|The Mummy of Bangalore|
|© Copyright 2007 - Rohana - Used by permission|
|Storycodes: F/m; wrap; carpet; tickle; bond; toys; cons; X|
|The Mummy of Bangalore by Rohana F/m; wrap; carpet; tickle; bond; toys; cons; X|
Transferred to Bangalore, India to manage a software team, my nebbish nature had left me an isolated westerner in that sprawling city. How very nice that middle-aged Indian couple next door befriended me.
Kumar Vadra was a civil servant, rather proud of his long years of service (which, from what I could tell, involved bogging down the efforts of countless individuals beneath meaningless bureaucracy). He was a loud, balding man with a rolling belly and unbending opinions. Still, I liked him.
Kumar had his government job. Dharsha kept their condo clean. It was natural that they would fill the void left by two universitied children by inviting me over on Friday nights. We would drink tea on the balcony, looking out over the hazy city as the orange orb of the sun melted into the purpled horizon.
Kumar would go on about some topic or another, filling the air with his opinions. I would sip my tea and nod. Dharsha would sit in her chair, so proper, her small feet together, heel-toe, her sad eyes on the horizon. And so night would fall in our familiar company.
One day, Kumar was going on and on about religion, discussing how there was no question that his belief was the only belief. I tried to offer counterpoints but he didn't stop to listen. He just swilled glass after glass of tea, talking a mile a minute. That was fine. I looked past him to study Dharsha's profile against the dusk, her smile knowing, sad and silent. Finally Kumar excused himself, stumbling back into the condo to use the bathroom after drinking most of the pitcher.
"You must forgive my husband," Dharsha noted with her low melodious voice. "He is what you would call, in the west, a fundamentalist. He believes the literal word."
I shrugged. "That can't be all bad. It's good to be devoted."
She turned to look at me, a strand of hair falling over a sunken eye. "Is it? He believes that sex is only for procreation, nothing more. We have not lain together in many, many years."
I could only stare; not in shock at her forward nature, mind you. How stupid could Kumar be? Here's his wife, a saucy number with eyes as dark as a succubus's promise, her flesh warm and soft and willing, and he's flipping through his holy books? In a flash, a fantasy arose of a grateful Mrs. Vadra laying with me on blankets on this very balcony, naked before the warm breeze of evening, her body open and inviting, her strong arms pulling me to her, her sad smile filling my heart.
I blinked away the image. She'd turned to look out at a high-rise whose lights were tinkling on. I studied her beautifully mature profile, wondering what I could possibly say. And then, a moment later, Kumar rejoined us, gathering wind for further theocratic declarations and the moment was lost.
Weeks passed and I'd pretty much put her comment behind us. Kumar and I had skirmished around socialism (he was against it, having suffered under it, while I'd suffered from the lack of it). I always looked forward to my evenings at the Vadra's.
So there seemed nothing amiss when Dharsha met me at the door late one Friday afternoon, so radiant in her vibrant sari, casually barefoot. I felt a little underdressed in my shorts and t-shirt, and barefoot, too. But she was gracious. "Come in, Stephen, come in," she said warmly and led me out to the balcony where the pitcher of tea nestled amid glasses. I sat down in my customary seat and after pleasantries, we compared the week of a sad housewife to that of a lost project manager. She drew up a knee, her shapely brown foot poised on the edge of her seat, its instep so pronounced. I thought again of Kumar and what he was neglecting, the idiot.
But thinking of Kumar....
"Your husband? Isn't he coming to join us?"
"Kumar is away on business, unable to return until noon tomorrow."
And so there it was.
She turned her head slightly, a single brown eye looking out at me, expressionless.
I would have liked to take her into my arms, to hold that sad woman tight and feel her warmth radiate through me. I would have liked to slip the sari from her shoulders, to delight in her full breasts and wide hips, to find out just what sort of woman she really was.
But I liked Kumar.
"I really shouldn't stay..."
"No, I'd better go..."
"I just wished to ask you something."
"I don't think that would be wise...."
She shushed me, a slow sensuous hiss, placing a finger to my lips. Her dark eyes held me for a moment, waiting until I'd stilled.
"I am not seeking sex from you. Worry not about that. No, there is a singular fantasy that I have held in my heart since I was a little girl. When I was young, I could find no one to try it on. When I got married, Kumar flatly refused me. And so I have watched my life pass by like the waters of the Ganges. I do not wish to go to my next life not realizing it."
I did not know what to say. I only sat there looking out over the quieting city.
"Oh, silly Stephen. It is not some massive boon I ask of you. It is a simple thing."
I looked to her, uncomfortable with it all.
"I simply wish to wrap you."
A moment. "Wrap me?"
"Yes. It is a silly fantasy of mine. I cannot explain it, but how can one explain the heart, the soul? No, I would like to roll you in a rug, just roll you up with your head sticking out one end, your feet out the other. An innocent little thing. What could be wrong with that?"
"I don't know. It sounds rather... kinky." My heart was pounding. I'd always wondered about bondage.
"It is not sexual. How could I ravish you? Wrapped in a rug, you will be safe from any wickedness." Her sad smile worked at my heart. "I just wish to roll you up. Then unroll you. How can that be wrong? How can anything happen?"
I looked out over the urban landscape that was hazing towards night. My head was filled of worries even while my heart was pounding in excitement. It did sound innocent, just a little fetish game that she could do one time and check off her list. And I had to admit, knowing that Dharsha would carry an image of me fulfilling her deepest fantasy was a bit of a turn-on. And so, with mixed emotions, I nodded.
She clapped her hands and rose, reaching down and pulling me to my feet. "Come, come, Stephen. It shall only take a moment."
She led me inside, into their comfortably traditional living room. Low pillows lay in every corner. Rugs (which now had my attention) were strewn about the floors. I stood next to her, looking about, not sure what to do.
"This one," she smiled in sultry excitement, toeing a blue patterned rug. It was just under six feet in width, just the length of the average human male. I looked to my flushed hostess, wondering if she'd considered this while purchasing it. What had her thoughts been that day?
I started to settle to my knees, unsure how one did engaged in such a thing. A hand on my shoulder stopped me. "No, flip it. You must lay against the backing." I nodded and together we flipped the rug over. I looked from it to where she stood, smiling, beaming like a bride.
"Dharsha, it's a bit... rough on this side." I gingerly fingered the coarse material with a thumb, doubtful.
"It is only for a short while," she said in her deeply rhythmic tone. She smiled at me and I felt my heart go out to her. "Won't you suffer this little bit for me?"
Of course I would. She had me in the warm palm of her soft hand.
I was such an idiot.
At her direction, I lay facedown a few feet short of the rug. It was scratchy but not unpleasantly so. Still, the smallest move reminded me of it. Small hands coaxed my hands to my sides and directed my feet together. The contrast between the broad contact of the coarse material and the minute brush of her velvety flesh was electric. I found my breath coming faster.
"Here we go now," she told me, flopping the end of it up and over me. I thought that she would just roll me along the floor, have a look, then roll me back. However, she would not be rushed in her moment. Small clever hands tucked the end of the rug around my body, snugging it under me, pulling taunt the fabric over my narrowing legs, tightening the whole thing up. I lay with my eyes closed, concentrating on the muffled feeling of her hands working along my body, tightening everything into place. Only when I was nice and tight did she whisper, "Now onto your back". Eager hands moved me slowly through a half turn.
Once again, she took her time, pushing in the rug where it was loose, making sure the entire thing was tighter than plastic wrap. Looking up at their plastered ceiling, I gave a small tug, careful not to ruin her effort. I needn't have worried. Even on the first roll, my arms were pinned to my side, my feet together. I craned up to look down the length of my body, down past where Dharsha's hands tucked at the rug, towards my distant feet. A world away.
Another half turn, then another. Now I was as locked as if I'd been buried in concrete. What little air surrounded my body was heated, the rough fabric tingling every inch of exposed flesh. I found myself wishing I was naked within this cocoon.
I looked up to where Mrs. Vadra tucked me in, her eyes dancing in delight. Kneeling had tightened up her sari and I could clearly see where her nipples swelled against the thin fabric. Then I realized that she was not wearing a bra or anything else beneath that fine silk. Deep within the roll, my manhood began to swell at the thought. Had she sat before her mirror making herself subtly beautiful for me? Had she practiced the lines that would lead to her request, drilling herself with breathless excitement until the trap seemed natural? I thought to say something when eager hands settled against my hip and flank, and I was pressed into another half turn.
I had no watch and couldn't have seen it if I had. In that, I have no idea how long it took her to methodically roll me into this tight cylinder. I glanced to the open patio door where the sky grew black and the ice cubes had melted into the tea. She was taking her time, a beautiful tawny spider, milking the moment for all she could. And I was fine with that. My breath was shallow and only some of that could be explained away by the rug's constriction.
And finally I was at the end of it, laying on my chest, hardly able to move. I could shift my feet slightly and feel the carpet beneath my toes. By straining upwards, I could look out across the floor. I could not look up. I don't even think I could get enough momentum to roll over.
The feet returned. Then came the rustle of cloth as she lay down on the floor on her tummy, looking at me face to face. How her eyes sparkled, gems in dark velvet. Her smile was still had its sad tint to it, yet it was fuller, sharper, more true. And from here, I could look down her wonderful cleavage, where the flesh pulsed over her fluttering heart.
"How do you feel, Stephen," she asked in low, breathless tones. "How does it feel within your cocoon?"
"Great," I told her. "Snug. Safe. Secure." I sighed. For the first time in this hustling city with its hungry multitudes looking for the edge, I was out of play, out of bounds, off the field. I could feel my muscles relaxing. My back muscles, that is. As for certain front muscles...
"Can you move?" I shook my head. "Is it too hot?" I shrugged noncommittally. She smiled, her nose wrinkling. "Is it itchy?" I smiled an affirmative. In response, she just settled her rounded chin on her crossed arms, looking at me like a schoolgirl, bare feet up and crossed.
I think I might have lain there with her forever without realizing it but suddenly she was standing. Now all I could see of her was her feet, standing just before my nose. "Wait here, Stephen. Do not move."
Do not move? Hardly.
She padded from the room. Everything seemed so quiet as if she had somehow muffled the entire world in the tight folds of her rug.
I heard her slip back into the room, along with the faint tinkling of metal. I tried to cran a look over my shoulder but I was too restricted. Somehow I realized that she'd stepped half-over me, one foot to either side. Her sari hissed as she squatted. I thought of her unshielded mound and for the first time worried that I might cum right there in her rug. How embarrassing would that be? A moment later, those thoughts fled my mind; she was pressing something under my belly, worming it through. Then came the hiss as the belt was drawn fast, to be buckled in the small of my back.
"Um, Mrs. Vadra?"
"Please, Stephen, call me Dharsha. We are old friends." A second belt went under my hips. I hissed as it was drawn across my buttocks, further compressing my eager rod.
"What are you doing?"
"Simply making you more secure. Between my husband and myself, we own many belts." Another went around my chest. Clever hands pulled it tight. "This is just part of my little dream. I wish to play it out fully. You do not mind, do you?"
I thought about it as another band found its way around my thighs. Did I mind? My heart was hammering, my skin was tingling, and my rod was throbbing. The sensation was indescribable; I was in no rush for it to end. And my captivity was the perfect chaperone for Mrs. Vadra. With five layers of rug, a pair of shorts and some skivvies between myself and the outside world, she was safe from me, and I, her.
So let her have her fun.
As if I could stop her.
More belts went around me, from my shoulders to my ankles, compressing down my captivity, making me even more helpless than ever. Before, I might have managed to roll to freedom. Now, I could roll all the way to Bangkok and it wouldn't make a difference. I was Dharsha's captive now. We'd play her game until she decided otherwise.
Once she'd checked each buckle, she stood and walked slowly around me again, viewing me from every angle. I watched as her graceful feet slowly padded by the end of my nose, the hemline of her sari brushing my hair. It was as if I was a work of art, positioned in the main gallery, and she was a rapt connoisseur.
Was I making her wet? Were her nipples still hard?
After a while I realized I was alone. From my floor-level view, I looked out over the rugs towards the bottom half of a tapestry, my entire world. My body no longer existed. I was just inert presence, this thing of Mrs. Vadra's, a possession. I wiggled my feet again, brushing the rug, savoring the freedom of so limited a movement.
I sensed more than heard her enter. She moved slowly towards me, well in my blind spot. Again, I had the feeling that she'd stepped over me, straddling my bundled form. A naked foot settled just off my right shoulder, a marvel of erotic beauty. Its twin touched down off my other shoulder. Then the hiss of silk as she squatted down over me. Now I could smell her excitement, her wet heat. Her pussy must be so close, right behind my head. My erection throbbed. A heated hand cupped my cheek with a mother's love. The other passed before my vision. My eyes flew open as strong fingers pressed a rolled cloth into my mouth, working the packing deep, filling my oral cavity. I grunted more in surprise than protest. It was becoming too involved. Too intense.
A pause and then a thick band of silk swept down and captured my lower face. From its warmth and scent, I could tell she'd hung it around her own neck until it was needed. Now she was wrapping it around and around my cheeks, sealing in the packing, muffling me completely. I called out in alarm but it was little more than a mouse-fart beneath her encompassing gag. Resigned, I lay still, feeling the gentle pulls as her authoritive fingers made fast the silken knot behind my head. When she was done, she remained squatting over me. I sensed she was leaning in close. A hand stroked my hair tenderly.
"Thank you for this, Stephen. You look so beautiful like this. In this form, you are a demigod of love. My heart thrills at the sight of your captivity." A sigh. "I shall let you go." Oddly, my heart fell at the thought. I was as excited as she. But a moment later, she added, "Let you go, of course. But not yet. Not just yet. You should experience your prison a little longer. Then we can see about letting you go."
If I was crushed by he news, you couldn't tell it from my erection. I was burning at the thought of where this might lead.
She stood again, leaving a whirling trace of musk in the air. I tried to shift in my bonds but it was as if I were set in concrete. She could have tied to with a hundred feet of rope, even a thousand, and not secured me so completely. I couldn't move at all. Well, I could hardly move. I could still wiggle my feet.
It was as if she'd read my mind. I'm not sure what she used, perhaps a strap off her purse or a small belt off the sleeve of a raincoat. All I knew was that a moment later, a warm hand slipped under my feet, raising them up. And something slipped around my toes. A hiss of belt through buckle and then my toes were locked together, two little piggies that weren't going anywhere.
"How does that feel, my little captive," she asked from where she sat, still cupping my feet. Gagged, I could not utter a word. I couldn't even turn and communicate through my eyes. "Are you just pretending to be helpless, to strike at me when my back is turned?" What was she talking about? "Are you 'playing possum', as you westerners say? Suppose we investigate this? Suppose we see if you are really helpless?"
I was still confused when her nail-tipped fingers settled on my captive, upturned feet.
I felt my heart stop. It was just like when a cop turns on his light and pulls you over and you freak that maybe you don't have your license and registration. The same doubt flared in my thoughts here. Was I ticklish? I didn't know. Honestly. No one had tickled me since that babysitter when I was six. I hadn't even thought about it, never in my adult life.
I was thinking about it now.
Her hand cupped my feet, holding them fast. The fingers settled on my flesh like a warm brown spider. A nerve triggered at an involuntary shift of her pinky. I flinched. Was I ticklish? Was I?
Slow as fate, methodical as a diagram, her nails hissed the length of my feet, from toes to heels. I shuddered against the rug, my nerves screaming at the horrifically wonderful, laughably terrible torment that shook my body. I simply couldn't move. With my body locked in that thick cylinder, my feet bowed up in her hand, I had not an inch of leeway. Had I been unbundled, I would have thrashed and writhed, but my situation left me absolutely open to her horrific caress. With the grace of torturers, she moved her fingertips this way and that, the nails worrying about in their little side-trips, dancing across my sensitive flesh. My eyes filled with tears that slicked my cheeks, absorbed by my gag. I couldn't see. I couldn't move. And through all this, Dharsha sat on curled legs, her fingers playing across my soles, her melodic humming an accompaniment to my muffled screams.
I almost blacked out. As it was, I slowly returned to sanity, my forehead laying against the carpet, my feet tingling as if acid had been sprayed over them. I blinked away my salty tears, the world swimming before me. My lungs ached. My erection was a hard iron pipe beneath me. My emotions swirled; I hated Dharsha and loved her, all for the same reasons. I wanted her to let me crawl back to my apartment yet at the same time I wanted to stay locked in her rugs, belts, and silk forever.
In the silence of the condo, there came a faint squishing noise. At first I couldn't place it. Then I started; her hand cupped beneath my feet again. Was I to be tickled again? But no, this time her other hand rubbed slowly along the curves of my flesh, strangely cool. I sighed at the pleasure of it before realizing what was occurring; Mrs. Vadra was rubbing lotion into my feet. Not for any comfort it might bring but simply to return my flesh to sensitivity, to open up the temple doors of torment so she could thrust me through.
Her skirts hissed as she stood. No doubt she would let the lotion have a chance to be absorbed. That was the hardest part, knowing what was coming soon. Unless the cavalry came, and came quick, I was in for more of Dharsha Vadra's indescribably erotic torment.
I was still brooding over this when her feet appeared near my face. They were so femininely perfect, so ethnically sexual, and a thought flashed into my head. Picture our roles reversed, with Dharsha incased in cloth and straps, these same feet jutting out, slick with drying lotion, while I cracked my knuckles and prepared myself for my coming inquisition. Given my tight wrappings, I was amazed I could even harden any more than I already had. In fact, I was surprised it wasn't raising me off the floor like a car jack.
"Poor little Stephen," she cooed in genuine concern. "He thought he was just going to roll up and down the floor. Now he's the prisoner of a mean old housewife who will not let him go. Are you suffering, my little cocooned caterpillar? Are you in distress?"
One of her feet lifted to draw along the curve of my cheek. Through the silk, I could feel its finely-boned softness as it slid upwards, the toes extending to lightly scratch along my flesh. I could smell the earthy odor of her as she moved her foot back and forth, rubbing me, filling my senses with the fullness of her.
So there I was, rolled and wrapped, strapped and scarved, my feet tingling in anticipation, my face stroked by this wondrous female flesh. And the next moment, deep within my wrapping, I felt myself let go. I felt myself pump like a fire hose, a lava-flow spreading through my shorts. Thankfully the wide gag hid my blush. I was so embarrassed. How could I escape now? What would I say when she finally unrolled me?
She didn't seem to notice, lost as she was with her sensation of indignity as she slowly worked her feet across my face. A toe trailed along the bridge of my nose. Darkness fell in the eclipse of her perfection. Her sari brushed my head. Had I been able to look up, I would have been able to see her glory hole. And down in my pants, my discharge was a strange yet comforting warmth.
The foot finally trailed away, and silently they padded off. Distantly, the sink hissed as she washed her hands, no doubt removing spare lotion. I moaned to myself, knowing what was coming. I tried to shift and felt something squish around my beltline. Mrs. Vadra had utterly humiliated me, and I was loving it.
A faint crackle of knees. A motherly hand slipped under my feet, raising them into total vulnerability. And the fingers, those horribly beautiful fingers, settled on my flesh like a carrion bird landing on its victim. I closed my eyes, knowing what was coming.
If anything, it was worse than the first time. Dharsha had learned my feet. She knew where they were the most sensitive and tender. And so she played up and down across the fields of my flesh, humming in her delight as she inflicted her inhumane tenderness on me.
I writhed in my tacky essence, unable to move as each new electrifying shock tore into my brain. I pictured her sparkling deep-set eyes glowing like hot coals, her pert little smile hard on her face. I imagined the fall of her sari, a small foot peeping out as she knelt. I could see her slender fingers, so knowing and awful, wiggling this way and that.
What was going on in her mind as she looked down at my buckled ankles and strapped toes, my insteps turned up before her? What passions were flowing through her? Was her breath coming quicker? Was her heart beating faster? And what fantasies were going through her head; what if Kumar never came home? What if she could keep me forever? What would she do to me?
What torments floated through the sordid dreams of this dignified Indian housewife?
Again the aftermath; I ended up with my face on the floor, my breath whistling through my lungs like the air hose in a filling station. She couldn't do this to me again. It would kill me. My heart would burst. Or my lungs. Or my erection.
I realized that I was alone. She had drifted from the room. I thought of the bottle of lotion near by feet, praying that I would not hear that soft exhale of cream again nor her cool touch. Distantly I heard a door close. A toilet flushed. I marveled that I didn't have to go to the bathroom before realizing that I might have peed in my pants. Not like that made it any worse. At least I didn't have a loaded kidney to worry about.
No, just other things, like an amorous, sadistic Indian woman who'd buckled me up and showed no signs of letting me go.
I thought about my strange predicament. It came to me that for the first time in my life, I was completely outside of the world. Every moment until then, I'd had a cell phone in my pocket, people around me, exits and door locks as appropriate. I had never been outside of the protection of society. And now, quite suddenly, a trapdoor had opened and I'd fallen through. Nobody knew where I was. My condo was empty. I was a half-world away from my homeland, bound up on the floor in a locked room. In all the world, only Dharsha knew I was missing, kidnapped, captive, gone. No one could find me. I was lost.
On the other hand, I was embraced by more love than most people get in a lifetime. This beautiful, gracious woman had gone through extreme measures to get me rolled and buckled, nice and safe and tidy. While I was completely encased and wrapped, she'd opened her soul wide to me, bathing me in its radiance. Every inch of rug, every notch on every belt, had been placed by her. And now I was trapped within her sphere, a pearl in the shell of her love, wrapped safe and snug from the cold treachery of world. My worries were mine no longer. I was hers in every way. If only she didn't tickle me anymore.
As if summoned by my thoughts, I saw her feet cross the rug before me, stopping before the opened patio door. A moment later it slid shut, cutting off the faint noise of the city. The lock clicked home. And then those feet came back towards me, slowly, as if in consideration. She stopped at my side. A dainty foot rested on my back.
All I could do is wait.
"You have suffered much at my hands, Stephen. There is not much I can do to repay you. I am forever in your debt." I sighed, feeling quite the gallant knight. "I suppose I should let you go back to your apartment." A pause. "But that would be wrong." Wrong? "You are quite disorientated by our play and might meet with misadventure in your way home." It was only next door! "No, I had better let you sleep here tonight. Besides, I shall be perfectly safe from you."
She'd be safe? What about me?
"Come, let us get you to bed."
I was still trying to digest this when I felt strong arms wrap around my ankles and lift. Slowly I tilted up, bleating in alarm. And then, grunting adorably, Dharsha dragged me from the living room.
It was rough going on the carpet, but the hall was polished wood. I watched its grain sweep past as she towed me along, moving deeper into the darkened hallway. Pinned by her bonds and arms, my crotch as sticky as if it was soaked in maple syrup, I could only wonder what was in store for me. A moment later, the doorframes of the master bedroom swept past, a Rubicon.
I was in Dharsha Vadra's bedroom, strapped and gagged and helpless, my pants tacky and my thoughts whirling. Heaven or Hell; that was the question. The room was every bit as plush as the rest of the house; tapestries, paintings, finely-carved furniture. The bed was this massive thing, a four-poster whose canopy hung from a heavy beam framework. She arranged me at its side; its height was mountainous from my position. The top of the raised mattress must have been three feet from the floor. Mutely, I looked to my captive, knowing there was no way she could get me up there.
Dharsha looked down at me, her little smile curling at a private thought, an errant stand of hair falling seductively over an eye.
It was a year ago. I stood on the sidewalk before my new condo, my new carved desk next to me, looking up at my balcony and wondering what I could do. I'd just moved to this foreign technology hub. I didn't know anyone. I didn't know how to get this delivered desk up to my new condo. If I went looking for help, it would be gone in a second.
"Do you require assistance moving your desk to your rooms?"
I looked to the winsomely mature woman who'd come up. Something stirred within me at her slightly-worn beauty. "Ah, well, I suppose..."
"I am your neighbor, Dharsha Vadra. Nobody uses the service elevators; the halls are too narrow. My husband and I often help people move their things up and down. Kumar has a pulley. See, he lowers the hook?"
I looked up to see a stocky man on the balcony next to mine, a small block and tackle hooked to a stout ring-bolt screwed into the balcony above. He smiled a merry can-do smile, the rope playing out.
Dharsha stood on tiptoe and reached up, her slender fingers closing over the descending hook.
She stood on the bed, hooking the desk-saving pulley neatly to the heavy upper-frame. When she hopped down over me, her light sari rode up, showing off shapely chocolate-hew legs and a flash of her womanly place. My buried erection throbbed.
Smiling in her sad little way, she clipped the hook neatly to my tummy-belt. Then, planting her feet firmly, she began hauling the rope.
She stood on the bed to remove the pulley, again giving me a capital view along her strong legs, again causing my member to pulse with restricted pressure. I could only lay watching as she moved about the room, storing away the pulley and getting ready for bed. Looking down my strapped body, past my banded big toes, I ogled raptly as she settled before her mirrored table. Meeting my eyes in the reflection, she smiled coyly as she removed bracelets and earrings. Then, with slow movements, she dropped the sari from her dusky shoulders. It slipped along her flanks, revealing more and more of her tan flesh. In the mirror, I could see her full breasts, the dark nipples hard and expectant. Her buttocks, round and full and perfect, came into view. Now the sari lay on the floor around her ankles and she sat naked before me, a russet Venus in demure perfection. And here I was, pinioned in the most absolute manner possible. So done up was I that I couldn't even creak my belting in pathetic protest.
She switched off the room light, the only illumination a quarter moon through the high window. Her shadowy form flowed towards me like a dark spectral visitation. A moment more and she was sliding into bed next to me, arms wrapping around my rug-bloated form, a long leg cocking over my hip. She was naked, gloriously naked, and I was trapped in these wrappings, my limbs pinioned, my member stiff with frustration. I murfed at her to spare me, to roll me over and unbuckle the straps, unroll the rug, and romp with me. She saw the lust in my eyes and smiled, that sad little smile that confused my heart so utterly. A warm brown hand stroked my gag, softly and lovingly. I moaned in checked aggravation.
"Oh Stephen, what a wonderful friend you are for permitting this favor. I have always wanted to roll someone up and keep them for the night, my bed partner and playmate. Oh, and how jolly it was to tickle you while you lay strapped and helpless. I shall have to do it again before letting you go."
Beyond the scarves and packing, I swallowed nervously.
Her bronze eyes looked into mine, swimming in moonlight. "You know, when I was a little girl of ten, I saw a movie where a woman was rolled up in a rug by her beloved and carried off. I knew not why she was being abducted or what fate awaited her. I just knew I wanted to be her. And, conversely, I wanted to capture others in that fashion. Is that not odd?"
No, I thought. It wasn't. I would have loved to change places then and there. How wonderful to look down into her gag-clenched face and tell her of the tickling that was in her near future.
Yet having her run a long finger along my gag while murmuring her secrets in the dark was a good consolation prize.
"How I wished it could be that way. On weekends when I would not have to rise early, I would roll myself up as tightly as I could with my bedroom rug. How amazing its rough fibers felt as they bundled my arms and legs. I would lay in the moonlight, a silly, confused little Indian girl, looking down my bundled form at my distant toes, wishing beyond all else that some passing man or woman would climb through my window, loop coils around me and deny me my escape." A sigh which masked a shudder of passion. "I dreamed of the day I would be married, when my husband would roll me up and keep me trussed over long hours, perhaps tucked under our bed, perhaps stowed in a dark closet. And I dreamed of the things I would do to him once I had him in my web of cloth. How I would torment his feet. And how I would strut my nakedness before him, tempting him into helpless agony."
Tell me about it.
"When I married Kumar, I was in the peak of excitement. Soon. Soon. And then the night when I tried to roll him while he slept, so as to have my way with him. A passing truck backfired outside, waking him. When he saw what I was doing, he flew into a rage. No wife should do such things. Sex was for procreation, nothing more. So it said in the holy books. Kneeling naked, demure, and defeated, I promised I would never attempt such with him again." That divine warm hand stroked my scarf-wrapped cheek. "I thought I would never bundle someone up. How fortunate I was able to gain this favor from you."
I thought I could feel the heat from her mound through the layers of rug.
"I have also found much delight on this internet device. How wonderful it is to examine sites such as this Gromet place and read of mummification. I spend hours there, ogling the lucky ladies and wishing it was happening to me. I also love some of those shear latex suits I see, with all their clever straps and cut-aways. Nothing would be finer than to have a suit for myself, one which could become my prison with a few quick pulls of a few well-placed buckles. A straight jacket would be nice, too. One that I could buckle my partner into, bundling up his arms and leaving his special place exposed. Oh, how I would love to play with a man done up in such a manner.
"But if I had my way, I would buy rugs of all types and belts by the score. I would buy plastic wrap by the case. And in my house, I would have a special room with racks and hangers for all my special toys. And there I would keep my lover, contained and contented, to while away the long days and sleepless nights. Oh, what a dream it would be."
I could only lay there while she traced my chin with a finger, all the while spooling out her remarkably smutty (but equally fascinating) fantasy. Looking into her dark, sad eyes, I knew that she would not steal sex from me. She respected her marriage, and even though I was buckled up on her bed, with her sprawled across me in unclothed delight, there was a microscopic line she would not cross. All too sad.
Mentally, I cursed Kumar the tenth time for an idiot.
"I do have one secret my husband does not know. It is the one thing I purchase on the internet. It is my little private delight. Would you like to see it?"
I nodded, my first real communication with her in hours. Smiling like a cat, she slipped from the bed and crossed over to her dresser. Fetching a hidden key, she opened a small locked drawer. Then she raised what was inside it, allowing it to shimmer in the moonlight.
It was a plastic phallus, tall and strong, utilitarian in its stark sexuality. From its base hung a number of straps. How strange the thing looked, so large and demanding in her delicate hands. And how wide her smile was. She padded slowly to the bed, her eyes glimmering as she drew nearer. I thought she was just bringing it over to show it off.
Smiling devilishly, she planted it against my own groin area and then pulled the straps around my enveloped form. She placed her foot against my side, straining the straps tight. I could only watch this with wide helpless eyes. Beneath this pillar, my own fifth limb was pulsing in interest. She wouldn't do this thing to me, would she? It couldn't use my helpless form in this way...
As an answer, she fetched a tube of cream and placed a generous dollop on the head of the monstrous construct. My own construct shuddered, awakening to the amorous assault that was gathering before me.
Smiling like a wolf, her hair strands swaying before her eyes, my sultry Indian goddess slipped over the protrusion, allowing herself to ease down it. The pressure of this drove it into my groin; the rug muffling the compression, spreading it out across the length of my shaft. She tipped back her head and sighed a sigh of total contentment, her hips beginning to twitch, the butt of the tool pressing harder into me. I felt tears well in my eyes, tears of restricted passion. I could not move. I could not touch. I could only watch as the pressure of her pulses pushed into me.
She shuddered, playing with herself, moaning, shaking her head. Sweat glistened along her dun form. I, too, was soaked, heated to incandescence in my wrap, burning up in amorous frustration as the buffeting continued. The shaking picked up as she quivered to a higher tempo, her gasping filling the room, paralleling my own hissing nasal exhales. It couldn't last. It couldn't!
A moment later, she was vibrating like a tuning fork, her cries sounding like little yips. I hardly saw it, what my own subterranean eruption blasting forth. I could feel the heat of it spread over my hips and ooze between my legs to pool beneath my buttocks. But I didn't care-it was a mind-numbing moment, one easily worth a pair of shorts. I panted into my gag, eyes screwed shut as she fell over me, gasping in her own post-detonative come-down.
We lay on that broad bed, bathed by the moon, slowly falling back from that amazing high. I lay in her wrappings, gagged with her scarf, and realized that I was home. I never wanted to leave this tube she'd tricked me into. I wanted to stay here with her weight pressing down on me, warm and snug and satisfied. Her face lay cradled against my chest, lost in her tangled hair. I didn't know if she was sleeping or dead, so still was she. Even strapped as I was, I felt a sense of protectiveness come over me as if she were in the straps and I was the one wrapped around her. It was a moment of conjoined peace.
Finally, she raised her head and looked at me with a sleepy smile. "Thank you, my little dove, for serving as such an admirable base." She kissed my nose, a cute little peck. "I think I shall nap for a bit, then ride my toy again. Perhaps twice more this night." With that, she nestled her head against my mummifying rug and binding belts, a delighted purr coming from her throat as she snuggled against me. I lay like the log I was, unable to contribute in any way save look at her dusky, beautiful body. Then, just before I sank into my own sleep, I heard her murmur, "Of course, I shall still tickle you horribly tomorrow morning."
Sleep was a long time coming that night.
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