Beautiful thing

"You look astonishingly beautiful"

So little of me is visible I feel as wrapped up in the statement as I do in the bands of black plastic that encase me. It elevates me, and I can just about manage a muffled "thank you" through my spaced out and serene state. I'm floating. What is he looking at, then? Certainly not my face or my skin, or that day-to-day person I present to the world. He can see a shiny, black bound thing, legs wrapped tight, arms held to my body. A woman-shaped object. Little holes cut out with sharp scissors where my nipples and silver piercings poke through. Bound eyes. A gagged mouth. I don't think I look like me.

Is the aesthetic of it beautiful? I think so, when I picture it in my mind, together with the tiny peek of my own transformed body he allowed me earlier. The break where the slick black plastic met the skin around my hips and cunt, allowing easy access. Perhaps he found the concept beautiful, a sign of my submission to him to be bound in such a way and unable to voice any desires. I rely totally and wholly on him, and this is an expression of my need. Perhaps I do look like me, the part of me that I share with him. My submissive self. Exposed by concealing my real flesh.

This is what the Doll looks like underneath all its poses and poises - without painted flesh or adornments. An item smooth and plastic, ready to assume whatever shape or form is required. I've never thought of the Doll Project in these terms before, that by totally wiping away femininity rather than deliberately enhancing it you could get a similarly powerful effect. Certainly the objectification element is there, but so is the feeling of being a toy, a plaything.

I am pressed within my body, but my mind is full of emotions. The two connect. Unable to see or to move I lie there, enraptured in the simplest of sensations - the slightest breeze across my nipples, the tightening of the bands around my chest as I breathe, the increasing wetness in my cunt as I listen (and right now, I could hear a pin drop) to The Photographer slowly turning the pages of the book he is reading, sitting next to me in my prone state as I wait for him to have need of me. He is my connection to the world and the focus of my feelings.

I feel beautiful. Extra ordinary. More than ordinary. Removed from the usual, and transported into this portion of desire, prepared and presented in such a way it is as if the wrapping around of bonds have allowed me to let go that little bit more, open up that bit further. I feel more his than I ever have done. It is beautiful.