ralmcg
Tribune
Love her backside being shown.
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various own work - perils
- Thread starter thecuriousone
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Sweet Jesus that was incredibly hot! I guess I should have gone to engineering school too!I have been working on a short story with a pic that belongs to the story.
Isabella and the whipmachine
Of all the students that got the engineering degree in the class of 2019, all were male except one. The woman, named Isabella, has chosen this line of profession for more than the usual reasons. She had always been fascinated by the idea of bondage and torture. She spent hours reading books and researching online about different methods and devices used throughout history. She never dared to tell any of her occasional dates about her fantasies, too shy for that, and too scared that her reputation would be ruined. But she wanted to take it to the next level, to create something that would truly test the limits of pain and pleasure.
She landed a job that paid good enough to afford her own place, and bought an old house on the edge of town with a large cellar. Once she was settled in, she started converting her cellar into a workshop.
After months of planning and gathering materials, Isabella finally completed her bondage machine. It was a large metal standing frame with restraints for the arms, legs, and neck, as well as a whip attached to a motorized arm that could strike with various strength and at various levels. She had carefully programmed the machine to be able to follow various protocols. For the first real test, she planned to set it to start off slow and gradually increase in speed and intensity, ensuring that the person being whipped would experience a steadily increase level of pain. She set up cameras to record the test.
Despite her extensive preparations, Isabella trembled with anticipation on the day of the real live test, as she opened the door to her dingy basement. The inside had been transformed into a dimly lit chamber, with soft whispers and moans echoing through the cold, damp air. Excited to test out her creation, Isabella stripped down and placed her body onto the frame of the machine. She positioned her arms, legs and neck in line with the automatic cuffs, ready for the 20 minutes test run. A quick glance at the screen of the controller to confirm the correct settings. Then she eagerly pressed the start button, anticipating the intense mixture of pain and pleasure she was about to feel. Click click click and the cuffs sealed around her limbs. Five seconds later the electric hoist switched on and the entire frame, with her strapped on it, was lifted in the air. She held her breath and braced herself as the whipping arm moved backward for the first strike.
Isabella closed her eyes, steeling herself for the first slap of the leather against her skin. As the whip connected with her back, she yelped in pain, her body arching in response. With twenty second intervals, the motorized arm rhythmically swung back and forth, sometimes as high as just below her neck, sometimes as low as her upper legs. Isabella felt her pussy getting moist, as the whipping arm began to steadily increase speed as the intensity of the painful stings grew.
She could hardly breathe, her heart pounding in her chest. The pain was overwhelming, yet somehow it only heightened her arousal. Each stroke sent shivers of pleasure coursing through her, as though she were a creature of pure sensation.
The machine's programming grew increasingly brutal, and Isabella knew that soon she would be unable to withstand the agony. But still, she craved more. Her mind was a whirlwind of desire and pain, her body screaming for release. Then the long anticipated orgasm struck her. Exhausted, she looked at the timer. Only three minutes left before the whip would stop and the restraints would automatically open. About time, her back was really sore.
Then murphy's law entered the game. An undetected bug in the programmming played it's card. The machine malfunctioned, its circuits overloaded and causing it to go into overdrive. The timer stopped at 2.52 but the whip did not stop. Instead, it began to move at an alarming speed, whipping Isabella's back with a force she had never imagined. The pain was excruciating, and she screamed in agony as the whip tore through her skin and flesh.
In the midst of the chaos, Isabella's eyes widened in terror as the machine continued its relentless assault. Against all odds, she tried to yank herself free from the restraints, but her body was immobile and bound so tightly that she could barely move a finger. She screamed for help, her pleas only echoing through the cold, damp basement.
The machine's programming seemed to have reached its maximum setting, the whip striking her relentlessly. The pain was unimaginable, and Isabella's mind raced with fear and desperation. Despite the pain, orgasm after orgasm hit her. She could feel her skin being torn apart, the texture of her back becoming raw and bleeding. Her cries for mercy fell on deaf ears, replaced by the sound of the whip continuing its brutal dance.
Desperately, Isabella pulled to free herself from the restraints again and again, but they were too strong, designed to be inescapeable. She was trapped, at the mercy of her own creation. The whipping continued for hours, each strike more brutal than the last. Isabella's screams turned into gurgles as her back, ass and upper legs became a bloody mess, the skin and flesh ripped away by the relentless whipping.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, something burned through. The machine came to a stop. Isabella's body hung limply in the restraints, her back nothing but a raw, bloody mass exposing her ribs. The pain was unbearable, but she couldn't even scream anymore. She was dying.
Isabella's mind raced with the realization of her fate. She had created a monster, a machine that had malfunctioned and taken her life. Her last thoughts were of the pain mixed with the orgasms, the agony she had experienced and the nightmare she had unleashed upon herself.
In the basement, her soft whispers and moans had stopped. The cold, damp air was now still and silent. Isabella's body swung gently in the restraints as her life slipped away, her once vibrant eyes now lifeless, reflecting the dim lighting.
And so, the bondage machine stood there, its purpose fulfilled in the most horrifying way possible. Isabella's creation had pushed her beyond the limits of pain and pleasure, into a realm of unimaginable torture and death.
She had been tortured to death by her own creation.
Weeks later, her decaying body was discovered.
Detectives were assigned to inspect the scene, their faces etched with a mix of horror and disgust. They carefully documented every detail, documenting the grisly remains of Isabella's lifeless body and the remnants of the machine that had taken her life
As the police investigated Isabella's death, they found her journals and notes about the bondage machine. They also viewed the footageof her cameras, showing a gruesome event that resembled the plot of a snuff film. They were horrified by the level of detail and planning that had gone into it. It became clear that Isabella had intended to use it for only a short session, to get a moderate mild whipping without leaving scars.
They noted the signs of agony and pain that had consumed her, etched into her skin and etched into the machine that had been her final undoing.
Her own twisted creation had turned on her, and she had paid the ultimate price for her obsession with pain and pleasure.
Hmm, maybe she should have gone to computer programming school first?
thecuriousone
Tribune
A sweet comment like this makes my day a lot more beautiful.Sweet Jesus that was incredibly hot! I guess I should have gone to engineering school too!
Hmm, maybe she should have gone to computer programming school first?
thecuriousone
Tribune
I got a story again.
The iron maiden experience.
I made my final preparations that week. I quit my job, and told everybody that I would travel through Europe for the next 3 months. I locked my door, switched off the lights, undressed and lifted the concrete slab that was covering the entrance to my personal dungeon. With a loud slam the concrete slab closed itself behind me. Step by step I went down, knowing this would be my final descent.
Once down, I sat myself down on a stool in front of a mirror. I put a jaw stretching penis gag in my mouth, while admiring my body one last time. Soon it would be mutilated.
As I placed myself inside the iron maiden, I could feel the excitement and anticipation building within me. I realised that this would be my last chance to change my mind. I could live if I wanted. But like a moth being drawn to a flame, I placed my neck, ankles and wrists in the open restraints. Then I stretched my finger and pushed the activation button.
How I got to this point? That's a strange story.
Throughout my life, many have told methat I am a beautiful woman, considered a turn on by many, with long dark hair and piercing blue eyes. I had a succesful job, was loved by my co workers and although most of the time I was single, I had pleasant boyfriends that enlighted my life from time to time. What most people didn't know is that I always have been drawn to the world of BDSM, finding pleasure in the pain and submission. My partners took part in those games, dominating me to give me the pleasure I desired through submission, restraint and pain. But my secret desires went way beyond what most would consider extreme. I wanted to push the limits, to experience the ultimate release in the most intense way possible. That scared my lovers eventually away again and again.
But my life was not all pleasure. What I hid from the outer world is that I suffered from depressions, and it took me over from time to time. It could be a dangerous and dark place, one that dove me to do things I never thought possible. And that's how I came to plan my own spectacular suicide.
It all began when I discovered a secret underground bomb shelter in the cellar under the old house that I had inherited from my aunt. I had been searching for a way to fulfill my fantasies in a safe and secluded place, and this room was my ticket. I spent months designing and constructing my own personal dungeon, without anybody knowing. It was equipped with all the tools and devices I needed to satisfy my needs.
One night, as I was lying in my bed, lost in my thoughts and consumed by my depression, an idea struck me like lightning. I would build an iron maiden, a torture device used in medieval times, but with modern twists. It would be my final release, and I would build it myself. I had always dreamt of iron maidens in my darkest dreams, over time the desire to actually die in one by my own hand got stronger and stronger. Eventually I got to the point that I resolved to make it reality.
And so, with my passion and determination, I began constructing my own iron maiden. I lined its interior with countless spikes, at the right length to penetrate as deep as possible without hitting arteries or vital organs. I fitted it with sturdy steel automatic restraints that would lock me in place. A heavy automatic door lined with razorsharp spikes designed to close and never open again would seal me inside, and to top things up a monster sized thrusting dildo fitted with dozens of spikes would torture my most sensitive area, my pussy. I even planned to gag myself to ensure no sound would escape my lips.
To get in the mood for this, all the work on this project I undertook naked, locked in a corset and with heavy steel manacles on my wrists and ankles. Some weekends I spent down in that cellar chained to the wall on a long chain with a timer padlock set to keep me there from friday evening till monday morning, tirelessly labouring like a slave, living on a sparse ration of disgusting old bread and dirty water. If I did not reach the target that I had set for myself to reach that day, I whipped myself till my back was bleeding badly, and slept that night with my hands cuffed behind my back.
Finally the iron maiden was completed. It functioned perfectly. And I just have stepped inside and pushed the activation switch....
The locks closed around my neck, wrists and ankles. Keyless locks, meant to close but never open. I tested them to make sure they would not give, but they were sturdy. My crotch was getting wet from the anticipation of my inescapeable ordeal. After what felt like an eternity the door slowly started to close itself. But as the door pushed it's last inch shut and locked itself forever, and the spikes pierced my body up to my bones, the pain was far more intense than I could have ever imagined. It was excruciating, a thousand needles stabbing me all at once, tearing through my flesh. I screamed in my gag, but no one could hear me.
But that was just the beginning. The dildo began its relentless thrusts and the spikes on its surface ripped my pussy apart. Worse, every thrust made my body move, moving the countless spikes in my flesh. The pain was unimaginable, burning through every inch of my being. I wanted to escape, to be free from this agony, but I could not. The automatic restraints and the door held me in place, trapping me forever in this hellish torture.
For days, I suffered, both physically and mentally. With each passing moment, I overthought why I was so crazy to actually do this, and how bad I wanted out. Trying again and again to struggle to get free, only to be stopped dead immediately by the spikes that penetrated my body from all directions. I was in was a never-ending cycle of torment, but I couldn't stop. I had to see this through to the end.
In the end, when I was drifting in and out of unconciousness, something unexpected happened. As the pain became unbearable, a wave of intense pleasure washed over me. I had a huge orgasm, stronger thanI had neve experienced before. It was euphoric, a release of all the pent-up desires and emotions within me.
But it was short-lived. As my body slowly shut down, I knew that this was the end. My body would never be found, trapped inside my own creation. But in my final moments, I knew that I had achieved what I set out to do. I had experienced the ultimate release by getting into the ultimate lockup, in the most intense way possible.
My life may often have been filled with pain and darkness, but in my last act, I found a moment of pure ecstasy. And for that, I have no regrets. My name may be forgotten, but my soul will be free in the knowledge that I reached my ultimate goal.
So, as you read this, know that I am at peace, free from the never-ending cycle of depression and pain. And if you ever happen to stumble upon my secret underground cellar, know that you are standing in the place where I achieved my ultimate release, where I found true freedom.
The iron maiden experience.
I made my final preparations that week. I quit my job, and told everybody that I would travel through Europe for the next 3 months. I locked my door, switched off the lights, undressed and lifted the concrete slab that was covering the entrance to my personal dungeon. With a loud slam the concrete slab closed itself behind me. Step by step I went down, knowing this would be my final descent.
Once down, I sat myself down on a stool in front of a mirror. I put a jaw stretching penis gag in my mouth, while admiring my body one last time. Soon it would be mutilated.
As I placed myself inside the iron maiden, I could feel the excitement and anticipation building within me. I realised that this would be my last chance to change my mind. I could live if I wanted. But like a moth being drawn to a flame, I placed my neck, ankles and wrists in the open restraints. Then I stretched my finger and pushed the activation button.
How I got to this point? That's a strange story.
Throughout my life, many have told methat I am a beautiful woman, considered a turn on by many, with long dark hair and piercing blue eyes. I had a succesful job, was loved by my co workers and although most of the time I was single, I had pleasant boyfriends that enlighted my life from time to time. What most people didn't know is that I always have been drawn to the world of BDSM, finding pleasure in the pain and submission. My partners took part in those games, dominating me to give me the pleasure I desired through submission, restraint and pain. But my secret desires went way beyond what most would consider extreme. I wanted to push the limits, to experience the ultimate release in the most intense way possible. That scared my lovers eventually away again and again.
But my life was not all pleasure. What I hid from the outer world is that I suffered from depressions, and it took me over from time to time. It could be a dangerous and dark place, one that dove me to do things I never thought possible. And that's how I came to plan my own spectacular suicide.
It all began when I discovered a secret underground bomb shelter in the cellar under the old house that I had inherited from my aunt. I had been searching for a way to fulfill my fantasies in a safe and secluded place, and this room was my ticket. I spent months designing and constructing my own personal dungeon, without anybody knowing. It was equipped with all the tools and devices I needed to satisfy my needs.
One night, as I was lying in my bed, lost in my thoughts and consumed by my depression, an idea struck me like lightning. I would build an iron maiden, a torture device used in medieval times, but with modern twists. It would be my final release, and I would build it myself. I had always dreamt of iron maidens in my darkest dreams, over time the desire to actually die in one by my own hand got stronger and stronger. Eventually I got to the point that I resolved to make it reality.
And so, with my passion and determination, I began constructing my own iron maiden. I lined its interior with countless spikes, at the right length to penetrate as deep as possible without hitting arteries or vital organs. I fitted it with sturdy steel automatic restraints that would lock me in place. A heavy automatic door lined with razorsharp spikes designed to close and never open again would seal me inside, and to top things up a monster sized thrusting dildo fitted with dozens of spikes would torture my most sensitive area, my pussy. I even planned to gag myself to ensure no sound would escape my lips.
To get in the mood for this, all the work on this project I undertook naked, locked in a corset and with heavy steel manacles on my wrists and ankles. Some weekends I spent down in that cellar chained to the wall on a long chain with a timer padlock set to keep me there from friday evening till monday morning, tirelessly labouring like a slave, living on a sparse ration of disgusting old bread and dirty water. If I did not reach the target that I had set for myself to reach that day, I whipped myself till my back was bleeding badly, and slept that night with my hands cuffed behind my back.
Finally the iron maiden was completed. It functioned perfectly. And I just have stepped inside and pushed the activation switch....
The locks closed around my neck, wrists and ankles. Keyless locks, meant to close but never open. I tested them to make sure they would not give, but they were sturdy. My crotch was getting wet from the anticipation of my inescapeable ordeal. After what felt like an eternity the door slowly started to close itself. But as the door pushed it's last inch shut and locked itself forever, and the spikes pierced my body up to my bones, the pain was far more intense than I could have ever imagined. It was excruciating, a thousand needles stabbing me all at once, tearing through my flesh. I screamed in my gag, but no one could hear me.
But that was just the beginning. The dildo began its relentless thrusts and the spikes on its surface ripped my pussy apart. Worse, every thrust made my body move, moving the countless spikes in my flesh. The pain was unimaginable, burning through every inch of my being. I wanted to escape, to be free from this agony, but I could not. The automatic restraints and the door held me in place, trapping me forever in this hellish torture.
For days, I suffered, both physically and mentally. With each passing moment, I overthought why I was so crazy to actually do this, and how bad I wanted out. Trying again and again to struggle to get free, only to be stopped dead immediately by the spikes that penetrated my body from all directions. I was in was a never-ending cycle of torment, but I couldn't stop. I had to see this through to the end.
In the end, when I was drifting in and out of unconciousness, something unexpected happened. As the pain became unbearable, a wave of intense pleasure washed over me. I had a huge orgasm, stronger thanI had neve experienced before. It was euphoric, a release of all the pent-up desires and emotions within me.
But it was short-lived. As my body slowly shut down, I knew that this was the end. My body would never be found, trapped inside my own creation. But in my final moments, I knew that I had achieved what I set out to do. I had experienced the ultimate release by getting into the ultimate lockup, in the most intense way possible.
My life may often have been filled with pain and darkness, but in my last act, I found a moment of pure ecstasy. And for that, I have no regrets. My name may be forgotten, but my soul will be free in the knowledge that I reached my ultimate goal.
So, as you read this, know that I am at peace, free from the never-ending cycle of depression and pain. And if you ever happen to stumble upon my secret underground cellar, know that you are standing in the place where I achieved my ultimate release, where I found true freedom.
Attachments
@thecuriousone
What a great read! Days of agony before her ultimate release! I haven’t read such an erotic Iron Maiden story as this before, well done!
What a great read! Days of agony before her ultimate release! I haven’t read such an erotic Iron Maiden story as this before, well done!
thecuriousone
Tribune
A comment like this inspires me to continue publishing my works on this forum. Thank you!
Pino53
Governor
Lovely story!
Pino53
Governor
Lovely story!
thecuriousone
Tribune
Glad some people enjoy my stories. Thanks.Lovely story!
thecuriousone
Tribune
I just felt I had to do something with an iron maiden again.
Marcella and the forgiving of sins.
As I stood before the iron maiden, surrounded by the high-ranking members of the cult, my heart pounded in my chest. The white skirt clung to my trembling legs, a stark contrast to the darkness that filled the room. Our Messias Aaron's words echoed in my mind, urging me to embrace this final act of devotion and sacrifice.
Weeks of fasting and praying had led me to this moment, where I would cleanse myself of sin through martyrdom. My family had tearfully bid me farewell, their voices filled with sorrow and disbelief at what I was about to do. But I knew that this was my destiny, ordained by Aaron himself.
I closed my eyes and began reciting prayers under my breath as I stepped inside the iron maiden. The cold metal pressed against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. The cult members closed the door slowly, sealing me inside with only a sliver of light peeking through the cracks.
The pain came swiftly as the spikes pierced my flesh, tearing through muscle and bone with each agonizing moment. I cried out in anguish, tears streaming down my face as I struggled to hold onto faith amidst the searing pain that consumed me.
Doubts crept into my mind like insidious whispers, questioning if this truly was the path to salvation or merely a cruel deception orchestrated by Aaron. But as blood pooled around me and darkness descended upon my vision, I clung to hope that awaited beyond this mortal realm.
I continued to pray fervently even as death claimed me inch by inch, each breath becoming more labored than the last. The excruciating torment wracked my body until finally, mercifully, it all faded away into nothingness.
In those final moments of consciousness, I believed with every fiber of my being that heaven awaited me on the other side. And as I took one last ragged breath before slipping into eternal slumber, a sense of peace washed over me like a gentle tide carrying me away from all earthly suffering.
Marcella and the forgiving of sins.
As I stood before the iron maiden, surrounded by the high-ranking members of the cult, my heart pounded in my chest. The white skirt clung to my trembling legs, a stark contrast to the darkness that filled the room. Our Messias Aaron's words echoed in my mind, urging me to embrace this final act of devotion and sacrifice.
Weeks of fasting and praying had led me to this moment, where I would cleanse myself of sin through martyrdom. My family had tearfully bid me farewell, their voices filled with sorrow and disbelief at what I was about to do. But I knew that this was my destiny, ordained by Aaron himself.
I closed my eyes and began reciting prayers under my breath as I stepped inside the iron maiden. The cold metal pressed against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. The cult members closed the door slowly, sealing me inside with only a sliver of light peeking through the cracks.
The pain came swiftly as the spikes pierced my flesh, tearing through muscle and bone with each agonizing moment. I cried out in anguish, tears streaming down my face as I struggled to hold onto faith amidst the searing pain that consumed me.
Doubts crept into my mind like insidious whispers, questioning if this truly was the path to salvation or merely a cruel deception orchestrated by Aaron. But as blood pooled around me and darkness descended upon my vision, I clung to hope that awaited beyond this mortal realm.
I continued to pray fervently even as death claimed me inch by inch, each breath becoming more labored than the last. The excruciating torment wracked my body until finally, mercifully, it all faded away into nothingness.
In those final moments of consciousness, I believed with every fiber of my being that heaven awaited me on the other side. And as I took one last ragged breath before slipping into eternal slumber, a sense of peace washed over me like a gentle tide carrying me away from all earthly suffering.
Attachments
thecuriousone
Tribune
Got a new story and pic, basically selfbondage gone wrong.
Sorry for the purists, most of my story comes from chatgpt.
The Hunger of Desperation
Chapter 1: The Obsession
My name is Zara, and my life has been consumed by an obsession with losing weight. This fixation began as a passing thought but grew into an all-consuming need. The mirror became my enemy, reflecting an image I could never be satisfied with, no matter how much I dieted or exercised. Friends and family insisted I looked fine, but their reassurances fell on deaf ears. The scale was my sole judge, and it was never lenient.
Despite not being overweight, my mind was trapped in a cycle of guilt and self-loathing. I would start a new diet with fervor, only to falter within days, driven to binge by an uncontrollable hunger. Each failure deepened my despair, making me desperate for a solution that would force me to stick to my regimen.
Meanwhile I was gradually more and more developing a crunch for bondage. When I was in the mood for masturbating, I often thought about being the prisoner of someone that would use me any way that he wants.
That's when the idea struck me. If I could create a setup that physically restrained me from accessing food, I would have no choice but to endure the hunger. I would lock myself away, handcuffed and chained in my basement, with the keys securely stored in a timer safe. I imagined this method would break my cycle of binge eating and finally allow me to lose the weight I so desperately wanted to shed. And meanwhile, I would endulge in a bondage ordeal.
Chapter 2: The Setup
I spent weeks planning the details of my self-imposed confinement. The basement would be my prison—a stark, empty space with a concrete floor and a single tap for water. I bought a pair of sturdy handcuffs and a length of chain, calculating the exact length needed to limit my movement but still allow access to the water tap. The timer safe was the most important, piece, a device that would lock away the keys for a predetermined amount of time. I ordered a suitable safe online and had someone handy among my circle of friends install it in the basement wall. My 2 week holiday would be coming soon, and I was anticipating it because that would be the time for my session.
The night of my planned session, I made my final preparations. I stripped out of my clothes, planning to have to workout to keep myself warm, so I would burn more calories. I took a plastic cup and placed it within reach of where I would be restrained. So I could use it to drink from the tap. I added a bucket to use as toilet. I attached the handcuffs and the chain to a strong steel pipeline, ensuring they were secure but not too short to reach the safe. My heart raced with a mix of excitement and fear as I set the timer on the safe for 100 hours—a little over four days. I believed this would be long enough to kickstart my weight loss and demonstrate my commitment.
Taking a deep breath, I locked the keys inside the timer safe and positioned myself in the basement. I took the handcuffs in my hands, at first planning to lock them around my wrists in front of me. I judged it would more challenging to lock my hands at my back. Before I could back out, I clicked them shut around my wrists behind my back, the cold metal a stark reminder of my resolve. I had chained myself to the wall, leaving just enough slack to move a few feet. As the timer safe beeped, signaling it was securely locked, I felt a surge of determination. This was it. No turning back.
Chapter 3: The Realization
The first few hours were uneventful. I sipped water from the cup and tried to keep myself occupied by pacing the limited area I had. Hunger pangs began to gnaw at me, but I welcomed them as a sign that my plan was working. I envisioned the fat melting away, revealing the body I had always dreamed of.
As night fell, I settled down on the hard concrete floor, trying to sleep. The discomfort of my restraints made it difficult, but exhaustion eventually claimed me. When I woke, my stomach ached with hunger, and I reached for my cup, gulping down water to fill the void.
It was around this time that I glanced at the timer safe, expecting to see the hours slowly ticking away. Instead, my heart froze as I noticed the display. The timer was not set for 100 hours. It was set for 100 days. In my eagerness, I had miscalculated, and now I was trapped.
Panic surged through me as I tugged at the cuffs and chain, but they held firm. My mind raced with the implications. There was no way I could survive without food for 100 days. My excitement turned to dread, and the basement that had seemed like a sanctuary now felt like a tomb.
Chapter 4: The First Days
The first few days passed in a blur of desperation. I screamed for help until my throat was raw, hoping someone would hear me and come to my rescue. I kicked my feet against the walls untill they bled. But my house was isolated, too far from the neighbours, designed to keep my privacy. No one came.
Hunger became my constant companion, a relentless ache that consumed my thoughts. I drank water incessantly, trying to stave off the gnawing emptiness. My body began to weaken, my movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Each passing hour felt like an eternity.
I tried to distract myself by focusing on the timer safe, willing it to open. I recounted the hours, hoping I had made a mistake and it would open sooner. But as days turned into a week, my hope dwindled. I knew the truth deep down—I was not going to survive this.
Chapter 5: The Desperation
The second week brought new torments. My body, deprived of food, began to consume itself. I could feel my muscles wasting away, my skin growing pale and taut over my bones. The hunger was no longer an ache but a burning, insatiable fire.
I tried everything to escape. I pulled at the chain until my wrists bled, but it held fast. I searched for any tools or objects I could use to break free, but the basement was empty. My cries for help became weaker, my voice a mere whisper.
As the days dragged on, my thoughts grew disjointed. I experienced moments of clarity followed by long stretches of confusion and hallucination. I saw visions of food, feasts laid out before me, only to vanish when I reached for them. My mind was betraying me, driven mad by starvation.
Chapter 6: The Decline
The third week marked the beginning of the end. My body was a shell, barely able to move. Each breath was a struggle, my energy drained by the simplest actions. I could feel my organs shutting down, my body unable to sustain itself any longer.
I lay on the cold concrete floor, too weak to stand. My mind drifted through memories, fleeting glimpses of my life before this nightmare. I thought of my family, my friends, and the life I had taken for granted. Regret gnawed at me, but it was too late.
I realized that my obsession had led me to this point. In my quest for control over my body, I had lost everything. My desire to lose weight had consumed me, leaving me trapped and helpless. I wondered if anyone would ever find me, or if I would remain hidden, a forgotten victim of my own making.
Chapter 7: The Final Days
The final days were a blur of pain and delirium. My body was shutting down, and I could feel the life slipping away from me. The hunger had become a distant ache, replaced by a numbness that spread through my limbs.
I spent my remaining hours in a state of reflection. I thought about my life, the choices I had made, and the obsession that had driven me to this point. I wished I could turn back time, make different choices, but it was too late.
As the darkness closed in, I felt a strange sense of peace. My suffering would soon be over, and I would be free from the torment that had consumed me. I took one last breath, and then there was nothing.
Chapter 8: The Aftermath
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. My disappearance went unnoticed at first, my absence attributed to a desire for solitude. But eventually, someone came looking. A concerned friend, a worried family member, someone who cared enough to search.
The basement door was forced open, and they discovered the scene of my self-imposed prison. They found the timer safe, its display still counting down the days. My body, emaciated and lifeless, still chained to the wall, a testament to my desperation.
Sorry for the purists, most of my story comes from chatgpt.
The Hunger of Desperation
Chapter 1: The Obsession
My name is Zara, and my life has been consumed by an obsession with losing weight. This fixation began as a passing thought but grew into an all-consuming need. The mirror became my enemy, reflecting an image I could never be satisfied with, no matter how much I dieted or exercised. Friends and family insisted I looked fine, but their reassurances fell on deaf ears. The scale was my sole judge, and it was never lenient.
Despite not being overweight, my mind was trapped in a cycle of guilt and self-loathing. I would start a new diet with fervor, only to falter within days, driven to binge by an uncontrollable hunger. Each failure deepened my despair, making me desperate for a solution that would force me to stick to my regimen.
Meanwhile I was gradually more and more developing a crunch for bondage. When I was in the mood for masturbating, I often thought about being the prisoner of someone that would use me any way that he wants.
That's when the idea struck me. If I could create a setup that physically restrained me from accessing food, I would have no choice but to endure the hunger. I would lock myself away, handcuffed and chained in my basement, with the keys securely stored in a timer safe. I imagined this method would break my cycle of binge eating and finally allow me to lose the weight I so desperately wanted to shed. And meanwhile, I would endulge in a bondage ordeal.
Chapter 2: The Setup
I spent weeks planning the details of my self-imposed confinement. The basement would be my prison—a stark, empty space with a concrete floor and a single tap for water. I bought a pair of sturdy handcuffs and a length of chain, calculating the exact length needed to limit my movement but still allow access to the water tap. The timer safe was the most important, piece, a device that would lock away the keys for a predetermined amount of time. I ordered a suitable safe online and had someone handy among my circle of friends install it in the basement wall. My 2 week holiday would be coming soon, and I was anticipating it because that would be the time for my session.
The night of my planned session, I made my final preparations. I stripped out of my clothes, planning to have to workout to keep myself warm, so I would burn more calories. I took a plastic cup and placed it within reach of where I would be restrained. So I could use it to drink from the tap. I added a bucket to use as toilet. I attached the handcuffs and the chain to a strong steel pipeline, ensuring they were secure but not too short to reach the safe. My heart raced with a mix of excitement and fear as I set the timer on the safe for 100 hours—a little over four days. I believed this would be long enough to kickstart my weight loss and demonstrate my commitment.
Taking a deep breath, I locked the keys inside the timer safe and positioned myself in the basement. I took the handcuffs in my hands, at first planning to lock them around my wrists in front of me. I judged it would more challenging to lock my hands at my back. Before I could back out, I clicked them shut around my wrists behind my back, the cold metal a stark reminder of my resolve. I had chained myself to the wall, leaving just enough slack to move a few feet. As the timer safe beeped, signaling it was securely locked, I felt a surge of determination. This was it. No turning back.
Chapter 3: The Realization
The first few hours were uneventful. I sipped water from the cup and tried to keep myself occupied by pacing the limited area I had. Hunger pangs began to gnaw at me, but I welcomed them as a sign that my plan was working. I envisioned the fat melting away, revealing the body I had always dreamed of.
As night fell, I settled down on the hard concrete floor, trying to sleep. The discomfort of my restraints made it difficult, but exhaustion eventually claimed me. When I woke, my stomach ached with hunger, and I reached for my cup, gulping down water to fill the void.
It was around this time that I glanced at the timer safe, expecting to see the hours slowly ticking away. Instead, my heart froze as I noticed the display. The timer was not set for 100 hours. It was set for 100 days. In my eagerness, I had miscalculated, and now I was trapped.
Panic surged through me as I tugged at the cuffs and chain, but they held firm. My mind raced with the implications. There was no way I could survive without food for 100 days. My excitement turned to dread, and the basement that had seemed like a sanctuary now felt like a tomb.
Chapter 4: The First Days
The first few days passed in a blur of desperation. I screamed for help until my throat was raw, hoping someone would hear me and come to my rescue. I kicked my feet against the walls untill they bled. But my house was isolated, too far from the neighbours, designed to keep my privacy. No one came.
Hunger became my constant companion, a relentless ache that consumed my thoughts. I drank water incessantly, trying to stave off the gnawing emptiness. My body began to weaken, my movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Each passing hour felt like an eternity.
I tried to distract myself by focusing on the timer safe, willing it to open. I recounted the hours, hoping I had made a mistake and it would open sooner. But as days turned into a week, my hope dwindled. I knew the truth deep down—I was not going to survive this.
Chapter 5: The Desperation
The second week brought new torments. My body, deprived of food, began to consume itself. I could feel my muscles wasting away, my skin growing pale and taut over my bones. The hunger was no longer an ache but a burning, insatiable fire.
I tried everything to escape. I pulled at the chain until my wrists bled, but it held fast. I searched for any tools or objects I could use to break free, but the basement was empty. My cries for help became weaker, my voice a mere whisper.
As the days dragged on, my thoughts grew disjointed. I experienced moments of clarity followed by long stretches of confusion and hallucination. I saw visions of food, feasts laid out before me, only to vanish when I reached for them. My mind was betraying me, driven mad by starvation.
Chapter 6: The Decline
The third week marked the beginning of the end. My body was a shell, barely able to move. Each breath was a struggle, my energy drained by the simplest actions. I could feel my organs shutting down, my body unable to sustain itself any longer.
I lay on the cold concrete floor, too weak to stand. My mind drifted through memories, fleeting glimpses of my life before this nightmare. I thought of my family, my friends, and the life I had taken for granted. Regret gnawed at me, but it was too late.
I realized that my obsession had led me to this point. In my quest for control over my body, I had lost everything. My desire to lose weight had consumed me, leaving me trapped and helpless. I wondered if anyone would ever find me, or if I would remain hidden, a forgotten victim of my own making.
Chapter 7: The Final Days
The final days were a blur of pain and delirium. My body was shutting down, and I could feel the life slipping away from me. The hunger had become a distant ache, replaced by a numbness that spread through my limbs.
I spent my remaining hours in a state of reflection. I thought about my life, the choices I had made, and the obsession that had driven me to this point. I wished I could turn back time, make different choices, but it was too late.
As the darkness closed in, I felt a strange sense of peace. My suffering would soon be over, and I would be free from the torment that had consumed me. I took one last breath, and then there was nothing.
Chapter 8: The Aftermath
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. My disappearance went unnoticed at first, my absence attributed to a desire for solitude. But eventually, someone came looking. A concerned friend, a worried family member, someone who cared enough to search.
The basement door was forced open, and they discovered the scene of my self-imposed prison. They found the timer safe, its display still counting down the days. My body, emaciated and lifeless, still chained to the wall, a testament to my desperation.
Attachments
thecuriousone
Tribune
Again a story, this time about a woman that tricks others into burying her without them knowing. Without chat gpt it would have been a lot more difficult to write it.
Buried Alive: The Depths of Desire
Chapter 1: The Seed of a Dark Desire
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to the edge of the abyss. There’s a pull in the darkness that I can’t explain, a whisper in the back of my mind that beckons me to surrender completely. The desire to be buried alive—strange, horrifying, and incomprehensible to most—has always been a part of me. It's a yearning that pulses through my veins, a masochistic craving for the ultimate submission. The thought of it was always good to get my pussy wet.
My garden has always been my sanctuary. Hidden behind my house, surrounded by high hedges and ancient trees, it’s a place where I can be alone with my thoughts. And in the far corner, shrouded by ivy and time, lies an old, dry well. It’s been there for as long as I’ve lived here, a relic of the past that’s never ceased to intrigue me. The well is deep, dark, and foreboding, a perfect vessel for my deepest desire.
The idea first took root during one of my solitary walks. Standing at the edge of the well, peering into its unfathomable depths, I felt a strange sense of calm. The darkness below seemed to call to me, promising an escape from the world above. It was then that the seed of my plan began to grow.
Chapter 2: The Plan Takes Shape
Planning my burial was an exercise in meticulous detail. Every aspect had to be considered, every potential obstacle anticipated. The first step was to ensure the well was safe and secure. I decided to hire a local gardening company to fill it in, using the excuse of a safety concern. The well, I told them, was a hazard that needed to be sealed.
Before they arrived, I carefully lined the bottom of the well with a thick layer of leaves and garden waste. This would serve as my camouflage, masking my presence once I was inside. The workers, oblivious to my true intentions, would unknowingly bury me alive.
Beforehand, I had gathered the equipment I would need. A gas mask with an air hose that would lead to the surface for fresh air, a latex catsuit for warmth and protection, and a feeding tube connected to a feeding pump with a large reservoir to sustain me for months. Each item was chosen with care, each detail meticulously planned.
The night before my burial, I laid out my supplies and went over my plan one final time. The gas mask was secure, the feeding pump operational, the reservoir filled to capacity. I felt a shiver of anticipation as I imagined the sensation of the latex catsuit, its tight embrace heightening my senses.
Chapter 3: The Final Preparations
In the early hours of the morning, before the first light of dawn, I began my preparations. The air was cool, and the garden was shrouded in a mist that added to the sense of surrealism. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through my veins.
I donned the latex catsuit, feeling its smooth, constricting material hug my body. It was a second skin, amplifying my anticipation. I descended into the well. The darkness enveloped me, a comforting shroud that intensified my sense of isolation. I positioned myself atop the layer of leaves and garden waste, the scent of earth and decay filling my nostrils. I inserted the feeding tube through my nose, securing it in place, and tested the pump one final time. The steady flow of nutrient-rich liquid reassured me that my preparations were complete. The gas mask went over my head, pressing against my cheeks. Carefully, I secured my ankles with handcuffs, the cold metal biting into my skin. I turned on my stomach and digged myself under the thick layer of leaves. Then, with a deep breath, I cuffed my hands to my ankles behind my back.
Chapter 4: Doubts and Hesitations
As I lay there, hogcuffed at the bottom of the well, I felt a surge of doubt. What if I couldn’t endure the confinement? The weight of my decision pressed down on me, heavier than the soil that would soon cover me. I forced myself to breathe slowly, deeply, reminding myself of my desire, my need to surrender completely.
I thought about my life, about the choices that had led me to this moment. I had always been drawn to the edge, to the thrill of danger and the allure of the unknown. This was the ultimate expression of that desire, a plunge into the abyss from which there would be no return.
My heart raced as I heard the sound of the gardening company’s truck pulling up. The moment of truth had arrived. I closed my eyes, focusing on the feeling of the gas mask against my face, the latex against my skin, the handcuffs around my wrists and ankles. This was it. There was no turning back.
Buried Alive: The Depths of Desire
Chapter 1: The Seed of a Dark Desire
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to the edge of the abyss. There’s a pull in the darkness that I can’t explain, a whisper in the back of my mind that beckons me to surrender completely. The desire to be buried alive—strange, horrifying, and incomprehensible to most—has always been a part of me. It's a yearning that pulses through my veins, a masochistic craving for the ultimate submission. The thought of it was always good to get my pussy wet.
My garden has always been my sanctuary. Hidden behind my house, surrounded by high hedges and ancient trees, it’s a place where I can be alone with my thoughts. And in the far corner, shrouded by ivy and time, lies an old, dry well. It’s been there for as long as I’ve lived here, a relic of the past that’s never ceased to intrigue me. The well is deep, dark, and foreboding, a perfect vessel for my deepest desire.
The idea first took root during one of my solitary walks. Standing at the edge of the well, peering into its unfathomable depths, I felt a strange sense of calm. The darkness below seemed to call to me, promising an escape from the world above. It was then that the seed of my plan began to grow.
Chapter 2: The Plan Takes Shape
Planning my burial was an exercise in meticulous detail. Every aspect had to be considered, every potential obstacle anticipated. The first step was to ensure the well was safe and secure. I decided to hire a local gardening company to fill it in, using the excuse of a safety concern. The well, I told them, was a hazard that needed to be sealed.
Before they arrived, I carefully lined the bottom of the well with a thick layer of leaves and garden waste. This would serve as my camouflage, masking my presence once I was inside. The workers, oblivious to my true intentions, would unknowingly bury me alive.
Beforehand, I had gathered the equipment I would need. A gas mask with an air hose that would lead to the surface for fresh air, a latex catsuit for warmth and protection, and a feeding tube connected to a feeding pump with a large reservoir to sustain me for months. Each item was chosen with care, each detail meticulously planned.
The night before my burial, I laid out my supplies and went over my plan one final time. The gas mask was secure, the feeding pump operational, the reservoir filled to capacity. I felt a shiver of anticipation as I imagined the sensation of the latex catsuit, its tight embrace heightening my senses.
Chapter 3: The Final Preparations
In the early hours of the morning, before the first light of dawn, I began my preparations. The air was cool, and the garden was shrouded in a mist that added to the sense of surrealism. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through my veins.
I donned the latex catsuit, feeling its smooth, constricting material hug my body. It was a second skin, amplifying my anticipation. I descended into the well. The darkness enveloped me, a comforting shroud that intensified my sense of isolation. I positioned myself atop the layer of leaves and garden waste, the scent of earth and decay filling my nostrils. I inserted the feeding tube through my nose, securing it in place, and tested the pump one final time. The steady flow of nutrient-rich liquid reassured me that my preparations were complete. The gas mask went over my head, pressing against my cheeks. Carefully, I secured my ankles with handcuffs, the cold metal biting into my skin. I turned on my stomach and digged myself under the thick layer of leaves. Then, with a deep breath, I cuffed my hands to my ankles behind my back.
Chapter 4: Doubts and Hesitations
As I lay there, hogcuffed at the bottom of the well, I felt a surge of doubt. What if I couldn’t endure the confinement? The weight of my decision pressed down on me, heavier than the soil that would soon cover me. I forced myself to breathe slowly, deeply, reminding myself of my desire, my need to surrender completely.
I thought about my life, about the choices that had led me to this moment. I had always been drawn to the edge, to the thrill of danger and the allure of the unknown. This was the ultimate expression of that desire, a plunge into the abyss from which there would be no return.
My heart raced as I heard the sound of the gardening company’s truck pulling up. The moment of truth had arrived. I closed my eyes, focusing on the feeling of the gas mask against my face, the latex against my skin, the handcuffs around my wrists and ankles. This was it. There was no turning back.
thecuriousone
Tribune
Chapter 5: The Descent Begins
The workers began their task, shoveling soil into the well. I felt the first clumps of earth land on me, the weight pressing down on my body. My breathing quickened, panic rising in my throat. I fought the urge to shout for help, to abandon my plan and escape. But I held firm, clinging to my desire, my need to see this through.
The soil continued to pile up, each shovelful a step closer to my burial. The weight grew heavier, pressing down on my chest, my legs, my arms. I could hear the muffled sounds of the workers above, their voices indistinct. The darkness around me deepened, the air growing thicker with each passing moment.
As the soil covered me completely, I felt a strange sense of calm. The darkness was complete, the isolation total. I had achieved what I had longed for, the ultimate surrender. I focused on my breathing, on the steady flow of air through the hose, the hum of the feeding pump. I was alive, buried, and completely at the mercy of my own desires.
Chapter 6: The Weight of Reality
As the hours turned into days, the reality of my situation began to set in. The weight of the soil was a constant pressure, a reminder of my confinement. My body ached from the prolonged restraint, muscles cramping and joints stiffening. The gas mask, once a source of reassurance, now felt like a prison, its rubber material digging into my skin, its filter clogging with moisture.
My thoughts became a relentless cycle of fear and regret. What had I done? Why had I chosen this? The fantasy that had seemed so alluring now felt like a nightmare, an inescapable reality that I had willingly chosen. The darkness, once a source of comfort, now seemed oppressive, a suffocating void that threatened to consume me.
The feeding pump hummed softly, a steady reminder of my tenuous grip on life. Each gulp of the nutrient-rich liquid was a bitter acknowledgment of my self-imposed fate. I had wanted to surrender completely, to relinquish control, but I had never anticipated the true cost of my desire.
Chapter 7: Desperation
Time lost all meaning in the darkness. Hours blended into days, days into weeks, and weeks into an unending, torturous stretch of existence. My body screamed in protest, muscles cramping and joints stiffening from the prolonged confinement. The soil, once a comforting weight, now felt like a crushing burden, a relentless force that had buried me alive in more ways than one.
I tried to move, to shift my position even slightly, but the handcuffs held me firmly in place. Panic surged through me, a tidal wave of fear and desperation that threatened to drown me. I tried to trash against my restraints, my breath coming in ragged gasps through the gas mask. The soil did not shift at all around me, a mocking echo of my futile struggle.
In the darkness, my thoughts spiraled into madness. I imagined the soil creeping into my lungs, the air hose failing, the feeding pump running dry. Each scenario was more horrifying than the last, a testament to the depths of my fear and regret. I had wanted to surrender, to relinquish control, but I had never anticipated the true cost of my desire.
Chapter 8: Madness
As the days stretched into weeks, my mind began to fracture under the weight of my ordeal. The darkness, once a source of comfort, became a living nightmare, a suffocating void that threatened to consume me. I hallucinated, my senses betraying me in the absence of light and sound. I heard voices, whispers that mocked and taunted me, shadows that danced just beyond the edge of my vision.
The gas mask, my lifeline, became a source of torment. The rubber pressed into my skin, its filter long clogged with moisture, each breath a struggle against the encroaching darkness. The feeding pump, once a steady source of sustenance, became a cruel reminder of my prolonged existence, each gulp a bitter acknowledgment of my self-imposed fate.
In my madness, I imagined myself as part of the earth, my body merging with the soil that encased me. I felt the weight of the world pressing down on me, a crushing burden that threatened to extinguish the last flicker of my consciousness. I had wanted to be buried alive, to experience the ultimate surrender, but I had never anticipated the true horror of my desire.
Chapter 9: The Edge of Sanity
The passage of time became meaningless. Days, weeks, perhaps even months passed, each moment an eternity of torment. The feeding pump continued its relentless work, the nutrient-rich liquid a cruel reminder of my continued existence. The air hose, my tenuous lifeline, provided a steady supply of fresh air, but it did little to alleviate the suffocating darkness that surrounded me.
My body ached with a relentless, gnawing pain. Muscles cramped and spasmed, joints stiffened, and my skin itched and burned beneath the latex catsuit. The gas mask, once a source of reassurance, now felt like a vice, its straps digging into my flesh, its filter clogging with every breath.
My mind, already fragile, began to crumble under the weight of my ordeal. I heard voices in the darkness, whispers that mocked and taunted me, shadows that danced just beyond the edge of my vision. I hallucinated, my senses betraying me in the absence of light and sound. Reality and fantasy blurred, and I found myself teetering on the edge of sanity.
Chapter 10: The Final Descent
As the weeks stretched into months, my physical and mental torment continued unabated. The feeding pump, my only source of sustenance, began to slow, and eventually stop, its reservoir depleted. The air hose, once a steady source of fresh air, now felt like a cruel reminder of my impending demise. I could feel the life draining from my body, each passing moment a step closer to the inevitable end.
In my final moments, I found a strange sense of peace. The darkness that had once terrified me now seemed almost welcoming, a release from the torment of my existence. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the void, and let go of the fear and regret that had consumed me. I had wanted to be buried alive, to experience the ultimate surrender, and now, in the depths of the earth, I had found it.
As my consciousness faded, I felt a final, fleeting connection to the world above. The garden, the well, the man who had unknowingly fulfilled my darkest desire—all of it seemed distant and unimportant. In the end, all that mattered was the darkness, the silence, and the peace that came with surrender.
And then, there was nothing.
The workers began their task, shoveling soil into the well. I felt the first clumps of earth land on me, the weight pressing down on my body. My breathing quickened, panic rising in my throat. I fought the urge to shout for help, to abandon my plan and escape. But I held firm, clinging to my desire, my need to see this through.
The soil continued to pile up, each shovelful a step closer to my burial. The weight grew heavier, pressing down on my chest, my legs, my arms. I could hear the muffled sounds of the workers above, their voices indistinct. The darkness around me deepened, the air growing thicker with each passing moment.
As the soil covered me completely, I felt a strange sense of calm. The darkness was complete, the isolation total. I had achieved what I had longed for, the ultimate surrender. I focused on my breathing, on the steady flow of air through the hose, the hum of the feeding pump. I was alive, buried, and completely at the mercy of my own desires.
Chapter 6: The Weight of Reality
As the hours turned into days, the reality of my situation began to set in. The weight of the soil was a constant pressure, a reminder of my confinement. My body ached from the prolonged restraint, muscles cramping and joints stiffening. The gas mask, once a source of reassurance, now felt like a prison, its rubber material digging into my skin, its filter clogging with moisture.
My thoughts became a relentless cycle of fear and regret. What had I done? Why had I chosen this? The fantasy that had seemed so alluring now felt like a nightmare, an inescapable reality that I had willingly chosen. The darkness, once a source of comfort, now seemed oppressive, a suffocating void that threatened to consume me.
The feeding pump hummed softly, a steady reminder of my tenuous grip on life. Each gulp of the nutrient-rich liquid was a bitter acknowledgment of my self-imposed fate. I had wanted to surrender completely, to relinquish control, but I had never anticipated the true cost of my desire.
Chapter 7: Desperation
Time lost all meaning in the darkness. Hours blended into days, days into weeks, and weeks into an unending, torturous stretch of existence. My body screamed in protest, muscles cramping and joints stiffening from the prolonged confinement. The soil, once a comforting weight, now felt like a crushing burden, a relentless force that had buried me alive in more ways than one.
I tried to move, to shift my position even slightly, but the handcuffs held me firmly in place. Panic surged through me, a tidal wave of fear and desperation that threatened to drown me. I tried to trash against my restraints, my breath coming in ragged gasps through the gas mask. The soil did not shift at all around me, a mocking echo of my futile struggle.
In the darkness, my thoughts spiraled into madness. I imagined the soil creeping into my lungs, the air hose failing, the feeding pump running dry. Each scenario was more horrifying than the last, a testament to the depths of my fear and regret. I had wanted to surrender, to relinquish control, but I had never anticipated the true cost of my desire.
Chapter 8: Madness
As the days stretched into weeks, my mind began to fracture under the weight of my ordeal. The darkness, once a source of comfort, became a living nightmare, a suffocating void that threatened to consume me. I hallucinated, my senses betraying me in the absence of light and sound. I heard voices, whispers that mocked and taunted me, shadows that danced just beyond the edge of my vision.
The gas mask, my lifeline, became a source of torment. The rubber pressed into my skin, its filter long clogged with moisture, each breath a struggle against the encroaching darkness. The feeding pump, once a steady source of sustenance, became a cruel reminder of my prolonged existence, each gulp a bitter acknowledgment of my self-imposed fate.
In my madness, I imagined myself as part of the earth, my body merging with the soil that encased me. I felt the weight of the world pressing down on me, a crushing burden that threatened to extinguish the last flicker of my consciousness. I had wanted to be buried alive, to experience the ultimate surrender, but I had never anticipated the true horror of my desire.
Chapter 9: The Edge of Sanity
The passage of time became meaningless. Days, weeks, perhaps even months passed, each moment an eternity of torment. The feeding pump continued its relentless work, the nutrient-rich liquid a cruel reminder of my continued existence. The air hose, my tenuous lifeline, provided a steady supply of fresh air, but it did little to alleviate the suffocating darkness that surrounded me.
My body ached with a relentless, gnawing pain. Muscles cramped and spasmed, joints stiffened, and my skin itched and burned beneath the latex catsuit. The gas mask, once a source of reassurance, now felt like a vice, its straps digging into my flesh, its filter clogging with every breath.
My mind, already fragile, began to crumble under the weight of my ordeal. I heard voices in the darkness, whispers that mocked and taunted me, shadows that danced just beyond the edge of my vision. I hallucinated, my senses betraying me in the absence of light and sound. Reality and fantasy blurred, and I found myself teetering on the edge of sanity.
Chapter 10: The Final Descent
As the weeks stretched into months, my physical and mental torment continued unabated. The feeding pump, my only source of sustenance, began to slow, and eventually stop, its reservoir depleted. The air hose, once a steady source of fresh air, now felt like a cruel reminder of my impending demise. I could feel the life draining from my body, each passing moment a step closer to the inevitable end.
In my final moments, I found a strange sense of peace. The darkness that had once terrified me now seemed almost welcoming, a release from the torment of my existence. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the void, and let go of the fear and regret that had consumed me. I had wanted to be buried alive, to experience the ultimate surrender, and now, in the depths of the earth, I had found it.
As my consciousness faded, I felt a final, fleeting connection to the world above. The garden, the well, the man who had unknowingly fulfilled my darkest desire—all of it seemed distant and unimportant. In the end, all that mattered was the darkness, the silence, and the peace that came with surrender.
And then, there was nothing.
Attachments
Darkedge
Magistrate
What an original plot!
I don't remember having read a similar story before.
And how well depicted the dark and slow descend to the World of the Dead...
It's amazing how easy could be to die due to a silly confusion or misstep.
thecuriousone
Tribune
A comment like this brightens my day.
Elisa56
Spectator
Amazing story !!
thecuriousone
Tribune
I wrote this one for https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/members/erin-the-brave.3134/
Erin's sacrifice
The midsummer sun bathed the village in golden light, casting long shadows over the hills where I had earned my right to marry. It was hard to believe that only a few months ago, I had been standing over the lifeless body of an orc warrior, the shaft of my arrow protruding from the gap in his armour at his neck. The memory of that battle was still fresh in my mind—the ambush, the cold weight of the silencing amulet around my neck, the eerie quiet as we descended upon the orc warband.
The amulets had worked perfectly, shrouding us in silence as we moved through the hills. The orcs never heard us coming. We had lured them into our trap, and I had been the one to land the lucky shot on one of their champions. It was a moment of triumph, a moment that had secured my place as a warrior among my people. And, more importantly, killing your first orc grants you permission to marry. So it secured my place by Gyrak's side.
Gyrak, strong and fearless, had chosen me over Fatha, the priest's acolyte. The memory of her scornful gaze as he announced his choice still lingered, but I had paid it no mind. I was the victor, and tonight, on the evening of midsummer, I was to marry the man I loved.
But fate, as I was cruelly reminded, had other plans.
The village square was abuzz with excitement for the midsummer celebrations, yet a dark undercurrent of dread wound through the festivities. Tonight, as with every midsummer, the sea gods demanded a sacrifice. One virgin woman, chosen by random lottery, would be offered to the waters to ensure the safe passage of our ships. It was a grim tradition, but one we all accepted as necessary.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think the lot would fall to me.
When the high priest Elthar drew my name, the world seemed to stop. My heart pounded in my chest as if trying to escape the confines of my ribs, and a cold sweat broke out across my skin. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The joyous anticipation of my wedding night was torn away in an instant, replaced by a suffocating terror.
This couldn't be happening. Not to me.
"You have one hour," Elthar intoned, his voice heavy with sorrow. "One hour to say your goodbyes."
One hour to bid farewell to the life I had fought so hard to claim.
Gyrak's face was a mask of anguish as he held me close, his strong arms trembling. "No," he whispered, his voice raw with pain. "This isn't right. This can't be right."
But it was. There was no escaping the decree of the sea gods, no matter how unjust it felt. The village would not risk the wrath of the ocean for the sake of one woman, not even for a warrior like me.
My family, my friends, all gathered to say their goodbyes. The words were a blur, their faces a kaleidoscope of grief and pity. My father clasped my hand, his eyes shining with unshed tears, while my mother wept openly. And then there was Gyrak, his face pale, his lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to hold back the storm of emotions raging within him. We kissed, a desperate, aching kiss filled with all the words we could no longer say.
But time was relentless, and soon the women of the village came for me. They stripped me of my clothing, leaving me bare, exposed to the world. They adorned my body with flowers, weaving jasmine and lavender into my hair, their faces solemn and unyielding. I felt numb, detached, as if this was all happening to someone else.
The walk to the beach was long, the path lined with villagers who averted their eyes as I passed. The sun was beginning to set, casting the sky in hues of orange and purple, a beautiful backdrop to the horror that awaited me.
At the water's edge, they laid me down, spreading my arms and legs wide on the stone altar at the waterline, securing them with ropes. The ritual was familiar, but knowing that I was the one being sacrificed made it all the more surreal. The wet stone was cool against my back, slippery from seaweed and algae, the scent of the flowers cloying and comforting.
Elthar, the high priest, began the prayers, his voice a deep rumble that resonated with the power of the ancient words. All the elves joined in, calling the sea gods to accept the offering. I stared up at the sky, trying to find some semblance of peace, but all I felt was dread. The waves occasionally lapped at my feet, a cold reminder of the fate that awaited me.
And then she appeared—Fatha, Elthar’s daughter, my rival. She moved with a practiced grace, her hands deftly placing the ritual flowers around me, her expression unreadable. I had expected her to take pleasure in my demise, but she was calm, almost serene.
When the ritual was almost completed, the others retreated to the field where the midsummer festivities were held, leaving me alone with Fatha. I felt a flicker of unease. Someone was supposed to take tha last step in the sacrifice, but I did not expect it to be her.
Fatha knelt beside me, her eyes meeting mine with a cold, calculating gaze. She reached into her robe and produced a bronze oval object, about the size of a fist. It was one of the silencing amulets, the very same kind we had used in the ambush against the orcs. Without a word, she pushed it between my legs.
This wasn't how the ritual was supposed to go. "Why the amulet? I should be a virgin to be sacrificed. You destroyed my virginity with that amulet." I asked, my voice trembling. She smiled, a cruel twist of her lips. "To keep you silent, Erin. It wouldn't do for you to disrupt the ritual with your screaming. I won't scream, on the other hand. I will celebrate my engagement to Gyrak soon, now I managed to get rid of you."
The realization of her betrayal hit me like a blow to the chest. "You… you rigged the lottery," I breathed, horror and disbelief warring within me.
Her smile widened, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "Of course I did. Gyrak should have been mine. You stole him from me, and now I'm taking him back."
My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear and rage. "They'll know," I whispered, desperate to find some way to stop her. "They'll find out what you’ve done."
"Shout as loud as you like," Fatha sneered, leaning in close. "The amulet will dampen your voice. No one will hear you. No one will save you."
Panic surged through me as I struggled against the ropes, but it was futile. Fatha had planned this too well. She reached into her robe again, this time pulling out a small, wickedly sharp blade.
"Now, let’s complete the preparations. The sharks are the messengers of the sea god. Now we make sure they come quicker," she said, her tone dripping with malice. She placed the blade between my legs, the tip resting against my clit.
I cried out, but the sound was swallowed by the amulet as she made a deep gash across my belly from my clit to my navel, the pain sharp and immediate. Blood welled up, warm and sticky, trickling down my sides and mixing with the cold seawater. My intestins were visible. "Please complete the cut, Fatha. Go until my heart. Let me die quickly, now you cut so deep.
Fatha stood, wiping the blade on her robe. " No, this is exactly the perfect cut for you, Erin. I am allowed to do the cut in the way that I judge right. Not too shallow, so you will feel lots of pain. And not so deep and long that you die too quick. Now I leave you at the hands of the sea gods. They will be disappointed that the virginity of the sacrifice is gone. They will claim ships this year. Goodbye, Erin," she said, her voice sickeningly sweet. "I am going to find Gyrak. Enjoy your wedding night."
And with that, she retreated while laughing hysterically, leaving me alone with the rising tide.
The water crept higher, the waves stronger, pulling at my legs, my arms. I thrashed against the ropes, screamed until my throat was raw, but barely any sound escaped. The amulet did its job, rendering me a silent, helpless sacrifice.
The saltwater stung the cut on my belly, and I could already see dark shapes moving in the distance, drawn by the scent of blood. The fins of the servants of the sea gods. My heart raced as the water rose to my chest, then my neck, then my chin. I fought to keep my head above the waves, but it was a losing battle.
The ocean was relentless, cold, and unforgiving. It produced one huge wave, summoned by the sea gods themselves. It crept closer, then towered over me and crashed down on my body with tremendous force. As the water closed over my head, I prayed for the safety of the elven ships and their crew. Not that it would matter any more. the last thing that drifted through my mind was the party ground, where the villagers celebrated midsummer, unaware of the betrayal that had sealed my fate.
And then, there was only darkness.
Erin's sacrifice
The midsummer sun bathed the village in golden light, casting long shadows over the hills where I had earned my right to marry. It was hard to believe that only a few months ago, I had been standing over the lifeless body of an orc warrior, the shaft of my arrow protruding from the gap in his armour at his neck. The memory of that battle was still fresh in my mind—the ambush, the cold weight of the silencing amulet around my neck, the eerie quiet as we descended upon the orc warband.
The amulets had worked perfectly, shrouding us in silence as we moved through the hills. The orcs never heard us coming. We had lured them into our trap, and I had been the one to land the lucky shot on one of their champions. It was a moment of triumph, a moment that had secured my place as a warrior among my people. And, more importantly, killing your first orc grants you permission to marry. So it secured my place by Gyrak's side.
Gyrak, strong and fearless, had chosen me over Fatha, the priest's acolyte. The memory of her scornful gaze as he announced his choice still lingered, but I had paid it no mind. I was the victor, and tonight, on the evening of midsummer, I was to marry the man I loved.
But fate, as I was cruelly reminded, had other plans.
The village square was abuzz with excitement for the midsummer celebrations, yet a dark undercurrent of dread wound through the festivities. Tonight, as with every midsummer, the sea gods demanded a sacrifice. One virgin woman, chosen by random lottery, would be offered to the waters to ensure the safe passage of our ships. It was a grim tradition, but one we all accepted as necessary.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think the lot would fall to me.
When the high priest Elthar drew my name, the world seemed to stop. My heart pounded in my chest as if trying to escape the confines of my ribs, and a cold sweat broke out across my skin. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The joyous anticipation of my wedding night was torn away in an instant, replaced by a suffocating terror.
This couldn't be happening. Not to me.
"You have one hour," Elthar intoned, his voice heavy with sorrow. "One hour to say your goodbyes."
One hour to bid farewell to the life I had fought so hard to claim.
Gyrak's face was a mask of anguish as he held me close, his strong arms trembling. "No," he whispered, his voice raw with pain. "This isn't right. This can't be right."
But it was. There was no escaping the decree of the sea gods, no matter how unjust it felt. The village would not risk the wrath of the ocean for the sake of one woman, not even for a warrior like me.
My family, my friends, all gathered to say their goodbyes. The words were a blur, their faces a kaleidoscope of grief and pity. My father clasped my hand, his eyes shining with unshed tears, while my mother wept openly. And then there was Gyrak, his face pale, his lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to hold back the storm of emotions raging within him. We kissed, a desperate, aching kiss filled with all the words we could no longer say.
But time was relentless, and soon the women of the village came for me. They stripped me of my clothing, leaving me bare, exposed to the world. They adorned my body with flowers, weaving jasmine and lavender into my hair, their faces solemn and unyielding. I felt numb, detached, as if this was all happening to someone else.
The walk to the beach was long, the path lined with villagers who averted their eyes as I passed. The sun was beginning to set, casting the sky in hues of orange and purple, a beautiful backdrop to the horror that awaited me.
At the water's edge, they laid me down, spreading my arms and legs wide on the stone altar at the waterline, securing them with ropes. The ritual was familiar, but knowing that I was the one being sacrificed made it all the more surreal. The wet stone was cool against my back, slippery from seaweed and algae, the scent of the flowers cloying and comforting.
Elthar, the high priest, began the prayers, his voice a deep rumble that resonated with the power of the ancient words. All the elves joined in, calling the sea gods to accept the offering. I stared up at the sky, trying to find some semblance of peace, but all I felt was dread. The waves occasionally lapped at my feet, a cold reminder of the fate that awaited me.
And then she appeared—Fatha, Elthar’s daughter, my rival. She moved with a practiced grace, her hands deftly placing the ritual flowers around me, her expression unreadable. I had expected her to take pleasure in my demise, but she was calm, almost serene.
When the ritual was almost completed, the others retreated to the field where the midsummer festivities were held, leaving me alone with Fatha. I felt a flicker of unease. Someone was supposed to take tha last step in the sacrifice, but I did not expect it to be her.
Fatha knelt beside me, her eyes meeting mine with a cold, calculating gaze. She reached into her robe and produced a bronze oval object, about the size of a fist. It was one of the silencing amulets, the very same kind we had used in the ambush against the orcs. Without a word, she pushed it between my legs.
This wasn't how the ritual was supposed to go. "Why the amulet? I should be a virgin to be sacrificed. You destroyed my virginity with that amulet." I asked, my voice trembling. She smiled, a cruel twist of her lips. "To keep you silent, Erin. It wouldn't do for you to disrupt the ritual with your screaming. I won't scream, on the other hand. I will celebrate my engagement to Gyrak soon, now I managed to get rid of you."
The realization of her betrayal hit me like a blow to the chest. "You… you rigged the lottery," I breathed, horror and disbelief warring within me.
Her smile widened, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "Of course I did. Gyrak should have been mine. You stole him from me, and now I'm taking him back."
My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear and rage. "They'll know," I whispered, desperate to find some way to stop her. "They'll find out what you’ve done."
"Shout as loud as you like," Fatha sneered, leaning in close. "The amulet will dampen your voice. No one will hear you. No one will save you."
Panic surged through me as I struggled against the ropes, but it was futile. Fatha had planned this too well. She reached into her robe again, this time pulling out a small, wickedly sharp blade.
"Now, let’s complete the preparations. The sharks are the messengers of the sea god. Now we make sure they come quicker," she said, her tone dripping with malice. She placed the blade between my legs, the tip resting against my clit.
I cried out, but the sound was swallowed by the amulet as she made a deep gash across my belly from my clit to my navel, the pain sharp and immediate. Blood welled up, warm and sticky, trickling down my sides and mixing with the cold seawater. My intestins were visible. "Please complete the cut, Fatha. Go until my heart. Let me die quickly, now you cut so deep.
Fatha stood, wiping the blade on her robe. " No, this is exactly the perfect cut for you, Erin. I am allowed to do the cut in the way that I judge right. Not too shallow, so you will feel lots of pain. And not so deep and long that you die too quick. Now I leave you at the hands of the sea gods. They will be disappointed that the virginity of the sacrifice is gone. They will claim ships this year. Goodbye, Erin," she said, her voice sickeningly sweet. "I am going to find Gyrak. Enjoy your wedding night."
And with that, she retreated while laughing hysterically, leaving me alone with the rising tide.
The water crept higher, the waves stronger, pulling at my legs, my arms. I thrashed against the ropes, screamed until my throat was raw, but barely any sound escaped. The amulet did its job, rendering me a silent, helpless sacrifice.
The saltwater stung the cut on my belly, and I could already see dark shapes moving in the distance, drawn by the scent of blood. The fins of the servants of the sea gods. My heart raced as the water rose to my chest, then my neck, then my chin. I fought to keep my head above the waves, but it was a losing battle.
The ocean was relentless, cold, and unforgiving. It produced one huge wave, summoned by the sea gods themselves. It crept closer, then towered over me and crashed down on my body with tremendous force. As the water closed over my head, I prayed for the safety of the elven ships and their crew. Not that it would matter any more. the last thing that drifted through my mind was the party ground, where the villagers celebrated midsummer, unaware of the betrayal that had sealed my fate.
And then, there was only darkness.
