it is actually a chance to create a relationship with someone, a chance to find the individual who you want to share your life with. It could be someone you let slip away, or someone who perished long ago. When two individuals find each other, and start a relationship, the next phase of the island starts. For when they start to share each other’s company, and to forge a bond of compassion, enjoyment, love, and mutual respect, the two no longer stay at the age of 35. They start to age, though aging is slow on the island. But during that time of aging, they continue to explore each other, and to know each other better. There is constant play, and games, and indulging their fantasies. And age is not as great a deal on the island as it is normally. For with no stress, or unhealthy foods, or sloth, each individual ages well, and gracefully, remaining active and well even when they reach the age of 70, or even 90, and still playing. The younger residents of the island do not discriminate against their elders, and treat them like equals. Thus, in so many ways, the island is a paradise for all. Eventually, however, there comes a time when a couple has to decide if the relationship is working out. Sometimes this can be decided in only a matter of days or weeks, while for others, years are needed. But eventually, the moment comes where the two, having been given the chance to share their new lives, have to choose whether to continue or to realize that the relationship won’t work out. If the relationship does not succeed, then a process begins. The two individuals, realizing that the relationship will not work, mutually agree to part ways, but this is a peaceful process. There are no accusations thrown, no angry divorce proceedings, and no hurt feelings. They both separate on good terms, knowing that both of them will eventually find the special individual who is right for them. When the separation is complete, the two are taken back into the forests and the jungle, and there, they are buried once more, returned to the grave. But again, this is not a sad process, but a necessary step for both of them. For they have aged during the relationship, and now it is time to be reborn, to have a clean start, so that both can start fresh. Therefore, each individual is first allowed to wear whatever clothing they wish; generally this is a tight body glove that gives warmth and protection. Over this, the individual is mummified, wrapped and sealed tightly within multiple layers of soft bandages, which are wrapped around their bodies until the individual can no longer move, or even wiggle. Once sealed inside their comfortable cocoon, the individual is carefully put into a tight sleep sack, which is then zipped shut, laced down, and buckled tightly. A hood is placed over the bandaged head, and also buckled down and laced, ensuring that the individual is completely sealed in tightly, ensuring that they cannot escape. But the individual, sealed away, does not want to. There is a sense of calm and acceptance throughout the process, of knowing that this is what has to be done. The bondage and restraint, while excessive, is like the cocoon that encloses the caterpillar: It has to be sealed away before it can be reborn. Once the individual is completely restrained, they are gently lowered into their coffin, which is soft and lined with pillows. The lid is put on, and locked, sealing the occupant in. The coffin is then lowered into the grave, six feet deep, and covered with earth once again, burying the individual into their private, quiet grave. For a month, both individuals are left in the earth, where they sleep in their graves, safe and protected. When the month is over, the graves are once again dug up, and the coffins removed. They are opened, and the mummified individual is removed from the sleepsack and unwrapped. And when the last bandages are removed, the individual is once again 35, rested, and reborn, ready to start their new lives once more. Thus, the process continues for every resident of the island. But when the time comes that a relationship has reached the decision point, more often then not, both agree that this is what they want, and that, in sharing their play, and their time with each other, they have found the individual they want to be with, a different process begins. The couple, now content with each other, and delighted at the idea of staying together, are taken to the far edge of the island, to what is dubbed the sacred graves. Here, the colors among the plants and leaves are move vivid and intense, and there is a lighter, more joyous feel in the air. This is where couples are buried together. The process is much like if the two had decided to separate. They are dressed in whatever they wish to wear, and then are wrapped up and mummified, their embalmers going steadily, but gently. This time however, the process is different, for while their bodies are wrapped up and sealed away, the couple’s faces are left unwrapped. And once both are wrapped, legs and arms sealed away and immobile, the couple is then placed together, face to face, and their two bodies wrapped together as one, so that they may be together, and face each other. When the process is complete, they are taken and placed in an extra-wide coffin, where they are belted down. The lid is placed on and nailed shut, and then they are lowered into the bright green earth, and the grave is covered and filled. And with that, the joyous burial is complete. Once a couple is buried, they are left in peace within the sacred ground. Exactly what happens, none of the island’s residents know. When they return to the sacred ground a month later, they find the grave site gone, and the coffin placed on top of the earth, empty. But no one is sad, for while they don’t know what happened to the couple, they sense that the two have moved on to something bigger, and greater, beyond the island. But they are glad for the couple, and are not envious, for one day, they will take the journey, when the time is right. Until that time though, the others will remain on the island, playing and experimenting, seeking out the individual with whom they will share a loving relationship. Inevitably, there will be some relationships that will not work out, and they will have to be buried and reborn. But the day will come when they find that special someone; and they too, will leave the Island of Rebirth.

The Magnus 360

“Shit!” Murray played the traffic, found a gap and made a u-turn, headed back to the lab. He was supposed to send Syd a report and he had forgotten. Didn’t see the point, actually. But the Magnus 360 was making them rich and if the boss was a micromanager, well, so be it. Syd was supposed to be on vacation. Key word: supposed. Oh well. Murray pulled into the lot, let himself in the front door. There was no security to speak of other than a few locks. The industrial complex had guards, but they stayed outside. As he passed Syd’s office he glanced at the bank of monitors on the wall. The cameras weren’t for security, it was just Syd’s way of keeping an eye on things. Murray stopped. Someone was at Dick’s workstation - and it wasn’t Dick. ...

Unlucky

Whenever I think back to that day, I wonder how it could have been done differently. We could have gone a little faster, or perhaps stuck to going through the shadows instead, using the stealth course. So many different variables, so many possible outcomes. But inevitably, I get depressed and moody, thinking about what might have been. I can’t help it, though. I have lots of time to think. My name is ID682, though I was given the nickname, ‘Kitt’ by my fellow slaves, due to my love of cats. I used to be a slave, though I guess I still am. Only now I’m less then a slave. I’m a prisoner, serving a life sentence. Perhaps a little background is in order. I was born in a country where slavery was still legal, though by most standards, slaves are treated well. We’re given plenty of time to rest and pursue some minor activities while in service, and while we’re given lots of work to do, it isn’t strenuous. We aren’t whipped, or given any other form of barbaric and inhumane punishment. At least, not most of the time. You see, there are only a few crimes that automatically earn you the strictest punishment, and the greatest of all these crimes is assaulting your master, and his (or her) family. No other crime committed by a slave is punished so harshly. It happened about ten years ago, if I remember correctly (you must understand, I’m given no calendars, or indications of what date it is during my incarceration). Some of my fellow slaves had devised an escape plan to try and break free of the manor where we lived. Escape attempts by slaves were rare, though they do happen. Because I was one of the quieter slaves, who didn’t make a fuss or bring any attention to myself, they considered me trustworthy. Truth be told, their plan was excellent. Disable the building’s security system, then sneak out in the dead of night, head for the coast, and sail away from the country, to one where we could be free. I wanted to be free, and here was my chance. So I took it and joined with them. It was the perfect plan. But things went horribly wrong. The night of our escape, our master and her family went out into the huge garden that made up the backyard of the manor, seeking to have a late night party. We should have waited and tried again, but too much had been invested. We had to try. So we disabled the security system as planned, and cut the power, then made our way into the garden, heading for the fences. Things didn’t work out as we had planned. We were spotted. We panicked, and though I ran, my fellow slaves attacked our master and her family, trying to put her down. But it was too late, and master managed to summon her security forces. We were captured, our escape foiled. And as we were put in cuffs and locked in the dungeon, we all realized that, because of what we had done, we would never know freedom. We were right. The trial began the next day. We were brought into the meeting room, where our master, her family, her slaves, and everyone who lived in the manor attended. My fellow slaves and I, chained to the floor and gagged, were given no defense, no lawyers to argue our case. Everyone knew what had happened. Our master first told everyone the facts of the crime, and that we had attempted to escape. While that itself would get a harsh punishment, the fact that we had attacked her and her family was so serious that we had earned the harshest possible punishment for ourselves. In only a few minutes, our fates were decided. My fellow escapees, the ones who had planned the attack, were clearly beyond redemption or rehabilitation, for they had planned this for a long time, and had calculated everything before hand. Had they included attacking our master in their plans? I don’t think so, and think that it was only done out of panic. But it didn’t matter now. My fellow slaves, due to their actions, were sentenced to be buried alive, entombed forever to prevent any chance of escape as long as they lived. Upon hearing their fate, my fellow slaves broke down in tears, but, gagged as they were, could not protest. My fate however, was to be different. My master noted that I was the only one who had run, rather then attack her. Thus, I was innocent of the worst crime a slave could commit. But I had still attempted to escape, and I had aided those who had attacked her. Thus, I still had committed a crime, and needed to be punished. But due to my quiet nature, and lack of a disciplinary record, she would show me mercy. Thus, my punishment was given. I was given a life sentence in the dungeons, to be restrained for the rest of my life, and never to be freed. Like my fellow slaves, I cried upon hearing my fate, my tears streaming over the thick gag plugged into my mouth. There were to be no appeals, no second chances. Our sentences were final, and could not be revoked. With a bang of the gavel, our fates were sealed. And not one to waste time, master carried out our sentences immediately. We went out back, where other slaves dug three graves. Coffins were built, and my fellow slaves were forced into rubber body gloves. Restraint belts were wrapped around their waists, and one time use handcuffs locked their wrists to the belt, as one time use cuffs were locked around their ankles, forever restraining them. Their gags were left on as they were forced into the coffins and tied down, removing their ability to move. I watched their panicked faces as the lids were put on and nailed down. Due to their gags, I was spared from hearing their screams as the coffins were lowered into the earth, then covered with dirt and soil, burying them. Simple headstones were erected, though there was no date of death on them. We would never know how long they lasted within their graves. With their punishment underway, it was now time for mine. I was marched into the mansion and into the dungeons, where I was taken to a cell that had been prepared for me. And it was there that I saw how I was to be restrained for the rest of my life, for a thick leather sleepsack was waiting for me. Knowing that it was useless to resist, and that doing so would only bring further punishment, I did not resist as I was put into the sack, my arms and legs going into the internal sleeves. The back was zipped up, and then laced shut, squeezing the sack around my body, compressing and holding it. I was taken and put onto the bunk, where leather straps were applied to me, tying me down, so I wouldn’t roll off onto the floor. And with that, master looked at me, disappointed. I had such potential, she told me, but that it was too late to undo her decision. This sentence was final. She left, and closed the cell door behind her, locking it, and leaving me in my new home. *** I don’t know how long ago that was. Time goes slowly here, in this cell, and with no clocks or calendars, I can only guess how much time has passed since my punishment began. I spend my days here in the cell, locked into this sleepsack. I have never been let out since my punishment began, and wear it twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, but then again, perhaps that isn’t the most accurate statement. I am released for cleaning and hygienic reasons, but I am never awake for those moments, for I am sedated. I sleep, and when I awake, I am still in the dungeon, still in the sack, which has been cleaned, as well as me. I am gagged twenty four hours a day as well, with a giant muzzle permanently strapped to my face, a thick gag shoved into my mouth and into my throat, which is how I am fed, with tubes and liquid nourishment given to me, as well as water. A thick collar is wrapped about my neck, embroidered with the words, ‘LIFE,’ signifying my status as a prisoner. It sounds like a horrible way to live, but while my master may be strict, she is not cruel. She allows my fellow slaves to visit me in my cell, and though I cannot talk to them, they stay with me, and are allowed to stroke and cuddle with me, giving me companionship. Occasionally, my beloved cats are brought in, and spend the day with me, and I enjoy their company, even though I cannot hold them. To keep me occupied, Master has a piece of restraint added to me every day. Some days I will be blindfolded, and on others a hood is slipped over my head. Sometimes she shackles my ankles to the bed, and sometimes she dangles me from the ceiling. Every day is different, the variety keeping me occupied, if nothing else, trying to adjust to my situation. Sometimes, on rare occasions, a television will be brought to my cell, and I am allowed to watch a film or television show. I love those moments, as well when my fellow slaves come down with a book to read to me. But even with these small favors, this is still a punishment. I am locked in here for life, and will never, ever leave. I do not have the freedom of movement my fellow slaves have, and my entire body is locked away. Aside from cuddling, I am not allowed to have any pleasures of the flesh, except that, if I continue on good behavior, I will be allowed to have one orgasm every decade or so. A very good incentive indeed. There are days where I am calm and collected, and there are days when I cry and weep over what I have lost, knowing that my entire world is a standard size prison cell. There is a small window near the ceiling, where a little sunlight comes in from the outside. I can look out it, and see the sky, and the clouds, and know that this is all I will ever see of the outside world again. Sometimes, I wonder if this is all really an act of mercy. I am alive, but it is a life of restraint, of no freedoms. I will be kept this way until the day I die, for that is my sentence, and my punishment. My fellow slaves, the ones who were buried so long ago, they are gone. Sometimes I wonder if they were the lucky ones. Their punishment was horrible, but it was brief. Mine is stretched out, on and on, for decades to come. I can’t help but wonder if I’m the unlucky one.

Deflowered

Part One On the rare occasion that she was able to stop and take stock of the events that had taken place in her life over the past two years, it seemed odd to Gwen that there were still things that managed to take her by surprise and cause her to wonder if it would all turn out in the end to have been a crazy dream. She almost laughed out loud when she realised that it had once been as likely for a girl from her estate back home to see the inside of a limousine without a gaggle of other women on a raucous hen night as it would have been for her to step foot on the surface of the moon. ...

Deflowered 2

continued from part one Part Two At first, Gwen could not be sure whether the light that filled her vision was blinding her because she had opened her own eyes or not. Her mind was fogged, as though she were waking up with a terrible hangover and it was hard to make sense of her surroundings. While it seemed to follow that she must have been inundated with the light because she had just opened her eyes, there was the inescapable feeling that they had already been looking into some kind of impenetrable darkness when something else changed and admitted the relentless beams. ...

Heavy Rubber Movies

Mary Michelin was a 28 year old freelancer journalist, who had not succeeded much lately with her career. It seemed that she could not find interesting topics for her writing and no editor was interested to publish her stories. She had decided to solve this problem by interviewing some far-out movie makers. One to start with was a mysterious latex movie producer, Salomon X. She thought that such an interview would be a hot item to be sold to Hustler or maybe Playboy. She had succeeded to have an appointment with this mysterious Salomon X at a film studio. ...

Maid Of Honor

“Mom, shoo! We can handle things. That’s why they invented maids of honor.” “He’s your ex.” “And I’m gay. Who says I can’t have a maid of honor who’s a man?” “Because, technically-” “Mother, please go pester someone else.” The door closed. Footsteps retreated down the hall. “You know, this is a bit weird.” “Babe, you don’t know weird.” Dan gave her a quizzical look. Marsha bent and pulled a box from under the bed, flipped off the lid. Pulled out a pair of white panties. ...

Titanic Doll

INTRODUCTION: This is my contribution to the centenary of the sinking of the Titanic. However you won’t find Kate Winslet, Leonard DiCaprio or Kenneth More on board. On board the RMS Titanic; the mid-Atlantic; the evening of Sunday 14th April 1912 Caitlin O’Loughlan stood on the promenade deck and exhaled, watching her frozen breath blow out in front of her and disperse. She puffed out several more breaths and smiled. She’d always enjoyed doing that as it had seemed magical to her as a little girl. ...

Loop

Gromet smiled. He had inspected the latest group of slaves for the market, watching as they were led away, their high heels clicking in counterpoint to the musical clinking of their chains. He had dealt with some internal disciplinary matters – the flogging of a couple of guards for being lenient, the monthly session on the rack of his accountant – and now he was returning to his office and Ms. Trusscot. He had left the lady hogtied on the floor next to his desk, and now he was going to deal with her. Starting with a raised-skirt, over the knee spanking. There was something very pleasant about treating a mature woman like a little girl, something that they seemed to enjoy also. If she was very naughty, perhaps he would take her down to the dungeons and give her some additional torment. ...

The Tack Trap

We were all watching her as she went into the tack room. Waiting to see if she took the bait. Suzy Sue, our lovely leggy instructress. Our equestrienne goddess. We had deliberately left the tack room untidy, and amongst the disorder we had left the bait for our trap. Instead of the shouts and bellowing cries for recrimination we had half expected there was only silence. And silence was good for our plan. Very good indeed. ...

The Tales of Sir Dwayne 4: The Lady Is Trained

(story continues from The Tales of Sir Dwayne 3: The Offer) The Tales of Sir Dwayne - 4: The Lady Is Trained “What troubles you, Dwayne?” Dwayne, not Sir Dwayne, he noted. The whore (nee Lady Birgit) sat next to him wearing good clothes. Not the finery she was accustomed to, but not the whore’s ragged dress, either. Sitting next to him on the bench, not kneeling, chained at his feet as in the past. ...