Tombstone

by Candace Smith

  * * * * *

  Beautiful Susanne with her golden hair, strutting around the club in her shiny rubber suit. Jerald watching through fascinated eyes while his mom balanced on her spiky pointed shoes. Next were the scenes of the women in the back who fed his needs, teaching him the artistry his mother had known.

  Teresa with her sensuous voice, coaching him in acts he could never have imagined. Sabrina, her ebony breasts firm and tipped by fat coffee colored nipples that he loved to suck and nip; more tempting than the finest chocolate. Erin with the palest skin, dotted with freckles that spotted even her bared sex lips.

  The dream always ended with the women he had known from Room Five, dressed in different colored mannequin suits and frozen in erotic positions. Susanne was in front wearing the black skin suit, her smile fading to sadness while bright red oozed down the front of her costume from a hole in her protruding left breast.

  CHAPTER II

  Tombstone woke in a fog, stretching out and taking several minutes to shake off the chaotic world of his dreams. By the time he had finished half a cup of coffee, Jerald Fry was completely forgotten.

  Claudine heard the latches to the coffin being opened and she sobbed in relief. During the long silent hours of darkness, the terror had numbed her into exhaustion and some of his warnings enveloped her mind. He would not kill her. The man would not bury her, if she did as he ordered. Claudine could do this for a while. Obviously, Donald had made an agreement that this degenerate man could abuse her in exchange for holding her captive. However long this lesson was going to be, and whatever depraved thing this man asked of her… she could do for a while. She could follow his demands, until the opportunity to escape arose. She could not do this, if she was buried under the soft dirt next to Donnie.

  When she stared at the man, she tried to plead with her eyes. She forced herself to stop quivering and lie still, trying to let him know she would obey him. Her bladder had let go and her arms and feet rested on the soggy silk padding. Claudine tried to control her anger. The man had not considered that after the long funeral she might need to use the toilet. Fuck you. Now you’ll have the mess to clean up. Her strong will continued to try to calm her nerves and control the situation, because Claudine had never been so frightened in her life. Instinctively she knew that her flirtatious manner and beautiful looks would not sway this man.

  Tombstone stroked her cheek, absorbing her quivers and the fear in her eyes. His other hand raised and Claudine saw that he was holding a shining blue collar. She trembled when he locked it around her throat, but made no protest. If he’s putting a collar on me, he must be intending to let me up out of the casket. Her strained muscles screamed when he rolled her onto her side and removed the manacles. She rubbed her chafed wrists and slowly straightened her cramped legs. God, how they ached.

  The man walked out of sight for a moment, and she heard a metal scraping as a chain attached to a pipe near the ceiling was dragged over to her. The man fished a sturdy lock out of his pocket and he attached the bottom link to a ring in the front of the collar. Claudine kept staring at him, knowing the pleading was doing no good, but doing it anyway.

  Strong hands reached under her shoulders, lifting her so she was sitting in the coffin. Claudine studied the room around her. It was big, like an open loft, with a kitchen and seating area by a fireplace. A small cot was against the wall in the corner, and a bathroom with no walls was across from her. A spiral staircase disappeared into the ceiling, close to where the cot sat. There was an archway leading to another room beside the kitchen, and the entire structure was made of old dark wood and stone.

  The man began lifting her again and Claudine scrambled to get her legs underneath her. He dragged her over the side of the coffin, and she was relieved to finally be out of the box. She had already decided that she would do anything he wanted, to keep from being sealed in the darkness again.

  “Go use the toilet, strip, and then stand under the shower,” he ordered.

  Claudine’s legs were still strained and aching, but she turned and shuffled towards the stone alcove. The chain was heavy and tugged at the collar as it slid along a pipe. She realized, by the length of it, she would only be able to walk on this side of the room. Tombstone scrutinized her stiff movements, rubbing his cock while he watched her bottom. With muscles that strained so quickly, the frozen positioning would torture her. She would be a masterpiece.

  Claudine’s fingers began to tremble again, and they slipped off the tab for the zipper twice before she was able to grab it. Her hands were still a little numb from being bound for so long. She let the wet garment drop off her shoulders, and the weight of the soggy material dragged it off her hips and onto the floor. Claudine stared at the stones in the wall while she unhooked her bra. She wanted to take the foam ball out of her mouth, but she was too frightened to let her hands go near it.

  The black heels had not made it into the coffin with her, and Claudine was grateful she had not been left with her feet encased in the pinching leather… even though it meant losing the possible weapon. She pulled her ripped thigh high nylons off her legs and slid her fingers under the strap of her thong. When she was naked, she turned slowly to face the man, trying to look seductive in her pathetic state.

  He observed her from a few feet away, studying her body with consideration instead of the desire she was used to eliciting. Claudine watched his eyes narrow and felt her panic rising. She tilted her head up until she found the showerhead and dragged the chain over to it.

  Tombstone pushed a chrome button set into the stone, and cold spray jetted down on the woman. Claudine bit down on the gag and covered her breasts when the freezing water hit them. It felt like needles piercing her skin.

  “Put your arms down and spread your legs,” he ordered.

  Claudine began to quietly cry and she lowered her arms, forcing herself to stand still. At first, she wondered if the pervert was going to bathe her, but he seemed content standing against the wall and watching the frigid water cascade over her hair and down her body, causing her nipples to pebble and tighten. He turned off the deluge and left her dripping while he walked to the kitchen.

  He returned a few minutes later with a large ceramic bowl filled with oatmeal. It looked pasty, with no milk or sugar, but her stomach rumbled when she saw it. He placed it on the floor by the coffin and walked over to her. “If you make a sound, the gag goes back in and I put you back in the coffin. Keep your palms on the floor next to the bowl.”

  Claudine shivered, both from the cold shower and his words. She nodded in understanding. His hands reached behind her head and loosened a buckle. When he pulled the foam free, she forced herself not to sob with the relief of being able to close her aching jaws. She also caught herself as she prepared to automatically thank him.

  “Go eat. You have five minutes to finish it.”

  Claudine walked as quickly as she could, dragging the chain. She knelt in front of the bowl and placed her hands as he ordered, scooping the sticky bland cereal into her mouth with her tongue. After a few mouthfuls, she had begun silently crying again. He was treating her like an animal and forcing her to eat like a dog. She had never experienced such brutality, and she finally raised her head and looked at him with tearing eyes. “Why are you doing this to me?” she sobbed.

  Claudine cringed back, crashing into a sawhorse leg when the man stormed over to her. He gripped her hair and dragged her back to the bowl, plunging her face into the moist oatmeal. “I told you not to make a fucking sound and to eat, you fucking whore.”

  Claudine felt the cereal slithering up her nostrils and she had just barely managed to close her eyes. Her lungs began to burn and she was screaming into the bowl. Pushing up was useless and she reached around, clawing for the hand gripping her hair. Suddenly, she was jerked to a scrambling stand, and the pasty mess clung to her eyelashes and dripped off her chin. She blew through her nose to clear it, and while she concentrated on that and catching her breath, the man pressed the
foam gag against her lips. “Open, slut.”

  Claudine trembled, but kept her lips sealed. Oh god. Oh dear god. Someone has to get me out of here. Tombstone gripped the front of her collar and he slammed his knee into her pussy.

  “Aaah. Oh, god.” Claudine shrieked in agony and tried to bend over, cupping her throbbing pussy with her hand. It felt like her lips were already swelling and bruising from the pain. When she screamed, the man worked the foam gag into her mouth again.

  Claudine clawed for the buckle and the man grabbed her wrists, transferring them to one strong hand while he reached for the cuffs. Within seconds, he had her wrists locked behind her again. She wailed and thrashed her legs in panic when he lifted her and dumped her back into the wet casket. He used a small key to unlock her collar from the chain and he slammed the lid down while she screamed.

  It took an hour for the thumping kicking to end, and it had been a long time since he heard her trying to scream. Tombstone opened the casket, re-hooked the chain, and dragged her out again. The oatmeal on her face and hair had dried to a flaking crust that had glued a few of her eyelashes together. Tombstone pulled out the gag and unlatched her wrists. “Eat,” he ordered.

  Claudine knelt in front of the oatmeal, now cold and congealing. She shuddered and cried quietly while she finished, clawing the wood planks with clenching fingers placed obediently on either side of the bowl. When she was through licking the sides clean, she raised up, remaining on her knees and nervously fisting her hands by her thighs.

  “Shower,” he ordered.

  Claudine rocked to her feet and walked to the stone shower, already bracing for the frigid spay to hit her again. Once more she was drenched, and she raised her face to wash away the rest of the oatmeal. She was terrified and determined to do what he demanded.

  Tombstone latched her cuffs behind her and unlocked her from the chain. Claudine felt his fingers reach under the collar, gripping it tightly while he dragged her across the floor and into the room across from the kitchen. Claudine gasped, but kept from speaking. There were blank slabs for headstones and etching supplies on one side of the room, and a curious assortment of restraining equipment on the other. The man pushed her onto a heavy wooden chair.

  Claudine wanted to scream and beg; to bribe him if necessary. She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out when his impossibly blue eyes met hers, and he stroked gently down her cheek. A wide leather band circled over her breasts, and she grunted when he tightened it, forcing the air from her lungs. A second strap buckled under her breasts, digging into the soft flesh on the underside where they met her ribcage. Another belt wrapped around her waist, pulling her back until she was sitting straight and crushing her bound arms into the chair. Her spread ankles were lashed to the legs, exposing her pussy. The last thing he secured was her collar, and Claudine sat immobile, fearfully wondering what he was going to do to her, and now too terrified to make a sound.

  He sat down on a rolling stool and opened a drawer in a chest beside the chair. When he turned back to her, Claudine saw a brush and hair tie in his hand. He separated a section of hair and secured it into an auburn ponytail in the center of the top of her head. There was an inch and a half of fringe hanging below the gathered mass, circling her scalp like a headband.

  Claudine watched him pick up scissors, and she whimpered when he began cutting the hair around the gathered locks. After he finished he rubbed an ointment into her closely shorn scalp. It began to burn and her eyes teared. It’s some kind of depilatory, she realized. Oh god. She envisioned her thick wavy tresses and the way the man had styled it. A sob did escape when he swiped two thick pads of the cream across her eyebrows.

  Claudine realized that in less than five minutes the man had destroyed the alluring looks that were her identity. Uneasy shock began to settle in, and for the first time, she began to consider her abduction might not be the ‘temporary’ lesson she thought Donald had planned for her. She chewed at her trembling bottom lip to keep from begging. The thought of the confining darkness of the coffin never left her panicked mind.

  After wiping off the cream along with the remaining stubble, Tombstone studied the pinpricking red bumps on her scalp and brows. The lotion was specifically made by one of his clients and had been gifted to Tombstone in appreciation for his creation. The client was a doctor, and Tombstone had designed a mannequin of his blackmailing mistress after she admitted the affair to the physician’s wife. In despair, the fragile woman had left a note before committing suicide. The guilt ridden doctor insisted Tombstone accept the permanent depilatory. It was a welcome addition to his collection of unusual items, and it saved on maintenance when the mannequins were finished. It was time consuming to have to exfoliate them every few weeks.

  Tombstone studied the picture of the sculpture lying on the table beside him. He turned and gripped the woman’s jaw. “Open.” A sob escaped when Claudine parted her lips and she dug her nails into her palms. Her arms throbbed from where they were crushed between her back and the stiff wood of the chair, and once more she tried to plead with her eyes. She had no idea that with her eyebrows removed her face now showed a perpetual look of surprise.

  “Wider,” he demanded. Another quiet sob escaped, and she opened her mouth a little more. The fingers gripping her jaw tightened and Claudine felt the strength in his hand. His thumb stroked down her cheek in a strange, tender caress. “Open fucking wider, slut,” he ordered in his calm, low voice. She stared into his eyes and Tombstone felt the muscles in her neck straining. He studied her gaping lips, and then he reached into the drawer and pulled out a rubber ring, placing it against her cheek to check the size. It had to be big to ensure she would not be able to move her mouth or jaws once it was in place.

  Claudine panicked when the man began squeezing the thick rubber ring behind her teeth. She tried to close her lips, intending to clench her teeth, when his words froze her. “Do you need some quiet, dark alone time to consider things?”

  Claudine’s mind snapped to the paralyzing darkness of the coffin. She quivered and forced her jaws open again. Please. This has to be some kind of nightmare. I’m sorry. Please. Let me talk to Mr. Strickland. This is a mistake. Even as she prayed the thoughts, the panicking revelation that it was Donald that had arranged all this, dissolved any hope. Her jaws were already aching after only a minute of stretching.

  Tombstone grabbed a damp cloth and scoured the thinned remaining makeup off her face. Using a gooey clear gel, he coated her head from her collarbone all the way up to her remaining hairline, including her eyelids. Next, two small tubes filled her nostrils, sticking out about an inch. He molded wax into her ear canals and anchored tubes into the plugs. There was no way that Claudine could control her shuddering, and she wailed when he lifted the small bucket of plaster.

  Tombstone loved watching their fear, and as he coated her face he soaked in her terror, glancing at her tongue roaming wildly around her mouth. The white paste covered everything but the shock of hair and her wide amber eyes, coating to the inside edge of her lips. He used a thin stick to dig a trench in the thickening plaster from shoulder to shoulder. Scooping more plaster, Claudine screamed when he slathered it over one lid. He sat back staring at the one wild brown eye searching around the room. With the other eye sealed behind the white coat, Tombstone imagined she was winking at him. He winked back… and plastered her other eye closed.

  Claudine was entombed into a different terrifying darkness. She could not hear or see, and her pried aching jaws barely registered through her fear. The cool plaster was heating as it dried to hardness. She felt the man’s hands on her pussy again, and she wailed in her dark torture and strained to close her thighs. Once more, smooth fingers spread her. Up and down, in and out, gently caressing her clit. Angry wailing and distorted curses streamed from her pried jaws. Claudine could only hear them echoing in her mind.

  Something slick slid into her pussy. At first she thought he was fucking her, but then she realized it was some sort of sil
icone phallus. In and out it was pumped, while fingers stroked her up and down, over her clit, spreading her creamy response to his touch, filling her with a desire she should not be feeling, tweaking her nerves to a place that did not belong here, pushing her into a shattering orgasm that could only be experienced when no other senses were left to her. Echoing through her black thoughts, she heard him call her a slut.

  She felt a rapping at the side of her stone mask, persistently tapping and moving along the line of the trench he had carved. A relieved sob escaped through the ring when Claudine realized he was separating the plaster. He worked slowly, and she remained frozen through the agonizing minutes, afraid to move… afraid that he would change his mind… and leave her locked in the plaster prison if she disobeyed.

  At last the casing separated and the two halves lay on the table beside him. His thumbs ran over the inside of the mold, and Claudine did not want to think of the reason he had made it. A small part of her wanted the safety of her coffin… and maybe to join her husband.

  For the rest of the day, he left her chained to the pipe while he worked in the other room. Though her hands were still locked behind her, Claudine was free to walk back and forth and stare at the coffin and study the room. It was after another bowl of bland oatmeal for lunch that she noticed a small copper plate fixed into the lid of the casket. ‘Room One’. She shuddered causing her pried jaws to ache again, after the small measure of comfort from numbness. How many other ‘Rooms’ did the man have?