Derek:

“Derek?” I recognised that tone of voice – kind of wheedling, like she wanted something expensive or was going to own up to denting the car or something. We had just had sex so she must have been thinking I'd agree to anything.

“Yes, Jenny?”

“I have a confession to make ...” She was even more hesitant than usual and I paid attention, maybe this was something big. I encouraged her to carry on.

“The thing is,” she said eventually, “I have this really kinky idea, its driving me mad, but I think you'll freak.”

As she was still naked, with her hands and arms bound tight behind her back, whip marks on her buttocks and my cum splashed across her face and chest, her ‘kinky idea’ would have to go some to freak me out.

My wife is a wonderful woman – flame red hair, alabaster-white skin, perfect petite body, very intelligent, great sense of humour. We have known each other for thirteen years and been married nearly ten and I am eternally grateful that she trusted me enough to tell me about her bondage fetish – something she’d never told anyone else. Luckily, being a cool analytical type, I had not freaked out or seen it as an opportunity to abuse her, but had asked all the right questions and taken my lead from her. I was a bit nervous and unsure when we first tried it, but I could see just how much it turned her on and that meant she was very keen to satisfy me so I would be happy to do it again, which I was and I did.

So, an idea more kinky than bondage, submission, humiliation, even masochism and torture, which we had got into in a big way? This was going to be interesting.

“Darling, if it’s something you feel you need to do to be fulfilled, we’ll discuss it and if we can, we’ll make it happen.”

“Okay, well ... the thing is ... the thing is, I want to be buried alive.”

I had to stop myself from saying “What the FUCK?!” – it certainly was an ‘unusual’ idea to say the least. Under my gentle prompting, she falteringly explained.

“I first saw a woman being tied up and buried in an old Ray Milland film when I was about fourteen and I was incredibly turned on. It’s like, the ultimate Damsel in Distress scenario, and you know how much those turn me on.” I did indeed – we frequently played games of ‘Girl kidnapped by collector’, ‘Wife held for ransom’ or ‘Resistance girl caught by the Gestapo’ and they usually lasted a couple of days with multiple orgasms all the way – for her and for me.

“Since then it’s always been in my dreams, but I was too scared to mention it. I’ve read various stories on the internet and they always turn me on massively. I just couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. Do you think I’m just too sick?”

“Darling, you’re clearly not the first to think about this, as you say there are fantasy stories already out there. Let me do some research and work out how we can scratch this particularly... interesting itch of yours. Meanwhile, I think you need to spend some time riding your pony.”

“Oh no, master, not the pony! Jenny’s been a good little girl!” She liked to do the protesting slavegirl talk, even though the pony was one of her favourites. I swiftly forced a ball gag into her mouth to stifle any further protest and led her by the chain between her nipple clamps into the play room.

The pony is a wooden saddle mounted on a post and it is rocked back and forward by a motor underneath. There is a hole in the middle of the saddle and two rather large rubber dildos protrude through, fixed to the post underneath. I made Jenny position herself over the centre of the saddle and lower herself onto the dildos, which she slid into her orifices with a little grunting and squirming. I fastened a cuff around her ankle and lifted her foot off the ground, pulling it up until the cuff could be clipped to a ring on the back of the saddle. I did the same with the other leg so that she was now forced to sit astride the saddle with the dildos thrust deep inside her. She whimpered in a mixture of pain and pleasure as she tried to get comfortable.

The motor was activated by sound – the louder the sound the faster it rocked the saddle. I put the iPod Shuffle next to the speaker and switched it on. “Sex on Fire” by Kings of Leon blasted out, appropriately, and Jenny squealed as the saddle lurched forward like a bucking bronco. As she was pulled forward, the dildo in her vagina was driven deeper into her, while the clitoris teaser also came into operation. As the saddle shot back, the vagina dildo was withdrawn a little but the other dildo was driven up into her ass, making her grimace in pain. The torment was relentless until the song ended and, after a couple of seconds of rest, another started and the rocking continued. There were a few quieter tracks on there, but not many, and there were long, loud pieces like the 1812 Overture and Ravel’s Bolero. She had already had one loud orgasm before I left her to it to go downstairs.

She would be happy to leave her little burial fantasy with me, to work out the details – she wouldn’t want to hear much more about it until it – she hoped – happened.

I went on the internet and within a few minutes I had found a clip of the film she had mentioned on YouTube (“Premature Burial,” 1962, if you’re interested) but this had one slight drawback – the woman dies, which was something that I (and hopefully Jenny) wanted to avoid. The stories on the internet were a mixture of ‘snuff’ stories and pre-arranged sessions where the participant – usually female – planned and controlled the session. I thought Jenny wanted something different - she would want to feel like it was all real, that she was really being buried alive and was not sure if she would get out of it, or could at least suspend her disbelief long enough to get off on the experience.

I was absorbed in my research until I heard Kings of Leon again, indicating the 3-hour shuffle had finished and was now repeating. I dashed up to find her covered in sweat and clearly exhausted, although she had not used our safe word – if she had had as much as she could take or felt in any danger, she could say, sing, whistle or hum the Marseillaise and I would immediately free her. But a combination of stubbornness and insatiable appetite for sexual torment meant she rarely gave in. I switched off the motor and helped her into bed where, still tied and gagged, she fell asleep.

I started more wide-ranging research over the next few days and found a place which could help me. Rather anonymously named The Company, it was very expensive, but seemed professional and I felt this would make a great tenth wedding anniversary present. I went and checked out the operation and was amazed and impressed with their facilities and attention to detail, as well as health and safety – a critical issue when they were going to be responsible for the safety of my wife.

When I explained what I wanted to do, they insisted that I provide a video of my wife, clearly not under duress, explaining how she wanted to do all this stuff, to cover them legally and prove they had not participated in kidnap and torture of an innocent victim. I managed to get Jenny to do this by explaining that, if we did manage to live out her fantasy and, heaven forbid, anything went wrong, I would need the video to convince the police I wasn’t a wife murderer! Jenny was more than happy to do it, seeing it as evidence that I was seriously considering the burial scenario.

There were various other procedures – AIDS and STD tests for both of us (getting a blood sample from Jenny without her noticing was interesting) – but eventually it was all booked, scheduled and paid for. I told Jenny that I was planning to take her for a wonderful meal on our anniversary and then whisk her off on holiday to a mystery destination the next day, for fun and games in the sun. Which was all true, but there was a little adventure before all that.

About a week before the anniversary, I told Jenny I had to be away in Liverpool for a meeting and would have to stay overnight, but would be back the next day. This was, of course, a white lie so that I could arrange her “kidnap” and transportation to the facility at which her adventure was to take place. I watched the house and saw the lights go off at around 11pm, then waited until 3am before making my move. The Company had provided me with some clothes – a jacket and a mask which made the wearer look more like a faceless robot than an intruder – and some advice to make the initial kidnap both more convincing and also to play into the coming events.

So, suitably dressed, I sneaked into the house and went upstairs to watch Jenny sleeping. I was able to carefully put duct tape over her mouth without waking her up and, pulling back the duvet, I eased her naked body over onto her stomach and gently drew her hands together behind her back. She started to wake up as I wound tape around her wrists and then taped her hands together, palms facing, so she had no fingers free to unpick anything. She was struggling to look behind her and was mmphing at me, and I imagined she was trying to say ‘Derek, is that you?’ but I was busy taping together her ankles and then her knees. As a final act, I put tape over her eyes, blindfolding her very effectively and I could tell her struggles and noises had become just a little more serious and genuine. The use of duct tape was a suggestion from The Company, as we had never used it, so it would seem foreign and sow a seed of doubt. I had a feeling it might be working.

I lifted her off the bed and put her over my shoulder to carry her downstairs, out into the (luckily but not surprisingly) deserted street and dumped her into the boot of the SUV I had hired for the occasion – another suggestion from The Company. Then we were off on our adventure.

The biggest problem I had was that The Company operates from an imposing chateau in northern France, which meant I was going to have to smuggle Jenny through the channel tunnel. The customs officers don’t often search vehicles but it was always a possibility, so I was very nervous as I approached the barrier. But there was no problem and I got on the train, through the tunnel and out the other side without incident. It was a two hour journey to the chateau and I checked that Jenny was okay every half hour – I didn’t want her suffocating or choking on the way.

We eventually got there and I parked just inside the main gates by the guard house. One of the ‘guards’ greeted me and took me to the control room, where I could watch Jenny’s ‘processing’ on the CCTV monitors which covered the entire complex – Jenny would never be out of my sight and there would also be independent surveillance to ensure there were no problems at any time, night or day. Later I was shown to my room in the chateau which was very 5-star elegant, plus it had intranet access to wherever Jenny was at any time of night or day. So I just kicked back and relaxed while watching the whole show.

Jenny:

I was obviously confused and disoriented when I woke up. But I was being tied up – it had to be Derek. As I struggled a little and twisted around, I caught a glimpse of him over me and was surprised by the weird helmet and sci-fi jacket affair, but still – it had to be Derek, right? As he bound my legs together, I wondered what kind of sexual experience this was going to be with all my orifices unavailable, but when he picked me up and took me downstairs, I guessed it was some kind of kidnap game. I’d ridden in the boot of the car before, so it was not a total shock to be shut in there, but as time went by, I wondered where he could be taking me for this kidnap game. Hour after hour we travelled, and there were strange unexplained stops and noises. Every so often the boot would open and I would feel a hand on my face or breasts or buttocks, grabbing and pinching until I made some noise, then the boot would slam shut again and away we would go.

On the last of these stops, the tape around my legs was cut and I was dragged out and stood up on loose gravel, with a stiff but warm breeze playing over my skin. The tape was ripped from my eyes and, when I was able to open my eyes in the bright sunlight, I was totally shocked by what I saw. Not only was it not Derek standing before me, it was two men, dressed in police or guard uniforms, unsmiling. I took in the tight trousers tucked in to jackboots, then saw the belt adorned with a gun and holster, a knife and sheath, a leather flogger and what looked like a riding crop hanging down. Then they spoke. I didn’t understand what they said, but the fact that it sounded French in very convincing French accents, startled me even more. I looked around frantically, saw the car I had arrived in and did not recognise it. I was stood in a courtyard surrounded by high walls with imposing iron gates through which I had presumably arrived and beyond that, a country road and rolling countryside. Oh my God, I thought, I must be in France! The noises, delays, travel time, it all added up – I was now in a foreign country, in the hands of God knows who! For the first time, I started to wonder if this really was staged or a genuine kidnap.

The guards took one elbow each and marched me through a door in one wall of the courtyard, into a whitewashed room with nothing in it but a table, on which was a mass of iron chains. One guard ripped the tape off my mouth while the other cut my hands free.

“What is this? Where am I?” I asked but they ignored me. A metal bit gag with an elongated tongue depressor was forced between my teeth and strapped in tight, the strap locking behind my head. A heavy iron collar, four inches wide and half an inch thick, was padlocked around my neck, then shackles locked on my wrists and ankles, each joined by heavy iron chains about two feet apart. One of them grabbed my hair and tied it back in a tight pony tail. Another door opened and a third guard came in carrying something, but at the same time the other two grabbed me and firmly held me down on my back across the table, legs spread. The new guard sprayed something on me and when I looked down, I could see my pubic hair was all covered in foam. I then saw the razor in his hand, but even though I protested and struggled, in a few swift swipes of the blade, I was completely smooth down there.

They let me up from the table and pushed me violently towards one of the walls. As I turned around, I was hit by a jet spray from a serious pressure hose, which pinned me back as the icy cold water hit my bare skin like knitting needles. When it was directed into my face, I had to fight for breath and gallons of it seemed to go in my mouth which I had to swallow. The guard holding it came right up to me and forced my legs apart, making the water shoot up my ass like an enema and flood my vagina too. A second guard started scrubbing at my skin with a yard brush, the bristles scraping painfully at my skin. I slid to the floor and could do nothing to prevent him forcing the brush into every intimate area of my body.

Eventually they shut the water off and dragged me to my feet. I was hustled towards another door and out into the bright sunlight, shivering and dripping. We were now on the other side of the walled courtyard and I could see the extent of the estate, an expanse of grass and trees in every direction except behind me, where an imposing wall twelve feet high and topped with vicious-looking metal spikes would ensure no escape.

Before me was a military-style flat-bed truck and I was made to climb onto it. The chain between my wrists was attached to the bar overhead and the guards went back into the whitewashed room leaving me alone in the still, baking heat of the afternoon. Soon I had stopped shivering and dripping with water and was dripping with sweat instead. Suddenly I felt very tired and started to doze as best I could, standing as I was with my arms raised above my head. I realised I had no idea what was going on and had lost any conviction that this had all been arranged by Derek.

I must have been there for a couple of hours and was becoming delirious with the heat, when the door to the courtyard opened again. Two guards appeared and between them was another woman! She was about six feet tall and black, with big breasts and wide hips, but she looked like she had been through the same process as me – stripped, chained, shaved and hosed. The guards pulled her up onto the truck and attached her chains as they had done mine, making us stand not just face to face but forcing our bodies together so that I could feel her damp coolness and she could probably feel my hot sweatiness. The truck engine roared into life and we lurched along the gravelled driveway in front of us. Our eyes met and I saw my own fears and uncertainties reflected in hers – neither of us thought this was a game any more.

As we rocked from side to side, I looked around. We were surrounded by rolling countryside, within and beyond the retaining wall, no houses or villages in sight. In front of us a house came into view and it looked magnificent – a cross between an ornate country house and a castle, I guessed it was either a French chateau or German schloss. As we approached, I saw something else which made me doubt that this was a set-up job – on the terrace I could see three or four figures all dressed as I had briefly seen my attacker, severely tailored jackets and helmet-like masks. My original assumption, that I had been ‘kidnapped’ by Derek, seemed to be disproved by the fact that there were many ‘Dereks’ here, casually chatting, strolling and sitting watching our arrival.

In front of the house, the truck veered off and took us around to the rear entrance. It stopped and new guards met us and took us down. We were led into the house and down a wide stone staircase into what could only be described as the dungeons. The temperature dropped appreciably as we went down into the darkness. We were led along a corridor with many steel doors in the walls, all shut, until we came to one which was open. I was pushed into the darkness inside and, as my eyes adjusted, I could see that it was a cell, barely wider than the door and about ten feet deep. The walls and floor were bare stone and I could see in the light from the hall that they glistened and dripped with damp.

Suddenly there was a loud clang and the light was cut off, leaving me in darkness. As my eyes adjusted again, I saw that high up on the end wall was a small barred window and in its light I could see the only thing in the room was a metal bucket in the far corner. I suddenly had an incontrollable need to use it and I shuffled over to it and squatted to relieve myself. As I looked back down the cell I could see the door and noticed there was no handle on this side; there was a slot at about head height – presumably so a guard could spy on the prisoner – and one just off the floor, the use of which I didn’t understand until later, when a bowl of water and a bowl of porridge-like stew were pushed in. Feeling totally alone and abandoned, I sat down on the cold, wet floor and cried.

Derek:

There were a bewildering array of options to be completed prior to arrival, specifying what could and could not be done to Jenny. I ticked most options to give her the full experience, but one I did not select was to allow the partners of other ‘guests’ to watch her torment or to allow them to participate either in her punishment or sexual encounters. As staff were strictly forbidden from having sex with clients, this meant I was the only one who could. I was allowed access to her at any time I wanted, and right now, I thought it would be a good time to pay a visit.

Jenny:

I don’t know how long I lay there in the cold, damp and dark, but I think I dozed off. I was woken by the sound of the lock and the door opening, blinding me with the light from the hall. I felt hands grab me and rope put around my elbows, pulled tight, trapping my arms , which were still manacled at the wrists, to my sides. I looked up and saw one of the kidnappers over me, his frighteningly featureless mask staring down at me. I only saw him for a second because he tied a blindfold across my eyes. I was scared at what he would do to me, but he removed the bit gag from my mouth and I wondered if this was some sort of release.

“Please, you have to help me!” I begged, “I’ve been kidnapped and –” My pleadings were cut short as he forced a ring gag into my mouth and strapped it in place. I was on my knees and I guessed what was coming next. Seconds later, he was holding my head tight as he thrust his erection through the ring and deep into my mouth, making me choke as it touched the back of my throat. He rammed it back and forth, not caring about whether I gagged or could breathe. He said nothing, just let out a few grunts as he became more excited, his cock twitched and then my throat and mouth were full of his salty cum. He pulled it out of the gag and splashed his seed in my face and hair, before wiping his dripping member on my cheeks and chin. Satisfied, he pushed me to the floor and I heard the door slam shut with a reverberating clang. Tied and gagged as I still was, there was nothing I could do to prevent the cum sliding down my throat or dribbling out of my mouth and down my chin. Eventually I fell asleep again.

Sometime later, the door opened again and this time I was roughly forced into a kneeling position with my face pressed against the floor, while my latest attacker forced his cock into my anus, without the benefit of lubricant. I grimaced in pain as he rode me hard, again saying nothing, just using me like a sex toy. Strangely, I found myself becoming sexually aroused, which never normally happened for me with anal sex, but before I could get near a climax, he had finished himself off by pulling out and splashing cum over my back and my buttocks. Once again, I was left alone to contemplate my abuse, unable to satisfy the excitement in my groin, until I fell into fitful sleep once again.

It happened a third time. This time I was laid on my back and my legs were tied, ankle to thigh, then I felt his body between my legs and his erection rammed into my cunt so hard I slid on the slimy floor and my head hit the wall. He banged away at me and this time I did come before him, then again and, incredibly, a third time before he climaxed. As before, he pulled out before spurting across my breasts and in my face again. I was left, tied and soiled once more.

When the door opened again, I was expecting further assault. But the blindfold and bonds were removed and I saw a guard standing over me. He removed the ring gag and replaced the bit gag, before shouting an order in French at me and pointing to the bucket. Interpreting his gestures, I picked up the stinking bucket and took it out of the door. The corridor was full of naked, chained women, all carrying buckets, and I followed the line up the stairs and into a bright courtyard. We each emptied our buckets into a slurry pit which stank disgustingly, then lined our buckets against a wall. We also lined up against the wall.

A guard came along the line and attached a heavy chain to each of our collars, chaining us all together like slaves, then we were marched out of the courtyard and down a dirt track. We shuffled along for ages in the hot sun, before coming to a quarry, where we were stopped and the chain removed. Each of us was handed a pickaxe and, with more shouted French, set to work breaking rocks from the quarry face. As we broke off a rock we had to pick it up and carry it to a wooden palette a couple of yards from the face. Any slackening of pace or effort was punished by enthusiastic use of the flogger and barked, unintelligible orders.

I sneaked a look at my fellow inmates as we worked in the blazing sun. I counted ten other women and, at thirty two, I reckoned I was one of the oldest there, although there was one woman clearly in her forties. Most were in their early twenties and one girl looked about sixteen, there were black, white and Asian women, some overweight but mainly skinny, and all bore the marks of their ordeal – bruises and whip marks as well as dried cum. I wondered what else they had suffered and how long they had been here.

There were four palettes and after a couple of hours they were well stacked with rocks. We were made to stop and gather by the palettes. A guard came up to me and tied a rope around my waist, then passed it between my legs and under the rope at the back, forming a crotch rope. The other end was tied to a palette and I saw we were all tied the same way, with three women to each palette except mine, where there were only two of us, me and the black woman I had arrived with. With much shouting and use of the floggers, the guards made us drag the palettes across the quarry towards a dumper truck about a hundred yards away.

The palette was incredibly heavy and it was almost impossible for the two of us to move it at all, despite the shouts and the whipping we received. The rope cut into my tender flesh like a knife and I was crying in agony as well as sweating profusely as we inched it forward. The others were doing slightly better and our being last attracted even more unwelcome attention. When I tried to pull the rope and take the pressure off my tortured pussy lips, I received a beating from one of the guards until I stopped.

Many times I fell in the dirt and had to pick myself up. Furtively glancing up, I could see others falling and being beaten, crying and wailing incoherently in their pain. It was like a scene from the Old Testament, the slaves of Egypt building the Pyramids.

At last we reached the truck and collapsed in the dirt. But the job was not complete – now we had to load the rocks into the truck and drag the empty palettes back across the quarry. And, unbelievably, they made us do it all over again!

By the time we had finished and were on our way back to the house, I was delirious with the heat and exhaustion, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Back in the courtyard, we were hosed down with icy water, which was a great relief although, as before, the pressure hose was so powerful as to be painful.

As we were led back inside, I was grabbed and led away from the others, to a different door and a stairway leading up into the house. I was taken into a room which was empty apart from a desk and chair and, in the middle of the room, something that looked like an electric chair. It was made of iron and had straps on the arms, legs and on a post extending upwards from the back of the chair. My chains and gag were removed, I was forced down onto the chair and the straps were tightened around my wrists, ankles, thighs and neck. A guard leant over me and attached a crocodile clip to each nipple, which made me grimace in pain, but when he parted my pussy lips and attached one to my clitoris, I let out a real scream. I squirmed on the seat but could do nothing to alleviate the pain, which gradually lessened to an uncomfortable ache. At that moment I suddenly got drenched by a guard throwing a bucket of water over me. The guards then stepped back and watched impassively as I coughed and spluttered.

The door opened and another guard came in. He was short and a bit fat, not well built like the other guards, wore a slightly different uniform, more black, and also round, steel-rimmed spectacles. He sat at the desk and, after staring at the papers he had brought in, looked up at me.

“Guten tag, Frau Mendel, wie gets Sie?” he said. Confused, I said
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak German. But my name is Manning, not Mendel?”

He looked back down at his papers and continued to speak German to me. After a minute, he looked up and stopped talking, looking at me expectantly.

“I don’t know what you want,” I said rather nervously, “I don’t understand.”

The humourless smile on his face disappeared and his tone became sharper, harder, as he clearly asked me a question of some kind. I just shook my head dumbly.

He leaned forward and reached out to a switch on the desk. For the first time, I noticed that wires were attached to the crocodile clips and they led to a car battery under the desk. Before I could really take this on board and understand it, he flicked the switch and I was suddenly screaming in a world of pain as electricity shot through my body via the clips attached to my most sensitive places. It was excruciating and seemed to go on forever, although I guess it was maybe ten seconds before he flicked the switch back again. I slumped forward, gasping for breath as every inch of my body twitched and tingled except for my nipples and clitoris, which hurt like hell. I heard him calmly asking me the question again.

“No, no, please! I don’t understand! I am not Frau Mendel! You’ve got the wrong – Aaaaah!” I screamed as the electricity coursed through me once more, longer this time, making me thrash in the chair and leaving me drained and weeping when it stopped.

The torture went on and on, each jolt being harder to endure and then, incredibly, in the middle of this hideous pain, I had the most explosive orgasm. It seemed more painful than pleasurable, but it washed over me in wave after wave of climax, until I was utterly spent and slumped unconscious in the straps. I was vaguely aware of being unstrapped and dragged away, back downstairs, back to my cold, damp cell. I lay on the floor as they put the chains and gag back on me and shut me away. I slept for I don’t know how long.