It was a decision no one should have to make, a long debilitating illness with no hope of a cure and a slow painful death or a premeditated, taking of her own life? What would you do? Beth had no dependants but one. Her husband did not know. How could she tell him? He would stand by her. She could not put him through such agony. He deserved a better life. The decision was made. How to execute it? A smile crept across her face. Even in times like these she could always see the funny side. Maybe life had not been so cruel to her. She had lived for over 45 years and she was determined to die with a smile on her face.

It would involve bondage of course. That had been her passion since teens. Sam, dear Sam had never fully understood it. He tried of course, but his ropework never hit the mark and they had never had the money for all those fancy leather restraints. She would treat herself.. She had always wanted to try a real gag. She wanted to be completely helpless, unable to stop the end she had planned. A delicious finale. Something that could not be stopped but would be long enough for a few good orgasms.

Drugs were out of the question, even if she could get them, they were unreliable, either working too fast or able to be stopped by a stomach pump. She did not want to be drowsy or comatose, she wanted to be fully alert, even scared. Fear might add to her orgasmic delight.

Hanging would be too quick, not enough time to saver the moment. Drowning? Too quick again. Once submerged she could not hold her breath for more than a minute. If she tried slowly filling the bath Sam might find her. People have been resuscitated from drowning in water. Wait! That was it! The Bog! People had died in the Bog. She could die in the Bog. No one would know until too late. No one would find her once she submerged. If she did it right there would be many glorious minutes even an hour as she slowly sank. It was perfect! She must prepare carefully. It had to be inescapable. She might have second thoughts. She might want to escape. How to enter it? How to make sure she sank? How to bind herself?

She and the bog were old enemies or was it friends? He had tried to take her once. To draw her into his bosom with his cold dark fingers. So many years ago. She was only a child, young, sweet, innocent. She had been playing, rolling down the slope, giggling, care free. She had rolled too far, lost her balance and touched the bog. He had been angry, and grabbed her. She had cried out.

"Mummy I'm stuck."

But mummy had not believed her. She had tried to get out herself out but her struggles just made him grip harder. She had screamed. Mummy had come then. She had been angry, but soon she became different.

"Bob, come quick, she really is sinking!"

Daddy had saved her. His big strong arms. He had pulled her free, but the bog had not let her go easily, and he had kept her shoe. Since then she had kept her distance. Now they would be reunited. She would be his bride. Was that bigamy?

She had time to prepare. The disease was at it's infancy. She had maybe two weeks to put her affairs in order and get ready. Any longer and she might not have the ability to carry it out. Sam must not know.

Most of the purchasing was done on the Internet. By the time the statement came through it would be clear she had done it herself. Sam did not have access to this account, not yet. If only these people knew what she was planning. The weights, the chain, the yards of cloth and of course the ball gag. She already had the vibrator and the nipple chain, they were old friends. It would be good to share their caresses one last time.. She wondered if a chandler would query a delivery to somewhere so far from the coast, but of course no. They did not care, they would not think it strange.

Most important was the material. It would be her shroud, her burial robe, and her jailor. She chose carefully. The shopkeeper was surprised how much she needed, and Velcro? It did not matter what they thought. Beth worked carefully. The packages came and were secreted into hiding places. Sam was blissfully unaware.

The time drew near. Sam was due to go on his next four day trip. She had never minded these times. She had never been really alone. Sam knew of her little games of course. He even tried to forestall them by tying her up the night before. Ironically these sessions had only fired her up. This time she refused. They made love unfettered, as equals. They had not had such passion since before they were married. Sam had been a little put out at first, but as the evening progressed she had melted in his arms and he had enveloped her. His climax had been loud and powerful. She had never climaxed with a man outside bondage, despite pretending to and even this raw passion had not managed to break that barrier. Nevertheless it had been wonderful. She had fallen asleep in his arms with a smile on her face.

In the morning he was gone, She had only been vaguely aware of his parting kiss. The day was bright, the sun was shining. A good day to die.

She followed her normal routine, cleaning, tidying. Emptying the dishwasher she dropped a glass. It just fell out of her hand. It may have been nothing, such things happen, but to Beth it was a warning. Any doubts were now gone.

She packed her rucksack. She would look like any other hiker, but the roll was not a sleeping bag. The contents were also unusual: several coils of rope, chain, weights and the unopened ballgag. She had not tried it. Just in case..... Her packing complete she now prepared herself. She showered and preened. She placed the chain on her nipples and the butterfly below and a 2 inch wide leather belt. The only unusual part to this belt was the inter linked cable ties, one tight to the belt, the other barely closed at all. It tickled her bottom. The dress was loose, the jacket functional, and boots. There was a car park close to her destination but she wanted to throw off any possible chance of discovery. She would not leave any note or indication of her intentions; not here.

The drive was uneventful. Her nipples were responding to every jolt or bump. Her body was preparing itself for the orgasmic finale. There was no one in sight when she parked, although there were several cars. She retrieved the rucksack and started her hike. He air was clear, the sun was at it's height but a slight breeze kept her comfortable. She felt at one with the world. As she approached the appointed place she circumnavigated it, checking that no one was near. This car park was empty. She was alone.

She knew what to do, having practised it hundreds of times in her mind. First she laid out her cloth, making sure it was the right way up. It made her own red carpet, running down the slope but stopping short of the bog itself. Just before the boundary the slope increased slightly. She remembered that deceptive precipice. The cloth stopped just before it, she then went to the top and made sure it was straight and taut. She could still back out.

The rucksack was emptied. Her hand written note left in the front pocket. Off came the coat, the dress, the boots, quickly bundled into the bag. She sat at the top of the material, just a moments pause.

First she tied her ankles, a practised familiar sequence cinching and tying neatly then the unfamiliar chain. Two turns, not too tight and the padlock. The key was discarded, thrown out of reach, there would be no turning back now, the weight was unfamiliar. Ignoring it she quickly tied her knees and her thighs.

Now the Ball gag. Her mouth tried to close over it, her tongue was stuck under it. It tasted of rubber. It made her grimace. She buckled it tight. She had a tremendous urge to try and call out. What if someone heard? Surely no gag is completely silencing?

She returned quickly to her task pulling the cloth over her legs engaging the carefully positioned Velcro. Slowly she pulled it over herself, her hand working with less and less freedom of movement. She left a gap and ensure that it was secure at her neck. Pulling against the already fastened material the last bit she could not now reach. With the give in the material her arms were still relatively unencumbered. She lay down and rolled onto her tummy encouraging the material to follow. She switched on her vibrator, adjusting it, feeling it, knowing the pleasure it would bring. With effort her hands pushed through the back of the belt, not a true hold but the illusion would suffice. As her hands felt for the waiting loop a thumb and forefinger twisted it tight. It would not normally hold her forever but for now it was enough. She savoured the familiar position.

She started to roll, clumsily at first, each turn jolting her and sending vibrations to her now over sensitive nipples. As she turned the material wrapped around her, thump, thump. Her mind flew back to her childhood, the little girl playing. She had momentum now, the material smoothing out her uneven shape. She reached the end of the material, the strips of Velcro finding their partners and holding. She rolled over and the ground fell away, she could no longer stop herself. Her speed increased. She let out a squeal but the gag and the wind took it away from, her. She was getting dizzy for moment she thought she was flying.

She had enough presence of mind to ensure that she ended upon her back. She lay there panting, the gag interfering with her breathing. She became acutely aware of her helplessness, lying on her arms the material now many layers thick, that little piece of plastic stopping her moving her wrists apart, her legs tight together and a familiar buzzing between her locked thighs.

For what seemed like an age she lay there, the sun beating down. Had she by some cruel turn of fate landed on a solid piece of ground? Was the bog going to refuse her and leave her to roast and burn in the afternoon heat, prey to what ever small organisms haunted this God forsaken landscape. Had she miscalculated?

She felt a tug at her feet, imperceptible at first. Her natural reaction was to pull against it but her legs were still straight? The struggle, futile, was enough to encourage the bog, The tug on her legs increased, she had been captured. Her heart seemed to skip a beat, her mind absorbing the information. She let out a gasp. The pressure was now spreading to the backs of her legs as the ground gave way beneath her.

She became acutely aware of the other pressure building in her loins. She could never fight the vibrator; he always won. She recognised the familiar pre-orgasmic shivering, the build up she knew so well encouraged by her throbbing nipples. For the moment all thoughts of the bog disappeared as she welcomed her first climax. As the waves of pleasure consumed her, her body reacted in it's usual manner tightening and relaxing muscles almost at random. It knew the routine, she must try and pull her hands free, open her legs, bend her knees, bring her tummy towards her groin. Most of these movements were not possible but the act of trying sent messages to the clawing earth beneath her. Through her glazed eyes she could no longer see the end of the roll of material. Her feet had disappeared.

The next orgasm beckoned, she wanted it. She was good for several more before it became uncomfortable and had to end.

The bondage was glorious. She had never been this restricted. She could not move her legs, her arms, even her hands, her fingers, seemed to be held. She was aware that the material was now wet. Was it her sweat or moisture from the bog? Which ever it was it now clung even tighter, denying even the slightest movement. With each successive climax the pleasure decreased. She would normally try and escape, or reach for the controls to stop the vibrator's continued assault, but that little box was well out of her reach. She struggled and in doing so her descent increased. All logic told her to stop struggling, but she was beyond logic now.

Through her orgasmic haze she became aware that there was something clawing at her unprotected head, she could no longer shake it, she could not raise it although it was no longer completely level with the ground. The weight was pulling her at an angle but the material was behaving like a boat. There was mud on her chin. It was reaching her mouth. She could not shut her mouth due to the gag which was doing it's other job of muffling her now frantic cries. She could taste something. Something foul, slightly liquid. It was entering her mouth and she could not prevent it trickling down her depressed tongue. She must choke but there was no movement left in her body. It was as if she was made of iron.

Her mind lost control of her body. Autonomic responses to the invasion of her system and the continued vibrations below took over. At some point her nose was clogged. Her eyes shut at the first touch of a foreign body. She dare not open them again. It was not dark, there were flashes of light, unwelcome images incomprehensible information.

I would like to say that Beth died in orgasmic bliss rather than abject terror. I would like to, but I cannot. I can say that she could not die with a smile on her face due to the presence of the ball gag. I can say that she died as she planned. I can say that she died bound and naked save for the shroud she had so carefully prepared for herself. I can report that once Sam discovered what had occurred he was distraught beyond measure and nothing and no one could console him. It is said time heals all things? That is for Sam to confirm or deny, this story is not about him. This is/was Beth's story. May she now rest in peace.

02.05.06