Gromet's PlazaMummification Stories

Lydia and Me 5

by Pleasewrap

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© Copyright 2005 - Pleasewrap - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; bond; wrap; mum; cocoon; gag; bfold; toys; cupboard; pole; tape; tease; denial; climax; cons; X

story continues from part four

Chapter Five - Alone Again

“I would have to fall in love with a damned deviant genius,” I thought to myself as I futilely tried to pull my arms up even a little bit. But the wrapping job was too thorough and between the plastic, the duct tape, and my almost complete lack of decent leverage, they stayed exactly where they were. 

I suppose some explanation is in order, otherwise I’m just a mummified guy wasting your time. My day had started off well enough. I was wrapping up a project and collecting a very large check as a reward for my troubles, and then was going to be heading off for a weekend in Las Vegas with an old school pal who I was still in touch with. He had bought a condo there ages ago when his business put him in the city over half the time. We both love to play poker and every once in a while we hop on a plane and go to blow some money at the tables and have some fun. 

Lydia was more than supportive. We’d been back together for about four months now, and I’d finally decided to pop the question and make what was inevitable official and (not surprisingly) she’d enthusiastically agreed. But we both recognized the need for time apart, so our schedules weren’t completely locked to one another and both work and pleasure pulled us in different directions, only to reinforce the strength of our being together. So when I’d mentioned a weekend away she’d smiled and said, “Don’t blow all of that check you’re going to get. And bring me back something fun.” That was about two weeks ago, and shortly thereafter she’d hung up the phone and excitedly said, “Well that’ll be fun, too.” 

I looked over the lid of my laptop and stopped typing. Dinner was in the oven and I’d knocked off work a bit early to prepare for the pre-meeting meeting that this particular client always insisted on having so that I could tell him what I was going to tell him before I told it to him. If that made your head spin, imagine working for him. I asked, “What’ll be fun?” and closed the lid of my machine since I get distracted too easily and I’m smart enough to recognize that. 

“You remember Jane Collins and Debbie Muket from school? My old roommates from Freshman year who hung together through thick, thin, and various boyfriends?” She paused to allow me to nod, which I did, then she continued. “They’re coming to town while you’re going to be in Vegas and for a few days after. I invited them to stay here and figured we could tell them our news.” 

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m a romantic at heart. But I’d just as soon Lydia come with me to Vegas and get married in front of an Elvis impersonator as have a big wedding. I just didn’t care for the pomp, circumstance, and expense. So the thought of her former roommates coming over to start the process of over-planning and over-spending on the church wedding she and her family would want didn’t exactly excite me. And while the house I’d bought had two spare bedrooms and would fit her friends comfortably, I wasn’t particularly fond of Jane and really couldn’t stand Debbie. The former had never seemed to take any interest in getting to know me, even though I was quite serious with her friend, and the latter was just a raging bitch who I thought was far too focused on appearance over substance. I understood Lydia’s relationship with Jane, but never could fathom the friendship with Debbie. But opposites do seem to attract sometimes, and I wasn’t going to make an issue out of it. That didn’t stop me from rolling my eyes. 

“I know, you hate Debbie and can barely tolerate Jane. But they’ll just be here a few days while you’re around and you’ll probably be busy getting Jack to sign the proposal you sent him last week.” 

She was at least right about that – with one project ending I needed to line up my next job or have an immediate drop in cash flow. I was conservative with my funds and could probably last a long time without any new work, but that was both boring and bad financial planning for the long-term. So I sighed and said, “You promise to keep our contact to a minimum?” 

She’d come over to kiss me and said, “Absolutely. Just dinner on Sunday night, then you can claim to be busy doing something important and I’ll let you get away with it.” 

She was obviously excited about the idea and I knew that I wasn’t going to change her mind anyway, so I resigned myself to my fate and altered my flight to bring me back just a little bit earlier on Sunday. 

Then today had rolled around and everything had gone to hell. As I was walking in to the final meeting/presentation, my cell phone had started vibrating. I glanced at the number and saw that it was probably Andrew based on the area code, probably calling to remind me not to be late since I’d missed my flight the last time and had kept him waiting to pick me up for an hour and a half. I let it roll to voice mail and walked into the meeting. 

The presentation quickly went south. My client’s pinhead security “guru” didn’t see how we’d managed to protect the system I’d been working on from attacks that wouldn’t work against that type of system in the first place, and wanted me to prepare a memo for him describing how we’d addressed the issue. I’d tried to explain calmly that http based attacks weren’t likely to work on an application that didn’t actually use http as a protocol and that the communication between the servers was where we’d built the protections, but numnuts had a bug up his butt and wouldn’t let go. And despite the pre-meeting meeting, my client decided to back him. And since I’d signed a semi-fixed rate contract for this particular work, the big fat check stayed in the manila folder that it had arrived at the meeting in instead of making its way into my pocket. 

Fortunately, I’d managed to keep my cool, which can be an accomplishment for me sometimes – I’ve been known to have a temper and this type of idiocy was exactly what usually pushed me over the edge. So I’d suggested that it seemed unlikely that any proof I produced would satisfy their concerns and perhaps they should allow me to hire an outside consultant to review the architecture and code. Amazingly, they’d agreed and I managed to get my future wife at least a week’s worth of work proving that her future husband was smarter than the pin-headed twit they’d hired to basically manage their firewall and ask ridiculous questions. 

Since it was obvious that the final presentation wouldn’t be final at all, I’d suggested adjourning until their concerns had been addressed and picking things back up after the outside report. They’d agreed, and my client was suitably apologetic about the wheels falling off at the last moment. I’d again managed to bite my tongue as I headed for the door, grabbing my cell phone the moment I was clear of the building. 

As the caller ID had said, it was Andrew calling, but it wasn’t good news. He’s a bit of a biking fanatic, with a particular interest in mountain biking. He’d blown off work yesterday and headed for the hills, only to lose it on a trail and wake up in the hospital with a rod in his leg, some broken ribs, and a face that resembled hamburger. He’d just gotten the strength to call me and tell me he wouldn’t be able to make our weekend, which sucked badly enough. But with him out of the picture, the keys to the condo were now out of reach and I was suddenly faced with two and one half additional days with Jane and Debbie. If there had been something close enough, I would have kicked it. 

So I was pretty steamed as I got in the car and headed for the store. I’d promised Lydia to get the shopping out of the way before I left, and figured the last thing I needed to do was piss her off and complete the cycle of bad karma that seemed to be revolving around me at the moment. Besides, she’d be appropriately sympathetic and would do what she could to soothe me. Maybe I’d even get laid before I had to figure out how to hide from the dynamic duo when they arrived tonight. 

When I arrived back home, her car was in the garage, which was a bit of a surprise. I’d expected her to be meeting with one of her potential clients for most of the day, mapping out the different phases for a security review that they had been working up. As I walked through the garage door and dropped some of the bags on the kitchen counter, I’d shouted, “Lydia? I’m home.” Before she could answer, I’d headed back for more bags. 

When I came back in she was already unpacking the groceries and putting them away. She took one look at my face and said, “What happened?” and put down the crackers and peanut butter she had been holding. I launched into it without a second thought, barely managing to convey the fact that she had work if she wanted it through my tirade. She leaned back against the counter and let me go. She’d been a consultant longer than I had and was used to this type of thing. She also understood that when it happened you occasionally needed to blow up like you wanted to, but couldn’t, in front of the client. It took a few minutes, and then I managed to get around to Andrew and the lack of a Vegas partner. 

She looked at me sympathetically, then smiled as she went back to the groceries and asked, “Is the ice cream in one of those bags? It should get into the fridge pretty quick since it’s so warm.” 

I stood there stunned for a moment, and then just started to laugh. She looked at me and grinned, the non-sequitor having had the desired effect. I looked in the bags quickly and realized it was still in the car which was still in the garage which was far too warm for the welfare of ice cream and practically ran to get the last bags inside. As the door swung closed behind me, I could hear her laughing. 

As I schlepped back in with the bags in my arms, she glanced over at me and said, “Feeling a bit better now? Grab a beer and help me put this stuff away.” 

I was already well on my way to calmed down, but the beer and normalcy of putting away groceries seemed appealing ways to continue that trend, so I didn’t argue with either. As I got the opener and opened a Newcastle from the fridge, I noticed the peanut butter lying on the ground against the baseboard. “You dropped the peanut butter,” I said as I popped the top and took a pull. 

She glared over at me with her mock anger look and said, “That’s your problem mister. You made me laugh so hard I dropped it on my toe.” 

I laughed some more as I retrieved the plastic jar from the floor and stashed it in the cupboard, only to have Lydia grab me around the waist from behind. “I’m sorry your day didn’t go as planned. You want me to see if I can find you a room in Vegas? You could still go if you wanted to.” 

I put my hand on hers and kept her from letting go as I turned around, kissing her when we finally faced. “Nah, “ I said when I’d finished. “If there were a tournament or something I wanted to see going on, maybe. But Vegas alone can get damned depressing. I was thinking about trying to visit Andrew while he’s in the hospital, but he didn’t leave a number at the hospital so I’m not even sure where he is. I could trace the caller ID, but with the damage he did, he might not even realize I was in the room.”   

“You’re staying here, then? I thought you’d be out from underfoot.” 

I sighed, starting back down the depressive spiral of the morning until she squeezed my but and kissed my cheek. “Don’t worry, hun. We’ll figure something out.” 

I suppose I should have picked up on her mischevious tone then and there, but I was off my game. We finished putting the groceries away, she telling me how the client had liked her plan and signed off on it as is, me telling her there’s was a week’s work for her if she wanted it, and her happily accepting it since her project wouldn’t kick off for another three weeks as the client got their act together. 

The chores settled, she’d looked at the clock and said, “Two hours until they get here. I wonder what I could do to make my man feel better?” 

I grinned and started to tickle her, and she’d squealed before ordering me into the bedroom. As she followed, she grabbed her keys and headed for our “secret stash.” I glanced at the new plants and light fixture hanging from the overly heavy rings on the beams in the living room and smiled. We made a very, very good match. 

I suppose the keys comment deserves some explanation. Before I bought the house, a real estate investment company had owned it and rented it out. They’d focused on the business market, either renting the rooms individually to traveling business men willing to share a house instead of staying in a hotel or giving the whole house to a single company looking to house their traveling team. As a result, all the interior doors were sturdier than normal and all of the bedroom doors had locks like you’d find on a front door. The master bedroom even had a deadbolt for those that were particularly security conscious. A number of closets also had locks where the management company had stored cleaning supplies and linens to minimize theft. I’d meant to remove the locks, but had never gotten around to it. With visitors coming, Lydia had obviously locked the cabinet where the toys were hidden to avoid embarrassing explanations. 

And we’d acquired some toys. Of particular note was the remote controlled vibrator that originally had fit into a thong with a sleeve that was intended to contact a very sensitive part of my anatomy. We’d discarded the thong in favor of wrapping it in plastic and tying it to that particular piece of my anatomy, sometimes below my testicles, other times along the shaft. The former was the more popular spot since it was either stimulating or annoying (depending on my state and how many times it had been used) and didn’t provide the overwhelming effect that the latter could have. The remote was pretty good, but Lydia wasn’t satisfied and, being a more talented tinkerer than I, had managed to boost it’s range to a good fifty feet and given it the strength to penetrate at least two walls. 

While she was busy at the cupboard, I stripped. It was obvious she was “in a mood” and that I was going to pay for her injured toe in spades. I sometimes like to use earplugs to enhance the isolation, and since we had some time before I wanted to make myself scarce, I grabbed a set out of the drawer where I kept them and walked to my side of the bed (the right side, if you care, close to the closet door). I rolled them in my fingers and was just putting one in when Lydia stepped through the door with an arm full of supplies. She smiled as I finished inserting it and said, “You want the full treatment, huh?” 

I’d answered by putting the other earplug in and standing with my hands behind my neck so that she could reach my torso without trouble. She grabbed one of the three half-rolls of wrap she’d brought and pulled out my instrument of vibrating torture. Before beginning on my body, she wrapped it up and attached it below my testicles, pulling the wrap snug, twisting it like you would a twist tie, and then tucking the ends into the ring of wrap she’d created. Then my she’d begun to work on me. 

I’ve described how Lydia wraps before, many layers and crossed wrap at angles to ensure her victim won’t be going anywhere. I won’t bother you with those details again. Over time, she’d gotten quite good at it and I rapidly lost my mobility, though not my voice. I joked and make sarcastic comments, feeling as naughty as I was behaving. Lydia was laughing and sometimes responding, but with the earplugs in I couldn’t hear unless she looked up at me and spoke quite loudly. Finally, I’d fallen to the low of the dramatic “Oh, woe is me!” and she’d had enough. Only my head and feet were untouched by the wrap at this point though she was in the process of finishing off one of her crossing wraps. She let the roll fall to the floor and went back to the pile of toys, throwing me a look as she did. 

She returned with the breather gag we’d bought a while ago. My sinuses aren’t the best in creation and medication can make you have to go pee suddenly, give me a headache, or make me go so dry that I just had to use a safeword (safe grunt, I guess – it was humming “Row, row, row your boat” into the gag) to get some liquid into my system. This solved a myriad of problems with a short tube surrounded by and inflatable bulb. She shoved the bulb in my mouth, leaning close to my ears as she said, “If you can’t enjoy my conversation, I’m certainly not going to listen to yours.” Then the bulb was inflated to just the right tension and another roll of wrap was used to secure it in place. 

Most times, when Lydia wraps me up she uses a blindfold. The isolation is great, but sometimes it’s fun to be forced to watch your mistress do whatever she wishes while you sit there and struggle to be a part of the action. This time, she decided against the blindfold and let me watch as she finished the wrapping job. Once a few more crosses and turns were in place, she reinforced my bindings with duct tape and stepped back to admire her creation. 

I squirmed for her and mmmppphhheed through the gag. She just smiled at me coyly and walked back over to me, triggering the remote that she must have hidden in her pocket as her finger touched my erection. “You might be here a while, you know. I might want to re-introduce you to Jane and Debbie in just this state.” 

I groaned, wishing she hadn’t reminded me of what was to come, but also wishing she would leave me this way for a while. I often like extended sessions while mummified, but Lydia hasn’t been too keen to leave me this way. She knows we have many ways to keep things safe even if she wants to go to another room, but says the distraction of knowing that she has me this way would be too much for her to do anything else effectively. I thought that was sweet, but wished she’d try anyway. 

She turned me slowly so that my back was toward the bed, then pushed/guided me down and swung my legs over after I was safely situated. The vibrator was turned off, and she knelt on the floor next to my head and said, “Maybe I’ll just clean up in here for a while.” 

I squirmed and struggled, groaned and moaned, and generally had a marvelous time exploring the absolute confines of the wrapping as she put away clothes, neatened papers, straightened books, and put the remote to good use whenever she damn well felt like it. All I could do was watch or not, completely at her mercy. And she reveled in the power, glancing over at me with a wicked grin every so often, then pouting at me as though in sympathy. I loved it. 

She kept this up for a long while (for her). I tried to avoid glancing at the clock since not knowing how long I’d been like this was part of the turn on. But I couldn’t stop myself. Forty-five minutes had passed and I was as hard as when she’d started the job. It was approaching two o’clock now, just about an hour before her friends were supposed to call. She sauntered towards me holding the feather duster she’d been using and brushed it against my erection teasingly. I arched my back in response, the sensation the first physical contact she’d made with me since dropping me on the bed. She bent down to kiss my neck, then moved so that I could clearly hear her without having to shout. 

“I feel like some ice cream. Should I get you anything?” 

I groaned and struggled as best I could but even with the sweat that had made some of the wrap feel slick I couldn’t budge. There was enough around me, it was pulled quite snug, and the tape made the job even more impossible. She dropped the feather duster next to me saying what sounded like, “I might want that later,” and walked out of the bedroom. 

She returned too quickly and didn’t have any ice cream in her hands. She was giving me “the look” as she walked over to the bed and straddled me, she still fully clothed. She leaned close enough that I could hear clearly, staring me straight in the face as she said, “Your tirade ruined perfectly good ice cream, you naughty boy. Now I’ll have to wait to get some more and for that, you’ll obviously have to be punished.” 

She remained where she was as she slid a hand inside her pants and began to toy with her nipple with the other. She closed her eyes and rocked ever so slightly, her jeans feeling very rough against the head of my penis when they came into contact. I squirmed under her and she smiled without opening her eyes. She left her nipple alone and used that hand to support herself as she said as quietly as she could without making it impossible to hear, “Oh, no, my naughty boy. You’re going to wait.” 

And wait I did. She took her time as she toyed with herself, slowly stripping and continuing to tease herself. The remote came out of her pocket and was activated, causing me to squirm and groan, which only caused her to roll over as she removed her bra so that I could watch her that much better. I looked towards the ceiling and tried every muscle in my body. 

As she reached for her underwear, having shed the rest of her clothing, she leaned toward me and said “No sweets for either of us, slave. Not until I’m satisfied.” 

I’d longed for this type of session. Prolonged helplessness for me, whatever her fancy brought to mind for her. If I hadn’t known that her friends who I, at best, could barely stand were due to arrive soon, I’d have begged for her to leave me this way as long as she felt like it. Of course, the gag would make that hard to do as well. 

She continued, adding her favorite vibrator to the mix and reaching for the bullet to stimulate her clitoris. I glanced at the clock as I groaned with pleasure and anticipation, noting with a bit of concern that we were down to about forty minutes of private time left. When I looked back, she was watching me as she reached her peak, smiling as she grew flushed and panted in excitement. The time suddenly seemed less important. 

As she turned off her toys, she fired up mine and left it on. She leaned against me as she removed the vibrator and asked, “Ready to please me now? And it had better be good, ‘Demo Man.’” 

If she could have seen it, I’d have been grinning as she recalled the night we met. She moved over me again and we repeated the scene of the night she’d first returned. Only this time I was her personal, life-sized vibrator since she never switched the remote off. That hastened the end slightly, but it didn’t bother me and didn’t seem to bother her. 

As my erection faded, she moved off me and switched off the remote. I struggled feebly and she grinned as she said, “I’ll be right back.” She sauntered out of the room, swaying her hips with exaggerated motion to remind me of my helpless state. When she came back, she had a large glass of ice water and a pitcher for refills. The funnel she carried surprised me a bit, but she put it over the edge of the breathing tube and said loudly, “Nod to start and stop, OK?” 

I was a bit confused, but I did as I was told and managed to give the cues at the right time to be able to drink without choking. When I finally nodded to her “Had enough,” she’d taken a drink from the glass herself, then set both pitcher and glass on the nightstand. 

That’s when the phone rang and she went to answer it, climbing over me, then lying so she faced me as she grabbed the cordless handset and answered. She was close enough that I could clearly hear her side of the conversation. 

“Debbie! How was the flight? Yes, it is a bit early, isn’t it? No, I’ve just been working around the house and I had to run for the phone. That’s why I’m out of breath. Hmmm? They lost a bag? Oh, they lost and found a bag and it’s coming on the next flight? How long is that? 45 minutes? No, no go ahead and wait for it, dinner hasn’t even gone in the oven yet since you’re at least a half hour away without traffic. Do some shopping and give me a call when you’re on your way. I can keep busy. It’ll be great to see you too. And I’ve got some news you’ll like to hear. Right. Right. That’d ruin it, wouldn’t it? I’ll tell you sometime tonight, I promise. Call when you’re on your way. I can’t wait, and I’ll see you soon.” 

As she hung up, she triggered the remote again and smiled at me devilishly. “I guess I get to follow through on my evil plan. I looked at her questioningly, but she just grinned and kissed my neck, then quickly pulled her clothing back on. I struggled a bit and groaned – the vibrator had hit the annoying stage – but she just patted my head and said, “Don’t move. I won’t be gone a moment.” 

She returned several moments later with a bucket in her hand, and walked into the closet next to me, turning on the light as she passed the switch. I wondered what the hell was going on as she was in there a minute, then she reappeared with a Cheshire cat-like smile across her face. Despite my questioning grunts, she ignored me and headed for the scissors and other supplies. She grabbed the scissors and began to cut from my feet towards my head, which was a bit unusual – she usually started by the hole she left around my penis. When she reached my knees, she stopped and began cutting at a ninety degree angle as far as she could until the be stopped her from completely freeing my legs from just above my knees down. 

She laughed at my confused look, then pulled the blindfold from her pocket. I hadn’t noticed it when she’d walked in, though it had to be visible. This wasn’t the flimsy sleep mask I’d used on her before, but a much larger padded blindfold. This one was quite broad and had convex depressions in it so I could blink my eyes. My contacts made that a requirement so that they didn’t dry out and become completely unbearable. I lifted my head, though I was unsure why we were doing this now. My stomach suddenly decided it was time to grumble loudly, and I realized I’d managed to accidentally skip lunch. 

She’d obviously heard the noise as well, and laughed a bit as she leaned into me and asked, “Did you eat?” I shook my head and thought I heard her say, “Good,” but couldn’t be sure. 

Then Lydia levered me up off the bed, helping me to my feet. With the short steps that the remaining wrappings allowed, she steered me into the closet, not bothering to disguise our destination. Once there, she turned me around and told me “Don’t move.” 

I felt the wrapping start again, just over my hands and back down towards my ankles. She was as thorough as ever, even though she was covering a much smaller portion of my body. When she was done, I felt her move away and made questioning sound. The response I received was a gentle pressure pushing me slowly backward. I took the mini steps I could until I was stopped. 

The walk-in closet by the bedroom has a custom built storage system that must have been built with abuse in mind, which made sense giving the fact that this had been a rental. The metal was very solid metal tubing, welded to firm metal racks that looked a bit like the ones you’d see in a large bakery. The racks started just above the top of my head, which meant that there was a post just tall enough for me right in the middle of the closet. That post was what ceased my motion. 

I thought I heard a giggle as I felt the wrapping start again. My erection started to come back to life as she secured me to the post, confident that it would support my weight. I was sure she was right, and thus could let the situation take over for me. She reached my fit rapidly, and I could feel her tear off what remained of that roll. 

I was concerned at first – the pole was plenty strong, which I knew because I’d actually fallen into it once and bounced right off it as though I’d just run into a brick wall. But only one layer of wrap? That wouldn’t keep me here if I fell. I was worried needlessly. The sound of duct tape being unwrapped is unmistakable and penetrated the earplugs without difficulty. The strapping started at my shoulders and continued barbershop pole style down my body and then back up to my shoulders again. It was snug and secure, but not tight enough to pull me tightly against the pole. I figured that was good news, as it could have gotten uncomfortable. 

Then she’d removed my blindfold and smiled broadly as she started unwinding the wrap holding in my gag. 

“What are you doing?” I’d asked once she was finished and she’d just laughed. 

“I’m living up to a promise,” she said, then she’d walked away, whistling merrily to herself. I took the opportunity to try to see what was in the bucket, but really couldn’t see much over the rim. It looked like there was some hose, but I couldn’t really tell. As I strained to see, she returned with a bowl of soup and a TV tray. I hadn’t realized she was gone that long, and was about to speak when she told me to be quiet and began to feed me. I obliged, since I was quite hungry, though it was only broth without any meat or noodles. 

When the bowl was empty, she’d rapidly stuffed the gag back in my mouth and re-inflated it. “You can probably spit that out, but you’ll regret it if you do.” My erection had started to fade as I ate, but returned as she asserted her authority once again.   

Then she began to pull things from the bucket. There was, indeed, some hose, left over from when I’d installed the drip irrigation system to cut down the water bill and be a better human to the environment. It was the stuff that didn’t have the irrigating holes in it for getting the water to and from the zones with plants. A small piece of PVC pipe came out as well, one end narrowing to a much smaller opening than the other. That must have been in the garage somewhere, though I didn’t recall ever having bought it. Then came two sets of hose clamps (circles of steel with a screw that can pull quite tightly to make joins between a hose and a source or drain tight enough to be waterproof) and two unlubricated condoms. 

I looked at her with a very confused stare, but she wasn’t paying attention as she opened the condoms. I’d bought them while single so that my occasional forays into self-bondage (always with rope) would allow me to get naked without making a complete mess of everything. Now she placed one inside the other, and rolled them both over my erection without saying a word. She was deep in concentration as she adjusted them, leaving almost two inches hanging from the edge of my penis. 

Realization began to dawn when she snipped the end off of them, slid a hose clamp over the end, and grabbed the PVC piping. As she tightened the hose clamp with a screwdriver that appeared from the bucket, I realized she was rigging up a way for me to urinate. The hose clamp sealed the condoms tightly to the pipe, but she apparently wanted to make sure so she retrieved the pitcher from the other room and poured a bit of water in. I shuddered when she did, and she’d smiled as she put the pitcher down and grabbed the bucket to empty the water. 

“Figure it out yet?” she asked with that devilish grin on her face. I nodded and she laughed. She must have known that I’d figure it out eventually. 

She went back to ignoring me as the second hose clamp went over the actual hose, then fitted it to the small PVC pipe. The end of the hose went into the bucket and suddenly I could go without being released. I closed my eyes and moaned deeply. I could barely hear her laugh as I did. Then I felt her hair brush my shoulder and heard her say, “You’ve always asked me to leave you for a long time, and I did promise to keep your contact to a minimum. You wouldn’t want me to break that, would you?” 

She left momentarily and returned with some string. The weight of her improvised penis extension was pulling my penis towards the floor, which wasn’t particularly comfortable, The string solved that as she tied it to the piece of PVC and pulled it so that it wouldn’t pull any further than was comfortable. When I did pee, I’d end up with a bit staying in the “pipe,” but that was about the best we could do. 

That sorted out, she grinned again and kissed my cheek as she walked out of the closet again. She returned with an Ethernet cable in her hand, and showed me as she snipped the tab carefully and cleanly from the end. While it could be inserted into a jack now, it would come out without much effort at all. The bedroom closet was a good location for me to run cables for the kitchen, living room, and bedroom, so there was a switch behind me and to my right to terminate those connections. She pulled out the small step-stool we use to reach the shelves more easily, and stood on it as she pulled the switch over to be directly behind me. She measured the cable, then got down and let the gag deflate. 

“Any last requests from the condemned,” she said before she kissed me. 

“I honestly don’t know what to say…” I began. She laughed, then kissed me again before the gag found it’s home one more time. This was followed by the blindfold, which was followed by wrap to keep both in place. Then I felt duct tape being applied to the sides of my head and I grunted and groaned in confusion while shaking my head. 

Her breath hit my neck as she moved close to be heard. “Be still or you’ll screw me up.” 

I stopped moving and felt some slight tugging, then loosening of that tape. Finally, it seemed loose when Lydia pushed gently on the back of my head until the tape tightened. The other hand stopped my motion and pushed my head back to upright. I felt something touch the top and back of my head, then more tape over that. 

I was completely confused now, but couldn’t do anything about it. I made some questioning groans, feeling Lydia brush against me a bit as she continued to do something. Then I heard her laugh her satisfied laugh. 

Her voice returned to my right ear, her hand to my cock which immediately responded. “OK, hun. You’ve asked me for this and I’ve never obliged. Well now you’ll get your wish. That tape on the sides and top of your head is to define your range of motion. I’ve got that cable I ruined taped to your head. Pull hard enough to cause that tape to pop or fall asleep or unconscious and you’ll pull the cable right out. I’m monitoring that port on that wonderful little utility you wrote and it’ll call my cell phone every thirty seconds the moment you do. So if anything’s going wrong, just pull hard forward with your head and I’ll be here in a jiffy.” 

She kissed my neck as she brought me back to excitement, the remote now coming into play. She toyed with me a bit more, then returned her head close to my ear. “I’ve pumped the air in here way up and I’ll leave the door open so that you don’t get too hot. Besides, the sweat might give you a means to escape and we couldn’t have that.” 

I answered with a groan and heard her chuckle before she moved away. I felt her placing something around my feet, and figured out that it was a blanket. With the air turned way up, she didn’t want them getting too cold, which struck me as being almost inappropriately sweet. Then she pulled out the wrap and sealed the remaining skin around my neck in wrap very, very loosely to the pole. I tested and could still pull the duct tape taught without reaching the end of that wrap, and heard her say “Yes, my slave. I’ve thought of just about everything. Now remember that there will be two women you don’t like much in the other room before you pull that cord. I’ve got my phone with me, but I absolutely must have a shower. Be good for me, hmmmm?” 

And that was how she left me. This deviant genius has made a fantasy I’d expressed finally come true in a most dramatic and appealing fashion. I pulled and shifted and struggled but couldn’t gain any traction against the duct tape that held me to the pole. The air was cool enough to keep me from getting too warm, but the effort heats me up until I have to stop or become uncomfortable. 

I’ve urinated twice, and both times the “penis extender” seems to have functioned without a flaw. I figure that means that I’ve been here close to six hours, but I’ve no reference. When Lydia visits, which she’s done five times now, she toys with me until I’m hard again, then makes sure the condoms are still quite secure about my shaft. I’ve kept the groaning to a minimum since I don’t want to be overheard – even though I know the walls are good at knocking down noise, I’m taking no chances. She’s laughed at me, shared how hot she feels knowing that I’m here and how hard it’s been to focus on the conversation. But the occasional flicks of the remote and the fact that she hasn’t pushed her friends towards their rooms and bed tells me she’s enjoying herself pretty immensely. 

I don’t know how long it’s been since the last visit, but the remote’s seen some decent activity lately and the vibrator’s managed to get me excited rather than annoyed. Hopefully, that means the conversation is coming to an end out there, but it could just mean that the wine has made her more playful. 

And me? I’m alone again, and that suits me just fine for now…


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