I've been entirely obsessed with the idea of complete female immobilization and objectification. Engrossed and focused - purchased a one way ticket for the one-track mind express. Every inference of sexuality, every indulgence in a video from my collection, every plot twist/device/structure of erotica i've read involves some aspect of a girl's entrapment in extreme total bondage, and then put away for her internment, only to be used later - once her confinement has effectively altered her mind and transformed her into a willing and desirous object. Unfortunately, this pedestrian approach to providing me the necessary nutrient wasn't enough.
I took pen to paper. I started crafting a narrative involving the most convoluted story about a girl who inherits an estate, but in order to qualify for it, she must live precisely like the person who had bequeathed it to her. Of course, as was wont to happen in the Victorian era, it turns out this person lived her life as a household object, constantly confined to some body-entombing sarcophagi - as a lamp, as a table, as a statue, as a fountain, etc. The girl, in order to enjoy her outrageously vast inheritance, would have to endure similar bondage. I wrote quite extensively on the subject, going into great detail over each imprisoning contraption, and dissecting her gradual metamorphosis. All very enjoyable, but not nearly satisfying enough for me. I needed more.
I pulled out my sketch pad and drew out illustrations of the images salaciously tantalizing my mind. Contorted feminine bodies, held tightly by wicked bindings, forcing their forms into extreme curvatures and postures. Each drawing progressed the captured female towards a greater reduction of identity and autonomy. I'd stare at the page, stimulated by both the bold and shocking portrayal and the parade of ladies galloping by the windows of the cafe where i sat. I compared the two contrasting exhibitions: One had the girl restrained and manipulated, while the other was a free form of lithe limbs and flowing fabrics. Sitting there, i realized there was only one way i could find satisfaction.
She came into my study to ask a general question about my plans for the day. I smiled because it just so happened that i was about to embark on my plans for the day.
"I'm going to mummify you."
She looked at me with a precious desire to be interested in my agenda but with the body language that lacked the resolve. An embarkation of this sort was the furthest notion in her mind of what to do with her rainy weekend day. Acknowledging her reticence, i proceeded.
I arranged her on the edge of the bed, positioning her so that her naked body faced me, legs hanging over the side. I told her to bend her arms closed, laying her palms against her shoulders, which held her elbows aloft and pointed out. I grabbed the readied roll of shrinkwrap and began to encase her folded limbs in tight layers of plastic. Her hands sandwiched against her sternum, giving her the appearance of wings. I rolled the shrinkwrap over her chest, making sure to carve out exposure to her tits. Soon, her upper torso, rising up to her neck was completely cocooned in plastic. I then began to apply strips of black duct tape, which immediately erased the human quality of her features seen through the sheer layers of shrinkwrap. Each strip got meticulous application, to ensure the tightest seal, but to also allow the easiest escape should an emergency arise. Her armless, winged figure sat before me, taunting me with the voluptuous white droplets of her tits, a significant counterpoint to her now, blackened flesh. On to her head.
Her head. I always tend to leave this part for last. At this point, her confinement could resemble that of one locked in a nautical life vest - incapacitating, mildly inconvenient. The step of coating her head in thick anonymizing layers always ramps up the objectification. I put between her lips a piece of one inch PVC pipe, cut two inches in length, which had a long leather chord knotted around it, when anchored to the back of her head, holds the piece of pipe in place. I methodically spread constricting layers of plastic over her cranium, which covered up every millimeter of skin. The only access to her upper body remained her mouth held open by the round plastic tube and, of course, her exposed tits.
The first strip of black duct tape went over her shrink wrap-coated eyes, which symbolically put my girl away. I made quick work of the rest of her head, smoothing the foot long segments of tape to the skin-tight plastic skullcap. I coated her entire head and her neck, joining this cocoon with the one on her upper torso. I left the final encapsulating touches to the area where her mouth lay beneath, and the breathing pipe gag jutted out. By the time that i am satisfied with the entombment, there is no visual evidence of a human girl lying beneath these multiple layers. No, what remains is my transformed fucktoy.
I left the fucktoy lie for a period of time, returning to the work that had my attention when my girl had initially interrupted. I checked on the stationary object every ten minutes, to monitor all vital signs. A half hour into this session, i carried a digital camera with me on my rounds. I took a dozen photos of the inanimate toy lying completely still, breathing a heavy gust through the black tube of a mouth. The thing i enjoyed the most about taking these photos was due to her complete sensory deprivation, my girl had no clue i was clicking away with a camera until i showed her a few hours after her release. I put the camera within a few inches of the toy's face, and it gave no indication of sensing the flash exploding all over its black duct tape epidermal. I left the toy lying there a bit longer.
No longer able nor willing to withhold myself, i re-entered the room where my toy lay, surveying the state of its immobilization. I pulled back the covers that had served to keep the toy warm, exposing its naked, glistening cunt into the open air. I ratcheted up a vibrating g-spot stimulator, touching it to the exposed flesh of my toy's tits. I moved it quickly to the folds of the moist vulva pointing up at me. Parting the thick fleshy lips, i moved the vibrating penetration deep inside, pushing it up against the thick, spongy g-spot. My fucktoy reacted, lifting its hips in the air, its winged limbs fluttering a momentary desperation. I reached for a bullet-sized vibrator, applying this to my fucktoy's blushing and engorged clitoris. I palmed the large intruder, stroking it against the hungry internal humpspot, while tracing circles around the flaming pink mound of skin with the vibrating bullet. Locating a rhythm, i rode my toy with this onslaught until it erupted into hip-thrusting convulsions. I spoke to the thing jerking in my hands, asking it if it was my hole, my fuckslut, my cunt. Gasps of exasperated accord and exclamation burst out of the plastic tube jutting out of my toy's mouth.
I withdrew all mechanical forms of stimulation off of the throbbing sex organ, watching the tape-encased form shudder beneath me with erotic confinement. I pulled out my own erect and throbbing member, and extrapolated punctuation on what was the cap of an entirely fulfilling afternoon.
I leave the reader with the following two photos that document a little of what i enjoyed this afternoon (touched up for aesthetic reasons).