Gromet's PlazaMummification Stories

Kate Needs a Six

by Dave Chimes

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© Copyright 2011 - Dave Chimes - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-F; wrap; machine; tape; cocoon; insert; toys; chast; electro; programme; cons; X

(If you want to know Kate's fate, feel free to grab a dice, and a pencil/pen and a little bit of paper, to join in. Instructions will be given periodically in brackets, just like this. If you don't have a dice, you can just search for an online generator)

Kate closed the padlock, locking the door in front of her. The click contained a heavy, thrilling finality. No going back now. Kate's stomach flipped, as she felt her pulse throb across her entire body. Mouth dry, heart racing, she closed her eyes, then drooped and rested her head against the door. No going back now. The padlock was her final choice to make. Except, in some ways, she had no choice at all.

She turned and regarded the room before her. It was a second-level basement, a freebie that was bundled with the aged, classic townhouse she'd purchased outright three years ago, when aged 28. The property agent knew there was a second-level basement, but the entrance and stairwell had been bricked up some time ago by the previous owners. One of the first things Kate's unstoppable inquisitiveness did was open it up, as she used her first week at her new home to knock the barrier down, and explore this surreal space and set about putting it to use. She loved such projects; despite being petite and slight, her energy, curiosity and drive were endless.

Half Brazilian and half French, Kate's parents had produced an alluringly exotic brunette, a blessed blend that added an oriental edge to her sharp looks. But Kate had never really embraced that fact. All she knew is that she looked slightly different to everyone else, and had no idea what to do with it. Ho hum. Ponytail, jeans and simple blouses: anything more elaborate felt like a vain fuss. At 15, her parents divorced and scattered back to their home countries, but she already had enough of a sense of independence to remain in her hometown with an older cousin, focussing on her studies and an absorbing career path that would lead her into various research fields of robotics, mechanical manufacture and electronic engineering.

She wasn't withdrawn, but she was an introvert, and one that had unintentionally kept most people at a distance. There were boyfriends, enjoyable dalliances and flings that never lasted more than a few months; there was no dysfunction there, just the fact that Kate was unlucky in not finding anyone half-way compatible with her endlessly gymnastic and playful mind.

(Roll one dice, and make a note of the number)

She knew she was submissive from her late teens onward. It made great sense to her, being something she'd always held close to her heart, but hadn't yet formalized. Yielding as completely as possible to circumstances allowed her to experience them more deeply, more vividly. She felt empowered rather than insulted by it. Nonetheless, it largely remained a secret, if not a necessarily dirty one. She needed to trust someone sufficiently, trust that they could understand this vital part of her, before she could attempt to explain and share it. But, people were complicated, and their reactions could easily become incorrect or disproportionate. Just because something was uncommon didn't make it wrong, but Kate's open-mindedness was a relative exception, it seemed, from her experiences in attempting to form relationships with cross-section of men who she had dated.

Back in the second-level basement, Kate took in the scene. This room was essentially a windowless concrete vault, and very old. The only detectable adjustment that had been present when Kate had first opened the room was a broken air vent built into the wall, that took fresh circulation from one of the upper floors; looks like it was installed in the 70s. Of course, now that Kate had gotten her magic-tinkering hands on it, it worked perfectly. Up until a year ago, this room had been her workshop. She loved that it was so remote, so detached, so quiet. It only enhanced her ability to sink into and submit to whatever problem she was trying to solve, whether for work of for sheer leisure. But since then, with alarming speed, it had become something else. It was still a workshop, of sorts. One dedicated to solving a very specific need in her life.

(Roll one dice, and make a note of the resulting number)

As she'd explored her submissive nature, and what it meant to her, it had bled effortlessly into her sexuality. But the glimpses she had of the BDSM world, either online or the scant few events she'd turned up to, left her with a bitter taste. The conventions felt too black & white, or plain irrelevant, and there were numerous preoccupations that failed to snag her imagination. None of the guys had interested her. So she had stood back, and begun practising something she would excel at: self-bondage. Sure, when any of her partners had shown promise, she'd reveal just a sliver of her secret inclinations to be restricted, deprived, immobilized and resign herself to extreme sexual stimulation or harsh, extended fucking, but such partner had only been begrudgingly obliging at best. Nothing had compared to the coordinated, demanding conditions that she could concoct for herself. Sensory deprivation, bondage, orgasm denial and excess, harsh predicaments and some moderate pain – she certainly didn't major in masochism – her industriousness had just grown and grown over the years, leading her to this point.

Currently, in the second-level basement, was a large desk, that stretched along the whole of the far side of the room. In the centre of the room, attached to the ceiling, was her pride and joy, that she referred to simply as The Unit. One of her biggest assignments in her working life was the creation and development of a set of versatile robotic arms. Thanks to her high standards, the result was mechanically elegant and high-functioning, powered by a slick, intuitive operating system that could facilitate a huge array of specialized tasks. It had been her greatest success, with applications across multiple industries, reaping enough money for her to purchase the house in which she now stood, and live an affably comfortable life free from cash concerns. Such financial stability didn't make her happy, but they allowed her to make things happen. This version of The Unit was dedicated entirely to her own needs. She first had the idea a year ago, and set about replicating her creation from the testing lab here in her deepest, secret basement. The size of the side project was a borderline turn-on, but its goal was dizzying in the arousal it coaxed from her. Any mishaps, any problems in realizing this project were quickly overcome in her push to achieve the ideas that had come to plague her fantasies, infecting more and more of her idle thoughts as each day passed.

(Roll one dice, and make a note of the resulting number)

The Unit had two arms. One was rooted in the ceiling, its hinges ending with a blossom of angled pads that could rotated and pinch, align and oppose, in order to grip a wide variety of objects and surfaces. The role of this was grab and hold. The other arm was affixed to a circular rail, about a meter in radius, centered on the first arm. This second metal limb was the performer: a formation of digits in a 'hand' at the end of its many hinged joints. This was the star of the show, able to execute intricate instructions and goals with superb accuracy. It wasn't cheap, but it was expert in design and realisation. Kate had programmed and evolved this iteration of The Unit for one core purpose – to wrap her, from head to toe, as thoroughly she wished. And, of course, it could release her just as capably. Mummification was an aspect of self-bondage she'd not initially been aware of, but her online explorations had inexorably drawn her in that direction, pulling her in further and further, until no other kink would do.

Upon switching on the lights in the basement, and padlocking the door, she had a limit of one hour to complete preparations. After that, the lights would deactivate, and she'd be trapped, with no way to leave. The key to the padlock was stashed in an impervious metal box, attached to the wall. There was only one way for it to open – a magnetic lock held the box shut at its top, which could only be opened via radio activation from The Unit itself. And it would only do that once the program had run its course.

(Roll one dice, and make a note of the resulting number)

There was no computer terminal on the long desk. She had relocated that to her bedroom, on the third floor of her home. All she could do here was to activate the program that she had planned for herself. There were several fail-safe procedures in place, of course, but none would become active until the program was in motion. If any of the technology or commands failed after the program had begun, then the multiple, heavily-tested back-up systems would enable her release. Kate needed to prepare herself as quickly as possible, and set things running; if there was any malfunction during this period, she would also be trapped. It was ill-advised and stupid, but she couldn't resist the plight she'd placed herself into. Nothing left to do but endure and experience. And given the range of potential outcomes, the risks of this opening phase were the least of her concerns.

The long desk did, however, contain the various bits and bobs she needed to get ready. She walked slowly across the room, her whole body flushed, and approached the desk. It was cold here, but she'd soon need that lowered temperature to stop her from badly overheating. Kate peeled off her clothes; as she removed her bra and panties, the extent of her arousal bordered on humiliation, but there was no-one to witness it. No-one, except for her own mischievous, irresistible intentions to experience an unprecedented depth of challenging captivity. The ultimate, perhaps. Her chance of eventual release was high, but not guaranteed. In her more sober moments, she would do a double-take at herself, and consider raising the probability much higher. During her darker moments, when she awoke at night, mid-masturbation, writhing in evocative spasms, she wanted nothing more than to make her escape less and less likely. Eventually, she compromised halfway between her rationality and her immense, befuddling lust. But if she was released, where would this end? Would she be back again, thirsty for more, within a month? A week? A day? She had no longer had any time to ponder such questions. Which was precisely her plan.

She picked up the first of three devices that she had to lock onto herself. If The Unit didn't detect them in place on her body, the program wouldn't begin. All three were connected by thin, long wires, that bunched and led away to the wall; there was more than enough spare cabling for them to moved freely around most of the room. The first device was a small, plump buttplug bulb. There was a bottle of lube on the desk, but instead, she rubbed it along and inside her pussy several times, causing a sharp intake of breath and a soft moan. It was enough for her to then slide it back and up, slowly twisting and working it into her ass, her muscle relaxing around its tapered base it as it found its place. This was a multi-functional trinket, able to randomly either vibrate or release a short, sharp electric charge, of varying strengths. The second device was a curved vibrator, somewhat like a modified door handle. Its length slipped inside her pussy, while its hooked end was pressed up against her clit, the splayed, rounded metal nestling flush against it. Her legs trembled as it found its home, and she held it one one hand before reaching for a specifically-crafted metal thong, chastity-style, that would hold both devices exactly in place, before locking it over her hip. There was no need for a key – this could be closed and unfastened by hand. Not that she'd be able to reach  it when she most needed to remove it.

Finally, there was her homemade breast shocker. Looking like a dark black bra, it was metal at its cups, with fabric straps to reach over her shoulders and around her back. Kate was still taken aback at her own fiendishness; at the tip of each cup was a hole, for a nipple to poke through. It needed to be pulled tight and hard, Kate reaching behind her and straining to bring the fastening hooks together. It needed to be taut against her. It compressed and lifted her modest C-cup breasts, the skin of each achieving full contact with the interiors of the metal cups. Her nipples had automatically found their home, and peeked out from within the central hole in each ominous hemisphere. When activated, this would deliver shocks of variable intensity, rhythmically zapping the whole of each breast, before discharging a climactic crackle across each nipple. It was vicious, but the stimulus she gleaned from it was an overpowering accompaniment to the other devices.

Within the program, each device had a range of strengths whose settings ran from one to ten. The bra from hell, Kate could bear a setting five, just about. In terms her previous wrappings, she had never ventured above seven. Once, at her testing desk, she had tried eight, before spitting out a furious yelp and wrenching the cable out. She had never felt the maximum setting, but it was calibrated below any damaging threshold, and to avoid melting any of the duct tape or pallet wrap that she used. Was she about to find out when ten felt like? Perhaps. But she wanted to have that troubling unknown, wanted it badly. The pussy device was something she knew better – a setting of two was enough to bring her to climax, if she was in the right mood. Five was ideal. Anything above that, and it would start to fling her too quickly into orgasm, which was only enjoyable when she was unable to fight back against it. An orgasm at setting ten was enough to make her so sore that she had to avoid fondling that part of herself for two days, until she bit the bullet used the ache  to spice up her rabid, urgent need for release.

(Roll one dice, and make a note of the resulting number)

With all three devices correctly placed, she picked up a thick roll of pallet wrap. It was not very wide, but had a handles running through it along a spindle, allowing her to wrap her limbs and torso with minimal fuss. She spooled it tightly around her individual feet and legs, then midriff and chest, before talking care of her shoulders with criss-cross wraps over and around her upper back. This bit was slow, but necessary; The Unit was able to release her, via precision slicing along duct-tape wrap along several strands of tape applied vertically from her feet to her neck, before pulling the cocoon open, allowing her to step back out of it. It took some effort, but was infinitely easier to peel herself out with a cling-film skin than if the tape was directly on her. Maybe that was a project for another time...

She snatched herself out of the accidental daydream, and continued with her now-irreversible task to condemn herself. A small desk clock displayed that 20 minutes had passed. Next, she slipped a posture collar around her neck, preventing any further head movement as its three straps were buckled at the nape, and providing a covering for the bottom of her shoulder-length hair. This was followed by industrial-grade ear plugs stolen from work, rolled thin and then inserted into her ear canals, expanding within seconds to block out all sound. And then, bending at the waist, she found and grabbed her hood. Pressed her face into its unzipped back, fiddling with it around her chin in order to flatten it against the posture collar. She'd modified it, to add a tongue suppressor that she'd feed into her mouth. Made from galavanized rubber, it was thin but near-indestructible, especially to her teeth. No chance in hell she'd ever be able to bite through it. And the suppressor cured her fear of swallowing her tongue. The hood held her mouth closed and hidden, with a circle leaving her nose and eyes visible; a blindfold dangled from one side, that could be pressed into place via button-poppers located just below each temple of Kate's face. The blindfold would nestle over the bridge of her nose, down around it to where the hood met her nostrils, deleting any chance of any sliver of light entering. She would attach this as her one final act, before stepping into the glorious unknown of her heaviest, most intense fantasies.

Now nearly ready, Kate waddled to the centre of the room, trailing the cable behind her. She looked ridiculous, but didn't feel it, fleetingly acknowledging the fact, only for it to dissolve under the insane hunger building within her. On the floor at the center of the room, was a white, painted 'X'. When she was ready, she would step onto this. Ten seconds later, having detected a body of her dimensions stood in the correct spot and sensing the three stimulation devices aligned accordingly, The Unit would activate and begin the program. If there was any power failure or error after this point, Kate would be released without having to suffer her own plan. The likelihood of this was near zero, thanks to her own diligence in developing this setup. She took a final deep breath through her nose, to steel herself, before reaching up closing her eyes and pressing the blindfold in place with two giddying clicks. That was it. Maybe the last time her eyes would see anything, for the rest of her bizarre, compulsive life. She shuffled forward gingerly onto the painted 'X'. And waited.

It took forever, and yet no time at all. The Unit flickered into life with a mechanical whirr, the first hand unfurling and reaching down to grasp Kate's right shoulder, steadying her for the next phase. The grip was firm and unyielding but not excessive in its pressure. The second, more articulate arm lowered down, and applied the escape-release strips vertically up the back of her body. It then moved to wrap Kate, beginning at ankle level. This was another element of the program that she'd had control over, before padlocking herself into this room. She could dictate how tightly, and in how many layers, The Unit would seal her. At its lowest setting, the wrap was lightly pressed against her, enough to restrain her, but allowing ample wiggle room; at ten, she could barely breathe. She had picked the medium setting, five out of ten, to be applied four times over. While the first wrap would be comfortably snug and taut, the subsequent layers would tighten with each application. On top of that, as a silly flourish typical of Kate's whim for detail, she could also choose the colour of the duct tape. She'd set that to random; The Unit selected red. Not that she would know.

The hand span around Kate's groaning form with immense proficiency, sculpting her legs together as one, and winding its way up past her knees. She remained stock still; if not, she  could bother the program into resetting. The tape found her upper thighs and smoothed her hands inescapably against against her legs, winding up around her hips, two revolutions per second, soon fusing her elbows to her side, reinforcing Kate's helplessness to a degree that she had never known possible. When it met her shoulders, it paused, allowing the holding arm to release slightly, and slide down to Kate's side, grasping her just below the elbow, continuing to support her solidly. The tape coiled over her shoulders, slowing for the more delicate task of encasing her head and neck while avoiding her nose. Kate MMMPH'd heavily, and The Unit started applying the second layer of tape. Momentarily, Kate wanted out, to end this, to pull everything from her body, and run upstairs to her facsimile of normality and delete this daft program. But she couldn't. And she could never delete it from her head. As the third layer of wrap initiated, Kate had started drifting, having given up any hope or thought of anything bar the critical urge for her to feel the ultimate freedom through the ultimate restraint...

When the fourth wrap was complete, a body-length board rose out of the floor behind Kate, pivoting until it was at right-angle to the floor and touching her back. Its top reached just above her crown, and the bottom met the base of her calves. As it pressed against her, The Unit added a final layer of tape, to stick her to this plank that she'd designed as yet another twisted touch for her gruelling scenario. With Kate fully affixed, and the grabbing arm having let go before this final wrap began, the board reversed its movement, titling backward until it was horizontal. She was nothing but a motionless mummy glued to her makeshift plinth, several inches above the floor. Her feet were still untouched. The soles of her feet twitched as they were exposed to the air, a layer of nervous sweat adding a welcome chill. Not for long; The Unit wrapped her feet as thoroughly as everything else, before retracting to the ceiling and entering standby, to await further command.

As for her torture, the program would soon awake the devices that Kate had strapped to her breasts and crotch. The system was thus: it would choose a duration of between two and ten minutes, and assign a random setting, between one and ten, for each of the devices. After this would be a period of downtime, randomly chosen from between five seconds and five minutes, and then the next cycle of stimulation would begin. But, there was one other line of commands that The Unit would be instigating and tracking while all this was happening...

(Roll one dice, and make a note of the resulting number)

Every half an hour, The Unit would roll a virtual dice, and record the number. It would do this six times in total. And so, after spending three hours in her extreme predicament, one of two things would happen to Kate. If ANY of the dice rolls had resulted in a six then Kate would be released. The lights would switch on, and the key for the door's padlock would be made available. If none of the rolls had produced a six, then The Unit would make one final, decisive tumble of the digital dice...

(If you haven't rolled a six yet, roll the dice one final time)

… if it resulted in a one, two or a three, Kate would be released. If it rolled a four, five or six, then she wouldn't. At all. The release protocol would be bypassed, the lights would remain off, and all three devices torturing her would be set to full strength, permanently, until manual deactivation was performed on the control terminal in her bedroom. It was Saturday; she had booked the coming week off work.

As Kate lay rigid, frenzied with apprehension, the program began its first cycle of torment, having selected the following settings: Seven minutes duration, breasts 9/10, clit 7/10, buttplug 4/10. As the stinging pulses of overdue pleasure and cruel shock rippled Kate's body, she convulsed with the opening thrashes of an enormous, involuntary orgasm, that shredded all remaining capacity for any rational thought. Her awareness of where she was, what was happening and even the passage of time, was wiped completely from Kate's mind, as every fibre of being was given over to the impossible height of sensations that tore across her prone, static form. No way out. No way to escape her own maddening desires. Would it ever end, if it all? She couldn't possibly know, but had no choice except to find out.

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