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Camping
Mudface
mudcub
i wrote this story as a present to a Master friend of mine. It's about a subject that terrifies me. But the fact that this particular Master requested me explicitly to write this story terrifies me more. i would love to submit to my friend the bondage Master again... but i shure hope that he wouldn't be inspired to put me through a scene like this one!

***************************************************************
Warning: This story contains a lot of raunch and man sex. If you aren't
interested, consider this to be a warning. This story should only be
interpreted as one man's fantasy, not as a clearance to actually
try any of the unsafe practices here.
***************************************************************

"Camping" by Mudcub

I was supposed to tell my mom that I was going camping for the weekend.
That was the plan. And while it was technically "camping" - we were
bringing along a tent and stove and sleeping bags and other supplies - I
had a feeling that we weren't going to spend much time hiking.

It's not like Master Rock didn't like nature. In fact He loved it... He
spent every other weekend hunting or fishing in the mountains. That is,
every weekend that he didn't spend in His dungeon tying up pig bondage
bottoms like me.

Every since I was a kid, I fantasized about being tied up. At the age of
eight, I used to lie on one end of this huge rug we had in our basement. I
would put my hands down at my sides, one fist grabbing hold of the edge of
the rug. Then, I would roll over and over, pulling the rug around me until
I turned into a human burrito... a fuzzy rug-shaped cylinder with a head
poking out of one end and my feet out the other. My arms pinned down at my
sides immovable until I decided to reverse the procedure and roll back
releasing myself.

I would do this for ten minutes when I first discovered the trick. Then a
half hour, then longer. By the time I was thirteen, I would do this whenever
my mom wasn't home. I got home from school at 3 pm - I was a "latchkey
kid". My mom wouldn't come home until 7 pm. I was expected to fend for
myself, nuking a microwave dinner and amusing myself until she got off work. I
would run home from school as fast as I could and go downstairs the second
I opened the front door. I would throw off my clothes and strip down to my
white brief underwear. Then the show would start.

My mom never guessed that I spent the four hours wrapped up in a rug in
the dirty musty basement. Then, one day, I fell asleep while trapped in my
cozy bondage. My mom didn't see the usual microwave dinner remains in the
kitchen, nor heard music or tv coming from my bedroom. When she decided to
check the rarely used basement, she must have thought I looked like a dead
body. She saw my disembodied head and feet and must have thought I had
been chopped up.

She screamed, and I woke up with a start. It took me a few seconds to
remember where I was, and to comprehend the screaming sound I was hearing.
I quickly unrolled myself, and jumped up with my arms outstretched. I was
trying to console my mom, as if to say, "Hey! I'm fine! Look, it was
just a trick!" But my mom wasn't looking in my eyes.

Inside my briefs, my teenage dick was standing erect... a huge pool of
liquid soaking the front. It was the first time I ejaculated, and I don't
know if I had done it while I was sleeping, or if I had done it right then
when I heard my mom screaming. But the effect was to make her scream even
louder, until eventually she ran away back upstairs, and I was left
wondering at this new event that changed my life forever.

My mom and I never spoke about the incident, and we haven't to this day.
But she did tell my dad to carry the rug out to the backyard the next day
and set it on fire.

So, that ended my bondage games for a while. I was just to ashamed about
being caught and scaring my mother. And I had discovered the new trick of
cumming, so for the next few years, I just jacked off like any other
teenager. In the bathroom, in the woods, in my bed. I got pretty good at
it. But slowly, always slowly, the old fantasies came streaming back into
my mind.

While jacking off, I dreamt about being tied up. I think my first
boyfriend was really Snidely Whiplash. Snidely, if you don't know, is a
cartoon villain. And in every episode of the Dudley Do-Right cartoon , he
is tying Nell Fenwick to the railroad tracks. Of course, she always gets
saved at the last minute by the Canadian Mountie and Snidely gets his
come-uppance.

But in my teenage fantasies, Snidely ties *me* to the railroad tracks, not
Nell. And I'm the Mountie in my sharp red uniform... a proud and brave
military man reduce to a begging victim of the cruel and unusual Snidely.
I dreamt of the yards and yards of rope circling my body securing me to
the railroad tracks in the middle of nowhere. I would picture myself
kissing Snidely's mustache, being forced to suck his cartoon cock as the
train got closer and closer. Every time, seconds right before the
locomotive rushed to hit me, I would shoot my youthful cum, imagining that
it was Snidely's hand, not mine, that was pulling the seed out of my
throbbing dick right before I get run over.

So, that's one fantasy. I've got others. Many many others.

Master Rock and I met on recon.com. And I would share my fantasies with
Him, and He would share with me. He liked the Dudley Do-Right one, or at
least he said he did. I think he liked the ruggedness of it - the setting
of the outdoor bondage and the imminent danger and the and the military
uniforms.

Master Rock shared me his fantasies as well. He wanted a slave. And he
liked the idea of having one that was unattached. He had just broken up
with a guy who was married to a woman. They were solid fuckbuddies and
lovers for a number of years until the guy's wife got sick. The bondage
buddy said that he need to take some time off to take care of his wife. It
was supposed to be a temporary thing, but weeks turned to months which
turned into a year. Master Rock got lonely, and he found other playmates.
And by the time the friend's wife finally succumbed to cancer, there
wasn't much of a relationship left.

Since then, Master Rock had tried to fill his sex life with other boys to
tie up. And they were are great in one way or another. There was Jack, the
rubber pig, who liked getting into layer after layer of latex. But those
scenes took so long to get into and out of, that there wasn't time for
much except to make Jack cum and then clean him up. Slave roy was a more
dutiful lover, but he wasn't in it for the bondage. He loved to suck dick
and get fucked, but the straightjackets and sleepsacks that Master Rock
owned left him cold.

There were boys who experienced bondage once and then never called again.
Losers who would make dates and then cancel, and the usual game players and
timewasters. There were guys on drugs and guys who couldn't get enough but
never seemed to say "thank you". Master Rock was ready to give up when he
met me. I am young, and still living with my parents. I don't have a job
or a house or any other responsibilities but school, and those are over
every afternoon.

We were perfect for each other.

It funny, but Master Rock and I played within five minutes of meeting each
other. It wasn't supposed to be that way. We met in a coffee shop and were
going to talk. I was only seventeen at the time, and Master Rock was a
little nervous meeting a minor in public. After sharing such intimate
stories by email we wanted to just meet each other in a public setting.
But after seeing Him at the coffeshop table ad sitting down face-to-face,
I instantly had a hardon. The man was beautiful. He had a black mustache,
like my hero Snidely Whiplash. Ok, not so pointed or dramatic as the
cartoon character, but I could picture Master Rock in a nineteenth century
purple waistcoat, cackling gleefully after tying up a helpless victim. The
guy just looked evil - but I mean that in a good way.

The conversation went like this. I apologized for being late (even though
I wasn't - it just seemed like a polite things to say). He waved me off,
saying I wasn't early, but that He had arrived early. Turned out he was as
eager for this encounter as I was. Then, I asked if the red convertible in
front was his. It had a leather pride sticker on the back fender, and I
didn't imagine that there were that many kinky people in that coffee shop
on a Thursday afternoon.

Turned out the car was a Porsche 356. I told Him I admired it, and he said
it was his pride and joy. I said that it looked like a small car, and He
disagreed. I wondered out loud how He could take car into the mountains
for all of his camping trips. He said the truck had lots of room, and
besides, the engine was in *back* of the car. The area under the hood was
quite spacious, and that's where he could store his tent.

"Want to go for a ride?" He asked.

"You bet!" I answered. This I had to see! So, we left the coffee shop
right then and there. I mean, I had barely sipped the coffee I had just
purchased. He led me to the side of the coffee shop where the convertible
was parked. Yeah, it was a pretty car.

He walked around to the driver's side and popped the hood in front of the
car. Sure enough, right where a normal car engine should be was an empty
carpeted space. Master Rock said he had just hauled six bags of fertilizer
the day before, so he said the luggage space would hold a lot.

The all of a sudden, He got this weird look in His eye. And another person
came over him... a person I call "Evil Rock". It's His alter ego... the
monster that come to light when He's horny and has a devlish idea.

"Get in," He ordered.

I looked around the parking lot to see if anybody was looking. I was
terrified, and embarrassed. But also excited... my dick throbbing hard in
my shorts just like it did when I used to roll myself up in the rug.
Without thinking twice, I jumped in the trunk, folding my body in a z
shape. Sure enough, I fit in the trunk with barely enough room to spare.

The hood slammed shut, leaving me in total darkness. The last thing I saw
was Master Rock's face smiling down at me as he shut the hood tight. Now,
newer cars have a safety pull to get out if you're ever trapped in the
trunk. Not older cars. As a test, I pushed against the hood, proving to
myself that the mechanism was locked tight. It was. But then I had other
things to worry about. Master Rock started the sports car, and gunned the
engine. From zero to sixty, we were flying by the time we left the parking
lot.

Master Rock was showing off, taking turns way to fast and slamming on the
brakes at every opportunity. In the complete darkness, the ride was
thrilling Later, I wondered how safe it was. After all, I wasn't tied up
or braced in any way. Since the trunk of the Porsche was in front, any
accident or mishap would have smashed my little compartment into a small
ball. But I wasn't thinking about those things until we arrived at Master
Rock's dungeon a few minutes later.

I would get to know that dungeon really well over the next few weeks. I've
spent hours cleaning every inch of it. Or, sometimes I would spend my
after-school hours discovering all the unusual bondage devices that Master
Rocks owns. I've been tied up in cages, in hoods, in mitts and boots.
Sometimes in rope, sometimes in chains. Master Rock really enjoyed letting
me experience all the different sensations. I think he was proud that He
was the first, and and my mind was an sullied canvas for him to explore.

But Master Rock really loves complete mummification. The first time I did
it, I fell in love. We used saran that time, and it felt just like the
fuzzy rug did back when I was thirteen. I shot my load within minutes of
being wrapped up, all without touching my dick. And then Master Rock kept
me wrapped up for three hours more, and I shot two more loads. Yeah, it was
safe to say that I loved mummification from the first minute I tried it.

My mom has never met Master Rock. All she knows is that I had a new friend
"Brian" and spend hours at his house. She didn't mind when I was late for
dinner, as long as I called on the phone and arranged things with her
beforehand. That's why the camping weekend was so exciting for me. it was
the first time that Master Rock and I would be playing for longer than a
few hours. He would have me for all three days... from Friday night until
Sunday night.

My dad chipped in. I think he was glad I was doing something beside sit up
in my room, playing games on my computer. Of course, the "game" I'm usually
playing on my trust Macbook is recon.com! Still, my dad was a
trooper, digging out the old tent and Coleman stove, and packing food
enough for two. I think he missed camping himself, and was wishing he was
going to be invited along. Sorry dad, I told him... not this time!

By the time Friday rolled around, I could barely sit still. The school day
dragged on, and I couldn't concentrate. I had brought all the camping
stuff to school with me. I told my parents that my friend Brian and I
would leave right from school so we would be in the mountains before it
got dark. But the real reason is that I didn't want them to see a grown
man pick me up in a red flashy convertible.

At 3 pm, right on cue, Master Rock was sitting in the visitor's parking
lot waiting for me. I gave him a big hug, and I didn't care what teachers
or students saw us. Fuck 'em. But I wasn't brave enough to give him a big
kiss! I hauled my backpack and supplies to the front of the car, and put
them in that spacious trunk. I immediately sprang another hardon when I
saw the big black leather bags that were already in the trunk. I knew they
were probably full of ropes and bondage equipment, and they would all get
used on me. There was also a shovel and lantern and folding chair and a
coiled garden hose. More on that later. It's important to the story later.

I jumped into the car, and Master Rock stuck in a CD while we drove up to
Rocky Mountain National Park. I think it was Creedence Clearwater Revival,
or something like that. He loves southern rock and country. He's been
turning me onto that music, and I have to say that even thought I hated it
at first, some of it is actually pretty good. I started to sing along with
"Down On The Corner", and Master Rock smiled - maybe impressed that I had
memorized the words to one of His favorite songs.

In fact, I would catch Him looking at me a lot as we drove. In the wind
and noise of the convertible, we didn't say much to each other. But for a
bit, he reached over and played with my dick and balls through my jeans,
and I got instantly rock hard. Like a good submissive, I kept my hands out
of the way, and didn't try to stop Him, even when He started punching my
balls a little too hard. But mostly I was worried that I'd end up shooting
my cum before we even hit the campground. I think He sensed this, and
stopped, putting both hands back on the wheel.

We drove for about two hours, before He turned off the highway and drove
up an access road next to a mountain stream. The scenery was beautiful,
especially when we got off the main roads back into some valleys where
only the hikers went. Then, He turned the convertible onto a dirt road,
stirring up a cloud behind us as we raced up the mountain.

I think it was a logging road, because there weren't any signs. The road
was barely a dirt path, and several times the Porsche bottomed out and
scraped the road. But at the speed Master Rock was driving, the car soared
onward, taking the winding path at breakneck speed. Finally, after what
seemed like thirty minutes, we raced around a final curve, and came out
into a clearing.

When I say "clearing" it is an understatement. What was a thick wood with
trees blocking the view everywhere you looked turned into a barren field.
This must be a clear-cut area... there were stumps everywhere. it was kind
of spooky... it looked like a meteor hit, and for a square mile the glade
was barren and lifeless. Master Rock pulled into a turn-around where the
logging trucks had churned up the dirt and there weren't any stumps at
all.

He stopped the car, and said to me. "Get out... we're stopping here for a
while."

I didn't think we were going to camp here. I mean, we weren't even in the
legal part of the Rocky Mountain National Park where you could camp. This looked
like an abandoned worksite, and I wasn't sure if we were supposed to be
here.

"It's ok," said Master Rock, perhaps sensing my distress. "A friend of
mine worked up here. They aren't using this section any more, and we can
hang out here as long as we want and not be disturbed.

Cool! I thought. We could do all sorts of bondage games here and nobody
would know. No park rangers to hassle us, or family picnickers to complain
if the spanking and flogging and moaning got too loud.

I got out of the convertible and stretched my arms and back - sore from
sitting so long. "Now slave! Get to work!" Master Rock turned to me,
barking orders with a smile on his face.

I gave a mock salute, "Sir, yes Sir!" I was making a game of it - He and I
never took the Master/slave thing very seriously. Still, under all the
joking, there was a distinct understanding of our roles. He was calling
the shots all weekend, and I would do whatever he told me to do. Even if
things got painful or difficult, I would obey without question or
hesitation. But he didn't seem to mind if I was a smartass of a playful puppy.
In fact he smiled like he liked it. That's just the way things worked with us.

Master Rock popped the trunk, and I started to unload the supplies. I
would have preferred to camp next to a lush mountain lake instead of this
lifeless field, but I found a flat rockless square to put the tent on, and
within a few minutes, the tent was secure. I love those new tents that
don't need stakes or anything. I laid out the sleeping bags, and made the
interior of the tent a cozy place to sleep. Of course, my dick was rock
hard again as I was thinking about the things we might do in that tent
besides sleep! I was hoping Master Rick would tie me up securely in one of
those heavy down "mummy" sleeping bags for the night. That would be
incredible! Just my head poking out...

"Hey! You in there!" I heard Master Rock's voice snap me out of my
reverie. I crawled out of the tent to see he had set up a little campfire
area: a folding chair next to a lantern and a beer cooler. I was wondering
why there was only one chair set up, and why Master Rock was holding a
shovel out with one hand, offering it to me.

"Dig, slave!" He ordered.

Dig? I took the shovel from Master Rock. "What's the shovel for?" I asked.

Master Rock's face changed suddenly, darkening. "Don't ask, slave... just
dig!"

He sat down in his folding chair and popped open a beer. I heard it fizz,
and all of a sudden my mouth watered. A beer would really taste good right
now. But I got the message: there was only one folding chair. Master Rock
would sit and watch me work, and would drink beer while enjoying the
fruits of my labors.

"Maybe it's a latrine, boy!" He went on. "Maybe it's an oil well. Don't
ask questions! Just dig..."

I set the tip of the shovel down in front of me, about ten feet from the
tent. "What," I asked, "rIght here?"

Master Rock glared at me. "That was a question!" He warned. "Don't make me
turn this car around and drive you back home to your parents."

"Ok, ok!" I laughed. "I understand!"

I took my foot and broke the first ground. Colorado is dry... this is the
high desert. We don't get a lot of rain. As a result, the dirt tends to be
extremely dry and dusty. This makes for some hard digging, at least for
the first foot. I knew this from the yardwork I did as a teenager - moving
lawns and laying sod. Some of this land had not been disturbed for years,
or maybe eons.

I hopped around with the shovel for a three by three foot area. I thought
maybe this was going to be a firepit... a hole where we would collect wood
for a little cooking area. Even though I had brought my dad's Coleman
stove, the idea of a roaring fire sounded romantic. Plus, I knew that it
was going to get cold in a few hours when the sun went down.

So, in twenty minutes, I had hollowed out a pretty respectable fire pit.
When the three-by-three foot area was dug down to about a foot, I stood in
my little hole, and looked back at Master Rock.

I was panting and sweating in the late afternoon sun. "Well?" I asked.

Master Rock was just sitting there, slouching in His chair. He eyes looked
dark, even dazed.

"Keep digging," He said quietly... in a low voice barely audible over the
wind that was starting to blow.

"What?" I thought to myself. But didn't say anything. I gave myself a
second to pause and catch my breath, when suddenly, Master Rock got up and
went to the car parked nearby. He rummaged around one of the leather bags,
and found something. He walked back.

"Here, put these on," he threw me a pair of lack leather policeman's
gloves. I didn't have time to catch them, and they fell into the hole at
my feet. I picked them up.

Mmmm, leather. I put them up to my nose and sniffed. I love the smell of
leather. The scent alone started to stir my dick. I decided not to dawdle
any longer, and I pulled the gloves on, grateful for the protection of the
developing blisters on my hands.

"Thank You Sir," I said humbly as I started to work again.

I dug the hole deeper, now a two foot deep 3-by-3 hole. After the initial
hard crusty layer, the next two feet was pretty sandy. It felt like
digging on the beach making a big sandcastle. I had a decent-sized pile of
dirt next to the hole. I kept looking back at Master Rock for validation -
a notice of when to stop, but he just sat there motionless, drinking beer
after beer. I bet he had downed four or five already.

After an hour of digging, I started to get an idea. I read a book about a
Master/slave relationship. Supposedly this was a true story. One
afternoon, a Master and slave were sitting on the next to the ocean and
they notice an old sailing rope poking out of the sand. The Master told
the slave to dig up the rope, and the good little slave jumped up to
comply.

In the book, the slave didn't have a shovel like i did, so he had to use
his hands. The slave quickly realized that the rope was buried longer and
deeper in the sand than either Master or slave had realized. The slave
started to get frantic as he dug faster and faster, cursing the rope and
the chore that was quickly turning sour. After hours of work, the slave
was completely covered in dirt, and was standing in a deep hole fuming and
cursing. Then he noticed his Master standing outside the hole looking down
at him and smiling.

You see, the rope chore was a lesson. Sure it had started as a quick
little task, but when the Master realized that the job was going to be too
difficult to achieve quickly, He simply stood back to see how the slave
would obey. You see, the original order He gave the slave was, "Dig up the
rope." Not "fetch me twenty feet of rope" or "completely dig up that
rope." There is a saying that the journey is what is important, not the
goal. The slave saw that he might be ordered to dig forever without
stopping, if that was the Master's desire. His job was to obey to the best
of his ability, even when the order was difficult or impossible. After
reaching that realization, the slave settled down and stopped digging so
quickly, and embraced his task. He lovingly scooped out the dirt, and
instead of hating the buried rope, he loved the fact that the rope gave
him the opportunity to please and impress his Master.

I had a lot of time to think about that story while I was doing my
mindless digging. And I decided that my chore was like that of the slave
in the book - a rote and meaningless task that was being used as a lesson
in slavecraft. So, I decided to give Master Rock as show. I looked down at
my clothes. My jeans were trashed and my tennis shoes were completely
filthy. My white t-shirt was starting to be covered in dirt too and was
soaked through with my sweat, so I took it off. I threw it towards the
tent, and turned around to show Master Rock my teenage body just starting
to develop muscles.

I knew that Master Rock liked my body. He had commented on it more than
once. And I knew how much he liked feeling my arms and chest as He wrapped
them tighter and tighter with rubber and leather bondage. But this evening
I didn't get a reaction from him as I flexed a little bit, pantomiming
being a weightlifter trying to snatch-clean-and-jerk the shovel over my
head.

"Introducing the Great Slavarooni!" I joked. "Digging holes all day gave
him the super-strength to join the circus! In fact, he..."

"Keep digging," Master Rock barked at me, cutting me off. "As wide as the
shovel, and twice as long." i guess he was in no mood for jokes or games
right now.

Ok, now I had a frame of reference to how big this hole was supposed to
be. At the rate I was going, it would take another hour at least! And it
was already getting dark. I was getting down to a clay level where it
wasn't so sandy. It took longer to dig, but the dirt didn't fall into the
hole form the sides any more.

My back was sore, and my shoulders hurt. I was switching from a left grip
to right in order to break up some of the strain. But overall, this was no
way to start a long bondage vacation, all tired and sore. At one point, I
had expressed a fetish to Master Rock for mud wrestling. I was wondering
if this manual labor was a way to get me dirty and sweaty. Or maybe it was
a quick way to tire me out at the start of the session, so I would be
sleepy and pliable for the S&M to come.

I thought back to a book I had read called "Holes". It was a good Disney
movie, but it was a great book. In the book, the lead character gets sent
to a prison in the desert. The warden orders the boys in the prison to dig
a circular hole every day that is as wide and deep as their shovel. I
remember that the movie got me excited - and I've never felt that way
about a Disney movie before! If the boys don't dig, they don't get water
or food or a shower. Yeah, I know... kind of a dark subject for a
children's book. At the end of the story you find out that the warden is
trying to find buried treasure on the prison grounds, and there's a happy
ending. But the idea of all those poor kids sweating and being tortured
every single day in the hot desert sun... well, it gave me a hardon as a
teenager.

Occasionally, Master Rock ot up and walked around. I presume, he was
pissing somewhere near the treeline the way he was drinking. Sometimes, he
would go into the tent and prepare something,,, maybe bondage for the
evening later, my horny dick reminded me. The sun was going down quickly,
so maybe he was just getting things set before we wouldn't be able to see.
When the sun goes behind the mountains like this, it gets really dark in
minutes. And we were so far from the city that there was no ambient light.
I couldn't see the moon, and didn't know if it was full this time of the
month,

I had a lot of time to think about the "Holes" movie and a bunch of other
things. I actually like physical labor. It's fun, and it helps my mind
slow down from my usual thoughts and worries. It's like a form of
mediation: dig and throw, dig and throw. Combined with being a slave and
just following orders, it's a great combination. Even though every muscle
in my body was aching, I was having an... um... *interesting* weekend so
far. I just wasn't so sure how long this part of the scene would last.

I was caught up in my thoughts, and didn't notice Master Rock had gotten up
and was standing at the edge of my growing hole, looking down on me.

"Strip completely, jeans and underwear" He threw a pair of black Army
combat boots into the hole with me. "Put your socks back on and those
boots." Then he turned his back on me and walked back to the chair and sat
sullenly, opening a beer. He was acting weird.

That must have been the twelfth beer the guy had drunk so far that
afternoon, and so far he had offered me none. I heard the fizz of the
bottle open, and all of a sudden I was reminded of my intense thirst. I
wondered if some dehydration was a planned part of the torture.

I quickly took off my clothes like a good slaveboy, and piled them at the
edge of the hole, at a level near my waist. So, I was guessing I had dug
three feet already. I wasn't sure how much farther to go. I felt a little
stupid as I shucked off my underwear, but Master Rock had seen me naked
before. Many any times. So that was nothing new. But to be naked out here
in the wilderness, and still trying to labor with the shovel, well that
was a novel experience.

The clothes were filthy with dirt anyway and I was glad to get rid of
them. I just hoped that the bugs that came out at night didn't bite! I sat
in the dirt at the bottom of the hole to change my shoes. I didn't care if
my ass got dirty... my ass was one of my best assets, hard and round. I
rollerbladed every day, which helped to keep it firm, and I was proud of
it. I was even happier when a Master stuck things up it!

I stood up and decided to resume digging in my new uniform. Or rather
should I say, my new lack-of-a-uniform. When all of a sudden, Master Rock
asked me, "How tall are you?"

Um, six feet, I said. That was actually a lie... I was five foot eleven.
But it was nice to think that I was six feet tall.

"Good," grunted Master Rock, and went back to nursing His beer. He turned
on the lantern that was sitting on the ground next to him, which cast
spooky shadows all over the scene.

Wow, it suddenly dawned on me. I was digging a grave. Kinky.

In the cowboy west of Colorado where I lived, it was always reported in
stories that the bad men made the good guys dig their own grave before
they shot 'em. The idea brought back a sudden image of Snidely Whiplash
torturing the poor Mountie... aka "me". I thought that instead of railroad
tracks, Snidely would make the hero dig a big deep hole and put him into
it. Preferably in heavy bondage. My dick started to get hard at the thought.

Ah, now the scene made complete sense. I wondered if Master Rock would
make me sleep outside the tent in the hole, looking up at the stars all
night. I wasn't too keen on the idea - with the sun going down, the
weather was already starting to get colder. I got back to my digging,
knowing the labor would warm up my now-naked body.

I hope that Master Rock was enjoying the show of watching His slave
sweating and grunting completely naked. But I didn't look up to check.
Like the slave digging up the rope, I concentrated on doing the best job I
could, as fast as possible. The digging was getting harder now, since I
had to lift the loose dirt up to a level near my own nipples. It made my
arms numb... then had long since stopped hurting. I was covered black from
my neck down to my new boots, where only streaks of sweat had washed away
the grime and muck. The wetness of my own armpits making a form of mud on
my torso. Ick, I thought... sweatmud.

By now, it was almost completely dark, and I was having trouble seeing the
hole I was digging. I was standing in a four foot hole, and I was
exhausted. Master Rock came up to me. "Can you get out of the hole?" He
asked?

I set the shovel aside, and walked up to the edge of the hole. It was hard
work, but I pushed my chest up onto the ledge with my arms, which as a new
movement that brought all sort of new aches and pains to the surface. I
swung my legs over the edge, and crawled out of the hole to stand in front
of my Master, dripping and slouched over.

"Just checking," he said, "Get back in the hole and fix the sides. I want
them completely level."

With a groan I sat back down at the edge of the grave, scooting my butt
back down and in. I pretended my grumbling was a joke, and it was. Kind
of. But part of me wondered: how much longer was I going to keep digging?

I picked up the shovel again and started to scrape the sides down, when
Master Rock came towards me, dragging a eight-by-twelve sheet of plywood -
the kind they use for drywalling. What the heck? Where did *that* come
from? I knew that we didn't bring it with us in the Porsche. There isn't
*that* much room in the trunk. Master Rock must have stashed it in the
woods prior to our coming out here. He must have prepared it in advance.

But the details still didn't fit. If he brought the wood up earlier... why
not the other supplies too? Were we going to cover the hole? Maybe with me
in it? That sounded a little better than being left out in the cold under
the stars, but not by much.

"Duck down," Master Rock ordered, pulling the sheet over my head and
covering the hole. It fit perfectly, the edges sticking at least two feet
over the hole on each side. With the cover over the grave and me inside of
it, it got really dark. I could only see a little light from the lantern
that was shining next to Master Rock's folding chair.

I crouched quietly in the hole and heard Master Rock's footsteps on the
plywood above my head. I got very nervous, scaring myself. I could see a
kinky bondage scene when the hole was two feet deep. Maybe a short
mummification scene with it three feet deep, but now with the plywood over
the top, the hole felt very cold and dark indeed. Very much like a grave,
and i was a gravedigger.

All of a sudden, I was intensely away of my predicament. There I was -
miles from nowhere, trapped naked and sweaty and filthy in a hole that I
dug myself, with nobody around for help. I could see a thin shaft of dim
light where the edge of plywood didn't lay flat to the ground. I imagined
that not a lot of air could get under the plywood to help me breathe, but
it might be enough. Maybe.

After about ten minutes of stomping around mysteriously on top of the
plywood, Master Rock pulled the sheet aside, letting me see again. I stood
fully up, while He looked down in the hole at me in the gloomy dark. He
moved the lantern to the edge of the hole so it would cast more light down
to display my hard work.

"Ok," He grunted "That'll do. Stop working."

I sighed in relief. At least the digging portion of the weekend was
done... at least I hoped. Now all I wanted was something to drink and a
good night's sleep

But Master Rock surprised me. He threw a bag into the hole next to me and
crawled down to join me. I realized I was filthy and he was still clean,
so I moved to the extreme edge of the hole, pressing my body against the
side to give Him more room. Just like a good little slave.

Master Rock unzipped the large black bar and pulled out a large shape. In
the limited light, it looked like a cloak. Then he unfurled it and I
realized it was a leather straightjacket. I could barely see the armholes
as he held it out to me. Before I knew what I was doing, I held my hands
out and slid them into the jacket.

Ok, ok, looking back, this was not the smartest thing I had ever done
voluntarily. I mean, the minute I put on that straightjacket, I should
have realized that yes, I would be spending the rest of the cold dark
night down in a hole covered with plywood. Maybe that should have been a
hard limit for me. But I am such a bondage pig, that whenever a top offers
to put a straightjacket on me, I can't refuse. And my dick was sticking
straight out as proof that I was making the correct decision for my sex
drive, if not for my mental sanity.

Master Rock spun me around to pull the arms tight across my chest. We've
done this many times before. His straight jacket has both buckles and
laces. He starts by pulling my arms as tight as they can go, then doing
the buckles on the side, then lacing up the back, the tightening the
buckles one or two (or three!) or notches, and then doing the laces up a
final time. I love that part. By the time the laces are done up as tight
as they can go, I have a wonderful sense of being in a cocoon. Ok, maybe
being in a cocoon with a raging hardon.

And this time was no exception. My dick instantly rose into full
attention. I love that part of bondage - having a throbbing erection and
not being able to do anything about it. Being completely reliant on the
top for any sort of relief. Or at his mercy when it comes to pain. I love
a good long bondage scene to climax with a climax. Of course, I don't want
to cum too quickly - I've found out through bad experience how difficult
it is to remain in tight immobile bondage after I've cum. Not fun at all.
A few times, Master Rock has jacked me off before having me climb into His
sleepsack, just for a more powerful difficult ride.

The instant the straightjacket slid on, I was reminded of how filthy I
was. I could feel the grit on my body rub against the leather, and the
sweat soak into the inside. I knew Master Rock wouldn't make me clean up
the straightjacket before we played again - that's one of our rules. The
slave does the cleaning up... preparing the toys and shining the torture
implements and storing them away until the next time they get used. But I
really hoped that he'd treat *me* we as much love and care he gave his
instruments. I could really use a shower before we play much further - and
I really didn't want to go to bed stinking like this.

What was really bad is when he pulled a black leather good out of the bag
at his feet. Feeling the sticky sweat and grime on my torso was bad enough
- but I had worked on a farm as a teenager and I was used to having straw
and dirt on my body when baling hay. But when He pulled on the tight
padded hood, and i felt the strange sensation of dirt rubbed into my ears
and mashed into my face, i almost shot my load. It was weird to feel the
cushiony leather of the hood against my cheeks and neck and back of my
head. i knew this good well - i had worn it many times before, and when
it's on, it feel like a giant pillow engulfing my face.

The hood has a blindfold that can be snapped on, but instead Master Rock
did something strange. He pulled a pair of swimmer's goggles over my eyes.
i could still see out, but it was difficult. He made me sit down in the
dirt, with my back against the dirt wall i had just dug. Then, He took
these leather straps that went around my arms, pinioning them to my waist.
More straps went around my chest, wrapping around my upper arms. When he
was done, my arms were fastened tight to my body. Then, He made me scoot
down so i was lying flat in the hole. Then he started wrapping my legs
together, lacing my boots and calves into one giant leather mummy.

i love this. And as Master Rock wrapped me tighter and tighter i started
to relax into the bondage. This is dangerous, because with my muscles all
relaxed, He can pull the bondage to it ultimate extremes. i tried to
wriggle a bit, and discovered i couldn't even rock from side to side: my
arms were immobile as were my legs. i could bend at the waist a little,
and the same at the neck. i definitely couldn't sit up in the stiff
leather. Overall, i was trapped completely, doomed to stay at the bottom
of this hole until my bondage Master let me loose.

Master Rock stood up, and for a minute looked down at me, grinning.
Neither of us made a sound, but i could only hear my own labored breathing
under the hood. Luckily, he had left the mouth open, and i had about a 2
inch round round hole to breathe through. That would be enough, i hoped.
Then all of a sudden, Master Rock turned and lifted himself out of the
hole. i couldn't see very good through the swim goggles, but i could hear
him drag the plywood sheet back into position. The lights went out, and i
was left in almost complete blackness.

I thought I could do this. In the straight jacket under the plywood for a
fer hours. i've done longer, and i've done worse. i hated the time Master
Rock tied me up in the bathtub and turned the water on. The water crept
higher and higher up to my nose, and i started to panic. Master Rock loved
to see that look of terror in my eyes, and he played with me for over an
hour... lifting my head out of the water so that i could breathe, and then
pushing me down again so i was gasping and choking and trying to hold my
breath. Over and over again, but never quite drowning me.

i was lost thinking about that old scene, my dick getting harder and
harder (if such a thing can be possible), dripping precum onto my belly
and rolling down my crotch into the dirt beneath me. Suddenly, i heard a
growling machine noise. Then, a blinding light flashed from above
and made me squint. Master Rock must be moving the Porsche. Those must
have been the headlights and the sound of the engine. Then all of
a sudden, i heard the car wheel hit the plywood right above me. The fucker
was driving onto the board!

i saw the board bend, and then nothing. The weight of the car pushed the
plywood edges flush with the ground, blocking out all the remaining light.
And air, too! i thought. i started to panic a bit. What if the weight of
the wheels splintered through the wood? I'd have a half ton of sportscar
come plummeting down into the hole to squash me. And how thick can plywood
be? I mean, surely it can't take the weight of the car!

It's bad thing to panic while in total mummification. As you try to move,
you exert yourself. And then the straps tighten across your chest and it
gets harder and harder to breathe. Some submissives can even
hyperventilate, throwing themselves into unconsciousness just through
fear. Luckily, passing out means you relax, and most people will breathe
normally when they are knocked out. But i didn't want to find out the hard
way what that felt like.

I forced myself to slow my breathing. And I felt my heart rate slow down.
i was still nervous, but I felt the panic fade little by little. It felt
like drowning in an ocean, going down and down. i felt like i was being
sucked into the earth, and in my head i imagined my body sinking into
mud... moving to the core of the earth, home of the Sleestacks and the
underground people. I thought about the movie "Journey to the Center of
the Earth" when I was a kid, and I tried to remember the plot. Wait,
weren't the Sleestack "Land of the Lost"? i couldn't remember.

Yeah, i think about stupid things when i'm tied up. i actually like it. i
like my mind to freely associate. It's like dreaming, but even more
intense, because in the total darkness, my eyes even join in, forming
hallucinations and pictures of things that really aren't there. As long as
i can keep calm and relaxed, the trip is a nice one. But if i start to
panic and worry, the dream can turn into nightmares. i knew this from
(bad) experience.

i've only taken LSD once, and pot only a handful of times. There was a
period before i met Master Rock, and i was so horny and hungry to
experience that wonderful bondage feeling, so i "experimented". i hoped
that the drugs would be like being mummified, but i was disappointed it
was only a pale imitation of what i was looking for. After than one LSD
trip, i gave up all drugs, not even drinking. i didn't want anything to
cloud my perception or feelings so i could experience bondage scenes like
this one at the full intensity. i never understood why people wanted to
mute their lives... me i wanted to amp mine up!

i don't know how long i laid in that hole, but i noticed it getting
colder. The ground was cold and slightly wet, and the air became clammy
due to the lack of circulation. i dozed a bit, then woke up. It's funny
thing in tight bondage... at first i tried to count how many times i
slept, and for how long. But after i while i lost count, and decided that
it didn't matter. i was trying to think that maybe ten sleep-and-wake
cycles at fifteen minutes each might equal four hours, but then i got too
sleepy to do the math, and gave up.

i just remember thinking that Master Rock had never kept me tied up this
long before. i had always had to go home, or to school, so i couldn't live
out my fantasy for complete 24/7 bondage. This was like a dream come true,
and i felt my eyes getting teary as i sank back into sleep once again.

Ok, this is getting old. i kept getting woken up by cramps in my arms and
legs. i tried to roll around, but i found that the dirt under me had
turned to mud with my sweat and movement, and i was stuck in place. Plus i
needed to piss. Luckily, i wasn't in a sleepsack, i thought, and my dick
was bobbing in a good position to let go. i concentrated, and started to
piss, and i felt a hot stream hit my own leg and soak the dirt under me.
Great, i thought. Now i'm sore and bored and laying in a puddle of piss
mud. i'll *really* smell good by the time i get out of this situation!

i don't know how i fell asleep in a puddle of piss, but i did. i was woken
up with a start when i heard the engine of the Porsche start up, and
Master Rock was driving it off the board three feet in front of my face.
Great! i'm going to be let go! i thought. And just about time! i had had
just about enough bondage - and i never thought i'd ever think that...
greedy bondage pig that i was!

i saw daylight suddenly appear when the car bounced off the board with a
thud and the plywood shifted off center. Daylight! It must be morning, and
that asshole Master Rock had left me under that board all night! Well, i
had asked for a kinky difficult long-term scene, and i guess i had got
what i asked for. i was ready to thank my Master for his gift, and was
eager to look into His face when he shifted the plywood off my body.

But when the plywood moved off the grave i was laying in, i wasn't looking
up at Master Rock. No, this was a completely different person. Or at least
i assumed it was a person. It was a figure encased completely head to toe
in black rubber. it looked like a wetsuit. Heck, it looked like several
wetsuits all on top of each other. The man wore swimming goggles just like
i did, and a hood similar to my own. Why was a guy wearing full rubber out
here in the middle of the woods? Kinky.

"Um, hey!" i called out. i couldn't see too well and realized my goggle we
fogged up. "Where's Master Rock?"

The rubber frogman didn't answer me. Instead, he turned away, pulling the
plywood cover well off the hole.

"Sir?" i yelled "Sir?" Each time louder and louder with increased panic.

The frogman returned, and sat at the edge of the hole, looking down at me,
his feet dangling above my chest. "Um," i started. "i think i need to get
out of my bondage now, please."

That was the last words i said. The frogman jumped down into the hole with
me, and pulled a length of garden hose down with him. He fed the end of
the hose through what looked like a rubber gasket connected to a strap.
Then he brought the hose down and inserted it into my mouth.

I tried to close my mouth before he stuck the hose into me. But the motion
surprised me, and the rubber but pushed forcefully into my mouth. Before i
could yell out or even grunt, the hose was sitting on my tongue protected
by a soft rubber bit gag that went over my teeth and gums. I could spit
the hose out now if i wanted to, and at that moment i really wanted to.
With a practiced hand, the rubber frogman slid the strap around my head,
and buckled it on the side. He had evidently secured that gag many times
before. he pulled on the contraption a few times, and was confident that
it wasn't going anywhere.

i went from being able to breathe normally (albeit through a two-inch hole
in my hood), to trying to suck air through a twenty foot garden hose. I
don't know if you've ever tried this, but there is a lot of effort
involved. The other end of the hose was looped outside the hole on top, so
at least it wasn't trying to suck up dirt next to me. Luckily, i was still
able to breathe through my nose, and i could smell the rubber strongly
over the stink of piss and dirt. I tried to say something, but the hose
made for an effective gag. Only an indecipherable moan came out.

The frogman left me for a minute, and i my mind was racing. The guy under
all that rubber was *not* Master Rock. i would recognize that man's body
any time... naked or clothed. No, this guy was a lot taller, and leaner.
Even under all those wetsuits i could tell it wasn't a fat man. Shoot, who
could it be? A friend of Master Rock's? Another bondage top? i really
wanted to get out of the bondage now and stop the scene. Maybe all of us
could play together in the tent and have a kinky threesome.

I was still trying to grunt an say something, when the frogman came back.
And this time he was holding a shovel.

He knew i was looking at him. And although he could see my face, he was
looking right into my eyes. And without blinking, he stuck the shovel into
the edge of the hole and pushed.

A cascade of dirt showered down on me. I screamed out loud, trying to
thrash and move. The frogman kept collapsing the sides of the hole on me.
I wriggled and pulled but my arms weren't moving at all. I was a helpless
leather worm in the dirt. The frogman turned, and worked faster, throwing
shovelful after shovelful of dirt down in the grave, burying my chest and
hands first, and then my legs. I noticed he left my face for last, and I
figured out what the swim goggles were for. The bastard wanted me to see
the dirt hitting my face and covering it until the very last minute.

The last thing i saw was a shower of brown. The dirt covered the goggles
and the world went as dark as when the plywood was over the hole. i
screamed and screamed until my lung ached. But i quickly learned that
screaming just made it harder to suck air through the hose, and i felt
myself get lightheaded.

Instead, i tried to do my calming exercises, breathing and heart rate.
However, the odd sensation of shovelfuls of dirt raining down on my body
kept my mind in a permanent state of panic. If i could have, the tenseness
in my muscles would have levitated me out of the hole by sheer force of
will. As it was, i was going nowhere.

i was going to die in this grave!

The dirt felt heavier and heavier, like boxing punches to my midsection
and thighs. The increased weight pressing on my chest made it hard to
breathe. Ever feel three feet of dirt? Imagine a pail full of it. Then
imagine all that weight pressing down on your helpless body, crushing it
into the earth. I wasn't sure if i was going to run out of air or have my
bones broken first.

I stopped feeling any dirt over me. i wasn't sure if that meant the hole
was filled, or whether i just couldn't feel anything any more through the
layers of dirt on top of me. i wondered if this was the last things that
miners felt in a cave-in. i could still breathe, but it was getting more
and more difficult. All it would take is for the frogman to cover up the
end of the hose, or to kink it, or to park the Porsche on top of me, and i
would be dead within minutes. Instead, i could live this way for a long
time. Maybe hours. If you could call it "living".

i've been a bondage slave long enough to know that there are tricks. There
are things you can do to distribute pain throughout your body during a
flogging scene, for example. You can focus on the love and appreciation
you have for your Master and that will get you through. Or, you can create
a mantra for yourself to repeat over and over in order to focus your mind.
My brain raced through some of the sentences i had been taught, some of
the chants that i was forced to memorize and repeat over and over. i
couldn't think of anything appropriate or meaningful to fit this
situation, when all of a sudden, i was crying. Tears were running down my
goggles into my hood, and i was completely broken, wiped out. In my head
was a simple four word pattern, my last mantra:

i am buried alive. i am buried alive. i am buried alive. i am buried
alive. i am buried alive.

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*whew*
Thanks for sharing this!

holy fuck yes
i love the tone of the voice, the late adolescent horny cock, the desire to be consumed and yet the struggle to give in and over, and the fear - the returning to earth and total dependence and no power - and yet the ego struggles but you can sense the tricks aren't helping

hot!

Wow! And to think that I didn't intend to stick any of *that* stuff in my story! I was just trying to get a local Master excited enough to fuck me out of pity! {grin}

the muse is a powerful thing ;-) and works in mysterious ways

seriously though - that giving over feeling comes through so well - not giving up, but fighting and struggling and letting go, acknowledging someone/thing greater than you and having to trust yo ur life to them... which is also a caution to be careful what you ask for :-)

Yeah, but did it make you cum?

i am curious about what happens after, will you ever finish the story?

like who the hell is the frogman, and what was the masters ultimate reasoning behind this.

I have no idea. My brain kind of stopped right there. What do you think? Does the boy die?

i don't think the boy should die, that would defeat the purpose of the master/slave relationship(i think). i mean he puts all his trust into the master, and the master has a duty to make sure that nothing permanent happens to the boy. the whole submissivness is all good and dandy, but only if the master is responsible enough to stop it when it needs to be stopped

For some reason, I don't think they have that kind of a Master/slave relationship. I stuck in some foreshadowing (the Master geeting moody and drunk, recalling the dangerous near-drowning scene they did earlier together).

I don't think the narrator really knows Master Rock. I think he's just a bondage pig and he doesn't care *who* ties him up. As I said - on purpose I wrote him to be mentally young.

If you don't want the boy to die, and you care about realism you need to shorten up the length of the hose. Human lungs are not powerful enough, especially when under pressure, to expel CO2 more than about 3', so with a 20' snorkel your boy would be dead from CO2 poisoning in about 5 minutes.

Yeah, I intended that thing with the hose.

First of all, on purpose I made the boy stupid. He's young and inexperienced. He just went off on a "no limits" camping trip with a strange man. His mother doesn't even know who he is with. The scene wasn't negotiated, and the boy didn't stop when there were warning signals many many times.

Maybe I intended this to be a cautionary tale... or maybe Master Rock will come in an save the boy. Maybe Master Rock was overpowered and the mysterious rubber frogman will meet his comeuppance. Hrm - I had no idea the story could continue like that. I love it when the characters write themselves!

Edited at 2008-04-29 03:28 pm (UTC)

I skimmed a bit then had to turn away, i can't read it, too scary and totally believable -- A-plus for many reasons! you captured much here.

Thanks a lot! I recently finished a book called "Carried Away" by David Stein. I had a similar reaction - the book was just too powerful for me to read without one eye closed.

However... it must mean that something in my story resonated with you. Is it because you secretly fantasize about being the narrator in the story? {grin}

OK, that's really hot. I once had to dig a hole and then got mummified and buried in it with just a tube to breathe through, but it wasn't that deep or for that long.

i would be honored to serve You anytime by submitting to a scene like that, Sir! If my humble story inspired You at all, i would love to be the instrument for You to do something You would like to try out on a slave.

I'm really claustrophobic and prone to panic attacks.

That freaked me out. Rather severely.

Umm....congratulations?

Please read wooferstl's post at:

http://wooferstl.livejournal.com/255102.html

Yeah... it's *about* being freaked out. And going beyond it. Way beyond.

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