The Favor

By DX

Copyrighted 12/03, 3/2025 All rights reserved.

Ryan wiped the sweat from his palms as he walked up the stone steps to the screen door. With a shaky hand he rang the bell and waited the eternal few seconds before the door opened. His breath caught in his throat as the image of beauty stood before him. Her hair of liquid jet spilled across her milky skin and her eyes filled with starlight sparked from beneath her mane.

 "Uh," Ryan found his voice. "I'm here to see Marco. He's expecting me."

 The woman said nothing.  The shimmering gold disk that locked her lips away made sure she remained silent. She only winked longingly at him, then lead the way. As she tuned, Ryan couldn't help but notice her battleship breasts, her tiny breath stealing waist, and her smackable derriere that peeked out from beneath her way too short skirt. Nothing was left to the imagination as she walked on her tiptoe high heels. Ryan had to adjust himself as they moved across the living room to the kitchen as his arousal was evident. It was not wise to look at Marco's wife with impure thoughts.

 Marco sat at the kitchen table, a paper napkin tucked into his shirt, and he smiled proudly as Ryan entered. "Ryan! My man! How you doin'?" He waved at the empty chair across from him. "Sit down! You remember my wife, Erin?" He motioned to the beautiful woman who had escorted him in. "You might not recognize her with her new Chasti-Permalocks. She was a little too promiscuous one time too many." He smiled. "Now she's more attentive to my needs." He snapped his fingers. "Where are my manners? Have you had any breakfast? Here, have a danish! Little John picked them up fresh this morning. Ah, so good!" He motioned to the behemoth standing behind him. "Little John, get Mr. Ryan a cuppa coffee ana danish!" He then motioned to the smaller man standing by the fridge. "Ryan, you remember Nick?"

 Ryan nodded nervously at the slight man with steely eyes who only picked his fingernails with a stiletto.

 Marco pulled the napkin from his neck and folded it neatly. "Ryan, I appreciate you coming over so early and on such short notice.”  His voice became serious.  “A few weeks ago you came to me and asked for a favor.”  He brightened.  “I have some good news for you." He snapped his fingers at Nick and the little man put his knife away and picked up the T.V. remote. "I think you'll be pleased." Marco settled back to watch the T.V..

 Blurry, eerie green images sharpened to clarity as the video camera's low-light warmed up. Shaky, moving images as the cameraman made his way clumsily through the bushes.  Ryan recognized his house (his old house), then watched as his car (his old car), wheeled into the driveway. He caught his breath as he watched his wife Megan (his ex-wife Megan) climb from behind the wheel. Her long legs flowed from beneath the skirt of her expensive dress.  Her platinum hair, lime green in the video, splayed in the gentle wind. Her eyes, the beautiful eyes that he first fell in love with, were unconcerned as she made her way up the walk, the click of her high heels the only sound in the video. She fumbled for her keys unaware of the hulking shadow silently that moved up behind her.

 "Danish?" Ryan nearly leapt from his chair as Little John slid the plate before him. Ryan nodded a weak thank you, then looked back at the screen just as Little John in the video, as quiet as a mouse, calmly and smoothly stepped up behind Meg and with one massive arm grabbed her, crushing her arms to her sides and lifting her into the air while the other hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her screams of alarm. As he hoisted her, head lights from a delivery van flared, blotting out the video for terse seconds as it made its way up the drive. The cameraman was moving, following Little John as the big man stepped into the opening door of the van. Nick was there, closing the door behind them. Fighting to keep balance in the now moving van, Nick peeled long strips of silver tape. The camera panned back to Meg's face. The hand from the cameraman, a woman's delicate hand, reached out to Meg's panicked face.  As Little John pried open Meg’s mouth, the camera operator shoved in a fat rubber ball in, wedging it tight with her thumb. She moved her thumb as Nick layered on the tape. Within moments, Meg was bound tight in yards of silver tape and silenced.

 The image flickered and the scene changed. It was color now. A lit warehouse. In the center of the room was a tall box with clear acrylic walls, beside that was a cement mixer chugging away. Little John's giant body blocked the view for a few seconds as he carried Meg in. Her muffled cries and protests were ignored as she was laid out on a table where Nick quickly strapped her down. That done, Nick donned surgical gloves.

 "Nick went to med school." Marco explained, motioning at the TV.

 "Veterinary." Nick clarified.

 Ryan was transfixed on the screen, his mouth agape, as Nick in the video pulled out his switch blade and cut away Meg's clothes. Marco's wife, Erin was on the screen now.  She balled up Meg's mane of hair and stuffed it into a bathing cap which she stretched over the struggling woman's head. She stepped away and was replaced by Little John who's massive hands clamped Meg's head to hold her steady.

 Nick took a swab and rubbed Meg's neck, covering her with antiseptic. He then coated his knife.

 Ryan held his breath as he watched Nick slowly insert the knife into Meg's throat, deftly cutting into her trachea.  Nick then inserted a stoma, re-routing Meg's breathing, and secured it with a band around her neck.

 "You'll notice she's quiet now." Marco narrated. "Her air is now redirected from her vocal cords. This will ensure an un-interrupted air way, and perfect silence. Not a whimper."

 Ryan watched the video as Nick then took a thin, plastic tube and inserted it into the stoma. "For feeding." Marco explained. 

 Once Nick was satisfied the tube was down into her stomach, he nodded, and Little John unstrapped Meg from the table.  He then lifted her up, and carried her to the box.

 Erin held the door to the box open as Little John lifted Meg up and stood her up on the concrete base of the box. Nick then took long rods of re-bar and set them into preset holes. Once secured, Meg was wedged tightly, standing in the box. Nick took a large tube and connected the stoma in her throat to a special hole in the clear, plastic door of the box.

 Meg desperately struggled against the steel rods and silver tape to no avail. Her eyes of anger and fear flashed hotly. Watching the video, Ryan felt the need to adjust himself again as her hot body clad in only a bra and panties writhed in desperation and frustration.

 Back in the video, Little John stood off to the side and took a letter from his pocket. He then fished out his reading glasses. "Dear Megan," the letter began. "You fuggin' bitch. I bet you thought you was so smart when your slick divorce lawyer took everything I owned, even my home.  Well, now the joke is on you. I give you this new house of concrete. You shall be entombed alive, buried in cement and dropped into the ocean. There you will be kept alive in the cold embrace of stone until the end of time. No one will rescue you. As we speak, your boyfriend is currently wearing a cement overcoat and holding up part of the new highway overpass. Enjoy your new home. Sincerely, Ryan."

Teaser.  For the whole 3,300 word story and art, consider supporting us at:
https://subscribestar.adult/posts/1764707

Copyrighted 12/03, 3/2025 All rights reserved.

M’Lady, the Dark Mystress

By DX

Copyrighted, 6/2024, all rights reserved.

M’Lady

Dark Mystress

 Dear, Slave;

 I have carefully considered your application and you will be pleased to hear I have accepted you for a newly created permanent position.  The panties stained with your ejaculate you mailed to me as a token of your affection has moved me to accept you into my harem of house slaves.  Before this, I was certain I had no need of you and I thought I had been quite clear when I insisted you seek your pathetic kink elsewhere, but your disgusting response has shown me your determination to serve me, and has inspired me to create a new permanent position exclusively for you in my household.

 Since this is a permanent position you’ll no longer be in need of possessions.  You are to liquidate them immediately.  You’ll have three days from receipt of this letter to sell everything save one pair of trousers, a button up shirt, and a pair of shoes.  Anything not sold within that time you will abandon.

 You will communicate to what friends or family you may have that you are traveling to Asia to become a monk and it is unlikely you will ever see them again.  It is not as if anyone would miss you, and I am certain their lives will be much improved without you in it.  

 This is a permanent position, so I can assure you, you won’t see them again.

 On the third day you will walk out of your residence for the last time.  What money you have from selling your things you will put it in the first charity bucket you stumble across on your way to your first step in serving me.  Enclosed is a card with an address a few miles from you.  You will walk there.  When you arrive you will have nothing but the clothes I instructed you to have, and your License and Passport.  There you will be picked up by car and taken to a place where you will be assisted in properly preparing your tribute to me.

 As a Dark Mystress, I demand and deserve a true tribute.  From you, my slave who enjoys sending his sperm through the mail, I demand your penis.  Not figuratively, literally.  You will be taken to the lair of an associate who will restrain you in his operating theatre.  Strapped down on his operating table so you can’t move a muscle, he will surgically remove your penis and place it in a jar of formaldehyde.  He will then seal the jar for you. 

 Your testicles will remain intact as I have plans for them.

 He will then reroute your urethra, and sever the nerves to your prostate, rendering you incontinent.  He will install a permanent catheter. 

 Once your tribute has been prepared, my associate will want payment for his services.  Since you have no money, you will have to trade with him.  He has an odd collection, to my understanding.  I myself have a diverse collection of penises, so to each his own.  His, however, you may find even more macabre.  

 He collects teeth.

 He will rip out your teeth, one at a time, until he has them all.

 There will be no pain relief, or drugs.  Knowing you will suffer pleases me, and pleasing me is your world now.  Difficult as it may be, while your teeth are being extracted, take heart and comfort knowing your screams provide me with a modicum of entertainment.  You, as a slave, or so you claim to be, will be happy to submit to this pain since it entertains me.

Teaser:  For the whole story, consider supporting us at:
https://subscribestar.adult/posts/1333157

Copyrighted 6/2024, all rights reserved.

Imprisoned  (Teaser)

Full story available here, please support us!
 https://subscribestar.adult/posts/873962  

By DX

 

Copyrighted 2017,2023 all rights reserved.  May not be used without prior written permission.

 

 

            The sharp tick of her arch breaking high heels clicked sharply on the cement floor of the parking garage and the sound echoed madly in her foggy and heavily drugged brain.  She could see herself on the edge of a dream, her elegant dress flowing, and her fox fur draped across her shoulders.  She was tall, despite being only five foot four in her killer pumps, as if floating on her cloud of hubris.  She was sparkling in her hazy dream, diamonds winking in the flickering florescent light.  Her lipstick was a dark, venous blood red and her lips wore a perpetual arrogant smirk.

            She had much to be arrogant about.

            The feel of metal and cement grated on her face, as a low, throbbing pain racked through her body.  Why was she lying on the floor?  Where was the attendant?  Where was her phone?

            Watching her dream-self rummage around in her clutch purse she wanted to cry out, The phone!  It’s in the purse!  Call for help!  Now!  but all she could manage was a throaty moan her dream-self could not hear.  Instead of her phone she pulled out the key to her Lexus, all the while oblivious to the hulking shadow sweeping up behind her.

            Lightning, hot and sudden, and her world went vertical.  The greasy, oil stained cement floor ruined her dress, her hair.

            She lay on the floor.  It was wildly bright.  Walls rose about her, surrounding her completely.  Cement.  Cement walls, cement floor, cement ceiling.  Get up!  She shouted at her dream-self.  Run!  Just run away!  But he had her, picking her up and putting her into darkness.  The sound of a van door slamming shut.  

            There had been no fear, no realization, until the hollow tearing sound of duct tape being spooled off a roll filled her senses.

            She was in trouble.

            Then nothing.

            It jarred her fully awake.  She was in a cement room with light, brilliant white, beaming down from a three-inch hole in the ceiling.  As she stirred, sliding to sit up, she first noticed she was barefoot.

            Where are my shoes?  She looked around for them thinking about the cost of her designer footware before the flashing image of metal pulled her attention back.  Shiny metal shackles wrapped her ankles, connected by a metal cable.  They had no key, no lock.  It was as if someone had welded them on.

            Still struggling to sit up she tried to use her arms but found her hands were trapped in small, round cages, which had also been cuffed.  There was a short, three-inch cable attaching them to a metal belt, leaving her hands trapped to her waist.  Cables ran down the front of the belt to a metal shield, which pulled snuggly over her vagina.  The cables then ran from the bottom of the shield, under her buttocks then up over her hips to the belt.  Her eyes traveled up her body before stopping at the metal cups covering her breasts held tightly in place by welded cables.

            “What in the world?”  She croaked, feeling her voice rake as if she hadn’t used it in quite some time.  As she scooted on her butt to sit up properly she felt the weight of a cage around her head.  It appeared to be oval in shape with bars blooming up from a metal collar around her neck.  There were flat pieces welded on the inside of the cage that rested on the crown of her head, across the bridge of her nose and under the nape of the back of her head.  As her head turned, the cage turned with it.

            Almost breathless, she properly took in her surroundings.

            She was in a concrete box.

            It was about three feet wide, three feet high and three feet long.  The ceiling had a hole where light poured through.  In the corner there was a dimple in the floor about eight inches in diameter and four inches deep.  In the center of the depression there was a hole about an inch in diameter.

            She slowly shifted around and found the door.

            Framed by concrete, the door was two feet by two feet of the same shiny metal that her shackles were made from.  In its center was a three-inch diameter hole.  She shuffled closer, trying to peer out.  As she leaned towards it, she could see frame of the door showed the thickness of the concrete walls.  She guessed it was about eight inches.

            Was she in an asylum?  Locked away in a high-risk ward?

            “Hello?”  She called out, putting her eye up to the hole.  The metal of the door was an inch thick; beyond that was a heavy piece of glass, possibly ballistic.  “Can anybody hear me?”  She could see a small, cramped room.  The concrete walls were maybe six feet high and the room about six feet deep.  Against the back wall was a metal rung ladder.  Just at the end of her peripheral vision to her right, she could see blue plastic barrels stacked one on top another.  She could count four, but imagined there where more.  There was white PVC piping connecting them all together.

            “My name is Eliza Cooper!”  She shouted at the door.  “I am the Assistant States Attorney!”  She craned her head to try to see more in the room.  Light beamed down from a hole in the ceiling similar to the one in her concrete box.  “I demand to be released!”  Her voice shrilled.  “You must return my clothes at once!  You have no right to keep me here and I promise heads will roll for this!  I want a supervisor down here right now!”  She squinted, peering through the little hole.  There didn’t appear to be any video cameras in the room.

            She sat back almost aghast.   The concept began rolling through her head.  She wasn’t in prison or an insane asylum.  Images of her last memory flooded her senses.  She had been abducted.

            “They’re looking for me, you know that?”  She screamed.  “You’re only making it worse for yourself.  Release me now and we can talk plea bargain!”  As her voice’s echo faded out, she knew no one had heard her.

            She scanned the door, but there was no key.  It was smooth, without a slot for food or water.  She tried to maneuver her body so her hands could reach the door, but the hand cages prevented her from touching it.  She rotated carefully, swiveling on her butt on the concrete floor.  She scooted forward and then leaned back on her back so she could raise her feet to the door.  

            She tried pushing, and then sliding the door, but it didn’t budge.  She then kicked it repeatedly but it was so solid it barely made a noise.  Panting from her exertions she shifted to get back on her butt, but it was complicated in the tiny space.  With her hands cuffed and her feet shackled any movement became a carefully orchestrated exercise in human engineering.

            Sweat glistened on her brow as she almost cheered when she was sitting again.  “You will pay for this.”  She growled, catching her breath.  “Every bit of this, every indignity.”  She looked at the door unmoved by the threat.  “I know you hear me and I swear you will pay for this!”  She shifted forward and started banging her caged head against the door.  It made a good, sharp clang.

            “I DEMAND TO BE RELEASED!”  She hollered, her words punctuated with strikes against the door.  “Now!  Do you hear me!  I am the Assistant States Attorney!”  Sweat rolled down her face as she tried to catch her breath.  “I have rights…”  She tried to wipe the sweat from her face but cursed her hand cages.  “What the hell is this?”  She looked at her cable and shield underwear.  “A chastity belt?  Seriously?”

            She leaned back and rammed her head into the wall hoping to break either the wall or the head cage.  Neither happened.  She slipped her legs underneath her and got to her knees.  She tensed her body, aimed her head at the door, and with an Amazon’s battle cry launched forward into the door.

            Stars flashed across her vision as she bounced back.  Stunned, she glared at the door.  It was unblemished.  She geared up again and crashed her head as hard as she could.  Other than a sharp pain in her head, nothing had happened.

            She thought it was sweat dripping from her brow until she saw it was blood.

            “I’m bleeding!”  She shouted.  “I need medical attention!”  She shuffled as close to the door as she could.  “You cannot deny me medical attention!”

            There was no answer.

            Eliza Cooper, Assistant States Attorney sat back in stunned silence.  

            She shook her head, not believing, and began screaming and screaming and screaming.

            Hours?  She had lost track.  She was sticky in her own blood, although the cut to her head had clotted.  There was nothing left of her voice but she kept chanting her demand to be released until exhaustion took her and she slept.

            Sitting on the unyielding cement floor caused slow but insistent radiating pain, which stirred her.  Alarmed she was still in her concrete box, Eliza began shouting again, but her throat felt as if she had gargled with butterfly knives.

            Looking again she noted the room was dimmer.  She looked up into the hole in the ceiling.  Eight inches of cement led to a pipe, about three inches in diameter.  The pipe went straight up for at least ten feet.  She shouted up the hole with her feeble voice but nothing happened.  Peering again, she noted the light was in fact fading.

            And a sliver of rainbow.

            She pulled her eye from the hole with start, and then peered again.

            A prism!  She thought, sitting back.  It was directing sunlight from who knows where and now the sun was going down.  A flash of fear tickled her but she dismissed it.  They have some night operations.  She assured herself.  It also meant the evening shift would come by.  They had to feed her and provide her with medical attention.

            They would release her the moment they found out who she was.

            Something started ticking.

            She felt it more than heard it.  Mechanical clockworks came to life and she shifted her legs around, ready to leap out the moment they opened the door.

            Gravel spilled from a small hole in the wall into a dimple in the floor.  Beside it was a second basin that filled with water.

            Eliza looked at it curiously.  She hadn’t noticed the two bowls set into the floor by the door before and it surprised her that, locked in a three foot cube, she hadn’t properly taken in her environment, but then again she hadn’t thought she would still be there to worry about such things.

            The gravel appeared to be dry dog food.

            “You are kidding me.”  She hissed.  “You are…  fucking kidding me!”  She cursed.  She sat in the far corner, trying to put as much distance from the insult as possible.  She started screaming again, invoking the Geneva conventions and the Red Cross.  

            But the room only became darker, gloomier.

            Fear became an itch.

            She felt the walls closing in as the darkness grew.  She screamed more and more but still there was no response.  She knew there would have to be some light, probably from the peephole in the door.

            There wasn’t.

            The darkness was profound and absolute.

            And Eliza screamed and screamed.

 Full story available here, please support us!
 https://subscribestar.adult/posts/873962 

 

 

Imprisoned  (Teaser)

 

Copyright 2023, all rights reserved.

The Cul-de-sac of Amontillado (Teaser)

By DX

 

Copyrighted 1/2019 all rights reserved.  Story may not be reproduced without written permission from the author.

 

Get the entire story and many more here:

https://subscribestar.adult/dx-gagorder

https://subscribestar.adult/posts/862502

 

 

(A homage to Edgar Allen Poe)

 

 

Everything tasted of rust.

 

Blearily, she focused past the flittering, gossamer ghosts clouding her thoughts to the three inch plastic pipe set up between her legs as Martha blathered on about urination flow and drainage.  Forcing her mind to clear, she struggled feebly at the steel bindings bolting her to the wall.  Martha mentioned she had wrought them from scrap metal and she had made a forge out of an old BBQ grill and a hairdryer.

 

Wait, what?

 

She watched Martha work, chattering on about getting the bricks free from a demolished building site.  Martha was delighted she only had to knock off bits of old cement.  Most of the bricks were perfect for her new patio and her wall.  

 

Her wall?

 

Martha was cute.  She had short, pixie cut dark hair, snow blue eyes and a perky nose.  She had a sparking, energetic personality that was infectious.  When she smiled, everyone smiled.

 

Martha was building a wall.  

 

In her overalls and tool belt she looked just adorable, like a little girl wearing Daddy’s equipment.

 

“It’s not so hard.”  She said, her hands mechanically moving.  “This is going very quickly.”  Martha leaned back, mopping her brow with her bandana, and looked up, her blue eyes wide and pretty.  “I’ll have you walled up in no time!”

 

Thunder flashed across her brain as she became more awake.  “Whagh…”  She mumbled, metal in her mouth, forcing it open.  “Whagh guagh!”  She pulled at the restraints, now suddenly very real and very solid.  Her wrists, neck, waist and ankles, were firmly pinned to the wall.

 

Martha rose from her squat, a little winded from her work.  “Ah, I see the drugs are finally wearing off.”  She scratched her nose, inadvertently leaving a smear of cement.  “I might have over done it.”  She released her radiant smile, brightening the room.  “I went to the library and read a book on wildlife survival.  With wild plants I found here in the cul-de-sac, I was able to distill my own sedative.  Since I just read a book in the library, there isn’t a trace on my computer that I was looking up ways of kidnapping someone and drugging them.”  Her nose crinkled with excitement and pride.  “I’m walling you up alive, Karen.”  She said, peering at her.  “Don’t you remember?”

 

 

The Cul-de-sac of Amontillado (Teaser)

By DX

 

Copyrighted 1/2019 all rights reserved.  Story may not be reproduced without written permission from the author.

 

Get the entire story and many more here:

https://subscribestar.adult/dx-gagorder

https://subscribestar.adult/posts/862502