Gromet's PlazaMummification Stories

Art College

by Seahawk

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© Copyright 2004 - Seahawk - Used by permission

Storycodes: F+/m; D/s; wrap; saran; plaster; enclosure; tease; enslave; boxed; toys; insert; oral; climax; cons; X

The evening newspaper ran the advertisement. Not any advert one would expect to find in the local paper but one that made me take a second hard look.

I habitually read the local paper on the train home every night, preferring to leaf through local car dealership lists and local news for the 25-minute journey. After spending the day staring at computer screens, reading a novel was usually too much. In the summer I gaze at the landscape passing the train window, watching it change from cityscape to suburbia to rural green. On this mild, late spring evening, I nearly missed my train and paper, grabbing the first and catching the second by the skin of my teeth.

I read the advert again. Nothing like this had ever appeared in the paper before and the copy editors must have known it because it merited an inch of front page editorial. The city Art College had won grants and commissions for sculptures to be made ready in time for the City festival. The subject was the human body and volunteers from the city were sought as models. The college stated that it wanted a good selection of people to create life-size sculptures in translucent, coloured plastics which would be lit from the inside. The proposed method of creating moulds for forming the sculptures is what caught my eye. Volunteers would be wrapped in a thin film and then covered with plaster from head to toe to form a mould, a process which would take several hours. I was fascinated. Imagine being wrapped in Plaster of Paris when it went hard, unable to move. "Bizarre," I thought.

My thoughts were interrupted by a "bing" sound.

"We are now approaching Drem station which is the next stop for this service. This train is for North Berwick." A recorded female voice.

Drem, my stop, a small east coast community, quiet but well-located for the city. The train slowed and I made for the nearest door. The short walk home only took five minutes. Home is a small, two up and two down cottage in dull red stone, the perfect bachelor pad.


Despite a tight deadline for a client's brand launch, I was able to slip from the studio just before five the next day. I wanted to reach the college before the end of play but was disappointed to see no one at the reception desk when I walked in through the main doors.

"Application forms for this unusual project are available from main reception," the advert had stated. "The response is expected to be good so early submission of a completed form is recommended," it concluded.

I intended to be quick and get the form completed and submitted that evening but felt thwarted until I noticed a woman kneeling behind the broad desk, gathering forms from trays lying on the floor.

"Er, excuse me!"

She looked up from her task. "Oh, I am sorry, she exclaimed, "I did not notice you there. Reception is now closed for the day. Can I help you?" She stood, brushing creases out of her skirt. Very ordinary, I thought, for an art college where I would expect the staff to be a bit bohemian. Grey hair; steel rimed glasses and a severe outfit. Much older than I. I felt like I was addressing a school teacher.

"I am interested in the festival project," I explained. "I thought to call on my way home from work to collect and complete an application form."

"Hmm, you and thousands of others," she sighed as she looked me up and down. "Fiona has been run off her feet all day. She's the receptionist here, you ken. I will see if I can find a form for you. Take it home with you though and read it carefully before sending it in. There is an indemnity clause, an important one." Light glinted off steel rims as she continued to examine me closely, much to my discomfort. "So you fancy getting plastered then?" she smiled at me. An unexpected question.

On the spot, embarrassed I struggled for a reply.

"Why do you want to be involved?" She probed, taking advantage of my obvious discomfort.

It was little wonder I was uncomfortable because I had no rational explanation for my interest. "I am a graphic designer, I think it is an interesting and different way of expression, um of making a statement," I gabbled the first thing that entered my head.

"Interesting. A designer. Would you be interested in doing a presentation to some student groups on relationships with clients or something like that? We would pay your expenses. Oh, I am Audrey, by the way."

"Oh, Nick Johnston; pleasure to meet you and yes, that would be an experience." My extended hand was taken in a startlingly strong grip. I had a strange feeling I knew this woman but for the moment, unable to track down the relevant memory.

"Here's your form, Nick. Do you have a card?" Business cards were exchanged and we parted: me for the station at Haymarket and she for an inner office. I read her card. Audrey Peterson. The name suited the seemingly prim and proper character. Senior lecturer, the card stated. Definitely not a receptionist, I thought.

Another ride home on the train, a part of my daily routine I enjoyed. No traffic jams on the A1 for me. Trains offered continuity, fixed timing points in my life. If the timetable said 8.10, you were at the station for 8.10 or miss your train. This continuity is why delayed trains cause so much distress for people. Drem arrived and I made the walk home to my bachelor pad in no time. I slipped a frozen dinner into the oven, one of those tiny good food things from Marks and Spencer. I was not a big eater and had not an ounce of spare flesh on me. I looked like something from Belsen my mother often complained.

I poured a small glass of wine from a cold wine box in the fridge and turned my attention to the forms. Very straightforward: address and contact details at the top. Followed by questions on height, weight and BMI. BMI? Oh yes, body mass index and details of how to calculate it. A bit to complete on why the applicant wanted to be involved.

The second page detailed health issues and gave information on what the procedure involved. This looked like something from my local surgery than an art college! Then the disclaimer - no payment would be made for the time nor was it guaranteed that the resulting mould would or could be used. That was it - sign at the bottom, attach a picture of ones self (if available) and slip the forms into a business reply envelope. I grabbed a pen and filled in the details, repeated my lame excuse of a reason and dug out an old season ticket card photograph. It all went into the envelope and before I could change my mind, I slipped out to the post box and dropped it in.

My wait for a response was not long but long enough for some serious misgivings. That evening, I had run a warm bath and sat reading, surrounded by suds. My thoughts returned to the project. Bound in film and then encased in plaster for at least three hours (the form had stated). What was I thinking of? To be immobile for all that time, completely unable to move. Then another thought crossed my mind. The models would have to be undressed for the casting process. Yes, completely starkers. Who would be doing the wrapping and plastering, I wondered? I had never been truly naked in front of strangers before. I dropped the book by the bath and lay back to ponder this, considering what the reaction would be to my lithe frame. It could turn out to be a bit of a trial in more ways than one. My thoughts returned to the plastering process and the effect of immobility for several hours and found myself becoming aroused, a reaction that surprised me. It was obvious that my body thought it was a turn on, something I did not ignore as I gave in to temptation and fantasised over the experience, as formed by my imagination.


The summons came one afternoon, by telephone. The receptionist asked if I could attend a short meeting with the art director for the project on the morrow. Cupping my hand over the handset, I quickly asked my team leader for an hour away from the office to attend the meeting. She nodded. I returned to the call and wrote the appointment in my diary. The story was that I was following up the request to talk to some student groups, something my employer encouraged.

Next morning, I finally met the indefatigable Fiona on reception. She called for the art director and then motioned for me to go upstairs to the third floor where he would be waiting for me. Cameron Jamieson was more Scots than I and spoke with a soft Edinburgh accent. He ushered me into a small meeting room and offered coffee.

"Welcome to the college. My word but Audrey is right. I read your application with interest (we have had literally thousands to sift through) and thought this would be an interesting project for a graphic designer." He was straight to the point without preamble.

I wondered what he meant by Audrey being right. Cameron elaborated: "We have interviewed quite a few people of all different shapes and sizes and from different social back grounds. Okay, I want a good mix but unfortunately, most of our candidates either want payment or have enjoyed too may fish suppers!" He laughed. "And then there is the added complication of spouses, boy friends, girl friends et cetera; all objecting to their other half applying. Do you have a partner?" I shake my head.

"Good, that helps. So, Nick, may I call you Nick?" I nodded. "We need some fitter looking people and Audrey said you would fit the bill. You do too. Slim, tall and obviously fit. So if you still want to partake in this wee project of ours, we would like to offer you a place, subject to a medical - just to be on the safe side, you ken."

I nodded again, finding it difficult to get a word in.

"Excellent, good. Now you DO know what is involved? Let me tell you: There are four small teams of final year degree students headed by a senior lecturer involved in the project. Mixed groups, by the way," he glanced at me quizzically. "So leave your modesty at the door of the studio we are using for this project. Some of the process will be photographed. We may ask some people to return for second sessions to obtain different poses but that is still in the air. Still want to try? I hope so."

I agreed although the timid part of me wanted to back out. Probably the bit about photographs had raised the red flag. The bloody-minded hot headed Scots half of me demanded that I go-ahead. The resulting compromise was that I asked for a day or so to give it more thought. I was naturally shy of strangers and this enthusiastic college director had fair taken the wind out of my sails. It transpired that the casting process had already started and if I wished, I could go down the corridor and take a peek. I politely declined as I was running out of time and had to get back to the office.

"Fiona or one of the lecturers will contact you in a wee while to confirm and arrange a suitable time. They will let you know what you must do to prepare. It's been a pleasure, laddie, good to have you on board," he smiled as he shook my hand for the second time. A nice guy, he already had me down on his list. I felt a little trotted into a decision but then decided to phone in my acceptance the next day. It would not do to be seen to be too keen by accepting immediately.


The promised instructions arrived by post rather than by telephone; I found the envelope sitting on the door mat when arriving home from a weekend shopping trip. I had two days to prepare. Butterflies had somehow sneaked into my stomach. Nervous? This was worse than a job interview. The preparation details were a definite reality check. I had to shave. No, not just my chin but every where else. Oh aye, I thought, with my little electric jobbie?

I went out and purchased a proper razor and some shaving gel. I ran a warm bath and experimented for an hour, to be sure I could get the technique right. It was surprisingly easier than I imagined. My mind was in a whirl: I was required to shave so to have smooth legs, arms, genitals and chest. All wiry hair had to be removed or it would affect the casting process, the instructions informed me. I was surprised by this because I thought the cling film covering would take care of that problem. I failed to note the name of the lecturer that was to lead the team that would be doing the casting work on me. 

The day before was a Sunday leaving me too much time to ponder my foolishness. I was worried - would I faint, be too shy or get an embarrassing erection during the process? That evening I shaved completely, leaving myself with completely smooth legs, arms and chest (and everything else). Looking in a long mirror, I could see why it was necessary; my leg and thigh muscles were more pronounced under smooth pale skin. My chest had more definition. It was a good job I was single, I thought. This would probably not go down well with your typical Edinburgh lass. The process of shaving proved mildly erotic, rekindling my fears of showing myself up in front of a group of students. I was embarrassed and ashamed of my reaction to that and the thoughts of being bound up in plaster. It cannot be right or normal, surely? Should I back out? 

No. Although I was both dreading and anticipating the process at the same time, I lead a lonely existence outside work and the chance to meet some interesting people was too much to turn down. An experience to beat anything I had seen in my short life. It was to turn out to be an experience of a lifetime with consequences beyond my wildest imaginings. I was to discover things about myself that would leave me scared, bruised and a little confused. For I was walking into an unseen snare with no idea of the consequences.


I was met in reception by Audrey. Not the severe cut suit of the other day but a more youthful-looking figure in tight but tatty jeans, tee shirt and a fleece. I looked at her with renewed interest. She was still grey-haired and severe in manner but she had a very good figure: a woman that looked after herself, that much was obvious. Not unattractive, I thought. Once upstairs, I was introduced to the team - over coffee: coffee for them, nothing for me. I was going to be in no position to visit the gents for some time once the process had started. The team consisted of four students, serious and not much younger than I. Two short and slightly dumpy girls with long lank hair tied back to reveal shiny moon faces. One was a tall guy wearing a polo neck jumper and jeans, slim and quiet. He looked at me with appraising eyes. The fourth student was a typical spotty youth, acne marring a pleasant but normal face. They chatted to put me at ease, describing in detail how they would do the job. It was obvious that they had made many castings in the last few weeks. One of the two girls, Sue, commented that everyone was different and required a slightly different approach, making the task interesting every time.

They wanted me to take up a relaxed position with my legs slightly apart - as it waiting to meet someone I like in an informal setting; say in the park or at the botanical gardens, somewhere I might like to visit. I nodded my understanding, no stress in my pose. They would start with my legs, wrapping up to just above the knees. Once the plaster had cured, they would finish the job in three or four more stages: arms, chest and back; followed by head and finally thighs and buttocks. "Just in case," the girls giggled. I reddened slightly.

Audrey returned and motioned that the studio was ready. I entered a large room, full of light from overhead skylights and large windows that offered some good views over the rooftops of Edinburgh, towards the conference centre and Princes Street. In one corner, bags of plaster were stacked together with translucent grey rolls of cling film - big rolls, bigger than I had ever seen in Tesco. Mirrors stood in strategic positions. When I glanced at them, Sue explained that many of their subjects wanted to watch the process from all sides.

Standing in the middle of the studio, surrounded by buckets and coverings, I looked around the strange tools and implements, things I had never encountered in an art studio before. It looked like the contents of a builder's merchants' store. The team was putting on lightweight protective clothing and gloves. They looked at me expectantly until I realised with a start that I too was expected to get ready by shedding my clothing. 

"There is a clean locker over there, for your street clothes, " said Sue from behind a mask. She was to mix Plaster of Paris.

"Oh, sorry," I stuttered. 

S'okay," she replied, "relax, take your time, we have all day."

I undressed to the boxer shorts I decided to wear that morning. As I shed my chinos, the second girl (who was another Fiona I discovered later) came over to check if I had shaved. She ran a hand around my lower leg, checked my chest and nodded. "You're fine. Are you ready?" she asked me.

"Now or never," I said with a slight quiver in my voice. I walked back to the work area and slowly pulled down my boxer shorts to reveal myself in my full shaved and smooth glory. The embarrassment I felt was sufficient to keep me from showing myself up as the four students and Audrey looked me over critically.

"Slim," stated Sue.

"Good muscle tone, not too obvious," said the tall male student. He grabbed a roll of cling film and proceeded to wrap my legs individually. I was surprised how soft it felt. He made three turns to each before wrapping my left arm from the wrist to shoulder, making two turns around my chest, pulling the cling film tight before working down my right arm to the wrist. Sue was filling buckets with water and plaster whilst this was being done. The younger male student was taking occasional photographs with a digital camera and making notes. I was shedding my shyness and beginning to enjoy the attention; I had never experienced this sort of thing before.

Each of my fingers was wrapped individually in film by Fiona whilst the tall student wrapped film around my flat stomach and down and around my thighs, making three turns every time to ensure a good smooth cover, stretching it taut. He has done this job many times before, I realised. The wrapping was applied swiftly, almost without a wrinkle except around the top of my arms and one or two other spots. What amazed me was that the wrapping of my body was being done in relative silence, without a trace of embarrassment: the team concentrating on their tasks. Music was playing from a tape deck in the corner of the studio. It was warm, pleasant and I was relaxed, more so than I had been for ages. The misgivings of the last few weeks evaporated.

It took about twenty minutes to complete the wrapping. It was relatively tight and impeded movement a little. Upon commenting on this, Fiona explained that it had to be tight to restrict movement for when the plaster was drying or it might crack or not form properly, rendering the body cast useless.  I nodded. Looking in the mirrors, I saw myself like I had never before - a silvery skin of shiny film covered my body from neck to toes, showing my body profile to perfection, muscles, ribs and even a bulge where my penis was beginning to rise. I was becoming turned on by this. How weird.

"Comfortable?" asked Fiona, who was obviously the team leader. Audrey had slipped out to take a telephone call and had not returned.

"Yes, very. This is very strange," I replied.

Sue laughed. "Not half as strange as the next stage. I use a hair dryer to shrink this film onto your body. It will feel tight and you will find it difficult to move but don't worry, you will be able to breathe without trouble. Are you ready?"

I nodded again. I was sure I was enjoying myself and now I was not standing naked in front of four students, I was pretty relaxed. Looking in the mirrors, I realised that I may as well been naked, so close was the film covering. Fiona ran a warm puff of air from a hairdryer over my film covered body, making the film merge and shrink over my thighs, legs, arms and body to form something like a second skin, continuous, tight, restrictive. I gasped at the sensation.

"Cool, isn't it?" said the tall student. "I love being wrapped in that stuff," he admitted.

Fiona looked at the expression on my face and giggled. "We tested different types of shrink film on each other until we found this one. Jed liked the experience a little too much for his own good."

"Oh, right," I managed. This was an intense experience. Tight film was beginning to turn me on. I could quite understand why Jed liked it and was beginning to realise something in me that fancied the feeling of tightness and this shiny skin, something that created sensation over every inch of my body. In a flash, I comprehended the fetish for latex; something I had previously placed in a category labelled 'kink'. Well, what the hell was this I was experiencing? Who the hell was I to judge? Mental barriers came crashed down as Fiona and Jed approached with dry plaster bandages. I had visions of trying latex but wondered where I could find it. Fiona interrupted my train of thought.

"Next stage," she indicated the bandages. "This is a fine casting plaster that will take up detail to a high degree of fidelity. Legs first. Now move them apart a bit. I complied, placing my film-covered feet about 18 inches apart.

"Perfect! Now, to prevent you from moving them together whilst the plaster dries, I will put this piece of wood between your ankles." She bent down and wound two turns of bandage around my left ankle and up over my knee. Jed treated the right leg to the same. Sue was placing buckets of warm water nearby. So this was it, crunch time. I stood perfectly still. Sue inserted a stout wooden bar between my ankles. Closing them lightly onto it before winding bandage around it and my feet. Another turn went up my legs, over my knees and to within two inches of the top of my thighs. Sue liberally applied water and plaster mix to the bandages. To begin with, I felt nothing other than the cling film covering. Then a cold sensation as the water worked through the bandages. Sue examined the plaster to see how it was setting.

"Stay still," she instructed. "It is setting fast but won't reach full strength for half an hour."

After half an hour, it had cured sufficiently to take strain. I was amazed! I could not close my legs and found the restriction of movement completely alien but exhilarating; nothing had prepared me for this experience. As the plaster had hardened and cured, the cold wet sensation had given way to warmth. As if the cling film covering had not been tight enough, the plaster has shrunk around my legs, very slightly, making movement impossible. 

Commenting on this, Fiona explained that that was why it was perfect for their needs. After indicating that I was fine, the next stage commenced with my arms and shoulders. Small plaster bandages were wrapped around my hand and fingers; my arms were wrapped in a relaxed position with the elbows bent slightly for comfort. Jed wrapped broad bandages around my chest, stomach and over my shoulders, encasing my torso in white. This procedure took about twenty minutes and Sue then stepped in with more water and plaster. Once again a cold wet feeling was followed by warmth and a shrinking sensation. I could not move my arms (which had been secured to my sides with short pieces of wood to prevent movement). I was immobile and completely absorbed in the process. I could move my head and bend slightly at the waist but that was it.

Fiona once again enquired if all was fine. Oh yes, this experience was overcoming any fatigue I might have felt from standing so still. In fact, I felt completely alive at this stage, completely aware of every sensation arising from the tightness of the plaster. I was experiencing a bondage session, my first, although I did not know the name for it at the time and my arousal was almost painful beneath the film covering.

Fiona explained that for the last stage, a frame to support the whole body cast would be used, so I would be able to relax in the completed cast whilst it was finished off. I nodded in relief. I wondered how long I could remain standing so still, unsupported. She told me that this was the point of no return.

Work progressed to my head and neck. A skull cap of thin film was pulled over my hair. Fiona applied Vaseline to my eyebrows, ears and other exposed skin to ensure that the plaster would not stick to it. Some film was wrapped around my head but it was not the same type as that used on my body. Then to my horror, Fiona wrapped film across my mouth, several turns, leaving me with only my nose to breathe through.

"Comfy?" She asked. I nodded stiffly. I had come this far.

Bandages were applied, around my head and face. This was claustrophobic but necessary for the cast to be completed. My arousal faded. Then the same cool, wet feeling and them warmth as the plaster impregnated bandages cured. The mirrors were now irrelevant because I could not see, blinded by plaster bandages. I could not hear very much and was unable to speak. The plaster was curing fast and even a slight movement of my head and neck was impossible. I freaked slightly then calmed down. What a weird experience. All that was left to do was my middle, bum and top of my thighs. Then I would be completely cast in plaster, immobile, unable to twitch a finger. My breathing was loud in my plaster case.

You read of so-called heightened feelings when some senses are removed and I often wondered about this when reading novels. It was true, my senses felt completely alert to the slightest change in my environment. What seemed like ages (a couple of minutes in reality) I felt myself being secured to a frame. Fiona's voice came dully through the plaster.

"Nick, you okay?" I muffled a reply.

"You can relax completely now, we have your cast in a frame. It will support you." I muffled an unnecessary thanks. "S'okay. Were tidying up. Audrey is going to finish the project off. It's lunchtime, we will see you later when we break you out the mould."

Later? How long was I going to be in here? Then I heard Audrey's voice.

"Hi Nick," she sounded distant through the plaster. "I see you have enjoyed the experience so far."

I agreed.

"Good. Now, The guys have gone for a long lunch, so it is up to me to do the final work. Relax laddie, this will take some time to finish. I see that you have enjoyed the experience more than some, judging by that bulge."

Oh shit, I thought. I had hoped that it was not noticeable through the cling film. No one had commented. It was different in front of Audrey, the prim and proper lecturer. I flushed all over under my plaster cast. Oh for a hole to swallow me up.

"Embarrassed?" asked Audrey. "Don't be, this is supposed to be a surreal experience, something to enjoy. Let me tell you something. You were on this project from the moment I set eyes on you in reception. Don't you think it strange that you ended up with my team? 

I thought hard. Now come to think of it, I had not considered that point, even briefly.

"I like the way you look. I know one of the partners in your firm. We went out for lunch a couple of weeks ago. She tells me that you are a gifted designer but a bit of a loner. To really progress, you need to break out of your shell a little. You're in a rut, apparently. No girl friend, no boyfriend either."

What the hell is this all about? I wondered.

"I decided that I wanted to see you again. But you lack some social skills, that is apparent even here today. So, as an extra curricular activity," she paused, " I shall give you some instruction. You like this encasement and you liked the cling film process; that is obvious. Are you a closet bondage fan? Ever been tied up before?"

Oh shit, double shit, I panicked with my brain in a tizz, I was really thinking. But unable to move, caught, in a snare, one I had willingly walked into. Misgivings had turned to real doubt. My heart was auditioning for the Edinburgh tattoo. Thump, thump.

"So starts your lesson. In there, Nick, is a nice guy, a person I would love to be my partner. You don't mind an older woman I trust? I hope not because I need something of a younger man as a submissive partner, some one I can satisfy myself with. Someone I can dominate, tie up, tease, display when the fancy takes me. Are you the one for that role Nick? I think you are and I can promise you a very interesting time."

I goggled at that one. Wriggling was no good. Running away very fast - not a chance; entombed as I was. Adrenaline had me out of the building and back to the station in a flash. Plaster held me fast. I hung from the frame.

I felt some cooler air on the top of my thighs and cold steel: scissors. Audrey was cutting the film away from my middle to expose a now limp penis. A few more snips and I was exposed from waist to thighs. I was otherwise captured in plaster, tight, solid and unbending.

"You do have a nice body, shaven. So smooth." She ran her hands over my scrotal sack and balls, around the top of my thighs and bum. I shuddered. Then I felt her smearing something sticky and slippery over my bum cheeks, my penis, my balls. I felt her work a gloved hand between my bum cheeks, exploring my anus, rubbing Vaseline over it, making me squirm in my cast. I was helpless to prevent any of these ministrations. A little voice in my head said: "Relax, take it." The sensation was rather pleasant.

I relaxed but prematurely as I felt something hard and cold, shock my anus. It was rotated slightly then pushed. Oh God, I resisted, trying to clench my buttocks but to avail. The action had taken me by surprise and before I could clench, the tip forced my most intimate opening and had started to stretch it. I howled in the cast but all that came out was a muffled yelp. My toes curled, fingers gripped the inside of the cast. Supported by the frame, legs apart with a brace between my ankles and tightly encased in plaster, I was unable to counter the slow, relentless insertion of a butt plug. Some relief as the wide neck passed into my body and my anus closed around the neck, leaving completely foreign sensations. Nothing I had ever encountered before could remotely prepared me for this.

"Feeling full?" asked Audrey through my cast. "Good. It vibrates, you know. It has a remote device, so as the guys are finishing you off, after lunch, I can play. You will be immobile, fixed, caught: unable to control this wee taste of what could be. "

I thought hard. How long will this last? How long would I last? What did Audrey really want? I knew the answer to that. She wanted a young man. A play thing. Someone to humiliate, as she was so successfully doing now. She had identified me, stalked me and was now introducing me to  bondage, mummification and torture: the snare. I realised with a start that part of me was willing to go along with this. I had been too lonely for too long, a sexless existence with my thoughts often wondering about my orientation. But with an older woman?

Audrey was applying bandages to my groin, thighs and buttocks, with the butt plug caught inside. No pushing that out, I realised. She applied water, allowing the plaster to set and shrink around me, completing the cast and sealing me in for an afternoon of exquisite torture. My mind seemed solely concentrated on the hard lump up my backside as it stretched my anal muscles, uncomfortable, almost irritating. I had never felt so helpless, out of control. I faintly heard the team returning.

How I survived that afternoon, I do not know. Little did I know that the team was mixing loose plaster and using it to reinforce potential weaknesses in my jacket of stone. It felt like an age had passed before I felt a vibration in my backside: Audrey was playing discreetly with her little remote device. My mind focussed on the sensations in my back passage and the unwanted intruder. I was aroused, unable to move, unable to stop the pulses of sensation in my anus and on my prostate. I was scratching the ceiling, metaphorically speaking.

Desperate for relief, I tried to rub against the inside of the cast but was held fast. I clamped my jaws shut so not to make a noise as the vibrations increased in frequency, sometimes stopping, then restarting. To my surprise, I was enjoying the immobility, the restriction and the powerlessness to prevent Audrey from stimulating me to a frustrated exhausted wreck. What a complete bitch, I thought with some feeling; she had me worked out from the very beginning: things even I did not know about myself.

I awoke to a cutting, ripping sound. The solid cast was being removed, slowly, carefully. This too was an experience to add to those accumulated during an afternoon of sexual tension. A feeling of rebirth or emerging from a chrysalis. Part of the cast was carefully peeled aside, revealing me in my suit of shiny film, horribly sweaty. Audrey stood in front of me as I vainly tried to release myself from the support frame. Outside, it was late afternoon and no one else from the team was about.

"Go and take a shower but before I release you completely, understand this: I fancy you like mad but the relationship is simple. I am a dominant woman, I like my men younger than me and I like them submissive. I know you liked me, it was the way you stared in reception; your eyes betrayed you! So the deal is simple, we become a couple, I get my evil way with you; you submit and worship me. Starting this Friday. I can guarantee it, you will love it. Or will come to love it. I am offering you no choice. Refuse and my friend finds out about your bad behaviour here today. A career-limiting move, I should think." She smiled; hoping the bluff would work.

She stepped up and kissed my panicked expression away. I could not believe any of this; she was very attractive, even in baggy, plaster-covered overalls. A bitter sweet sensation, to be obviously desired by an older woman but like this? As her submissive lover? 

"Training starts Friday," she stated ominously, "don't be late!"


I approached the large three-storey town house with trepidation. Audrey owned one of those gracious houses in Morningside, one with high ceilings, big rooms, shutters and period features. I stepped up to the front door and rang the bell. I was on time, just. As the door opened, I considered once again about running away, very fast. Audrey greeted me and accepted the bottle of wine I bore with thanks. Pulling me over the threshold, I was committed, committed to an evening of, well, of what? I did not know.

The week had passed slowly. My few bruises from the casting process faded. The mental bruising had turned to some confusion. Why me, I thought. Fiona had called me to say that the cast had been a success and would be used in the sculptures. Would I pop back to the college for another session next week? No problem, I confirmed.

Contact from Audrey was not forthcoming until the week was nearly done, in the form of an elegant invitation card requesting my presence for drinks and an evening of social pleasure. Address details were included, to my relief. I nearly missed the typed sheet of instructions that came with the invitation. I was to shave again and wear the gift she had chosen for me under my street clothes. Gift? 

That arrived on Friday morning, by courier, at my office. I ripped the card envelope open without thinking and glanced inside. To my shock, the contents were not the CDs I was expecting from Tony Stone Images but something quite different. I locked it in my desk draw whilst quickly checking the delivery and senders instructions, red-faced. All became clear. I planning to leave work late and go directly to Morningside but this development complicated matters slightly. I would somehow have to don the present from Audrey in the gents at sometime during the day.

So here I was, in the entrance hall of Audrey's home, admiring tasteful furnishings. Audrey was wearing a smart jacket and skirt, chic and expensive; making her appear attractive but in a mature way. I looked her over again. Yes, she was slim and shapely. I could do worse, I thought.

Taking seats in an elegant drawing room, Audrey offered me a drink: "Wine, beer, tea, coffee?" she enquired. I accepted a small glass of white wine.

"How are you after Monday?" she asked. "Fine, thank you," I replied.

"I think you found that a liberating experience," continued Audrey. "Or why would you be here to explore more." She moved to sit beside me and reached down to feel my ankle and leg beneath my chinos.

"Hmm, shaved. There is a good boy," she murmured. "Do you always do as you are told?"

I reddened at that and then nodded slightly: " For you Audrey, yes," I though was the right reply. I was beginning to really fancy this woman; I liked her dominating power. She leaned over to cup my chin with one hand and kissed me directly on the lips, further confusing me.

"I think we are going to have some fun, laddie. Did you receive my little gift?" She breathed in my ear.

I blushed again, feeling foolish. "Yes, thank you. It was, um surprising." 

She inclined her head and asked, "Why should it be? Why should receiving a gift from your mistress be embarrassing?"

"Well, I opened the box right in the middle of the office!" Audrey's eyes widened at that before she burst out laughing.

"Keep you on your toes laddie, never a dull moment from now on. I have a couple of other nice things for you. Here."

Audrey handed me a red box. Inside were two collars, one in red leather with a criss-cross design emphasised with silver studs and a D-ring. It was a couple of inches wide and had a locking hasp. The other was a simple necklace type of stainless steel beads, also with a locking hasp. I gawped at them, speechless.

"Well, what do you say?"

"Oh thank you Audrey." I breathed.

"Good! I should explain. For our scenes, there has to be a point where they begin and end. When I put the red collar on you, that marks a boundary. You will behave as my submissive, call me ma'am or mistress. Don't talk until you are instructed to do so. You shall follow my every instruction, tend my every whim or desire and do it willingly. The other one is for when you are away from my presence. You will wear that all the time. It will be a constant reminder of your commitment and to discourage infidelity. Mind you, I do have other ways of encouraging fidelity to our relationship."

I simply stared at the collars, speechless. I had noticed that they were fitted with locks. Audrey reached into the box and withdrew the red leather collar. "So when I lock this on, there is no turning back. Okay?"

I nodded, heart thumping loudly in my chest.

She stood and walked behind the sofa I was sitting on. She placed the collar around my neck, from behind me and snapped the lock closed. It was a close fit. I lifted my hands to feel it and run a finger around the inside but Audrey prevented me from doing so.

"Go into the room next door and get undressed. Place your street clothes in the wooden chest and close the lid. Wait for me there. On your knees."

"Yes, Ma'am, " I replied. I could not bring myself to use the "mistress" title, not just yet. Standing up, I wandered into the next room. It was a small side room, empty apart from the box. I undressed slowly, down to the red leather posing briefs that had been in the courier envelope that morning. They were a close fit too. I knelt on the carpet to await my fate. I was left to wait for some time. For when Audrey returned, she had changed into an outfit of stunning appearance: leather trousers, close cut to show off shapely legs and a black leather corset which pinched her waist in so it looked impossibly narrow, and left her creamy, flawless shoulders and arms bare. Calf boots and a cane completed the image. I drank it in, amazed at the transformation. "Eyes down," she warned as she snapped a lock onto the chest containing my street clothes and shoes. The implication was unspoken I was going nowhere for the moment.

My new mistress walked around my kneeling body. She checked my shaving by running her hands along my arms, back and legs. "No bad, " she admitted. "You have nice smooth skin, like a girl's. You are good at this; your mistress is pleased. Keep it up - I do not want to see you with ANY body hair from now on."

"Yes Ma'am," I replied, feeling pleased. The shaving bit had worried me a little; it seemed kinky at the time, relatively tame now. 

"The girls will love you. I have a couple of friends around tonight. So lets get you ready. Crawl back to the drawing room."  I did as I was bid, crawling on hands and knees in front of her as she tapped the cane against my thighs. As I stopped in the centre of the drawing room, I noticed the additional piece of furniture, one that was not there earlier. This and the mention of "friends" was made me very apprehensive.

"That is a bondage box. Once I have you in there, you are not going to escape, so in you get."

A box it was too, with open sides, a solid base with a thin cushion pad and a top made of two pieces with a hole in it, a hole large enough for my neck, like a set of stocks. The four corner posts comprised of square section timber, large and stained black and with securing rings located in the sides, at the top and bottom. The top was screwed into place and locked to prevent escape. Audrey removed the top pieces and motioned me to sit inside it. I did, noting that it was just tall enough to get my shoulders under the top pieces, which were slid into place, around my neck, capturing my head. Audrey replaced the four knobs, screwing them down onto the top of the corner posts before threading a padlock through holes each and clicking them shut.

At the front of the neck hole was another silver coloured steel ring. This was lined up with the d-ring on my collar and a small padlock applied. Snap! My arms were sticking out of the open sides. The box was only a few feet in length, so my legs were sticking well out of the ends. Audrey had the answer to this problem too.

I looked on fascinated as she pulled lengths of chain consisting of links of about half an inch from a box together with more padlocks. She wrapped three turns of chain around each ankle. The cold metal was a shock, even though I was watching everything. The chain was secured with a padlock. She repeated the task with my wrists. I was unresisting. Locked into the box, I really had no choice. The chain was heavy and cold on my skin.

The loose end of the chains attached to my wrists was pulled back, pulling each arm behind my back. When taut, each chain was padlocked to a steel ring in the corner posts behind me. I pulled on the chains and discovered I could not move my arms very much and certainly, they were secured very strictly. The chains were harsh on my skin. I ceased to pull as Audrey commented: "Don't struggle. Time enough for that later! Now bend your legs into the box and out of the sides."

That was a struggle with my arms chained, but I eventually made it. The corner posts of the box ensured that my legs were well apart, exposing my nice new leather briefs and shaved thighs and buttocks. I was sitting on the bottom of my back with all exposed. Audrey took the end of the left leg chain and pulled it up to the left post ring, making me sit back into the box a little so my arms were stretched and my chin was resting on the top of the box. The process was repeated with the right leg. I was caught, chained, secure, barely able to move, or escape, completely at the mercy of this older woman. Boy but I was hard at the thought. Bondage was a discovery, something that I was beginning to really enjoy.

"That's it, laddie," said Audrey. "Your position for tonight. I want nothing more of you except to remain silent unless spoken to. You shall do as any of my guests tell you." I did wonder at that.

The box was pushed to one side of the drawing room. This was humiliating, being pushed around like a piece of furniture. But a living piece of furniture I was, secured and bound in an open-sided wooden box.

Audrey spent the next hour preparing canapes, nibbles and drinks for her friends with the help of a maid that looked at me curiously. I was embarrassed, not expecting such scrutiny. It was obvious that the maid was used to seeing such things. Not for the first time, I tested my shiny clinking bonds. When the first guest arrived, realisation dawned. I was being introduced to a very select group. A tall, angular-looking woman in her 40s shed a long coat to reveal a good figure clad in red spandex. A long plait of blond hair hung down her back. 

After pecking Audrey on the cheek, she swept into the room and straight over to my box, crooning: "So this is your new acquisition! What a lovely boy, you lucky thing!" She kneeled down beside the box and ran her hand up the inside of my left thigh. I noticed long fingernails, as I flinched at the sudden contact. "You have him nice and secure. Was he difficult?"

"Nooo, not at all," replied Audrey. "I think the thought of an evening of lust with us was enough to ensure he complied. That and the promise of a good flogging! 

The second guest to arrive was dressed in a similar spandex outfit in black, tight fitting and revealing a curvy figure. She too had to inspect the "boy". Of the five guests, one woman wore a short, tight leather skirt and latex top; another chose a long gown over a corset and long swirling skirt of very fine leather. It was clear to me that this was a group of like-minded older women: divorced or single. I think I recognised a couple from pictures in the local paper - influential, well-off and perfectly capable of enjoying themselves at the expense of some bound and chained young man. I felt distinctly and uncomfortably exposed and embarrassed at the attention I was receiving, each stroked some part of my body, confining their attentions to my chest, legs and arms. Until one reached down and undid the buckles that held my skimpy red briefs and pulled them away from my body. My instinctive reaction was to try and close my legs and cover my modesty with my hands. However, legs were bound well apart and my hands were chained securely behind me. I flushed red all over as the women cooed and laughed at my discomfort. Audrey, donning a pair of black latex gloves, reached into the box that held the chains and removed a white latex object. She placed it on the top of my box, on its end, six inches in front of my eyes. From base to rounded tip, the butt plug was five inches in length and at least an inch and a half at its widest point. My face was a picture and I struggled, beginning to protest. One of the women, I don't know which, switched the cane at my legs, telling me to be silent.

Audrey looked me in the eyes from six inches. "Take a good look at that," she instructed threateningly. "You will be fitted with it in a wee while. So think about how it will feel, pushed up that tight little backside of yours. So stop struggling, you cannot go anywhere. Any noise or bad behaviour and I won't use any lube!"

Oh shit, I thought. The women laughed and retired to the other side of the drawing room to enjoy drinks and nibbles. I was red in the face and staring at the white plug inches from my eyes. It looked huge. I was not sure if I could take it but considered my options. Make a fuss and I will find myself caned and fitted with the plug anyway - without a lubricant. Stay quiet and still in my chains and the plug is fitted whether I want it or not. At least some lube would be used.

The tall angular woman returned to my box and sat on the edge, like a preying mantis. My nose was inches from her firm thighs. She tousled my dark curly hair with one hand, drink in the other. The room was full of light, chatting women and music playing softly. Under normal circumstances, I might have shed my shyness to enjoy this social gathering but chained in my box, my enjoyment was of a mixed kind, dread of what was to come, desire for release and arousal at being secured so well in such a strict bondage. The helplessness was stimulating.

"So, you are Audrey's new boy," she murmured. "She has not had someone like you for such a long time, I am really pleased for her. I am Sophie, Audrey's best friend from school. We are very close." Sophie kept a firm hold of my hair. She continued, "You are lucky. When Audrey makes up her mind about someone, she has them for keeps. Prepare for a long relationship. But I warn you, cheat on her and she will be down on you like a ton of bricks!"

I moaned at the thought of that. The slim chance of this being a one-night affair of bondage and humiliation had evaporated. I had hoped, perhaps foolishly and despite the signs, that it would be a one-off, an experience of a life-time but not to be repeated. Thinking about it, the collars and briefs fitted all too well. No, Audrey had had them made specifically for me, using my measurements from the college form. The butt plug had cooled my enthusiasm a bit. I groaned again, involuntarily. What had I got myself into?

Sophie looked at me from close range. Then without hesitation, she picked up the plug and shoved it between my teeth so the narrow neck was encircled by my lips. I was surprised and shocked, gagged by the firm silicone object.

"Suck it," she snarled. "Get to know how it feels!" She left me to consider my fate. Five minutes (or was it five hours?) later, she returned with Audrey. Audrey pulled the plug from my mouth.

"Well lubed, I think," she said. Sophie agreed. Audrey bent down and placed the plug against my exposed anus. She twisted it and pushed against my resistance. It slid inexorably in, stretching me painfully, more so than the one from Monday. I moaned, not daring to make any more noise than that. An eternity passed as I felt the silicone plug slide slowly past my muscles, I was helpless to prevent it. Suddenly, my anus closed around the neck of the plug. Audrey still had a hold of the base. She twisted it a few times, making me squirm and wriggle at the sensations. This seated it firmly in place. She got up, stripped off the black latex gloves and threw them onto the top of my box, a few inches from my nose.

"I think dinner is nearly ready," she said. "Lets leave Nick to consider his position. Before we return and have some real fun!" I was left alone with my discomfort, erection and pain. Yes, I could take that butt plug. I was ashamed to admit that the forced upon situation I was experiencing was thrilling me with a mixture of humiliation, shame, pleasure, arousal and something I could not identify, a rush of adrenaline which was making me detach myself from my normal life. What was that normal life? The events of the last hour or so was so incongruous compared to the genteel surroundings I was in. This added to my humiliation, to be reduced to a naked chained sex toy for the enjoyment of a group of women. I loved it.


The social part of the evening wound down with me left in the drawing room, listening to the hum of conversation from the adjacent dining room and trying to stop an involuntary pulsing in my rear resulting from the butt plug. Eventually, the meal ended and the party returned to the drawing room. They were flush with good food and wine. Whilst coffee was being served, Sophie, almost casually, straddled the top of my box, facing me. This time, my nose was inches from her groin and I promptly forgot the silicone plug. She shuffled up and gripped my head with her thighs, strong, firm thighs. I could smell her excitement. She teased me with her sex and musk through her outfit, grinding spandex clad hips against my head. Oh, the frustration! Unable to move, hands chained and neck padlocked to the box. Once again, I was reminded of my status: the living sex toy for someone else's enjoyment. She eventually lifted the hem of her outfit to encouragement from the others, whom were obviously a little drunk on wine. My nose and mouth was buried in a furry mound that leaking juices as I found myself licking and probing for her button. This lasted for some time before Sophie eventually climaxed and moved from the box, to my disappointment.

Her place was soon taken by the woman wearing the short leather skirt. I never discovered her name but as the skirt was lifted over my head, I smelled a mixture of leather and sex, evocative, erotic, quite different to Sophie. Her mound was shaven and extraordinarily smooth, something I found incredibly sexy. I probed the smoothness enthusiastically with my tongue, not daring to pause for fear of punishment as I felt someone grip my butt plug and start pulling it out, just to push it back in again in a slow, torturous rhythm. This was driving me completely mad, so much so that I was really having trouble concentrating on my task. Judging by the grip in which my head was held in her thighs, the woman in the skirt was riding for all she was worth. I was trying to cope with sensations that were seemingly relentless. After a few minutes, it all suddenly stopped.

The party left me alone again with my emotions ablaze. This was obviously deliberate, to keep me on edge. Where they had gone, I could not tell. It was some time before Audrey reappeared to remove the silicone invader from me and then to unlock me from my box. As I stretched stiff muscles, whilst kneeling on the floor, Audrey clipped a lead to my collar. I was led, on hands and knees, down a flight of stairs (backwards) into a former cellar. The room was richly painted in purples, blacks and burgundy colours. I could not help but notice the activity on a king-sized bed - three of the party were in various states of undress, giving or taking pleasure with a variety of toys. The floor was covered in rugs, wall hangings of simple sheets of crushed velvet, strange sexual implements hung from the walls - my senses were assaulted with so much information.

"Slave," intoned Audrey, "You have a function to perform. One of my party wants to screw with you until you are senseless. Stand up straight, this is not for your enjoyment"

I stood. Sophie and the curvy spandex-clad woman approached me with rolls of cling film, exactly the same stuff as used at the college during the casting process. Despite having consumed some wine, they were pretty thorough in wrapping my arms, legs, feet and torso individually in many turns of film, leaving my genitals uncovered. Then my arms were pushed against my sides where the film stuck to itself, long enough for me to be wrapped firmly on a translucent film; my arms bound tight to my sides. Down they went, covering my hands and then adding a few more turns to the top of my thighs, pulling the film taut as they went. The feeling was one of instant immobility, more so than the body moulding of a few days ago, especially when my legs were closed and securely wrapped together in layers of film. I looked at myself in a nearby wall mirror, cocooned in a sheath of silvery film from neck to feet except my genitals. My erect penis stuck absurdly out of the sheath. The two women continued to add turns of film before pausing. A hair dryer was produced and I felt a familiar shrinking feeling as the dryer was blown over my body.

Once complete, the two women carefully laid me on a long, narrow table of stainless steel and thin black pads. More cling film was wound around my legs and torso, around under the table, securing me to it so I would not fall off. I was now totally unable to move.

I spent the rest of the night, mummified and strapped to that table. The party broke up after midnight, I was left alone in that lushly decorated room with just my thoughts and fatigue for company. For after being mummified, Audrey's friends used and abused my poor penis, straddling me and riding me for what seemed like hours. I thought I would come very quickly but some sort of ring device, slipped on when I was being wrapped prevented me from coming whilst maintaining a painfully tight erection. It was bizarre.

My mouth and tongue were called back into the action. So when each of the guests made to leave as booked taxis arrived; I was relieved and exhausted. Sophie was the last to leave. She whispered in my ear: "I think I shall ask your Mistress if I can borrow you for a weekend. You have a lovely ass that needs exploring with one of my strap-ons!" I quivered at that. I did not doubt that Audrey would grant that request.

So I was left alone to contemplate spending the night wrapped in shrink cling film, with dried love juice on my face and in my hair. I was too exhausted to struggle anymore, to object to the denial of release. Audrey briefly returned, ruffled my hair and said, "Well done!" before turning back to the stairs.

She paused: "By the way, I am leaving your collar on. Don't forget what that means. Tomorrow is another day. Oh, do you fancy going to a club tomorrow night? I have a nice wee outfit for you."

A club? Out in public in an "outfit"? My brain screamed from the overload.



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