Gromet's PlazaPackaged, Encasement & Objectification Stories

Bondage Peril - The Concrete Crypt

by Mister Bondage

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© Copyright 2014 - Mister Bondage - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/m; kipnap; captive; bond; straps; gag; crate; concrete; buried; encased; entombed; display; cons/nc; XX

Daniel began to stir, his head fuzzy and aching. At first he was dimly unaware of anything, semi-conscious and struggling to open his eyes. His head throbbed as he shook it, trying to shake off the sleep that was trying to draw him back into unconsciousness. Awareness flickered as he tried to rub his eyes and realised that he couldn’t move his arms. Struggling to make sense of things, he opened his eyes and saw...nothing. Pitch black. What was this? His arms were pinned behind him. A few moments of struggle revealed that he was tied up.


His hands were tightly bound behind him with a thin coarse rope. His feet were tied together, as were his legs just above the knees. Wondering why he was standing up after being out of it, he bucked and found a pressure against his chest and stomach. Some kind of straps or bands were fastening him to the wall of wherever he was, holding him up.

A few more moments of trying to struggle while wincing at the pain in his head, he tried to call out for help. “Mmmmmppphhhhh!!!!” Great, he was gagged too. Some kind of cloth stuffed in his mouth with another tied around it, as far as he could tell. His head was spinning. Was this some kind of joke? He couldn’t remember how he got here. The last thing he remembered was the night out he was having with friends. Was he alone, were they here too?

His head leaned back against the wall as he paused his struggling. He then winced again, feeling a terrible pain as the back of his head made contact with the wall. He deduced that he must have been hit on the back of his head hard, knocking him out. Not good at all. He tried crying out again, his muffled wails sounding odd-there was no echo. Was he locked inside something, he briefly wondered? His hands were becoming numb as he squirmed in his bonds. His arms were locked tightly behind him, the straps pinning him back were not helping his struggles. He bucked forward, trying to strain against the straps. Fruitless. Who would do this to him, and why? Details were still fuzzy on his last recollections, but he was pretty sure no-one was out to get him. That he knew of. But if this was some kind of joke, it was a fucking cruel one.

“HMMMMMPPPPHHHHH MMMMMPPPHHHHH!!” he screamed. Trying to ignore the pain in his skull he began furiously squirming against his bonds. Rope cut into his skin as tried to twist his wrists, but it was useless. All he could do was continue to hope that the struggling....


Daniel froze. He could hear movement above him. Too full of fear to note how odd that might be, he held his breath as he hear footsteps above and behind him. Hearing a scraping and a huff of breath, light suddenly flooded above him. Squinting, he could now see that he was stood in a large, narrow crate. Thick wood, barely large enough to accommodate him. It was almost like a wooden coffin stood upright. This did nothing to make him feel any better about his situation. He briefly looked down at the thick leather straps fastening him to the crate, before looking up. A suited man crouched above him peering down at his captive. A black leather mask concealed his features, but his eyes were wide with malice.

“Good morning. I see you’re finally awake. I was worried that I had hit you harder than I’d intended.”

Daniel moaned into his gag. Who was this? Where the hell was he? He tried looking up and around the outside of the box but couldn’t see much.

“You must be wondering why I kidnapped you hmm? Its simple really. I’m a bit of a nasty man truth be told, with certain desires that most would find troubling. I enjoy putting young gentlemen such as yourself into a perilous situation while bound and gagged, and watching you try to get out of it. When I say perilous, I do mean life and death. No practice runs, no second chances. I also record the entire thing and sell the footage to, erm, select clientele shall we say.”

Petrified, Daniel felt a tear trickle down his cheek as he wondered just what the hell this man wanted to do to him. Perilous situation? The bloke had bashed his skull and tied him up, how much more perilous would this situation get?

“Now this is quite simple young man. Stop moaning, stop struggling, save your energy-you’ll need it momentarily. Now listen. In the next few minutes you’ll either live or die. Sssshhhh, listen to me you silly boy.  In a moment I will begin pouring concrete into your box. Yes, I will, so stop screaming. It will take exactly two minutes to fill up to the top, by which time you will be fully buried in it. Your only hope to live is to free yourself of your bonds, as I will not let you go. So I suggest you calm down and start trying to get free, because the only person that can save you... is yourself.”

Daniel was hysterical. Why would this mad bastard do this to him? And he was going to record it for other freaks to watch? He clung to the hope that this was some sort of joke even as he renewed his struggles. Those hopes quickly evaporated as a chute appeared at the top of the crate, just opposite his head. The madman didn’t utter another word as an odd clank sounded, then a gurgling woosh began. Daniel screamed as concrete began to pour into the crate. He bucked, twisted and strained as best he could as his frenzied struggles intensified. He cried as the concrete pooled around his feet and slowly rose. He ignored the searing pain in his wrists as he tried desperately to find a knot to work on, find a give in the bindings that he might use to slip out of. His feet had disappeared under the sludge that rose up his shins, cold as death.

He couldn’t stop screaming, his terror as what was happening made his thoughts incoherent. He kept bucking forward, trying to make the straps snap. He could hear the leather creaking each time but couldn’t feel any give. The concrete reached his knees. NOOO! he thought desperately. He looked up, to see if the madman was watching, to try and beseech him to stop this, but all he could see that the chute discharging the deadly concrete which had begun pooling up to his crotch.

By now he was sick with raw fear. His bowels failed him just as the sludge rose over the belt of his jeans. He furiously continued to buck forward when suddenly the straps gave on one side, tearing free from the crate. Surging forward, his momentum caused his forehead to fall under the stream of concrete, showering his face. Unable to fall over due to the rising sludge, he stood desperately trying to shake the crap out of his face while continuing to work on his wrists. He even tried jumping up but the concrete by now was too heavy, it was like standing in thick quicksand.

Soon it rose over his hands, the heavy sludge climbing over his stomach, then his ribs. He began to cry uncontrollably, as his hopes were now dimming to almost nothing. He couldn’t get free. Soon, it reached his chest. His breathing became more laboured as he almost hyperventilated with panic. This couldn’t happen. Surely the madman would stop at the last moment, pull him out? Surely he wouldn’t murder him? Even that hope diminished as the concrete reached his neck.

“NNNMMMMMMPPPPHHHHHHH!!” he screamed. Still, he closed his eyes and tried twisting his wrists under the cold sludge. Nothing. He couldn’t bear to open them again, couldn’t bear to watch the concrete rise any further. Suddenly he shrieked as he felt it rise up to and over his mouth. Almost to his nose, he prayed for the madman to pull him out. Any second now, any second now... he wished to himself. The only thing that happened was the concrete rising over his face. Seconds later, his hair was all that was visible. His head thrashed until it disappeared entirely.


Sighing, the captor shut off the machine. He walked over to the crate. He kneeled down, heard a faint, high-pitched mewling beneath which soon diminished.

“Oh dear. Shame. You would have enjoyed the next trap I had planned, had you been worthy of it. Never mind....maybe my next guest will fare better than you.”

He put the lid back on the crate, and began pushing the chute back into the machine. He would wait a few days for the concrete to fully set, then break the crate apart and have the newly formed concrete block installed in his trophy room, where all his other failed victims would be interred. He had no doubts that not all future victims would fare any better, but a part of him hoped he was wrong. His other peril traps awaited....

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