Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Dinner Party

The nature of my rather unique marriage arrangement with Jason is not widely known. There are some close friends who are aware of my indentured slavery to my husband, but I can count these on the fingers of one hand. Well, maybe two.

As you can imagine, discussing the unique nature of my servitude and submission to my owner is not really a good topic for work or family. Four people who are aware of my submissive nature are our next door neighbors, Jim and Erin and the couple across the street, Steve and Diane.

So it was that we decided to have our neighbors over for dinner, to be sociable and have an enjoyable evening. It was a Friday night, and I had prepared a pork loin dinner; elegant but in a very casual way. Two wines were ready, the dining room set, and I wore a nice dark blue knee length dress. As always I wore the thin metal ring around my neck — my slave collar (it doesn’t come off without a blow torch or similar instrument).

Steve and Diane arrived first, and we sat down in the living room to drink a little wine before dinner. I really like Steve and Diane; they are older than Jason and I by three or four years, but very good looking. Steve is tall and skinny, Diane is an average sized blond but with a voluptuous body. We had played together (sexually) once before and had a wonderful time. I wondered whether it would happen again sometime, as I sat and reviewed Steve’s muscular arms and thought of the time I rode him, almost in that very spot. I had not had enough time with Diane during that encounter, and wanted to fully explore my bisexual tendencies as well.

Jim and Erin arrived, looking as elegant as ever. Erin is perfection in style, a petite brunette that talks quickly and always looks professional. Jim is much taller than Erin, and has a slightly rugged look about him; unless you knew them as Jason and I did, you would never guess that Jim was submissive to Erin. In face, as they joined us in the living room for drinks, I think I spotted the telltale signs of his male chastity device through his pants.

Poor Jim… I think Erin uses him mercilessly at home; she rarely allows him an orgasm, and has a tendency to humiliate him constantly when she is with us. I saw his chastity device once. It was a tight fitting hard plastic cover over his penis, which was kept in place with a tight ring around his testicles, and locked on to a strap that went around his waist. Any direct contact with his cock was virtually impossible, and if he ever had an erection (which was undoubtedly quite unusual), it would be painful. To say the least.

We were enjoying each other’s company but I flitted back and forth between the kitchen and the living room to make sure all was well. The time came for dinner, and I announced that we should enter the dining room. Everyone rose, and we transitioned to the formal dining area, finding our seats.

As the others sat, I stopped and didn’t move. I had seen something that was a little hard to comprehend at first, and then caused a flush of embarrassment and horror as I realized what was happening.

There, instead of the usual chair at my place at the table, stood the dildo stool from the basement.

I quickly looked at Jason. It was clear he had placed it there. He was talking to Erin, who sat next to him. Erin saw me looking, and Jason followed my gaze.

“Siobhan, sit down, join us. The meal looks delicious!” Jason smiled slightly and knowingly.

“Um, Jason… can I talk to you?” I did not want to sit on the dildo during my formal dinner party. It was uncomfortable, but more importantly, it was going to be humiliating.

“What about dear? Everything is fine. Sit down.” The last words came out as more of a command than a suggestion. I caught sight of Erin next to him, smirking. Jim was staring at his plate, not moving. I didn’t dare look at Diane and Steve.

“Yes, Sir,” I said, emphasizing the Sir, as my little way of letting him know that I was unhappy with him but obeyed anyway.

The process of sitting on the stool was humiliating, as I had presumed. I had ridden the stool only once before, and had been tied tightly at the time. It had been a most painful experience. This time, I was to ride it myself, in full view of our neighbors, during my own dinner party.

Positioning myself behind the stool, I spread my legs slightly and moved forward to straddle the device. With my legs spread wide, I hiked my skirt up to my hips, exposing myself to the rest of the dinner party.

I could feel my face flush, as I kept my eyes down and away from the others. I reached down, and pulled my panties to the side, exposing my pussy. Spreading my lips with my fingers, I nestled the dildo in my cleft and began to descend.

To explain about the dildo – it isn’t an actual dildo. It is a round wooden rod which tapers upward to a point at the top. It resembles a blunt spike more than anything. A lubed condom is slipped over it to prevent tearing of my sensitive internal flesh.

As I lowered myself, I could feel the forced widening of my vagina. The spike increases in width as it approaches the seat of the stool, expanding until it is around three inches wide at the base. The further I descended this shaft, the wider I was spread, until it became difficult to continue lowering myself. I looked up at Jason, and saw all the guests watching the spectacle, Erin smiling, Jim still looking at his plate, Diane looking slightly horrified (but curious), and Steve with a look I can only describe as lustful.

“Go on…” Jason said softly.

I lowered my weight further, pressing down on the spiked protrusion from my seat. My lips were spreading farther than ever, and it was becoming painful. Then the point reached my cervix, and I gasped involuntarily. I had not reached the seat yet, I could not see how further I had to go, but knew I needed to continue my downward press.

I remove my hands, they were no longer needed to expose myself or spread my pussy lips. I simply needed to sit. My skirt pulled down, obscuring the activity below, and I smiled as best I could at the others. Pressing down, the point pushed up into my cervix and my pussy widened. I tried to keep my smile going, but I am sure the discomfort showed on my face as my weight finally finally pressed down on the seat and I sat still, simply savoring the horrible feeling of being impaled at the dinner table.

Dinner began. I was grateful for the diversion. Food began to occupy everyone’s mind, as well as myself. I sat rather stiffly, and had to ask others to pass items to me as I remained motionless on my stool. But the food was good, and we began enjoying our time together. At least, I think the rest of them did. I participated, but the constant discomfort of the impaling device nagged at my consciousness.

My embarrassment faded somewhat, and I tried to act as normally as possible. Eventually though, the inevitable happened.

“Siobhan, dear… will you get us some more wine?” Jason asked politely.

“Um… Jason… would you mind getting it?” I asked pointedly. I was impaled to my chair, after all.

“No, dear, I believe you should get it. Please serve your guests.”

“Jason, you can’t ask me to keep getting up and –” I began when he interrupted.

“Are you arguing with me?” he said sternly.

“No, of course not… but –” I began in a chastened voice, but tried to continue my protest.

“Siobhan, I hate to do this, but you need to learn to do as you are told, and not to talk back.” Jason looked dour, unhappy as he rose and went to the closet under the stairs, where some of his toys are kept. He returned with a ring gag and stood behind me.

“Oh my god, Jason, no, I am sorry, I will obey!” I cried out, tears beginning to fill my eyes. I was flushed and humiliated once again as I became painfully aware of our guests watching my discipline.

Slowly, I opened my mouth. I felt the bottom of the metal ring enter my mouth, behind my lower teeth. Wider… wider to get the top of the ring in. Painfully wide, my jaw stretching to accommodate the ring. Finally, it was in and I relaxed my jaw some. The smooth coldness of the metal pressed into the flesh of my mouth, holding my jaw wide open.

Jason bucked the strap behind my neck, over my hair, and then returned to his seat.

“Now, let’s try again. Siobhan, will you please get our guests some more wine?” Jason looked at me pleasantly.

I lowered my head and looked down as I began to rise up, the dildo slipping out of me. There was some relief as my flesh seemed to slide back into place, and the process was much quicker than sitting. I slid my panties back in place, lowered my skirt, and went into the kitchen.

The wine was opened in a moment, and I got a second bottle, just in case. I didn’t want to be sent to get more items again. Maybe I could avoid this agonizing display again.

The gag made me drool, and I wiped my mouth before reentering the dining room. The wine was served, and I returned to my stool, mouth gaping wide, drool already forming again.

The process went faster this time, straddling, spreading, pressing down. I think my flesh had been stretched a little, the muscles made accustomed to the wide spike distending my pussy. That spike was the widest, deepest thing I had ever had inside me and was deeply uncomfortable. If I didn’t move at all, the feeling was one of intense discomfort. Any movement caused the point to massage and press against my cervix, and it felt like the entrance to my vagina would tear at any moment.

With my mouth held wide open with the ring gag, there was no way I could eat. Jason insisted that I continue though, and I tried the best I could. I cut the pork into tiny pieces, tilted my head back and poured them in. Mashed potatoes were a little easier, but I made the most horrible gargling and choking noises as I tried to swallow. Drinking wine was easier yet, and I found myself drinking more and more.

With my jaw held open wide, I could no longer participate in the conversation, which went on without me.

It came time for desert, and I repeated the earlier performance, sliding up on my dildo, arranging things in the kitchen, wiping the drool off my chin (noticing that a significant amount of drool was already on my blouse), and reentered the dining area. Sliding down on the dildo was faster and easier each time I did it, and seemed to become almost natural.

Fuck, it did hurt though. I couldn’t stay perfectly still. To minimize movement I sat with my legs to the side of the stool, instead of the front. This made the angle a little better, though it must have looked odd to the others.

When dinner was finally over, we rose from our places to go to the living room for coffee. I rose with great relief… it was wonderful to feel liberated from that spike. As we sat down on the couch, I asked Jason as best I could through the gag,

“…an oooo ake awww thiii gag? leeese?”

“I am sorry, I can’t understand you. Can you say that again?” Jason said seriously.

“aayy i leeese aaaa this gag awwww?”

“Oh, I think I understand. You are asking if you may remove the gag?” I nodded, looking at him with big eyes. “Well, I am not sure. We haven’t had any entertainment yet. Erin, Jim, Diane? Steve? What do you say we use Siobhan for a bit as entertainment as the end to a very pleasant evening?”

“That sounds great!” Erin immediately chimed in. Jim sat silently, knowing something of what would happen and having some sympathy for me. Diane and Steve both seemed to agree as well. And so the entertainment began.

Jason cuffed my wrists behind my back. I am used to this, I spend a lot of time with my hands cuffed, though not always in front of neighbors. I was then made to kneel in front of Jason, who unzipped and pulled out an already hard cock. It slid easily through the ring gag and before long he was thrusting deep inside my throat.

Jason’s taste is familiar. His flesh has a slightly musky flavor, and I sometimes say he tastes like buttermilk biscuits. I actually enjoy his scent and flavor. The shape of his cock is familiar as well, and I have become accustomed to having it slide deep over my tongue, into my throat, and have trained myself not to gag. I am proud of the way I can take him all the way in, and make him come quickly. The only time I have a problem is when he thrusts past my uvula, and the tickle from that can cause a slight gag; he actually enjoys doing this as he claims the gag presses on his cock and is very pleasurable.

After a few minutes I felt his cock harden like a rock, his thrusts changed in urgency and he held it in deeply. Moments later a pulsing rhythm ran through his member as the muscles contracted, and I could feel the warmth of his juices as they spurted into my throat. I swallowed, quickly. He was so deep inside that I didn’t taste his come at all.

Erin clapped, laughing in delight at the show and my performance. “That was marvelous, wonderful! She must do my Jim, I insist on it!”

Jim looked a little confused. He was wearing his chastity device, and I could see the questions run through his head, just as they went through mine. Was she going to take off his chastity belt, and allow me to suck him dry? That didn’t sound like Erin, who maintained absolute control over him. I was a little confused too, but obeyed and shuffled over to Jim on my knees.

Jim stood and unbuckled his belt. With a quick zip, his pants descended to his ankles, revealing solid blue boxer shorts. His bulge was more obvious like this, and I positioned myself in front of him. With a quick glance at Erin, he slid his boxers down, and revealed his genitalia, nicely secured in the chastity device. There was a small but sturdy metal lock on the belt that secured the contraption to his waist. The sheath that fit over his penis was minimal, revealing glimpses of flesh held tightly in the plastic tubing. His testicles showed prominently below, as the device had a ring that went around their base, causing them to bulge out and down slightly.

Presenting himself to Erin, Jim waited for her to produce the key and unlock him. Erin looked at him with a puzzled smile, and said “Jim, face Siobhan – she is the one that is going to do you, not me!”

“But… my device…” Jim spluttered in a confused voice.

“No, Jim… I want to see what you two can do with your cock while you are still wearing the device.” Erin looked my way, “Do your best to make him come. I expect a performance like we just saw you and Jason give!”

It didn’t matter to me either way, but Jim looked like he was practically going to cry. Jim is a solid, good looking guy, and seeing him shudder and turn toward me with fear made my heart go out to him. He sat, spread his legs wide to give me access to his imprisoned privates, and prepared himself.

My hands were still cuffed behind my back, but I slid forward on my knees until I could lean over and get to his cock. I began to try and get it into my mouth, but then stopped and turned to Jason.

“I can dooo a etter jaww ithout the gag…” I said. The gag was preventing me from using my whole mouth and lips to stimulate Jim, which would be important given the plastic prison wrapped around his cock. Jason approved, and removed my ring gag.

“Thank you, Jason,” I said gratefully. I had been drooling constantly, and while my cuffed hands could not wipe my face and chest, it was nice to be able to stop the running stream of saliva from my mouth. Returning to Jim, I considered the best way to proceed.

I could see the cock restraint did not actually prevent stimulation; perhaps to allow for long term wear and hygiene, it did not cover the entire penis. There were definitely places where I could get to him. The restraint worked by holding his cock in place in a flaccid state; any swelling would become painful as the restraint squeezed against the turgid flesh.

Too bad for Jim, I thought… OK for my part of the action. I took him into my mouth, and began work.

Quickly, I could feel the areas of bare flesh in my mouth. The hard plastic covering was smooth to my tongue, but the bare skin could be felt easily and I began playing with it. My tongue ran around, over and under, searching for the openings, feeling for reactions. I could not get to his cock head, it was covered. Until, that is, I discovered that I could press my tongue up the end of the tube, where he presumably released his urine. It tasted slightly of urine. In fact, his general taste was one of urine and dirt, sweat and … something metallic… blood?

As I played with him, Jim began making noises. They started out as moans, but then grew to a kind of bleating cry. They were the strangest sounds I had ever heard while giving head. I continued working, wondering if I could get him to an erection.

His hips moved, and he seemed to be in some significant level of pleasure in spite of his flaccid penis. His movements, the wriggling, thrusting motion of his hips, all seemed as if I was giving some good head, though his movements were a little odd. Not what I was used to – the thrusting motion of a guy fucking my mouth. But something was sure happening.

As his cries became louder, I felt it… and realized what was happening. Poor Jim was, in fact, erect. At least as much as his plastic prison would allow. The flesh was bulging, protruding through what openings existed in the device, and his cock head was extended slightly out from the end of the tube. But as blood rushed to his cock, attempting to elongate and widen it into a stiff, straight member, the chastity device enforced a bent, smaller position. The result must have been incredibly uncomfortable, if not downright painful.

I kept on stimulating the best I could, and Jim continued to writhe and cry out in agony. All I could see was his stomach in front of me, the rest of the dinner party were behind me, or to the side, watching me work and Jim writhe. I felt sorry for him, but what could I do? I kept going.

Jim was crying now… literally, with tears. He must have been feeling the overwhelming urge to ejaculate, the pain of restriction, the inability to reach climax, the humiliation of being tortured like this in front of neighbors. I took him entirely in my mouth, cock and balls, pushing him deeper. The chastity device was hard and scraped on the top of my mouth, but I shoved it deep, doing my best to stimulate all the exposed flesh I could get.

It worked. I could feel his muscles working between his legs, though the noises he was making didn’t sound happy. He was in pain, trying to come, unable to without an erection. I grabbed his hips and guided his movements, flicking my tongue all over, trying to find any exposed area of skin.

In one great heave and cry, Jim ejaculated into my mouth. The chastity belt prevented his cock from descending into my throat, so his come squirted against my tongue and the roof of my mouth. My mouth quickly filled with it, as he continued squirting, more and more of his semen filling me. It seemed like he went on forever, though finally he collapsed back, sobbing, holding his painfully compressed cock in his hands.

There was the sound of applause, as the group behind me clapped their approval. I had been so intent on my task, I had forgotten they were there. Turning to face them, still on my knees as a sign of obedience and submission, I opened my mouth to show everyone that I had succeeded. Erin in particular examined me closely.

“He hasn’t come in almost a month… I guess he was saving it all up. That’s a lot of come you got there,” Erin patted my cheek.

I turned to Jason, waiting for instructions.

“Swallow it, then go clean yourself up,” he advised.

The come in my mouth tasted strange; it was slightly sweet with a tangy bite like Clorox. Not pleasant like Jason’s, but I swallowed it anyway. After clearing my mouth and showing it to Jason for inspection, I went into the kitchen where I washed myself as best I could given my hands were still cuffed behind my back. There was saliva and come all down the front of my chest and my makeup was smeared.

Later that night, as we said goodbye to our guests, Steve and Diane mentioned that they had enjoyed themselves tremendously. “The food was good, the company delightful, and the entertainment delicious!” Diane said enthusiastically.

“Perhaps you would like to join us sometime for some more in depth play?” Jason offered.

Steve looked at Diane, and they seemed to agree together before he answered. “I think so. I think we could learn a lot from the two of you.”

Jason closed the door as they left (as my hands were still cuffed behind me). He kissed me on my forehead lovingly, and said quietly, “You were fantastic tonight. I am so proud to be your owner.”

I felt a glow of pride, and answered “Thank you, my love. I am here to serve, please and suffer for only you.”

Thursday, August 13, 2009

My Wooden Pony Ride

Yes, I have ridden the pony.

Some have asked that I relate my experience here, and at my husband's approval and request, I shall. I have ridden more than once, though not often. I shall relate my first experience, when we tried it for the first time, not knowing exactly what to expect.
We were sitting at dinner, and had been talking about work, politics, whatever... when Jason suggested, "I think we should try a wooden pony ride."
I knew what he was talking about. Anyone truly into a BDSM relationship does, but I had never applied the concept of riding the pony to myself. It struck me completely unexpectedly, and I stopped eating for a moment and just looked at him.

"Um.... really?"

"Yes," he responded casually. "It is something I have always been fascinated with, and I know you have thought about it as well. Jim has done it, Erin told me. I just think it is worth a try..."

I thought about this. New forms of bondage or pain always intrigue me, though they also scare me, not knowing exactly what to expect. I suppose that is one reason I try them - I have this perverse need to try new things to see what my limits are, what the sensations are like. This one made me nervous though - my appetite left me as I considered it.

"Well. I suppose they would be rather expensive, and not easy to get a hold of. You weren't thinking of making one, were you?" Jason is handy with tools and likes to do some basic woodworking.

"No, see I read a little about it. A simple saw horse will do. I have one already, it could be made ready very easily."

"Oh..." I realized I had been hoping that it could be postponed. "Well. I guess so. Do you really want me to?"

"Yes." He sounded decided. Definitive. "I have thought about it, and think it would be a great experiment for both of us. It turns me on, the thought of you slowly suffering on the pony. The whole idea of reenacting the tortures of the past is kind of intriguing as well."

The tortures of the past. This was an inquisition torture, though historically it had been around a lot longer in various forms. The nerves in my stomach were pronounced. I knew now that it would happen, it had been decided. Something new to look forward too... something new to fear.

It was scheduled for Saturday. 8pm. I had suggested we start slow, with a 20 minute session. He had suggested three hours. We negotiated, and compromised on three hours. (He is my master, after all).

Part of the sweetness of this kind of situation is the anticipation. Rituals, scheduling punishments, examination and preparation, all create a sort of suspense and heighten fear. This is especially accute when the experience is to be new, and the pain unknown. That week, during the day and at work, I was fine. But in the evening, the looming image of the scene scheduled for Saturday began to work on my nerves.

I found myself going out to the garage, to look at the saw horse. It was so innocuous. It was just a piece of wood with some legs. He had two of them, stacked in the corner. Running my fingers over the wood 2x4, I realized that it wasn't pointed. It was flat on the top. I wondered if this would make the ride more bearable.

I pressed my hand down on the top, trying to imagine this hard, narrow seat driving its way into my pussy. It was impossible, I could not imagine what it would feel like. Hopes began to swirl in my mind that it would not be too bad. But then I would be reminded... this was an ancient torture, used because it was effective. It was going to hurt, I knew that. It was designed to.

Friday night. Jason and I were going out to a dinner near the beach, and we got dressed up nicely. One day left, and I stood before the mirror in our bathroom and looked at my naked body. I played idly with the jeweled collar on my neck, and assessed my body. I was thin, not extremely so but at or slightly below my ideal weight. I worked hard to keep my body looking good. Spreading my legs slightly, I surveyed my pussy, the slight protrusion of my mound, the softer flesh between my legs. I felt where my bones were, placed them all and wondered how they would be pressed upon during the ride. My weight was low enough I would at least be spared the pain of a heavier frame pressing down on my groin and pussy flesh. Still, I weight over 100 lbs, and it was all going to be pressing in that one small spot.

Saturday was surreal. I awoke with butterflies in my stomach. Nervousness, fear, anticipation, like the day of a big test, or going in for an operation. I tried to spend it as normally as possible, serving Jason, doing laundry, even going out with Sue from across the street for lunch. Behaving normally was difficult. I kept getting rushes, alternating between shuddering anxiety, and a rush of arousal.

I screwed up the laundry, using the wrong amount of bleach. One of Jason's shirts ended up with stripes of white on it. For this error he took spanked me, not unkindly, but enough to sting. When it was over but I was still spread with my ass on his lap, he caressed me between my legs, his fingers gently exploring my wetness, and sliding into my vagina slightly. I knew he was thinking about what would be happening down there in just another couple of hours. So was I.

As the hour approached, I found that I could no longer pretend to be normal. I watched some TV, sitting on the couch as the sting of the spanking faded. I can't recall a thing that was on, I was thinking of nothing but the saw horse in the garage.

At 7:30 it began.

Jason rose, and went into the garage. I knew that he was preparing things. I sat on the couch and whimpered to myself, feeling my pussy every few seconds, amazed that I was wet and engorged even when I was afraid.

At 7:45 Jason returned, and ordered me to strip. I removed my clothes, my top, jeans, bra, panties, everything. He stood for a moment and approved of my body. He does this frequently, especially when he is about to apply punishment. His approval made me flush, and I bowed my head to hide my pleasure.

My wrists were pulled behind my back, and tied together with cotton bondage rope.

He led me to the garage. The center had been cleared, and a saw horse was in the center of the clearing. It was almost exactly as I had seen before, except for a couple of small eyelets he had screwed in to the wood.

My heart was beating wildly and I was shaking slightly as I positioned myself next to the pony and waited for his instructions. Jason came over and helped me swing one leg over the pony, so that I was standing over the central 2x4 beam. I could feel the wood slightly brushing the protruding flesh of my labia.

Jason knelt below the pony. He tied each ankle with a rope, and then loosely threaded the rope to a metal eyelet that he had screwed into the wood on each side of the pony, behind where I was sitting. I wasn't sitting on it yet, not riding, but I could feel the solid feeling of the pony below me. I gratefully noticed he had sanded the wood to prevent splinters, something I would never have thought of. Nevertheless, the beam retained its sharp corners, which I now clearly felt.

My tied wrists were attached to another rope, which extended to an eyelet on the pony behind me. It lifted my wrists slightly away from my back.

There was a large wall clock on the garage wall, which I could see clearly. It said 7:55. I stood over the pony, knowing my ride would begin at any moment. I shivered a little, the garage was cool and I was naked.

"Thank you for sanding the wood," I said simply. My voice sounded shaky.

"You are welcome. I think you will be in enough discomfort." Jason smiled and kissed me. I kissed back, remembering that I was doing this for him, as well as myself. I felt more confident. I needed to remember I was going to suffer for him, it was part of my purpose, my role.

At 8:oopm exactly, Jason pulled my feet out from under me. With a smooth pull, he lifted my feet backwards, so my knees bent and my legs pointed toward the back of the pony. He tied me right ankle up to the side of the pony, and then did the same to the left. No longer able to stand, I sat down hard on the narrow strip of wood.

My ride had begun.

The first sensations were unremarkable. I was immediately calmed, I felt better than I had in hours. It was uncomfortable, yes... but not terribly painful. The edges of the wood dug into soft flesh a little. The pain was endurable.

The angle of my legs, pulled back as they were under the pony, had thrust my weight forward just a bit. I was sitting with more of my weight on my pubic bone than I had anticipated. I shifted back, moving my weight to my perineum. This helped a little. The softer flesh with less bone underneath took the weight a little better, and I settled in for a long ride.

Jason had been checking my ties, positioning and the like, making sure all was well. The clock read 8:05, and he left the garage for a moment. I sat on the pony alone, wondering if he intended to leave me here to suffer alone. It was his choice, but I was a little surprised.

I need not have worried. He returned after a few minutes with a chair, a beer and a few other items. He was settling in for the ride as well. The chair was placed directly in front of me, about 10 feet away, so he could observe. He sat down and took a drink of his beer.

My softer perineum flesh was becoming numb, with a dull ache. I pushed down on my legs, using the ankles where they were tied to the pony to help lift me. It helped a little but my legs were at such an odd angle, it was hard to stay up for long at all; it tended to push me forward more than up. When I relaxed and came back down my pubic bone pressed against the thin wood beam once again, this time more painfully. I must have made a noise, because Jason commented, "it must be beginning to hurt a little, I image. How are you doing?"

"I'm OK. It hurts some, it is hard to find a comfortable position. But it is bearable."

He took another swig of beer as I leaned back again, trying to take the weight off my pubic bone. The aching pain shifted with my weight to my vagina, then back to my perineum once again.

Jason laughed, "This is great. It almost looks like you are trying to hump the thing." He grinned at my discomfort and movements trying to find the best way to ride.

The clock said 8:10. Time was not passing quickly. I knew Jason had placed the clock there, where I could see it, as part of the torture. I could look and see the seconds tick by, and it would make the mental agony more severe. In fact, there was very little to see there except for Jason and the clock.

I pushed up on my legs again, trying to lift some of the weight off my groin. I succeeded but my muscles gave out after about 60 seconds. With my legs bent back and tied up to the pony it was too awkward a position to keep up for long. I was only able to get my pussy about a half inch off the pony but that was enough to provide some relief if even for a moment. I settled back down and rotated my hips forward, so that the pressure would concentrate more in my ass. At the same time I started to tip to the side and quickly regained my balance. My ankles secured to the side of the pony allowed me to keep myself upright, but it took a little effort.

Jason saw that I was struggling to stay upright. There was nothing too keep my upright, really, except for my own efforts and they were hampered by having my hands secured behind me. My legs were tied securely on either side of the pony, which allowed me to balance, but it was a constant struggle, my legs constantly twitching and pushing to keep upright. I think that Jason enjoyed this part of the show. Not only was I slowly moving my weight back and forth to displace the pressure between my legs, my legs were straining to lift myself and to keep my body from tipping over.

It was dawning on me that there were aspects to this torture that I had never envisioned. Depending on the position and the restraints, I was forced to shift, wriggle, strain and pull myself in various directions. By spending more and more effort to simply stay upright, my legs were losing the strength to lift me and relieve the pressure on my pussy.

The clock read 8:15. I had been riding for 15 minutes. The pain wasn't bad, but it was getting very persistent. I noticed that there were so many more aspects to the discomfort than I had ever imagined. It wasn't just the pressure against my flesh, it was the constant strain to stay upright, the constant strain to lift myself to relieve the pressure, the pain in my legs from the muscles constantly working, the shifting of the discomfort from one part of my crotch to the other...

I had some control within a 4 or 5 inch area; I could move the center of the pressure, but it was becoming clear this tactic was false relief. I was beginning to shift faster, moving forward, feeling the discomfort of my bone smashing my clit against the wood, then back, and feeling my ass/hip bones pressing my perineum and ass against the outside of the pony.

To my horror, I discovered that the wood, which was perhaps an inch and a half wide, was spreading my pussy lips wide, and driving deeper into my cunt. When I shifted back, my ass cheeks spread wide, and the thin board felt like it was trying to spread my anus as well.The firm unrelenting pressure was slowly wedging my body wider apart.

A gasp escaped my lips as I shifted forward again, and the pony spread my labia wide and pinched the lips against my legs, a new kind of discomfort resulting from the increasing penetration of my vaginal area.

It was beginning to throb now, pulsing and modulating. I think it was actually beginning to really hurt. It took on a sort of fire to it, not hot, but burning nonetheless. I leaned forward as far as I could, accepting the crunching pain of my pubic bone pressing my clit and flesh, smashing them and deforming them. I grunted, and moaned, a long, low moan of pain. But I had to stay there, accept the pain of that position in order to give my vagina and labia rest from the pinching and stretching.

Leaning forward like that, further and further each time, stretched my arms behind my back. My wrists were tied to the back of the pony. I was prevented from laying down, and moving too far forward simply stretched my arms out in back.

I remember thinking about this time, that this experiment was rapidly turning into a remarkable experience. The nuances of the pain were beginning and were unusual, the way it morphed and moved with me, how I could avoid one pain simply to invoke another... and each new pain was worse, was more, but if I shifted back to the lesser pain it would revitalize as a new level of agony...

The pain, which had begun in earnest now, was somewhat under my control. But the really evil, insidious part of this torture was how I had control over where it went. I could lean forward or backward, I could try shifting slightly left and right. Each shift gave relief to one area but resulting in discomfort in another.

Riding the pony was truly an ordeal of endurance.

The clock said 8:45.

It was hurting. Really hurting now. I realized I had not paid attention to Jason for some time, I had been concentrating on techniques to help shift and spread the pressure and discomfort. Now I sat, simply enduring the pain in my cunt, the board jammed between my labia, spreading them apart and hurting. I looked at Jason.

He had his pants down and his cock out. His hand idly slid up and down as he masturbated. Precum had lubricated his shaft, and his hand slid easily up and down. He looked really large and hard.

I rocked back a bit and felt the blood flood back into my clit. It made the pain worse there. I grunted a little and moaned, as Jason stroked his cock, enjoying my discomfort.

This went on for some time, until the clock said 9:00. I had been riding an hour, and Jason was still stroking his cock. I was in real pain now, with the sharp corners of the wood digging in, tearing my sensitive flesh slightly. I couldn't see, but I wondered if I might be bleeding. The pain had swathed the entire area of my hips.

My legs could hardly lift me now, it was all I could do to stay upright. My breasts felt heavy in front of me, urging me to lay down, pulling me to rest by laying on the pony in front of me. It seemed almost possible until I moved forward and felt the ropes which held my wrists pull taught. Damn.

Jason rose, and examined my pussy. "You aren't bleeding. I can see some bruising though. It must be pretty painful."

"Fuck," was all I could say.

"Can I help you a bit? Perhaps you would like me to stimulate you a bit?" Jason reached down, and as I leaned back slightly, his finger pressed under my pussy and found my clit. He moved it slowly in a circular motion which flooded my body and mind in new sensations.

"Yes... please... that is good."

I couldn't help it. I was a pain slut, I knew it. I was his pain slut, and I wanted to cum on that pony. He continued for a while. As my excitement grew, my hip movements began to thrust ever so slightly, my nipples hard. I was getting close to orgasm.

And he stopped.

"Fuck! You asshole!" I was frustrated beyond belief, not only trapped on this horrible device but he stopped before I orgasmed.

"That language is unbecoming someone in your... position," Jason said with a smile. "Perhaps we need some other way to help distract you during your ride."

He went over to his chair and picked something up. Nipple clamps. The kind with the pretty chain between them.

Standing next to me, he stroked my breasts, feeling their shape and lifting them slightly. Eventually, he concentrated on my nipples, which grew erect in spite of myself. He was in control of my body. As my left nipple was fully erect he took the first clamp and applied it.

"Ooowwww.... fuck, fuck, fuck... that fucking hurts..." I couldn't help it. I howled when the clamp closed on my sensitive flesh.

He stroked my right nipple to life in the same way. When it was ready for him, the clamp went on there, as well. I howled again.

Nipple clamps hurt like hell when they first go on, and then the pain slides into a numb ache. I have to admit, the clamps did actually distract me from the pain between my legs for a while. After he sat down, and started playing with his balls, it took a few minutes for me to concentrate on the pain between my legs once again.

The clock read 9:30.

Half way. It felt like it had been a lot longer. There is nothing, absolutely nothing to do while riding the pony except endure. I kept reminding myself that the pain was not as bad as other situations I had experienced. There had been a few canings that had hurt worse. There was a time when muscle cramps from a strappado had been agonizing.

The problem was, that riding the pony I knew that this pain was going to simply continue, constantly, for the next hour and a half. It was scheduled. It was to be endured, unceasing, unrelenting.

I realized after a bit that I was crying. Tears were rolling down my cheeks. I wasn't sobbing, I had not lost that much control, but the pain was wearing on me. My leg muscles burned, my groin ached all the way through my hips, my shoulders even hurt a little from my wrists being tied behind me. I wanted this to be over, and I didn't want to wait.

Slime was leaking from my nose. My tears had dried on my cheeks and breasts, but snot was descending over my lip and into my mouth. There was nothing I could do about it. Uncontrolled body fluid emmision is one of the things I had learned to accept in periods of prolonged bondage.

I leaned as far forward as I could. Screw my arms, they hurt from being pulled back, but I had to shift the weight on my groin. Try as I might, I could not get myself far enough down for my breasts to touch the pony. I stayed in that position for a while before pulling on my wrists to straighten myself.

Jason was stroking himself faster. His cock was convulsing a little. I watched as he watched me, his eyes on my painful position, my tears, moans, and he came. He jerked and thrust his hips, and I saw his white cum spurt out and all over his stomach. It kept coming, urged on by his hand which continued sliding up and down as he stared at me, grunting and moaning from the effort of his orgasm.

It had happened before, but it always struck me as the most humiliating and degrading thing - to be reduced to a pain toy, to be bound and subjected to agony. My pain was a stimulant to him, something which brought him pleasure, and he took advantage of it, revelled in it, and used it to bring himself orgasms. I felt like a piece of meat. Meat in pain.

It was 10:15 when he came the second time. His stomach was still sticky from the first time, and my snot and tears had pooled on the wood of the pony before me, dripping down the sides and onto the floor. I had asked him to release me at 10:00. He had kissed me, and returned to his chair, explaining he knew I could do it.

The pain wasn't terrible. It felt pretty bad at the time, there was a lot of numbness and aching, but it was not pure agony. It was simply... wearing. Constant. Pain. It hurt. I wanted it to stop. The clock ticking, the slow shifting of pressure from my ass to my pussy... I wanted it to stop.

I peed as some point. While I had made sure I had emptied my bladder before starting the ride, it had been well over 2 hours and I was losing control of my body functions from tiredness and strain. I remember realizing I was peeing when it happened. There had been no decision to release my bladder, it just happened. The urine soaked the wood and pooled below me on the concrete floor of the garage.

It was cool in the garage, but I had been sweating. Sweat can really be irritating in bondage, because it trickles - it can cause itching, or tickling. And of course, there is nothing to do about it. Except endure. The wetness on the concrete below me was a collection of sweat, urine, snot and tears.

At 10:45, Jason came over, stroking my hair and praising me. Urging me on. I felt braver at that point, knowing it was almost over. And kindly, Jason reached down and began fondling my clit again. This time, he kept the circular movement going, pushing, sliding, gently but consistently, until I cried out and shuddered from a full, mind blowing orgasm.

When the clock hit 11:00, Jason untied the ropes which held my ankles up. I yelped just a bit, because my legs had been cramping and the cramps were suddenly worse when I extended them. My feet hit the floor, and lifted me off the damn pony. There was no immediate relief. The pain was still with me, haunting and embedded inside my damaged groin and ass.

My wrists were untied, and I put my arms around Jason, allowing him to help me swing my leg over the pony and stand next to it. I was shaky, and had to be helped to his chair, where I sipped his beer. It tasted so damn good.

In all of this, I had completely forgotted my nipple clamps. They hurt, but then when your whole body hurts, what's a little nipple clamp? Until you take it off, of course. It was the worst single moment of the evening, the screaming pain when the clamps were removed. Fortunately, it only lasted a few moments.

I bled slightly from the ordeal, my flesh having been stretched and torn slightly from my shifting and wriggling in place. There was bruising, some of it deep. My cunt hurt for several days after, deep down inside as well as the outside.

Jason rewarded me for the pony ride with a set of gorgeous diamond stud earrings. I wear them proudly.

I have since ridden the pony several more times since then, experiments using different equipment and positions. It is never pleasant, frequently agonizing. And yes, I really would rather not ride. It hurts.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009


Paris was wonderful, as I had anticipated and planned. The Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, Versailles… all the normally great tourist places that thrilled me and so many others. But we knew Paris held many other pleasures, not so obvious, not on the normal tourist agenda. I had spent some time searching for the underbelly of Parisian nightlife, the marginal society that many would rather pretend is not there but is famous in certain circles around the world.

The search was accomplished, and we were in contact with some of the best in the Paris underground BDSM scene. My reputation preceded me, or they would not have accepted me as they did. I was a tried and true submissive, with a taste for the macabre and extreme. Not to mention, young, pretty and goth.

I didn’t know what was to happen. In a way, I didn’t want to. A new experience, the unexpected, was what I yearned for and I hoped they could bring. Jason would be with me, and would abuse me as well as protect me, I knew. Otherwise, I was going to be helpless and subjected to experiences beyond what I had imagined at home.

My Paris BDSM dominants were Pierre, a tall, thin rather severe looking man with sandy hair and Jeannette, a cute girl about my height (5′6″) with dark hair trimmed at shoulder length. After several meetings, the time and place was set. Friday night, 8pm in a building on the left bank, a few km from the city center. I dressed in light cloth clothing, all black, with my laceup boots. It probably didn’t matter much how I dressed, the clothing was disposable anyway and would very likely not last long.

It was still hot from the summer day and I was glad my clothing was light as I entered the dingy building off the Boulevard Raspali. My eyes quickly grew used to the dim lighting and spotted the door at the end of the hall, as had been described to me. I strided up to the door, took a deep breath, and went it.

Jeanette was in a small sitting room inside, and rose to greet me, smiling. Pierre entered in moments. They offered me a bottle of water, which I took gratefully (the heat and humidity make one sweat a lot in Paris during the summer). They also urged me to eat something, which I did.

As I ate the bread and fruit they provided, I noticed my hands were shaking. I had not realized just how nervous I was. Both my dominants were recommended to me and had good reputations. I knew I was safe with them and that Jason would join us later, once my ordeal began. But then… what was truly safe? I had already given them permission to abuse me in ways that most would consider unsafe…

When I was finished, Pierre rose, and in a quiet but confident voice said, “Well, then… shall we get started?”

I rose, and bowed my head in a submissive posture. “Of course,” I agreed.

Jeanette produced a large leather item, which once it was unfolded I recognized as an armbinder. I hate those things. The tight ones, and this one looked tight, pulled your arms all the way in back of you, elbows touching. That gets pretty painful, with cramps and stretched muscles and a panicky feeling that you want to struggle out. Jeanette requested that I remove my top and any underclothing, which I did, removing and folding my top and bra. I was nude from the waist up.

Turning, I placed my arms behind my back, palms facing each other. Jeanette slid the binder on, and jerked it up into place. My hands were already squeezed together, immobile, as she began tightening the lacing which drew my upper arms together more and more painfully. After about 5 minutes, it was done, the lacing as tight as possible, and my arms felt the dull ache and my mind recognized the swelling panic that always came at the beginning of a scene – it was needed in order to reach my subspace.

My head still hung, my long black hair obscuring my face. Pierre reached down and slid my skirt off, and then my panties. I was naked except for the boots, and the armbinder twisted my body in a way that thrust my breasts out in front of me. I felt more exposed than usual, in front of these strangers, in a strange place.

I also realized I was wet with arousal and anticipation. My nipples were hard and I wanted to get going. I hadn’t come here for a scene that was as simple as an armbinder.

Pierre took my chin and raised it with his fingers, to make me look in his eyes. “Now… dear… this is essentially your last chance to back out. Once we put on your gag, you won’t be able to complain, and even if you did it would be too late. Decide now, confirm or deny. Are you ready to submit yourself to us completely?”

There were tears gathering in my eyes and I was shaking slightly as I looked at him. But in a strong voice, I declared “Let’s get this fucking thing over with. Do it.”

Pierre smiled, perhaps not a nice smile, and moments later a large ball gag was inserted and buckled tightly behind. A dog collar was placed around my neck, with a leash. They sat me down, unlaced and removed my boots.

Except for the binder, collar and gag, I was naked and exposed. It was fucking wonderful.

Then came the blindfold. Cloth covered my eyes, several times so that I could see nothing. I began drooling uncontrollably from the gag.

Using my leash, I was guided and tugged out of the room. We walked inside, not too far but I still did not know exactly where. A door was opened, and then another. The third door was opened with a key – it sounded like there was a hefty padlock involved. I felt a little stab of fear. Where ever they were taking me was deep in the bowels of the building, behind locked doors.

“Be careful. There are stairs,” Jeannette’s voice came, and my bare feet felt their way to the first step. I began a descent. Down a flight of wooden stairs, I felt the air grow musty around me. At the bottom of the stairs, I was led across a room with a stone floor. Another door was unlocked.

It occured to me that I was being led into the bowels of a dungeon, deep under a building. This must be what it felt like to be a political prisoner being led to a cell where they would be forgotted, to live the rest of their life in the dark. I shuddered.

The stone floor led to a second set of stairs. These were spiral stairs, and I went very slowly to keep from falling. The leash held a steady but not unbearable tug on my, assuring that I would continue to follow, but did not pull me so much that I lost my balance. Strangely, with my eyes covered, I didn’t feel quite as naked and exposed.

The staircase wound down, I had not counted steps, but it must have been 20 or 30 before I felt the air getting cooler. We were far below ground by now. I tried to say something through the gag… where were we? How deep were we going? What was this? Even if my grunting mumbling could have been understood, my tops were not going to answer.

As the steps went deeper, I became more and more frightened. This was no sub-basement. This staircase was twisting down into a cave or sewer… in face I could not imagine the sewer system was this deep.

I stumbled, and felt Pierre’s strong hands grab me and keep me upright. We continued.

Finally… we arrived at the bottom. The hair was cool and moist. I stood at the bottom of the stairs, shaking slightly from nerves and from the cold. We were deep. Mine shaft deep. Below anything of the city, below basements and subways and sewers. I had never felt so isolated and vulnerable.

A yank of the leash and we started off again. The hard packed earth floor felt like rock, and there was quite a bit of loose rock or gravel that made it very hard to walk in bare feet. I yelped from beneath my gag more than once as I danced and pranced over sharp stones. The leashed tugged, always moving me along, unyielding now and pressing me forward. It was clear that my discomfort was no longer a concern.

After a few minutes of walking and making several turns, we stopped. My blindfold was removed. I blinked tears from my eyes and tried to focus. The light was very dim, but there was more than under the blindfold.

My eyes grew wide, as my mind took in the dim rock walls of a narrow passage. The only light was from the two flashlights that my minders carried. Just in front of us was a stone door frame that had an inscription above. I read “Arrète, c’est ici l’empire des Morts“. Not reading much French didn’t stop me from realizing that it was a warning that we were about to enter the Empire of the Dead.

I turned, and bolted away, down the corridor. Or at least I tried. I think I got all of 3 feet before the leash jerked me painfully to a halt and I fell backward, hard, on my ass and back. I wriggled on the floor for a bit, my armbinder making it impossible to get up again. Finally, I stopped and just panted beneath the gag.

The leash was pulled and I was helped up by the support of my collar yanking on my neck. These doms were serious. Once we had entered the caves, they had shown little mercy. I was fucked. It was exactly what I had been seeking.

Once on my feet, Jeanette (who was little more than a sexy silhouette in front of me now) pulled my leash and guided through the stone door. We walked for another 10 minutes or so, making several turns and I realized how foolish it was for me to have tried escape. There was no way I would have ever found my way out of the maze below.

My body was shaking both from fear and cold. This deep, it was quite cold, and water dripped from the ceiling onto my bare flesh. My feet were bleeding from the gravel on the floor, though I had no time to stop and examine them. My chin, neck and breasts were wet from my constant drooling brought on by the gag. My shoulders and arms were aching terribly from the tight bondage of the binder. My neck was sore from having my collar jerked. None of this compared to the fear and apprehension I had as we walked on.

Through another heavy stone portal. The sight that awaited me on the other side was enough to almost make me faint.

Bones were stacked along the walls of a roughly square chamber. Human bones. Femurs, hips, skulls, fingers, ribs… stacked neatly and tightly. Empty eye sockets stared at me. Dozens of them, and then as we walked on, hundreds and then thousands of them. An army had been buried here, or perhaps a whole city. Bones were everywhere, most stacked neatly, some shattered and spread around.

Two more chambers of bones and we reached a chamber that had several lit candles flickering and lighting the bones. Pierre and Jeanette turned off their flashlights. The room was plunged into candlelight that made it look as if it were filled with ghosts, moving ones in the shape of skeletons. They danced and pranced across the ceiling and walls, and grinned and then faded from view.

I fell to my knees and began sobbing. My gag prevented me from saying anything, and I had no words. Just fear. Just a vague, ghostly, undefined sense of fear. This place was where I was to be humiliated, tortured, tormented. There, with the dead surrounding me and taunting me for defiling their abode.

Pierre attached a rope to the end of the armbinder, which he then threw up and over a heavy stone beam above us. He pulled the rope taught, lifting me from my kneeling position as my arms rose behind me, pulling and stressing the muscles in my shoulders. I cried out in pain, begged for release from behind the gag, but the rope was pulled farther until my arms rose behind me and I was bent over at an angle. He tied the rope off on a metal hook embedded in the stone wall.

There were five candles lighting this chamber of horror. One by one, Jeanette blew them out. The dark slowly descended, until there was only one candle left alight. It was dim, enough to see the basic shape of the room and the horrible skeletons surrounding me. It flickered dangerously, as if it might go out at any moment, and in the flicker, the skulls laughed at me…

Jeanette came over to me, no longer the petite, cute goth girl I had submitted to an hour or so before. Instead, she appeared a dark priestess of the dead, all in black, blending in with the dark corridor behind her, just the dim outline of her face and eyes before me. With a slow, deliberate movement, she removed the gag.

She leaned forward and kissed me, deeply.

I don’t know how I did it, but I kissed back. She tasted good, and her taste seemed a tiny bit of the real world to me. I wanted that taste I wanted real flesh and blood, something alive and vibrant and warm to touch me and fondle me.

And touch me she did. As she prolonged our kiss, her hand slipped over my hips and between my legs. Her finger slid between my pussy lips, and I was amazed to realize I was wet! She slipped inside with almost no effort, and then back out, sliding over my clit in the process. Her lips and tongue withdrew from me and was replaced by her finger, which I suckled briefly. I tasted my juices on her, and realized that as afraid as I was, and as much pain I was in, I was still very aroused and getting off on this experience.

Her finger slid out of my mouth, and she moved back, away from me, and down the black corridor.

I screamed.

She had left me alone. I was suspended in a strappado position in this cavern of the dead, naked and shivering, with only a single candle for light, and she had left me alone.

Then the candle went 0ut.

I screamed again, terrified. The dark surrounded me like a suffocating blanket, creating a claustrophobia I had never felt before. I struggled in my armbinder, but all it did was cause more cramps. My screams continued, echoing, coming back to me in repition. I heard myself, the panic and pleading in my screams. The dead were taunting me once again, screaming back at me, screaming their own pain and inviting me to join them.

Finally, the screams subsided and gave way to tears. I cried for a while, feeling the wetness on my cheeks trickle and then drop from my chin to join the water from the ceiling drips, where they gathered to make the floor slightly muddy.

In that absolute darkness and silence, there was nothing in the world but me and my pain. The strict armbinder had made parts of my arms numb, but the pain in my shoulders was increasing and spreading across my back and chest. I stood on tiptoe to relieve a little of the pressure, but not much helped.

There was nothing in the world but the pain. No sound but my own breathing and the occasional drip of the ceiling. No light to see. Nothing to touch and feel. Just pain in my body, and that pain spread through my mind, occupying it. It became my friend and enemy. It became my life, as I hung there in the dark.

In the silence, I began to hear things. Whispers, small sounds. I thought they might be real, but couldn’t tell. They were bizarre. Silent laughter… course breathing… the sounds of tiny footsteps and shuffling gravel. Cries of a woman being held captive in the caverns… no, that was me. I was hearing myself.

There were ghosts here, I could see them. Flickering white that just skimmed the surface of consciousness. I could feel them at times, brushing against my flesh with an ice cold chill that disappeared as quickly as it came. Sounds which flirted with the edge of my awareness, moans or calls that I could not tell were real or not.

And then there was a noise which was clear, and I knew was real. A sigh.

“Who’s there? Who? For god sake, speak to me!” I almost screamed in a panicked voice.

“One who has waited long for you to speak to me,” came the voice. It was soft and had no echo, though it was loud compared to the silence that surrounded it.

“Who? What? Please… can you release me? I am dying… my arms… they hurt. I need to see light. I am seeing ghosts, can you help me, please…” I begged.

“Of course, I can help you. I can bring you back to the world of the living. But there is a price.”

“Please… please… anything. What do you want?”

The voice was silent for a while, and then spoke in a thoughtful, slow manner as if the speaker was discovering what he was saying as he said it, with eyes closed in contemplation.

“Be careful what you wish for. Do not say anything unless you mean it. You do have a choice you know… to stay here with the dead, face your sentence in the dark until your body is discovered, alive or dead, or perhaps simply… driven insane.”

After a moment of silence he spoke again. “Or, you can turn yourself over to us, the ghouls of the catacombs. We will torture you, yes… was this not what you sought in coming here? We will pleasure ourselves with you, and perhaps you will feel some of the pleasure as well? Pleasure mixed with pain, perhaps even pain becoming pleasure. You will not die, and it will keep you sane.”

Whoever this guy was he creeped me out. But my mind had been fucked with so badly, hanging painfully in the dark surrounded by the ghosts, deep underground. I truly thought that becoming the torture plaything of some ghoul was better than remaining suspended there in the dark and silence for days.

“Yes, yes. I understand. Please… just… how?”

“Do you? Do you understand? To experience pain, and pleasure. Delight in your body, and allow others to delight in it? To allow others to delight in the giving of pain, and pleasure, and sensation? To give your living body for the pleasure of the dead?”

I begged now, “Oh please, yes… anything, just to see and hear and feel, I don’t want to be alone in this place. I am already in pain, I have that, add pleasure and all the rest. I want to be part of the world again! I don’t want to be dead any more!”

Waiting now in the silence, holding my breath.

The faint touch of the ghost on my right thigh, a cold stroke that slid up my inner thigh. I screamed as I realized it was real, there was something behind me that was touching me, sliding upward toward my sex with cold flesh. I jerked away from the touch momentarily, but it followed me, and this time slid further up, hardly stopping at the entrance to my pussy. Instead it pushed in, and slid deeper.

It was wet, or I was wet, or we both were. It was cold, I knew that. And it was inside me, and suddenly thrust deep within me. The ghoul was fucking me. At first I had thought it was touching me with fingers, but this was too large, too straight, too deep inside me. I was bent over and fairly immobile because of the strappado. Having been fucked in this position many times before I knew just how exposed an angle I was in, and that I would have to endure the rape from whatever was plunging inside me.

Each thrust pushed my body forward slightly, jerking the armbinder that was raised behind me. Each thrust brought new twists in my muscles and grunts pain. Each thrust felt deeper and more satisfying and began to make good on its promise of mixing pleasure with pain. I felt the stirrings of a climax within.

The rape stopped as I orgasmed. I shuddered and cried out as the flood of pleasure covered my body. Still rock hard, the member withdrew from me and rejoined the enveloping black stillness. I heard my breathing, panting and slightly moaning from the effort I expended in keeping my position to reduce the pain in my shoulders and assist the penetration to bring my own climax.

Simultaneous with the sound of quick scratching, a tiny flame was lit before me. A match flame shimmered in the chamber, once again revealing the human decay that surrounded me. A tiny light, but in that complete darkness it seemed to light up the whole world. It revealed a black shadowed figure that held the match in its hand, and slowly touched it to a candle, and then a second and third candle perched on the walls.

I almost cried in delight. Being fucked had brought me out of my head and back into the real world, such as it was. The light now, was like a cool drink in the heat of summer.

The figure moved away; out of my range of vision. The rope that held my arms high behind me was suddenly released, and I fell to the ground, the cramping in my shoulders once again making me cry out. I lay on my side, slightly curled, my arms still bound behind. Rough hands raised me up and began unlacing the binder. As the tension slowly faded and my muscles contracted into place, the pain kept flooding over me in waves. I moaned, cried, at one point screamed when my arms were released.

My cries seemed to arouse the two dark figures. Their hands roamed over my body, feeling my ribs as I breath, the contractions of my stomach as I screamed, my shoulders as the pain flooded through them once more.

Ropes were tied tightly to my wrists, and my arms stretched out to either side. The stretching hurt terribly as my damaged muscles moved into new positions, pulled taught to either side and above me. Pulling higher and higher, the ropes finally lifted me off the floor until I stood on my toes, hanging by my wrists.

Ropes applied to my ankles, stretched wide, and in seconds I was hanging spread-eagled from my wrists, legs wide apart, struggling for breath from the labor of making my stretched diaphragm press my lungs and suck air in and out. Every muscle in my body, every joint, seemed to be straining to keep me from falling apart.

There were three dark figures now. They moved with purpose in the dim light, and then disappeared. I hung above the ground, waiting for whatever would happen next. It came without warning.

With a hiss and a snap, the flesh of my back and stomach burst into flames of pain. I screamed and struggled, trying to get free from whatever had just torn my flesh. It was to no avail, the whistling hiss of a whip came a split second before my body screamed to life with pain once again.

I didn’t count the strokes. Perhaps 10, maybe 15. Enough to make me wonder if my flesh was going to start peeling off. I knew that in times long ago a severe whipping could be use to flay the flesh off a prisoner. It was possible, and I had no idea how close I was to that fate. When the whipping stopped, I hung with my head down over my chest, long hair stuck to the sweat that covered my breasts. I observed the red welts that covered my sides and stomach, a few of them licking my breasts angrily.

A black figure, a woman I am certain from her hands and the way she carried herself, appeared before me. Her fingers gently pinched and stroked my left nipple, caressing it to erection. Once it was hard and ready for her, it was rewarded with a nipple clamp. It hurt like hell. The same was done to my right nipple, the pleasure erecting the nipple, making it ready for the pain. How symbolic of this entire ordeal.

The girl returned and reached up to kiss me. I returned the kiss, eager to please and to try to mix the pain with some pleasure. It was a good kiss, wet and her tongue felt alive and tasted of mint; not like a ghoul at all.

She then produced an object, and raised it to my face.

“Kissss….” she said.

I didn’t realize what it was at first, and as soon as I did I gagged on rising vomit. She held a skull in front of my face, its jaw slightly open, empty eyes looking at me expectantly.

“KISS… make love to the queen of the dead!”

I tried, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I turned my head away.

The skull was removed, and another ghoul appeared before me. A weight was added to my left nipple clamp. Not just one of those small teaser weights most people use to look sexy. This was a 5 pound piece of shot that dragged my boob down, elongating it and hurting like hell. The nipple had become numb from loss of blood, this brought back all the pain of the newly applied clamp and added new dimensions. A weight was added to my right breast with similar results. Fuck, I was in more pain than I had experienced in… well, forever, as far as I could tell. Stretched out, suspended, nipple clamps, weights…

The skull was presented again. This time, I tried harder, and my lips touched the grinning mouth opening which remained. Teeth were gone, and the skull was slightly sharp where they had once been. The feeling of the bone on my lips made me gag again, and I withdrew quickly.

The skull was thrust again, and the girl demanded “KISS, kiss her as you did me…”

Oh, god. They wanted me to do a deep tongue kiss to this skull. Fuck. I gagged on bile again, and turned my head.

Pussy clamps this time. My labia was stretched down, and the clamps applied easily as my legs were spread. The clamps hurt almost as badly as the nipple clamps, except… they almost immediately added weights. Shit, shit, I cried out for mercy as my pussy seemed to be dragging out of my body. How much pain could I take? I screamed loudly, and listened to my voice, crying for mercy, echoing down the corridors to emptiness.

No one would come, no one would rescue me.

The skull was presented to my face again. Once again I kissed, opening my mouth and extending my tongue. The skull pressed against my face in a ghastly imitation of a deep romantic kiss, moving side to side, encouraging my tongue to slide against bone and lick the inside of the skull. It tasted strange, of dirt and dust and iron and decay and other things I could not identify.

The interior of the skull had an odd texture, like hardened wood or concrete but more fragile. As my tongue and lips slid around the outside and inside of the dry bone my saliva smeared and was absorbed by the porous bone. I felt the upper pallet and jaw of the skull, opened my mouth wide as if I expected a skeletal tongue tongue to reach into my own mouth, and continued to lick and kiss the horrible remnant of humanity forced against my lips.

The ghastly make-out session ended, at last, and the skull was withdrawn. My tongue and mouth tasted filthy; and I discovered that the aftertaste left by human bone is slightly moldy.

How long I had been deep below ground in this realm of the dead I had no idea, but I did know I was dying of thirst. I begged in a surprisingly croaking voice, “Please… water… may I have water?”

The response was immediate, and water was brought to me in a large bowl held to my lips to sip. I began to drink eagerly, and then a familiar flavor entered my consciousness, and the shape of the bowl struck me….

I vomited over the skull bowl that held the water. The puke went over my breasts and stomach, into the bowl, my stomach contracting and heaving as best it could given my frame was stretched out tightly in the spread eagle. I couldn’t help it. I needed the water, I knew drinking it was the only way I would get any, but it had come as such a shock that I was drinking from the remains of the hardened brain casing of a long dead person…

More water was brought, and the puke was washed from my naked body. I drank the water this time, able to get it down with only a slight gag. Necessity is the mother of tolerance. I think I drank four or five skull fulls of water, I was so thirsty.

As all this was going on, the original three ghouls had been joined by a fourth. There were now two males and two females. I was certain that one pair were Pierre and Jeanette, the couple that had originally bound me and brought me below. The other two I could not see clearly, though the girl appeared to have long dark hair and was taller and slimmer than Jeanette.

They approached my sagging body hanging from the ropes once again, and this time their hands extended and began a slow but increasingly probing examination of my body. Fingers slid up my spread legs, tenderly or firmly depending on the hand; tongues licked my neck, lips suckled my agonized pinched nipples. My breasts were lifted, along with the weights attached to them, and then allowed to drop painfully. My ass cheeks were spread, and fingers probed in the crack.

Hands ran up my inner thighs, and eventually spread and examined the folds of flesh between them. Slowly but certainly, fingers delved deeper into my pussy. How many fingers I could not tell, they were attached to more than one hand and more than one person, but I know it quickly went from two fingers to three, and then four. Before long I had five fingers pressing into my vagina, actively spreading my flesh apart. It began to hurt, the stretching and tearing feeling as my pussy was forcibly widened.

The labia clamps were removed. The blood and sensation rushing back into that sensitive area made me gasp and clench my muscles. My labia, free of the clamps, continued to be stretched wide, wider than every before.

At the same time, a finger had made its way deep into my anus. I could feel it wiggling around, actually pressing against the fingers in my vagina. My sphincter was clenching, instinctively squeezing it trying to prevent further intrusion into my bowels. It didn’t work and in fact just made things worse, as a second finger forced its way into my unlubricated ass. The two fingers, from different people I was certain, worked together to pulled, massage, stretch and force open my anus wider. A third and fourth fingers were added, and my ass was being painfully and forcefully stretched open.

In the meantime the fingers in my vagina had inserted all the way to a hand; I could feel my flesh being torn wide and the knuckles of a fist entering me. Fingers pressed against my cervix, and I grunted and moaned in pain as I was fisted. Deeper it went, until I felt like I was giving birth, cramps set in, my cervix was being pressed up into my intestines and the pain of distended flesh was making my cry in great sobs.

The double fisting was more intrusion than my body had ever suffered. And somehow… this extreme intrusion felt as arousing as it was painful. I sobbed in pain, but at the same time began rocking my hips back and forth slightly, creating a sort of rhythm which was soon picked up by the probing hands. Forward and down, the hand pressed into my vagina and against my cervix, rubbing against my clit. Shifting back, the hand in my ass sliding in and filling my bowls. Slight movements, but enough to make the experience increasingly erotic for me, and with the cooperation of the corporeal invaders whose hands were now inside my body, I was headed for another massive orgasm.

When it did come, I tried to scream with the climax which surged through my body. I found that it was difficult, stretched and hung as I was my body was not able to take deep breaths and my scream was more of a loud moaning gurgle. When it was over, the hands slowly relaxed and edged their way out as the ghouls licked and kissed various parts of my exposed body.

Hanging from my outstretched arms was taking its toll, and my breathing had become ragged. My arms were becoming numb as well as my shoulders, and I could no longer move my fingers. I was more than glad when the ropes tied to my wrists were slowly released, and I descended back down to the floor. Descended may be too nice a word, for when my feet hit the ground, my legs buckled and I fell to the ground and lay there, unable to move except for a little twitching. It felt so good to be down, and resting in a prone position.

I lay on the dirt floor for a while, unwilling to even try moving. When I finally did move, it was because two of the dark figures stood over me, reached down and took my arms to lift me up. I still could not see their faces well, though I could tell these were the two guys. They half dragged me out of the chamber, down a short stone corridor and into another chamber which was larger than the last. Bones lined this chamber as well, fashioned in curious designs against the wall. There was a single stone bench or table in the center of the room, and I was placed on this, on my back.

My ankles were spread wide, as were my wrists. Each were tied to something (a ring or hook) that appeared at the base of the stone table. Thus, I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, my arms and legs spread apart once again and tied back and behind me. The ceiling above was hard to make out; the flickering candle light showed curious patterns and cracks in the stone, as well as dark markings. Above me, silhouetted against the flickering candle light, the four figures looked down at me.

The clamps on my nipples were released, once again bringing stinging, searing pain. I gasped and one of the dark figured reached down and massaged my nipples, bringing the blood flow back in and making them erect at the same time.

One of them spoke, and I believe it was Jeanette, though the voice seemed softer than before, and more hollow than a human voice should be.

“You are making good progress. You may be able to return to the land of the living, if you survive the next few hours. For now, rest. Sleep if you can.”

Survive???? I thought. Was there some question as to whether I would survive this???

The four figures disappeared, fading into the shadows and leaving me with a single candle that provided just barely enough light to see the outlines of the walls and ceiling. I lay, unable to move because of my bindings.


The ceiling above me discharged a drop of water that splatted on my face. I turned my head.


Another large drop, on my cheek.

Drip. Drop.

Two drops of water, one right after the other, in slightly different locations on my face.

Nothing for a while, and then, without warning:


The ceiling was dripping on me. I closed my eyes, and opened my mouth, trying to catch the water to drink. It was coming too slowly to be satisfying, but I tried for a while.

The drops of water came at irregular intervals. I never knew when. I tried counting – somewhere between 3 to 30 seconds… I moved my head, so the drops would strike different areas of my face.


I didn’t hurt any more… my body was feeling much better, having been able to rest and lay down. But I couldn’t sleep – the dripping water was keeping me awake. I tried to think of sheep… they turned into drops of water… I tried counting them… then gave up on that.

Exhaustion came over me, and I drifted to sleep for a while… but the dripping awakened me. I shifted my head, moving it out of the way of the drips as best I could. The water struck my neck just below my ear… tolerable for a time. I slept again, spread out on the stone altar in the city of the dead.

Drip. Drip…. Drip…. Drop.

I woke struggling and screaming. The dripping water had caused a numb place on my cheek. Or was it numb? Perhaps it was actually more sensitive. I couldn’t tell. What I knew was that the constant drip was filling my world, occupying my mind with a hideous monotony.

You see, part of the agony was the constant drip on my face, the way it felt like a violation of my personal space as I was unable to fend it off as it steadily ate away at my flesh. Another part of the agony was that the drips were not regular; they pretended to be regular and in a pattern. This deceived the mind, following false trails and patterns much like a lost hiker finds lost trails in a forest that when followed, disappear having lead the hiker deeper into the wilderness.

But most agonizing of all, was that this drip was all there was in the world. There was no sound, no real light, no other sensation but this dripping water. It dripped and literally became all I could think about. How much water was there? When would the next drop come and where would it land? Was it hurting me? I was slowly, but surely, going insane.

I screamed from frustration, and struggled against the bonds; arms and legs straining to be free to no avail. My legs were held wide apart, my arms pulled back and down to where they were tied to the legs of this stone platform. I pulled a muscle slightly, and the pain shocked me. But it also diverted me, and had a kind of sweetness to it. It was a sensation I could concentrate on instead of the drip…drop….drip…

I cried, my tears descending my cheeks and mixing with the water dripping on my face. I could hear someone talking to me, and tried to answer, but it was my own voice. I tried to allow the water to pierce my flesh and kill me, I pleaded with it to kill me… I struggled against my bonds once more.

In the dim flicker of the single candle, a darkness appeared. At first I didn’t think it was real, I had been hallucinating objects for a while. But when the figure spoke in its low, calm but raspy voice, I knew it was real.

“Do you wish release from the water which plagues you?”

“Yes, please, please, release me, kill me, whatever you need to do but take me from this place, from this horrible… ” I don’t know exactly what I said. Some of it was gibberish I am sure.

The figure asked again, “Do you wish me to cover your face to shield you from the dripping water?”

“Yessss…..” I croaked…. and then started sobbing.

My head was lifted slightly, and my hair stroked down and into place. Then something was pulled down over the top of my head, and then over my face. It was made of a heavy cloth or soft leather, and adhered tightly to the shape of my head. It covered my head and face completely, all the way to my neck. Had I been more lucid at the time, I would have realized I had just been placed in a hood.

The hood was tightened. It had no eye holes, so I could not see. It had no mouth opening, so I could not breath through my mouth, though I was not gagged and could make noises. It also did not have any nose holes to allow breathing. I quickly started sucking air in as hard as I could, drawing fresh oxygen from the opening at the bottom of the hood around my neck, and a little through the porous material of the hood itself. Breathing was increasingly labored. I could hear myself gasping, and my chest and stomach began heaving heavily to pull as much air in as possible.

The relief from the water torture was not a relief at all. The hood removed all but a small part of my ability to breath, forcing me to work at sucking air in as hard as I possibly could. But there was worse. As the water from above dripped on the hood, the material became wet and lost its porousness, as well as adhering closely to my flesh. Breathing, difficult before, became impossible. My lungs burned from lack of air, my stomach convulsed in attempts to breath… all to no avail.

My brain became light headed, the world seemed to be turning around me. I shook my head violently from side to side in a futile effort to find air, an opening, or to shake off the hood. Black spots, blacker than the inside of the hood, appeared before my eyes. My arms and legs hurt with a deep ache, my head pounded, and I felt consciousness slipping away.

Just as unconsciousness began to take hold, the hood was slipped up and over my head. All four dark figures floated over me as I gasped and sucked air into my lungs, in huge gulps. My panicked breathing lasted for a couple of minutes and then subsided as the oxygen spread through my body.

Jeanette, lovely Jeanette leaned down and stroked the hair from my face, cleaning the sweat and wetness from my skin. She kissed my forehead, and whispered to me. “You are suffering for us so marvelously… you should be proud of your pain.”

I nodded. I understood.

The ropes around my legs and arms which held me to the altar were untied, and I was raised up. I noticed for the first time in a while that I was naked. I had forgotten this a long time ago… years ago it seemed. I was lead to a circular pile of bones in the center of the room. Piled 6 feet high, these bones radiated out from a central pillar to form a large cylindrical bond pile. The ropes dangling from my arms were wrapped around the pile of bones, drawing me into them, forcing me against them. I was tied to the bone pile, facing it. Sharp edges poked my ribs and breasts, smoothed joints rubbed my bare nipples. I could smell them clearly, as my face was only inches away.

I struggled briefly, and then simply stood.

The flickering light from candles showed shadows on the walls as my torturers moved behind me. The bones poked and prodded my bare flesh before me, but I felt very exposed behind, waiting for something. When it came, it was unexpected, heralded by a split second sound like a whistle; something moving through the air.

My ass exploded in pain from a cane which stroked across it. I grunted, and moaned from the sting. A second stroke was inflicted just above the last. A third struck my ass and I felt myself wriggling against the bones, trying to get away. Where ever I moved, the cane found me, striping me with more stinging pain that eventually forced cries and tears from me.

The strokes stopped, and a soft smooth hand felt the roundness of my ass, sliding down and separating the cheeks until fingers reached and played with my pussy lips. I spread my legs a little to allow them access, and was rewarded by a brief penetration. Too brief, as the fingers were withdrawn and the cane struck again.

Repeated strokes in the same area increase the pain, one stroke building on another, and my ass was burning like it was on fire. When a break came and my ass and pussy were fondled, the hand felt like it was salty, causing even more pain over the sensitive welts. Until, that is, it would reach down to my wet pussy, stimulate me there and find the reaction that was wanted – my ass pushed backward, legs spread, begging for pleasure.

This alternation of pleasure and pain went on for some time, until I thought I would simply not be able to stand the constant beating on my ass. I screamed with each stroke, my hands gripped the bones in front of me and I pressed against them, trying to escape the burning fire of the cane. Finally, the punishment stopped, and I sagged in place, leaning against the stack of bones against which I was tied.

After some time, I was untied. I was barely able to stand on my own, and was led to a third chamber of bones, this one with skulls circling the top, staring down as if looking at my nakedness with lust. Forced to my knees, my hands were taken behind my back and then forced up to an inverted position – the infamous reverse prayer. I had been in this position before, and knew I was flexible enough for it. I also knew that it would quickly become very uncomfortable. My hands and arms were forced up further, and then wrists tied in place. The arms and elbows were also quickly tied, making my arms totally immobile with my hands pressed together just between my shoulder blades.

I was lifted to a small stone platform, and placed on my stomach there. My legs hung over the end, and rough hands spread them wide. There was no point in wriggling, the twisted position of my arms behind my back meant any movement would be painful and impossible.

A cold sticky substance was inserted into my pussy. Lube. Moments later a cock was thrust into me deeply, sliding in easily. I didn’t know which of the two men it was, and it didn’t matter. It felt good to have some straight sex, no weird stuff. His pounding picked up rhythm just as someone stood in front of me, pinched my mouth open and slid in another cock.

Fucked from both ends. It felt good. Probably the most normal and natural thing to happen during this whole ordeal. I eagerly wriggled to try and get my clit stimulated a little with the fucking, and sucked in the rather large cock from the front, as deep down my throat as I could manage. Closing my eyes, I could almost imagine I was back at home, in my own bedroom with Jason and Steve…

The guy behind me thrust and suddenly pressed hard, his hips held against my ass, his hands around my hips holding them tight, his balls flat against my pussy. His cock throbbed inside me as he came, jerking and grunting, a flood of sperm ejaculated inside my abdomen. His orgasm lasted forever, just when I though he was done and slipping out he thrust again and renewed his efforts to empy himself inside me.

All the while the guy in front of me was pushing deeper down my throat, ignoring my gags and gasps as I tried to breath and also keep my vomit down. I do a pretty good deep throat, but this guy was as big as Jason, and he was pushing hard, getting in as far as he could. Slime from my stomach had coated his cock, making it slippery and bad tasting, but I kept on, determined I would bring him to an explosive orgasm.

He did explode, withdrawing at the last moment and ejaculatig all over my face. I felt sperm slap against my cheeks, eyes, mouth, even my hair. I was covered, smeared with the stuff. The sounds he made sounded like Jason having the most incredible orgasm he had ever had, grunting and swearing as the endorphins flooded his body and his contractions took control from him in l’Petite Mort… as the French call orgasm.

When it was over, I found myself servicing the girls. Flipped over onto my back, I lay on top of my arms. This was extremely painful, as they were still tied in the reverse prayer position, and pressing on them stretched the muscles further. I whimpered, begging for a better position.

In response, one of the girls slid over my face, spreading her legs and lowering her pussy. As her soft and incredibly wet flesh enveloped my nose, I started lapping. She was facing toward my body, so my nose slid up her vagina, and my tongue and lips naturally worked on her clit. Pressing down hard, I could not breath, her flesh covering and smothering me. My stomach worked for breath, diaphragm jerking in agony as I licked and prodded her.

The only relief came as she rose and shifted position slightly, positioning her ass over my nose. Pressing down, my nose penetrated her anus, which she wriggled to increase her sensation. My tongue was now in her vagina, licking hard, and my lower lip slid easily over her clit. With repeated, jerky motions, she slid back and forth, up and down, demanding more of me as I tried to gasp for what air I could, knowing my only real relief would come when once she climaxed.

I was near to passing out once again when she finally came, her thighs clenching my head, her hair hanging down and brushing my stomach. She cried out in pleasure, pressing down with one last thrust onto my face, and then collapsed, leaving me to breathe freely at last.

The final girl took her place, and as I stroked her, I felt the same hard, cold, wet cock I had felt penetrate me earlier. A dildo, I knew. She held it in her hand, and shoved it inside me as I licked and sucked her clit. She was gaining as much pleasure from raping me with the dildo as she was from my sucking her pussy.

She shifted position, and I saw the dildo for the first time. I cried out, only to have my cries stifled by her pussy pressing on my mouth.

The dildo was a bone, an arm bone, prehaps a radius or ulna. It was shiny and smooth with wear. It slid into my overly lubricated cunt with no effort, and as she pleasured herself on my face, she raped me with the remains of a corpse.

She orgasmed faster than the first girl, thank goodness. Climbing off of me, she also took the horrible dildo away, and I lay gasping. My face, neck and breasts were covered with human body fluids of one sort or another. Between my legs was soaked with my own juices, as well as the semen from Pierre.

The pain in my back and arms was getting excrutiating, and I rolled over onto my stomach on my own and promptly fell from the stone bench onto the dirt floor. I lay there for a little while before they came to me, lifted me up to my feet.

“You suffer so well for us… I wish to see you suffer the indignity of execution,” whispered a dark, hoarse voice.

“No, please, please… I can’t take any more! Please, will you release me, I don’t want to die!”

One of the dark figures I recongized as Pierre stood in front of me with the girl I did not know, the one with the bone dildo. The smile at me, smirking as I pleaded with them.

A shadow warned me, a shadow on the wall terrified me, I tried to run but was too late. The heavy rope noose descended around my neck, and tightened as I struggled to move away.

With a slow, deliberately slow tension, the rope was pulled higher. I moved back under the place where it hung in order to reduce tension on my neck. The rope became more taught, cutting off blood flow. I gurgled in an attempt to breathe, and raised myself on tiptoes.

There the noose stayed, as I danced a little dance on tiptoe, trying to stay still but relieve as much pressure on my neck as possible. My head was twisted sideways from the pressure and angle of the noose, in a position I recognized from having seen people that had been hung. The strain on my neck was tremendous. I could breathe, but just barely.

At that point I lost bladder control, urinating on the floor and my legs. As if this was a signal, the rope tightened further, and I was lifted off the floor. My legs dangled and kicked involuntarily, as if they might find something to stand on. No air reached my lungs. My eyes were bulging as if they would be forced from their sockets and my tongue was protruding from my mouth. All these things I observed with perfect clarity; and all these things I could do nothing about. I was hanging, strangling, soiling myself, dying in this tomb.

The heavy weight of my body seemed incredible as it was all placed on my neck, squeezing the life from me.

All went black, as I lost consciousness.

The next day, I sat in the salon of the house which contained the hidden entrance to the catacombs. I was clean, rested, showered, fed and watered. My entire body was sore, from my toes to my neck (especially my neck). In spite of this I felt more alive and vibrant than I had in years.

With me sat Jason, Pierre, Jeannette and Cecile. We were enjoying a last time together, reliving the weekend below the ground in the catacomb tomb of Paris.

“You really did well, one of the best I have ever seen. I thought for sure you were going to use the safe word at some point. I am proud of you,” Pierre was saying.

“Safe word? You didn’t give me a safe word.” I looked puzzled as I drank my glass of wine.

“Sure we did. You gave it to her, right Jeannette?”

Jeanette looked a little surprised. “No… you did. Didn’t you?”

As Jeanette and Pierre looked at each other in growing realization, I commented, “Well that was interesting…”