Deep Down in the Depths of Servitude

Some time has passed, how long I don’t know as tracking time is now eluding me. I may have even drifted off as I am a little startled as the screen switches to the group of masters. DR. D announces what is next on their agenda. They are going to cut off my air. I’m not asked for input or a response, I am simply nonchalantly told as they go to it. The screens begin to show the mechanics of the shutdown on the top side, one monitor showing a general area view and the other focuses on the air intakes nestled behind some shrubbery. I’m told that the box is monitored for both O2 and CO2 levels. If oxygen gets too low or cardon dioxide levels get too high the occupant in the box will die. They want to see how long it takes to reach the dangerous levels. I do not want to be part of this test but I’m not running the show. I do want to know where their line in the sand is, as in when they will turn things back on. They will, won’t they? I’m bluntly informed my job is to breathe in and out, consuming what oxygen is available and filling the box with trapped exhaled carbon dioxide. You would think I’d be calling out, asking questions, raising objections, screaming safe words, something, but I’m kind of numb with the announcement and I just lay there in shock, held by my bonds, maybe shaking a bit. I can tell by their actions they are not listening for a response from me anyway. They had said when they put me in the hole that they couldn’t, or was it wouldn’t, listen to me from my grave.

I can hear the fans go silent. Eerie. The outside cameras pick up one of the masters sealing the air intake and exhaust pipes with tight PVC covers. That frightens me as there is a hint of permanence to it. At least they didn’t glue them closed. The box I am in is large compared to a casket. It will take a while of me breathing to consume what air is here. To add to the anxiety, they stop all activities, and they turn off the monitors and lights. Just before the monitor goes blank, DR. D says, “It’s been fun Cunt, the vote was close, four to three.”

I lay there in the dark. Total darkness. Total, total darkness and trapped. It’s mentally debilitating. All I can hear is the sound of my own breathing. I try to take little breaths. I think and think, the mind is swirling. I convince myself they will not let me die. Well, that is they won’t let me die on purpose. I’m certain DR. D’s comment was an attempt to psych me out as it was overly theatrical. They have done that to me before as a preface to the hanging. You can’t help thinking about it though. And about death in general. This is a test, and tests prove both successes and failures. It could go wrong. As I start to fret, my respirations increase. I’ve got to keep myself under control. I decided it’s a good time to try to sleep. It takes some time, a long time, but concentrating on good thoughts and humming favorite tunes to myself, I drift off. Maybe I finally drifted off because of low concentration of oxygen, who knows?

I have no idea how much time passed without airflow to the box, and I have not been told. DR. D thinks not knowing is part of the adventure’s allure. It ended with me being jerked awake by the monitor and lights coming on, the pleasure erotic cycles playing with both my butt and cock and I believe food flowing into my belly.  I was told I had consumed enough O2 and produced enough CO2 to cause both alarms on their instruments to alert and as a result, had turned my air back on. I hadn’t noticed any difference in the air, and I didn’t struggle trying to breathe that I sensed. Sleeping through the end may have saved me mentally, I think, as it is possible my body did labor without me being aware.