I wrote this many years ago, recounting the experience I had with a specific submissive client. It was fun – combining theatrical with femdom – and the client had agreed to allow me to share his story (without personal details). That old blog is long gone, so I’m brushing this off to share with you.

Now, this story has some extreme elements that may not be suitable for all readers. This is about playing out his fantasy, and includes me playing a ‘necromancer’ and bringing him back from the dead. But that’s not all!

There’s bondage, whipping, CBT, and extreme pegging, all of which I go into great detail. And, this client had another piece he wanted introduced – being commanded to participate in bisexual actions. So, I had my two submissive assistance there to give him what he wanted!

Our Patreon Members can read the entire piece below, including just what happened to this sub during our 3+ hour session. Non-members can read a preview below.

Enjoy!

His Request

Some clients would come to me with requests that required planning. Most of that planning was psychological … mine, theirs, the architecture of desire that has to be measured and cut to fit before anyone gets hurt in ways they didn’t ask for. But this one required a different kind of planning. This one required carpentry, a funeral, magic and the undead…

He’d come to me with a very specific vision. I’d learned to prefer it over the men who show up and say I don’t know, surprise me, which is the erotic equivalent of asking your server to just bring you whatever. But his vision had a particular logistical obstacle at its center, and that obstacle was the coffin.

He wanted to begin the scene inside one.

My Search For His Coffin

I tried the obvious routes first. Funeral homes, predictably, were not enthusiastic about the rental concept. One woman on the phone sounded like I’d asked to borrow her kidney. A prop house in the city had something theatrical, painted black with silver hardware, but it was too narrow and frankly looked like something from a high school production of Dracula, which was not the atmosphere I was after. Eventually, through a contact of mine … a man who builds theatrical sets and asks very few questions, bless him … we found a craftsman willing to construct a simple pine box to my specifications: interior dimensions suitable for a grown man, sanded smooth enough not to splinter, a lid that latched from the outside but could be pushed open from within with moderate effort. The client paid for it without blinking. He also paid to have it delivered to my space, which required a conversation with my building’s super that I will not be elaborating on.

Setting the Scene

The room I used for theatrical sessions had high ceilings and stone-colored walls and very little that looked like what most people think a dungeon should look like. No red velvet, no fake chains bolted decoratively to plaster. What it had was good lighting … dimmable, layered, capable of making the air itself look like it’s breathing … and enough open floor space to arrange the furniture of any given fantasy. That night I’d set the coffin on a low platform at the center of the room, surrounded it with pillar candles whose light was the color of old teeth, and dressed myself in black silk and patience.

He arrived and we did our check-in, thorough as always. Safeword, boundaries, the roadmap of the evening. Then I left him to undress. He came to me already wearing the chastity cage … a small steel device that had the aesthetic of something designed by a very particular kind of engineer … and nothing else. I watched him climb into the coffin with the concentration of a man parallel parking in a tight spot. He arranged his limbs. I latched the lid.

His Death and Revival

I gave him three minutes. I know because I timed it.

The sounds that came from inside the box were quiet at first, then not. A shift of weight, a shallow knock against the wood, and then his voice, slightly muffled, stripped of the self-possession he’d carried in with him.

“Please.” A pause. “Please, let me out.”

I crouched beside the coffin. Let the silence do some work.

“You’re not trapped,” I said. My voice was low, unhurried, the voice I use when I want someone to feel the words land in their chest rather than their ears. “You’re returned. There’s a difference.”

Another knock, softer this time. “What?”

“I brought you back.” I stood slowly. Let him hear my heels on the floor as I circled the box. “You were gone, and I called you home. But nothing comes back for free.”

I unlatched the lid and let it fall open. He lay there blinking against the candlelight, his chest working, the cage glinting dully between his thighs. He looked undone in precisely the right way … not frightened, but hollowed out just enough to be filled with something new.

Patreon Members can Continue Reading More Below, including:

• A Choice: Submit or Be Burried Alive
• The Undead Sub
• Bound and Whipped
• My Submissive Assistants Enter the Scene
• He Said Please…
• Letting him Drink from Me
• Filling him with my Strapon
• His Worn body on My Alter
• Covered in Hot Wax
• He Screamed So Much
• Just Like I’d Told Him
• Taking Us So Well
• His Hot Wax, Bisexual Spit Roast
• My Boys Make a Mess of him
• Completely Used Up

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