A Grave Issue

Though burying alive is a great fear for many, for some of my slaves
it is a dream come true. Being buried under the earth is the stuff of
nightmares for many – all that darkness, the suffocating earth piling
up over your body, the air being slowly squeezed out of your lungs
until all that remains is….well you know the rest.

Recently a slave boy put himself in the cruel hands of myself and
Mistress Serena; we were both in the mood for a spot of dirty fun –
involving dirt!

Our victim was firstly humiliated verbally and physically. He was made
to wear some nicely sheer black stockings and lacey panties. He looked
very girly but his expanding cock left no room for doubt as to his
true gender – the miserable male.

Before we got on to the scary (for him) art of burial, we fancied
subjecting him to some serious torture. We marched the wretch into our
dungeon and strapped him firmly to the torture bed. Unable to move,
blindfolded into a world of blackness, gagged and tightly bound, we
placed one our evil little electro-shockers within a nail’s width of
his balls (which of course had been tied in a way to make them utterly
vulnerable to the attentions of his mistresses). Being blindfold, he
couldn’t appreciate the visual treats just out of reach: I was in a
sexy basque, black seamed stockings and black shoes with killer heels.
Mistress Serena, always savagely beautiful with her long hair swept
back over her face, donned a black shift and powerful pvc boots which
reached up to her sexy thighs.

Once we had done with our electro-tortures, we released the slave boy
from the bed and pushed him outside the dungeon into our fully
enclosed garden.

Cut off from prying eyes, the garden has the dual function of
relaxation and torment. I have recently installed something newly
wicked – a deep stone pit around the depth and length of a grave. That
of course was intentional. Maybe it’s because I’ve always wanted to be
an undertaker that I fancy burying men alive.

Before giving him an experience that is the pits! we had another treat
in store. We laid a plastic mat on the lawn and ordered him to kneel
facing us. We two mistresses tucked into a plate of food which like
good girls we chewed with great care. But instead of swallowing the
meal, we spat it out over the waiting body of the slave. His face and
body was soon covered in our masticated morsels. We sneered at the
pathetic sight below our booted feet – ‘dirty boy’ ‘filthy bastard’
‘shit on shit’ – that sort of things. We always enjoy the verbal side
of domming and we are good at it (actually Mistress Serena is pretty
damn brilliant at it – what a tongue!)

Then it was time for the burial ceremony. He was made to lie in
mistress’ special garden pit. Still blindfolded, he could only imagine
what was going to come next. Or could he? The next stage of our
pleasure was to get a spade and start covering the filthy boy with
soil. We laughed as each spadeful – over his legs, his chest, his face
– began to bury the squirming body below. His cries for mercy of
course simply encouraged us to do more digging and filling. It must
have been an amazing experience for him to be blindfold but knowing
that his gorgeous mistresses were gaining pleasure from turning him
into a living corpse. We called him all sort of names including
‘maggot’. That reference to insect larvae gave me an idea. Mistress
Serena and I foraged in the garden for some nice juicy insect, some
creepy crawlies that would crawl over the slave’s body. How we laughed
as we tipped the wriggling creatures all over his naked skin. He
whimpered and shuddered as quickly he realised what was happening. His
slave body had become an insect house. Well we all return to the worms
only he’s got there sooner than expected. I added some fun by uttering
lines from the burial service as I shovelled dirt over his prostrate
body. Ashes to ashes…dust to ..well, you know the rest!

Once he was sufficiently covered, we decided that perhaps a spot of
mercy was in order. But mercy tempered by our ever-imaginative minds.
I went to get my water hose and started spraying the grubby guy with a
powerful jet of ice cold water. Hearing him squirm with cold was a
delight. But as I told him, we were doing him a huge favour by
cleaning the crap off him. He should be grateful.

He should also be grateful for letting his powerful mistresses allow
him to make a dream come true. Burial alive. What fun? Whose next for
this pleasure?