“Legs spread as far as they can go, fingers flat on your thighs.” While she made that adjustment, he coaxed her mouth open. A hollow gag was fitted there, her tongue depressed by it, her breath sounding fast and shallow. Okay, she was scared. This was…she was trusting all of herself to him. This was the real deal. Of course, she was also hot and revved up. It was worse than not licking the chocolate off her fingers, or resisting the overwhelming desire to touch her pussy these past few nights.
The zipper was now run behind her head, so she was enclosed fully in it, like a sleeping bag with the top closed. Way different from her childhood sleepovers though. “You’re going to hear the vacuum engine now. It will take all the air out, and you’ll be fully immobilized. You’ll be left this way, until I feel you’re in the proper state of mind. Nod if you understand.”
She did.
The vacuum switched on, a much quieter motor than she expected, but then he had said Jon was involved in the modifications. She’d never seen one with cut-outs for the breasts like this. The tightening began, her body gradually being locked into the position. At first, she had a slight amount of movement, but the vacuum continued to remove even that slack area. Oh God…she was being completely held down. It was like having a laced mask on from head to toe, and being restrained at the same time. She couldn’t see. She could hear though. He left the vacuum on to keep the restriction fully in force. Her fingers pressed hard on her thighs, so close to her pussy.
“You are just a body. My body, to do with as I wish. You have no identity except as my slave.”
Yes, yes, yes. I love you, I want you, I serve you, Master. This was the full surrender she wanted, and God help her, she knew it was just beginning. He’d removed the collar and tether, so it was just her, and the piercings. The cocoon had to be etching her body out as if she were naked.
Silence settled in, and all that came with it. She wanted him talking again, to be sure he was here. The arousal was intense. Throughout her pursuit of him, so much had been about movement, thinking, doing. This was about stillness, waiting, submission. He not only required her obedience, he’d made it an irresistible demand, encasing her like this. She could let go and be whatever he wanted her to be in this moment, because that was all she’d ever wanted—to be what he needed and desired.
She’d heard how time could pass in such a situation, five minutes seeming like fifteen, but experiencing it firsthand was a lot more effort. She had to bite down on that tube so she didn’t talk, call out to him. Her body shook in the cocoon. Her nipples stayed tight and hard, exposed to the air. The muscles in her ass and pussy kept contracting, a mute plea, and of course when she contracted over that dildo, it sent all sorts of reaction spiraling through her.
He wanted her broken down, reduced to pure sensation. Whether she wanted that or not, it was going to happen. It made her recall something she’d read on one of the fetish forums, a stream of consciousness offered by a submissive, right after she’d undergone a deeply intense session.
There’s this threshold of panic, where you realize he has all the control. I’m not talking the safe word thing or being able to call a halt. He’s plucked your free will right out of your hands, and you let him have it, and you don’t want it back. That’s what scares you shitless. You’re just all his, and that’s all you ever want to be. When you come out of the experience, you feel a bit like a kid coming out of a scary ride at Disneyland. Did that really happen? Will I have the courage to ride again? And you know you will.
That threshold of panic rose, heralded by the increased rasp of her breath. But that told him she was still breathing, so it wouldn’t be cause for alarm. He wasn’t going to respond to anything that wasn’t physical distress. He wanted her to go through the emotional maelstrom. That was part of this.
Her fingers curled, best as they were able, beneath the latex. Can’t do this…too much… She tried to focus on the breathing. Need him to talk to me… Need his touch…
He was asking her to have faith in him the way God did. Sightless, without touch or visible evidence of his presence.
But just like God, there was visible evidence of his presence. The cocoon was part of that presence. Him bringing her here, the instructions. He was present in her life and guiding her in a variety of ways.
She suppressed a hysterical giggle. Yeah, she was sure the Sunday preachers would admire her analogy. At least Dana would understand. “Ben, Ben…” She’d uttered his name before she could stop herself, before she could bite it back. Though it was a bare whisper of sound echoing in that hollow gag, she knew she’d screwed up. Spoken without being spoken to.
Then she did it again, louder, unable to help herself. “Ben. Ben. Please…” It came through like a disembodied humming, the syllables unintelligible except to the male who seemed to know so much about her.
He waited another five hours, or so it seemed to her. That panic built hard and fast in her, taking over. When his hand touched her forehead, she let out a sob of relief. She recognized the shape
