Gromet's PlazaMummification Stories


by Outcast

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2009 - Outcast - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; plaster; cast; bond; encase; cons/nc; X

“I am going to make a cast of your feet,” Amanda said out of nowhere. Ryan was used to these sudden mad plans of his girlfriend, but this one caught him by surprise.


“It will be fun and what's more, I like your feet. You’ve got nice feet.”

Even though they had only been together for two months, Ryan knew better than to protest. Amanda’s moods could be unpredictable and it was usually easier to give in than to start an argument. And besides, Amanda’ strange plans usually turned out to be pretty entertaining. “Okay, if you want to, I am game. How are you going to do it?”

His girlfriend told Ryan to take his shoes and socks off and wait in the living room, while she prepared for the procedure in the study. Fifteen minutes later he was called from the other end of her apartment. Barefoot he walked through the big flat and into the spacious office. It was clear that Amanda had planned this well in advance, a big bag of plaster of Paris and a few buckets of water were waiting. A wooden box about one and a half feet square and a foot high was placed in the middle of the room.

“Take off your trousers, so they don’t get plaster on them; then stand in the box, when you are ready.” Ryan did as he was told and he was feeling a little silly as he was standing in the box, in his shorts and T-shirt. A couple of big scoops of plaster were added to an empty bucket and Amanda quickly mixed in water until it formed a smooth paste.

“Here we go…” The wet plaster was poured in until the bottom of the box was filled in a layer about inch deep. The plaster just covered Ryan’s toes. “This is only the first layer; we will need to do it in a few small steps, otherwise the setting plaster would get too hot. Don’t move.” While Amanda left to wash out the bucket, Ryan could feel the plaster heating up fast; the temperature was bearable, but only just.

Slowly the heat of the setting gypsum dissipated and when Ryan bent down and felt the material, it was rock hard. Half an hour after the start of the casting, the next layer of plaster was mixed and poured, followed by a third and a fourth inch, until it reached Ryan’s ankles. “That should finish the foot cast, once it has set.”

“How are you going to get it off me, without breaking the cast?”

Amanda smiled her wicked smile – the one all boys in Uni melted for. “Don’t you worry about that, I’ve got it all covered.”

Again the plaster heated up and cooled down in the course of half an hour. When the plaster had hardened, Ryan dared to try to move his feet and as he did so, it turned out his feet were struck incredibly tightly. How the hell was Amanda going to free him? The stuff was as hard as stone by now. Where was Amanda anyway?

His girlfriend was standing behind Ryan and with quick practised movements Amanda pulled Ryan’s hands behind his back and tightly slipped on a pair of Police hand cuffs.

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing!?” They were Ryan’s last words because seconds later a ball gag was pushed into his mouth and strapped behind his head, under his jaw and on the top of his skull. That gag was not going to come out by accident.

“I’m sorry, Ryan, I’ve not been honest with you lately. Today is going to be difficult on you, but we’ll explain it all when I am finished.”

“What is she doing? What the hell is she talking about? And who is the other person in ‘we’?” The thoughts followed one another rapidly. Ryan wanted to stop her, but with his hands cuffed behind his back and his feet stuck in about forty pounds of stone, he was helpless. Amanda had prepared a new mix of plaster and poured it on top of the hard cast. The feeling of the sudden heat on his legs was becoming familiar.

Over the course of the next four hours more and more layers were added to the growing block of plaster, until it reached the top of the box and the halfway point of Ryan’s shins. Occasionally he would squirm and shake to free himself, but it had little effect on the progressing containment of his lower legs.

“Time for the next phase I think,” Amanda said as the gypsum had set hard. “Bend over!”

Ryan wasn’t going to cooperate with her. He had been lured into this situation because he had trusted his girlfriend; he would never trust her again. Unfortunately, Amanda didn’t need him to cooperate; she tied a rope to the hand cuffs and slung it through a hook in the ceiling. Pulling slowly, she wrung Ryan’s arms up behind his back, forcing her friend to bend forward to prevent his shoulders dislocating. Once he had reached the right pose, the rope was tied off to the desk.

“It will be easier for everyone if you just work with me, Ryan. Now, I am going to enjoy this … but you might not, I guess. But it is necessary, so just bite down on that gag.” A pair of scissors made short shift of the bound man’s T-shirt and boxers. The sight of a pair of latex gloves and a tube of lubricant made him struggle even more; he did not want something going up where it shouldn’t go. His scuffles were never going to stop what was coming, though; Amanda slid a gloved finger deep into his virgin hole. Slowly, but intensely, it moved in and out of him until his sphincter relaxed; then it was joined by a second, causing Ryan to moan in discomfort. Amanda played it slow, taking her time to relax her boyfriend’s muscles before increasing the size of the intrusion.

After fifteen minutes, Amanda took a 2 inch wide drainage pipe in her left hand, while all four fingers of her right hand were still massaging the innards of her groaning buddy. Slowly the fingers slipped out and the flared end of the 2 foot long tube was pushed against the wide-open hole. A quick hard shove with all Amanda’ power forced the big duct into Ryan’s body. A loud scream managed to squeeze past the gag. Immediately, the victim’s muscles gripped around the pipe and its wider end was lodged firmly inside; Ryan’s body was never going to push that tube out.

Amanda untied the rope from Ryan’s arms and pulled him upright. A catheter was produced from the desk and the end was painfully fed into his manhood. Ryan by now was so numb from the recent events that he didn’t even protest against the invasion. The other end of the catheter was connected to a valve in the pipe sticking out of his anus.

“This pipe can be connected straight to the plumbing, making it unnecessary to go to the toilet ever again. Convenient, isn’t it.” Amanda’ comments didn’t register with his friend. “Time to continue with the plaster, I think.”

A new box was produced, this one without a bottom, and it was fed over Ryan’s prone body, until it sat on the edge of the previous box. A few whacks with a hammer firmly pushed the engineered edges together, until they formed one big box that reached the top of the victim’s thighs. The long pipe sticking from his backside was stuck through a tight gap in the side of the wood. “A perfect fit. It is always worthwhile to prepare these things properly.”

Layer after layer of plaster was added an inch at a time. The big bag of plaster was finished when the block covered Ryan’s knees and a new bag was brought in. The far end of the tube protruding from him was by now stuck fast in the hard plaster, keeping him from struggling against the progressing containment. Ryan had woken from his stunned mental state and he was trying to make sense of what was happening to him. Amanda had obviously gone mad, but why was she doing this? The plaster by now was holding him from his toes to halfway up his thighs, and another layer was already being prepared. How far was his girlfriend – no, his former girlfriend – planning to encase him? And what was Ryan going to do about it? With every layer of plaster that was added his options became fewer, but how could he fight back with half his body stuck in a block of stone and his hands cuffed behind him?

 A new layer of plaster was poured into the mould, covering the head of his long soft cock. Tensioning his abdominal muscles, Ryan tried to pull it from the very warm setting plaster, but the catheter tube, which was already embedded deep inside the rock, was keeping it held down mercilessly. The heat was uncomfortable on his sensitive organ, but at least it wasn’t long before the temperature was coming down again.

“We’ve reached the top of the box again and it is only midnight. Isn’t time flying when you are having fun? How are you doing in there, not getting too tired from standing upright all the time?” Amanda was talking incessantly, while she hammered the next wooden frame into place. This one reached all the way up to Ryan’s neck, causing the youngster to panic properly. How far is this plaster going to encase him?

Through the night and the following morning the work continued. The heating and cooling of the plaster was monotonous but the ever increasing inclusion in the rock-hard material was driving Ryan mad with anxiety. First his groin and bum disappeared beneath the plaster; his hands he managed to pull up higher with every layer, trying to keep them free. When he finally couldn’t raise them anymore, they ended up viciously contained in a very uncomfortable position behind him.

The block grew higher, over his belly and up his chest. “Keep breathing deeply, you will want to create an empty space around your chest. If you want to live, that is. I could imagine you might not …,” Amanda’ cold tone emphasised the change in their friendship. Ryan wanted to live and did as he was advised, managing to create just enough breathing space.

At two in the afternoon, the block reached the top of the box and the top of Ryan’s neck. His entire body below his jaw was held incredibly tightly, leaving him with no freedom whatsoever. If the casting was going to continue any further it would certainly kill him, but Amanda stretched her back and yawned, “…that is it. That took a bit longer than expected, but we managed it. I am going to bed to get some sleep before my sister comes to pick you up tonight. I suggest you try to get some sleep too.”

There was no way that Ryan was going to sleep in his mental state. His mind was mulling over the events of the previous day. How he had been a young, able-bodied and especially free man 30 hours ago. Now he was completely immobile from his neck down, left to the mercy of his former girlfriend or to the mercy of whoever had set her up to do this. What he couldn’t understand is why this happened. Amanda had not gone completely mad; why would her sister want to have Ryan cast in plaster like this?

His body was in agony, the forced immobility caused seizures in his muscles. Especially his shoulders, which were pushed up painfully by his raised arms, were having continuous spasms that forced tears from his eyes. The cramps in his legs and arms, which desperately wanted to move to ease the knots in the muscles, were almost soothing in comparison. His anal sphincter had at long last given up trying to push out the massive waste pipe and settled down a little. How long would he have to stay like this? A lot of effort had gone into creating this prison; it seemed unlikely he would be freed soon.

The hours of the evening passed terribly slowly, but finally life was restarting around him. He could hear Amanda getting up and about, a shower being run, the sounds of plates and cutlery in the kitchen. Suddenly the door opened and a fresh and bright Amanda walked into view.

“My family is expected to arrive in two hours, so we better make sure you look your best.”

An electric screw driver rapidly disassembled the box and the plaster block was exposed. Amanda looked critically at the result of her hard work. “A bit rough where the individual layers touch each other, but we can work on that. Otherwise a pretty good attempt if you ask me.”

A fresh bucket of plaster was prepared and with surprising dexterity, Amanda covered the block in a fresh, smooth layer of plaster like an experienced plasterer. It took her almost an hour, but in the end the plaster slab looked like a perfect monolith.

“That looks absolutely amazing, if I can say so myself … Wait, I’ll show you.”

Amanda ran out to get her digital camera and took a few dozen images from all directions. Close-ups from Ryan’s neck sticking up from the surface of the plaster. Overviews that showed the sheer size of the stone and the small face that was visible at the top. Quickly the images were loaded onto a laptop and the computer was placed in front of Ryan’s face, cycling through the pictures of his ordeal.

Shocked the young man looked at what had happened to him. The incarceration did look stunning, but he didn’t have eyes for that. He only looked at his sad face that stuck up above the solid looking – and solid feeling – rock that contained him.

For half an hour the images kept popping up again and again and Ryan was taking in more of the details. The final layer of plaster had finished off the block with amazing smoothness, removing all traces of the layered structure inside. He noticed how his head was tipped back slightly to remain above the plaster surface. The white rock reached to the absolute top of his neck, almost touching his ears. He saw the pipe that would allow him to expel waste which was sticking out of the plaster about two feet of the floor; a bucket underneath it catching whatever he produced. The view of the large bore of the drain refocused his attention on the continuing ache in his backside, which was still trying to get used to the permanent distension.

The doorbell rang …

“That will be my sister. I bet you can’t wait to hear why this happened. It won’t be long now.”

When Amanda returned to the study, she held open the door to a young woman in a wheelchair. She steered the chair with a straw in her mouth, her body was completely still. An older man was standing near the door.

The unknown woman made a lap around the plaster block and then positioned herself in front of Ryan to look at his face. “Do you remember me, Ryan Jones?” She correctly interpreted the quizzical look on his face. “So you don’t … why am I not surprised? Let me refresh your memory. January 1st, 2005; when you left a New Year’s party to drive home, you were 3 times over the legal alcohol limit. You didn’t make it home; instead you hit a car carrying two young girls. One of them died on the scene; the other survived, seriously injured. You were unhurt and were later convicted to 240 hours of community service and a 2 year driving ban.”

Ryan remembered it well, the worst time of his life. He had never dared to enquire what happened to the second girl, fearing what he might hear. He regretted what had happened every day since, but that wouldn’t cut wood with this woman, would it?

“The girl who died was my best friend, Melanie. I survived, to some extent, but you never even bothered to ask how I was. You never wrote to apologise. You ruined our lives, got a minute punishment and forgot about it. Meanwhile, I have a complete lesion of the C2 and C3 vertebrae; that means I am totally paralysed below the neck. No movement, no feeling. Unable to breathe without help, unable to live without constant care. I’ve decided you need to be punished properly, so you will experience the same thing. You will be able to feel, but there will be nothing to feel, except pain in your aching muscles, I hope. You will be able to breathe by yourself, but otherwise you will be just as helpless as I am.”

She turned to the older man and asked him to get the trolley, before turning back to face Ryan.

“That man is our father; he is building me a wheelchair accessible house to live in. At the moment they are laying the foundations and that is where you will live. We have cleared a space for you in one of the supporting pillars. You will be lying on your back, your head sticking out of the wall. You will be directly connected to the sewer to remove your waste. You will be fed, you will get drinks, but otherwise you will just lie in the dark and you will have all the time to think about what you did. What you did to Melanie, what you did to me and ultimately what you did to yourself.”

The builder entered with a heavy duty trolley and winch and before she turned away, she finished her explanation, “Don’t expect ever to be freed.”



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