© Copyright 2009 - Mumman - Used by permission
Storycodes: F/m; neoprene; suit; wrap; tape; bond; chair; hood; bfold; collar; sen-dep; cons; X
Early morning. He sat there, still, as any movement was impossible. He and his wife had thoroughly, obsessively seen to it. He has in mind a new endurance record, seeking to surpass the 7 hours reached 2 months ago. He was, as usual, fixed, and fixed good. Total bondage and sensory deprivation. Nothing to do but breathe and endure. He had evacuated his bowels earlier and drunk some water for hydration, for much sweating was ahead. No food, no breakfast. His abdomen would be very restricted. The sound machine they slept to made soothing surf sounds in the background.
The old metal w/plastic rigid office armchair was perfect. His thick neoprene-suited arms and rubber-gloved hands, sheathed in 2 pairs of stockings and 4 long tube socks each, were tightly, solidly wrapped with black electrical tape from beyond fingertips to mid-bicep to the straight-curved armrests and back metal uprights, thumbs tucked under hands. From his biceps, up and over his ribs, chest and shoulders, and 3/4 up the very high padded leather neck collar/ brace, his torso was completely sealed with very tight vinyl black tape. As the tape had been applied to his torso/ upper arms around the chair, he had exhaled at each pass across his chest, ensuring tight, steady constriction. At the abdominal to ribs section were 3 very tight leather belts, in the middle a thick, wide weight-lifter belt, around the back 3 center metal uprights to the padded upper chair back. He was crushed into the chair, allowing no torso/ body movement whatever.
He had begun perspiring in the heavy neoprene zip-back full divingsuit, underneath which he wore thick black thong underwear pulled up his ass crack, a black high waist-to-knees body-shaper, black control-top pantyhose and a torso over-shoulder shaper garment. His condom-sheathed cock alternately hardened and subsided in its crushed confines. No buttplug this time. His cock, balls, rectum and nipples felt the heat/ sting from the ultra-strength Bengay he had liberally applied.
His legs were crushed together with 4 leather belts from the top of thighs to knees, causing cock and balls to be very constricted. Four more belts were tightened over the suit and boots from below knees to ankles. He had opted for the lower-heeled chunky leather boots as this was a very long endurance-oriented session. The thick-soled 3 1/2" heeled boots were very tight and rigid, toes smushed at end. No flexing of the foot or toes. Two folded socks cushioned between his ankles and foot bones.
From his lap to his feet wife had double-wrapped packaging shrink-wrap very tightly, including around the chairseat. Wife was very thorough. A cloth robe tie attached at the ankles held the bent legs to the underbar and 2 others were looped around each heel to the front chair legs, tied taughtly. No leg movement but for tiny wiggles.
He sweated more in the full-head thick padded leather hood with small nose grommets only. He sometimes wished these holes were larger, but the air restriction added excitement to the game. Over the eyes, mouth and ears thick padding was sewn in to press, compress and occlude. In his mouth a shaped foam rubber pad pressed down on the tongue, trapping it. His mouth was clamped shut, jaw immovably constricted. Maximum decibel-blocking expandable earplugs were pressed into his ears. The hood was snug and tight indeed all over, the laces pulled very tightly, covered by the rear zipper.
The maximum-high and long leather neck collar was anchored inside the tight zipped/ Velcro-sealed wetsuit with the 3 buckles at the back strapped very tightly, sealed over the full neck of the hood, holding the head quite immobile, with the tape over the collar further disallowing head movements. He flexed and tried to move periodically, revelling in the total constriction, tightness and utter inability to move, speak, see, hear much, or adjust anything. He sat on a cushioning pad for long-term comfort. There were no painful pressure points as he had worked out a system of even compression and tightness. Circulation was fine.
Sessions alternated with higher-heeled boots, a huge ball-gag w/ cervical neck brace and thick silicone rubber swimcap, completely head-neck mummified, or a wonderful thick, double-layer latex inflation hood with mouth pad and long breathing tube, completely covering the head and neck, blown way up, with silicone cap underneath, ear-plugged, as always, with the big leather neck collar. Inside the fully-inflated hood was a hot, pitch-black (like the leather hood), compressing, fully-occluded world of delight.
Total immobility, full-coverage, tightness and sensory deprivation was what he wanted, craved and regularly got, thanks to his wonder-wife. They played often, tested the limits, went for the ultimate. He was in a different world, completely removed from outside reality. He could do nothing physically or sensory, only able to focus on his predicament, his breathing, his thoughts. It turned him on physically and psychicly to no end. Being totally bound/ mummified made him feel more alive, in touch with himself. It got his adrenaline going. Alone with his thoughts, the bondage meditation/ isolation was great therapy. No distractions at all. Great self-insights, a great test of self-resolve, will and discipline. Afterwards, when finally released, undressed, and rehydrated, he would always be in a blissful state of exhaustion and relaxation. Euphoria.
His restricted cock hardened again within its confines, his balls crushed. He wondered how long it had been now. Wife would periodically check on him from downstairs and give him time reports. He would go a minimum of 2-3 hours, depending on the severity of the bondage. He was now quite hot and sweaty, just as intended and had experienced a couple hundred times over the years. What a wonderful, understanding wife, he thought. This was true love, caring and compassion. Ironic, he thought, as he tested his bonds again, that this might seem crazy, cruel and warped to someone who didn't understand. This was his nirvana and bliss and she was his fantasy queen/ partner. She was so rare and awesome, his love goddess.
He waited, thought about many things as he sought to relax into bondage meditation mode. He had a brief breathing panic attack when he thought that maybe his nasal air intake wasn't quite adequate. This had happened a couple times in the past. His pulse and respiration increased. Almost as soon as it began, he asserted his mental discipline to calm down and slow his breathing and thoughts. Control! This hood really was the ultimate, scary sometimes. The ultimate. This was it. Relaxed nirvana returned, alternating with excitement and arousal. What a crazy, wonderful obsession!
Then wife came up, asking how he was. He gave the OK noise and she told him the time. He chastised himself for the panic earlier. He was a pro, yet had the occasional claustrophobic reaction. Maintaining strict bondage required strict mental and physical discipline. He wondered how many people could be in this state and deal with it as long as he could. An hour and a half had passed, according to wife. How many more hours to go?
She was going to go soon and reiterated she didn't like doing so with him totally bound up. He mmpphhed he was OK. He had all those previous sessions as proof of his endurance and was extremely excited about being left alone. It added a new, exciting, scary dimension to the whole experience. She had left him bound up alone before for up to 3 hours, doing business as a massage therapist at the salon. She had 2 clients scheduled for an hour each this Saturday, a half hour in between. He had been psyched about this for days, she not so, but had agreed.
She went back downstairs to leave him in his dark immobile world for a while before coming up about a half hour later to say 'bye and kiss his leather-encased head. He mmpphhed 'bye, I love you unintelligibly, but she understood, and off she went, the finality of his aloneness and helplessness now having full impact. His member hardened and his respiration increased for a while before relaxing and getting into some bondage meditation. He actually had very brief periods of sleep/ dozing. His breathing was fine and he was glad he had put the breathing-aid strip on his nose. He was fully settled into his bondage and thought again what a lucky man he is. He wondered about the time occasionally. What does it matter? Time is immaterial now, he thought, as are any worries or concerns about anything except the wife not returning due to something unforeseen, an adrenaline-producing scary thought. Part of the excitement of the game today. He thinks: What can I do about anything? All options are gone, eliminated. I exist now just to exist, to breathe, to be my own prisoner. I am simply a human-being, not a human-doing. I dwell within me, my cocoon, my seclusion and immobility.
Time passes. He flexes some muscles, held immovably rigid. His gloved and sheathed hands and arms are tape-crushed to the curved armrest. Comfortably crushed, welded to the chair. No finger movement. No wiggle the toes, no leg, body, shoulder, neck/ head movement. Just miniscule wiggles. Silent rigidity. He feels alternatingly hot, then not so hot. He occasionally sees colors and images against the black sightless field. Thoughts wander, excitement comes and wanes. No movement, sight or sounds, but for his breathing and pulse, the endless oceanic susssurations in the background. He breathes deeply to feel the extra restricting tape criss-crossed around his chest, ribs, shoulders and the chair. His mind wanders.
"How long could I stay like this if my choice in the matter was removed? 8, 10, 12 hours? What if wife gets another client or 2? What if something happens to her? There is nothing I can do. So relax."
Time crawls by. He reminds himself what an endurance specialist he is, the discipline and experience he has. He has some mild discomfort, but no pain or pressure point issues. He flexes periodically to help blood flow and ease the nerves. He feels the all-encompassing, unrelenting tightness. Boy am I really done up! he thinks. There is no release but through my love. My life literally depends on her. I must relax and be calm. I have no control so I must not have anxiety. Be logical, calm, rational. How rational is this? But it's what I want, what I need. Deal with it.
He deals with it for the next few hours, occasionally wondering and obsessing about the time. He is fucked, stuck in self-imposed complete immobility. Crazy thoughts and anxiety alternate with calming, clearing thoughts. He repeats a calming mantra. He dozes periodically. There is absolutely no change in his body posture when dozing, no way to tell. The rigidly erect head stares blindly ahead. He feels drained, weak, a little hungry. There is nothing he can do but sit there in motionless blackness and wait and endure, wait and endure..........
End of Part 1. / Mumman