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.
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.
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…”