The plastic goes on in thin sheets that wrap tight, flattening my breasts down, holding my arms to my sides. It's a clear blue, so my skin is visible through the layers. Spiral and I are having a quiet Sunday evening in. She helps me over to the bed, lying me down to continue the mummification around my legs, leaving a gap around my hips so I'm in that curious position of feeling safely covered and also exposed. She uses Velcro medical wrap around my neck and face. It's the first time I've ever played with this material and I was a bit nervous when it went over my nose and mouth, preparing myself for the low level anxiety that minor breath reduction induces. I didn't need to worry, the material was fairly loosely weaved and I could breathe normally. Interestingly, I still got the sense of confinement and flicker of breath-play panic - my mind assuming that I would not be able to breathe properly and behaving accordingly. A collar is fastened around my neck and a blindfold around my eyes.
I go under pretty quickly once it goes dark. Relaxing and dropping down into a world of inky blackness and inner space. It's a selfish place, this sort of bottoming. I can't move or really do anything for the top, my interactions are minimal. I am a pleasure absorbing thing soaking up the peace that comes from having no responsibilities, the thick warmth of close-pressed plastic. Getting less and less aware of the world around me, more and more focused on the world within my brain and within my cunt, already getting wet. The universe has contracted to two points of excitement.
Arranging the Hitachi against my cunt proves a bit troublesome, there's not a lot of space to manoeuvre because my legs are pressed so tightly together. She laughs, I laugh. Not especially consciously: there's a lot of mirroring that goes on when your brain is too spaced out to form any original activity, it just responds to what is going on, whether it's the right thing to do or not.
"Don't laugh, only I can laugh"
She flicks my nipple through giggles. I like it when they laugh, there's nothing worse than being over-serious all the time. Play that is playful, rather than deep and (supposedly) meaningful, has a lightness of touch that is marvellously contrasting with the power of the sensations. There is a click and the Hitachi starts to buzz. A warmth flows up my body from my cunt which has just been smeared with deep heat. That, in combination with the vibrations sends me even deeper, surging down on waves of pleasure that make the muscles in my thighs twitch.
After some time, it's not clear how much, she starts to deliver light blows around my body. They are like small sparks of light in the blackness, puncturing my reverie. They hurt, not a great amount, but enough to make me gasp, partly because of how soft and relaxed I've become. They build up in blunt slaps and then stop, allowing the throbbing of the Hitachi to carry my forward, skin tingling from the blows.
I realise that my thighs are becoming very hot. At first I think it's just the deep heat, then I start to think that its the Hitachi warming up, stuck as it is between clenched thighs wrapped in tape. I'm in no position to examine it, and initially just try to relax and experience the pain - which is akin to a friction burn - as part of what is being done to me. It gets hotter, or feels as if it is getting hotter. I start to wriggle, then struggle. Spiral notices my panic and removes the toy. Needless to say, there was no actual damage, and once again I marvel at the ability of the mind to construct its own scenarios.
She leaves me be for a while, letting me settle back into the comfortable spaces I'd been inhabiting, this time with a different vibrator. Giving me plenty of time to breathe through it and just enjoy what is happening. I start to daydream, fantasize, enveloping myself in thoughts that expand upon my situation - dollish thoughts of passive pleasure. A lot of people rush to the "next thing" in play, rather than waiting and allowing the bottom's mind and body to work itself up - which it mostly will. Certainly in my case. There's a certain decadence in being given this kind of attention, in being a plaything and although at the time I was lost in my own desire, now i feel a gratitude towards her for giving me that experience.
My fingers twitch in masturbatory patterns, twirling futilely, and helplessly against my thighs as she brings me to a surprising orgasm - surprising in that they are so rare with other people. I gasp and moan beneath my bonds, in a physical brain-thrash, hot and wet and under wraps.