Beauty's Resurrection

By DX

Copyrighted, 6/06, 4/2025 all rights reserved, story may not be reproduced by any means with prior permission from the author

Based on the Original Story, Beauty in Repose By Evil Dolly, used with permission.

"tell me you love me,"

 I can hear her voice whisper to me on the wind as it played in the long grass in the field. I can feel the warm sun, so bright, splayed across my fingers. A black road splits the earth, gold bands split the road. I am hitchhiking but there are no cars and I don't care. I can walk where I want to go, be where I want to be. There is blue sky from horizon to horizon and I spread my arms hoping to fly.

 Fly free.

 I was a transient. A high-school dropout wandering the earth and looking for adventure. I was an incurable romantic who believed that life could be a romance novel if I looked hard enough for it. I was a girl whose wit and charm and looks could get her out of any trouble she found herself in.

 "You are so beautiful,"

 She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I was so shocked and flattered when her smiling, sparkling eyes looked upon me and said how beautiful I was. It was then, at that moment, her magic cast their spells upon my heart.

 "I want to hear you say it, say you love me."

 There was a time I would have said it quickly, readily, with the deepest fiber of my being. I was a slave to her love, to her smiles, to her kisses. When she took me to her home, her palatial mansion, and he green swept flowing grounds, and gave me a warm bed, her warm bed, and her warm body, I loved her.

 "Say it,"

 Before she put me here. In this dark, dark place,

 Forever.

 Before she buried me alive.

 I was swept up in her love, the fantasy. I put up with her one quirk, her little game. It was weird, but afterwards, our love making was explosive. 

 She liked to see girls play dead in coffins, as if for a final viewing. 

 I had been a call girl for a while so I was no stranger to fetishes; although this one was new to me. She would lay me out in fanciful dresses and I would play the part. She gave me a catheter so I didn't need bathroom breaks and a nasal feeding tube, disguised and innocuous, to give me nutrients. She used a little bondage to help me hold still.

 I wasn't all that surprised when she bought me my own coffin to play our games. It was her way of giving me an engagement ring and in that light, on that day, I accepted.

 The last day I was alive.

 She gave me the most beautiful wedding dress.

 Beneath it was a special form fitting suit that would prevent me from needing a shower. Catheter, nasal, and promises, I was set for a long session.  Hours? Longer? It would be our honeymoon. Our most elaborate scene yet.

 Lying still.

 Playing dead.

 She took me out to the grounds, through the winding garden paths filled with crying stone cherubs, to a small grove hidden by trees. There was a rock wall topped with sinister iron fence I had never been there before.

 It was always locked, until now.

 She led me inside and it was filled with flowers cascading down from the shelves.  She lead me through this fantasy world to my resting place. Her gift to me, my coffin.

 I was eager to make her proud.  Her kink was a weirdness I didn’t understand, and like all odd things a little creepy.  I was a little hesitant, a little afraid, but her warm smiles of joy cast out my dark thoughts.  I would be brave for her.

 My hands were cuffed in front of me. Satin and padding disguised the steel. She helped me up into the coffin and strapped me down. Straps across my upper arms held me to the comfortable pad, forcing my hands to be held still beneath my breasts. She gave me a realistic bouquet to hold and with a few hidden stitches, secured it to my gloves so I wouldn't lose it. She strapped down my legs, the bands running through hidden slits in the gown. She then stitched down the gown to make sure that the dress would stay in perfect flowing position.

 "Can you move?" She asked and I struggled, proving that I couldn't move more that just a squirm. She connected my tubes.

 "I love you." She said.

 "I love you." I said.

 "Be quiet now." She brushed her fingers across my cheek and the game began.

 I laid still, my shallow breathing hidden by the make of the dress.

 I wanted to make her proud.

 "You're very good at this." She said after a while. "You know, you'll never be as perfect as you are, right here, right now." She placed a death mask over my face. An image of perfect beauty, she secured it with straps, and pins that went through my pierced ears and locked in place. "There, now you will be beautiful forever." She said. "I so do love you, but one day you'll want to leave me. Free as a bird, leaving a trail of broken hearts. You pretties don't know true love. That's why I'm going to keep here, forever, perfect in beauty, forever."

 It was then she turned the coffin key and slowly closed the lid.

 I was scared. I wasn’t sure of the game any more.  What she was saying was off-script and I murmured in fear.  As she continued turning the key, locking the lid, said I was uncomfortable with how the game was going.  Panicking, I pleaded and argued with her. 

 I told her I loved her.  

 What I meant when I said that, was I was afraid but trusted her.

 Light flashed in the dark coffin.  In the lid of the coffin was a monitor that flickered to life, and I could see her standing next to the coffin, waving at the camera, at me. I watched as she pulled back a tarp and I saw two grave stones, each with a birth date and a passing date. One was Jessica, the other Carrie.  There were no last names.  Jessica’s date of death was only a year ago. Carrie was two years ago. Both of them young, like me.

 I then saw a third stone.

 It was my name, my birthday and the current year.

 Terror hit me like a punch to the face.

 I begged for her to let me out, but she only smiled softly, her gaming continuing.  "I'll let you out if you do one thing for me?" She said, her eyes filled with love. "Everything will be fine. It's all a game. Just part of my silly fantasy. Just do this one thing for me, please? It will be so good if you do this for me, and then we'll stop and go back to the house and make love until dawn. Would you do this one little thing for me?"

 I was crying. "You'll let me out?"

 "Yes. It's all a game.”

 I nodded.

 “Ask me to bury you.” Her face loomed in the camera, her eyes warm and happy. “Just say the words… I need to hear them.  Ask me and I'll let you out."

 What was I to do?

 “Please... bury me?"

 Her smile filled her whole being.  “That's perfect." She said.

 She pulled back a tarp and turned the camera to expose a hole beneath the coffin. Straps held the coffin above it.

 She made me watch as she buried me alive.

 I screamed and screamed but she either shut off my microphone or ignored me. I then watched as she slowly shoveled dirt down on top of me until there was no more coffin.  I could hear the dirt pound on the lid above me, feel the vibration, and then the quiet.

 She moved the camera, then walked out of frame.  A moment later I heard the horrific grumble of a tractor, and I watched as she rolled it forward and shoved a mass of dirt down on top of my coffin.

 Inside was a tremendous storm of noise.  Fearing collapse, I shut my eyes.

 And then silence.  

 Utter silence.

 I opened my eyes.

 In the monitor, there was no more hole. I watched as she carefully rolled out sod and erased all signs of my burial site.

 I could feel a light breeze of air being filtered in. 

 I could watch what she wanted me to watch. Her face loomed large in the camera, then she touched something and changed my view to inside my coffin, a green night vision glow to show me looking perfect in my beautiful dress, my serene mask. She then showed me inside the other coffins at the other girls. I could see them shifting, breathing. Their hair growing wild.

 The image changed to her camera, her brushing dirt from her gloves before pulling them off.  She sighed tiredly, content from a good day’s work.  She looked at me through the camera.

 “Here is your final resting place.”  She grinned.  “You’ll be here forever.  But you will not age, or grow old.  The life support unit will keep you alive.”  She breathed dead.  “I love my beauties, my wives, laying in repose.”  She peered close.  “I love you.”

 She waited.

 "Say that you love me,”

 I murmured, “please,”

 “Say you love me, and I will end the game and dig you up.”

 My voice, thin and reedy, sobbed.  “I love you.”

 She smiled, and the monitor shut off.

 The darkness was absolute.

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Copyrighted, 6/2006, 4/2025, all rights reserved.
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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."

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

Corporate Downsizing
He was brought in as an efficiency expert.  His solution, fire everyone.  But he saw something in a beautiful, young protégé who was willing to do ANYTHING for him.  Perhaps she learned too well about downsizing.
Castration!  CBT! 
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