Jenny:

The days became a blur. I was woken at all times of the night for sex in any position. The slopping out and hard labour became fixtures of the day. On the second day, it rained continuously and, although it was cooler, it proved almost impossible to drag the palettes as we slipped and fell in the mud. Hard as the work was, I dreaded returning to the house and being taken to the torture room. As they took me away, I let out a howl of despair and fought against them but it was no use, they dragged me up the stairs and into the room.

The chair was still there but something new had been added, something looking like a dress mirror without the glass. I was made to stand against it and my wrists, ankles and neck were strapped to it so I was held upright and immobile. Suddenly everything went black as a bag was pulled over my head and tied around my throat.

Then I heard the interrogator next to me, still talking in German, still asking me questions I couldn’t understand.

“Please! You have to believe me! You’ve got the wrong person!” By now I was convinced this was some kind of French Guantanamo Bay, an interrogation site for terrorists. Suddenly the board was rotated and I was lying on my back, my head below my feet. The questions kept coming and then the water – someone was pouring water onto the bag, making it stick to my face, making me breathe in the water through the material. I was coughing and choking and I was going to drown! I heard the voice shouting in my ear but I couldn’t get any air, I was straining against the straps to get free but it was no use, I was going to die! As all these sensations came over me, I realised someone had stuck something large into my cunt which was rubbing vigorously against my G-spot. I felt like I was drowning but at the same time I was climaxing. There was a sudden biting pain in my nipples as clamps were applied but it just added to my stimulation and, seconds later, I came to another amazing orgasm. The questions, the water and the thrusts into my pussy continued on and on, making me scream, choke, gasp for air and climax time after time. Exhausted once again, I was dumped back in my cell.

Day three saw me strapped into the electric chair again. This time the hood was put over my head, so I could not anticipate when the clamps would be applied, when the water was splashed over me, or when the electric shock was coming. It just seemed to increase the intensity of the experience, and I realised I was actually dripping with sexual excitement before the first shock. When it hit me, I immediately climaxed, which shocked me as much as the jolt of electricity. I didn’t seem to come down from that high either, so that when the next shock hit me, I came again, even more intensely this time, the climax lasting throughout the time the electricity was coursing through me, as I screamed at the top of my voice. A third and fourth jolt had the same effect and I was out of my mind with intense pain and extreme pleasure. I lost track of what was going on, seeming to be permanently at the point of orgasm or in the middle of it. At some point they stopped and dragged me away, but I had no recollection of it.

On day four, as I was brought into the room, I was terrified of being put back in the chair but somehow I also craved it. The pain was almost unbearable but the experience was so intense it was like a drug. However, on this occasion they didn’t put me in the chair, but tied my wrists together in front of me and hoisted me up onto my toes, so I was stretched up towards the ceiling. A guard then attached a rope to my left ankle and pulled my leg up behind me, until it was virtually behind my head, and tied the rope to the ring just above my head that my wrists were tied to. He then tied a rope into my hair and attached that to the ring as well, so my head was pulled back. I was left balancing on the toes of my right foot like a naked ballerina for several minutes, until every muscle in my body seemed to be protesting, before the interrogator walked into the room. He took his time at the desk arranging his papers before he casually strolled over to me and started the inevitable questions I couldn’t understand or answer. I just started to cry and shake my head, I knew there was nothing I could say to make this stop.

After a while, he took the riding crop from his belt and started to flick it hard against my bare pussy, interjecting more questions. I cried out as each blow struck home with unerring accuracy, causing the maximum of pain as my tortured lips swelled due to the beating, but also due to the seemingly inevitable rise in my level of arousal and the flow of juices, which were soon dribbling down the inside of my thigh. My leg was starting to tremble now with the stress of supporting my weight and I had to flex my knee to relieve the pain, even though that just transferred the stress to my shoulders and my other hip joint. I let out a full-blooded cry as without warning the interrogator swiped the crop down hard across my buttocks, before returning to torturing my cunt. After a couple of minutes of this, another unexpected blow, this time hard across my breasts, had me screaming again.

The interrogator barked an order and a guard responded by tying a rope around the ankle of my standing leg and pulling it until it left the ground and he could tie it up behind me with the other one. I was now hanging by my wrists, ankles and hair, with an unbearable strain on my shoulders and hips. The guard strapped a spreader bar between my knees to force my thighs apart, before the interrogator returned to his questioning. At the same time, another guard attached clamps to my nipples and started hanging lead weights from them, gradually dragging my breasts and nipples further towards the floor while making the clamps bite deeper and harder. I saw a guard with a pole, on the end of which was a large fat dildo. This was probably what had been used on me the other day and I soon felt it shoved into me with little care or attention and being thrust back and forth. As before, it seemed to be perfect at stimulating my G-spot, and it was only seconds before I was screaming in orgasm. The torture went on, more weights on my nipples, more thrashing of the crop, more thrusting of the dildo, forcing me to come again and again and again. Eventually they lowered me to the floor and I lay there, crying in agony as the stress was relieved from my joints. I had to be carried back to my cell.

The next day, I was back in the chair, being electrocuted and forced to climax over and over, like some kind of animal responding to a stimulus. I felt so ashamed of myself, that I would respond in such a desperately nymphomaniac way to what was torture treatment. But I also knew I was hooked, like an addict needing my high, and what a high it was! I was getting to the point where just strapping me down and hooding me was almost enough to make me cum! I was almost disappointed when they released me.

The next time I was in the room – day 6? I had no idea – I was once again hung up by my wrists. But this time, they tied rope around the base of each of my breasts, then tied the other end to the corresponding ankle (left breast to left ankle, right breast to right ankle) with my legs raised to about the kneeling position. This meant I was hanging in mid-air trying to hold up my legs so they didn’t pull on my breasts. They added nipple clamps so that every pull on my breasts intensified the pain felt through the clamps as well as on my breasts themselves. I was twisting and turning on the rope with the effort and, when they brought out the pole with the dildo, shoved it into my cunt and attached it to the floor beneath me, I found that every twist and turn was making the dildo drive up, pull out or twist around inside me. They brought out another pole and shoved this one into my ass, just intensifying all the stimulation. Now I was, basically, fucking myself and I was soon bringing myself to a glorious climax. The questioning seemed almost perfunctory now and I paid little attention as I jiggled about on the rope, torturing myself to another orgasm and then another. I felt the flogger hitting me across the back, but it only made everything more intense as I drove myself onto the dildos, heedless of the pain I was causing myself. Eventually they released me, but I felt only disappointment and resentment that they had stopped me.

The next day, I was almost desperate to get to the torture room. But instead of taking us to the quarry to work, we stopped in the woods and everyone except me was handed a shovel. I was dragged away and suspended by my wrists from a nearby tree, so I could watch. The other inmates were ordered to dig a trench, which was eventually about seven foot long and four or five feet deep. It was only when I saw two guards carrying what was very obviously a coffin into the clearing that I realised what was going on – this was my grave and I was going to be buried alive! By this time I was completely convinced this place was for real and that, through some terrible case of mistaken identity, I had become imprisoned in an official government-backed interrogation camp, so I was not thinking ‘oh how lovely, it’s my fantasy’, I was thinking ‘oh my God, they’ve finally run out of patience with me and are going to kill me!’

“Please!” I screamed, only vaguely understandable past the bit gag, “I’ll do anything! Sign anything! I did it, whatever you want me to say, I’ll say it, just don’t do this!”

The guards ignored my pleas but took me down from the tree and dragged me to the box. They forced me into it, locking the collar and manacles I was wearing to the sides, so I could still move but not get out. I thrashed from side to side uselessly and screamed for mercy as they daubed something onto my face and body with a brush. I got a taste of it on my lips and it was incredibly sweet – I had no idea why they would do this, but it just added to my fear. I could see the frightened looks on the faces of the other women, but the guards were impassive as they put ropes on the sides of the box so it could be lowered into the hole.

Then they closed the lid. It was in two parts – bottom half wooden and top half, over my face, thick perspex so I could see out. I watched helplessly as they padlocked the lid shut and did some other preparations, whilst I was still screaming myself hoarse inside. I saw them making the women pick up the ropes and then the casket was lifted off the ground, manoeuvred over the hole and then jerkily lowered. As I looked up through the coffin, I could see the outline of the hole against the sky and the women gathered around it, looking down at me. I thought I could see some of them crying as the guards made them pick up the shovels again and, I guessed, ordered them to start shovelling earth back in. I saw one woman refuse and drop her shovel, but she was beaten by several of the guards until she picked it up again and started to work.

I screamed as the first grains of soil fell on the perspex window above me. I fought against the chains holding me and pushed at the coffin lid, but it was no use. I could hear the dirt landing on the coffin, building up all around it. Gradually, the window started to be covered and I could see less and less, until finally, everything went black and I was truly buried. I could hear the earth still being shovelled on top for a few minutes and then everything was silent.

So this is it, I thought, I am going to die! The air quickly warmed up, making me think I was running out of oxygen, although it was probably more to do with me hyperventilating and sweating. I couldn’t believe that I’d fantasised about this very thing and now, here I was, experiencing the full horror of the real thing! I was weeping uncontrollably, huge sobs shaking my body, and trying to hug myself to give myself some illusion of comfort. I would never see Derek again, I thought, never hold him, hug him, kiss him, suck his cock, feel him tying me up, tighter and tighter until I could hardly breathe, then fucking me hard, harder, making me cum over and over and OVER! I realised my fingers had slid into my wet cunt and I was bringing myself off as I lay there, imprisoned, encased, ENTOMBED! I climaxed long and hard as I succumbed to the fantasy of being buried alive and tried to ignore the reality.

As I lay there in the pitch black, another thought occurred to me – I wasn’t dead yet. Surely I would have used up all the oxygen by now, especially with all the screaming and hyperventilating, plus that orgasm had lasted a while. I couldn’t put my hands above my head, but I reached down with my toes to the end of the box and was sure I could feel cool air and a hole. I guessed they didn’t actually want me to die, this was part of my torture! They were trying to break me with this new terror!

Once I had realised that, I started to feel a lot less frightened and a lot more turned on. Here I was, finally, buried alive, my number one fantasy, with no idea why or by who or when they would let me out – the ultimate damsel in distress scenario I had imagined and described to Derek. That should maybe have rung some bells in my head, but I had been here a week, sleep deprived, starved, tortured – I wasn’t going to be at my sharpest, was I? All I had to do now, I reasoned, was to lie back and wait. Once I knew it was another attempt to torture me, I was, in a funny way, in control – I knew I could take it. I explored what I could of my prison with my fingers and toes, but my chains kept me from reaching very far. But I could reach my crotch, and I couldn’t stop myself from touching, keeping myself near the edge of orgasm but not pushing myself over unit, until ... AAAAH! I couldn’t resist it!

Derek:

The ‘coffin’ was wired with night-vision cameras and microphone so we could see and hear exactly what Jenny was up to. I was initially very concerned at her level of panic and fear, but it soon became obvious that she had overcome her initial terror and was now enjoying herself, in a very physical way! I discussed it with the director of The Company and we agreed that we should inject a little danger and uncertainty back into her mind. As always, they had already thought ahead and were well prepared.

Jenny:

I don’t know how long I had been down there – several hours I would guess – but I was now relaxed enough to doze off. I wondered idly how long they would keep me here before, presumably, digging me up and trying some other torture technique to break me.

I felt a tickle on my toe and reflexively shook my leg. Within seconds, I could feel something, hundreds of insects swarming up my leg! I let out a scream – I hate any insects on me, I’ll normally run a mile when a wasp or a spider is anywhere near me – and tried to shake or brush them off, but there were too many and I couldn’t reach them, given my restricted movement in the chains. Suddenly there was something in my hair and swarming over my face! I was screaming in terror once again as I shook my head frantically from side to side, unable to wipe them away and feeling them crawling over my tightly shut eyelids, at the edge of my nostrils, even onto my lips, clamped as tightly as possible over the bit gag to prevent them getting into my mouth.

Bastards, I suddenly thought, fucking bastards! They had daubed sweet, sugary syrup on me to attract ants and now they were all over me. I realised they had concentrated on painting it over my face, breasts and cunt so that was where they were teeming now, driving me insane. It was another level of torture, but recognising it as such didn’t make it any less horrible! I wondered if the ants had found their own way to me or had been tipped into the air tubes at either end of the box. I was startled to feel the odd nip of pincers as the ants greedily lapped up the sugar. I realised I would get no respite from this bizarre assault until they had exhausted the supply of food on me, and I did my best to ignore their little feet running all over my body, but I couldn’t help squirming under their touch and letting out the odd yelp of discomfort.

Once they had ‘cleaned’ my face and stopped trying to get into my pussy, I was able to handle the reduced traffic across my skin with a little more equanimity. I was eventually able to relax enough to doze again, once more with my sticky little fingers playing with my sticky little cunt.

It must have been a few hours later, I had been asleep, it was feeling hot and a little stuffy, when I felt something cold on my foot. I jerked it back as a reflex, fearing another insect attack, or maybe even animal – worms, rats? But I realised it was something different and tentatively poked my toe back towards the end of the box. With a rather sickening feeling, I realised I could feel a little water on the bottom, just a puddle, but I couldn’t tell whether it was getting deeper or not. With a sense of shock, I realised my hair was now also wet – water was leaking in from the other end as well!

What did this mean, I wondered. Was someone pouring water into the air pipes above to torment me? Or, worse, was it raining on the surface and the rain was falling into the pipes or leaking into the tubes? I tried to tell myself it was just another attempt to unsettle me, but I couldn’t get the thought out of the back of my mind that it was something unexpected, something out of their control and therefore out of anyone’s control, which made it far more scary and, perversely, far more erotic.

I couldn’t feel the water coming in or hear anything, but after maybe half an hour, there was a thin covering of water underneath me, from one end of the box to the other. Very gradually, almost imperceptibly, it was getting deeper. I could feel it cold against my back, between my buttocks. Maybe an hour later, when I moved around in the box, I could hear it splashing and feel it moving against me as little waves came back off the sides. I was shivering now, partly from the chilling effect of the water, partly from the fear that I was going to drown!

I lay perfectly still for what seemed like hours, trying to detect any rise in the water level, but it seemed to have stopped at about three inches deep. Gradually, I relaxed as the fear of imminent death receded and, despite the fact that I had been doing nothing other than alternately dozing and panicking for hours, and also that I was lying in freezing water (although gradually warmed by my body heat), I fell asleep.

I remember dreaming that I was on Titanic and Leonardo Di Caprio was kissing me, I was posing naked, we were making love. Then the iceberg struck and we were in the water, but Leo was on the wreckage and I was in the icy water, slipping under, trying to get out ...

Imagine waking up in the pitch black, not remembering where you are, to feel yourself lying in water and coughing, choking and spluttering from water in your mouth and nostrils. You try to get up but your arms are chained down, you lift your head but bump it on the inside of a coffin lid ...

Not surprisingly, I panicked and screamed, thrashing about in the water, my heart pounding. After a few seconds I remembered where I was and calmed down enough to realise the water was deeper than when I had gone to sleep – if I lay my head down, it was in my ears and against my cheeks. As I steadied my nerves and stopped splashing, I could hear the sound of water running – not just dripping – out of the pipes at either end and into the main body of water. This time I really did freak out because I could feel the level rising, there were literally no more than nine inches between the water’s surface and the lid of my coffin.

I started crying and shouting for help, to whom I did not know, I didn’t expect to be rescued – how would they know I was drowning underground. For some reason, and I know it wasn’t because I expected it to make any difference, I started humming and trying to sing the Marseillaise, my ‘safe’ word / song. Maybe it was a comfort thing, maybe I really thought magic would happen and Derek would appear to rescue me.

But I heard a faint noise somewhere above me and I shouted out the song at the top of my voice. I was sure I heard digging, my hopes rose, and then I heard a clang as something – a shovel – hit the lid above me. There was a scrabbling sound as earth was pushed away by hand, light suddenly started to flood into the box, blinding me. By the time I could open my eyes, there was a square of sky above me and a face, which was silhouetted against the sky, but somehow I knew it was Derek. I heard the locks on the side of the coffin and then the lid opened and I heard his voice, soothing me, reassuring me, as he unlocked me from the sides of the box.

As soon as I could move, I threw my arms around him and held on tight, weeping tears of relief and exhaustion into his neck. He lifted me out of the water and up onto the grass, out in the fresh air and sunlight. I wouldn’t let him go as he awkwardly tried to remove the gag and shackles from me and, once I was finally free, we lay on the ground, holding each other, him gently reassuring me, me telling him, between sobs, how much I loved him.

He had a bath robe which he wrapped me up in and, rather bizarrely, a golf buggy to ride in. I took a good look into my “grave” to take in the details of the scene and I felt the excitement rise in my tired body – already I was rationalising it as the greatest turn-on rather than a life-threatening experience. Derek had to steer the buggy with only one hand, as I wouldn’t let him go.

As we came around the corner, I saw we were heading for the chateau and had a panic attack.

“Oh God, Derek, we can’t go back there! They’ll torture me again!” My befuddled and tired brain had still not worked out what was really going on here.

“It’s okay, darling,” Derek reassured me, “I’ve sorted it all out. We have a beautiful room and a hot shower to look forward to, no more torture.” I decided to just put my trust in him and stop thinking about it for myself for a while.

It was indeed a beautiful room, and I spent hours under the shower, letting the fear and tension, aches and pains, just leave my body under the hot water. I insisted Derek get in there with me, touch me, wash me, kiss me, fondle me and, after a while, lift me up and fuck me slowly and sensually up against the shower tiles as the water ran down our bodies. It was make-up sex of the highest order!

Eventually we got out and I sprawled out on the bed, totally relaxed for the first time in over a week. There was a knock at the door, which suddenly put me on edge again, but Derek calmed me and answered it. It was a waiter with a room service trolley, laden with fruit, champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

“Guten tag, Frau Manning, wie gets Sie?” the waiter said and I suddenly realised it was my interrogator, the man who had given me such pain and such incredible orgasms! I was flustered, but he and Derek were both smiling and I relaxed again, finally understanding that it had all been a very elaborate, very convincing role-play game.

On the trolley was a DVD and Derek put it in the player so we could watch it on the large screen TV. It was a 3-hour movie of my stay at the chateau, from the moment when I was unloaded from the boot of the car to the moment Derek released me from the ground. They had all the incidents covered – slopping out, working in the quarry, my individual torture sessions, even the night-time assaults in the cell. Then came the burial and the shock of seeing and hearing myself in the coffin! I would have been embarrassed if I hadn’t been such an exhibitionist. Watching the DVD really turned me on, and I insisted Derek tie me to the bed and fuck me till he couldn’t do it anymore. I was impressed by how long he kept going, interspersing full-on sex with foreplay and cunnilingus to make it last and to drive me wild. After that, we had to have another shower.

We then dressed for dinner – I was shocked to find out there was a Michelin-starred restaurant in the chateau! Apparently the food I had been served may have been made to look and taste vile, but it was nutritionally designed to ensure I didn’t starve, while feeling starved at all times. Derek had bought me new, sexy underwear and a wonderful strapless evening dress for the occasion.

“Happy anniversary, darling, you look ravishing!” he said as we went down.

“You can ravish me later” I smiled.

There was a single, large table in the restaurant and all the guests sat together. They were all men, the partners of the women currently locked away in the cells below. Just before we sat down, another couple came in and I saw, to my surprise, that the woman was none other than the black girl who had arrived with me! We hugged and kissed like long lost sisters, then spent the entire meal chatting about our experiences. It was her first visit to the chateau as well, and she had enjoyed her time immensely, although my burial had given her some ideas for her next visit!