Lonely Girl Mummified

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Part 1

That day, I woke up utterly unable to move. Except for my breathing everything was completely silent and I could not see a thing. The last event I could recall was going out to the movies on my own to watch a mediocre film. I could not even remember how it ended. Maybe I'd fallen asleep before the end. The trouble was, I had absolutely no memory of what might have happened afterwards.

Her name was Anya. She was a 28-year-old brunette with medium long hair. Lately her life had felt somewhat pointless. After a couple of unsuccessful relationships, she'd followed a job opportunity to a distant city where she was a total stranger. She'd never been much good at making friends. Despite being fairly pretty, she was a solitary type and did not mix easily with others. She wasn't particularly shy, but never found she had much in common with most people. The job had turned out a bit of a disappointment, and after a couple of weeks she'd fallen into a routine, doing her work without much enthusiasm and spending most of her spare time on her own.

As I gradually came to my senses, I realised I could not open my eyes; it was as if they were glued shut. I could make out no light through my eyelids. Trying to bend my arms and legs, I barely managed to move a muscle. Maybe I'd been hit by a car on my way back home and was paralysed. This thought got my heart pounding. I tried to take a few deep breaths to calm down, but discovered that I was not entirely in control of my breathing. It was pretty obvious to me now I'd had a severe accident and was on a life support system in a dark hospital ward. My heart was beating like crazy. I started to panic. Then suddenly all went blank.

Every other day after work she went to the gym and exercised for an hour. She was proud of her lean body and intended to keep fit. Back at her flat she would have a light meal, spend some time on the Internet or read a book before going to bed. There never was much worth watching on television so she rarely even bothered switching it on. Mainly out of boredom she started buying some sex toys off the Internet. Most of the time she did not miss the touch of another person, so it suited her fine to have fun on her own. When she got desperate for some proper sex she would let someone offer her a drink or two at a bar and have a one-night fling. But there was no doubt in her mind that such encounters never led to lasting relationships.

I must have passed out. I had no idea how much time had elapsed. There was still no sound whatsoever. Clearing my mind, I tried to analyse the situation. Though breathing was not a problem, indeed I had no command on the airflow. I tried swallowing. There was something in my mouth pressing down my tongue and I could not open my jaws or lips. I was completely silenced. My ears felt like they were full of cotton wool. When I tried flexing my limbs I had the impression my body was in a form-fitting shell. Maybe I'd broken every single bone – I could feel no pain though. At least that meant that I was not paralysed. Or was I drugged on painkillers? I was pretty sure I was lying on my back; though there really was no way of knowing.

Browsing the Internet she stumbled upon websites concerning bondage. Of course she knew what BDSM was but she'd never really been curious about the lifestyle. The whole thing about humiliation, domination and submission did not attract her the least. She started reading about self-bondage, and out of curiosity timidly gave it a try one evening, using strips torn from an old bed-sheet to tie herself up. This was exciting! Over the next days she became more daring, almost getting herself into trouble, having bound herself so thoroughly that it took her most of the night to get free. No need to say she was not much good at work the next morning.

I must have dozed off. Fighting against my invisible prison was exhausting, and also rather pointless. I totally lost track of time and probably drifted in and out of sleep. At some moments I imagined I could take my arms completely out of their restraints, only to wake-up with a start still inescapably immobilised.

From then on, whenever she had a date she would try to engage her partner in some bondage. She found many men were excited to have sex with a helplessly bound woman, though some were more imaginative than others. One weekend while visiting a museum she came across an exhibit devoted to ancient Egypt. Looking at a display with a mummy in a sarcophagus, she could not help wondering what that would feel like in terms of bondage. In fact, from that moment on, she became obsessed with the idea. Back home she started hunting the Internet for information on "live mummification". She was amazed at the number of people interested in the subject, and how many claimed to have actually done it, some for lengths of time that made her wince. She was determined to find a way of experiencing it firsthand.

After a while I got hungry and thirsty. Wouldn't I die of dehydration after a couple of days with nothing to drink? So far since I had woken up immobilised I'd not yet thought of death. How could this be happening to me? I felt a surge of panic coming again. Instinctively I tried to fight my restraints and shout for help, but to no avail. It left me worn out, in a state of despair. Then suddenly I had the very weird sensation of my stomach filling up, though I wasn't aware of anything going down my throat, nor of any smell or taste. I guessed I must have been fitted with some kind of feeding tube. This notion should have scared me, but in my current state of mind I found it peculiarly reassuring.

Bondage was one thing; mummification was a totally different story. She needed someone she could fully trust. This was hard to come by for a person like her who had never been good at connecting with other people. She started hanging around Internet chat-rooms that dealt with the subject. The task at hand was not that easy. Women tended to be scarce and got flooded with messages. She narrowed down the chat-room members to those living in her area.

Comforted by the knowledge that I was in no immediate threat, I must have fallen back to sleep. For the first time since all this began it was a deep and refreshing sleep, full of peaceful dreams, unrelated to my current ordeal. So much so that when I eventually woke up, at first my mind could not fully comprehend the situation. Waking up fully immobilised was very odd. Instinctively my body wanted to roll over. My arms and legs sought to stretch to ease off the morning stiffness. But all this was impossible, and in those moments of half sleep, these sensations were blown out of proportion, leaving me in a frenzy close to panic. Then as the memory of the situation returned I gradually calmed down. The only option was to wait this out. It could not be a permanent condition, could it?

After a while she started to notice of one person in particular. He didn't act the same way as the others. Much like her, he seemed more of an observer, as if he were studying and testing the reactions of the other members of the chat-room. His writing was more educated too, seldom making use of the usual chat shorthand. She decided to contact him directly.

I just woke up from a wonderful dream. I was having passionate sex on a desert beach. The sun was pleasantly warm on my body. There was a slight breeze. I could hear the surf in the distance. My sense of touch was amplified and I could feel every single grain of sand caressing my skin. One thing was odd though; I never could quite discern the features of my lover. For some reason they kept eluding me. Besides, now I think of it, I could not even say for sure that my lover was male or female… Should this bother me? I wonder what Bob, my shrink, would make of that. Strange, I've completely forgotten what we talked about on my last appointment, and for that matter I can't even remember for how long I've been seeing him.

After having exchanged dozens of messages in the space of a couple of days, she agreed to meet him in a public place the following weekend, deciding to take things as they came. He was good looking, a little older than her probably. There was something boyish and playful in his manners that put her at ease from the start. Over soft drinks they first chatted of nothing in particular, then in hushed voices got to the subject of bondage and mummification. As it was nearly lunchtime he suggested they went to a nice restaurant he knew nearby; it was at walking distance. They took a table in a booth at the back where no one might overhear their conversation. His name was Pete. He had trained as an artist but now designed websites for a living – way more lucrative. Very early on he'd been aroused by anything to do with bondage, though for him it was more of a spectator sport. As a kid he'd soon discovered how much it excited him when in an old cowboy movie the bad guy tied up a helpless woman. The same went for mummy films that had scenes of live mummification. On more than one occasion while watching television with his parents, he'd needed to conceal he was having an erection.

Okay, I was now pretty certain someone was looking after me. Every so often I had that weird impression in my stomach telling me I was being fed, though I had no idea how my bowels could empty themselves. I had already figured out how I did to urinate. Early on I'd noticed that strange feeling of permanently wanting to pee. It was quite unnerving at first but after a while I got used to it – not that I had much choice anyway. I knew you got that sensation while wearing a urethral catheter. Your sphincter was held permanently open by a tube and you lost the ability to control your bladder. Anyhow, I guess they were feeding me a mainly liquid diet.

They ended up spending most of the afternoon together and it came as no surprise when he offered to take her back to his place. This was going fast! What if despite his respectable looks he was some kind of demented pervert? But in contrast, the evening at his flat had proved a huge disappointment. Maybe she'd been expecting too much too soon. Unlike her previous dates he seems in no rush to have sex with her. Was he gay she wondered, or more likely just too shy?

Something new was happening. I could feel pressure as if something was dilating my backside. Having never been into anal sex, I did not quite know what to make of it. The pressure grew progressively then stopped just short of getting painful. Subsequently I felt what must have been liquid entering and expanding my intestines. They were giving me an enema! After a few seconds the flow ceased and the pressure was released. Now, this was seriously weird, but in a kinky sort of way I kind of enjoyed it.

On their following date, she began to fear he was one those people who were more interested in fantasising than actually doing anything. This was so disappointing! But what he'd not told her was that a few years back, by admitting his secret love for bondage, he'd totally ruined a long running relationship that could well have lead to a happy married life. His then fiancée had reacted more violently than he'd ever thought possible, brutally rejecting him as a freak and pervert.
Fearing things were heading nowhere; Anya decided she had to take the initiative. That evening when he drove her back to her place, before leaving the car she asked him: "Will you mummify me? Otherwise this is over."

And what if all this was just a crazy dream – some felt pretty real didn't they? Maybe I'd soon wake-up in my bed. Sometimes dreams got nested within one another; you woke up from one just to discover you were still asleep… If this really was a dream, then in many respects it was an exciting one. The sensations I was experiencing, if unusual, were by no means unpleasant. True, I was in a prison, but I felt no discomfort. All was soft and snug and warm. Fighting my restraints, although utterly pointless, was agreeably exhausting – similar to the satisfaction of a good workout. And above all, though I hate to admit, I was getting seriously horny.

That Friday night when she'd asked him to mummify her, it had taken him completely by surprise. He'd been speechless for a few moments. Of course he wanted to! He was dying to do so, but hadn't realised she was that serious about it. In a thin voice he'd answered: "Now? Here?" Silently she'd nodded. He'd driven off to the local late-night convenience store hoping to find suitable supplies. He'd told her it would take him half an hour or so. In the mean time she might want to take a shower and relax. But how could she relax? This was getting so exciting.

I wondered how much time had actually elapsed since that evening at the movies: hours, days, more? Maybe I'd been drugged and abducted, and not in hospital after all. Some pervert was holding me captive – restrained, blindfolded and gagged – in a state of sensory deprivation. How long would it be before someone noticed I'd gone missing? The first person would most likely be my employer – not that he'd miss me much – and even so he might just assume I was too ill to call, or that I'd quit without prior notice; something I'd actually already considered doing on more than one occasion.

By the time he got back from the store, she had changed into a t-shirt and denim mini-shorts. The lights were dimmed. He could tell she was nervous but also very excited. "You'll need to get undressed," he said, "I'll first cover you in plastic film, the kind you use for packing food, then in duct-tape." Her heart started racing. This was for real! She just hoped she was not making a huge mistake. "Now this is not about domination or pain," he said, "I'll try to make you as comfy as possible; just enjoy the ride." In the bedroom, he started wrapping her; first legs and arms separately, then her whole body with both legs together and arms pinned to her sides, and finally her feet. He needed to hold her up otherwise she might lose balance. He left her head uncovered. It was obvious she was enjoying herself. "Do you want me to wrap your head?" he asked, "Do mummies usually have their heads exposed?" she answered giving him a twisted grin. He took that for a "yes". He wrapped her head trying not to put any pressure on her neck. The only opening was for the mouth. Laying her down on the bed he said: "I'll leave you like this for the time being, then I'll start taping you up. Let me know if you need anything." She just moaned with pleasure.

No, this didn't make any sense. There was only one logical explanation: I was critically injured and had sustained damage to my nervous system, which could account for the lack of pain. All the rest was just my brain playing tricks, induced by the drugs I was probably being administered. I must be suffering from some form of locked-in syndrome. Was that it then? Had I become a useless burden, condemned to a life of nothingness till death came, or till I went crazy? This could not be! There had to be a way out of this nightmare.

"The duct-tape will basically reduce the flexibility of your plastic cocoon," he said, "you'll no longer be able to squirm around as much." He lifted her upright and began to coat her in metal-grey duct-tape. Starting at her ankles, he gradually worked his way up her body and head, striving not to stretch the tape too tight. He also added some vertical and cross strips to improve the overall rigidity. After laying her back on the bed he finally wrapped her feet. Her small well-proportioned body looked stunningly erotic all bound up like that! Being artistically minded he'd done his best to keep the tape as regular and smooth as possible. He took some pictures of his masterpiece with his cell phone. Admiring the result, he could not help being aroused by the sight and felt he was getting an erection.

Today, for lack of a better word, I am half way between frustration and despair. I must face the facts and accept that my current condition is real, whether permanent or not. This is not a hallucination. The little comfort I'd managed to sustain up to now has all but vanished. My mind is crystal-clear. Sleep does not come, so I can't even retreat into unconsciousness. If I were at home in my bed, this would be the kind of night where I'd turn over sleeplessly every few minutes because something was bugging me. On such occasions I would switch on the light and watch whatever crap television had to offer; anything as long as it distracted me from the current concern. Right now, there was no escaping from my ordeal.

He'd decided to let her enjoy her mummification without intervening. He would happily have toyed with her a little but she seemed an introverted kind of person, and for a first time it was probably wiser not to overdo things. Unless she asked to be freed earlier, he would release her after two hours no matter what.
The moment she'd felt the cold contact of the plastic wrapping on her skin she'd had a rush of adrenalin. This was astounding! Far beyond anything she'd tried on her own. The feeling of being confined in a tight cocoon, isolated from the exterior world, was completely overwhelming. How long could she endure this? It definitely would be interesting to test her limits. And how long would he leave her encased? They'd not talked about it before starting and she was reluctant to break the spell by asking him now. Just wait and see…

I feel drained. I've been sleeping on and off fitfully. I'm having nightmares; in some I'm drowning, or running in a dark forest never finding the edge. When I'm awake I'm too tired to think rationally.

She'd been mummified for two hours now. First she'd tried wriggling quite a bit. Now she lay mostly still, moaning softly from time to time. "How are you doing?" he said breaking the silence. "Awesome!" she answered after a few seconds. "Okay, I was planning to cut you out now, but I'll give you a little more time if you like." Her only reply was a moan of delight.
It was getting hot and sweaty inside her cocoon. The heat must have made the plastic contract a bit because it felt tighter than when they began. A few pressure points had appeared; they would sooner or later become a nuisance, but for the time being she was just fine.

I'm exhausted. If only I would permanently go to sleep. Could I speak, I'd happily ask for the life support system to be switched-off. What's the point of carrying on like this?

That very first experience had been fantastic. When he'd let her out after nearly three hours, she'd lain amidst the remains of her cocoon, smiling peacefully, eyes gently closed, her body clammy with sweat. Sitting silently next to her on the bed, he could tell she'd had a good time. The odour of perspiration on her skin was tantalising. Quietly she'd curled up against him, her head on his lap and arms loosely around his waist. He'd cupped her head in one hand while gently stroking her damp hair with the other. That night they'd slept in her bed, both naked, too exhausted to make love. The next morning very few words were exchanged, as if they had a mutual understanding of the previous night's events. She felt relaxed and refreshed. Unfortunately he could not spend the weekend with her because of some commitments, but they both knew they would be doing more experimenting very soon. Feeling euphoric, she decided to spend the day outdoors and enjoy the fine weather.

Why is this happening? What do you expect from me? I can't take this any longer. Please let me out. Let met out… LET ME OUT!

There were a couple of things that needed to be improved. Plastic wrapping was by no means ideal. It tended to shrink over time, putting in the long run an increasing amount of strain on her joints. It was also air-proof, which resulted in perspiration and overheating. So this time they'd given some thought to preparations and supplies. In the end they chose to use two different kinds of bandage: ACE bandage for the first layer and then Vet Wrap on top.

I must have been sleeping. For the first time since I don't know how long I feel rested. Nothing has changed, but I'm once again able to think coherently. More and more I'm convinced the explanation to my current condition is tucked away in the back of my mind.

As previously, he wrapped her limbs first individually, but using ACE bandage instead of the plastic film, then together with more bandage. For extra comfort, he placed some foam padding between her knees and ankles. He did her head differently too. This time she was wearing foam earplugs and he sealed her eyes and mouth shut with sticky surgical tape. Her hair was held in place by a length of stocking. He bound her head using some narrower bandage. The opening for her nostrils was barely visible. He then proceeded to cover her whole body with a couple of layers of Vet Wrap to add some snugness and rigidity.

Considering there was nothing I could do to change the situation, I decided to deal with it rationally. Panicking was of no use. So to fight the boredom I settled on trying to count. This would give me a sense of time. And would possibly also tell me if there was a regularity to my feeding cycles. Though this was incredibly tedious, it nevertheless helped me concentrate.

She was now lying on his bed totally encased. The feeling was utterly different from the smooth contact of plastic wrapping. She could hear very little other than her own breathing. To reduce even more the possibility of movement, he placed her onto a foam-padded board that was her length and width. Using more Vet Wrap he strapped her encased body to it. He had to lift the board with her on top to get round it, but she appeared to weigh virtually nothing. Tightly wrapped up, it was all the more obvious how slender she was. But the sight was striking.
She felt she could nearly no longer move at all. He'd done a good job. She'd first had a slight moment of panic realising just how helpless she was. Taking a few deep breaths she quickly started to relax and fell into something close to a meditative state.

Though I sometimes lost count, I determined I could reach roughly twenty thousand before the sensation in my stomach returned. That would be about every four hours. Knowing this, I lost interest in counting – I couldn't be bothered any more.

He'd kept here encased the best part of the night. The following time they decided to see how long she could comfortably go. To spice things up, she'd brought her favourite vibrator. It had a remote control as well as a random setting. They started early a Saturday afternoon after a light meal. He left her a small mouth hole through which he could insert a straw if she felt thirsty. The whole session lasted till late the next morning. By then she'd had several orgasms, more than she'd ever had in a row.

Needing something else to keep my mind distracted I tried, working backwards, to remember the details of every day leading up to that night at the movies. I didn't get very far. Was my life so repetitive that I could barely distinguish one day from the next? I didn't know how long I could keep up with this before falling back into despair.

That last session was fantastic. She'd had some very weird dreams and waking up mummified was quite an experience in itself. Pete had really outdone himself. She felt she could have remained immobilised indefinitely this way had she not needed to go to the bathroom. Over the next weeks Pete mummified her on several other occasions, using roughly the same technique. The last time, she remained happily encased from the Friday evening till early the Monday morning. It was very weird to go straight to work after having spent the whole weekend unable to move. She'd survived on fruit juice and smoothies, taken through a straw. And they'd used a bedpan when she needed to pee. After this achievement she was ready to move on to the next stage.

Something is wrong. I have huge gaps in my memory. I can remember very clearly everything related to my job, as well as more distant events. But anything intimate and personal in my recent life is just a void. Maybe that's why I was seeing a shrink, though that was another mystery of my recent past. Was I suffering from memory loss?

Part 2

For their next session she yearned for something truly extreme. Being immobilized was becoming addictive. She felt indebted to Pete. He'd already done so much. If only she knew how much pleasure he derived from it. She told him about her fantasy of waking up totally encased without any knowledge of how it had happened. They started making plans. For it to work, it was essential that she knew as little as possible. He would figure out the details. It was way beyond anything they'd tried up to then. There was no manner he could pull it off on his own; he wondered if his good friend Bob might agree to help.

There's been a change in my environment. I think I can see light. It is distant and pulsating. I now can also hear something: a throbbing sound that follows the same rhythm as the light. Or is it just another hallucination?

Bob was a psychoanalyst and a hypnotist. Moreover his wife Claire worked at the emergency department of the hospital. They both knew Pete's interest in bondage. Over a meal he told them about Anya's ultimate fantasy and the overall plan he'd come up with. They discussed at length how it could be achieved. It was quite a huge undertaking and there were some elements of risk. At the end of the evening they agreed to do it together.
When they saw each other again, Pete told Anya he was leaving the city the next morning for a couple of weeks on a last minute job assignment. He assured her that when he got back he would treat her with the best mummification ever. In the mean time he wanted her to visit a good friend of his.

The pace of the light and sound is quickening. My head feels on the point of exploding. I am hypnotized by this stimulation and can't detach my mind from it. Then suddenly everything's stopped. All that remains is the afterimage of the pulsating glow. My brain is clearer than ever. Images and impressions come rushing back disorderedly. How could I have forgotten: my friend and lover Pete, our delving into mummification. This was all part of the plan!

She'd been surprised by Pete's sudden departure. Usually he worked from home. She was also very curious to discover why he wanted her to pay a visit to this friend of his. It was the first time he'd mentioned any of his friends to her. What had this to do with anything? But she trusted him and would do as he wished.

I now remember. That day after Pete left, I went to the address he'd given me. Weird, it belonged to a psychoanalyst. At the reception desk I asked to see Bob. Having told my name, I was invited to wait for a few minutes. I'd never been to see a shrink before and did not know what to expect. After a while the door opened and a man in his fifties asked me to come in. He greeted me warmly telling me how happy he and his wife were for Pete to have met me. Flattering! What on earth could Pete have told them about me? It turned out they knew everything! I was a little shocked that he could have shared with them such intimate details of our relationship.

Bob had insisted on doing a psychological evaluation of Anya, just to be on the safe side. He set her a series of questions; most of them did not seem to have the slightest connection with the current matter. He looked at her answers without making any comment. And then told her that if she was truly committed to the pursuit she and Pete had in mind, he needed her to sign a couple of forms. Reading them she realised they were a formal agreement between her and Pete – the sheets of paper already had his signature on them. This was somewhat off-putting, but she understood the need. Signing them would be taking a plunge in the deep end of the pool.

After a couple of minutes, I had finally made up my mind and signed the release forms. I wanted this so badly. Bob then took a chair facing me and asked that I look straight into his eyes. Very quickly I started to feel drowsy. His voice seemed to be coming from very far away. I realised he was hypnotising me but there was nothing I could do about it. I was struggling to keep my eyes open and the only thing I could see where his. Without noticing the transition, I was now staring at a pulsating light. I couldn't hear his voice any more, but only a gentle throbbing sound.

Bob snapped his fingers and instantaneously Anya regained consciousness. "That will be all for today." he said with authority. "We'll carry on next week at the same time." She walked out into the sunshine having completely forgotten why she'd come here in the first place. It was as if the last weeks spent with Pete had never existed.
The evening when she'd gone to the movies, Pete had followed her. She was wearing black calf-high leather boots over skinny jeans and a waist-length black leather jacket. He found her so attractive in that outfit. At the theatre she'd ordered a drink at the bar. While waiting to be served she'd dashed off to the restroom. This was his chance! He'd been stalking her for the past three days, looking out for a suitable opportunity. By the time she returned, Pete had discreetly added a sedative to her drink. By the end of the show she was soundly asleep. The exit led directly to a side street. No one noticed him carrying her out. Holding her small body in his arms, he was very nervous. At the same time he was ecstatic at the thought of what was about to take place.

Though Pete had worked out most of the practical details on his own – the use of hypnosis was obviously one of his contributions – we had thoroughly thought over how best to mummify me. Previously we'd always used materials that allowed some amount of movement. This time I wanted to be utterly rigidly encased. We decided to use the synthetic fibre casting tape that serves nowadays as a substitute for Plaster of Paris to immobilise broken limbs. It was lightweight and polymerised very fast once sprayed with water. Instead of the synthetic padding that is normally used to protect the skin from the cast, we'd found a supplier who had four-inch wide rolls of memory foam. The foam strips were about an eighth of an inch in thickness, which suited our purpose perfectly.

At his flat, Bob and Claire where expecting him. The spare room had been cleared and prepared with all the necessary gear. They lay Anya on a medical table and right away Pete started undressing her. Under her clothes she was wearing shiny black silken underwear. It was unfussy, without any lace. He liked it that way, but nonetheless, it presently all had to come off. Claire quickly injected Anya a small dose of sedative to make sure she wouldn't come around before they had finished. Pete went on to wash her body. It was odd to be doing something so intimate in front of his friends. Having shaved all Anya pubic hair, Claire proceeded to fit her with a urethral catheter and an inflatable enema plug. A silicon sheath went up her vagina. This would drain any secretions, though as Anya was on contraception, menstruation ought not to pose a problem. She then inserted through Anya's nostrils a feeding tube as well as a breathing one, which was immediately connected to a respirator. This way it was impossible for her to choke. In her mouth went a formfitting plastic gag that ingeniously locked onto her teeth. It would hold her jaws firmly shut and keep her tongue down. They sealed her lips and eyelids using medical grade water-resistant adhesive tape. Small silicon pads were placed between her toes to maintain them apart. Finally she was linked to a physiological monitor that would measure her vital signs. It was very bizarre to see Anya connected-up to so much equipment.
"And now for the entertainment!" Pete said. Over her closed eyes he placed goggles that were equipped with multicolour LED lights. In her ears he inserted formfitting silicon plugs that had built-in earphones. Finally he glued to her thighs, buttocks and lower abdomen a set of self-adhesive electrodes. Her enema plug and vaginal sheath would serve as additional ones. Anya was quite a sight now. Almost every part of her body had a tube or a wire leading to it. Every single of her orifices was plugged in some way or another. She was now all set for the actual mummification to commence.

We'd gone to a lot of trouble with some of the accessories. I now realised my mouth was currently held shut by the custom-made gag we'd ordered over the Internet. It had required me to have a dental impression taken. The same was true for my earplugs, which had needed a mould of both my ear ducts.

First of all they dressed Anya in a seamless catsuit made out of white fabric. The material was stretchy enough for it to be slipped on going through the neck opening. It had built-in feet and gloves. Small incisions had to be made for the various tubes and wires. As he was on the point of pulling the hood over Anya's head, Pete had an afterthought. She would probably hate him for this but for the time being it was the smallest of his concerns. He took the electric razor Claire had used earlier on, and shaved off all Anya's dark hair. Then using one of his own razors and shaving foam, he smoothed her skull as best he could. Having a nicely shaped head, without any blemish or scar, it kind of suited her.

This was my dream come true! I was totally inescapably encased in a rigid shell. I was not injured after all, nor had I been abducted – well in a way I had, but I knew I was in the skilled hands of my trusted lover. He must have gone to so much trouble to achieve something this perfect. His business trip could only have been an excuse for getting things fully ready without me knowing. How could I ever thank him enough?

Every inch of her body was wrapped in a layer of memory foam. Her joints received an additional layer. More padding was also affixed on either side of her head to further shield her from exterior sounds. For extra snugness, they then covered her with a layer of white Vet Wrap. Now was the crucial moment; she was ready to be wrapped up with the synthetic casting fibre. Keeping her body in a neutral position was absolutely essential. Otherwise she would quickly develop aches – especially in her back – and the game would be over before long. This time she would not be bound in a strictly mummy-form. It was easier to achieve a neutral position with her legs slightly apart, arms a little bent at the elbows and spread on either side. It was tricky to cast a limp body and took their combined efforts to accomplish. Luckily the medical table could be folded in sections, enabling them to cast each limb while it supported the rest of her weight. Her fingers received an individual layer of tape, and then were bound together. Her thumbs were casted separately. Depending on the area of the body, she was sealed in four to eight layers of synthetic fibre. In the thickest parts her casing was over three quarter of an inch thick. Even if she exerted all her strength, there would be no sign of movement on the outside.

With the realisation that I was in no harm, I could once more enjoy the circumstances. Again I wondered how long I'd been like this, and how long I could endure it. For the umpteenth time I tried fighting my restraints. I knew perfectly well nothing would budge but it gave me a sense of my body. Every one of my limbs was immobilised separately, even my fingers. It was very weird not to be able to touch myself. When I relaxed it felt like I was floating.

Pete was proud of their work. She looked amazing. But it was hard to believe that this inanimate object still was Anya. She had become an anonymous white human form, devoid of any facial features. The tedious part was now about to begin for the three friends. From now on they would be taking turns at monitoring Anya. For her safety it was a necessity that there be someone on watch at all times. Claire and Bob would both stay at Pete's for the first night. All three of them were quite exhausted but they wanted to be there when Anya woke up. They guessed the experience would be pretty disturbing for her. In the early hours of the morning they were woken up by the alarm on the heart monitor. How could they have fallen asleep? Her pulse had risen and she was hyperventilating. The pattern of her brainwaves showed that she was fully alert. Obviously she must be panicking. They waited a few minutes, that felt like ages to them, to see if she calmed down on her own accord, but she didn't. The only solution was to inject some tranquillizer in her stomach tube and hope for the best.

The simple thought of what I was undergoing was enough to get me sexually aroused. I just hoped I would not get tired of it too fast. For the time being the only thing to do was make the most of it. I was totally content. It was so refreshing to have no concerns, nothing to worry about, knowing that all was being taken care of. This was escapism at its paramount!

When she woke up again a few hours later, the readings showed that her state was back to normal. What a relief! Taking turns, they needed to get some decent sleep. For the time being, they would concentrate on her vital functions, giving her a small dose of food and drink every few hours and an enema once a day.

I just woke up hearing music. At first I thought I was at home in my bed and it was my radio-alarm playing. Trying to roll over to switch it off, the reality of the situation returned. It was that kind of soothing relaxation music mixed with sounds of nature. After a while I started to see slowly changing coloured light in synch with the melody. This enhanced my impression of floating. It's as if I no longer had a physical existence. This was probably as close as you could get to an out of body experience.

For the first two days everything had gone smoothly. It was clear from the readings that she must be experiencing some amount of stress and disorientation. Her sleep periods lacked in regularity. But all that was part of the game. On the third day she had a new spell of panic and they'd again needed to administer her some tranquilizer. On the fourth day all the readings were a bit low. This was a little worrying if it persisted. Later on things returned to normal. They guessed she must have come to terms with her ordeal.

Waking-up this morning – so to speak – I wondered how long Pete intended to keep me encased. Having laughingly told him it might be fun to test or even push my limits, we had never agreed on any maximum length of time. He might have decided on one, but who knew if I could bear it that long? If ever I was in serious distress, there was no way of letting him know. How could we have foolishly overlooked something so vital? This notion left me feeling flushed. Surely Pete must have figured a way, I thought, trying to reassure myself. However, an undeniable anxiety lingered at the back of my mind.

All had now begun five days before. They decided she had been tormented sufficiently; it was time to release her from the hypnosis-induced amnesia. Having made sure she was awake, they launched the light and sound sequence that would unlock her brain.

Every so often, I exert all my strength against my encasement. Doing this sexually stimulates me, bringing me close to orgasm. I try not to climax, as when this happens I lose interest and it takes me ages to work up the excitement again.

The real fun could now begin. There were so many thrilling games they could play with her. The various gizmos she was equipped with were connected to a computer. Pete had designed a program to control their actions. Additionally, her enema plug and urethral catheter could be used for other purposes than those for which they were first intended.

This is weird – I have a strong urge to pee! Why isn't my catheter doing its job? Besides the sensation in my stomach tells me it's feeding time, which isn't helping. My bladder now feels it's on the point of bursting. This is maddening! If it lasts much longer I think I'll go insane. Either there's something wrong, or else Pete is doing this just for the fun of tormenting me.

It was very frustrating, and a bit disconcerting, not to be able to witness her reactions firsthand; the only feedback they had was the impersonal readings on the monitor. They could only guess what she might be thinking.

The music is back, but this time it is very rhythmical. The lightshow has returned too. The glow gradually becomes so bright that even through my sealed eyelids it engulfs me. My universe is a blazing radiance. I have a tingling sensation around my thighs. It's spreading to my bum now, and is in synch with the rhythm of the music. My muscles tighten on each beat. I can also feel it in my lower abdomen. It is very bizarre. I'm guessing it is electro-stimulation. I don't know how to describe it. Each individual jab has become more prolonged and has a vibrating quality to it. The intensity has increased too. At times everything stops for a couple of seconds and suddenly return full blast, taking my breath away. Instinctively I want to curl-up to protect myself form these assaults but my shell prevents me. The pulses are now so close to one another they are practically impossible to tell apart. All the midsection of my body is just one diffuse pain and the sensation radiates down the length of my legs.
The pain has now receded and the focus of the stimulation has shifted to my anus and my vagina. The impression is entirely different and comes from inside me rather than from the surface of my skin. I sense my internal organs contracting. If it carries on much more, I'm bound to have a massive orgasm.

Anya had been encased for ten days. They needed to decide how long to carry on. She was in a stable state. They were pretty sure she had adapted to the experience, and they could only hope she was enjoying it. Mostly, Pete stayed at home to watch her. Bob and Claire took turns in the evening or sometimes during the day so Pete could have a break and go out. At night they mainly relied upon the alarms that would go off if ever her condition changed. Pete had sent Anya's employer a note explaining she was too ill to come to work. At the rate things were going, there was no reason to interrupt the experiment. There were nevertheless some health issues if this was to be prolonged. The biggest risk was DVT – or deep vein thrombosis. The formation of blood clots due to prolonged immobility could cause severe damage and even death. Therefore they were regularly giving her anticoagulant drugs. She could also develop bedsores. And after a while she'd start losing muscle mass; this was unavoidable. By the end of the adventure, she would have become very frail.

For long periods I'm left alone. Each time, I wonder how soon it will be before they decide to play with me again. I'm excited with anticipation. Last time, I had the sensation that my butt was being inflated, as when I'm given an enema; except that the pressure kept increasing until I was so dilated that the ache was almost unbearable. After a while my muscles must have relaxed, leaving me with an impression of being incredibly full.

Bob and Pete had assembled a medical gurney. Having placed it alongside the table on which Anya's petrified form rested, they carefully moved her onto it. Securely strapped to the contraption they could rotate her 360 degrees. It would help relieve her back and lessen the risk of bedsores. For now they locked the gurney with her head slightly above the level of her feet.

Up to now I'd been convinced I was lying on my back, but I'm no longer so sure. At times I feel a slight pressure on my face and the front of my body. I also have some phases when my world seems to be upended or whirling around, leaving me feeling dizzy.
During the quiet periods, I just let go, trying not to think about anything specific. Sleep blends into wakefulness without me really noticing. All the worries of my existence prior to this adventure have vanished. I know it will take some time to readjust to real life again once it ends, because sooner or later it unavoidably must. I wonder if after such an intense experience my craving for immobilisation and encasement will persist. It all seems so remote. For now I only exist in this suspended state. Nothing else really matters.

That night, Claire was on watch. Feeling bored and somewhat annoyed to be kept awake, she decided to have some fun at the expense of Anya. Using a microphone linked to the computer, she could speak to her. The program would transform Claire's voice to make it sound eerie and disembodied. This was the first human voice Anya would hear in two weeks. Claire knew Anya was asleep. It was time to wake her up.

I woke up hearing voices, or rather, a voice. It was definitely female though it resounded as if echoing in a huge chamber. In my half sleep I first couldn't make out the words. Then I realised it was saying my name! It irritated me that Pete had some woman helping him look after me. I guess I was jealous. Had I only known what was about to happen...

"I don't see why you should be allowed to sleep when I'm awake watching you!" Claire said. "I feel like having some fun, so prepare to suffer." Having said that, she turned off the microphone. She began by fully inflating Anya's enema plug. Then she blocked the flow of the catheter and pumped into Anya's intestines a large amount of liquid. She now switched on the electro-stimulation device and set it to deliver a random series of very short high-intensity shocks. With each one there would be a bright flash of light and the sound of lightning bolt. While this was going on she quickly rotated the gurney one way then the other to confuse Anya even more. She carried on like this for more than half an hour, changing from time to time the settings on the e-stim – alternating between the surface electrodes and the internal ones – and modifying the pressure in the enema plug, releasing briefly the flow of the catheter only to cut it off instants later. Then, starting to feel a little ashamed of the gratuitous viciousness of her actions, she gradually returned things to normal.

I don't know how long the ordeal lasted, but it was one torment after the next. The worst part was that in spite of myself, I was sexually stimulated, and came over and over again. At the same time during the whole incident I was terrified of what would happen next. When all finally ceased I was totally washed-out and felt like I'd been put through a shredder.

It had now been four weeks since everything began. Anya's state was still reasonably good though she was getting weaker and more agitated. They had reached the limit they had fixed themselves. It was time for Anya to be released.

Though I am still perfectly comfortable in my confinement, I think I've just about had it. Despite all the stimulation they carry on giving me, I must admit I am fed up. The novelty has worn off. When they play with me, my body still reacts. Resigned, I endure it, but my mind is elsewhere. I have absolutely no idea how long all this has lasted, I just hope they'll let me out soon. I'm so weary at times.

Pete switched on the microphone. "Anya, if you can hear me, move your eyes up and down." he said. The goggles she was wearing had infrared sensors that could track her eye movement. "Now move your eyes from left to right." After a little hesitation they got the readings they were expecting. "We think you've been in there long enough and are ready to free you." After a pause he added, "Move your eyes up and down if you want to come out now, or from left to right if you wish to go on a little longer."

I did not respond right away when Pete asked me if I wished to be released. In a way it seemed a pity to destroy such a perfect piece of work. I was in no physical pain; therefore it would have been quite easy to continue. But emotionally it was all the same to me, so finally I half-heartedly put an end to the adventure, even if it meant that I would need to confront real life once more.
I'd never given any thought before to how one removed a medical cast. They were using some sort of power tool! The vibrations resounded in my shell. When it came close to my head, the noise was excruciating. A couple of times I felt something sharp come into contact with my flesh and imagined they'd cut me. I became obsessed with the idea I would bleed to death before they got me out.

If done correctly, the oscillating blade of the cast-saw dug into the fibre casting tape while doing no damage to the skin. Having put the saw aside, they gently lifted off the top half of the cast and started cutting the padding away. They were careful not to snatch any of the tubes that still protruded from Anya's orifices. Lying naked on the table, she looked so small and fragile. Her hair had grown back about half an inch. Pete covered her with a blanket, and having dimmed the lights he unsealed her eyes. Unmoving, she stared at him fixedly looking slightly scared. Claire started removing the various tubes. The sensation must have been somewhat disturbing because Anya opened her eyes wide and squirmed weakly. At last Pete unsealed her mouth and unlocked the plastic gag. "Welcome back!" he said smiling at her tenderly. "Don't try to move or get up. We must take this very slowly. You need to recover your strength. I'm afraid this adventure is not over yet, and it will take some more effort to get you fully back to normal."

Those first moments when I finally was free were amazing, but also quite scary: to be able to see again, to hear normally, be able to touch myself… My throat was sore, and as soon as I tried to move I felt dizzy. I spent the first day in bed. Pete helped me drink and eat a little. We did not talk much. My voice was raw. Getting up the first time made me realise just how weak I was. I needed Pete's support otherwise I think I'd have collapsed. It would take a while for me to be able go out on my own. Looking at myself in the mirror was creepy. It was like seeing someone else. I'd never been that skinny before and my flesh was so pale. And then Pete had cut-off my hair. It was fun having it so short. I'd never dared.

During the first days, Anya had pretty much kept to herself. She started exercising on the machines Pete had installed in the spare room. Having gained some strength, at last she was ready to leave the flat. They went to the park. She needed to wear sunglasses, as her eyes were still quite sensitive having been in the dark for so long. She was overwhelmed by the variety of smells and sounds. It was like rediscovering the world. At first the knowledge that she'd spent a month encased had been difficult to take in. Sure it was a huge amount of time to remain immobile, but she'd lost track to such a point that it would not have made much difference had it been four months.
She'd let her employer know that she would not be returning to work and would arrange to have her stuff collected. The first occasion she went out on her own, Pete was surprised to see her return with her hair bleached white-blond and styled in a spiky fashion. It suited her. It made her look like a pixie. She had become someone new, and he loved her all the more.

I feel relaxed and self-assured like never before. You could think this experience would be enough for a lifetime, but the strange thing is that the idea of being completely immobilised still hugely turns me on. During my recovery we didn't practice any bondage at all, my chief preoccupation being to rebuild my strength. But I know we'll be doing more experimenting in the near future. Sure, there won't ever again be the novelty of the first time, nor the surprise factor, but we now both had a pretty good notion of what I could endure. I've quit my flat and am living with Pete. We have decided to move into a house on the outskirts of the city. One room will be dedicated to our passion. Despite the fact that our relationship is based on our common enjoyment of mummification, it's the best and most intimate and lasting one I've ever had. And that is something to be treasured.

 

13.11.11