Casket on Gromet's Plaza Archive

Frankie's Friend Plans Her Farewell

Sat, 15 Nov 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Part 1

Frankie Renoir was taking her normal shortcut through Amiens cemetery as it took 5 minutes less to get to work if she came through this way. She’d just passed the grave of Jules Verne and as usual she’d nodded politely at it. This one had always made her stare as there was a stone carved figure erupting out of the front. As if the person in there had been buried alive and was trying to escape!

Captured and Broken

Sun, 28 May 2023 00:00:00 +0000

Part Two

I am awoken from my slumber by the guards as they unstrapped the spreader bar from my leather ankles. Ilsa removes the ball gag from my mouth and inserts a cigarette between my lips and lights it for me. I take a drag and blow smoke out of my mouth, feeling relaxed. The guards unhooked the chain from the armbinder as Ilsa unstrapped the straps on the armbinder and slid off my arms.

Jenna’s Final Journey

Sun, 27 May 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Continues from Part One

Part Two

Chapter 4

There the casket remained, Jenna coming around at least once a week, usually on the Tuesday night and she’d happily climb into the box, Ted locking her limbs but on at least one occasion realised his hands had brushed her breasts while lowering the girl into the collar. To prove that theory on the next visit she arrived early and stripped off her skirt and blouse. Wearing her best underwear and was in the box, kneeling and ready. Gagged and blindfolded with her ankles already done. Ted had come in and saw Miss Rennie there…

Jenna’s Final Journey

Sun, 27 May 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Authors Quote: Another story from my screwed-up brain and like recent tales the ending may upset those of a sensitive nature despite it being a consensual one between lovers. As you will read it’s not just about Jenna but possibly how the author thinks about herself and I regret to say it may also be my last for the forum.

It’s been an emotional rollercoaster health wise for me over the last five years, I’m just sorry that I was not able to complete any other stories rather than this one. If I cannot manage then Mike may well do some of them for me. If he does, be nice to him!

The Penalty Box

Tue, 01 May 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Part 1 Alexandra applauded, almost giddy over the last minute goal, as the conquering hero skated in her direction. She stood up and waved from behind the plexiglass barricade that separated her front row seat from the action on the ice. Suddenly, Alexandra winced as number 23 leaned back sharply, sending a wave of ice crystals pelting against the clear shield in front of her. Looking around in embarrassment, Alexandra saw that most, if not all of the people in the sparsely populated stadium, had not noticed the blatant display of bravado. She turned back to the ice just in time to see the devilish grin that had melted her heart on so many occasions. But this time, Alexandra made a mental note of this incident, filling it away even as she went back to cheering for her boyfriend.

Sleeping Beauty

Fri, 04 Aug 2017 00:00:00 +0000

The muffled sounds of dirt hitting a wooden surface filled her ears. There was no light and she also couldn’t move. Her heartbeat got faster and faster. Could it be? Was he actually doing this to her? This was just thought as a very kinky game. A sexual play that should help him to get over his ex-girlfriend. Perhaps this action was the final act and then he was going to get her out so they can go home.

Sleeping Beauty

Fri, 04 Aug 2017 00:00:00 +0000

WARNING Do NOT try this at home, the story is presented here as a fantasy only, to attempt this in real life may result in injury or death.

The Grave Decision

Sat, 28 Jan 2017 00:00:00 +0000

WARNING Do NOT try this at home, the story is presented here as a fantasy only, to attempt this in real life may result in injury or death.

Chapter 1: The Grave Request

The topic came up in conversation, late one night after we had finished watching an old horror movie, the subject of being buried alive. Brandi told me that if I didn’t laugh at her, she would tell me her secret fantasy. I agreed not to laugh or make fun of her, so she told me her darkest desire. After she told me what she had dreamed of for so long. I finally said “So you really want to be buried alive, forever”?

The Grave Decision

Sun, 03 Jul 2016 00:00:00 +0000

Chapter 1: The Grave Request

The Long Weekend

Sat, 22 Aug 2015 00:00:00 +0000

Claire, a new girl I was dating was amazing, she was exactly the sort of girl I had been looking for, for years. Not stunning, but not ugly, not thin, but a good body, bumps in the right places and nice hips. Much more importantly, she was fun. We had met on a chat site about six months before. As this was the sort of anything goes chat sites we already knew a lot of personal details about each other.

The Long Weekend

Sat, 22 Aug 2015 00:00:00 +0000

The Long Weekend

Sat, 22 Aug 2015 00:00:00 +0000

Just for Fun

Wed, 12 Aug 2015 00:00:00 +0000

My heart pounded in my ears almost as loud as the dirt pounding on the lid of the casket that was only inches above my face. I had asked for this, dreamed and fantasized about it for years, but I was quickly finding that my dreams and fantasies where a lot different than the hard cold reality of being buried alive.

I strained against the straps that held me down, but it was useless. The leather straps were very tight, very secure, and held me nearly motionless. If only I hadn’t been so determined to feel like a prisoner, a captive. If only I hadn’t insisted that I be strapped down so tightly.

Just for Fun

Wed, 12 Aug 2015 00:00:00 +0000

Shelley’s Silly Saturday

Tue, 21 Jul 2015 00:00:00 +0000

Dateline 21st May 2008. Shelley grinned as the casket top eased down under her fingers. Hearing the click of the camera timer every few seconds as another photo was added to the storyboard. The first time one of her bondage stories written for Gromet’s site would have real pictures to go with it. Mike was sure going to be impressed she’d shot a lot of it by herself rather than waiting until tomorrow as they’d intended. With him arriving over the other side of town in his boss’ yard, then due home by seven PM she’d have time to edit a few of the better ones before they sat down to watch the European Cup Final. Their chicken salad was ready alongside the beer in the fridge, housework and all her normal workstuff up to date so she knew he’d be pleased. Mike knew his wife, though a ‘work-from-home’ lassie, never slacked off when he was away driving around Europe. She’d certainly been busy earlier in the afternoon getting ready… Looking at herself in the bedroom mirror after a bath and hairwash, pleased that at thirty-six she was ‘ageing well’ as he’d say. Nothing sagging… yet. The gym sessions on the garage rowing machine and cross-trainer kept Shelley well toned, plus of course ‘there’s always that special exercise’ when he was home. A smile thinking if her beloved Man United won tonight she’d have to be extra nice to him as he supported Chelsea! The first time they’d met in a final for years and the first ever All-English European match. So having applied her lingerie, letting the camera take a photo of her standing there, hands on hips, that cheeky grin as she posed in her ‘bridal best’. “Wonder if he’ll keep a copy of this on his cellphone” she’d chuckled before reaching for the dress. Her exercise routine and careful diet allowed Shelley to still fit into her wedding gown fourteen years after that magical day. As it was unlikely to be handed down to another generation she used this as a template once a year to prove to herself that her body wasn’t getting out of order. She detested scales and hadn’t weighed herself since a hospital visit two years ago. A most private thing knowing that for any lady, so if Shelley could fit in this, then that was enough to satisfy her mind. Today was another good day as she stepped into the gown, wriggling down into it, reaching underneath sorting out the petticoats. Then she flipped the front up and got her arms into the sleeves and eased the thing over her shoulders. Though Shelley’s writings often included bridalwear, it was still a thrill for her to wear one for real and today was no exception as it was zipped to her neck. Mother had been so proud seeing her daughter in this but she’d probably have frowned seeing what the lass planned to do next as she wriggled her feet into the shoes. Least these didn’t have straps and Shell could easily get out of them unlike Charlotte Warren and Rosita Wright, the girls whose poses she was recreating today. That had involved being bound wrist and ankle then locked into a casket. One of which was now sitting in the double garage of their Boston home. Quite where Mike had bought it she didn’t know, nor care as they’d discussed this idea last weekend before he’d gone to Paris. He could shoot her against a sheet hanging from the roof then superimpose the cavern wall behind her. “PhotoShop’s a damn good thing,” he’d grinned. That she’d got the material sorted and mounted would surely impress him when he got back from work. More sheeting was laid on the floor for the same reason. “The camera never lies eh?” she’d laughed to herself laying it out before getting dressed. Now she swished from bedroom to garage, managing not to trip up coming downstairs. She grabbed a box from the shelf and laid out the restraints bought at the same time from somewhere in Germany according to the paperwork. They were certainly heavy enough and the time she’d tested then still made her shudder. There were keys but also the cuffs had a ‘quick release button along one side for self-bondage users. If you used the keys as well though, the buttons would not work. Sensibly Mike had confiscated those before leaving. “Not that I don’t trust you… ” He’d modified the casket with several breathing holes, drilling at each end and a few down the sides. The ornate panelling disguised them and it’d take a close look for you to see. Then he’d allowed Shell to jump in and check it worked before he sorted out the fixed collar arrangement. She’d done so and knelt down into the Z-shape that the girls had been bound, her heart pounding as he flipped the lid shut on top of his wife. The sound of two catches clicking across made the box shake as she’d shuddered. Then she’d sat back as he mounted the collar on a steel pole in front of her knees. Screwing it tight then allowing Shelley to lean forward to check it was correctly seated, resting her throat in the well-padded lower half. Her hands holding the blonde hair aside then Mike brought the upper loop and enclosed her neck. A moment’s pressure and it clicked closed. She gasped, having not expected this but thankfully after a moment to settle and reassure him she could breathe OK he pushed the button and allowed her up. A broad smile proving to him that she’d be fine next weekend. Since then Shelley had spent several hours wearing the restraints during her week alone but not in the box. Mostly with her wrists in front, but one afternoon she wore them behind, hanging them off the heavy steel belt by virtue of an old climbing snaplock Mike had from his Army days. That really got her going and was another thing she planned to shoot today. Arriving in the garage having locked all the doors Shelley took some photos of the casket on its own before mounting the camera on the tripod. With only her here it’d mean several times more work but she was determined to impress him. Firstly she applied the belt, this thing weighed a ton and she certainly had to breathe in to fit it round. It closed with a lovely ‘clunk’ however and she set the timer, waiting thirty seconds before the snap of the shutter to happen following two beeps. Then Shelley put the cuffs onto it. Turning away, waiting… beep… beep click, placing wrists inside and again the pause. “So far, so good,” as she freed herself. Next Shelley prepared the stuff to wrap her head. A ton of old T-shirts had been ripped into strips, so first was a gag. After a long drink of course to settle nerves before she began. Stuffing enough in to puff her cheeks out then a thick band to wrap it securely. Beep, beep… click… and she waited then for a repeat a minute later, this time winking as it beeped and clicked again… perfect. Having succeeded in that Shelley blindfolded herself though it took longer, being caught with one of the pads only partway across her eyes. That one would be deleted but the next was ideal. She flapped her hands down to the closed lid of the casket for the last bigger bits. She’d practised tying this earlier and was confident she’d get it right. Ignoring the click of the camera this time, it was set to shoot once a minute to save the battery. After five frustrating minutes however Shelley finished her headwrap and felt for the tripod. Facing it first head on then the next two were from the side and rear, her short blonde ponytail sticking out the only hole left. Mike had said he’d be able to doctor the colour for Charlotte’s black one. Shelley freed herself from the wrap. Another drink taken as her mouth was dry now from the gag. She looked through the ‘rush’s’ deleting the mistakes and well chuffed with the others. The phone rang in the house and she hurried into the kitchen to answer it. Mike was on the other end, saying hi and he was back at the yard, that he’d be leaving within two hours so there would be time for a bath before the match after all. The truck was in need of polishing for a promotion shoot so he was doing it today as it wasn’t raining and would give him a lie-in on Monday morning. “Sounds good, beer’s chillin’ I’ve got some wine too and supper’s ready in the fridge honey. Just bring some humble pie for when the Mighty Red’s whip your Blues asses,” she said. Quoting team colours back to him. He laughed and said a good whipping was what she’d get tonight anyway and Shelley glowed, spanking was something written about but never done in real life… yet. The call ended and Shelley nipped upstairs to use the loo. Realising that no way would the girls have been able to use a bucket while shackled and dressed like this. But nobody had commented about it so that was enough as she shook the gown straight then returned to the garage. Adjustments were made to the tripod before she got to work again, the camera much closer this time and pointing downwards. Getting into the box and kneeling down, then remembering the belt was in the kitchen! She grumbled then swished her way there and back, loving the feel as the dress whipped around her legs with that rustle. It was applied then Shelley clambered back into the casket. Moving the tripod back till the camera was pointing at her feet. She put the ankle manacles on then waited, click, before she slipped both wrists into those cuffs and that too was shot. So it was easier than thought as the device began rapidly beeping at her. “Bloody battery,” she grumbled and got free to change it. Another look at the clock and she had 90 minutes left. Shelley didn’t want to finish yet, this had been fun so carried on. Moving the tripod up to the other end and setting the timer again. This part was to close-up shoot her wrapped head locked into the collar. So the laborious process of that was begun. Quicker now with practice and she smiled bending into the Z and then a curse as her face smacked into the open part of the collar because she’d twisted slightly. A shuffle over then she tried again. This time her throat rested correctly. A deep breath then Shelley brought the upper loop round, her heart pounding for a moment then… clunk. Her neck now LOCKED her into the casket! Beep… beep… click and despite the wrapping Shelley smiled into the gag. The woman reached up and punched the button and it popped open. She sat up and wondered how much more to do. It took a few moments then Shelley decided to finish with a wider angle shot with everything done. That meant she had to fit a snaplock to her ankle cuffs, run a short chain to the belt then secure it all up. She wondered whether to wait, ‘nah, he’s gonna be tired’ so she unwrapped her head then got out to check the angle required. That took a few minutes then she began to secure herself… each bit photographed in turn. Ankles… the chain to her belt, a quick check to see it wasn’t too tight once her head was in the collar. Close but good enough so Shelley paused then wrapped her head again. Really stuffing her mouth like a squirrel then the rest. A last look round then she blindfolded herself and added the covering last. Smiling now Shelley eased forward till it was correct then flipped the loop across. Heart shuddering as her fingers pushed it… clunk. Shelley paused then with difficulty placed both wrists into the cuffs. The chain from her ankles had pulled them down despite the belt and it took a lot of finger flicking before they snapped around and held her firmly. ‘Got it… bloody perfect,’ she murmured, waiting for the beep… beep… click and that was enough for today. She waited for it to take a couple more then her fingers reached for the… A frown as she traced round the rims, knowing they weren’t that big so it was a slow process. But she just didn’t understand it… where the hell were the release buttons? Yes they were only on one side, surely she hadn’t got the cuffs turned around… had she? Then her heart seized up at realising that was what must have happened. The buttons WERE on the elbow side of the restraints… AND because the ankle chain was pulling them closer, hands almost palm-to palm Shelley was unable to get her fingers back over the cuffs and press them. Trying this, twisting her cuffs had proved she was hopelessly stuck and the lass shook badly. Mike was sure going to be cross with his wife finding her stuck. She’d always promised to be careful on the rare occasions she tied herself. Yet now, doing all this without permission… well a spanking might actually be deserved! Shelley was appalled now. Arms and legs cuffed, Neck locked in the loop. Blindfolded and gagged too and she marvelled despite her predicament, no wonder ‘Lotte had got wet in the story. She wriggled more from side to side, seeing if somehow the ankle chain would slacken off and allow her to… really going for it but Shelley squealed as the lid suddenly fell across her hands, bending one finger painfully back and that hurt. This wasn’t funny despite the beep of the camera then it clicking. She’d gotten stuck by her own hand, just like… Jesse, Charlotte, Rosie… well most of her characters actually and Shelley began crying softly into her gag. The top must only be a fraction open as a faint draft was coming across her fingers. “Well he might as well find me really stuck then!” Shelley trying to shuffle lower, really pushing down as she rocked her butt from side to side. Forcing her body into itself… Her heart jumped… another faint click… wasn’t that? But it didn’t sound like the shutter, she certainly hadn’t heard the beeps, pausing for a moment, Shelley lifted… but… was the lid stuck as the pressure didn’t decrease? She didn’t panic, that was something she rarely did, also because she didn’t want to twist her neck in the collar. More hefty jerks as she tried to bump the lid up having changed her mind, only to suddenly squeal as another click occured, right by her left ear this time and she knew… ‘That’s where the other catch is’ she groaned, now realising both the hasps had dropped due to those movements and she was now definitely trapped in the casket. There was nothing she could do now but smile… and wait for freedom, just like Charlotte and Rosie! Mike drove slowly up to the house, looking forward to his first beer. Supper could wait until half time, then after Chelsea won he’d teach Mrs P the true meaning of… well whatever and he grinned. No sign of his wife at the door so he switched off. Normally the sound of that engine had her running over for a hug and kiss, so where the hell was she? Unless he’d caught her short, “Might be on the toilet after all,” he smiled opening the boot and unloading the first of his bags and boxes. Having only been away five days there wasn’t much, but he was concerned when after a few minutes she didn’t show. He unlocked the side door, the front was only for visitors or Shelley’s agency clients and Mike stepped into their large kitchen. Immaculate as usual, only one mug and plate in the sink but the place was real quiet. It took him moments to search the place and no blonde lassie anywhere. A smart dress lay on their bed, the guy surprised to see underwear there as well. Flat shoes alongside it, as she wasn’t allowed to wear heels in the house because of their wood floor. The only wardrobe open was hers’ the normally unused part at the far end. She had so many outfits and he smiled, assuming she was in the bath and this lot was to be worn for the game. Her long red dress and shoes, ‘typical Man U Mrs, even colour-coding her support’ he chuckled. Well that could be fixed and he rummaged about, finding a blue outfit instead and replaced both on the bed. Before creeping into the bathroom… only to find it empty. Now he was concerned, maybe a little put out at this so clattered back downstairs. Only the garage remained as their new hot-tub on the patio was obviously empty! He came through the side door and stopped in amazement. Seeing the casket on the floor, sheeting placed where he’d intended to mount it. The camera already there and he jumped when it clicked again. “Shell’ you in there?” he asked quietly, now seeing the box lid move against the latches. So THAT’S where she was and he paused then smiled and picked up the camera, turning the switch off then starting to look through a large number of photos. He stared as the order progressed, her shapely figure clad in… “Wow, I’m impressed honey,” he whispered, seeing that shot of her in the basque and stockings, the way she’d looked all those years ago… and a few since then too! Then in here and now he realised what she was up to. Shelley had not been able to wait for him and had done this herself. But how the hell had she managed to get the lid down… or maybe it been accidental and actually the lass had got stuck? “Like your characters missy!” he grinned, then flipped the catches up and quickly planted two great paws on her shaking backside. Shelley had heard the car draw up and sighed, knowing her fate was sealed but at least she was safe from her own stupidity. She waited for ages, heart pounding, blood thumping in her ears and couldn’t hear him now standing there. Suddenly the latches squeaked, pressure on her arms was reduced and she squealed as hands groped her butt. “Gotcha Mrs,” he said loudly, seeing Shelley’s fingers twitching now in their cuffs. A really cock-hardening sight and he remembered the guy, Charlie wasn’t it? After binding his sister and shutting her inside. Well here was the same result. “Want to be freed?” he asked and got a thumbs up. Seeing the way her fingers couldn’t reach the buttons that he now pressed. A groan as they popped open then another as he did the one on her collar. Shelley sat up, her head rocking from side to side as she eased the ache in her neck and back. Mike reached down seeing her ankles too were secured and undid that, lifting her up by the armpits, feeling her shaking as he got the lassie standing, somewhat unsteadily on her feet. The lid was closed and he helped Shell sit down again, then helped her unwrap the face covering. Mike now startled to see how well she’d gagged and blindfolded herself. It took Shelley a few minutes to recover her eyesight before getting to her feet for a hug and kiss. “Sorry love,” she sighed, tears not that far away. “Got a bit carried away, didn’t I?” He nodded, not wanting to scold her. Though wearing that and what he knew was underneath maybe a good screwing was required instead! “You did, but I’m here now.” He replied, holding his wife as she began crying. It took another minute of stroking before she settled down asking to see the camera shots. They went into the kitchen where she made a pot of tea as Mike sat there looking at her. Shelley looked back and blushed as he came across for another hug. “Cannot believe you did all that just for me eh? You naughty girl” he grinned. Saying how much he loved her whatever she did. Shelley now saw the last photos and admitted how turned on she’d become. “Just like ‘Lotte’ I wonder when we do these again tomorrow whether ‘Charlie’ will give her a ‘trembler’” and they both laughed now. “Maybe, but you might as well stay in that. Better than the red one you’d laid out upstairs. Least whites’ a neutral colour!” They had another hug, his hands roaming all over her. He looked over at the clock, seeing the match started in half an hour… and grinned. “Want another quick go? I’ll be ‘Charlie’” and no surprise when Shelley blushed then kissed him and agreed. A quick dash to the bathroom and she returned to the garage to see him there replacing the camera on the tripod. Setting it running then he did a mans’ required duty. Gagging and blindfolding his wife before getting her down into the casket. This time she shuddered as he LOCKED the cuffs then secured that collar round her neck. “OK?” he asked and got a thumb’s up. This was good, knowing he was here. It meant SO much more actually wearing the restraints and the rest rather than just writing about them. Hopefully her stories would improve now. He said the lid was coming down then closed it, flicking the catches across. Mike stepped to the workbench and rummaged in a draw, finding two nails and a small hammer, knocking them into the clasps. “You’re done love.” getting the two ‘I’m OK’ taps on the lid in reply. Now he really chuckled, fetching a trolley and sliding the casket onto it, wheeling the thing into the house, through the kitchen and into the lounge. Placing it to the side of the sofa then leaving the room to fetch their supper and a beer… or two. Shelley was puzzled as the jerks threw her about. Just as well the gown and padding held her firmly but what was her hubby up to? It got quieter then… what was that… was someone speaking? She couldn’t work it out… WAIT A MINUTE… her mind screamed. That’s a TV commentator. She must be in the living room but STILL securely locked in the casket… this wasn’t fair! Mike was going to watch the match without her and Shelley smiled wryly as this was obviously his punishment for her getting stuck. A thumping from the lid and she paused. “Shelley love, your wine and supper are on the lid… now be a good girl and don’t knock them off! The End.

Buried Desire

Thu, 02 Jul 2015 00:00:00 +0000

Having spent most of my life working in a high stress field, when it was time to retire I moved away from the city to a very rural area. My family had once been farmers, and I had inherited the farm, or rather what was left of it. It was really just a house and several acres of land that had been left to the weeds for decades. I liked it because I didn’t have any neighbors for miles in any direction. It was perfect for a no stress life.

Buried Desire

Thu, 02 Jul 2015 00:00:00 +0000

The Unusual Request

Sun, 21 Dec 2014 00:00:00 +0000

“You must think this is a very… unusual request.”

“No. Of course not,” Rachel replied in her professionally sympathetic voice. “We here at Gentle Rest Funeral chapel always try to accommodate the wishes of the family.” She did not mention any of the really bizarre requests that had crossed her desk since she had begun working for the family company. Things like… er, no.

The well-spoken man in the client chair smiled slightly. “Actually, our lifestyle was not all that rare. There are many people in this area who share… our interests. My dear wife and I enjoyed our little play games so very much. She was the one who told me, when we got the final diagnosis from the doctors and knew how much time we had left together, how she wanted to spend eternity.”

Dearly Departed

Thu, 27 Jun 2013 00:00:00 +0000

Denise checked her watch.

“Shit!”

No way was she going to make ten blocks in ten minutes. She crossed the street, dodging traffic, and climbed into a cab parked outside the Marriott.

“508 Pecan,” she told the driver.

Still the ride took fifteen minutes, but she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw another cab at the curb and Lisa stepping out. Lisa was Anderson’s go-to gal so if she was late how much trouble could there be?

Ghosts and Mummies and Beer

Tue, 30 Oct 2012 00:00:00 +0000

A Halloween Special 2012 Tale

It’s not like we haven’t seen each other naked before. But it’s always been incidental. Like when we’re in a dressing room at a store. Even when we went to the clothing-optional beach Jackie chickened out. And it was her idea to go!

Okay, so there was a time, well twice really, back in school. We were in our pot phase and we were stoned and we decided to go skinny dipping in the school pool. Jack was a cheerleader (So was Jackie. That’s how they met.) and he spent more time in the gym than most of the jocks and he told us that even though the door was locked, all it would take was a twist and a pull and the door would pop open and it did. I don’t remember much except our giggling echoing off the walls made us giggle even more.

End of Days 3: The Arrival

Mon, 27 Aug 2012 00:00:00 +0000

continues from part two

Part 3: The Arrival

She had her, the woman, free only minutes prior, was now her prisoner. It had been such an easy matter to capture the woman, and wrap her body in bandages, covering every inch of flesh and skin, but she hadn’t stopped there. Great care had been taken to use bandages that were extra tight and stretchy, which compressed the woman’s cute, curvy body. Now that her mummification was complete, Quinn could ensure that her prisoner had no chance of escape, no opportunity to wiggle free. The casket would see to that. Kneeling, Quinn took the mummy’s squirming shoulders and began to drag her across the floor, heading towards the open casket. Candles were set about it, giving a soft glow to the darkened room. Buried under the wrappings, the woman couldn’t see the beauty, or realize how elegant this entombment really was. All she knew was darkness, and the knowledge that the bandages wrapped around her body made escape impossible. But still she wiggled, refusing to go without a fight. Reaching the casket, Quinn wrapped her arms around the mummy’s tummy, squeezing hard as she lifted her off the ground. As if sensing the end, the mummy squirmed, legs trying to kick, offering one last feeble resistance. But her efforts were for naught, as the resistance did little good. Amused at the effort, Quinn stood, letting her mummified captive squirm, enjoying the feel of the wrappings, and soft flesh beneath her arms. Then, deciding to end it, she gave the mummy a squeeze, putting her in a warm hug. Such a move seemed to calm the mummy slightly, as she went lip. Arms crossed and wrapped over her chest, she couldn’t return the favor. Relaxed as she was, the mummy was caught off guard when Quinn quickly lowered her into the casket. She began to struggle again, rolling and wiggling as Quinn took the straps and buckled them around the bandaged body, tightening them until the mummy couldn’t move, held down tightly. All she could do now was wiggle helplessly, a faint mewing escaping her wrappings. “Sleep well,“ Quinn said, grinning as she took the lid and brought it down. When it was closed, she put the latches in place, locking the lid down, and leaving the mummy to wiggle inside its resting place. Stepping back, Quinn looked the casket over, making sure everything was in place, and that every lock, strap, and bolt was secure. Once it was, and everything was to her satisfaction, she rubbed her hands through her hair, and collapsed on the sofa, glad to be off her feet for a few minutes. These play sessions were still as enjoyable as ever, but as Quinn had gotten older, she got tired more easily. But that wasn’t a problem; a few minutes of rest, and she’d be ready to go once more. Her rest was interrupted when the phone rang. Groaning, Quinn reached over and picked it up. “Black Delights,“ she said, putting on her best business voice. “How can I help you? “Oh, hi, this is Mr. Kim.“ Delighted, Quinn smiled. “Mr. Kim! Calling in to confirm your appointment, are you?“ Even over the phone, Quinn could easily visualize her next client grinning. “Oh yes.“ “Let me double check the schedule,“ Pulling out a small, leather organizer, she flipped it open, flipped through the pages until she arrived at tomorrow’s date. “Yep, here you are. Billy Kim, ten AM sharp.“ “Excellent! Though, I did want to call to ask about something else.“ “Oh?“ “I… uh… I got something new I want to try out. One of my boyfriends gave me this neoprene sleepsack, and I was wondering if we could fit that in.“ Quinn grinned. “Of course we can. If you have a fantasy, we can make it come true, though it will cost a little extra.“ “Oh, that won’t be an issue!“ ‘Thank goodness,’ Quinn thought. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then!“ “I’m looking forward to it!“ Hanging up, Quinn tried to hold back the small squeal of joy that wanted to tear itself free. If the stars aligned, and fate smiled on her for once, then Mr. Kim’s last minute addition might be the lucky sign she needed. Getting up, Quinn quickly checked on her client inside the casket. Lifting up the lid wasn’t an issue, as a tiny infared camera fed a signal to a portable television, allowing her to peer inside. Ms. Cunningham, her mummified client, was resting comfortably, her bandaged chest slowly moving up and down. Satisfied that her charge was safe and comfortable, Quinn went to the computer and brought up the spreadsheet detailing all her monthly expenses. Typing in the amount from this session, she wasn’t pleased with the result; though Ms. Cunningham paid handsomely, and gave generous tips, her session made only a small dent in the month’s expenses, Quinn was still about two hundred dollars in the red. ‘Close’ she thought. ‘But not quite enough’. She’d have to find a few ways to get enough money to cover the remaining balance, while she couldn’t fit another client into her schedule, she could offer Mr. Kim a few extra perks. His session alone would cover a hundred and fifty dollars, with the sleepsack adding another ten, but if she threw in a massage or two, along with a dip in the Jacuzzi, then perhaps that would finally put her in the black. But if he didn’t take it, then she doubted that the bill collectors would be eager at another extension. There was a loud thunder crack outside, the tenth one in the past hour. While the thunder, lightning, and torrential downfall had certainly made for great drama while playing out Ms. Cunningham’s fantasy of being captured and mummified by an evil female priest (a role Quinn had played with all the relish she could muster), having those strikes come so frequently and so loudly was starting to get on Quinn’s nerves. Checking the camera once more, she saw that Ms. Cunningham was lying still, unaffected by the storm outside Quinn’s small home. But just to play it safe, Quinn turned on a white noise generator, filling the interior of the casket with the sound. From Quinn’s own experiences, the sound would help soothe her client and help her enjoy the experience more, especially the sensation of being safely sealed away from the turbulence and the storm outside. With the role of evil priestess finished, Quinn stood and walked to the closet, where she took off the robes and put them away, getting back into her standard outfit: Black cat suit, black leather trench coat, and thick boots. In this guise, she would come to ‘rescue’ Ms. Cunningham in an hour or two, at which point her client, relieved at having been freed from an early grave, would give her rescuer all the passionate sex she could muster, followed by being whisked away to safety, and a night in a warm bed. With everything under control for the moment, Quinn headed to the television and switched it on, wanting to see if there were any reports about the storm. Hopefully it was an intense, but brief one, and would pass within a few hours, or at the latest, with the first rays of the sun. "” and scientists are still baffled at the onslaught of the storm, which, at this point, has started to spread across the planet, engulfing many countries in near hurricane force gales. There are currently no explanations for their cause, or why they are so intense.“ The screen shifted to a map of the United States, showing little cartoon clouds hovering over most of the country, including her area. To make things even worse, Quinn’s area was getting warnings about dangerous amounts of rainfall, rivers overflowing, and flooding in general throughout the rest of the week. ‘Oh, damn.’ If the weather reports were true, and the rivers were going to overflow, then she was screwed. The roads would be impassable, and Mr. Kim wouldn’t be able to make his appointment. It was a simple, chilling formula. If Mr. Kim didn’t make it, then that meant no money. And no money meant the bills wouldn’t be paid on time, which, in turn, would put Quinn’s entire livelihood in jeopardy. “Damn,“ she cursed. Of all the days for the weather to turn temperamental, it had to be tomorrow. Still at least Ms. Cunningham was here. If she was unable to leave due to the flooding, then perhaps Quinn could convince her to stay another day, perhaps have another session or two. Maybe, just maybe, Quinn could persuade her to enjoy the warm confines of the casket for another day. The woman was definitely a kinky one; the thought of spending an entire day mummified, with the occasional orgasm if she was good and submissive, could be enough to persuade her to stay. Quinn hoped that was the case, she couldn’t stand the thought of Cunningham leaving. Oh, she’d be happy with what she had gotten, and a happy customer was always a good thing, but her happiness wouldn’t pay the bills unless she wanted to play some more. With another crack, the rains came down even harder.

Bondage Burial

Tue, 14 Aug 2012 00:00:00 +0000

Rebecca Wilson arrived at the funeral parlour late Friday afternoon where her boyfriend was awaiting her. The girl strode in carrying the bag containing a wedding dress for a forthcoming ‘bondage burial’ scenario. Karl grinned as she dumped it on his desk and gave him the mother of all snogs. “Might have guessed you’d wear that honey. Will Judith mind you taking it from the shop?” Rebecca looked down, “Very unlikely, seeming as its almost my uniform. Besides we’re closed for redevelopment all next week. That’s why I’m doing the winter collection photoshoot over at Harrenby Hall on Monday.” she replied with a grin. The girl had worked in Miss Renshaw’s establishment for three years now. The fact Judith had found Rebecca loved wearing formal gowns of all sorts was pleasing to the older woman. Who promptly told her that she was allowed to model their stock while on the premises. Giving the youngster the thrill of wearing restrictive clothing at all times. Strutting and swishing all day while sewn into a tight corset with stockings too. Rebecca was normally in a state of arousal for most of that, occasionally leaving it all on to go home. Thus Karl had the opportunity to undo her before the obvious. The stuff she’d be wearing next week was just as good. So you ready to be ‘interred for the weekend then?” he asked and she nodded eagerly. A long held dream of hers about to become reality. She’d read so much about these on Gromets’ story site, plus others and eventually confessing to Karl, her boyfriend of six years who just by chance had recently begun work at the parlour. He’d looked at what she’d been reading and too was hooked. They’d often tied the other up, but reading about it soon upped the ante and their experiences increased. But as yet she’d never been bound wearing a dress like this one. Within a few months he’d managed, with some creative accounting to ‘relieve’ the place of a casket. Taking it home and spending a long while working out how to bind his girl better than the boxes they used at the moment. Now the coffin was back in his workplace with some very interesting additions to its interior and she, having not seen them, was dying to know how she’d ‘be tightly restrained inside’. The girl looked round, nervously thinking Mr Walters might come in, only to be assured that the boss was off for the weekend and they had the place to themselves. It’d been a quiet summer season so the other workers all had got second jobs, leaving Karl to act as live-in weekend caretaker. The place was packed with caskets but everyone in town seemed to be in good health at the moment. Rebecca waited till he made the building secure before starting to disrobe. Karl smiling as she slipped out of the slinky cream frock and stood there in her underwear, before that came off as well. “Bridal stuff is better” she grinned and over the next few minutes donned the sexiest lingerie he’d ever thought his girl possessed. He helped lace her torso into the corset then proceeded to assist her in slithering into the dress. Sighing as he zipped her up, running both hands over her curves once she’d turned round for a kiss. A brief repair of makeup then Rebecca stepped into three-inch heels, allowing him to buckle the straps and said she was ready for the last bits. Karl fitted her with the catheter and stuff, surprising but delighting Rebecca by including a decent sized vibrator before replacing her panties. Lastly the solid steel chastity belt was applied over the top. The girl trying and failing to even push the vib out an inch as the belt had been custom measured for her two months ago. He came out and tidied up her dress and they embraced as she thanked him for getting all this done for her. “Could you imagine what Judith would say if she knew about the belt?” She grinned but her eyes widened as he produced a thick set of manacles and motioned Rebecca to place both wrists behind her back. The girl shuddering as he locked them, removing the key and slipping it into a pocket. “What are…” she began as he took her arm, ordering her to be quiet. Miss Wilson paused, for the first time having second thoughts. Karl saw her face change and apologised for the way he’d spoken. She nodded, accepted a kiss and didn’t resist as he led his now trembling ‘bride’ into the room where her casket lay on the table. The ramps leading into the furnace… thankfully both powered down as one was due for re-lining, sitting at one end of the rails. Karl brought her to the top, showing her a door, opening the three heavy bolts and sliding it to reveal the space beyond. She peered with some difficulty and trembled. “I’m going in there… In my coffin?” she whispered and shuddered again when he said that was correct. The lass surprised it went so far in. Nearly twenty feet or so and the same width, with pipes hanging down and he explained what they did. A small internal belt allowed them to move the coffins off to one side, the last one to the left couldn’t even be seen it from the doorway. Six was the maximum they could do in this one if required. The other could take twenty but was rarely used. In fact they stored a few damaged caskets in there to save space. “That’s where yours’ came from” he’d grinned telling her last month that he’d acquired one. The dent on the side of hers was enough for it not to be used. “Guess it’s too late to back out eh?” she asked, looking at him and Karl paused. “Well, I’ve spent a lot getting it set up, but if you want out, now is your only chance.” “No, I DO want it, please Karl you know me well enough by now” she said at last and saw him smile, she did too and they had another careful kiss. “OK, show me what you…oh my goodness!” Rebecca exclaimed as Karl opened the casket and she saw the inside. He saw a flash of wanting in those captivating grey eyes of hers. She looked surprised that there were no bindings in the casket and the only padding appeared to be on the sidewall. The box at the top end contained her feeding bottle; the one at the other held the tubes to carry away her waste products. As their plan was for her to remain locked in the coffin overnight at the parlour. Once finding out the furnace was off for rework too she’d grinned, making him promise to slide the whole set up right inside and secure that door too! Then Rebecca saw why the casket was bare, as Karl wheeled what appeared to be a human sized cage from a side room and parked it nearby. She looked at it, seeing the back wall behind the thick fixed collar and waistband was the same type and colour fabric as the casket lining. Two struts poked up from the platform floor, each with restraints attached, just above a pair of shoes mounted on the end. These seemed identical to the ones she was wearing and obviously part of the set up. “So that’s why you wouldn’t let me in the workshop! You actually made one!” she exclaimed looking at what he now said was a cage. “Like that one in the Scottish story.” They’d read that on the site too, looked up some photos of these devices from the Historical Society and he’d made one. Brought up to date for this session of hers and she looked closely at the thick bindings that were soon to hold her helpless. Just as well Karl didn’t know how wet she was already! “OK honey, here we go,” he said and freed her wrists before doing them to the front again, then moved Rebecca around till she could be eased back into the cage under his instructions on when to step up and suchlike. Her breathing was very shallow as she felt her legs hit the ankle cuffs, back resting against the padding. She looked down and saw the thick band that was to enclose her waist, it looked a little small and she hoped he’d got the measurements right. The neck collar also seemed an inch or too high. “Stop there missy and I’ll do the shoes, left one first please.” Rebecca lifted as ordered and felt him remove the shoe, guiding her stocking clad foot into the fixed one on the end. “That ain’t three inches pet, more like five. Thank goodness I’ll not be walking,” she chuckled as he buckled the straps. Then she shuddered as the padded cuff was closed over her ankle. The click of a lock and rattle of key followed and the first of many bindings were done. Least the collar was now in the right place. ‘I’m being locked into a coffin’ she thought, cheeks glowing as Karl repeated this for the other. “How’s that love?” he asked and looked up, amazed to see her smiling, eyes closed as he stroked her legs. “It feels wonderful, just like whatshername in the story. Please carry on,” she whispered and it was his turn to grin now. He brought more cuffs out and locked them either side of her trembling knees, then secured the pairs together. Checking and finding now that she couldn’t move either limb an inch. Karl came up and she opened her eyes, lifting her bound arms over his head as they had another kiss. “No going back now love,” he said, easing the two parts of the belt round and asking her to breathe right in till he could click it shut. Of course she obeyed and he saw her flinch when the first little ‘tink’ came. Then another as he put pressure on each side. “Bit more honey, don’t want movement from your torso either”. Three clicks later he was satisfied and she felt the key being removed once he’d twisted it. “Golly that’s tight, but good too,” she moaned. Stepping away briefly Karl opened the box containing her bridal posy… and the cuffs that would be secured to the belt rather than the ones she was already wearing. These were part of the combination and he fitted them to the belt and opened both. Then Karl freed her wrists and before she could reach over for a last hug he slipped one into the padded cuff and quickly did the other. “You spoilsport” she chuckled and he grinned as the posy was handed over. Adjustments to the sleeves hid the metalwork and he reached for a mirror to show her. Rebecca was really impressed as with her hands together by her waist, the flowers really did camouflage the cuffs and she was thrilled. She now found out why there were holes in the rear panelling just above where her elbows were. Cuffs were applied, adjusted so the flat backs pressed into the fabric and locked, then Karl went behind and fed screws into the backboard. These went right into the restraints and actually pulled her arms deeper into the fabric. With the wristcuffs there as well she couldn’t move those limbs either now. “Collar next,” and she nodded, lifting her chin as ordered so the loop could be brought round. The padding gripped quite tight as she heard the lock engaging, but Karl made sure she could breathe fine before removing another key, this joining a ring on the desk. She’d hoped to be gagged during her interment but at first Karl had not approved. Only after a lot of research did he agree and secretly built a mask, replicating her face but enabling him to hide the tube for the liquid food substitute she’d be getting for the next two days. Rebecca wasn’t thrilled with the taste of the stuff, nor the fact the tube would need to go up through her nose then down the correct part of her throat. All these ideas had come off bondage sites and the pair grateful to the various authors. “I wonder if they know people bring their tales to life?” A lot of practice had taken place during the weeks leading up to this, to enable them to get it right. He approached and fitted the tube up into the box above her. Paused and acceded to her request to free the collar while it was inserted in case she retched. “Good idea honey. Should have done it first to allow you to get used to it. Want a few minutes out of there?” but he was surprised when she declined. “No, I love the feeling of being held. Just be careful mind” Rebecca replied. He nodded and gently slid it up, watching her eyes as they winced and she shook her head. “Stop! Just a moment.” and a brief coughing fit worried him. Once settled again they got it down, tested it and Miss Wilson was satisfied as he relocked the collar. “Right, last bits now and a surprise” he smiled as she wondered what it could be. Gasping as her mask appeared. “Oh wow, that’s amazing Karl” she exclaimed as he showed it to her. Explaining how it would fit over her face and be secured into the roof. The other end clipped to her collar. “OK, I’m ready then love” she said quickly, wanting SO much to be put into the coffin dressed and restrained like this. They had another snog then Karl told her to close both eyes while he put the mask over her face. She obeyed but was startled when the tongue of the gag touched her lips. “Oops, sorry, forgot to say it had that there” he said on hearing her grunt. Rebecca opened up as instructed and he slid the mask down till it clipped into the collar. It was much tighter than she thought, really pressing her head back into the padding behind. But again it was good that another piece of her body could now no longer move. He heard her breathing through the mouthhole and checked the nose pipe wasn’t trapped under the mask. “Ess. Ine.” She ‘said’ in reply to the questions. Though she did squeal as he expanded the gag to totally fill her mouth, forcing her chin hard into the base of the mask. “Uggh. Oooss it a it,” she pleaded and he took it back a notch. “Anks” Finally he brought the door round and she shuddered so much as the two locks were secured. “All done honey,” and she smiled as best she could behind the mask. He left her for a moment to settle and went off to use the bathroom. Coming back he turned the cage round to allow Rebecca to see what was coming next. She could see reasonably well through the gauze patches of the masks’ eyes and saw Karl fitting a small TV screen inside the coffin lid, just above where her face would be. He briefed the girl, saying that all this was being filmed and once she’d been ‘interred’ he’d show her the entire sequence of what they’d just been doing. Again it was something they’d read about and the lass wondered how they’d ever top this in weeks to come. She’d have to be really creative as they normally took it in turns. “Rate” she replied and he smiled then prepared the hoist, bringing it over and attaching the chains to the top of the cage. She squealed as the cage jerked into the air, swaying slightly as Karl brought it over, then Rebecca’s aspect changed as he lowered it back into the coffin. Now she could only see the ceiling and two big cobwebs on the lightshade! Karl opened the cage again then Rebecca felt hands going up her dress as he ferreted for the wastepipe ends then attached those to the box. Going back up and giving her legs a stroke. She’d have jumped a mile had her limbs not been so tightly bound. “Ice,” came the gagged squeal as he rubbed up and down and kept going till she started trembling. “Mmppph…ore” was sighed when he stopped. The cage door was closed and locked and she started as Karl attached the keys to the impressive ring then reached down and placed them amongst the posy. “Now you look after those honey,” he said and Rebecca squealed as the first part of the lid came over. Surely that was a bit over the top? She thought, watching as he came back with a drill. The girl now knowing she was moments away from her dream. Rebecca felt the first two screws going into the base then saw Karl smile as the next two were done. “Nearly there honey, farewell,” he said, bowing then the lass saw him bring the other part of the lid down. Darkness fell and she shuddered violently on hearing the last four screws being secured. She ran through it all. Bound at ankles, above and below knees, waist and elbows too. Her neck and with the top of the mask mounted from the roof pinning her head too. Plus she was gagged and plugged in all holes…well apart from her ears. Damn, that’ll be next time then! Rebecca thought. The TV screen flickered into life. Thankfully her eyes hadn’t adjusted yet to the darkness so it wasn’t too bad. The view from the camera showed her casket still on the floor. Karl sitting at the workbench with a small plate mounted on his engraving tool. “Just doing yours’ love” he said and a few minutes later he brought it over and held it to the camera so she could see it. Miss REBECCA WILSON. B 19-04-1978. D 02-07-2006. She smiled then frowned, as the 2nd was last Sunday. Today was the 7th and she quietly cursed him for getting the date wrong. He attached it to the coffin then spent the next half-hour giving the thing a damn good polishing. Rebecca soon forgot about the mistake as she saw Karl heading for the lift buttons. She trembled as the casket jerked and began to rise till it reached the level of the track. He opened the door of the furnace, the lass pleased to see he’d looked inside and checked it was the ‘off’ one of the two. Then her heart began pounding as she watched him press the other buttons and her coffin slowly slid along the track. Bumping over the ledge and she began crying as it went out of sight. The rumbling finally ceased and then the camera vibrated as it was removed from the shelf. Karl bringing it down and pointing it along the track and she could see her casket again in the dim orange light inside. Miss Wilson watched as the coffin moved sideways now, sliding out of sight and she felt it jerk and clunk after it had stopped. The camera came inside and scanned to the left. Rebecca seeing two small chocks had appeared and now held it into position. Her view changed as he retreated out onto the track and began loading more caskets from the other furnace until her’s was full up. So not only was she helplessly locked inside a casket, deep inside a furnace, more blocked any way out. Now she watched as Karl slowly forced the heavy door shut. Easing the three massive bolts across and Rebecca began to groan at the enormity of what was to come. Just after the subsequent movie from his laptop finished Karl switched off the main lights and went out the door, leaving his very pretty girlfriend there while he went off to guard the place.

Bondage Burial

Tue, 14 Aug 2012 00:00:00 +0000

Somebody's Game

Fri, 20 Jul 2012 00:00:00 +0000

She’d only opened the door a crack before the two women outside had barged their way inside, sending Georgia reeling backwards as she was caught by the force of the door being flung open. She had landed on her arse with a bump and sat shocked in disbelief looking up at the two women, now inside her home. The first thing she noticed was the gun being brandished ahead of her.

Somebody's Game

Fri, 20 Jul 2012 00:00:00 +0000

Fiona's Fetish becomes Flora's Folly

Sun, 08 Jul 2012 00:00:00 +0000

Part 1

It wasn’t a case of getting above herself, but Fiona Mackie believed she was becoming a very good bondage model. She simply loved it and having sent a few portfolios of her tied across her bed by a boyfriend she’d once dated, out on the internet, soon found that there were some seriously good photographers. Within a year she was able to pick and choose her work from a select group of guys and one gal.

Buried Time and Again

Sat, 30 Jun 2012 00:00:00 +0000

Beep Beep Beep

As my eyes adjusted I realized that it was my alarm clock going off. ‘Ugh 7:30am again’, I thought? But this day seemed strangely familiar, I just couldn’t place my finger on it?

Brad was already up and out of bed, again strange I thought, Brad never gets up early on his day off? I heard hammering down stairs, most likely in his work shop. I’ll go down and make him a nice breakfast.

Buried Time and Again

Sat, 30 Jun 2012 00:00:00 +0000

Beep Beep Beep

As my eyes adjusted I realized that it was my alarm clock going off. ‘Ugh 7:30am again’, I thought? But this day seemed strangely familiar, I just couldn’t place my finger on it?

Friends Like These

Sun, 10 Jun 2012 00:00:00 +0000

Georgia had been having a good evening with her friend Susan. Nothing special, a nice simple night in at Susan’s house after work, a few bottles of wine, some girly chat and relaxing. They had made themselves comfortable on the sofa and were idly chatting. Georgia had noticed a shinny black bag, clumsily hidden between the armchair and the sofa a short time after getting comfortable. She was intrigued and now she was itching to get a sneaky peek inside.

Friends Like These

Sun, 10 Jun 2012 00:00:00 +0000

The Sleeping Beauty

Mon, 04 Oct 2010 00:00:00 +0000

With love and thanks to Grimm Searcher for the original idea, and for his keen eye.

“Party time! Come and let’s get ready Caroline” called Jess.

We were going to a party. We’d been planning it for weeks, with another couple, Simon and Rebecca. They had a bigger house, so they had the venue. We’d organised caterers, a bar, a great DJ we all knew from University days.

I’d spent ages looking for something great to wear, and had eventually found a gorgeous dress in a stall in Camden market - strapless black with a pink rose print. Jess said it made me look even more amazingly gorgeous, but then she was a little biased.

The Premature Burial

Wed, 30 Jun 2010 00:00:00 +0000

A thump, like something soft but heavy hitting wood woke her up. It was followed by another and another, in quick succession. Groggily, she considered turning over to get more comfortable; she was lying on her back, and usually she didn’t sleep on her back. The thumping kept coming; it seemed very close, but she was sure now that it was receding, and she dozed. She was irritated at being woken, and her position wasn’t the most comfortable, but right now she just wanted to go back to sleep. The thumps were getting quieter and more muffled now, ans she realised that her irritation was not helping her doze off again. Slowly, her head began to clear. She opened her eyes but no light entered them. She lifted her head, trying to get her bearings. Her forehead bumped into something hard immediately after leaving the pillow. Her hands, which had been clasped together just below her breasts, flew upward to investigate, meeting a solid panel, mere inches above her body. Frantically, she explored her surroundings with her hands. Above her was a solid ceiling, timber from the sound of it, and it didn’t sound hollow beyond. Cloth enclosed her to the left and right, padding underneath her, but again what sounded like timber and solidity beyond. Suddenly realisation took hold. She was in a coffin. And the thumps, now that she was able to process the sound properly, were those of dirt being shovelled on top of her. The sound was barely audible now, very soon there would be only silence. The silence of the grave. She panicked, desperately hitting the lid of the coffin with her hands, knees and feet. It was no use; there was insufficient room to get a good swing, and the sound of her fist-falls seemed to be deadened by the weight of the dirt above. Her desperate shouts seemed too to be swallowed up in the earth that had taken her. Several times she stopped to listen for the sound of a spade on the coffin lid, and each time she was disappointed. Trying to hit the sides and lid of the coffin hard enough to be heard was wearing her out, and her knuckles felt raw. She was growing hoarse from shouting as well; her chest was heavy; her ribs sore. She told herself to get a grip and stop panicking. She realised she would run out of air soon, and she needed to figure out what was going on. First she started to properly survey her surroundings. Feeling around, she learned little that she hadn’t already established; it was definitely shaped and upholstered like a coffin, narrow at the feet and head, wider at the chest, and quite small; there was very little spare room. Figures, she thought. No expense wasted. She struggled to remember anything that had led up to finding herself here. The last thing she could recall was being at her boyfriend’s house on Friday night, having a quiet glass of wine before dinner. At least the boy could cook. Oh my God, she thought, did I drive home drunk? What happened to me? She started to examine herself. Touching her head and face, nothing seemed to hurt. Her arms and legs, within the confines of the space she was in, all did what they were asked without protest. The only pain she could feel was that inflicted in the panic of the last few minutes. Surely, an accident capable of making her appear dead would have caused other injuries? Surveying her body brought another surprise. She was laced tightly into her favourite leather corset, the one that went low over her hips and high over her shoulders, covering her breasts. Well, that explained her shortness of breath; in her panic she hadn’t even noticed that her chest was so confined. Tight, high-waisted jeans that she had bought especially to go with a corset, covered her from her waist down, belted firmly around the thinnest part of her waist. Her hands could not reach past her tightly clad thighs in the confined space, but she could feel that her ankles were held down, by what she figured must be her highest heeled boots. Tapping the heels against the sides of the coffin confirmed this suspicion. Oh-kay, she thought. Surely her parents would not have dressed her like this for her own funeral? It would have been as the pretty, innocent thing they would like to imagine her as, not as the darker, kinkier character she actually was. Parents can be so self-deluding, she thought. Slowly the pieces started to fall into place. She remembered how she had locked herself into small closet many years ago, and how even though the door was far from airtight the air had got stuffy within a few minutes. She had panicked, and broken the latch to get out. She was sure that closet was bigger than the space she currently occupied. And if this really was her funeral, the lid would have been on the coffin for hours or even days. Yet, although slightly clammy, the air was cool, and once she’d calmed down and stopped fighting the corset, she was having no difficulty breathing. Suddenly, she recalled the conversation she had with Dave, her boyfriend of the last year. It had been over a month ago; it was late in the evening, and they had both been a little tipsy at the time, but not so drunk as to not take it seriously. They had been talking about their deepest, darkest fantasies and fears. Her fantasy, and fear, had been to be buried alive, to feel that there was no possibility of escape. She didn’t want to die; the death part wasn’t part of the scenario, but the possibility, or even inevitability of it was. Many times she had tried unsuccessfully to reconcile what she considered her morbid, self-destructive fantasies, with her strong will to live and real concern for the welfare of other people. Her obsession with danger had formed an itch that needed to be scratched; climbing trees, and later cliffs had provided partial relief; the danger was there, but she always felt she had the choice at each point to take that next step or not. What if she couldn’t get down? From a young age she had tied herself up, even suspending herself by the wrists, ankles or both. Always she loved it, and always she wanted more. But always, that sense of self preservation prevented her from achieving what she wanted, to really feel like she could not escape. A couple of times, her self-bondage had gone wrong, escape mechanisms had failed and she was left fighting for her life. Each time, that will to live had kicked in, and once she had control over her panic, she had been able to escape, finding a weak point in her bonds to break out of, or discovering the inner strength to stand the pain of pulling out of what she had previously assumed was an inescapable cuff. Those events had both thrilled her, and disappointed her. The disappointments were two-fold and contradictory; she could not genuinely feel the despair of a truly inescapable situation, and yet she was angry at herself for failing to properly ensure her own safety. Then she had met Dave. After several unsuccessful relationships, she had finally met someone who understood her needs. They had started with simple bondage during sex, and as they had become more comfortable playing together, she had convinced him to bind her more strictly and for longer periods. But still, she felt safe. Too safe. Now that sense of safety was returning. Of course this was Dave’s work. Who else would have done it? Or could have done it? She was in her own clothes, and Dave was the last person she’d seen. He must have put something in her drink. And yet, she had heard the earth being shovelled in on top of her; the sides and lid of the coffin sounded solid from the pressure of the surrounding dirt. There was no give in any direction, not that she could get much leverage. Yet there was air. She could feel a slight draft around her face, or was she imagining it? But it was clear the air was not getting stale, despite how long she had remained down here. Again she relaxed. An air supply meant that, barring accidents, she wasn’t going to die here, at least not from suffocation. This must be just another bondage scene. Now she started to examine the parameters of her incarceration. While she had air, there didn’t appear to be anything else. Obviously, the coffin was vented in some way, but the other elements of life support didn’t appear to be present. Food, water and waste collection would be required for an indefinite stay, and these didn’t appear to be present. That must mean that she would be released soon, before dehydration took its deadly toll. Or perhaps it meant that Dave was out of his depth, and she really was in danger. Maybe this was a drunken stunt. What if he didn’t know what he was doing? What if it wasn’t Dave at all? Again she panicked, yelling and thumping on the lid. She called on Dave to let her out, calling him all sorts of names. Only the silence replied. Soon the panic attack subsided, but she was still scared. And thrilled. Torn between these two visceral emotions, another stirred. She was getting aroused. She started stroking her body. Her breasts were enclosed by the heavy structure of the corset; she could squeeze them a little, but they were already well compressed. Her hands drifted own between her legs. Her fingers reached the waist of her jeans, but the belt was too tight to admit more than the tips. She started to undo the belt, only to discover that the buckle would not let go; feeling around, she felt a thick plastic loop, probably an electrical cable tie, alongside the buckle prong. Without tools, there was no way to open it. Pressing on her crotch, she found that there was more than just her jeans covering her most intimate parts; the denim itself was thick, but there was more, some kind of padding. Her rear was similarly covered. Realisation dawned; she was in some kind of diaper, held in place by the corset and jeans. Further investigation revealed what felt like the edge seams of a heavy, long-leg pantie-girdle beneath her jeans and corset, adding extra security to the diaper. Worse, there seemed to be something hard between the girdle and diaper, reducing any movement applied to the sensitive spots she most wanted to reach right now to a dull pressure around the whole area. She reached up to her waist again, this time seeking to unzip her fly and put her hand under her jeans; she wasn’t hopeful of any kind of success even if she could get in, and was not surprised to find another cable tie wrapped around the base of the button, firmly capturing both the corresponding button hole and the end of the zipper pull. Defeated, she tried again to reach her breasts. She was surprised to find that the zip that closed the corset at the front was secured with another tie through the pull and two small, freshly installed grommets at either side of the zip. The corset was scoop-necked, but sat high over her breasts; without a shirt, cleavage would be visible, but her sensitive nipples were far inside the enclosing leather. That cleavage was formed by pushing her breasts up as far as they would comfortably go; there was no real hope of lifting them further. Even if she couldn’t get a hand to her nipples, maybe she could massage the bare flesh of the tops of her breasts, currently protected by the fabric of the tight, long-sleeved turtle-necked top underneath the corset. Sliding her hand under the neck of the shirt, she discovered that the base of the neck had a thick line of some sort threaded through it, no doubt knotted somewhere under the corset. It wasn’t tight, but there wasn’t going to be enough room to reach in. The other way of getting past the corset was to undo the laces. She twisted her body, struggling to get an arm behind her in the confined space. There wasn’t quite enough room to rotate her shoulders to lie on her side, let along roll on her stomach, so she had to hold the twisted position and arch her back. She felt up and down the lacing for the knot, expecting to find it at the small of her back. Instead, the lacing continued uninterrupted down her spine and into her jeans. Through the denim, she could feel a small knot at the bottom of the corset, safely out of reach of any probing finger. From the size of the knot and the lack of other bumps, it seemed the loose ends of the laces had been cut short after being tied off. That route too was barred. Before removing her arm from the its uncomfortable position underneath her, she felt the laces. These felt different to what she remembered, thinner, but more slippery. They had been replaced, probably with some kind of nylon cord. She sliced at it wit her fingernails, but feeling no sign of abrasion on the taut fibres, brought her arm back out in front of her. Frustrated, she reached back down over he crotch and rubbed vigorously, trying to get some relief from the arousal she now felt. She so wanted to put her finger on her clitoris, circling it gently while squeezing and playing with her nipples. She wanted to slide her finger in and out of her love tunnel until her body convulsed in ecstasy. If only these activities were not denied from her by the sturdiness of her own clothes and the shield over her mound. Harder and harder she rubbed, trying to get enough vibration in her whole lower region to put herself over the edge. Her other hand alternated between wrestling with the leather covering her breasts, and banging on the lid of the coffin, shouting obscenities at whoever may or may not be listening. Now she just wanted to get out of the box, out of the ground, and out of these confounded clothes. And again, she was to be denied. Eventually, she tired and calmed down, and again took stock of her situation. Her stomach grumbled. The rat, she thought. The reason she couldn’t remember anything after that first glass of wine was that she must have been out cold soon after. Dave must have spiked her drink. And that meant she wouldn’t have eaten; in fact she hadn’t had much for lunch either. Since she’d had a bowel movement that day, it did mean she wasn’t going to need to go number twos any time soon. Number ones would be taken care of by the diaper, for a while at least. It also meant that she didn’t need to be released any time soon. Food and water were her remaining concerns. She was not wearing a watch, and couldn’t read one anyway in the pitch darkness. She tried to track the time; surely she had been here for nearly an hour now. She had no idea how long she was out, but figured that Dave must have worked reasonably quickly; surely he wouldn’t endanger her life by keeping her drugged for too long? He must have prepared this, the only things remaining being to get her changed, and put her in the hole, an hour tops. That meant it was maybe around nine or ten p.m. Friday, with the weekend ahead of her. He wouldn’t keep her in here for two whole days? Would he? She tried to relax, telling herself there was nothing more she could do, and she would just have to wait it out. Just try to sleep, make the time go faster. She was tired after all the exertion; if only she could turn over, get more comfortable. Not that she was too uncomfortable, as the bottom of the coffin was padded, but she was not used to sleeping on her back. Actually, she really wanted to curl up into a foetal position right now. She laid her hands by her sides, allowed her head to flop to one side, and tried to sleep. Sleep came, but it was fitful, and full of frightening dreams. Once, she was sure the lid was collapsing; she woke in a cold sweat, screaming. It was an hour before she could drift off again. Other times she tried to turn over, bumping her shoulders or head against the lid. She fought the unyielding casket, until she woke enough to get a grip on herself. And so the hours passed. She had no idea how long she had been there when she started to notice her mouth was dry. Cold sweats and frightened bouts of anger and fruitless yelling and thumping on the coffin lid had taken its toll. The air was moist, which had kept dehydration at bay for this long, but now she was losing that battle. She realised she would have to relax if she was to last until she was released. If she was released. The only indications that this was anything other than a true premature burial was the continuing supply of cool, moist air, and the clothes she was wearing; the latter had other possible explanations. It had been hours since she had heard the last distant thud of earth being shovelled into the hole, and maybe she had imagined that. She was only assuming that because they had discussed burial, and not even at great length, that this was a bondage scene and not something much more sinister. Dave might not even be involved. Nightmare scenarios again flooded her mind. Perhaps she had been kidnapped; her parents were well off, as were Dave’s; they might be good for a ransom. Worse, they might not be as well off as they appeared; they worked hard at businesses that looked prosperous, but could just as easily be on shaky financial ground. After all the recession had taken many formerly successful business people down. What if they couldn’t pay? Perhaps Dave was lying right beside her, in his own nameless grave, the also victim of a kidnapping, or worse? Perhaps Dave wasn’t all he appeared? Maybe he was a psychopath, enjoying making his victims suffer before cutting off their air? She told herself to calm down, resisting the urge to again scream and bang on the lid. Worrying was useless; it didn’t matter what the true situation was, she just had to survive as long as possible. Eventually, she was able to drift off again into a restless sleep. A splash on her temple awoke her abruptly. Confused, she lifted her hand to her face, feeling the remains of the drop below her ear, and licking the dampness off her finger. As she did so, another drip hit her squarely on the bridge of her nose, splashing her eyes and cheeks. She put her hand to the lid of the coffin above her face; it was damp. More drips came, again splashing on her face, before she realised that she needed water, and opened her mouth to catch them. Soon the drips had become a weak but steady stream. The water seemed sweet to her parched mouth, and she swallowed the water hungrily. Maybe she was being watered deliberately. That was the obvious thought as it continued to stream into her mouth. She put her hand up to the lid above her experimentally, sensing what she thought was a crack, or a hole where the water was coming through. She didn’t know if it had been there before; she hadn’t been looking for such detail when she first explored her surroundings. Again, the alternatives filled her mind, building on their earlier constructions. What if it had started raining; waterlogged earth could collapse the lid of the coffin, blocking her air supply and crushing the life out of her. The water was showing no signs of abating; she felt she had to get as much of it as she could, just in case it stopped. What if it didn’t stop, and the coffin started to fill? As she thought this, the flow started to dribble. She was still a little thirsty, and she desperately reached up to the source of the flow to lick away at the last drops. She had been expecting disaster from drowning, and now the water had stopped before she was satisfied. It meant a longer lease of life, but how much? Would there be water again? And would it stop? Now she knew death from dehydration was several days away. And she wondered if the sweetness was just due to the how welcome the water was in her parched mouth, or if there was something in it. But that brought another fear. She had heard of hunger strikers going for over a month without food. She had to hold onto the belief that this was just Dave giving her what she asked for, but a supply of water as well as air meant that he could keep her here for weeks. They had discussed a fantasy, not a scene, and they had not set any limits. Again she had to work hard to calm herself. Boy, was he a dead man when she got out of this hole! And damn it, how could he give her a scene this long where she could not get herself off? It was inhuman! Her arousal and frustration were building again. She reflected that the fact this just made her hornier. If she had got off the first time she reached down there, so many hours ago, she probably wouldn’t even be thinking about it now. Hours? How many? How she wished she had some way of tracking time. Sleep, when she could get any, was good for passing the time; there wasn’t much else to do except think of ways things could get worse, or to rub fruitlessly at the clothing covering her sensitive parts. She she had no idea how long she had been asleep, and therefore no idea how long she had been in the coffin. In fact, she didn’t even have a handle on how long she had been awake. As the hours, or days, ticked past, she could measure time only by water; she had no real idea how often the water came. She was thirsty all the time, and the brief drinks of water she was getting were enough to get her back to the state she was after the previous one, but she was always thirsty. And increasingly hungry. It left her feeling utterly more powerless; she was totally dependant on outside agencies for her very survival, and she couldn’t even be sure who or what those agencies were. The water might still be from passing rain showers; logic said they were too regular for that, but logic also said that in the monotonous stillness of the coffin, she had no real indication of what “regular” was. And still she was being made to suffer. The constant thirst was one thing, her hunger another. Keeping the same position hour after hour in the small space was taking its toll as well; her buttocks were starting to hurt, and the rigidity of the corset, and especially the impressions formed by the rear boning and lacing, were making their presence felt. She was starting to feel dirty. She had urinated into the diaper several times, holding onto it as long as she could before letting go. It felt clammy around her; she imagined the urine pooling under her; probably most of the feelings of dirtiness were in her mind, but it didn’t feel good. The creases in her body felt like they were filling with gunk, and she craved a hot bath. Her feet had been sweating since not long after she first woke up; the stiff, lace-up boots were patent leather, not known for being breathable. Or its flexibility; she struggled against the firm leather to rotate her ankles and keep her calves from cramping up. She worried that her sanity was also going to suffer. Of course prisoners kept in solitary confinement don’t go crazy immediately, she told herself. But still, in the absence of any real stimulation, she worried. She was now sure that the water was artificially sweetened; this meant that she was getting energy as well as liquid. It also meant that possibly, hunger wouldn’t be the limiting factor on how long she stayed here after all. She shuddered at the thought. Malnutrition would get her in the end, but that could be months away, especially if there was more than just sugar in the water. She would be a gibbering, emaciated wreck by then. Infections were a likely cause of an earlier, lingering and painful death, if she didn’t lose the will to live sooner. And yet, amid all this morbidity, she was as horny as Hell. It kept her awake when she craved oblivion. Damn it, if she could just get enough movement into that shield! The sensory deprivation was getting to her too; there was nothing to see, and all she could hear was the sounds made by her own body. Her breathing and heartbeat, normally so quiet and easily ignored, seemed to fill her small cavity in the earth. The only identifiable smell was her own sweat, and she was soon used to that. Her only option was to squirm around; rubbing life back into the pressure points of her buttocks and shoulders, difficult to manage in the small space. If only she could just roll over! The pressure points from all the tight clothing was starting to get a bit raw too, and there was little she could do about that. She felt she was getting more sensitive; she pulled her sleeves up and stroked her forearms. Damn, that tickled! But maybe she could stimulate parts of her body other than the obvious ones, maybe she could even manage an orgasm. Please! She played with her earlobes, pretending it was the hand of a lover; the nape of her neck also afforded a certain sensuality. Closer to convention, she tried rubbing her inner thighs through her jeans and the girdle beneath them; that afforded a small but unsatisfactory reaction. She couldn’t help but to put her hand back on her crotch, and shake the unyielding shield violently again. With her other hand stroking her neck and earlobes, she was getting more stimulated, but that all important release still seemed so far away. Now she fought the coffin as well. She pulled her knees up so that they banged on the side of the coffin, while her heels connected with the other side. He shoulder contacted the lid. She kicked both sides of the coffin, tearing the fabric with her heel. Harder she rubbed herself; as she felt she was making headway. Just as she was feeling as if there might possibly be a chance of success this time, water splashed onto her neck from above. Damn it! Not now! Still, she had to stop and drink, lapping the water from the lid of the coffin. This time the water did not leave her unsatisfied. She kept drinking, until she could feel that she was no longer thirsty. As she lapped at the point where the water was coming through, a drop hit her squarely between they eyes. The flow diminished from the previous point, but kept dripping, but now it was dripping from other points above her face and around the head area of the coffin. This was different and it worried her. What if it didn’t stop? Worse, there didn’t seem to be anywhere she could go to avoid at least some of the drips. Had something broken? Or was her assumption that the water supply was artificial been wrong all along? Why change now? She shuddered; the violence of the last few minutes might have broken something. Perhaps she had weakened the lid; might it collapse on her at any moment? The dripping was unpleasant, unavoidable, and utterly frightening. She resolved to stop banging or pressuring the coffin’s sides and lid, lest she upset anything else that was keeping her alive, and try to relax. That was difficult with the water dripping on her, and the pillow and mattress under her head and shoulders was getting quite damp. It seemed to be slowing though, and she thought that now she had relaxed, the problem had sorted itself out. Now the drips were just occasional, sometimes up to a minute apart, but seemingly random.; she was reminded of the so-called Chinese water torture; there was no way she would be able to sleep like this. She was getting more agitated by the moment, frightened at the change, angry at the drips for being just so persistent, and angry at herself for possibly damaging whatever arrangement was keeping her alive. The longer she tried to control herself, the harder it was. Again, she tried to distract herself by playing with herself, trying to get a sensation stronger than the that of cold water on her head and face. It was no use; after nearly an hour of struggling to control herself, she lashed out again at the wooden enclosure, getting a grip on herself a few moments later, before breaking down in tears instead. She just wanted this to stop. She wished she had never mentioned her fantasy to Dave, wished she had never met him, wished she had never tied herself up. She would do anything to live a normal, kink-free life, if she could just get out of this infernal box. As her tears dried, she noticed that she hadn’t been dripped on for a while; the lid was still damp, but no new drops appeared to be forming. She also noticed that it was getting noticeably warmer. Now what, she thought, had her latest outburst damaged the air supply? As time passed, the temperature rose; now she was sweating, and starting to breath heavily. The air was definitely stale too. The air supply that had sustained her for so long was no more, and now she knew this was the the beginning of the end. She was fighting the corset for every breath now, her chest was heavy, her ribs sore. It was just a matter of time before she passed out. And yet, her arousal was making its presence known again. She had heard of auto-erotic asphyxiation, and maybe this was her last chance for that release that had been denied her for so long. She reached to her privates and breasts again, rubbing and squeezing for all she was worth. Her chest was screaming, breathing faster and faster, trying to get far more air than the corset would ever allow. She couldn’t tell if the roaring in her head was from her own building sensations, from lack of oxygen or the endorphins from the pain of suffocation; probably all three. Still she rubbed herself for all she was worth; probably the act was doing more than the actual sensation induced, but it was all she had. Then suddenly, it arrived. The orgasm crashed over her, seemingly for several minutes. She had done it, she could stop breathing now, as if she had any energy left to do so. Her head lolled to one side as she waited for death to claim her. Her head snapped forward again moments later, as suddenly her still, silent world was filled with noise and violence. Her last thought was that the coffin must have finally caved in and it was finally over; she felt only relief as her consciousness departed. She awoke in a bed. Soft pillows, proper bedding, a night dress. Light, curtains pulled, but definitely daylight. Her body hurt, but it was a good hurt, one of old pain diminishing, not of serious injury. Dave was there. He put his hand on her head to re-assure her. It felt comfortable, for now. “You’re OK,” he said, “Just relax.” She pulled herself up. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Buster,” she said, trying to be angry but not quite getting the venom into her voice. “And I will, later. Now you’re awake, I’ll get you some breakfast.” “What time is it?” she asked as he turned for the door. “Tuesday.” “Thanks.” It was all she needed right now. She would miss days of work, but didn’t care. She would worry about that later. It was a serious breakfast. She hadn’t eaten for over three days, and she wolfed it down hungrily. Dave refused to serve her more, telling her that she would get a good lunch, but right now she needed to digest what she had just eaten. “So,” he asked, “did you enjoy your little fantasy?” She wanted to kill him right now. Painfully. Messily. But the answer that passed her lips surprised her. “Yes,” she said quietly. “But promise you’ll never pull something like that again. I could have died.” He promised. But then he invited her to see exactly what her situation had been. In the middle of the garage stood a large but low metal skip, filled with earth. The skip had an angled end to allow its contents to be tipped out, and this end faced the garage door. Just beyond that lay the coffin, attached to a kind of sled, still connected via a steel cable to Dave’s four-wheel drive in the driveway where it had been dragged from the skip. The lid lay to one side. The garage was at the back of the house, and hard to see from the neighbours, so Dave hadn’t needed to clear away the mess after getting her out. Dave pointed out the various attachments to monitor the temperature, oxygen and moisture content inside the coffin, and to ventilate and control gas mixture. A gas cylinder lay alongside the bench with the computer and monitoring equipment. “I’m proud of that,” he said. “I never cut off your air at the end; I just increased the carbon dioxide level to around ten percent and upped the moisture content and temperature. Did you know your suffocation reflexes are triggered by excess CO2, not a lack of oxygen?” She muttered that she did know that. She had to accept that it was clever, though, and she really had thought she was suffocating in there. Dave continued, “you see you weren’t really buried in a hole; we just heaped the dirt on top, and kept things very quiet. So we were sure we would be able to just pull you out quickly if anything went wrong. And there is an infra-red camera and microphones in the coffin, so we could see and hear you.” “What do you mean by ‘we’?” she asked, suspiciously. “Patrick.” A good friend of Dave’s, and a pharmacist. That explained the drugs. “He’s a bit kinky too. We were both here the whole time, in case something went wrong. If one of us needed to sleep, we slept in that camp bed there.” “OK, well done. But what about my job? Did you call me in sick or what?” “Better than that, I arranged a vacation for the week. And I asked your boss not to tell anyone, as it was to be a surprise. She’s a good sport, you know.” “But a week?” “Yes, are you up for more play? Or how does a holiday away sound?” “You complete and utter bastard,” she told him. “You scare me out of my wits, keep me locked up, frightened and hurting for three days, and then you expect me to come away with you as if I’m going to forgive you? You’re completely crazy. “But, yes, let’s go. Can I bring some toys?”

The Premature Burial

Wed, 30 Jun 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Engineering Mistake

Wed, 02 Dec 2009 00:00:00 +0000

John finally hit the enter key on his PC. That was the last line of code for the programming of his new machine. He created it for his partner David who was a huge fan of mummification. He decided to make Davids mummification easier and better, he’d use his skills as a selfmade engineer work for his benefit.

He’d studied on his own, taken some classes online, but never finished any formal training. His day job as a Property Inspector helped keep the two of them financially stable. David volunteered in most local theater productions, both onstage and behind the scenes. He did have a parttime job at a local store to help out.

The White Casket

Sun, 09 Mar 2008 00:00:00 +0000

The white casket was a thing of beauty, and when HE locked me in it, it was my own, private, bondage prison.

There would be no use telling you our real names – we’d just be another pair of names in the bondage world. Not much different than anybody else who was into bondage. So I shall always refer to my Master as ‘HE’.

We met on the Internet, in one of the many bondage chat rooms. HE took a liking to my profile, and sought me out, asking me – TELLING me to meet him in the private bondage chat room at ten o’clock that night. The private chat room could be set up so that nobody except those you approved, could read your messages while you were ‘in session’.

Buried Alive

Wed, 02 Jan 2008 00:00:00 +0000

It was the strangest thing, ever since he could remember, Alex had always been utterly fascinated by the concept of being buried alive. He didn`t know why, but he found the thought unbelievably exciting. The finality of it, the act of supreme dominance & control over someone, the act of putting them into the ground & into a position where there would truly be no coming back. It fired him up as nothing ever had done but still he could not fathom why the concept appealed to him so much.

Buried Alive

Wed, 02 Jan 2008 00:00:00 +0000

Cindy's Revenge

Sat, 02 Sep 2006 00:00:00 +0000

Cindy’s Revenge is a sequel based on the characters used in Beauty in Repose by Evil-Dolly

I’d known the day for Cindy’s burial was not that far away by the fact her grave next to mine had now been fully dug out. The shiny scarlet coffin prepared and her headstone, currently and conveniently covered by a drape had been placed at the head of the shallow pit Harriet had dug to my left. Now there would be four of us in there. Carrie, Jessica, myself. That’s Charlotte by the way…glad I can still remember my name and then her. I’d said before in a morbid sense I was looking forward to watch her swan into the shed in her wedding gown looking so perfect…like me. Be gently coaxed into her coffin…like me. Then suffer the awful shattering truth as the game was played out to its bitter end…like me.

Cindy's Revenge

Sat, 02 Sep 2006 00:00:00 +0000

Cindy’s Revenge is a sequel based on the characters used in Beauty in Repose by Evil-Dolly

Beauty's Rescue

Wed, 30 Aug 2006 00:00:00 +0000

Beauty’s Rescue is a sequel based on the characters in Beauty in Repose

It had been three months since Cindy had joined the others entombed under the garden. She, like the others, had kind of gotten used to being buried, sort of. She loved to watch their “Catherine,” funny, she never thought she would be so totally dependent on another person, especially not a woman. She had loved being her lover, making love on the bed. Now she knew that their Catherine was out looking for another girl. Another girl to add to her growing collection of girls, it seemed. Cindy could sometimes look at the four headstones, all in a row, wonder if the other girls were still down there, still quite alive. She was not sure that anything was true any more. The only thing she truly missed was her locket, she had not worn it the day she was buried. It must still be on the bedside table. Her great-grandmother’s beautiful gold locket, with the picture of her parents in it. She could see it on the table if she looked hard enough in the view of the bedroom.

Beauty's Rescue

Wed, 30 Aug 2006 00:00:00 +0000

Beauty’s Rescue is a sequel based on the characters in Beauty in Repose

Three Strikes 2

Sun, 23 Jul 2006 00:00:00 +0000

Please read the first story before reading this sequal

***

“Come on Joe, get that net up!”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you!” The winch on the old fishing boat groaned and creaked as it was turned to full speed. Smoke began to belch as it continued hauling in the large net that was dragging in the ocean far below.

“I’m not sure the winch can take it!”

The captain was not daunted. “It’ll take it! Just relax already!”

The Funeral

Mon, 20 Mar 2006 00:00:00 +0000

Kate is a beautiful thirty year old woman. Kate’s friends envied her long blonde hair. Everyone knew Kate as a fun, life loving woman. What they did not know about were her dark desires. Kate’s fantasy revolved around death. She married a mortician so that she could be around death all of the time.

Kate would be at work with her husband and orgasm from seeing the dead bodies in the caskets. She did not have a desire to have sex with the dead. Kate’s fantasies was to be one of the dead. Kate’s husband, Mark, knew about these fantasies. After work they would climb into a casket and have sex. Kate even had Mark bring a casket home for her pleasure. When Mark was away on business Kate would sleep in the coffin. She would lay in the coffin, playing with her pussy, thinking about dying.

The Funeral

Mon, 20 Mar 2006 00:00:00 +0000

Hi There!

Thu, 02 Feb 2006 00:00:00 +0000

Special thanks to the members of the Gromet’s plaza forum, who helped edit this story.

Oh, hello there! Who am I you ask? Oh, no one in particular. My name’s not important, considering where I am right now. Where am I you might ask? Well, that’s simple. I’m currently ten feet underground, lying inside a casket. Oh, and I should also mention that i’m mummified from head to toe in four layers of white bandages. What am I doing down here? Oh my, what a story. Best to go back to the beginning… For the past five years of my life, I’ve… I’m sorry, was, a slave to the most wonderful man i’ve ever met. I was homeless at the time and down on my luck.

Three Strikes

Thu, 02 Feb 2006 00:00:00 +0000

Working for a mafia godfather was not all fun and glamour. Forget what you see in the movies or read in the books.

It’s not an easy job. In fact, it’s a dangerous job. Just ask Julia. If she could talk, she would tell you that it’s not a job any person should take.

Too bad she hadn’t thought of that before she got in.

It had been simple. Immigrate to America after running from the cops in Italy. She should have been caught at Ellis Island , but thanks to her mafia connections, she had been able to convince the officials to look the other way.

Three Strikes (alternate ending)

Thu, 02 Feb 2006 00:00:00 +0000

Three strikes alternate ending (not the official ending)

Thanks to Tiedash for inspiring this alternate ending

The ship was waiting at the pier, the large crate sat on the docks, with the words “Fine china” stenciled onto its side.

This was the target crate that Julia needed to get. Luckily, there were no guards at the pier at this time of night. It was just her, the truck, and the trolley.

Love Through The Ages

Mon, 10 Oct 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Love through the ages - Part One Based on an original idea by Wrappers Delight

I watch as my princess takes a stroll in the palace gardens. Her beautiful golden hair flowing onto her white gown as she soundlessly walks over the marble. I watch her mesmerizing form from here in the palace. I cannot join her. Even though I am a priestess, my princess is my superior, and I have no right to join her. But my love for her is not diminished by this cruel fact. She is the one whom I protect from the evil spirits of the world. She barely knows of my existence, having seen me only a few times during her young life. At age twenty-five, she is still a child in my eyes, one who needs protection from the harsh world that would rob her of her innocence. And I am the one who will do that.

The Machine Part 4

Sat, 06 Aug 2005 00:00:00 +0000

It’s probably a good idea to read the previous machine stories, to get an idea of how the device works (which is not covered here). And in case you’re wondering, this story does not feature permenant encasment.

The Machine 4 by Darkraptor1 Based off an original idea by Naughtylittlegirl

It was a dark and stormy Friday night. The dark clouds covered the night sky, sending down torrents of rain upon the earth below.

The Machine Part 4

Sat, 06 Aug 2005 00:00:00 +0000

The Machine 4 by Darkraptor1 Based off an original idea by Naughtylittlegirl

It was a dark and stormy Friday night. The dark clouds covered the night sky, sending down torrents of rain upon the earth below.

My Lovely Slave Marie 4

Sun, 12 Jun 2005 00:00:00 +0000

As this is my first real packaged story, I would appreciate any feedback regarding what I got right, and what I got wrong. I tried to focus on a human relationship, with the packaging being an element that added to the fun. I hope you all enjoy this story, as I had fun writing it. A special thanks goes to Tiedash, who proof read the first two parts of the story.

Jenny's Delight

Fri, 05 Sep 2003 00:00:00 +0000

After an evening at home entertaining, Jenny discovers the joys of mummification, but gets more than she bargained for when things start to go wrong…

Part 1: Jenny’s Introduction

Hi, my name’s Jenny and my introduction to the joys of mummification bondage started when my husband, John invited his friend Mike over for the evening. We’d had a few drinks and talked a lot, mostly about Mike and his recent marriage break-up. He kept saying that his wife, Sally had changed but wouldn’t go into any details. We had a few more drinks and decided to go inside and watch a video. While I got some food together, John sorted out the video we were going to see, grabbing some nibbles I walked into the lounge and placed the food down on the coffee table in front of Mike. John then turned the video on and we watched the film, it wasn’t has good as we’d thought it would be, so we decided to change it.

Beauty in Repose