Diver on the Beach

This is a story that was inspired by another one I read on Gromet's Plaza, a story called Diver Buried Alive by user2389 . That story stuck with me and inspired this little story I offer. As always, this is just a fantasy story, do not try this at home.

Diver on the Beach

Hungover. This happens when we have our diving weekends out here at the beach house. I am the only one awake this early, the rest of the dive club still passed out. My favorite cure for a hangover is a scuba dive. The good air, the weightless silence, the exertion. I am all dressed and ready to go for a quick dip in the ocean, in the dive shed down on the lower level of the beach house. My tight neoprene wetsuit covers all my skin except my face. I had prepared quietly, not wishing to disturb the others, all upstairs sleeping it off. Never dive alone, they say, but sometimes I like the danger.

I am looking over the air tanks trying to find mine when I hear the beach door open. Maybe I won't dive alone I think, as I grab my scuba pack. But it was not one of us who came in, but six of them. Two grab spear guns off the rack. I look in amazement, not reacting in my foggy, drowsy hungover mind. My mind is working slow. I must have looked like a fool standing still.

I didn't know the TSK was out wilding, but there is always that danger around here. They must have parked a little ways away, I heard nothing. It was another quiet dawn at the beach house, the sand not yet warmed by the sun, the tides just so that the sea was calm. But now I stand surrounded by the sleazy Sluts and Studs of the Thrill Snuff Kult. They are a gang around these parts, but we all assume they are more rumor than real. A sex rave gang. Dressed to thrill.

They surround me and take turns rapidly taunting me “going for a dive” and “that looks tight” and “do you float” and pointing the spear guns at me generally making sure I wasn't going to fight or flee. I agreed with the spear gun not to do either. The leather clad deviant holding it said “Put your gear on mate, suit up. You go for a dive, we can take you for a dive”. I look around, I seem to have no choice.

As I fumble with my gear, trying to put it on, but scared and nervous and strangely excited by what is happening one of the Studs comes up behind me and holds my wrists down to my side. I think about resisting but the guy with the spear gun seems too ready to let loose. The spear gun humbles me, I stand there passively while the Stud behind me manhandles my arms and thighs and the ropes he uses.

A beautiful punkette redhead babe is watching me, we make eye contact in the dark quiet room. She has green eyes, pure envy, and we gaze at each other. She is beautiful, all leather and piercings and distress, and I am all anonymous and encased and helpless. As we gaze her hand subconsciously moves up and rubs her breast, she touches herself. I feel a little thrill of sexuality, I am turning her on. I know it is my helplessness, my bondage, but still I arouse her. I take comfort in her arousal, I think to myself maybe this will turn out alright, maybe they are just here for sex, fuck us and forget us. It might not end—that way.

A boot in the ass and I fall to my knees. I instinctively try to reach my hands out but they are tied. Each wrist lashed to my thighs. My arms are pulled straight down, ropes around my thighs and through my crotch holding them down. My balance is off and from my knees I fall forward, landing on my face. Hands pull me up, I am kneeling again. More hands adjust my straps, tightening, adjusting, making it all snug. I am ready to dive.

The beauty with green eyes approaches me, and in that special, delicate way that women touch and tease, she handles the mouthpiece, dangling on the end of the air hose, now perched delicately on her fingertips, now in my mouth. Her hand reaches past me, out of my mask-blocked vision and I feel the tug as she turns the air on. Air flows to my mouth, inhale, exhale, that familiar, safe, comforting sound of scuba breathing. The noise fills my ears, I feel like it must be as loud as a truck, the exhales roaring in the silent room. The noise betrays how fast I am breathing, very fast, very excited. She looks deep into my eyes, and I look back, drinking in her beautiful green gaze, and I feel overcome, I feel trapped, excited, not angry, I feel---aroused.

Oh shit, I am turned on by this. I try to move my hands to check my cock, but they are tied tight, I look down, bending a little, and see that bulge in my dive suit. I am aroused, I wasn't confused, I am erect. I look down at my cock bulge and try to understand what I am doing to myself. She grabs my head in her hands, straightens me up puts her face just inches from my mask.

“Should I let it out” she asks. She has my knife. Her skilled hands guide the blade around the bulge, slicing open the neoprene, releasing my erection. The cut piece of the suit falls away, the cold air hits my cock, I shiver not from the cold but from the thrill. I am thrilled that she let my cock out. This will just be sex, I tell myself, the TSK is just here for a sex party and nothing more. This beautiful girl would not-----they wont----if I play along and they use me, if I am a sex toy for them, they will get off and then leave and not---

She lashes my cock with some thin velcro strips. Around the base like a cock ring, then she makes a ball stretcher with the strips. Painful, sweet, biting torment, tight death grip on my cock. I kneel there as passively as I can, playing along, allowing her to have sex with me, that's what I should do. She stands in front of me, like a mistress I think to myself. Then the duct tape. Duct tape on my head, the Stud behind me wraps a length of tape around and locks in my mouthpiece. I cannot spit it out now, and my lips are now sealed to it. With the mask clipping my nose shut, I can only breath through the mouthpiece. She reaches past me again, tugs on my kit, and the air stops. She squats to face me, close.

“You don't want to suffocate,” the redhead says to me, “I mean, underwater, you don't want to suffocate under water, that would be ironic” and she laughs and turns the knob restoring my air. “Still...” she turns the air off again and continues, “you must have thought about it. It must be a worry, getting trapped underwater and, well, you know--” and she puts her hands to her throat like choking and makes a gasping face for a second then laughs at her own joke.

She smiles at me, checking me out. I grunt and snort trying to find some air. “Oh I almost forgot. You need that air don't you. Should I turn it back on?” I nod my head yes. I have to play along, they are still pointing spear guns at me. She turns it back on, and standing moves toward the door, motioning that I should follow. She is right about my fears, the strange thrill of suffocation. It would be horrible to suffocate, trapped, underwater, but it isn't the irony. It would be the humiliation. I feel a spear tip prod my shoulder so I stand up.

The Stud grabs a pair of flippers and shoves me out the door. I stumble down the small path out to the beach. I look back at the house, and the two TSK bitches who control me. They don't all follow me, some stay in the house. I see upstairs on the balcony are a few more, all in leather and latex even in the summer heat, all dirty from a night out on the town, they are slowly opening the sliding door to one of the bedrooms. One of the bitches suddenly runs past me grabbing the leash and hurrying me towards the beach.

We cross over the small bluff, down the sandy narrow path, down towards the fire pit, in a sheltered sort of secluded area. I can no longer see the house. But in front of me I do see a few more punks. Some of the gang. The bitches lead me toward them, and when we stop we form a circle around a small pit they have just dug. Grave sized. The studs still hold the shovels, and with a dramatic stab stand them in the sand pile. The bitch tugs the leash till I am standing on the edge. “You're going diving” she sneers. Oh shit, I think. I am confused, disoriented, still kind of foggy from the hangover. “Get your flippers on” she hisses and then a strong hand from behind me shoves me down and I fall to my ass.

The redhead and her blond friend each grab an ankle, straddle my legs and I get a nice view of their asses as they put the flippers on my feet. Studs grab my shoulders and upper arms, the Sluts, the Studs together lift me, drag me, carry me and then drop me into the hole. I land flat on my tank, face up with my head in the deep end.

The hole isn't big enough for me to lay down flat but I stretch out as I can. My head is slightly below my waist, and it butts up against the side of the grave. Barely over two feet deep, if I sat up my head would be above the edge. My heels rest on the top edge of the grave, flippers playing in the air, as if I was stretched out on the couch for a nap with my feet over the armrest. I have a thought, a horrible thought, my feet will remain in the air after my body is totally covered in sand. I will be buried but my flippers will function like a ... like a tombstone. The others will find me. If they find me in time. I tell myself they will find me.

Shovelfuls of sand hit me. I take the blows, solid thuds as the clumps of sand hit me. I instinctively wriggle, squirm to avoid the sand. I have no room to avoid it, the shovelfuls hit me again and again. Ten, fifteen, maybe twenty, I cannot count in my growing panic. I feel the sand hitting me, landing on me, then sliding off as I squirm. I hear the laughter from above. I see them smiling. It is all a game I tell myself again. Just a kinky game.

Then a shovelful of sand hits me square in the face. But it feels not like a punch but like a shovel of doom. The caress of the grave. Each plop of sand makes me a little more helpless, a little more trapped. Wet, cold sand, still damp with dew, the wetness under the surface now mixing into a watery slurry. I feel a sinking feeling, like I am settling in, sloshing around a bit. I squirm to avoid the shovelfuls of sand, but the hole is too small to avoid them. I am an easy target.

The wet sand sucks in the tank. My air tank is sinking into the sand beneath me. My own weight is trapping me, the weight of my equipment now my captor. Any squirming sinks me in deeper, that sucking sound of body in wet sand fills my ears every time I move. I am entombing myself. I can no longer sit up if I tried, not that I would try. The shovels above would put me down again. I lay still. I let it land on me. I try to think. In the small silence now I realize my cock is harder than ever. I blush a little, embarrassed that my cock is playing along.

The sand is up to my sides now, my back and flanks covered, a lot of spilled sand all over my chest, and face and legs. Only my shins and flippers, up high, have remained clean. My hands are covered now, useless anyways tied to my thighs. I guess I am stuck in this position. I have no idea if they will let me go, or any idea if they will dig me out. At least with my feet they will find me. How much air do I have, how long will this game last. Plops of sand hit me in the chest. I feel a mound building on my chest, and I feel sand trickling down around my neck. A few more shovelfuls land direct on my face mask, blinding me for a moment. I wriggle my head, some of the sand moves, and I can see a little sky again. But immediately another one lands on my mask. I am losing the sky, I am getting buried for sure now.

More sand on my chest, I can feel the weight building, I wriggle my head but the mask is covered again. Suddenly a splash of water cleans my mask. I look up, above me, on the beach above me, the bitch has a pail of water, dumped it on my face, and her friend hands her another. She stands above me, her legs spread goddess like, Xena, above me, owning me, and her second pail of water pours down on my face. She holds the empty bucket direct over my head and lets it drip, the drops slowly hitting my mask, the water squishing around my head, I hear my exhales gurgling and frothing in the wet sand. I squirm my head around to clean my glass and I feel my head sinking into the wet sand. Another bucketful and the wet sand begins sucking my head in. My neck strains to hold my face above the layers of sand, but more plops of sand land on me, I can only look up at her spread legs, her boots, her crotch, her smile and she laughs down at me. I fight the wet sucking sand, but my neck is straining and I am very distressed. My abs seem to cramp trying to bend so. It would feel better to lay back, relax the neck, stretch out a bit instead of bunched up like I am. I lean back, I relax my neck, the wet sand accepts my head. It's a relief to stretch out instead of crunch up. Even my abs relax a bit. I surrender to the sand.

More sand now. More and more. I am sinking deeper without moving. My head and neck fully in the wet grip of the sand, my chest getting covered, but my legs are still exposed to the air, I can still feel air on my legs. And my cock. My hard, sore cock, tied off and throbbing, my erection still pricks the sky, that part of me is free from the neoprene suit, that part is still free, I think. I delight in the feeling of a nice hard cock, and I know that my captors must enjoy seeing it up there as well, all proud and lusty, they must see that and know deep down I enjoy their games and will play again if they let me. I know its a game, I know it is, they will let me out soon, maybe if I cum for them. Maybe they want to see me cum, to prove how excited I am.

But I can't just do that. Damn hands are tied. My head is really under now, the sounds are getting farther away, the weight is building, my head seems stuck in the sucking wet sand, I am glad I laid back down, got comfortable, I can feel more sand on my belly, my torso must be fully covered now, just my cock and legs protruding from the sand, I can still feel the air on my shaft and the sting as sand granules hit it and cling a little. They can see how much I love this game, and any second now will pull me out. Yeah, that’s what I tell myself. Then I revel in how helpless I am, and how good that feels to be a sex slave, at my Mistress's command, I see in my minds eye the killers up on the beach, their party around my grave how humiliating it must be to be me.

Did I say grave, I meant pit. I have no idea how much air I have left, I have to stay alert, but why not fall into it, why not enjoy the ride, the overload of sensuality, it is comfortable in their hands, as their sex object, it is getting quiet.

Oh this is it I alert myself, I am losing air, the damned tank must be running dry, get me out now I want to scream, I can't scream, get me out, there is only a thin layer of sand, end this game, grab my legs and pull me out, the studs are strong enough, only a thin coating of sand. But the exertion of panic leaves me breathless, I am gasping now. I stop thinking, and I listen to my deep, aching breathes, my heavy panting fills my mind.

There is something just so meditative about heavy breathing, I exist in the sound, the feel of lungs pulling, so human at the moment, only me and my breath I feel dizzy, woozy, my lungs seem to hurt, c'mon guys get me out, but I have no strength to panic anymore, I feel so humiliated, what a chump, getting used like this, no air now, none at all, fucking bitch up there, I'm her little chump, her little snuff chump, no air so I lose control, so I cum, I can feel it flowing out of me, just enough focus to feel my cock in the air, flowing, releasing I know that bitch is watching, I know she enjoys it, I give my mistress my climax, surrender to mistress, I hope it is good for her, that did it, I’m spent, nothing left I'll stay here...

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