de ma femme

I've been milling the decision about on how i can get my girl's perspective onto these pages for nearly the entire existence of "The Lustful Quality". Recently, the light bulb illuminated in my head.

"Eureka! I'll give her a writing assignment!"

(Not another assignment - Good God, man, aren't you hard enough on her?)

I know what i think and feel (mostly) when i mummify her. I wanted her to write out how she reacts to it. This will be her first writing assignment for this site. There might be more, there might not be. Rather than her crafting directly onto transformher, for now i'll re-post her writing*. That way i can keep her...

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Under Wraps

Usually the way I know it’s going to happen is because he tells me. As his girl, I wait for his cue, and he’s not shy about giving it. I’ve been mummified a few different ways — sometimes it’s a layer of cling wrap followed by a layer of duct tape, other times it’s gauze bandages — but every time, the medium is his choice. Part of the excitement for me is that I am but a pawn in his game, the base for his sculpture. Were it not for the relationship between us, I might as well be just another girl from a classified ad, but the fact that I’m not changes the nature of the scene.

Cling wrap is typically used in the winter, when it’s already generally cool in the house, but even then we usually have to turn a fan. He often uses the green cling wrap, since it’s one of my favorite colors, but sticks to the plain gray or black duct tape when a more industrial look is preferred. On other occasions, he might not use duct tape at all, and just leave it at green shrink wrap. When the gauze is used by itself, my skin can breathe, and my body becomes a rainbow of bandages. Sometimes my mouth and nose are kept free for breathing (and other things), other times I breathe through a tube. As with everything else, it’s ultimately his choice. When I am his mummy, I am his creation.

For me, this is entirely freeing. I love sleeping, so being forced to remain in one position for a long time and turn my mind inside of itself is both a treat and a relief. At the start of the session there is almost always a period where it takes some time for me to adjust to the fact that I am powerless, but eventually it comes to me that I’m actually powerless all the time. When mummified, I can do nothing but breathe, which is the very least I need to do to survive no matter what the case. The gradual acceptance that so little of my life is in my control is ultimately liberating, although frightening at first. Once I reach that point, my test is one of endurance. How long can I sustain having my legs bent backwards, my arms forced into a reverse prayer? How long can I go without being able to take deep breaths as I please?

Part of my responsibility as the mummified object is to let him know my limits. Boundaries being what they are, sometimes I don’t know where the line is until it is crossed, and that’s another facet of our play together. Throughout a session, he talks to me, checks in on me, and I can indicate my status with grunts that tell him whether I am okay or in need of release. Moreover, my head is usually one of the last things to be wrapped, and so while my body is contorted he asks me how long I think I can last in this position and works from there. This part is really important to me. I may be his subject, his work of art or even his victim, but at the end of the line my needs come first. Similarly, his needs are defined once I’ve named mine, which for my part are determined with his satisfaction in mind. If this sounds confusing, I don’t blame you. Where the wants and needs of two people are in constant flux and communication, that is where you will find the rarest of things--a true partnership of trust. For me, mummification is an expression of this trust, and I hope it is as positive and relaxing for everyone else as it is for me and my man.

*If you'd like to leave a comment for her, please do so. She reads these pages and the comments and loves feedback.