Enforced Endurance 2: To go where no Mumman has gone before…

Part 2: To go where no Mumman has gone before…

Alone in the empty house he sat upstairs, inextricably, immovably taped, wrapped and belted to the metal armchair. The late afternoon summer sun had warmed the upstairs a few more degrees, exceeding 80. He sweltered in his heavy, tight neoprene wetsuit (sweat-suit) and undergarments, tight full-head black leather padded hood, tight, tall padded leather posture collar, tight leather boots and rubber-gloved, stocking and sock- encased hands and arms. Tight was the operative word, and hot.

The old office armchair fit his proportions perfectly, lending itself to fairly comfortable, serious long-term bondage. He tried to shift, to move, to no avail. He liked to periodically strain against his awesomely tight bonds, reinforcing his utter inability to move, and to help ease nerves and circulation. He thought the leather hood may have become even tighter, perhaps shrinking somewhat from all the sweating. He breathed shallowly through the small nose grommets, intoxicated by the leather smell. The plastic shrink-wrap double-wrapped from his crotch to his feet had tightened. How hot was it up here now he wondered? He sat just 10 feet from the air-conditioning unit in the back window, which he and the wife had forgotten to turn on. Oops!

He was getting into serious long-term duration record territory, he thought. He wondered if he’d surpass his chair-mummification record of 7 hours. He could only guess at the time in his black, solitary world. He remembered something the paralyzed actor Christopher Reeve had said, challenging people to sit completely still for at least an hour to get a feeling of what he was condemned to. He had lived for years in total paralysis, incredibly. He thought about Superman’s challenge and his courage and fortitude. I can endure this until Wifey cuts me out, he thinks. Records and barriers were made to be broken.

When he was all bound up by wife, she would check hourly or so on him to see if he was OK for more time. Sometimes he thought he had gone the limit when he knew the time, but how long could he really go? Total bondage and sensory-deprivation became tiring after awhile, and the temptation of release beckoned. Now that she had left the house for work (massages), he had no choice. She had told him that if another client or 2 turned up across town, she’d take them. Saturday could be a lucrative day. She worried and thought he was crazy to do this, and maybe he was. Today he was finding out about new barriers. She had never been gone this long before, he thought, if his time perception was correct.

What-if scenarios tormented his mind occasionally, as he sought to stay relaxed, or excited, alternately. This was a big turn-on for him, which was the main reason for doing it. It could be exhausting, eventually. The pent-up psycho-sexual energy in total bondage could be hard to dissipate. It crept up on him and he had to release it through muscle-flexing or calming, clearing thoughts and relaxation techniques. As he said, maintaining strict, long-term bondage required strict mental and physical discipline.

He was startled as his nearby cell-phone rang. For hours he had heard nothing but his breathing and pulse and the muffled sound machine. It rang twice and stopped. Uh-oh, he thought. Wife had said that if she booked more appointments, she’d call. She’d ring once for one appointment, twice for two. She usually did one hour sessions. Oh my god, he thought, here comes a new endurance record, like it or not!

He tensed beneath all the layers. He let out a loud holler through his nostrils. His breathing and heart-rate increased as he strained against the unbreakable, unyielding tape, leather and plastic wrap. Now he felt hot again, and a little panicky. He tried to move his head, sealed so tightly in the sweaty leather hood and collar. He tried to move his hips to rub his cock. He tried to kick his plastic-wrapped, booted, tied feet. He tried to move his taped-down covered arms and hands. Nothing happened. A few minor wiggles.

He breathed heavy constricted, restricted breaths. He hollered through his nose again, his mouth clamped shut with the foam pad filling it. If he had thought he was near his limit already, he would be going past it soon. He had to calm down. He had used up and released a lot of energy. More sweat had broken out in the hood and suit. OK, that was therapeutic, he sardonically thought. “Now I’m really toast! So I’m screwed and fucked for maybe 3 hours more. At least I’ve used up a lot of nervous, anxious energy. I’ll calm down now. No choice. Tired, exhausted, hungry. I’ll lose a little weight! Good! Not that I’m fat, but I’d take a couple, few pounds. I’ll relax, have little naps. No choice—calm, clear, cool, collected—calm, clear, cool....”

Feeling pretty wrung out, he entered a new phase in this longest session, into unexplored territory. The periodic physiological distress seemed gone and he felt a new relaxation take over, perfectly resigned to his fate. The few discomforts he felt were relatively minor. He became more relaxed and drifted off to bondage sleep, accustomed to his restricted breathing. He dozed intermittently, posture unchanged, surprised that his mind and body had reached this new stage of calm and relaxation. He felt drugged, drained. This must be bondage nirvana, he thought, reveling in the total immobility and sensory deprivation.

He became aware of a distant knocking or hammering sound. Was someone at the door? ‘Oh Jeez’, he thought, ‘her son has a key! Is he or his wife here to do some laundry?’

He heard noises, then, “Hello, anyone home?”

‘OH NO!’ His heart and breathing all but stopped. He was far enough away from the back stairs not to be seen, but if he came up--!!! Now his heart raced and breath quickened. ‘OK, he has no reason to come up here! The washer and dryer are in the basement, if that’s why he came over! He’ll throw in a load and leave, or at least stay in the living- room watching T.V.! He can’t see me like this!’

Almost directly beneath him he faintly heard the click of the kitchen door to the cellar. His door was off the kitchen to upstairs. Was it shut? ‘Don’t come up here, don’t come up here!’ he thought, in a panic. He tried to slow down his breathing, semi-successfully. He listened intently. He very faintly heard the washing machine turn on, then footfalls on the cellar/ kitchen stairs. He couldn’t believe this! Then he could barely hear the television, which must’ve been at a loud volume.

Oh boy! This was now even more of an ultimate, un-bargained-for experience! Judging from his time estimate of the cell-phone double-ring, she wouldn’t be home anytime soon. ‘Please, no-one call me now!’ he thought. A few minutes later, it rang! ‘Holy crap! Please don’t hear it, dude’, he thought, ‘or get too curious!’ It rang the full 8 times before going to message. Then the musical tones sounded for a message having been left. ‘I don’t believe this!’ he thought. He waited with baited breath, heart pounding. ‘He’s in the kitchen!’ He heard his footsteps below, then receding, then nothing but his pounding pulse, his breathing and the faint sound machine and television noises. He did his best to calm down. After awhile he heard the faint treading on the cellar steps, and the dryer door slam shut. Was he going to stay, or come back later for the laundry? Footsteps, and the continued T.V. blaring. ‘OK, he’s not coming up here! Time to relax again, now that he almost gave me a heart-attack!’

He slowly fell back into exhausted relaxation, firmly held in the chair’s rigid embrace. Calm, cool, collected, calm, cool collected... He awoke with a start. The kitchen cellar door slamming. He was surprised he had dozed off. Bizarre dreams, images. ‘He’s done! Alright! Now get out and leave me in peace!’ The front door shut loudly and all was quiet again. ‘Hoo-boy, back to ‘normal’. What the hell time is it?? This is incredible!’ He made unintelligible vocal sounds, talking to himself.

He had been this way since 8 A.M. Was it early evening now? he wondered. All these hours later he appeared exactly the same. Now he was again resigned to his fate. He was too drained and hungry to make any real struggles. A few weak muscle flexes. He was in a state of utter exhaustion and relaxation. He again reveled in his total bondage situation. ‘I am a bondage slut. I’m crazy’ he thought. ‘Now this is really extreme, even for me! I don’t care when she gets home now. No cares, no worries. I’m calm, clear, cool and collected. I’m the mummy-man, Mumman! The incredible Mumman! Step right up to see him on display! Can’t move a muscle, see, talk, or hardly hear! How long can he go? What endurance…’ He drifted off.

He awoke with a start. Disoriented, he tried to move. Had he heard something? He listened intently, trying to breathe quietly. Nothing. He had a weak anxiety attack before calming. He waited, and waited, and waited. His breaths came slowly and shallowly. He felt as if in a semi-coma. Better to be in this state of advanced relaxation/ exhaustion than being panicky or anxious, he thought. Now he knew what real long-term bondage was about, with no-one to let you out. Bondage nirvana and bliss returned. He felt peaceful and relaxed, at bondage-ease. He dozed off again, woke and dozed, woke and dozed.

In his bondage daze he heard a noise at the back door. It was flung open and quick footsteps bounded up the stairs! “Honey, are you OK?!” she hollered. “I’m sorry, I got more clients, then the salon owner and her husband wanted one! This is why I didn’t want to do this!”

“MMMmmm!” was all he could say.

She touched his tape-covered shoulder and kissed his leather-covered head. “ OK, I’ll get you out now!”

“MM-MMH!, MM-MMH!” he said.

“No?!” she asked incredulously with the scissors in hand. He was surprised at himself too. He was enjoying himself!

“Mmh MMM mm-mm?”

“What? What time is it? About 7! Don’t you want out now?! It’s been 11 hours!”

“MM-MMH! Mm MM-HMM!”

“You’re OK?? You think so?!”

“Mm-HMM!”

“You’re crazy! But I already knew that! I’m just glad you are OK! A little longer, huh? Aren’t you hungry? Don’t you have to pee?”

He conveyed he was OK. Of course he was hungry, but with his stomach constricted, the empty feeling was lessened. Food and drink deprivation was a part of the over-all physical- sensory deprivation, and in his dehydrated state, he didn’t feel much of an urge to pee.

“So, you’d like 12 hours.” Yes, he conveyed, he was doing alright. “You’re such a masochist! OK, well I’m starving but I just rushed right home because I was so worried about you! I wanted to pick up a roasted chicken and salad at that store. Now if you’re really OK, Mr. Mummy-man, I’ll go get my dinner! I’ll get some Gatorade for you too!”

She kissed his leathered head. “Be good while I’m gone! Love you, you nut!” Off she went and he again felt the surge of excitement at being left alone. What a day! he thought. Incredible. A fantasy dream come true! He felt excited-relaxed, a drained euphoria.

He had broken through a barrier, to unexplored territory. “To go where no Mumman has gone before…” he mused. This new feeling of peaceful resignation to total bondage was wonderful. The physiological and psycho-sexual stresses had dissipated away. He relaxed again, feeling a lack of cares or worries. He felt as if in a dreamy, ethereal state of semi-consciousness. ‘Now this is real bondage meditation’, he thought. ‘Break on through to the other side, yeah-‘ The sound machine droned on. He dwelled in his own little dark, unmoving world, oblivious to the approach of darkness outside. It had been pitch-black to him all day. He moved not one iota, his breath and heart-rate slow and measured. Time just flowed by now; he was just a spaced-out, encapsulated time-traveler.

It seems like the wife should have been back by now, he thought. ‘Oh well, I’m OK’. He was in total resignation to his fate. He felt amazingly calm and at-ease. Somehow, he was glad she hadn’t returned yet to interrupt his peace and tranquility. He drifted…

“Hey honey, I’m home!” she hollered, startling him.

“Mm-HMM” he said as she came up the stairs.

“How are you doin’? OK? I met an old friend at the store, had to talk and exchange phone numbers—couldn’t be helped. It’s almost 8! Do you want out now, or can I eat first? I’m famished. Alright, I’ll eat. I see you’ve been a good boy and kept out of trouble. See you soon. Maybe I’ll watch a movie?? Take a bath?? How’d you like that?”

“HMMM!” he said as she went downstairs.

This was a new, playful, maybe sadistic side to her! Boy, what a game this is today! he thought. And she seemed to be enjoying it! He was getting to her, maybe she was getting into it! His member hardened in the condom for the first time in a while. He liked this. Maybe his queen was becoming a mistress. She knew he liked bondage role-playing and psychological games. He was hard-core, she soft though. He smelled the tantalizing aroma of the roasted chicken, reminding him he had had nothing but water this morning since about 24 hours ago! His constricted stomach growled. A bondage fast. Could be a good diet program, he thought: “Lose weight with Mumman’s new Bondage-Diet system! Can’t control your appetite? Then lose control! Give up your physical control! This revolutionary new total bondage system…” His imagination ran wild.

She came up after awhile. “Alright, Mumman, what do you say?”

“Mm-mm.”

“ What? Not very articulate. You know I’d never want to cause harm- Hey, the newspaper was brought in and read! You had company! I’m sure they didn’t discover you though. That must have been quite a rush and a scare for you!”

“MM-HMM!” She knew her son had been over, after the fact.

“Now, think carefully, dear. I know you get off on this stuff but now we’re going on 13 hours, Mr. Masochist. I’m making you an offer, to get released now so you can eat and drink your Gatorade- doesn’t that chicken smell good?- or, I’ll take control and you’ll sit there for as long as I decide!”

Wow! He was stunned. She continued, “If you don’t opt out now, you might be sorry. You must be sore and tired from being stuck like that all this time. I’m tired, I need to relax, so it’s now or --- whenever your Mistress decides!”

OH WOW! His mind reeled and swirled. She was tempting, even daring him! The temptation to finally end this ultimate endurance session, or enter into a brand-new, unknown fantasy phase of their relationship! Another barrier awaited, a journey into the unknown.

“I’m serious now, what’ll it be, release now, or your new Mistress decides!” This was incredible. It seemed by her tone that she was really pushing him, pushing his hot buttons, even relishing her new role if he allowed her to play it. The powerful psycho- logical game she was playing was over-whelming him. How could he resist?

“Now, Mumman, be careful what you wish for! Make one sound for release, or two for leaving it up to your new Mistress!!”

“MM, MM” he said.

Part 3 to come/ Mumman

04.11.09