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various own work - perils
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thecuriousone
Governor
It went viral, with different stories. Some claiming she has been chained to a pole and set ablaze by enviromentalists because she did not support their case. Others say she was a Mc Cain supporter that has been caught by Trump supporters. I don't know, maybe it is all fake news?
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thecuriousone
Governor
thecuriousone
Governor
The ultimate swim challenge
Celeste reaches her destination at the edge of the cliff and puts down her heavy backpack. She enjoys the view in the morning sun, warm but not hot yet. Over a hundred feet below her, the surf breaks on the rocks. They say that sometimes, on a stormy day, the surf breaks so violently that the spray is coming as high as she is standing now. The other tourists in the resort are not yet awake this early, so few people spotted her walking here in her black latex catsuit and none took the time to question her what she was doing.
It has been her ultimate fantasy to perform this challenge since puberty. Both a thrillseeker on one hand, and a kinky bondage bitch on the other hand, she set her limits high. Extremely dangerously high.
She takes from her backpack what she needs. A 20 poud dumbell. A challenge on itself to carry it here over the small steep cliff road. A chain, 6 foot long. Handcuffs. Manacles for her neck and ankles. And some padlocks.
She will chain herself to the dumbell and cuff her hands behind her back. With the keyring holding her escape keys in her hands, she will jump off the cliff. If she fails to unlock herself, for sure she will drown. That's the challenge, that gives her the tingling feeling between her legs.
The anticipation is intense, as she stands there on the cliff edge. Taking a deep breath, she steps forward and plunges into the deep blue waters below. The crash of the waves against her body is invigorating. She can feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she plunges deeper and deeper into the murky depths of the ocean. With every second that passes, she feels more and more alive. The fear of not making it back to the surface keeps her focused and determined as she struggles with the heavy chain attached to her wrists and ankles.
Sinking through the deep waters, her heart races with excitement and fear. She is free-falling in more ways than one, unsure of what fate awaits her at the bottom. With every passing moment, her chances of success diminish, but her determination to beat the odds remains strong. As she finally reaches the depths of the ocean, she strains against the restraints binding her hands behind her back, desperately trying to escape them and make her way back to safety.
Then she realizes that she does not have the keyring anymore. Now she is truly stuck, destined to drown. A surge of panic runs through her body as the reality of her situation hits her. She had come so far, but with no way to escape, she was doomed to a watery grave. Her mind begins racing, thinking of any solution that could possibly save her. Her lungs start burning. Every second counts as she frantically scours the area for a way out. But is so dark that it is impossible to spot anything smaller than a foot in diameter, let alone the so urgently needed keys. Desperately she lunges for the surface, only to be dragged down immediately by the 20 pound dumbell.
The seconds tick by, and she can feel her time slipping away. The burning in her lungs becomes unbearable. She knows now with certaincy that, this time, she took the challenge one step too far. She lets the air escape from her lungs and inhales water. Slowly her sight becomes blurry- she is about to lose consciousness. Her last thought is of defeat; she has failed to save herself. As darkness takes over, the reality sets in- this is the end for her.
Some kids find the backpack and take it home as souvenir, not knowing what happened. Her body is never recovered.
Celeste reaches her destination at the edge of the cliff and puts down her heavy backpack. She enjoys the view in the morning sun, warm but not hot yet. Over a hundred feet below her, the surf breaks on the rocks. They say that sometimes, on a stormy day, the surf breaks so violently that the spray is coming as high as she is standing now. The other tourists in the resort are not yet awake this early, so few people spotted her walking here in her black latex catsuit and none took the time to question her what she was doing.
It has been her ultimate fantasy to perform this challenge since puberty. Both a thrillseeker on one hand, and a kinky bondage bitch on the other hand, she set her limits high. Extremely dangerously high.
She takes from her backpack what she needs. A 20 poud dumbell. A challenge on itself to carry it here over the small steep cliff road. A chain, 6 foot long. Handcuffs. Manacles for her neck and ankles. And some padlocks.
She will chain herself to the dumbell and cuff her hands behind her back. With the keyring holding her escape keys in her hands, she will jump off the cliff. If she fails to unlock herself, for sure she will drown. That's the challenge, that gives her the tingling feeling between her legs.
The anticipation is intense, as she stands there on the cliff edge. Taking a deep breath, she steps forward and plunges into the deep blue waters below. The crash of the waves against her body is invigorating. She can feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she plunges deeper and deeper into the murky depths of the ocean. With every second that passes, she feels more and more alive. The fear of not making it back to the surface keeps her focused and determined as she struggles with the heavy chain attached to her wrists and ankles.
Sinking through the deep waters, her heart races with excitement and fear. She is free-falling in more ways than one, unsure of what fate awaits her at the bottom. With every passing moment, her chances of success diminish, but her determination to beat the odds remains strong. As she finally reaches the depths of the ocean, she strains against the restraints binding her hands behind her back, desperately trying to escape them and make her way back to safety.
Then she realizes that she does not have the keyring anymore. Now she is truly stuck, destined to drown. A surge of panic runs through her body as the reality of her situation hits her. She had come so far, but with no way to escape, she was doomed to a watery grave. Her mind begins racing, thinking of any solution that could possibly save her. Her lungs start burning. Every second counts as she frantically scours the area for a way out. But is so dark that it is impossible to spot anything smaller than a foot in diameter, let alone the so urgently needed keys. Desperately she lunges for the surface, only to be dragged down immediately by the 20 pound dumbell.
The seconds tick by, and she can feel her time slipping away. The burning in her lungs becomes unbearable. She knows now with certaincy that, this time, she took the challenge one step too far. She lets the air escape from her lungs and inhales water. Slowly her sight becomes blurry- she is about to lose consciousness. Her last thought is of defeat; she has failed to save herself. As darkness takes over, the reality sets in- this is the end for her.
Some kids find the backpack and take it home as souvenir, not knowing what happened. Her body is never recovered.
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thecuriousone
Governor
The sequel to the ultimate swim challenge:
The non-freediving challenge
Feeling the group pressure, Cindy carefully secured the weight around her waist and stepped towards the edge of the rock. Taking a deep breath, she held her nerves together
as she jumped in with the heavy chain attached to her. Underwater, her mind raced as she scrambled to unlock herself from the weighty chains binding her.
With a final push of effort, she freed herself from the burden, emerging victorious from the challenge!
As she waded to the shore, she shouted: "Miranda, when is your turn?
It all started 2 years ago. After the disappearance of their friend from their BDSM community Celeste, when on holiday, rumors started to circulate among the members of the BDSM circle.
Celeste, creative in her dares as she was, has told about her fantasy of jumping in the sea while chained and secured to a weight, only to unlock herself when underwater.
People started to say that she must have tried it, but that something has gone wrong, and that she must have drowned.
Celeste's disappearance had left the BDSM circle in shock, but one year later, a group of girlfriends have formed that called themselves Celestes Mermaids.
They all vowed to repeat the challenge that must have proved fatal to Celeste. Twice a year Celeste's mermaids took the challenge of non-freediving as an opportunity to go on an adventure.
They booked a flight to a rented apartment in a warm place and indulged in BDSM games every day. And at least one of them would take a plunge into the deep while chained.
It was a beautiful happening each time, and the mermaids enjoyed the freedom of exploration it offered. They inspired each other with their courage and determination to try something new
and break free from their comfort zone.
Miranda said, "Ummmmmm I don't know if I am ready."
"Come on, you haven't done it yet", said Cindy. "You can not call yourself a full member yet. When are you taking the plunge?"
All looked at Miranda.
Miranda, although into bondage, was secretly not really a fan of this challenge. But she had an eye on Claire, the on and off girlfriend of Miranda and the core of the group.
Two times this holiday she was able to convince Claire to make love to her.
Claire said: "We are here with 6 women, and only one has never taken on the non-freediving challenge. If you do it, I will eat your pussy every night for the rest of the holiday."
That was just too tempting for Miranda. "Every night? Really? I can not say no to this. Can I still go today?" "No," Claire replied. "We already scheduled a mock crucifixion today. Besides,
we first have to cement an eye bolt in a piece of rock. It needs time to harden out. Tomorrow at sunrise we can give it a go, so we can celebrate it all day afterward."
"OK that is fair enough, tomorrow then. I am looking forward to it."
That afternoon they enjoyed lunch, tied redhead Ann to a cross and had turns whipping her and eating her pussy. In the evening they had wine and more games with each other,
a memorable night for all of them, with for several among them rope marks and whip marks to prove it the next morning.
The next morning, they woke up before dawn and had a light breakfast with coffee. They put on their latex catsuits, packed chains, padlocks cuffs and manacles in a backpack
and went underway along the trail up the cliff. So early in the morning, chances of meeting other people were next to zero along the trail.
Ann carried the 25-pound rock and Cindy the backpack, which was also pretty heavy with all the metal inside. They reached the small clearing at the edge of the cliff and took out all the contents
from the backpack to lay them in the grass. Several of them took out their phones to record everything for holiday memories. Putting aside her fears,
full of anticipation of romantic nights with Cindy, Miranda put shackles on her feet, linked to a chain around her waist. The rock was also linked to the waist chain.
A massive collar went around her neck, also linked to her waist chain. To complete the bondage, she secured her hands behind her back with medieval-looking cuffs.
Ann teased her: "You can still chicken out if you are a chicken instead of a chick."
Miranda took a deep breath, and said, pretending to be more certain than she wanted to admit, said: "No I will not step back. Give me the keys,
I will only use them at the bottom of the sea." Cindy put the keyring in her hand. All started counting down. "Three. Two. One. GO!"
Miranda leaped forward, dragging the weight along. With a loud yell, she plunged into the deep. All were looking down and recording, to see when she would come to the surface with anticipation.
And they were waiting.
All but Cindy. She had a satisfied smile on her face. She knew that they could wait forever. She had switched the keyring for another one with false keys. No one would take Claire away from her.
The non-freediving challenge
Feeling the group pressure, Cindy carefully secured the weight around her waist and stepped towards the edge of the rock. Taking a deep breath, she held her nerves together
as she jumped in with the heavy chain attached to her. Underwater, her mind raced as she scrambled to unlock herself from the weighty chains binding her.
With a final push of effort, she freed herself from the burden, emerging victorious from the challenge!
As she waded to the shore, she shouted: "Miranda, when is your turn?
It all started 2 years ago. After the disappearance of their friend from their BDSM community Celeste, when on holiday, rumors started to circulate among the members of the BDSM circle.
Celeste, creative in her dares as she was, has told about her fantasy of jumping in the sea while chained and secured to a weight, only to unlock herself when underwater.
People started to say that she must have tried it, but that something has gone wrong, and that she must have drowned.
Celeste's disappearance had left the BDSM circle in shock, but one year later, a group of girlfriends have formed that called themselves Celestes Mermaids.
They all vowed to repeat the challenge that must have proved fatal to Celeste. Twice a year Celeste's mermaids took the challenge of non-freediving as an opportunity to go on an adventure.
They booked a flight to a rented apartment in a warm place and indulged in BDSM games every day. And at least one of them would take a plunge into the deep while chained.
It was a beautiful happening each time, and the mermaids enjoyed the freedom of exploration it offered. They inspired each other with their courage and determination to try something new
and break free from their comfort zone.
Miranda said, "Ummmmmm I don't know if I am ready."
"Come on, you haven't done it yet", said Cindy. "You can not call yourself a full member yet. When are you taking the plunge?"
All looked at Miranda.
Miranda, although into bondage, was secretly not really a fan of this challenge. But she had an eye on Claire, the on and off girlfriend of Miranda and the core of the group.
Two times this holiday she was able to convince Claire to make love to her.
Claire said: "We are here with 6 women, and only one has never taken on the non-freediving challenge. If you do it, I will eat your pussy every night for the rest of the holiday."
That was just too tempting for Miranda. "Every night? Really? I can not say no to this. Can I still go today?" "No," Claire replied. "We already scheduled a mock crucifixion today. Besides,
we first have to cement an eye bolt in a piece of rock. It needs time to harden out. Tomorrow at sunrise we can give it a go, so we can celebrate it all day afterward."
"OK that is fair enough, tomorrow then. I am looking forward to it."
That afternoon they enjoyed lunch, tied redhead Ann to a cross and had turns whipping her and eating her pussy. In the evening they had wine and more games with each other,
a memorable night for all of them, with for several among them rope marks and whip marks to prove it the next morning.
The next morning, they woke up before dawn and had a light breakfast with coffee. They put on their latex catsuits, packed chains, padlocks cuffs and manacles in a backpack
and went underway along the trail up the cliff. So early in the morning, chances of meeting other people were next to zero along the trail.
Ann carried the 25-pound rock and Cindy the backpack, which was also pretty heavy with all the metal inside. They reached the small clearing at the edge of the cliff and took out all the contents
from the backpack to lay them in the grass. Several of them took out their phones to record everything for holiday memories. Putting aside her fears,
full of anticipation of romantic nights with Cindy, Miranda put shackles on her feet, linked to a chain around her waist. The rock was also linked to the waist chain.
A massive collar went around her neck, also linked to her waist chain. To complete the bondage, she secured her hands behind her back with medieval-looking cuffs.
Ann teased her: "You can still chicken out if you are a chicken instead of a chick."
Miranda took a deep breath, and said, pretending to be more certain than she wanted to admit, said: "No I will not step back. Give me the keys,
I will only use them at the bottom of the sea." Cindy put the keyring in her hand. All started counting down. "Three. Two. One. GO!"
Miranda leaped forward, dragging the weight along. With a loud yell, she plunged into the deep. All were looking down and recording, to see when she would come to the surface with anticipation.
And they were waiting.
All but Cindy. She had a satisfied smile on her face. She knew that they could wait forever. She had switched the keyring for another one with false keys. No one would take Claire away from her.
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thecuriousone
Governor
thecuriousone
Governor
Each year our circle comes together to burn a woman to celebrate the 1558 heretic burnings in this town. It is a tradition dating back over 30 years. Sometimes a volunteer from among our own ranks steps forward. Other times we select a candidate among women in town that deserve to be burned because of their immoral deeds. When we can not settle for one of the townwomen, we lure a nonsuspecting tourist or a prostitute.
I know this may sound barbaric and cruel, but please understand that it's not meant to harm more than one person each year physically. We claim to do it as a symbolic gesture to honor those who were persecuted for their beliefs centuries ago. Some of the members of our group joined us from a religious point of view, although most do not have religion as a motive. Others are interested in history, or artists. They tend to be creative in how we burn our victims. But all of us either have a sadistic side hiding under the surface of their personality or, to say it simply, just have a grudge against women.
Among our members, we have the town mayor, all members of the local police force and fire brigade, the doctor and all reporters who work for the local newspaper. This makes it a lot easier to cover up any suspicious deaths.
Our 2020 victim was Martha, a prostitute. She was secured to a pole and burned in the old fashioned way, still quite popular among especially historians. Because lately more artists are becoming members, this is happening not that often any more.
I know this may sound barbaric and cruel, but please understand that it's not meant to harm more than one person each year physically. We claim to do it as a symbolic gesture to honor those who were persecuted for their beliefs centuries ago. Some of the members of our group joined us from a religious point of view, although most do not have religion as a motive. Others are interested in history, or artists. They tend to be creative in how we burn our victims. But all of us either have a sadistic side hiding under the surface of their personality or, to say it simply, just have a grudge against women.
Among our members, we have the town mayor, all members of the local police force and fire brigade, the doctor and all reporters who work for the local newspaper. This makes it a lot easier to cover up any suspicious deaths.
Our 2020 victim was Martha, a prostitute. She was secured to a pole and burned in the old fashioned way, still quite popular among especially historians. Because lately more artists are becoming members, this is happening not that often any more.
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thecuriousone
Governor
In 2021 we voted unanimously for Cynthia, a restaurant owner. She had a gambling problem. She had the habit to empty the bank accounts of her lovers and then move on to the next victim. When that was not enough any more, she changed spiking some of the drinks she served with sleeping pills, to empty the creditcards of her sleeping customers. Because it could not be proved in court, she got away with it until we decided that she would be spitted and roasted over a fire. We used a bit too much gasoline, so she was well done within minutes. Still it was a lot of fun that evening.
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thecuriousone
Governor
The next year Violet volunteered, who has lost a poker game against a rival. The winner got the lover, the loser had to volunteer for the yearly burning. We promised her a rather quick death if she cooperated. She locked herself in a cage in a field while we dowsed the surroundings with gasoline and set it on fire. In her cage the flames did not reach high, fire sometimes can be unpredictable. A quick death was not in store for her. She screamed for a good twenty minutes while we were cheering and laughing. In the end we poured a bucket of gasoline over her cage. After that it did not take long for her to perish.
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thecuriousone
Governor
The 2023 burning will be Eileen. She is a tourist from the USA, snatched when she was hiking. I think she will be a memorable one. All the time in her cage, she is begging, offering anything to be released. The look on her face when we light the fire is so unforgettable.....
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thecuriousone
Governor
After quite some time I had the time and inspiration to make something again.
Catching the con artist
I lost track of my high school girlfriend Lydia for years. Until the crowdfund action that I saw on facebook.
She was involved in a car accident yesterday, it stated, and her son was also in the car.
She came out pretty well, but her son was in a coma and needed surgery. Her insurance didn't cover the costs.
They needed 56000 dollars that she didnt have.
I felt pity and donated 200 dollars, no more fun shopping for me and my wife this month. I knew she would be annoyed by it, but
she would understand it. What the heck, I thought, we don't need to go to a restaurant this month, and I donated 200 more.
I befriended Lydia on facebook, and sent her a message asking how her son was doing. She replied back that she was happy to hear from me,
but that there's nothing wrong with her son. She has received lots of similar messages, but it is all a fraud.
There has never been an accident, and she just hoped that I did not fall for it and did not donate money. She just reported it to the police.
I was furious. But clever enough to make screenshots of the crowdfund action and of the profile and all postings of the person that started it, a so called Wanda.
Then I contacted Mike, my wife's brother. A real computer geek, but the one and only person I know that can trace back who this Wanda was.
Next day Mike sent me an extensive file, This so called Wanda did not exist. Her facebook profile was already gone now,
together with the crowdfund action, that landed her over 35000 dollars. But the pictures of Wanda were linked to another facebook profile and 2 instagram profiles.
All 3 of them involved in crowdfund actions.
Mike forwarded the information to the police, but because they did not know who was behind all this, they could do nothing without evidence.
After hearing this, Mike promised to keep digging.
Two days later Mike phoned me, and said that he traced the identity and address of the person involved. A woman named Sylvie Dupont,
currently living in a small town in Mexico.
He also tracked 2 more aliases that she used to post crowdfund scams on social media. And the names of dozens of people
that have been donating large sums of money to her scam crowdfund actions.
He also forwarded this information to the police, but because of the suspect being in Mexico, they could not do anything. Case closed..... or not?
I contacted several of the scam victims. Just to warn them against donating more. Overal disbelief, followed by anger. But one of the victims, named Pedro Sanchez, contacted me a week later. He ent me a short movie and a message.
The message stated: I happen to know some people in the area that still owed me something. They took care of the matter. There is no chance to see any of the money back,
but she will never make any more victims.
I opened the video. It showed Sylvie Dupont, naked and cuffed to a metal pole in the desert. She was clearly scared.
Four masked men came into view. One of them said something in spanish. Then they took molotov coctails and stepped back some twenty paces. The first guy lit his molotov coctail and threw it in her direction. A near miss that made Sylvie screaming her lungs out, and set the ground close to the pole alight.
The second throw was also a near miss, bringing the fire so close to the pole that she had to twist her body to escape the flames.
The third man took time to aim, supported by encouraging cheers from his comrades. The burning bottle arched through the air and smashed against the pole, splattering the pole and their target with burning gasoline.
Loud cheers from the four masked men, even louder screams from the burning Sylvie.
The fourth guy walked a few steps closer and gently threw his bottle at the base of the pole, completelt engulfing Sylvie in flames now.
It took several minutes for her to stop screaming, and stop moving at all. The fire kept burning for a good 10 minutes more. By that time, she was completely charred.
Catching the con artist
I lost track of my high school girlfriend Lydia for years. Until the crowdfund action that I saw on facebook.
She was involved in a car accident yesterday, it stated, and her son was also in the car.
She came out pretty well, but her son was in a coma and needed surgery. Her insurance didn't cover the costs.
They needed 56000 dollars that she didnt have.
I felt pity and donated 200 dollars, no more fun shopping for me and my wife this month. I knew she would be annoyed by it, but
she would understand it. What the heck, I thought, we don't need to go to a restaurant this month, and I donated 200 more.
I befriended Lydia on facebook, and sent her a message asking how her son was doing. She replied back that she was happy to hear from me,
but that there's nothing wrong with her son. She has received lots of similar messages, but it is all a fraud.
There has never been an accident, and she just hoped that I did not fall for it and did not donate money. She just reported it to the police.
I was furious. But clever enough to make screenshots of the crowdfund action and of the profile and all postings of the person that started it, a so called Wanda.
Then I contacted Mike, my wife's brother. A real computer geek, but the one and only person I know that can trace back who this Wanda was.
Next day Mike sent me an extensive file, This so called Wanda did not exist. Her facebook profile was already gone now,
together with the crowdfund action, that landed her over 35000 dollars. But the pictures of Wanda were linked to another facebook profile and 2 instagram profiles.
All 3 of them involved in crowdfund actions.
Mike forwarded the information to the police, but because they did not know who was behind all this, they could do nothing without evidence.
After hearing this, Mike promised to keep digging.
Two days later Mike phoned me, and said that he traced the identity and address of the person involved. A woman named Sylvie Dupont,
currently living in a small town in Mexico.
He also tracked 2 more aliases that she used to post crowdfund scams on social media. And the names of dozens of people
that have been donating large sums of money to her scam crowdfund actions.
He also forwarded this information to the police, but because of the suspect being in Mexico, they could not do anything. Case closed..... or not?
I contacted several of the scam victims. Just to warn them against donating more. Overal disbelief, followed by anger. But one of the victims, named Pedro Sanchez, contacted me a week later. He ent me a short movie and a message.
The message stated: I happen to know some people in the area that still owed me something. They took care of the matter. There is no chance to see any of the money back,
but she will never make any more victims.
I opened the video. It showed Sylvie Dupont, naked and cuffed to a metal pole in the desert. She was clearly scared.
Four masked men came into view. One of them said something in spanish. Then they took molotov coctails and stepped back some twenty paces. The first guy lit his molotov coctail and threw it in her direction. A near miss that made Sylvie screaming her lungs out, and set the ground close to the pole alight.
The second throw was also a near miss, bringing the fire so close to the pole that she had to twist her body to escape the flames.
The third man took time to aim, supported by encouraging cheers from his comrades. The burning bottle arched through the air and smashed against the pole, splattering the pole and their target with burning gasoline.
Loud cheers from the four masked men, even louder screams from the burning Sylvie.
The fourth guy walked a few steps closer and gently threw his bottle at the base of the pole, completelt engulfing Sylvie in flames now.
It took several minutes for her to stop screaming, and stop moving at all. The fire kept burning for a good 10 minutes more. By that time, she was completely charred.
Attachments
Last edited:
thecuriousone
Governor
thecuriousone
Governor
To appease the gods, each year the high priest buried a woman locked in steel bands in a steel cage. Sometimes, there is a volunteer. This year a woman has been captured from another tribe, destined to be the pleasure toy of the gods in the afterlife. She seems to be not so happy about her fate, just before the stone cover is placed over the sarcophagus.
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thecuriousone
Governor
thecuriousone
Governor
I got a short story again, a kind of self-imposed burial.
CEMENT SELF BURIAL
Michelle stood at the edge of the fjord, her eyes fixed on the calm waters. The chilling winds swept through her dark hair as her thoughts wandered to her plan. The realisation of many years of dark erotic fantasies. Inside her small house nearby, she had carefully crafted a gibbet, a macabre device that would capture her motionless, and lower her into the depths of the hole in her cellar that was filled with still liquid concrete.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see her neighbour, Olaf, standing on her doorstep. "Michelle, are you okay? I heard strange noises coming from your house lately. Is everything all right?"
Michelle forced a smile. "Everything's fine, Olaf. I am still working on my little project. Reconstructing my cellar, converting it in a storage room. Nothing to worry about."
Olaf raised an eyebrow. "I hope you're not getting into any trouble, Michelle. You've been acting strange since Mike's accident. I am worried about you."
Michelle's smile faltered. "I just need some time alone, that's all."
"Okay, but if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask," Olaf said before heading back to his own house.
Alone again, Michelle returned to her grim creation. Remembering yesterday's test run with herself locked in the gibbet, she started to feel a tingle in her crotch. On the computer screen, she started the test sequence one final time. As it tested the gibbet's automatic locking mechanism, a small creak echoed in the room. She smiled and watched, satisfied with the unfailing functioning of all automated manacles and locks of her machine. The relentless sound of the gibbet lowering itself into the hole filled the air with a haunting groan. "Perfect", she said. She clicked the overrule-command. Once the gibbet was raised and open again, she started to assemble the last parts. With precision, she attached the tubes to the iron mask that formed the upper part of the skilfully crafted gibbet. There were a breathing tube attached to a dildo gag, and a feeding tube that would pass through her nose to her stomach. There were also, not attached to the mask, a catheter and an enema hose. Connected to the hidden machines, It would be capable to keep a person alive for months. She had taken a week off from work, so they would not be alarmed if she would not show up the next day.
She looked at her watch. Now her neighbour would leave for work. To be sure, she looked out of the window. As Olav's car disappeared down the narrow, winding road, Michelle hurried to her cellar, where the gaping hole in her foundation awaited her attention. No prying eyes were watching, so she started to work mixing the concrete. The rhythmic whir of her cement mixer filled the crisp morning air, punctuated by the clinking of the tools as she worked.
She spent a good hour of sweating, filling the hole. When this was completed, she shifted her attention to a second, smaller hole. In it was the computer, a large reservoir of liquid food and various equipment to control the enema, the food supply and other functions. She started the final sequence on the computer, with all the intervals set properly. Then she covered the equipment with a panel, and poured concrete over it to hide the equipment forever. Once finished, she wiped the sweat from her forehead and pushed the cement mixer out of her house towards her shed. She also stored all her tools in her shed. Then she proceeded to her car. As she started the engine, a sense of relief washed over her. She was finally taking matters into her own hands. She drove around the corner to the spot where the road was passing near the fjord. Here she stopped the car, turned the wheel towards the edge and got out. A look around to confirm no one was in sight. Then she reached inside to release the handbrake. The car slowly moved forward, the sound of screeching metal filling the air as it plummeted off the road and into the endless depths below. By doing this, she had ensured that no one would be looking for her at her home. Authorities would find the tire marks, assuming that her car had slipped and she drowned. She tossed her telephone into the fjord, so tracking her phone would also lead only to this location. Then she took the 20 minutes walk back to the house. No time to lose before the concrete would harden. Once inside the house, she got rid of her clothes, took a quick shower and donned a latex catsuit, adding knee-length laced boots with 4-inch heels and gloves to her outfit. The feeding tube she forced through her nose all the way to her stomach, a difficult and uncomfortable task. Over her head went the hood with the built-in hollow penis gag. All this latex would protect her skin from the abrasive cement. It had a connection for the breathing tube, that would align perfectly when in the gibbet. To be sure, she checked her breathing through the gag one more time. She inserted the enema hose in her ass and the catheter in her urethra, again difficult tasks causing discomfort. But she was determined. It has taken her months to plan and months to prepare, she would vanish from the world and not be found any more. Just as she wanted, just as her morbid fantasy that has been haunting her dreams since childhood. The woman set the timers for her gibbet and all the attached equipment, all positioned in another hole that she covered with a concrete tile. While taking care to avoid dislodging the tubes, Michelle opened the front part of the gibbet and stepped inside. She gently positioned her feet on the supports before placing her neck against the neck rest and placing her hands in the slits at her sides. Now it was just waiting. She still had maybe 10 minutes.
Michelle thought back about what has led her to doing this. Already at a young age, she had morbid fantasies that, when telling others about it, would get her reprimanded for daring to say things like that. She learned to keep them for herself, just like so many things that her parents liked to control, or use against her. It made her determined not to depend on her parents. After graduating and landing a job, she had various short-lived relations before meeting Mike. Her parents hated Mike, but she found him to be the love of her life. Eventually, she broke with her manipulative parents to be together with Mike. She did not have to think long before she decided to move with him to Norway, when he got a job offer over there at a managing level. Mike knew about her kinks, and they played some mild BDSM games to grant their sex life an extra edge. She managed to get a decent job, toiled hard to learn Norwegian, and they were planning to have children. In general, they were very happy until, on that doomed day last winter, Mike's car slipped and ended against a tree, killing him instantly.
Michelle's world collapsed. To make matters worse, when she called her parents to tell the news, they bluntly refused to come to the funeral and just said so many bad things to her, that she dropped the phone, blocked their number, and resolved to never contact them any more. After that, she could not pick up her life any more. After some time, she went back to work hoping to get distraction from it, but it made her only feel more empty. At night, she spent more and more time on the internet, checking the dark side of erotica. And after a while, her plan of self disposal started to develop.
It took quite some internet searching, study and lots of trial and error, but she managed to design the gibbet and all the equipment attached to it. Welding was the most difficult. Digging the hole in her cellar was extremely heavy for a woman more built for beauty than for physical work, even with the help of a powered demolition hammer. Designing the electronics took a dozen turns before she got it working. But she did it. And today was her last day above the ground, her last day before vanishing without a trace.
Click click click click click click. The manacles closed in sequence, in less than half a second trapping her wrists and ankles, above the elbows and knees, her waist, neck and around her forehead. She let a faint mmmph escape her gagged mouth. The front frame of the gibbet closed, connecting the breathing tube and the food tube to its sockets on her face. She struggled against her bonds, at no avail. No turning back. Now she panicked. Did she do the right thing? Part of her was screaming no. Thinking of all the things she could have done with her life. Another part of her was getting wet, wishing that she had a vibrator inserted. Slowly the platform on which the gibbet was mounted, started to lower itself in the pool of concrete. It took five minutes to reach to her chin while she was hopelessly struggling. The machine stopped lowering, giving her a last opportunity to see the daylight. Then the switch was re-activated, Mercilessly submerging her in her self-created doom.
All that remained was a shallow disturbance in the surface of the still liquid concrete floor, soon to be hard as rock. No one would be looking for her here. Right there below the surface, there was Michelle, motionless and still alive for months.
CEMENT SELF BURIAL
Michelle stood at the edge of the fjord, her eyes fixed on the calm waters. The chilling winds swept through her dark hair as her thoughts wandered to her plan. The realisation of many years of dark erotic fantasies. Inside her small house nearby, she had carefully crafted a gibbet, a macabre device that would capture her motionless, and lower her into the depths of the hole in her cellar that was filled with still liquid concrete.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see her neighbour, Olaf, standing on her doorstep. "Michelle, are you okay? I heard strange noises coming from your house lately. Is everything all right?"
Michelle forced a smile. "Everything's fine, Olaf. I am still working on my little project. Reconstructing my cellar, converting it in a storage room. Nothing to worry about."
Olaf raised an eyebrow. "I hope you're not getting into any trouble, Michelle. You've been acting strange since Mike's accident. I am worried about you."
Michelle's smile faltered. "I just need some time alone, that's all."
"Okay, but if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask," Olaf said before heading back to his own house.
Alone again, Michelle returned to her grim creation. Remembering yesterday's test run with herself locked in the gibbet, she started to feel a tingle in her crotch. On the computer screen, she started the test sequence one final time. As it tested the gibbet's automatic locking mechanism, a small creak echoed in the room. She smiled and watched, satisfied with the unfailing functioning of all automated manacles and locks of her machine. The relentless sound of the gibbet lowering itself into the hole filled the air with a haunting groan. "Perfect", she said. She clicked the overrule-command. Once the gibbet was raised and open again, she started to assemble the last parts. With precision, she attached the tubes to the iron mask that formed the upper part of the skilfully crafted gibbet. There were a breathing tube attached to a dildo gag, and a feeding tube that would pass through her nose to her stomach. There were also, not attached to the mask, a catheter and an enema hose. Connected to the hidden machines, It would be capable to keep a person alive for months. She had taken a week off from work, so they would not be alarmed if she would not show up the next day.
She looked at her watch. Now her neighbour would leave for work. To be sure, she looked out of the window. As Olav's car disappeared down the narrow, winding road, Michelle hurried to her cellar, where the gaping hole in her foundation awaited her attention. No prying eyes were watching, so she started to work mixing the concrete. The rhythmic whir of her cement mixer filled the crisp morning air, punctuated by the clinking of the tools as she worked.
She spent a good hour of sweating, filling the hole. When this was completed, she shifted her attention to a second, smaller hole. In it was the computer, a large reservoir of liquid food and various equipment to control the enema, the food supply and other functions. She started the final sequence on the computer, with all the intervals set properly. Then she covered the equipment with a panel, and poured concrete over it to hide the equipment forever. Once finished, she wiped the sweat from her forehead and pushed the cement mixer out of her house towards her shed. She also stored all her tools in her shed. Then she proceeded to her car. As she started the engine, a sense of relief washed over her. She was finally taking matters into her own hands. She drove around the corner to the spot where the road was passing near the fjord. Here she stopped the car, turned the wheel towards the edge and got out. A look around to confirm no one was in sight. Then she reached inside to release the handbrake. The car slowly moved forward, the sound of screeching metal filling the air as it plummeted off the road and into the endless depths below. By doing this, she had ensured that no one would be looking for her at her home. Authorities would find the tire marks, assuming that her car had slipped and she drowned. She tossed her telephone into the fjord, so tracking her phone would also lead only to this location. Then she took the 20 minutes walk back to the house. No time to lose before the concrete would harden. Once inside the house, she got rid of her clothes, took a quick shower and donned a latex catsuit, adding knee-length laced boots with 4-inch heels and gloves to her outfit. The feeding tube she forced through her nose all the way to her stomach, a difficult and uncomfortable task. Over her head went the hood with the built-in hollow penis gag. All this latex would protect her skin from the abrasive cement. It had a connection for the breathing tube, that would align perfectly when in the gibbet. To be sure, she checked her breathing through the gag one more time. She inserted the enema hose in her ass and the catheter in her urethra, again difficult tasks causing discomfort. But she was determined. It has taken her months to plan and months to prepare, she would vanish from the world and not be found any more. Just as she wanted, just as her morbid fantasy that has been haunting her dreams since childhood. The woman set the timers for her gibbet and all the attached equipment, all positioned in another hole that she covered with a concrete tile. While taking care to avoid dislodging the tubes, Michelle opened the front part of the gibbet and stepped inside. She gently positioned her feet on the supports before placing her neck against the neck rest and placing her hands in the slits at her sides. Now it was just waiting. She still had maybe 10 minutes.
Michelle thought back about what has led her to doing this. Already at a young age, she had morbid fantasies that, when telling others about it, would get her reprimanded for daring to say things like that. She learned to keep them for herself, just like so many things that her parents liked to control, or use against her. It made her determined not to depend on her parents. After graduating and landing a job, she had various short-lived relations before meeting Mike. Her parents hated Mike, but she found him to be the love of her life. Eventually, she broke with her manipulative parents to be together with Mike. She did not have to think long before she decided to move with him to Norway, when he got a job offer over there at a managing level. Mike knew about her kinks, and they played some mild BDSM games to grant their sex life an extra edge. She managed to get a decent job, toiled hard to learn Norwegian, and they were planning to have children. In general, they were very happy until, on that doomed day last winter, Mike's car slipped and ended against a tree, killing him instantly.
Michelle's world collapsed. To make matters worse, when she called her parents to tell the news, they bluntly refused to come to the funeral and just said so many bad things to her, that she dropped the phone, blocked their number, and resolved to never contact them any more. After that, she could not pick up her life any more. After some time, she went back to work hoping to get distraction from it, but it made her only feel more empty. At night, she spent more and more time on the internet, checking the dark side of erotica. And after a while, her plan of self disposal started to develop.
It took quite some internet searching, study and lots of trial and error, but she managed to design the gibbet and all the equipment attached to it. Welding was the most difficult. Digging the hole in her cellar was extremely heavy for a woman more built for beauty than for physical work, even with the help of a powered demolition hammer. Designing the electronics took a dozen turns before she got it working. But she did it. And today was her last day above the ground, her last day before vanishing without a trace.
Click click click click click click. The manacles closed in sequence, in less than half a second trapping her wrists and ankles, above the elbows and knees, her waist, neck and around her forehead. She let a faint mmmph escape her gagged mouth. The front frame of the gibbet closed, connecting the breathing tube and the food tube to its sockets on her face. She struggled against her bonds, at no avail. No turning back. Now she panicked. Did she do the right thing? Part of her was screaming no. Thinking of all the things she could have done with her life. Another part of her was getting wet, wishing that she had a vibrator inserted. Slowly the platform on which the gibbet was mounted, started to lower itself in the pool of concrete. It took five minutes to reach to her chin while she was hopelessly struggling. The machine stopped lowering, giving her a last opportunity to see the daylight. Then the switch was re-activated, Mercilessly submerging her in her self-created doom.
All that remained was a shallow disturbance in the surface of the still liquid concrete floor, soon to be hard as rock. No one would be looking for her here. Right there below the surface, there was Michelle, motionless and still alive for months.
Attachments
riwa
Governor
A year ago, she had walked into the sea at this very spot, determined to drown herself. Now here she was, cuffed to a piling while waiting for the tide to come in.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered what had happened last time she had been in this very situation. Galen had been fishing from the beach when he’d spotted her wading out into the surf. That’s when he’d come rushing out to rescue her.
He’d succeeded, although he’d half-drowned himself in the process. She had protested, but he’d taken her back to his cottage to recuperate. Within a few days, she had fallen in love.
The next time she’d visited the beach was with him. They’d made love in the sand as the surf came in. It was like a fairy tale.
It was like that for six blessed months. Then cracks began to appear. She began to see him for who he was and not who she wanted him to be.
She loved him. But she wanted him to change. Unfortunately, that wasn’t who he was or who he wanted to be.
She soon met Ethan. There was something about him that attracted her to him. Something mysterious.
She began seeing more of Ethan and less of Galen. She even made love to Ethan on the very same beach. Was it to make Galen jealous?
It bothered her conscience. But she forced aside all thoughts of Galen. However, deep down he was the one she really loved.
She pursued Ethan. But she felt guilty about Galen. Then he found out about Ethan. That’s when he stepped aside, refusing to pursue her any further.
She could tell she had hurt him deeply. Maybe she’d been hoping he would fight for her. But that wasn’t who Galen was. So she made her decision.
She invited Ethan to the beach. She made sure Galen was fishing further down the shore within view. Then Ethan showed up.
They made love in the sand and surf. Then she asked him to marry her. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He knew she was in love with someone else. So he said his goodbyes before leaving her there.
She looked down the beach toward Galen. But he was no longer there. She had broken his heart one too many times.
She walked to the pier. Then she deliberately cuffed herself to one of the pilings. It would be hours before the tide rose high enough to drown her. But she felt she deserved it.
Would Ethan come back? Would Galen come back? Did she love either one of them? Or was she incapable of love?
She signed as she looked out into the sea, waiting for the tide to rise. Then she began to cry.
1-3-24 Inspired by thecuriousone's manip
thecuriousone
Governor
Thank you for the beautiful story Riwa
thecuriousone
Governor
thecuriousone
Governor
wulf
God-Emperor
Whatever possessed you to take Barb fishing in the first place?