Deep Down in the Depths of Servitude

I hear DR. D walking away while talking to others, so I know he has not been alone. I am left for about fifteen minutes. I notice my butt cheeks feel a bit sore and my hole too. My mind as you’ve expected is swirling. So much to take in. The last thing I remember was an unexpected, nice evening with my past captors. Then I woke up naked and bound. It’s clear that DR. D takes in all I say when we are chatting. I talked about date rape drugs. I’m at a party enjoying myself and I wake a bound prisoner. That part I like. But all this stuff on and in me, a feeding tube, a catheter, an IV for possible medical issues, muscle atrophy… what are they planning for me? How long are they going to hold me? I start to tremble, I’m a little unnerved.

They came back. Not exactly sure how many but at least five as four of them each take a corner of the cot I am on and lift it up while another gathers all the electric leads connected to me.  We begin to move. I am carried from the dungeon to outside by the pool and taken to where the wood swing is located. I had been brought here from the dungeon before when the swing frame was transformed into gallows where I got the scare of my life as they faked my hanging as an initiation into their club. The swing was once again gone, leaving only the frame. Hooked to the cross beam is a winch holding by straps what appears to be a rectangular slab of concrete. My cot is tilted so I can get a better glimpse of the site. The ground beneath the swing frame is now a hole. It looks like it has concrete walls. I can’t see how deep it is. Sitting above and around the hole is a chrome casket frame lowering device with two green straps stretch across the hole. Resting on the ground beside the hole on the pavers of the patio is a rectangular box. The box is bigger in all dimensions than a regular casket, but very much has the look of a plain casket with its lid flipped open.

My cot is then again made horizontal, and I am lifted over the box and lowered into it. There is a flurry of actions as my leads and tubes are threaded out of the box through predrilled openings, other connections and attachments are made, and the box is made ready for closure. They keep me informed with each of the minute details, knowing that I cannot communicate back my misgivings, thus elevating my stress and fears. DR. D then informs, “In a few minutes we are going to move you over to your grave. It is a concrete vault that is waterproof, soundproof, inescapable when sealed. It is seven feet deep. You will be lower to the bottom. The lid to your box is now going to be fastened down. I will take your gag off first, but I do not want one word out of you. This is going to happen regardless, so just leave it be. It will be better for you and your privates. You know what I mean.

You will be in the dark for a short time. As soon as we make the initial electrical connections, we will activate the two monitors that are mounted in the lid. And then I will explain what is going to happen to you.” My gag is quickly removed, the lid drops in place, and I am plunged into total darkness. I hear latches being secure on the box. I am locked in, it matters not, as my body is already firmly secured to the cot that is perfectly fitted to the box which I have been placed in. I then feel the box being moved with me in it. Not sure where I’ve been moved to, but my guess is I’m now on those green straps over the hole. I feel movement again with a little sway, I’m descending into the hole and I’m panicky. I felt the movement stop; I must be there. I make the effort to escape which is impossible. It takes a few minutes, but soon both monitors light up. One shows DR. D close up, the other shows a broad view of the box, hole and swing frame and the boys at work. DR. D begins to talk to me. He says, “First, know that you can hear me, but we have silenced the mike in the box so for the time being any protests you have will not be heard, mainly because we don’t want to hear them and what we are going to do we are going to do regardless. Sucks, doesn’t?”

“After we have made all your connections to the top-side operations and transmission box, we will then lower the concrete top to your grave that you saw hanging above.  It tops out at about four feet. It will create both a watertight and airtight seal.” “Yes, yes, yes, you’ll be able to breath, at least as long as we want you to breathe. We had the good graciousness to outfit your box with twin power air inlets and matching power exhaust vent pipes. The air exchanges have been designed and calculated by one of your butt abusing buddies who happens to be a professional engineer.  Each set works independently and is sized to provide ample air individually, making the second set redundant and serving as a backup.

“All your vitals are being monitored and will be for duration. That amount of that time will be up to me. A medically qualified person will always be onsite to interpret your medical condition. Your box has two internal infrared cameras so we can see you in all lighting conditions. The box has a mike, so should we have a desire to listen in, we can, but that isn’t likely. There is soft LED lighting that will be on some of the time for background illumination. Trying to set the mood for some of your stimulations.”

“After we check out all the systems to make sure they are functioning as planned, we will begin the fun part, backfilling the hole. When we are done no one walking by would ever know someone is buried alive just beneath them. With the feeding tube, body function collection and muscle stimulation we should be able to keep you alive down there basically till you die of old age, long after you’d gone insane,” he chuckles. “We’ll see, you better hope that the Club members don’t all get bored with this, they might just vote to just shut down the ventilation, seal the pipes and let you drift off. A simple majority of the Doms is all it takes; subs don’t have a vote and that includes you.”

Of course, a million things are flashing through my mind. But one of them isn’t that they are going to leave me here to die. I have instantly convinced myself that that rhetoric is simply to scare me. I lived through their faux hanging stunt; so, I’m not buying into death threats again. I am most worried about two things; how long I will be down here and how fast they can get me out if something goes wrong. Little things started to click in my mind; DR. D took care of my travel arrangements. I haven’t seen my return ticket. He had sent me an electronic copy of my boarding pass for the flight out. We had talked about being available for a few days, but I don’t think we ever actually discussed the exact day I would be coming home. He might have plans to keep me here for weeks. My wife won’t be home till next month. He had asked explicitly about those details. Work doesn’t know how to reach me. He has my computer and phone and knows its password; he could send emails under my name explaining my absence. I could be screwed.

I’m an engineer too, I understand loads, types of fills, and compaction along with the kinds of effort it takes to reverse what I think they are doing. This is crazy.

I lay there in silence with no recourse. I strain at my bonds to no avail; The only sound I hear now is the sound of very quiet fans blowing air into my box. I’m frustrated at my stupidity for not seeking more information about what he wanted to do with me. I don’t think I would have said yes to this, or would I? I have been convinced before by Sir Michael and DR. D to do things I didn’t want to do when first presented. I wasn’t given the option this time. All part of the BDSM submissive abuse I signed up for voluntarily.

I feel my forearms twitch and then feel them have repeated muscle contractions; next the stimulation moves to my upper arms. It’s a strange sensation, my muscles seem to be bouncing and fighting themselves, not painful or irritating, just odd. It continues following the list of body parts that made up the laundry list of muscles that would be exercised hourly. This could be annoying, I’m sure. The alternative, worse, I guess. Turns out this test is a short version; the normal run will twitch and contract the muscles for longer periods.

Next, I feel a subtle sensation in my throat then tummy, I think, its barely detectable, kind of a slight warming feel, a feeding test, maybe. Not sure how they can test the waste systems and assume they don’t. But they can test my dick and ass shocking and they do with both a pain and pleasure stimulations in both. I didn’t like the pain tests; they did work effectively. That tested my bonds too which held firm. I then feel a warming sensation in my arm as I guess they tested out the IV.

DR. D’s voice then comes blaring into the box. “Everything checks out. You are good to go. I want you to watch the screen. This next step makes those who fantasize about being buried alive cream their pants. You’re going to love it, maybe not, but it’s happening” I scream out “This isn’t my fantasy! It has never been my fantasy! I never said it was mine! I never talked about it. Why are you doing this to me?” But all I am saying is falling on deaf ears. They don’t have my sound on. I also know that this box wasn’t built for me. It’s a present for his mate, the one who I assume has this fantasy. Shit.

I now see on the monitors the concrete vault lid being lowered into the hole and I can hear it as the slab is dropped onto the wider walls of the lower chamber in which the casket is nested. The straps are uncoupled and draped over the box lid. The now strapless lowering frame is taken away. I then saw on the monitors a wheelbarrow, one of the large blue contractor size ones being move towards the hole. I shake in my restraints.

One monitor is focused on its movement, the second showing a close up of the hole and the heaping load being dumped in. I find myself holding my breath. The material looks like coarse sand. In an open hole of like material sand would be bad, as it is difficult to excavate due to collapsing sides. But with the concrete vault walls extending to the top of the hole, it is material that won’t compact like dirt and therefore would be faster to empty. I think the choice is good. Nothing in the hole being the best choice. I will have a lot of time to consider theirs, I expect.

It takes numerous loads to fill the space onto the vault lid. And when each is dumped in, I become more anxious.  I tear up, this is scary as Hell. And if things go wrong, I may be heading there.

The hole is almost filled to the top, when I see some of the guys smoothing and flattening out the surface. A piece of what appears to be landscaping cloth is fitted to the space. Then very meticulously, the pavers that had previously been under the swing are replaced, each being pounded in place with a mallet in a matching pattern to the rest of the patio walkway. They finish their brick work with sand between the cracks, the excess swept up. The final touch is the swing is reinstalled, hung from the cross beam just like I once was, with two of the boys trying it out, swinging nonchalantly over my live grave. My tears flow.

I’m not given any time to grieve, if that is the proper description of my mental condition. While the one monitor remains a step back video shot of the swing set and walkway, the second starts a streaming of clips of my previous bondage and sexual abuse at the hands of the social club. At the same time my cock and guts are entertained by a pleasurable electro stimulation set I believe to music. One of the fun features of the ErosTek 312.