Gromet's PlazaMummification Stories

The Encompassed Custodian

by Phantom

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2013 - Phantom - Used by permission

Storycodes: FM+/mf; captives; punish; bodysuit; encase; sealed; wrap; bandages; cocoon; susp; tease; torment; entomb; reluct/nc; X

It hung in the air, its supporting base invisible in the soft light. It was a globe, as though filled with moonlight and hung before them in a net of frosted stars; its hundreds of facets each shone individually. The temple's dust had not marred it, the sand and sun's only effect the reflection of more and more light onto its sparkling frame.


Sir Corbeau tried to keep that gem in his mind. It had been three days of agonizing waiting; three days of pacing; three days of torment. The thought of the gem - the very thing that had brought him here - was infuriating. He was jealous of it. It was not cursed, as the suspicious provincials had said. Attempting to retrieve it had been a curse for him all the same.

The walls and floor were warm to the touch, and there was no bed or cot to provide solace. Corbeau's holy symbol was gone; his weapons and equipment were probably being auctioned off to fill the Ruby Prince's coffers or to fund some marching army. She was unarmed in every way but one. He had someone coming for her.

The breakout came at high noon, of course. The Kingdom of Osirion's days were blisteringly hot, but this only made the guards all the more vigilant. No, Corbeau's exit would have to be at high noon. It would need to be coordinated, intense, and probably fairly flashy.

That was, of course, just the way that Corbeau wanted it.

The escape plan was risky, and it involved a certain third party... but Sir Corbeau had gotten out of worst scrapes before. As a professional adventurer, risk was his spice, his oxygen.

At high noon, an 'executioner' arrived. She wore a dark black cloak that covered her skin from head neck to toe; a stern porcelain and wicker mask of some local cat-god shrouded her face. Nothing was visible of her body beneath its billowing folds save the tightly-gloved hand that knocked on the bars.

"I'm here." The voice was high-pitched and feminine. "It's time to meet your fate, Mister Corbeau."

The adventurer smiled. "Lay it before me."

The gloved hand reached into its owners cloak, and passed to him three objects.

The first was a bead, no larger than a pearl. It was squishy and soft, like a sponge.

"That pearl," said the so-called "executioner," "Will keep you hearty, hale, and your body in perfect condition during our trip across the desert. I got it off the Exemplar I bribed to leave the doors open. You need only put it in your mouth, let it dissolve, and you'll be fit for a week. It tastes like strawberry, I'm told.”

She gave him the second item. It was a hood, of all things - brown leather, freshly-oiled and smelling heavy. Corbeau blushed as he picked it up, feeling it in his hands; the soft, supple material sent an erogenous shiver down his spine.

"Wear it, prisoner." Geneva had removed her mask. She was a pretty little thing, a foreigner from the north; dark skin, white hair, and magical tattoos graced her body. She had a particularly sharp nose and grin; it made her look mischievous, like she was always up to something. She pulled the mask back down with a wink.

Corbeau chuckled. It was all part of the charade... though there was something very, very intimate about the hood. It was erotic; it slipped over his head, leaving him blind and his voice muffled.

"So... shall we?"

The now-infamous Corbeau was now well on his way to freedom. With Geneva, his partner, there was no way they could fail. The pair reached the final gate, and stepped to the edge of the prison compound.

"Okay, Corbeau. Stay low. Try not to make any noise, prisoner," Geneva said mockingly. She popped into a side-room, dragging her hostage in tow. Inside was a damning scene.

The guard-room, the one where the keys were to have been left - was in complete disarray. An older male lie dead in one corner of the room.

Corbeau, unaware of the sudden danger they were in should they be caught, was equally unaware of the danger they were in when they WERE caught just a few minutes later when guards stormed the room.

"Impersonating an Exemplar, murder, helping a prisoner escape..." Exemplar Khymrasa, their new captor, chuckled as they were led away. "I wonder what other charges we'll find?"


"Oh, Mister Corbeau." Khymrasa's olive skin glistened with oil. It was a common practice in Osirion to keep one's body 'preserved' with exotic rubs, balms, and oils. It was strange; some of the same oils were used in the embalming process on dead relatives. It had a certain grim air about it. Khymrasa slowly moisturized her skin.

She lasciviously sat on a stool, gently rubbing it into her thighs and calves. Her legs were tight together, thighs crossed, and she continued to move her rubbing hands up over her chest and finally oiling her hair.

Corbeau was aroused, and it showed. He had been stripped of everything now; not even his Taldane clothes were permitted him now. Khymrasa was gently teasing him, as well; rubbing her slick fingers over his thighs and calves just as she had done in a sultry fashion as well for her.

She stroked his member again, this time openly and bluntly. A single finger ran up the bottom of his shaft, and her warm breath moved -

"No, sorry." Khymrasa moved away. She locked eyes with Corbeau, a malignant gleam piercing between the two. Tension - both sexual and physical - was in the air.

After all, Corbeau was quite restrained. Leather straps kept both of his arms restrained above his head, strapped to the massive wooden "Y" frame. It was tilted on a 45-degree angle backwards, leaving his chest and body fairly vulnerable. A small jar of hot wax sat over a coal nearby; Khymrasa had taken the time to occasionally drizzle it over his body, and watch him squirm as masochistic pleasure washed over him with the wax. It now stood to the side, like a weapon in a scabbard - ready to strike.

"You're like a failed poet." Corbeau was setting something up.

"No, why?"

"Because you can never finish what you start."

"Is that all adventurers do?" Khymrasa's playful countenance had dropped, but the humor was not lost on her. Her eyes sparkled. "Make jokes at your own grave peril?"

"No, I prefer to make jokes at others' shallow expense."

Khymrasa's rank and proud nobility was doing her no good. She sighed. Her mouth turned back to a slight, devilish grin. Her eyes narrowed, brow lowered. She was back in charge.

"Speaking of 'grave peril,' Sir Corbeau, I am afraid that those charges - the ones I mentioned yesterday - have been investigated and confirmed. The paperwork was all completed today."

"And?" Corbeau said, his eyebrows lifting.

"You have been found guilty - unanimously, I might add - of murdering an Exemplar. This is a most grave offense in Osirion, Corbeau, and let me re-iterate that word 'grave'. You, it pleases me to say, will be joining Exemplar Tephu in death. Oh yes - and do not try to beg or negotiate this time. We have no desire to see you wriggle away, as much as it excites me to see you wriggle.”

“And what makes you so sure that my other party members, friends, and associates won't come crawling out of the woodwork to rescue me?” Corbeau had good reason to believe that any sort of imprisonment or trial would result in his motley crew of adventurers coming directly to his aid.

“Because, Corbeau... there won't be anything to rescue. Tephu was one of the most honored members of our community, and he will be buried in the Tephu family tomb." Khymrasa's sober voice cracked slightly. Corbeau detected a hint of pleasure at this sentence.

"You, along with your little friend, Geneva, will be used as gifts and watchers. Geneva, at least, will be 'transformed' into their ancestral guardian - the Serpent - and she will be used as a guard for all time. You, less so."

Corbeau's jaw had dropped. Khymrasa was supposed to show leniency, not this death sentence!

"Your mummification and entombment is a bit extreme, but it is Tephu family tradition. Your every inch will be inspected, cleansed, and then wrapped in strip after strip of shrinking Osirion Bandages. Oh, it will be tight, very much so. I may take the time to personally inspect them myself..."

Khymrasa put her finger on Corbeau's lips.

"...but no matter how long that inspection lasts, your fate is inevitable. Afterwards, the sages will wrap you in a second layer, your arms crossed, belly trapped in a girdle, over and over 'till you are nothing but a cocoon and a featureless man-shape. Such a pity it had to be you. I would much prefer you chained up and slaving in my garden. That would be the basic procedure under our law. You would be left, entombed along with that pathetic girl you call Geneva, alone to rot in the Tephu family tomb. "

"But Corbeau," Khymrasa said, her devilish smile growing. "That wasn't just any exemplar you 'murdered.' Tephu was my brother. And guess - go ahead, merely guess who they put in charge of your entombment."

Corbeau didn't have to say a thing. His eyes met hers; a maniacal glee had washed over Khymrasa.

The Exemplar grabbed the jar of hot wax and began to drizzle it over the paladin's body. He cringed at first with the heat, then cringed again at the pleasure. It adhered to his skin, solidifying and creating a blazing-hot shell, a layer of encasement, over everywhere it touched; his vulnerable chest and then his underarms. Khymrasa let the wax dribble out in long, hot lines that agonized and excited. She finally moved towards his shaft. His hands fleetingly squirmed and grasped in the air.

"Savor it."


Hours had passed. Sir Corbeau flinched uncomfortably. He was once again in the Y-position, but it had been altered. This time, his arms were spread wide, but hung from the ceiling with thick, leather cuffs keeping them stationary. Cables left him standing like a marionette, with his feet hardly on the floor. His back began to ache and his arms, too. It created a palpable sense of dread and anticipation as he stumbled along, sometimes tiptoeing and sometimes remaining still.

There had been times that the paladin had considered simply making a break for it; trying his luck with the brute-force attempt. It would have been preferable, even if it ended fatally. But no, said thoughts had escaped him and that time was now passed. Now the Tephu family tomb – what would become his tomb – was swarming with guards and supplicants. This was a funeral and a ritual and a sentencing all at once.

Compounding his own personal punishment and shame was his partner. Geneva's name raced through his mind over and over; she was a haunting melody that kept repeating, a mystery that now had no solution. He had never harbored much past a gentle affection for his partner, but now with her fate sealed behind increasingly-taught layers of enchanted skin, Corbeau began to feel... sad. He was responsible.

He kept wincing. The whole ritual had been quite elaborate; Khmyrasa was in charge of his wrapping, but she was also in charge of his trial. On occasion she had continued her cruel-yet-erotic punishments, dribbling hot wax on his shaft or body before wiping it down, for example.

Now, he winced for a friend. Geneva was brought, stark naked save the arcane and magical glyphs inked across her body, and forced prostrate before Khymrasa.

“For the crime of murdering an Exemplar, aiding and abetting a fugitive, breaking and entering, and for theft, I sentence you to a combined punishment; you will stand guard as the Asp, our family's sacred symbol. You will be used as a snake, to crawl on your belly and protect this tomb until the time after time.”

The sentence was given, and the punishment carried out. Corbeau's helplessness compounded the situation. He felt his heartbeat. His pulse quickened.

Geneva began to thrash as the guards grabbed her by the arms. The first step was a sheath, blue with gold trim. It went up her arms, and it was quite severe. This was the beginning of the end, and the guards made certain to remind them of that fact.

The wizard's arms were forced behind her. Her biceps remained at her sides, but both of her hands were forced open and against the small of her back. The sheath itself was threaded up, tightened, and sewn into place. A girdle was, in turn, laced around her stomach. She screamed a curse in a foreign tongue, blushing and panting, as the corset was tightened and the two strapped together.

The first layer was proudly brought. It was a suit. It looked utterly ridiculous, like a barbarian's excuse for a decoration. Corbeau would have smirked if it wasn't for his partner.

The suit itself was almost a single piece. The item resembled a massive snake, colored in gold and brass. It was a massive sack for the body; skintight and covered in a lustrous sheen. It sparkled in the flickering torchlight of the tomb. The material was scaly and gold, yet shining and slick. The back and butt were covered in ancient hieroglyphics, speaking of 'life' and 'stasis' and 'protection'.

Geneva's poor frame was forced into it quite roughly. At first, she was pliant and she slid into its magical designs quite nicely. Then, she began to struggle; claustrophobia picked up and she lashed out wildly. Her arms and legs and chest bucked as she squeaked with trepidation. He could see her panting and vaguely aroused at the touch of this material.

It was but an instant of rebellion in what was to be a long sentence. Soon, her body was in the suit from the neck down. She filled it out quite nicely; individual seams made Geneva's breasts stand apart, giving each one a distinct form and shape. The same went with her rear end; both of her cheeks had a distinct outline beneath the scale-like skintight sheen, and Corbeau could scarcely bite his lip when he glimpsed her wiggling her rear. Even her shapely thighs and legs were accentuated by the suit. It was, in a word, tempting. She was, from the neck down, a snake, to be sure, but she was a shapely one! Her legs tapered off into a sack-like prison, ending in a short ''tail'.

Khymrasa performed the final ritual. Geneva, quivering slightly, was propped upright as the 'judge' moved forward. She smeared her cheeks and lips with a balm and oil, then took the final piece of the suit from a nearby altar.

It was a hood made of the same rubber-like scales. It slid neatly over Geneva's head and face. The gold shone, and the hood covered up past her neck, her nose, and went over her forehead. Only her eyes were still visible, her hair partially pushed out of the way. She was sealed, magical energies preserving her. A massive leather collar clapped around her neck, and her eyes seemed to glow dim. She was a servant of the tomb, now, and what had previously been groans and moans from behind the hood (Corbeau suspected at least some part of them had been groans of arousal) had stopped.

And so, without a word, Geneva's career as a wizard ended.

“Your turn.”

Khymrasa was the first to start the wrapping. She grabbed a bundle of linen bandages. They were long, large, like a sheet, and layered on cotton rods like a scroll of papyrus would be.

Then, within a flash, the bandages were covering Corbeau's body. He was naked, completely so, and heavily oiled and 'seasoned' with spices and elixirs. At first, he shuddered when they touched him. It was a response of erotic pleasure; Khymrasa's gentle, teasing touch on his sensitive skin drove him to arousal and then to anticipation. She moved the wrapping up and down his leg, up and down again, daintily teasing out every inch of tightness and snugness from his inner thighs and from his stomach.

Then, she did it again. And again.

A layer had completely enveloped his legs, then another. It was starting to feel warm in a dangerous and punitive way. She repeated the process with his arms, removing the Y-straps and letting him rest on his feet.

“I bet you are wondering – how will I be entombed? Will it be naked on a plinth? Will it be away in a sand-filled sarcophagus? Will it be against a wall or behind a tomb door? No, not quite, my captive. Not quite. I was thinking something public.”

Her words failed Corbeau. He didn't much understand and didn't much care; his fate was sealed and was getting tighter by the moment. He had held out hope that his associates would come looking, but he gave that up now.

Another layer of bandages now. Finally, his arms were placed against his chest. They were wrapped in an initial layer of slightly-sticky and adherent bandages. His bondage was tight, and Khymrasa made sure he hugged his chest as tightly as possible. She put her weight into tying him tighter, immobilizing his arms; each hand was placed against his shoulder before she and her fellow exemplars wrapped sheet after sheet across his stomach and arms.

First, it was a length-wise fashion. That was bad. That was claustrophobic.

Then, it was a cris-crossed and intertwined style. That was even worse. His arms were so totally padded in every way that they had truly become immobile.

It was almost liberating, now. They had covered his legs, his torso, and were working on his stomach. He could swerve and wiggle to the right and left, but there was no give – none. His arms were quite severely wrapped, his skin and body compacted and compressed. It was, in its own way, liberating. Maybe it was the oils and drugs, maybe it was the incense... but Corbeau felt arousal.

His desires, his latent fetishes, his deep thoughts all sprang to mind. Thoughts he had locked away; fantasies and dark peccadilloes now flourished.

Corbeau's haze of pleasure was jointed back towards his reality. He was in the midst of a horrifying trial and a terrifying ritual. He gasped, letting out air as his binders suddenly tugged tightly on his stomach's wrappings. They did this again, and again, shorting his breath and leaving him defeated.

Khymrasa was admiring her work thus far. He had a certain masculine aura, a strong, powerful shape that she most sincerely admired.

“Ah, Corbeau. It looks like we are almost at an end. Your time is up... well, your time as a free man. Your time as our guardian is just about to begin.”

Corbeau, his legs completely wrapped, was physically moved towards the entrance of the tomb. A massive stone frame was in the 'lobby,' obstructing nothing yet being an obvious and unsubtle sight to anyone entering.

The frame was a massive upside-down U. From it hung bandages; many long rolls.

“Up you go, Corbeau!”

Corbeau was lifted and felt his wrapped feet placed squarely on a small wooden stool. Then the wrapping resumed.

This time, he was lashed over and over and over to the arch.

“We thought long and hard about what we could do to make you a proper object. As I mentioned, we had many options. I thought about simply entombing you in a sand-filled coffin – closing you off to the outside world – but I decided it might be a bit too cruel. Besides, why would I give you the same honor I give my ancestors? Then, I contemplated having you a snake like your partner. No, I feared that the two of you might share your time together; perhaps overcoming our spells and enchantments and even escaping.

I settled on a mix. Your body, so snugly wrapped, so gently groped, so lovingly encased, will swing from this arch. Your weight, distributed amongst so many bandages, will leave you hanging, swinging, and tethered to the arch. Any visitor to the tomb gets the pleasure of seeing you squirm, moan, whine, and beg for attention. They can play with you, or they can leave you. They can punish you, or they can pray for your soul. You can be a glimpse of our family's power; this noble knight, now turned into a wormlike servant and greeting-room decoration for the House of Tephu.”

This denigration – this monologue – hit Corbeau hard.

Khymrasa was gently stroking his shaft again. “I don't think that my descendants will want to see you proud and erect.... nor can I afford to defile our tomb by bringing you to the climax you so rightfully deserve.”

Khymrasa leaned in closer. Her silky-smooth hands moved gently over his manhood. She let her knuckles and her fingertips touch him, but let his squirms and wiggles do the teasing himself.

And then, just as Corbeau was starting to lose himself in this orgiastic game of denial, Khymrasa simply let him simmer. She wrapped his member in several bandages before propping it upright and covering that, too. The tease!

After a short break and brief ceremony of wine, the embalmers were ready to resume... and Corbeau was ready to scream!

The judge, jury, an executioner of his sentence, Khymrasa strode up to him. She moved an inch away from his face and stared him straight in the eye. Her body touched his; his groin against hers and her breast against his.

“Sorry, dear. Earlier on, I said that I wanted- I really wanted, I truly and genuinely wanted, absolutely wanted you to adorn my mantelpiece. Perhaps you could have been a nice slave in my citadel. I meant it, with all my heart. We could have been quite the pair.”

Corbeau smirked. “Yeah. It would have been something.”

Khymrasa moved her mouth up to his ear. He felt her breath on his cheek.

“...I always get what I want.”

Corbeau's confused expression was obscured with the sudden kiss she planted on his lips. She was not unwelcome, her pungent, perfumed lips on his being a sudden passionate surprise. She pushed something into his mouth. It tasted like strawberry.

There was a pounding of drums. Every inch of him save his face had been mummified, wrapped in layers and layers of bandages.... and then they descended on him. The rest of the Tephu family wrapped his head, covering it with all the viciousness that would be appropriate for the accused murderer. His face disappeared, snug yet kept alive through the magic of the arch. The jailer produced a massive metal mask and placed it across his stunned visage. It clamped tightly over his noble features. Corbeau was now but a statue.

The drumming continued. It was loud, pertinent, and reverberated in his mask. He tried to say something, but the mask was a perfect fit – preternaturally so. Every inch of his face was kept in place.

The stool was removed. Corbeau felt a brief sensation of falling, then realized he was indeed suspended. The arch held him firm. He could build up momentum, but he could not escape; he could wriggle and writhe – which he did – but there was no possibility, no hope of freeing himself from the tomb.

He waited a long time as the others packed up. One by one, they all left, leaving him in silence but for the slow slithering of scales on stone floor. The snake, wrapped in a curvaceous and glimmering suit of scales, rubbed against the tomb's newest resident. The serpent gently nuzzled its legs, then the statue's stomach and groin.

The serpent, once known as Geneva, sidled up against the mummy, once known as Corbeau.



If you've enjoyed this story, please write to the author and let them know - they may write more!
back to
mummified stories