Down in the Depths of Servitude

Deep Down in the Depths of Servitude

Forward

When the paths of a strong and practiced BDSM Dominant and an adventurous and willing but green submissive collide, the result can be a fantastic and wild playdate, but it can also turn into a challenging, risky, and reckless one. Some would call what I allowed to be done to me as outright stupid. They are probably right. What follows is a journal transcribed into story style that details a five-day 'submissive rental' from my part-time best friend, part-time master aka Sir Michael to his BDSM Dominant buddy, DR. D in Vegas in late October 2024.

It is the third time I have had strict bondage and sexual abuse encounters with DR. D. What occurred to me is all true and real, this is not a fictional story or an exaggeration of the events. My anonymity, along with his and his friends, is provided for in a detailed contract agreement we have signed. Another of the many contract requirements is that I must keep a journal capturing written descriptions and my reactions to what occurred and then provide them to on-line BDSM publications. My forced telling to the public about the activities amuses DR. D and Sir Michael, shames and mortifies me, which I believe is their intent and the root of their pleasure.

On three previous occasions I have served as a BDSM submissive. I only take on a submissive lifestyle when invited to play, be it with Sir Michael or with DR. D and his like-minded friends. In between these intense playdates my normal personality is as a competitive, ambitious, driven, and stressed straight male business executive. Roleplaying as a submissive gives me immense relief from my normal fast-paced world. DR. D, Sir Micheal and their friends involved are gay. As I have indicated, I am not, but I have a kink where I get off being bound and then forced to be used sexually. While I would prefer to have heterosexual bondage interrelations, I am happily married to someone that doesn't enjoy it so that option is not viable.

When I choose to act out my submissive role, I belong to Sir Michael. There is now a clause in our Dom/sub contract that allows him to rent me to other Dominants of his choice. This is the second time I am being leased out, and both times have been to DR. D. I have been rented this time for a specific but unclear purpose. All that I really knew was that DR. D was building something new for his submissive mate and he wanted to try it out on me before sharing it with him. No additional information was to be given to me until I was there. He took care of the travel arrangements and paid for my trip to his home. My only added instructions were to travel light and to fast the night before and the day of my trip. Drinking water, however, was encouraged. I admit this secrecy stirred my eagerness for the visit.

Chapter 1: Sweet Dreams Cunt

DR. D and I began communicating outside of our BDSM Dom/sub association after our first encounter and it has grown into a friendship. It might be better described as being 'odd buddies'. Our chats cover many different subjects, but as expected many do relate to BDSM and my new interest in the subject and lifestyle. It is purely a platonic acquaintance. DR. D is in a long-term loving relationship with his mate, who is also his personal submissive for most weekends and yet an equal partner on weekdays. They are the de facto leaders of a small BDSM social group of like-minded individuals called the 'Common Bonds Social Club'.

The two of them own an amazing well-equipped dungeon in their magnificent home. It has been the location of most of my previous BDSM playdates and where their social club meets. He is a BDSM expert practitioner, and I am curious, so we have great talks. He now knows most of my fantasies, desires and secrets.

He is also a board-certified medical doctor. Assuming he would know the real story, one of talks we had was on date rape drugs. I had confided that I found online bondage/rape flicks intriguing when they start with the victim becoming unconscious from a spiked drink before awaking naked and bound. However, these mostly being fictional stories, I was curious if it could really happen. Based on the Bill Cosby arrest and trial I thought that it could, but didn't know to what extent. DR. D confirmed based on the drugs used it was indeed possible. Noting my interest, he asked if I had ever fantasied about it. Without thinking, I confirmed an occasional daydream. So that was the faux pas that would ultimately kick off this misadventure.

DR. D had arranged for me to be picked up at the Las Vegas airport. My last BDSM servitude started here too, however in that visit as soon as I enter their vehicle I was stripped, strapped to a bench and fucked while we cruised incognito thru downtown Vegas. This time was different. When I was picked up, I sat up front, wasn't bound, wasn't blindfolded. One of DR. D's fellow Doms who I was acquainted with was the driver and the only one in the car. He's a nice fellow, that is when he is not whipping or shafting my butt. I was greeted in a friendly manor and told we had been invited to attend a small get-together at the home of one of the other Doms who is part of their group. We would go there before heading over to DR. D's house if that was ok with me. I had no objection.

We arrived. It's a nice home. We headed out back to their patio area where there was a group of guys socializing. I recognize them from my previous visits. I'm a little uncomfortable as I have not been placed in a subservient role, and I have only interacted with these people previously while being bound and naked. Here I'm not familiar with being treated as an equal and that is what is happening. In my normal social circles back home, this would be a completely fine setting, but here it's unnerving. DR. D is part of the crowd and acknowledges me with a nod. One Dom, who I guess is the host, I don't know whose house this is, comes up to me with a glass of wine and a friendly hello, welcoming me back to Vegas.

Now I am being served. Not expecting this treatment, I stood there awkwardly, as others engaged me in idle conversation. I sip my wine to settle my nerves. It's good. I'm a little concerned because I'm operating on an empty stomach which can make the effects of alcohol stronger. I'm not a big drinker. But this is turning out to be a nice gathering and I am now speaking with three guys who previously were my tormentors about the NFL.

I finished my glass, and it's refilled by the host. I'm having a good time and starting to relax. This is nice. I think I've been there about a half hour when I start to feel the effects of the wine. I should have eaten. My legs feel a little weak and I say to the others I'm chatting with that I think I should sit down. As I sit, DR. D whispers in my ear "Sweet dreams, Cunt."

Chapter 2: The Lost Evening

I wasn't sure where this set of events should be inserted in my journal. By timeline, this is what happened next to me. I just didn't know it. After my first two visits to DR. D's home, he sent me a collection of videos taken of me as I was bound and used. This trip was no different. When I went to watch this set, I made the discovery of what I am about to report. It was never discussed with me anytime I was there or since I came home. The recording starts with me on an outside lawn couch, and I look like I am asleep. Filming appears to be via a cell phone based on the jerky movements of the recording. The boys who I had been with at the 'party' were in a group standing around me. Two of the masters sat down beside me and began striping me of my clothes. I offered zero resistance or reaction. When they finish, two others pull me to the ground and begin to secure my wrists behind my back and then my ankles with duct tape. My feet are then pulled up to my wrists and secured together with more tape, putting me into a hogtie. This looks unnecessary as I appear sedated and not awaking or reacting to their actions.

I am picked up and carried to the garage, followed by the videographer who captures both their actions and conversations. I am dumped into the rear of a SUV, covered with a blanket, and the hatch is closed.

The video then picks up with me being set down on the floor by one the pegging benches of DR. D and Mate's dungeon. The dungeon was where I expected my servitude would be starting and now it has. The duct tape is cut and removed, and with concerted effort my limp body is placed on and strapped to the bench.

I watch in marvel, as what follows is two hours of four of the masters taking turns fucking my hole, whipping my butt and abusing my balls. I offer no resistance, no reaction, no indication that I am aware at all of what they are doing to me. The boys are enjoying themselves. All are seasoned Tops. They have used my hole before. One comment amuses me as I hear on the tape one of the boys say, "I can't believe how tight his hole still is, I fisted it the last time he was on this bench, and he still is clenching my dick without even being awake. He is the perfect bottom. Shame he's not enjoying it, I sure am"

I am in awe as they continue to do me. Each in their own style, speed, sway and thrust. It's not sexually exciting to me, but abusively exciting, if that's such a thing. And that of course refers to the 'me' watching it. The 'me' being fuck is oblivious to the actions. That adds to my viewing enjoyment. I'm becoming twisted. I know. I'm getting excited watching myself being abused in a way I never even considered in my fantasies. The guys are enjoying it for real too. They know they are safe in their evil deeds of screwing an unconscious victim as they have my written permission to rape me in the condition I am in. It's a stretch of the contract, I know, but I granted use of my body while it was bound even if I didn't know who was doing it or what they wanted to do to me. They were not required to advise me before starting or need my verbal approval if the deed is on my acceptable list. Anal play and penetration are on the list. The 'me' watching is ok with what and how they are doing the sleeping me.

Another thing I noticed is they are physically different and of different ages. All are in good shape. Not a beer gut or flab on any of them. One is definitely hairier than the others. All are circumcised, although I know one of the guys that is part of the club is not. He is not among them. Two of them have sizable cocks, the others two, more average. All seem to have no problem keeping themselves hard as they plunder my hole. It's funny, the oldest one and the youngest one seem to be making love to me more than the others. That is, they wrap their arms around my bound body as the glid in and out of me. They tenderly rub their hands over my back and sides. They reach under and caress my nipples. They seem to wish that it would stir some reaction from me. They don't, but they still go at it. I have been lubed. Obviously, it is not to make it easier for me. This is all about their pleasure. They want to glide in and out.

The others two Doms seem to be in more of the mode of abusive fucking of this bound sub. Why not? The hole before them is free to use as they like. It is part of their kink to be forceful and strong with their prey. And so, they are aggressive, thrusting hard, pounding away with a look of glee on their faces. They spank my cheeks in between sets of banging me. One reaches up, grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head back, arching my back as he plows in and out of me. He also fingers me, adding additional digits as he goes. One of the others tells him to back off on that, because he wants me to stay nice and tight and I'm already being stretched by DR. D's oversized dick. There is general laughter with that dialog.

I'm surprised at how deep my sleep appears to be. I am showing no reaction to any of this. If it wasn't for my restraints holding me tight to the bench I would have fallen into a pile on the floor. I notice what looks like a blood pressure cuff on my left arm. DR. D must have been keeping a medical eye out for me as they play. I also see what looks like an IV in the opposite arm near my wrist, but the filming never shows a close up shot of it. I'll be told about it later.

They kept taking turns, getting close to climax before switching off with a friend to extend their endurance. On one rotation the one of the aggressive guys goes at me like a pile driver, arching up on his toes as he bangs forward, holding onto me to gain leverage to his thrusts. He grunts as he goes. His eyes closed, his face grimacing, yet looks pleasured, his body perspiring. This is like work. He likes his job. The bench is almost rocking. I'm just going along for the ride. I bet this would be hurting if I were awake.

Eventually they all went, depositing their loads within me. Then it was time for a new game. One of the masters shows the cameraman a close-up view of a Hershey's Chocolate Syrup bottle. It is then brought over to me, my cheeks spread, and the bottle's spout is inserted in my recently used hole and some of its contents spurted in. Another squirt is applied down my crack. I then hear "Go enjoy yourself" and I see a sub I know from the group come into frame. I also know what he loves to do. He has rimmed me before. He takes delight in sucking cum out of a used hole. The chocolate is a new twist. At least for me it is. He is making love to my butt hole with his tongue for his own self-gratification. Of course, I don't even know he's there. He licks me, sucks me, inserts his tongue, all while his work is being recorded close up. He's smiling, loving what he is doing. I'm his chocolate cream pie. To me this is repulsive. I'm glad I'm not awake for this. It's not a pleasure to watch either.

When he's done, they then shift to more direct abuse of my cock and balls. DR. D provides reminders that I'll have no reactions to pain stimuli so be cautious. He adds, no pain, but I can be striped and reddened as blood still flows through my capillaries. They whip my butt good. First with a riding crop, then a paddle, a wide paint stick and finally when shifting to my ball sack they use a flogger. Each time marveling in that my buddy has no jolting reaction to the strikes, yet there is a definite color change. The video shows my very rosy, red cheeks with striped highlights. I don't get why this is amusing them. I would think their turn on would be the reaction and the pain their sub was being made to endure at their hand. They are not getting that, yet they still proceed. Maybe they are just practicing their skills. Again, I'm glad I'm in another world as they do this to me.

They have finally finished playing and now it's time to get to their real purpose of me being here. I'm taken down from the bench and carried to the wet room. There, still sound asleep I am cleansed, showered, and prepped.

Chapter 3: Awakening to My Nightmare

I woke up slowly. As one would who is coming out of a deep pleasant sleep. I'm foggy, trying to focus. I feel rested, a little confused but peaceful, wanting to return to sleep. I think I do drift back and forth. As my mind becomes a little more aware I remember I'm on my trip to Vegas. It is only then that I become cognizant that I am bound. Naked and bound. Funny, you read fictional stories about this, and it seems odd that it takes a couple of minutes for the victim to detect that they are bound and naked. But that is exactly what happened to me. It took a moment or two to focus on my physical situation.

"Good morning, Cunt. Did you sleep well? Now that you are awake, I am going to gag you for a while as I don't want you to ask any questions. I will tell you all you need to know," advises DR. D. I am then gagged with a rubber inflation gag that does its job reasonably well.

"My sub wants to experience strict isolation bondage. Big time. We have created a space for that. I want to test it with you first to make sure his experience will be perfect on his upcoming birthday," DR. D explains. He continues, "Let me tell you about some of what we've done to you while you were napping. You were brough from our little get-together over to our dungeon. A little while ago your rectum was thoroughly cleansed, you were showered and dried. You were then moved to a special bed that you are on now that is fitted with a mattress like the ones they use for patients in a vegetative state to ward off bed sores and the like."

He continued, "I have inserted an IV in your arm to provide fluids and meds should I feel they are necessary as outline in the medical agreement you signed on your last trip here. When you first got here, I gave you a little extra sedative to make sure you stayed asleep. Nothing dangerous, I assure you. It's highly unlikely the IV will be used further, but it there as a precaution. We placed a feeding tube through your nose going down your throat into your stomach for nourishment. You have a catheter in your urethra to collect your urine. To take care of your other waste we have placed a special semi rigid tube designed for this purpose, descending from the bottom of your sigmoid colon through your rectum and out of your anus that links up to a waste collection bag. It is held in place by ballon, just like the catheter so there will be no mess from either end."

It's only then I noticed the feeling of the tube in my throat, I didn't notice it while absorbing all the other things touching my body and concentrating on the unsettling words I was hearing. "Attached to your forearms, upper arms, neck, chest, back, buttocks, upper thighs, and lower legs are electro pads connected to a multi-function TENS device that will be used every hour or so to exercise your muscles. I don't want them to cramp or atrophy from lack of use. Don't worry, this will be like working out and not painful discipline. It will likely disrupt your sleep."

"You have also been outfitted with numerous health monitoring sensors and devices so we will always know your well-being. Heartbeat, pulse, blood pressure, respirations, CO and O2 levels, you are well wired for sound. It is all the common data I monitor for my patients in the ICU." He has been busy while I was sleeping. He adds. "On your dick are two electro bands. Now these can be painful, so behave. More often than not while you are being held you will find them pleasurable. Of course, that will be up to me and my friends. Deep within your rectum there is an outer tube that the waste tube is threaded through. This tube is encircled with two wide electric bands that have leads that also exit you and will be connected along with your dick to an ErosTek 312 Power Unit. You are well familiar with one of those. We plan to stimulate both your butt and dick with pain and pleasure to keep you entertained."

"After we outfitted you with everything just mentioned, your ankles, thighs, waist, chest, upper arms and wrists were all secured to the cot frame with humane padded leather cuffs with leather straps like we use in the medical field with psychiatric patients. You are well secured, and you aren't going anywhere. Your neck and head are not tied down for safety reasons. You have a comfortable form fitted pillow under your head. There is some minimal movement of your extremities, basically to accommodate the electrical muscle stimulation exercise. You won't be able to touch any of our devices and electronics and certainly not your privates."

Chapter 4: The Move to the Garden

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 5: Settling in

It ends up taking probably a full day until I get accustomed to my predicament. Mostly because it took that long to be exposed to the full cycle that they provided to keep me alive and for them to run through most of the ways they had to amuse and abuse me. In time, I actually craved the abuse as it was something to distract me and occupy my time as boredom both mentally and physically set in rapidly. Secured in a box, unable to move with no human contact most of the time starts to drive you insane. Someone zapping your cock become welcome. Sick, I know, but you begin to want it, need it, almost beg for it. Stimulation is a natural body need.

Of the cycles, a few are noteworthy. Eating, meaning having liquid nutrients of some sort pour into my stomach through my nose could be detected as it gave a slight warming feel and gentle fullness of sorts that eased the hunger feel. I tasted nothing, yet I didn't have a yearning to chew a steak either, which I found interesting.

Pooping also was noted. It didn't happen often. There didn't seem to be a lot, and it was very loose, just short of diarrhea. You could feel the urge to go as normal, and with a little natural push, I did. It seemed like the muscles at work were around the tube. The looseness and ease I believe to be from a combination of my pre-trip fasting, my post arrival cleansing by others while I was sleeping, and the twice daily liquid diet, whatever it is, that flowed down the feeding tube. I also received what I think was water down the tube for hydration. That I guess caused a collection of fluids that move eventually to my bladder, but I never felt myself urinating, which is typical with a urinary catheter. It was doing its job continually and without notice.

I find that I struggle with my leather restrains every hour or two. You know you can't escape but the mind forces the body to try. And when you fail, there is a short period of frustration and then depression.

There are lots of things that are stressors in this situation. One is the passing of time. The excruciatingly slow passage of time. You try to avoid its grind on you by sleeping or going deep into thought, but as soon as you do, the body is disturbed by some action, like the muscle exercise stimulation, a pleasure stimulation, a pain shock punishment, or the loud voices of agony from the steaming videos. In my box I could not track the exact time, a possible blessing, but because of the sometimes on, sometimes not outside monitor feed, I could tell sometimes daybreak, midday, nightfall. Also, I could not tell you that it was 6:30, but I could feel the passing of each hour as my muscles are exercised. It might not have been exactly hourly, maybe, I don't know. I certainly could tell when the day has come and gone, the lights are illuminated on the patio at night and the cameras feeding my monitor picks that up when they choose to stream that view. Another time tracker is temperature. Underground temperatures would normally be constant, but with air being forced into my enclosure from above, it is hot and stuffy during the height of day and almost chilly at night.

To a normally very active, type A guy, strapped down here causes a mental fight between him and the submissive I'm trying to be on this visit. The relief I seek as a submissive when I come here may be lost. I fight back with the thought that I am in one of the greatest of all bondage fantasies, while not mine, of being buried alive by my tormentors who first abducted me, stripped me, bound me and placed me in an unmarked grave, with them in total control of my existence from above, tormenting me both physically and mentally for their own amusement, with no way to resist. That thought can battle back some of the woes of this bondage slut. Thankfully I'm not claustrophobic, and that helps too.

And so, I lay here in state.

Chapter 6: Sexually Abusing the Body and Mind, the Fun Part

Periodically, they would try to sexually arouse me. They usually succeeded. It would come unexpectedly, sometimes when I had drifted off to sleep, waking me. Other times are after I had just been punished for who knows what, and sometimes just as I laid there contemplating life to past the hours. It's funny how many world problems you can solve when your body is useless and all you have is your mind to entertain. Then the powers above, literally. that currently control one hundred percent of my life decide when those thoughts will be circumvented with joyous or painful stimuli. The sexually blissful ones are better.

They would be different each time based on which programing that was run, but it always involved stimulating the electrodes in my rectum and/or on my penis. They were wonderful programs that would run me up to the point of euphoria. Sometimes it felt like my dick was reaching ejaculation mode through the cock bands' twinges, but I was being blocked by the catheter in my urethra. I could feel my cock pulsing but nothing moving. DR. D later said I was likely doing the equivalent of ejaculating, but with the blockage, the semen is simply rerouted back to the bladder and is absorbed. No harm is done. Well, maybe not physically. Mentally I'm not happy, every guy enjoys a good ejaculation.

More often they would run me up to almost climaxing, then cut it off, then start it again, and then again, edging me till I was begging to cum, my voice probably unheard. Heard or not my needs were ignored. They wanted me to suffer the frustration of denial. This long term could give me Blue Balls. I don't know how long they will be keeping me.

There is a second part in their sexual arousal plan. It's visual. Usually when they ran their electro pleasure programs, they showed videos of bound, naked young (but legal) women of the slender build and small breasts being sexually abused by men in all kinds of scenes, being forced to suck and being fucked mercilessly by them. Wow, they are fantastic and make me erect even without the electro stimulation. They were selected based on my shared preferences in women and what I like done to them, that is done to them in my dreams and fantasies, I have only been with my wife in my regular life.

Then, about halfway through my entrapment, they added new flicks. First, there are the films of my last two trips that involve me and women, sort of. It is first the encounters with the Trans-Mistress. Then they add the times on my last trip with the bound female sub being fucked by her master and the gay Doms as I watch. Finally, it's of her riding the Sybian on the wall as I again watched nearby. These films of my past quasi-interactions excite me a lot.

But as time moved on and my mind began to be fatigued and weakened, there was something new that was alarming. I don't know how they did it, I assume it was with the new marvels of AI film modification technology, but they then started running the films just mention, but the person now fucking the bound naked sub or controlling the Sybian she sits upon is me.

It can't be real, I know it's not real, it is my most important hard limit, me being forced to engage with a woman that is not my wife. But it is me in the film, though I know it's not, it can't be. It is hot, very hot, unbelievably hot to me. Her leather bounds holding her tight and spread just for me, her pink, shaved pussy, her champagne glass breasts with her tightly clamped nipples, her delicate beauty, her soulful look, her complete access and vulnerably, with my dick pounding her, and me filing her with my cum. Time and time again.

I want it to be real and I don't. My reaction is frustration bordering on anger and euphoria and lust combined. The euphoria wins and I feel like I am cumming each time this is shown to me while I am being electro massaged, though I know that this didn't happen, but did it I? No, no, it's just me being in this hole, my mind is playing games with me. I shake my head as best I can to get rid of the cobwebs in my mind. While it is me in the films, I've been added, it must be AI film manipulation. Boy they did a good job, it looks so real. Concentrate, the only thing real at the moment is I am bound in a hole, trapped under four feet of dirt and patio pavers with sex videos playing on the screens above my head. I shift my time to worrying about who might be shown this modified film besides me. That it exists is risky to me. We have rules in place, nonetheless this is dangerous.

Chapter 7: Not all Fun and Games

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

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

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

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

Chapter 8: More Entertainment

Another game planned and executed for my amusement occurred on what I believe was the last full evening of my burial. On that night, DR. D and mate hosted a party for their friends. They entertain a lot, both with their BDSM friends and with others. It was an outside pool and patio gathering like most of their parties. That night there were both gay couples and straight couples. Some singles too. The streaming to the monitors in my box is set to pan the event with one of the screens set to center on the swing over me and pathway in front of it. They want me to see people walking by and others enjoying the swing while having conversations directly above me and totally oblivious to the fact that there is a man naked, bound and buried alive underneath them. It's another thing that plays with the mind and is simultaneously exciting. I assume DR. D and the other few that know that I am there are getting a kick from it.

It's curious who uses the swing. And for what purposes. Most often it is just pairs having casual conversations. One pair was a new couple, more than just hooking up, they explored their newfound affections somewhat discreetly. DR. D and his mate held hands as they gently let the swing rock back and forth. One of them was aware of what was beneath his feet, the other oblivious. This was to be a present. Not sure how the construction was done without him knowing. (Turns out it was done during a week when he was traveling for business.) The swing was used equally by gay and straights throughout the evening. Often people would stop as they passed to chat with whoever was swaying on the swing. It was centrally located within the outside retreat and thus got more used than I would have guessed.

While I knew it would be fruitless, I couldn't stop myself from calling out, yelling as loud as I could, trying to get some of the swingers' attention. They of course heard nothing. I found that I would get a wave of depression each attempt, a form of frustration at the foolishness of my situation I have placed myself.

There is even more foot traffic going by than people using the swing. Watching is a great diversion. It was probably the most relaxing time of my entombment. One person walking by tripped on one of the pavers. It caused me to chuckle. People commonly carried food and drinks. It was the only time I felt hunger. I like parties. My visit to Vegas started with a little a party. While I didn't want to be here, I did get a little kick, knowing they had no idea I was trapped below.

I can hear the sounds through the monitors, though not loud, of the party. Some are using the pool. There is even a DJ. He must be set up on the gazabo. I listen to his music, faint as it is, something again to help the time pass. He's got a nice selection and provides minimal commentary. There is alcohol being served. No one seems to be drinking to excess, a largely classy crowd. That is all but one, he needs to go, but instead of using the bathhouse, he takes a whiz behind the bushes, the place where my air intakes are located and close to where one of the cameras is mounted. Thanks a lot. It is just phycological on my part, but geez. The party goes on for a long time, well into the night. A benefit for me. I just hope someone is watching over me. Turns out, they were. In hindsight, I wonder what would have happened if they had to do an emergency excavation of me while everyone was there. As only part of the crowd are BDSM practitioners, eyebrows would be raised.

Chapter 9: Post Party Blues, Reaching My Limit

After the party finally ended, I was switched back to watching the girls, mostly of me again being featured in the faux films. By this time my mental condition begins having issues keeping events chronological. These Dominants who are determining my fate would never allow the pleasures I was having from watching the girls just noted without countering it with pain and suffering. They administer this torture in different ways. One way was creating stretches of time where I was just left there to dwell on my plight with zero stimulation, it was sole torturing.

I'd rather physical abuse over dormancy. It is why I welcomed it when they resume torturing me after idle times, even if it was isolated to my cock and my butt. I received all kinds of electro hits. Some sustained ones and some repeated short hits, both which lifted me off the cot the small amount it allows my arching body to move. There were also high intensity dancing rhythms that yield mostly pain intermixed with bits of pleasure as it runs up and down. Other shocks felt like pins jabbing me. I'm not sure how they knew when I moved my bowels, but they would lite up my ass after each time I went. Thank goodness that wasn't but maybe once a day.

They would attack my cock, then hit my ass, then back and forth again and again. They seem to know if I am falling asleep as they zap me back awake. Either they have some automatic sleep detection system wired in or someone is always watching me. If they were watching, that would be comforting.

As I said, physical torture was welcome as it helped me focus on reality. What was unwelcome and the toughest to take is when the masters added mental anguish videos to counter their sexual arousing playlist. They did this through a particularly familiar horror video. On my first visit to their dungeon, they played a nasty trick on me. They tied my hands behind my back, walked me to a real functioning gallows, tested it in front of me with sand bags, put a leather hood over my head, walked me up the steps, tied my legs and put a noose around my neck all the while talking to me, saying things that convinced me that I was about to die. The lever was pulled, floor went out below me and I dropped for a millisecond until the elaborate failsafe system allowed me to continue downward without harm where I was caught and applauded. A frightful pretend hanging that I got to revisit through their filming.

All fun and games. But up to the time I was dropping, oh so real. The video of that event is now being shown on my screen. Each time I see it I get chills. So, it runs, I have seen it before, yet it still gives me the willies. But... then there is a change. As the lever is pulled, I now drop until the rope pulls taught and starts to strangle me. I am hanging by my neck. No safety system activated, no one catching me. I am being hung. I am swinging from my neck. I am struggling but I can't do anything. It's not like those fake on-line hanging scenes where their legs are swinging all over and they struggle and struggle and it's obvious that their weight is being supported off screen. This seems very, very real. I know it's not; I'm watching it. But again, it is so real, so well done. It is horribly frightening. Horrific. Gruesome. It's me.

I know it's a doctored film, just like the one of me fucking the bound girl, AI film mastering at work. It must be. But it is so real, so real, so real looking. I watch me trying to save myself, but the movements are minimal. You can't do much when hanging by your neck, with hands tied behind your back, legs and ankles tied too. There is a little arm struggle and some trying to pull up my legs, but I can't. This type of hanging is by pure strangulation, not neck snapping, so it takes a few minutes. My naked dying body voids itself for all to see. I watch myself pass away as my slowly swinging corpse becomes still. I'm so shocked. So realistic. It doesn't matter if I know this isn't real, emotions take over. I well up and tears stream down my face, being bound I can't wipe them away. My already fragile state of being is collapsing.

I see my killers in the video, their faces blurred out so that they are not identifiable. They climb the scaffold and cut me down, catching my limp body as it falls. My body is laid down on the platform and the hood removed showing an ashen gray/blue face with my eyes wide open They haven't blurred my face. They then take turns fucking my ass with my arms and legs still tied. I'm shaking as I watch them abuse my corpse.

I can barely tell that they have been shocking my ass and dick as I watched for the first time.

A lot of effort had to go into creating this frightful film. Somebody knew what they were doing. And to get the value out of their effort that they put into it, they begin to run it again and again and again. I try not to watch, keeping my eyes closed tight, but I keep turning back to it. Wow. Big impact mentally on me. And with me buried, it takes on a new meaning, I'm find myself shaken to the core, my mind is being traumatized. I am collapsing fast.

They start intermixing the films of me fucking the girl then me being hanged. With the girl they administer electro pleasure stimulation, then the hanging with pain stimulation. Over and over. The are making my mind believe this happened, that I sinned against my own morals and my penalty is death by hanging. This isn't real, it isn't, but my mind is failing. Now the films are streaming simultaneously, one on the right, the other on the left. I am having trouble distinguishing reality and fiction. I'm beginning to babble, crying, begging to make it stop. I then start to have what I think were hallucinations. I'm awake, but my mind is dreaming. They are horror dreams. Is this what going schizoid is all about? My mind is becoming disconnected from my body. I don't like this. My mind is so tired, so confused. I'm fighting against my bounds. I start to have no idea of where I am, why I am here, why can't I get up. Who is that in the films? I think I know him, Oh God, it's me. Who am I fucking? Oh know, they're hanging me. Is this Hell? Am I dead? Help me, please help me. Make it stop. Please, please make it stop.

I must have part of my brain still working to my benefit. I consciously don't recall deciding, but I hear myself yelling out "Red, Red, Red, Red!" This is my dead-stop safe word. My deep subconscious must have decided this must end.

The boys are either watching me closely with cameras and tracking my vitals or they are actually listening, probably both. I'm sure that my respirations, pulse and blood pressure all elevated rapidly while I was watching the films and receiving the pain stimulus, and that may be why they acted. Or they respect safe words, because they abruptly switched to streaming pleasant videos and soothing music and I am told "It's OK, you are fine, you did great, concentrate on the things that make you happy and relax by taking deep, slow in and out breaths. We'll have you out in a jiffy." I know 'jiffy' is a silly word, but I distinctly remember it being used. I just don't know who said it, who was giving the instructions to me at that moment.

Chapter 10: Its Done

I had been well into my fourth day underground before I fell apart and had to call 'Red'. I truly believe DR. D and the team didn't want to cause me any real harm mentally or cause me to have such a horrible experience that I wouldn't want to 'play' with the boys again. You might not believe that based on what I have already reported, but I do. I also believe those monitoring me at that moment were about to shut it all down even without my call out because they could tell I was at my breaking point.

They had learned all they wanted in the test. I have not been completely broken, but I had at times gotten close, especially at the end. In the other instances, they seemed to be able to bring me to the edge and then make a change of action that gave me time to recover and continue. I'm not sure how they knew, but their timing seemed to keep my sanity in check most of the time. Still, as I am typically an active driven person, the boredom and monotony of this was grinding on my spirit and body. DR. D was not trying to fulfil a fantasy of mine of being buried alive, nor is it his fantasy of doing it to a submissive. This is his submissive's fantasy. I was here as a rented test dummy in place of his sub as they check things out. And to check the outer limits of the contraption and its occupant. So, after he confirmed all is well with his vault, toys, sensors and monitors, which happened early on, all that was left to discover was what to expect from the entombed person over time and how he would react to different stimuli, physical, mental, pleasant and abusive. With them finding my limit and what it would look like, it was time to release me anyway and use me for something else, possibly more to my liking and kink. I wasn't to be entombed forever. Yet, as sophisticated as this set up was, I could have been kept in the tomb alive for a long time. Scary thought.

My monitors were now switched to both showing the top side of the tomb, one close up, one further back. Initially, I was caught off guard as to the actions above because I was concentrating on my breathing as directed. The first thing I noticed was the swing being removed. Then some of my old tormentor friends were systematically removing and stacking up the pavers. Hope and liberation start to flood back into me; I had a different buzz of anxious. They were working quickly with a sense of purpose. I was excited and pleased. They finished the brick removal and pulled away the cloth cover. The wave of mental relief flowing over me gave me chills.

As I thought, the sand fill is easy to excavate. They have this figured out. The boys use one-gallon square bucket style scoops along with short-handled coal shovels to excavate the material covering me. They are working as a team, having a well-orchestrated scheme and moving fast. It's not long before they are standing within the hole to efficiently and rapidly remove the remaining sand. I find myself straining against my restraints, my part in trying to help free me. They had previously practiced excavating the hole, determining the best methods, materials and tools and just how fast they could get it emptied out if they had an emergency. It wasn't long, but it wasn't just five minutes either. Probably less than ten but I'm guessing. They know the actual time and seem pleased with it. It wasn't shared with me. At the very end they use two shop vacs to clean out the remaining sand.

The hoist was reconnected to the swing frame and attached to the concrete lid, and it is raised out of the hole. The coffin frame is put back around the hole and the straps that were left behind reconnected. I feel the box moving, I am coming out of the hole, and I am happy, so very happy. And feel only partially broken, now. Once I reach the top, there is a flurry of activities happening around the box as they disconnect all the leads and lines. This included the power to the monitors and the lighting putting me back into darkness. Just before that occurred, they told me that I am to keep my eyes closed when they open the box lid and pull me out so that the bright Vegas sun light does not harm me.

Chapter 11: After Play

The box is set down beside the hole, the lid removed, and my cot is lifted out. The hot desert breeze feels good. The air, while the same that was being pumped into me, is better. A blindfold is put over my eyes to protect them and I am carried to the gazabo where the cot is sat down on a table under cover. They remove the food tube, catheter and IV. Next off were all the top side muscle and health monitoring patches and leads, then the bands around my cock. There is general conversation amongst the members regarding the tasks and some instructions to me, but no dialog between me and them. Very hospital surgical center like, you can tell DR. D works and is comfortable in such an environment. Mercifully, next off were my leather cuffs and straps. Gently, I was rolled over and the remaining muscles and medical patches were peeled off. Lastly, they removed the rectal tube.

Achy, stiff and in a diminished mental state, I was sat up with assistance and moved to a waiting wheelchair, where I was then rolled over to the poolside bubble-jet spa and with two of the guys helping me settled into the tub for a solo soothing dip of about twenty minutes. As I enjoyed the bubble action across my stiff limbs, I was given a chilled beverage with a promise that it was safe to drink.

Concerned that I could get sunburned or overheated, I was then helped out of the spa, and we walked, be it slowly and tentatively, to inside the dungeon. We went over to near the bondage bed where a massage table had been set up. Face down on the table, I rejoined my normal dungeon bondage experience as they placed my wrists and ankles in medical style cuffs and attached them to the table. I am always kept in bondage while in the dungeon as it is my preference. I was then treated to a fantastic massage that lasted nearly an hour, resting mostly on my front, where my aching, stiff muscles were manipulated and rubbed as well as my prostrate, then uncuffed, rolled over, re-cuffed and my top worked, concluding in a glorious happy ending. No one talked to me during the body rub and I asked no questions. I was too busy internalizing and rationalizing the last few days. Soft music was playing, and I was good with just that.

After climaxing, I laid there alone for about ten minutes. It was then that DR. D approached. "I had you put back in restraints so that you could enjoy the massage and extras in your style of being bound and forced when with other men. Your flight is not until tomorrow late afternoon. I will give you some more time bound to the table as you decide what you want to do next. You can select to be released, and you can stay in one of our guest rooms tonight and for the remainder of today and tomorrow lounge around and enjoy the pool, socializing with the gang that is here in a non-submissive setting. Or, if you prefer, I can keep you in bondage to serve me and the boys that are here as you have on your past trips. While I am eternally grateful for how you helped me test my vault, be aware that our treatment if you want to stay in a submissive role will not consider or give you credit for what you just completed. You will be restrained, used and abused, just like you fantasize. Either choice is fine with me, we would enjoy your company either way. I'll come back in about fifteen minutes for your answer."

I am frazzled, both body and mind. Half of me wants to take advantage of the offer to just socialize. The other half of me has a desire to submit as I don't fully feel I have recharged my 'Type A' batteries that these trips normally provide. I wrestled with the decision.

If you are one of the many who have followed my story over the past four encounters because you delight in reading true stories about someone who is put into strict bondage, then sexually abused and punished bordering on torture, my answer to DR. D will disappoint you. I pondered hard as to what I should do during the fifteen minutes I was allotted. My conclusion was that I needed time to recover from the four days I was strapped down, unable to move, forced to watch unsettling films and being shocked repeatedly from ecstasy to anguish all while buried seven feet underground, my life and escape dependent on the mercy of others. I elected to socialize and build an even stronger social relationship with guys who have been willing to satisfy my sick kink of wanting abuse while bound, unable to resist.

Epilogue

DR. D and his mate are excellent hosts. Post burial and disinterment I ate well, enjoyed the pool, had stimulating conversations about the 'life' and other subjects, never touching on politics or religion, one of the social club's rules. The guest room accommodation was five stars, though I did have trouble sleeping, part of the aftereffects, I guess, of my four-day trial. The burial vault was resealed, the hole backfilled and the surroundings restored to their original patio and swing arrangement before DR. D's mate or I visited the area.

DR. D shared some details about my safety team. I already knew that he was an MD. I now know that he is a cardiac surgeon. Helping him monitor my health were three others from the social club. One is also an MD, a pathologist. I had been told about him before, but I don't know which one he is and still do not. The third member is one of the submissives from the club. He is a Physician's Assistant (PA) and works in a large medical group. The last is another Dominant who is a RN specializing as a Trauma Nurse in a hospital emergency room. I don't know who is who. They worked as two people teams on twelve-hour shifts. Someone was always awake watching the monitors connected to me as well as the vault conditions. Also, on site available to help dig out the hole at a moment's notice were always two additional social group members. All with previous practice at digging out the grave.

During the long weekend, the only one from the club that did not participate, by design, was DR. D's mate, as he was not to know how the vault and safety systems worked. He was at the party but had no idea that the vault and I were there. Some of the social club members were simply guests attending the pool party happening above me. There were non club members also at the party.

DR. D's mate was unaware of the vault as it was installed while he was away on a weeklong business trip. While I still don't know the identities of the Doms and subs that make up the social club, I now know what most of them do to earn a living. As indicated, there are two doctors, a PA and an RN. Turns out there is also a stonemason and a general contractor. They did the vault building project. There is a finish carpenter, who made the box. There is an engineer (PE) who did calculations on survivability. While not tied to this project specifically, I know that in the group there is a VP of Security at one of the Vegas casinos, a pharmaceutical sales representative, a film director/editor, a schoolteacher, an owner of a welding and fabrication business and a commercial artist. Don't know what the other members do. Seems that Doms and subs come from all walks of life.

I do not want to be buried again. The experience was exhilarating as well as frightening. It is just not my thing. I enjoy other aspects of bondage submission much more. I had no ill effects afterwards. I have had some dreams that touch on the experience, but they are not an issue. I have many more dreams about my other encounters with the boys.

I did enjoy, believe it or not, being drugged and waking up naked in bondage. That's a fantasy made real. I had no ill effects from it. Specifically, no headache or hangover. Whatever they used was good and effective. I was zonked. They were able to do a lot of things to prepare me for the project with me completely unaware. He did supplement my initial drugging. I had previously signed medical releases and agreements with DR. D which gave him permission to do what he did, though I really didn't know what I was signing, typical of most times I sign medical forms with my doctors. The AMA and the state medical board may not have approved, but I have no issues. All in all, it was a good start to this adventure.

DR. D has given me the AI alter films of both my hanging/post hanging abuse and my raping the lady. Both are done amazingly well. The sub from the social club who is a film editor did the work. Very professional. I don't know if I have the only copies. Probably not. A risk I'll have to live with. No question it is my face in the videos. I would love someday to be shown how these are made. Something society in general should have some concerns regarding its use.

DR. D sent me less recordings of this escapade, unlike the full accountings I got of my last two trips here. Primarily this was because there was not much to watch during the time of my interment. While I lay tied securely to the cot, things may have been happening to my body through the electrical play and certainly to me mentally, but that doesn't produce action news on film. He concluded that they would not help with my journal, so he didn't send them other than maybe ten minutes of video just to put me on record inside the closed box with very low light, strapped down, wired up, at their mercy. What I did get that was helpful and arousing was all the initial unconscious raping of my ass and other play on the bench. Also, he sent the team securing me, tubing me, and wiring me on the cot, putting me in the box, then in the hole, then filling it in and making it undetectable. He also sent me being unearthed and my massage. So, I have no recordings from inside my box or outside for most of the four days I was down under and that is why my writing about that interval is not as detailed and descriptive as my previous journals. For that time, I can only rely on my clouded recollection of what was happening and what I felt. By the end it was difficult to know what was occurring to me as I was having great trauma in separating reality from hallucinations.

Physically I was stiff from not moving for four days. The electric muscle stimulation and the post massage both seem to help. I was given my post adventure medical prescription regiment as on previous trips. Mentally, I was clearly a mess by the end of the interment, but I regained my footing quickly as soon as I was set free and had no complications.

DR. D's mate has had his birthday, and he got his present. His fantasy was to be entombed long term, and it was turned into a reality. DR. D has not shared full details as he keeps much of their relationship activities private as it should be in a loving couple, but I have been told that his partner was sexually entertained while buried but not abused mentally to the level I was. BTW, his long-term experience turns out to be a duration of 144 hours, that is six full days seal in the vault, seven feet down cover and hidden under the swing. It's what he wanted. He claims it was his best birthday ever. Through DR. D, the Birthday Boy sent me a thank you note and a Starbucks gift card in appreciation for my sacrifice made to ensure his safety.

DR. D and I are talking about another playdate with the Common Bonds Social Club. There is nothing specific yet and no date schedule. We will see. Sir Michael, DR, D and I all agree that it will not include a burial. At my request and mutual agreement, this type of activity is being added to our contract's 'Activities Not Acceptable aka Hard Limits' list.

Respectfully submitted, Bobbie Reviewed and approved for publication by DR. D and Sir Michael.