© Copyright 2014 - Bart Stevenson - Used by permission
Storycodes: MM/m; beach; sand; buried; naked; mask; snorkel; stuck; rim; oral; climax; true; cons; X
It all started with these conversations with this guy in Europe. He was big on burying guys in sand. I had some experience in that and enjoyed the times I was buried. But I sensed that he was way beyond me in terms of experience and endurance. Most of my burials had been sort duration and fairly shallow. Oh, yes, I was buried once deeply on a warm beach in the Caribbean butt naked, and that one lasted a couple of hours. Since I am writing this in the past tense, I did survive what was about to happen, but it was one of the most intense experiences of my life.
One night we were talking on the internet. We got chatting about extended burials. Out of nowhere came the question to me. “How long do you think you would want to be buried?” I had a few cocktails under my belt, and the alcohol had somewhat freed up my sense of adventure. Without thinking, I said, “I would like to be buried for at least 48 hours.”
Of course, he asked me if I thought I really could do that. And the booze led me to say that I was sure I could do it and that I would enjoy it. He then said he was about to plan a trip to the Caribbean and asked if I would come to be buried for at least 48 hours. His partner would be with him, and they were very much interested in having a third person join them. In my stupor, I said I would enjoy that.
Thus, I agreed to meet them on the island, and bought a two-week ticket to make sure I had plenty of time for this adventure. We agreed to meet there on a specific date. We then began to discuss how this would work. Needless to say the anticipation was overwhelming. I began to fantasize about how this would turn out. Would I be completely buried? Would I be able to breathe? How would it feel? What would I do for 48 hours when I can’t do anything?
Then some reality began to set it. A 48-hour burial would mean that my digestive system must be totally cleaned out before the burial. We agreed that my burial would start a day or two after my arrival in the Caribbean. Having done a medical colonoscopy, I knew what it meant to clean out my digestive tract, and this would be very similar. There would be no way to get rid of waste during the burial. My last meal was the night before getting on the plane. I decided to make it a good one. This seemed like a prisoner’s last meal before execution. But I wasn’t facing execution. I was going to be buried alive and for a very long time. I would be helpless to get out. I would be dependent for my survival on two people I had never met.
Was I brave or a fool? Only time would tell. But I had made a commitment. I had bought an expensive airline ticket to an island I had never heard of. Would these guys actually be there to meet me? Would this work out as planned? Would I survive and come out of it alive?
The morning of the flight my phone rang. The guys were already on the island and they would be waiting for me at the airport. I packed a small bag—couple pairs of shorts and t-shirts, flipflops, and a couple of swimming suits. I anticipated being buried naked, but I would still need clothes for before and afterward. I grabbed my passport and headed for the airport.
The first flight was to Miami, where I had to change planes. I declined the complimentary peanuts and only drank water on this flight. I had a two hour layover there and I decided I needed a bit of alcohol to keep my nerves up. A couple of drinks later, the flight was called and I felt confident getting on board the airplane. It was late afternoon when the plane arrived. I had not eaten since my “last meal” the previous evening. I was hungry, but I knew I could not eat solid food, and I would get hungrier before the ordeal was over.
After arriving, I met my new friends. They had rented a car and reserved a room at a remote and inexpensive place far from the airport. We got acquainted as we drove. We were headed to an area of the island where things would be quite private. They were as excited about burying me, as I was about being buried. They said they had often buried each other and both enjoying being buried and taking care of the other when he was buried. They explained it is an awesome responsibility to be caretaker of someone completely helpless. Although there are lots of forms of bondage play, burial was just about the most helpless situation of all. I was feeling more and more confident about the upcoming adventure.
When we arrived, they, of course, had something to eat. I knew I couldn’t eat, even though I was fairly hungry. My meal was the stuff you normally drink before a colonoscopy. It doesn’t take long for it to start reaming you out. I won’t go into details, but the next day, my system was cleaned out. It was now over a day since I had eaten anything solid. My burial wouldn’t happen until later that day if we could get everything ready, or maybe not until the next day. I consumed a lot of water along with some Gatorade, other vitamin drinks, and other liquids. I knew that I was physically ready, mentally ready, and a bit weak, but oh, well. I knew that there would be no problem from my ass during the burial. That was a good thing.
Well, I couldn’t be weak for long. We went to the beach and headed for a remote area. We each carried a shovel, and they had a large bag with obviously a lot of stuff in it. I didn’t know what was in it, but I felt like in time it would all be part of what would unfold. Finally they said, this is the spot, and what a beautiful spot it was. Lots of shade just above the water line. Gentle waves, warm sand. Yes, warm sand, the kind that would not produce hypothermia. A prolonged burial could not happen in cold sand. We found the perfect spot where whatever remained of me above sand would be somewhat shaded. I could look up and see palm trees overhead. It was a beautiful spot for a grave, my grave.
My friends said that they would appreciate it if I would dig my own grave. I tensed at the term, but started digging in the sand. After all, those two would have to ensure my safety for the 48 hours. I had better do as they said. I was the victim, the slave, the submissive, and would be at their mercy. So I dug.
After a few minutes they said they were only kidding about me having to do all the work. They grabbed their shovels, and they started helping me.
Eventually, we had a hole deep enough for me to stand in. The bottom several feet were wet sand and the ocean was evident at the bottom, but the top was dry. It was obvious my legs would be solidly encased in wet sand. They suggested we widen the hole a bit so that they could pack me in better and said they needed enough room so they could bury my arms and hands well away from the rest of my body. They obviously knew what they were going to do, and their plan was to make it impossible for me not only to escape, but impossible to move. This was going to be intense and severe.
By late afternoon the hole was ready and it was time. It was 48 hours since I had eaten my final meal as the condemned soon to be prisoner. It would be at least 48 hours until I could eat solid food again. I realized that liquids through a straw would be all I’d get during my burial. As I thought about, I remembered that I had volunteered for this when a bit drunk. But now under the Caribbean sun reality set it. I was to be buried in the sand for at least 48 hours. And the reality of the situation was that I had no guarantee that the burial would end at 48 hours. I was to be a lot of feet down. I asked them if I could actually be buried a bit “under the influence,” and they laughed at me.
“Get in the hole,” they said. “It is time and we want to get you buried before sunset.”
However, they said I could get one last wish. They gave me a choice as to whether I would be buried naked or I could keep my shorts and shirt on. I thought about the fact that I would have to pee a number of times. The thought of soaking my trunks did not seem pleasant. I told them this and they said that even if I kept my clothes on, they would get wet from the wet sand anyways, so it makes no difference. It didn’t take me long to decide there was no use in my keeping anything on. My body was going to lose its identity totally immobile and stuck in the sand.
When I had been buried before, I remember it felt as if I couldn’t tell where my body stopped and the beach began. I felt very at one and at peace with nature. If I was to become one with nature again and for a long, long time, I might as well be in the condition nature made me. I took off my shorts and shirt, climbed naked into the hole, and my adventure was to begin.
As I stood there, I thought only about how I could still move my arms and my legs. I thought about breathing unconstrained. I thought about eating meals and about how the body functions. I began to realize that would soon all end for a time that I could not control. I would be helpless in the sand. The only thing my body would soon be able to do was receive whatever was given to my mouth and to pee whatever fluids came out of me into the sand. I was again about to become part of nature, part of the beach, a body in control of nature itself. I was filled with fear and excitement. And my dick surely showed that it would be capable of enjoyment.
But would I survive, and how would I survive? I had agreed to this, and these two guys who I just met would have my life in their hands. Was I a total fool, or a wonderful adventurer?
Why the sam hill did I agree to this—that was my thought as I stood there in the hole butt ass naked. Am I going to survive this? And the lack of food made me a bit queasy as well. My gut was empty, but my sexual energy was saying go for this. I wanted this so badly, but at the same time I feared it so greatly. They got out three bottles of water from the bag and said we all needed a bit of hydration before we go on. And then my friends began to fill in the sand. They shoveled in the sand. My feet were actually in the warm water that had seeped into the bottom of the hole. This meant that as the sand began to cover my toes it soaked up the water. Soon my feet were covered. As I looked down, I could see more water seeping in above my feet. With all that wet sand, I would be absolutely trapped. The pressure of the sand would totally encase my flesh. It would surround and hug me. My body and the beach were becoming one. So far, it felt good.
The actual burial had always been the most exciting part of sand burial adventures. This was exciting. But it was exciting not only because my body was getting trapped and surrounded with the warm, wet sand. It was exciting because unlike other burials, I knew I would not be dug out anytime soon. I decided that I would try to experience and enjoy each stage of the entombment. These guys obviously knew what they were doing. I was just standing there butt ass naked seeing my legs gradually disappear. As the sand neared my thighs, it would becoming less wet. I could feel the pressure on my legs. So far it was pleasant. I was happy. And the fact that they were burying me gradually made the event even more intense.
In one of my previous burials, I had been buried in a trench. The guy burying me just kind of let the wall collapse on my legs so that they were buried in one fast movement of sand. I barely had time to arrange the crown jewels, before another big pile of sand dumped down on my chest. While effective, that was not particularly enjoyable. This slow fill up of the hole was more intense and more exciting. And after a short while longer, they were getting closer to the crown jewels.
As my thighs were getting more and more invisible, they told me they wanted to give me a last bit of pleasure. They told me that since my dick would do nothing more than pee for a long time, perhaps it should have a final cum before disappearing. I could either do it myself or one of them would come down and blow me. The thought of how he would blow me kind of seemed interesting so I opted for that. Again, I realized why they had made the hole wide. He ripped off his shorts, straddled me with his ass in my face and grabbed my dick with his mouth. I enjoyed rimming his ass along with one of the best blows I had experienced. Never one in this position before, that’s for sure. I really enjoyed that unanticipated pleasure. I knew it would be a long time before I would cum again, if ever. I somehow feared at that point that my grave would actually be my grave. Yet, I was confident in the sanity of these two very kinky guys. I wondered if I actually had a death wish at that point, and if it were to happen, this would be a wonderful way to go.
We were at the point where I was about to see my dick and balls disappear. One of them got a pail out of the bag, went to the ocean, and came back with a pail of water. The other told me they would give me the privilege of packing my dick into the sand. They poured the water down in front of me, so that I would have wet sand to seal in my crown jewels. Somehow I wished I could do this hard so that just maybe I could cum under the sand, but my recent ejaculation made this difficult. I rubbed myself just enough to get some length and then buried it. It was hard to say goodbye to this part of me, but I knew it had to be placed carefully so that the weight of what would be on top of it would not crush my jewels. After a few more minutes and a lot more shovels full of sand, my lower body was gone, out of sight, and feeling quite warm and snug in the ever more heavy sand.
At this point, they told me they would honor my previous wish. In the bag was a pint of Jack Daniels and a small cooler of beer. Each of them took a good swig of the Jack and passed the almost half full bottle to me. “You said you wanted to get buzzed during the burial,” they said, “so drink up. The rest of the bottle is yours.” I enjoyed that Jack like no other I had ever had. And I wondered if I would ever taste it again. Then they popped open three beers and gave me one. We chugged it. They said they had enough for a second round. So I drank that one a bit more slowly. Told them I wanted to enjoy my last beer. They laughed. The buzz was not immediate, but I could feel it starting. Now I wondered how soon I would have to pee and how it would work for my pee to become part of the beach as well.
My hands were still free, but I sensed losing them was going to be next. They told me to reach out about a foot from my body, to spread my fingers apart, and to stick my hands as far down into the sand as they would reach. I did as told. They had another pail of water there and poured it over my hands, so the wet sand totally surrounded my now buried hands. My thumbs were still visible, but not for long. Soon more sand made them disappear. More water poured made the sand around my wrists more intense. I could feel sand packed between my fingers. They weren’t going to move either. It got a bit boring for a while as I just stood there and watched shovel full of sand after shovel full of sand gradually fill up the empty space. Soon I could still see my elbows, but the sand was past my navel. There wasn’t much farther to go, or so I thought.
For a while the next stage was uneventful. The sand kept piling up around my torso. As it reached my armpits, one of the guys reached down and made sure the sand was packed and there was no space under my shoulders. Very thorough these guys! As the hole gradually filled, I could feel the pressure on my chest. I could still breathe fairly easily, but I could also feel my chest expand or try to expand against the wall of sand. Finally, it reached my neck. I figured I was buried. At that point they found another bottle of water and a straw in the bag and dug a little hole in the sand, so I could drink it. “You’ll need the hydration for the night,” one said. I was soon to discover what he meant. It was starting to get dark, and I wondered if I would sleep at all or spend the night just experiencing my predicament. The answer was soon to come.
My eyes were level with the top of the hole. I could see over it, but there still was some room in the hole. Out of the bag came a diving mask, ear buds, and a snorkel with a little feather attached to the top of the tube. It didn’t take long for me to figure out what was next. To say I was apprehensive would be an understatement. I was in near panic. But what could I do? Nothing, nothing at all. I said something about this getting more intense than I had anticipated. They assured me I would be just fine and they would be careful.
The total burial was for overnight so that the sand would insulate me from any night chill and would be removed in the morning so that I could again hydrate. The feather would show them I was still breathing and the ear buds would be piping sounds into my head. The mask went on sealing my nose and covering my eyes. The snorkel went into my mouth, and the ear buds were put in my ears. They were well made with some padding, so my ears were in fact sealed from the sand.
Sand was carefully packed around my neck, supporting the snorkel. As the sand began to cover my eyes, I knew I would just have to experience total burial. My breathing was hard to control at first, both from getting used to inhaling and exhaling through my mouth, as well as from the pressure on my chest. But after a few minutes I began to relax and my breathing started to be more calm and regular. I began to hear the sounds of ocean waves coming into my ears. Apparently, the ear buds were hooked up to a sound source, and the relaxing and soothing sounds began to move me into sub space.
I had one more thing to take care of. After all the liquids, my bladder said I needed to rid myself of fluids. As I let go, I felt the warmth flow out of my dick and down my balls going into the sand around them. It was a very natural feeling, quite enjoyable actually. My body was letting itself go with nature and I was becoming one with the sand. It was actually a feeling of joy. I had no idea where my body ended and the sand began. I was a soul lost in the sand, maintaining life only by the air coming down the snorkel. I flexed my muscles as best as I could. I could feel them tense and relax, but there was no movement. I figured flex and relax would be good just to keep some muscle ability during this time.
I am not sure how much I slept or how much time I was just lost in subspace. It seemed a long time, in a way. But all of a sudden, I could sense the sand coming off my head. The light hitting the diving mask seemed brighter than anything I had ever seen, even though the sun was not shining in my eyes. They had built a little tent over me to further shield my head from the sun. As I woke to the light, finally, the snorkel and ear buds were removed. “Time for breakfast,” one of them said. But breakfast was a bottle of Gatorade and a bottle of water. I had to take another pee in the sand, and it was as good as the one the previous night. However, I felt a need to fart. Wasn’t sure how that would work. I finally let it go, and the sensation of feeling the air gradually move up my back was totally weird. I guess it came out the top.
The rest of the first day remains sort of a blur in my mind. I know the guys took turns watching over me. We tried playing cards, but of course, they had to play my hands as well. They kept giving me water and Gatorade, lots and lots of it, which meant I watered the sand well, too. I hated to think of how yellowed the sand around my dick was getting and how it would smell when they finally dug me out. But the good thing was this burial was working. My body was taking it well. I was breathing well. The pressure on my stomach helped keep the hunger pangs down, and I was getting some calories from the Gatorade. They seemed to be having fun, as well, which made me happy. If they got bored or lost interest in me, I would soon be a goner, that’s for sure. So I was glad they kept up things all day long. As it was starting to get dark, I figured I was in for another night like the last.
Sure enough, out came the diving mask, the snorkel, and the ear buds. We were at the half way point toward 48 hours, and all was well. I had 24 behind me, and 24 ahead of me. Things were a repeat of the previous night, and at least this time I knew what to expect. Once again went through the routine and I was totally under the sand again. This time my mind wandered all over the place for a while. What if they never let me out? What would happen to me? If they left, would anyone ever find me? My mind was playing worst scenario games and I got frightened. Finally I thought, calm down. If I don’t control my breathing, I’ll be in trouble. I took a breath, counted to five, took another, counted to five.
Finally, I began to relax and enjoy my second night totally beneath the earth. My body almost felt like it didn’t exist. I was a soul entrapped in the earth. Again, not sure how much I slept and how much I was just there in total subspace. But morning came, and the bright light of day reappeared. I was glad to see dawn. And best of all, I was glad to see my friends still there smiling at me and preparing my morning hydration.
I began to start watching the sun and its movements. I knew it was past noon, and I was looking forward to the 48 hours being over. But I also was amazed at how well it had all gone. I was actually enjoying this. I wasn’t sure where my body was beneath my head anymore. However another pee and another fart soon made me aware as to where parts of it were. This time I could feel the air bubble stuck against my shoulder blade for quite a while. Finally, it made its way out. The air was still at the moment, and for some reason this fart and its smell lingered around my head for a few seconds before dissipating. My body was still working. That was a good thing.
It must have been mid-afternoon when my friends came to me with a proposal. Well, a proposal in name only. I had no way to refuse. They said we would play a round of 21. If I won, they would start digging me out early. If I lost, I would spend a third night underground and they would dig me out in the morning. I really wanted to spend the entire 48 hours and I was only about 4 hours short at this point. I really did not want to spend another night underground. So the outcome of this game was a bit tough for me. I kind of would lose no matter what. They, of course, controlled the cards, and they, of course, won. That meant I would not only spend my 48 hours underground, but I would beat it by another 8 or 10. As time went on, I actually thought I liked the outcome. If I made it this far, I could make it another night.
Or so I thought. We went through the same ritual. I knew exactly what would happen. It went as totally expected. I just relaxed and waited until sleep or subspace kicked in. Then all of a sudden I began to feel wet around me. What was happening. The sand around my head was getting wet. The sand on my chest was getting wet. A tropical rain was underway. I felt the sand moving away from my head, and one of the guys was standing there hoping I was ok. The feather had stopped fluttering in the rain as it got soaked, and I was glad they were concerned about me. But the increasingly wet sand made it all the harder for me to breathe. He took his shovel and begin to dig in front of me to relieve some of the pressure. After a bit, I could breathe more easily, but it was still raining. The rain was compacting the sand deeper and deeper. I could feel the pressure on my torso and legs. I could even feel the pressure on my crown jewels. We had not figured in rain in our plans, and here it was.
Now that I could breathe, there wasn’t much else we could do until morning. But when morning came, both guys and their shovels started the process of digging me out. I began to discover my body again. But before they got there I wanted to do at least one more piss in the sand. It felt so good, and the last one felt wonderful. My body gradually emerged. They told me I looked like a prune. I sure didn’t feel that way. I felt kind of let down, like one does when coming out of subspace. But I felt good. I had made it. I made it 48 hours and a half dozen more.
The air actually felt cold even though it was 90 degrees out. The air felt wonderful. Finally, they were down to my thighs. At this point, they decided to try to pull me out. It was a struggle, and I was weak and couldn’t help much. Finally, my legs popped out and I was free. They wrapped me in a blanket and the cocoon of the blanket felt good. They asked me if I could walk. I tried, but I could not stand up without help. They let me rest for a few minutes wrapped up in the blanket. They gave me another bottle of Gatorade, but cautioned me that they would nurse me back to eating with some bland stuff first. It sounded like a hospital routine to me, but I was too weak to argue. There they give you liquids and Jello and pudding and juices and gradually give you real food. I think that was going to be my reality as well. But I wasn’t really hungry anyway. Hunger had stopped a long time ago.
About an hour later, they asked me if I would like to try again to walk. This time I was able to walk with help. So they loaded up the bags and shovels on one shoulder and lifted me with the other, and off we went to the hotel. We made it.
They put me in the shower and just let the water run and run to get rid of the sand. Again, I could see I looked like a prune. But they dried me off, put some sort of lotion all over me, gave me some bland food to eat, and put me to bed. A bed never felt so good. I think I slept a long, long time. It was daylight when I really woke up, but I had slept through the whole previous day. I felt renewed and really hungry now. I ate real food that day, and by evening I was beginning to be myself again.
We still had a week to go before I had to go home, so the other two guys decided they each wanted to be buried, but only for a day or so each. I was happy to be part of their burials, but in my condition I wasn’t as much help as I could have been. They each had a good time, and their adventures may well be another story.
I am now back home and reflecting on these couple of weeks. Am I glad I did it? Absolutely. It was something I was dared to do, and I stood up to the dare. It was mostly enjoyable, and I was thrilled that my body allowed me to survive the experience without any long term problems. I loved the feeling of being one with nature. I loved not knowing where my body stopped and the sand began. I loved the feeling of total helplessness and dependence.
Would I do it again? Not sure. If I did it again, I would have to break the 56 hour record I set for myself. Could I go 64 hours? Could I go 72 hours? Could I go 96 hours? I don’t know. There are risks. I think the outcome was greater than the risks for 48 hours, but longer times could lead to bodily problems. The bottom line is sand burial is always a risk, a risk I took and overcame. It is a memory forever etched in my mind, one I will cherish forever. And if my friends ever asked me to come back and bury one or both of them long term, I would do it for them. Hey, if you wanted it, I would consider doing it for you.
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