HOME | DD

Description
I wanted permanent bondage.

I didn't care how it would affect my life -- my life sucked anyway. All I did as an insurance agent was scam people. I had no friends that would miss my company. And my family? Fuck my family. They turned their backs on me when my "perverted" fetish came out, tried to pray it away, and cut me off when that didn't work.

I had nothing to lose but my wonderful, loving boyfriend. And with me in permanent bondage, he'd have no choice but to take care of me forever.

We knew what we were doing was illegal. He knew the commitment he was stepping into. If he abandoned me he'd be jailed for neglectful murder, and if he tried to pass me off to someone else he'd be exposed for what he did to me and jailed anyway. Consented or not, the law saw our arrangement as evil.

The law didn't understand our love, or what I needed to be. The world was too big, my limbs too loose, my holes too gaping. It was unsafe. I needed to be snug, I needed to be taken care of. I was done with painfully ending our bondage sessions, having to reenter the "real world". I never wanted to be taken out. Waves of depression and fear would overwhelm me as soon as his fingers touched the first buckle, or strap, or padlock to set me free, back into the terrifying world.

Never again.

It took a year to draw up the plan and gather the materials, and make sure there were no kinks that could lead to disaster. I never thought he'd be on board with this, and remember crying joy when he first agreed. This commitment would be larger than marriage, utterly inescapable. He would be, in a sense, in his own sort of bondage. But he loved me enough to help me achieve bliss, and I think it turned him on a bit, too. We were both excited. For that year, our sex was great, intensified, better than it ever had been and getting better every day.

The day came to put our plan in motion. I'd already put in my two week notice and left my shitty job. I'd gotten some buyers for my home and told my neighbors I'd be moving abroad.

No one would suspect a thing.

Kyle drove me up to the cottage he'd inherited from his family, myself already in bondage in the back seat. Encased in leotard and tights, tape constricting my limbs and sealing my stuffed mouth, I squirmed with an already-wet crotch. It was already too much. It was like a real kidnapping, except I wanted it.

And I knew exactly what was coming.

I couldn't handle it when Kyle brought me inside over his shoulder, and descended with me like a sack of grain to the basement. He propped me on a cot against the wall, ripping the tape from my face and unstuffing my mouth.

"Are you ready for this, my dear?" His voice was steam as he leaned for a passionate kiss. He pulled back and grasped both sides of my face, my own hands helpless to resist from behind me.

I loved it.

"I'm ready. It's been a year and I've had no thoughts of turning back. If I haven't by now, I definitely never will. Let's do this."

First things first. Kyle opened the chest we'd assembled over the past year and pulled out a unique tube. Made of rigid metal, it would go down my throat for feeding purposes. He held the throat end to my face and I squirmed.

"Wait." I had to make my last words count. "I love you."

A smile, and another kiss. My last one. I would miss them, but there was something I needed more.

"I love you too, dear."

In the tube went, forcing my jaw wide open and nearly choking me, were it not for the mental control I'd been practicing. He stopped pushing just before the panel at the open end went behind my teeth. I tried to make a noise, to test it. Nothing. My vocal cords were completely paralyzed by the tube pressing them stiff.

At the open end of the tube were two panels. One would go behind my teeth, the other in front. Between them were grooves molded perfectly to my teeth. Kyle applied a generous amount of epoxy resin to the grooves, on top and bottom, and pushed the tube farther into my mouth. I opened wider to allow the first panel to pass my teeth and then bit down, sinking deliciously into the epoxy until I hit hard metal.

When this dried, there really would be no turning back. Each tooth was insulated in the goo, and would soon be hard as rock and anchored into those grooves.

Sure, there are ways to remove epoxy if you're desperate. We had a way around that.

A third panel would cover my mouth altogether, itself securely glued to the opening of the tube. It was flush with my face, even a little tight, and impossible to get underneath and behind my lips to dissolve the resin.

Kyle brought the third panel to my face. Its own short tube slid perfectly into the larger one, covering the contact area where epoxy glued them, thus preventing access to the resin through the feeding hole. My heart pounded as he pressed the panel hard against my face, where the epoxy would set and remain completely inaccessible. Any attempt to remove the gag now would have to mutilate my face and inner head. It couldn't be done.

Only step one and I'd drenched my panties. It was so hot. God, it was so, so hot. It would be forever. It would really, actually, truly be forever this time. My groin pulsated with every thought, begging for orgasm. This high would be my whole life now. No "real life" obligation would ever take it from me again. I could give up everything if it meant feeling this forever.

There was still more. I watched Kyle reach back into the chest as I tried to lick my lips, my tongue only to remain depressed by the wide tube filling my mouth and locking my jaw. With its rigidity extending down my throat, I could hardly twist or bend my neck.

It was the rest of my body's turn to be locked up. Kyle presented me with a large, steel collar to be snapped around my neck, keeping my head comfortably upright. On it went, its internal latches clicking together with no mechanism for release, not even a pinhole. It was done.

Irreversible.

Next he produced a thick, leather garment lined on the inside with flexible metal, and sewing tools. He carefully cut the leotard from my body and wrapped the garment around me in its place, enclosing my chest, bust, and abdomen in a cold, restrictive corset that reached over my shoulders and between my legs. The crotch piece had three holes -- one for solid waste, one to thread a catheter through, and one for access to my pussy, of which I had transferred exclusive ownership to him. He could implant jewels in it or sew it shut if he wished. It was his to do as he liked.

He got to sewing leather. Pulling the corset as tight as it would go without suffocating me, he patiently stitched the garment onto my body. By the time he finished every seam, each stitch with meticulous strength, the epoxy in my mouth had set. There was absolutely no going back. Not once the resin was cement around my teeth, holding them inaccessibly in place in their fixed grooves.

It's no surprise we thought a way around any cutting of the corset's threads, as well. We had a metal plate fitted to run along each seam, which Kyle riveted into the thick leather, followed by some torching to weld each rivet to its plate. A shoulder piece went in two pieces around the base of my neck, snapped into one, and also riveted to the corset. Kyle welded this quite carefully to the steel collar already around my neck, effectively making the collar and corset into one, inescapable bondage piece. Just for good measure, a steel waist piece clicked around me before also being riveted to my garment.

Delicious.

This whole part was his design. Genius. No one could take my bliss from me without endangering my soft body trapped underneath, pressed so closely against the restrictive material.

All that remained free were my limbs. My loose, flailing, vulnerable limbs. This part was my design, and might I say, a bit cleverer than his. The one-way locks and riveted, metal-lined corset were fine and all, and permanent enough for our purposes. I don't think Kyle knew how to remove them without hurting or maiming me, even if he wanted to. But for my limbs I wanted something even stricter, something closer to the total, objective permanency of my gag.

Kyle cut my hands and feet loose and removed the tights, delivering me a shiver of panic. It felt wrong, but was only short-lived.

There was one more piece to my gag, and it was crucial to my limb bondage. From the chest Kyle took more steel pieces, a long cord, and the final gag piece. Two halves of a tube were snapped together around each forearm, welded parallel each other, and again to my corset's steel waist piece.

Secured. Solid. Inflexible. No separation of arms, no lifting, no wriggling. All tugging only chafed my wrists at the end of the tubes. Perfection.

He did the same to my calves, and welded their tubes in snug, crossed fashion.

The catch was the cord. Within each tube it wrapped round and round each arm and leg, threading out of the tubes to create a loop between legs and arms, and the loose ends emerging from the tops of my arm tubes. Up they went toward the final, spring-loaded mouth piece, which Kyle attached so, so carefully.

The last gag piece was a plug, attached to the end of the tube by a hinge. A spring begged to launch the plug airtight into the hole, stopped only by the cord ends fused firmly to it, which only kept it pulled back by the mere tautness of being threaded through my rigid restraints.

I could not move my own limbs, but I was not the concern. He was. This setup ensured that any attempt to cut the steel tubes would inevitably also cut the cord twined around my limbs underneath, letting the plug loose to spring into its hole and enter one, last one-way lock. I would no longer be able to eat, and eventually it would kill me.

Kyle could not back out of this without ending my life, and he would never, ever dream of that. I had to make this certain.

With my entire body restrained, my ingenious mechanisms ensuring I could never speak or survive outside my bondage again, only one thing remained.

Kyle dug the last thing from the chest. A leather hood. Loose enough to give room for my spring-loaded plug, but tight enough to press firm against my eyes and ears. A single hole lined by a metal ring the size of a straw, far too small to reach inside to keep the plug from snapping in place should the cords be cut.

Epoxy went into each ear, cutting off noise, and finally, globbed onto my eyelids to seal them shut. Kyle stuffed padding over these areas then slipped the hood on, ensuring the padding would remain pressed against them indefinitely.

I only felt the pressure of the neck of the hood being screwed into pre-drilled holes in my collar, and the warmth of washers being fused to screw heads while the grooves in the latter were deformed beyond any drill's use. With this warmth the leather seemed to shrink, creating a snug fit under my chin and beneath the base of my skull.

It was done. Wonderful. Fantastic. Orgasmic.

I'd never felt so restrained. I'd even experienced full body encasement before, but nothing could compare to the pervasive knowledge that a bondage was completely and utterly permanent. It terrified me, but it was also thrilling. A new experience. The end of the line, as far as I could ever possibly go, a return ticket nonexistent.

This is what I wanted. Unable to hear, unable to see, unable to move my jaw or make even a moan. Struggling against welded and permanently locked steel, unable to gain any slack. Unable to even adjust my knees or elbows, twist my neck, bend my back. Utterly still, utterly encased, utterly helpless.

Forever.

My groin was on fire. What took him so long?

There. I felt his touch, sending me into spasm. His caress on my nether lips, drenched in my fluid. He tipped me onto my back and his tongue came next. Orgasm followed quickly.

And again.

Even a third time; a new record for me.

It was incredible. I had transcended our world and found bliss in another, one of motionlessness and solitude.

I think I made it all of 24 or so hours before the boredom set in.

Before the itches came.

Before my joints ached.

It took only a few more hours for each minute to feel like days. My relaxed state was briskly slipping away, my mind trying to awaken, thirsting for stimulation. I knew Kyle was at work, but I needed him right then. I needed him constantly. I could not get myself off, could not feed myself, could not talk to myself.

I wanted to stretch.

No, I couldn't let these thoughts consume me. I'd chosen this. This is what I wanted. What I needed.

I had nothing waiting for me in the outside world. This cocoon was my world now. I wanted it.

I held out until Kyle returned, back again to gift me pleasure. It was still sexy, being so extensively restrained, so aware of its permanence.

So aware of my itches.

Of my aches.

Of missing my favorite television program.

Of missing my music.

No, no, no. I couldn't think like this.

When Kyle left again I could have screamed, were it not for my vocal cords rendered useless. I heaved against my steel restraints, pushing so hard to stretch my joints, panic overtaking me when I could not. I couldn't take it. I couldn't do it.

I had to get out. It was too much.

I screamed in my head. I rocked back and forth, ending up stagnant on my back. Still no joints were stretched. Still I ached for noise, for company.

Kyle returned again. It wasn't hot anymore. He ate me right up, but I couldn't do it. Nothing came. Down there was numb, my mind too frantic to find pleasure.

I didn't want this anymore. There was nothing hot about my painful, aching body, about the loneliness and boredom that consumed me, about the hours upon hours of the day where horniness completely eluded me. I wanted so badly to find it, but it was just gone. How could this be? How could the hottest thing in the world, set up so perfectly to avoid breaches of practicality, end up so torturous? We'd done everything, planned everything, accounted for everything.

I tried to tell him. I tried to open my jaw, to wiggle my tongue, to force a sound out, but there was nothing. I couldn't reach him. Even if I could, there was no way to survive escape. We'd planned this for an entire year, day after day smoothing out all kinks and loopholes. There was simply no way. Even cutting away of some leather would leave me trapped in irremovable steel, and with this painful tube still dilating my throat. I'd made a mistake. Such a big, incredible, huge mistake.

The solid epoxy globs sealing my eyes allowed no escape of tears.

What had I done? What the hell was I thinking, for a year straight as my groin throbbed and purely hormones guided my brain?

Day after day, Kyle licked my pussy, entered me, released in me. I felt nothing. Nothing but ache and agony. I missed sunlight. I missed fancy dinners. I missed trying new clothes in the mirror, painting my nails, doodling in my sketchbook. I'd underestimated all of that. I'd thought nothing was more important than this encasement. That this was my fate. My calling. My necessity. That no one had understood me, that I was simply a different kind of creature than other humans of this world.

No one else could ever be so wrong. I've discovered that it was never my calling at all, but just an intense, nagging, uncontrollable fetish. I thought I'd wanted it. I thought I could discipline myself and survive. It would be my transcendence. Rather, it was my end. My body has withered beneath my corset, my mind has crumbled inside my hood.

I am nothing. Once a vessel of ecstasy and exhilaration, then desperation and horror, I have now become emptiness and despondent resignation.

I have no sense of time. It's felt like years, but I have no way to know. Maybe it's been five, perhaps fifteen.

Kyle still comes. He licks me once again, but it's different this time. He's slower, lighter, less invested. I still feel nothing. I still am nothing.

He stops. I hear faint mumbling, but nothing else through the old epoxy packing my ears. He presses a pair of open scissors against my exposed upper arm, as though trying to tell me he has them.

The cord tugs around my arm within its tube. What is he doing?

What the hell is he doing? Why, Kyle?

At once the plug lunged into my mouth, and a horrifying click resonates through my head.

He's cut the cord. He's plugged my mouth. He's just killed me. I will die within a week with no food or water. I am dead.

Why, why, why, Kyle?

I think I'm about to panic, but instead something else overtakes me as I imagine my new course of fate. It's something I've dearly missed, that haven't felt in a long time.

Joy.

Description
I wanted permanent bondage.

I didn't care how it would affect my life -- my life sucked anyway. All I did as an insurance agent was scam people. I had no friends that would miss my company. And my family? Fuck my family. They turned their backs on me when my "perverted" fetish came out, tried to pray it away, and cut me off when that didn't work.

I had nothing to lose but my wonderful, loving boyfriend. And with me in permanent bondage, he'd have no choice but to take care of me forever.

We knew what we were doing was illegal. He knew the commitment he was stepping into. If he abandoned me he'd be jailed for neglectful murder, and if he tried to pass me off to someone else he'd be exposed for what he did to me and jailed anyway. Consented or not, the law saw our arrangement as evil.

The law didn't understand our love, or what I needed to be. The world was too big, my limbs too loose, my holes too gaping. It was unsafe. I needed to be snug, I needed to be taken care of. I was done with painfully ending our bondage sessions, having to reenter the "real world". I never wanted to be taken out. Waves of depression and fear would overwhelm me as soon as his fingers touched the first buckle, or strap, or padlock to set me free, back into the terrifying world.

Never again.

It took a year to draw up the plan and gather the materials, and make sure there were no kinks that could lead to disaster. I never thought he'd be on board with this, and remember crying joy when he first agreed. This commitment would be larger than marriage, utterly inescapable. He would be, in a sense, in his own sort of bondage. But he loved me enough to help me achieve bliss, and I think it turned him on a bit, too. We were both excited. For that year, our sex was great, intensified, better than it ever had been and getting better every day.

The day came to put our plan in motion. I'd already put in my two week notice and left my shitty job. I'd gotten some buyers for my home and told my neighbors I'd be moving abroad.

No one would suspect a thing.

Kyle drove me up to the cottage he'd inherited from his family, myself already in bondage in the back seat. Encased in leotard and tights, tape constricting my limbs and sealing my stuffed mouth, I squirmed with an already-wet crotch. It was already too much. It was like a real kidnapping, except I wanted it.

And I knew exactly what was coming.

I couldn't handle it when Kyle brought me inside over his shoulder, and descended with me like a sack of grain to the basement. He propped me on a cot against the wall, ripping the tape from my face and unstuffing my mouth.

"Are you ready for this, my dear?" His voice was steam as he leaned for a passionate kiss. He pulled back and grasped both sides of my face, my own hands helpless to resist from behind me.

I loved it.

"I'm ready. It's been a year and I've had no thoughts of turning back. If I haven't by now, I definitely never will. Let's do this."

First things first. Kyle opened the chest we'd assembled over the past year and pulled out a unique tube. Made of rigid metal, it would go down my throat for feeding purposes. He held the throat end to my face and I squirmed.

"Wait." I had to make my last words count. "I love you."

A smile, and another kiss. My last one. I would miss them, but there was something I needed more.

"I love you too, dear."

In the tube went, forcing my jaw wide open and nearly choking me, were it not for the mental control I'd been practicing. He stopped pushing just before the panel at the open end went behind my teeth. I tried to make a noise, to test it. Nothing. My vocal cords were completely paralyzed by the tube pressing them stiff.

At the open end of the tube were two panels. One would go behind my teeth, the other in front. Between them were grooves molded perfectly to my teeth. Kyle applied a generous amount of epoxy resin to the grooves, on top and bottom, and pushed the tube farther into my mouth. I opened wider to allow the first panel to pass my teeth and then bit down, sinking deliciously into the epoxy until I hit hard metal.

When this dried, there really would be no turning back. Each tooth was insulated in the goo, and would soon be hard as rock and anchored into those grooves.

Sure, there are ways to remove epoxy if you're desperate. We had a way around that.

A third panel would cover my mouth altogether, itself securely glued to the opening of the tube. It was flush with my face, even a little tight, and impossible to get underneath and behind my lips to dissolve the resin.

Kyle brought the third panel to my face. Its own short tube slid perfectly into the larger one, covering the contact area where epoxy glued them, thus preventing access to the resin through the feeding hole. My heart pounded as he pressed the panel hard against my face, where the epoxy would set and remain completely inaccessible. Any attempt to remove the gag now would have to mutilate my face and inner head. It couldn't be done.

Only step one and I'd drenched my panties. It was so hot. God, it was so, so hot. It would be forever. It would really, actually, truly be forever this time. My groin pulsated with every thought, begging for orgasm. This high would be my whole life now. No "real life" obligation would ever take it from me again. I could give up everything if it meant feeling this forever.

There was still more. I watched Kyle reach back into the chest as I tried to lick my lips, my tongue only to remain depressed by the wide tube filling my mouth and locking my jaw. With its rigidity extending down my throat, I could hardly twist or bend my neck.

It was the rest of my body's turn to be locked up. Kyle presented me with a large, steel collar to be snapped around my neck, keeping my head comfortably upright. On it went, its internal latches clicking together with no mechanism for release, not even a pinhole. It was done.

Irreversible.

Next he produced a thick, leather garment lined on the inside with flexible metal, and sewing tools. He carefully cut the leotard from my body and wrapped the garment around me in its place, enclosing my chest, bust, and abdomen in a cold, restrictive corset that reached over my shoulders and between my legs. The crotch piece had three holes -- one for solid waste, one to thread a catheter through, and one for access to my pussy, of which I had transferred exclusive ownership to him. He could implant jewels in it or sew it shut if he wished. It was his to do as he liked.

He got to sewing leather. Pulling the corset as tight as it would go without suffocating me, he patiently stitched the garment onto my body. By the time he finished every seam, each stitch with meticulous strength, the epoxy in my mouth had set. There was absolutely no going back. Not once the resin was cement around my teeth, holding them inaccessibly in place in their fixed grooves.

It's no surprise we thought a way around any cutting of the corset's threads, as well. We had a metal plate fitted to run along each seam, which Kyle riveted into the thick leather, followed by some torching to weld each rivet to its plate. A shoulder piece went in two pieces around the base of my neck, snapped into one, and also riveted to the corset. Kyle welded this quite carefully to the steel collar already around my neck, effectively making the collar and corset into one, inescapable bondage piece. Just for good measure, a steel waist piece clicked around me before also being riveted to my garment.

Delicious.

This whole part was his design. Genius. No one could take my bliss from me without endangering my soft body trapped underneath, pressed so closely against the restrictive material.

All that remained free were my limbs. My loose, flailing, vulnerable limbs. This part was my design, and might I say, a bit cleverer than his. The one-way locks and riveted, metal-lined corset were fine and all, and permanent enough for our purposes. I don't think Kyle knew how to remove them without hurting or maiming me, even if he wanted to. But for my limbs I wanted something even stricter, something closer to the total, objective permanency of my gag.

Kyle cut my hands and feet loose and removed the tights, delivering me a shiver of panic. It felt wrong, but was only short-lived.

There was one more piece to my gag, and it was crucial to my limb bondage. From the chest Kyle took more steel pieces, a long cord, and the final gag piece. Two halves of a tube were snapped together around each forearm, welded parallel each other, and again to my corset's steel waist piece.

Secured. Solid. Inflexible. No separation of arms, no lifting, no wriggling. All tugging only chafed my wrists at the end of the tubes. Perfection.

He did the same to my calves, and welded their tubes in snug, crossed fashion.

The catch was the cord. Within each tube it wrapped round and round each arm and leg, threading out of the tubes to create a loop between legs and arms, and the loose ends emerging from the tops of my arm tubes. Up they went toward the final, spring-loaded mouth piece, which Kyle attached so, so carefully.

The last gag piece was a plug, attached to the end of the tube by a hinge. A spring begged to launch the plug airtight into the hole, stopped only by the cord ends fused firmly to it, which only kept it pulled back by the mere tautness of being threaded through my rigid restraints.

I could not move my own limbs, but I was not the concern. He was. This setup ensured that any attempt to cut the steel tubes would inevitably also cut the cord twined around my limbs underneath, letting the plug loose to spring into its hole and enter one, last one-way lock. I would no longer be able to eat, and eventually it would kill me.

Kyle could not back out of this without ending my life, and he would never, ever dream of that. I had to make this certain.

With my entire body restrained, my ingenious mechanisms ensuring I could never speak or survive outside my bondage again, only one thing remained.

Kyle dug the last thing from the chest. A leather hood. Loose enough to give room for my spring-loaded plug, but tight enough to press firm against my eyes and ears. A single hole lined by a metal ring the size of a straw, far too small to reach inside to keep the plug from snapping in place should the cords be cut.

Epoxy went into each ear, cutting off noise, and finally, globbed onto my eyelids to seal them shut. Kyle stuffed padding over these areas then slipped the hood on, ensuring the padding would remain pressed against them indefinitely.

I only felt the pressure of the neck of the hood being screwed into pre-drilled holes in my collar, and the warmth of washers being fused to screw heads while the grooves in the latter were deformed beyond any drill's use. With this warmth the leather seemed to shrink, creating a snug fit under my chin and beneath the base of my skull.

It was done. Wonderful. Fantastic. Orgasmic.

I'd never felt so restrained. I'd even experienced full body encasement before, but nothing could compare to the pervasive knowledge that a bondage was completely and utterly permanent. It terrified me, but it was also thrilling. A new experience. The end of the line, as far as I could ever possibly go, a return ticket nonexistent.

This is what I wanted. Unable to hear, unable to see, unable to move my jaw or make even a moan. Struggling against welded and permanently locked steel, unable to gain any slack. Unable to even adjust my knees or elbows, twist my neck, bend my back. Utterly still, utterly encased, utterly helpless.

Forever.

My groin was on fire. What took him so long?

There. I felt his touch, sending me into spasm. His caress on my nether lips, drenched in my fluid. He tipped me onto my back and his tongue came next. Orgasm followed quickly.

And again.

Even a third time; a new record for me.

It was incredible. I had transcended our world and found bliss in another, one of motionlessness and solitude.

I think I made it all of 24 or so hours before the boredom set in.

Before the itches came.

Before my joints ached.

It took only a few more hours for each minute to feel like days. My relaxed state was briskly slipping away, my mind trying to awaken, thirsting for stimulation. I knew Kyle was at work, but I needed him right then. I needed him constantly. I could not get myself off, could not feed myself, could not talk to myself.

I wanted to stretch.

No, I couldn't let these thoughts consume me. I'd chosen this. This is what I wanted. What I needed.

I had nothing waiting for me in the outside world. This cocoon was my world now. I wanted it.

I held out until Kyle returned, back again to gift me pleasure. It was still sexy, being so extensively restrained, so aware of its permanence.

So aware of my itches.

Of my aches.

Of missing my favorite television program.

Of missing my music.

No, no, no. I couldn't think like this.

When Kyle left again I could have screamed, were it not for my vocal cords rendered useless. I heaved against my steel restraints, pushing so hard to stretch my joints, panic overtaking me when I could not. I couldn't take it. I couldn't do it.

I had to get out. It was too much.

I screamed in my head. I rocked back and forth, ending up stagnant on my back. Still no joints were stretched. Still I ached for noise, for company.

Kyle returned again. It wasn't hot anymore. He ate me right up, but I couldn't do it. Nothing came. Down there was numb, my mind too frantic to find pleasure.

I didn't want this anymore. There was nothing hot about my painful, aching body, about the loneliness and boredom that consumed me, about the hours upon hours of the day where horniness completely eluded me. I wanted so badly to find it, but it was just gone. How could this be? How could the hottest thing in the world, set up so perfectly to avoid breaches of practicality, end up so torturous? We'd done everything, planned everything, accounted for everything.

I tried to tell him. I tried to open my jaw, to wiggle my tongue, to force a sound out, but there was nothing. I couldn't reach him. Even if I could, there was no way to survive escape. We'd planned this for an entire year, day after day smoothing out all kinks and loopholes. There was simply no way. Even cutting away of some leather would leave me trapped in irremovable steel, and with this painful tube still dilating my throat. I'd made a mistake. Such a big, incredible, huge mistake.

The solid epoxy globs sealing my eyes allowed no escape of tears.

What had I done? What the hell was I thinking, for a year straight as my groin throbbed and purely hormones guided my brain?

Day after day, Kyle licked my pussy, entered me, released in me. I felt nothing. Nothing but ache and agony. I missed sunlight. I missed fancy dinners. I missed trying new clothes in the mirror, painting my nails, doodling in my sketchbook. I'd underestimated all of that. I'd thought nothing was more important than this encasement. That this was my fate. My calling. My necessity. That no one had understood me, that I was simply a different kind of creature than other humans of this world.

No one else could ever be so wrong. I've discovered that it was never my calling at all, but just an intense, nagging, uncontrollable fetish. I thought I'd wanted it. I thought I could discipline myself and survive. It would be my transcendence. Rather, it was my end. My body has withered beneath my corset, my mind has crumbled inside my hood.

I am nothing. Once a vessel of ecstasy and exhilaration, then desperation and horror, I have now become emptiness and despondent resignation.

I have no sense of time. It's felt like years, but I have no way to know. Maybe it's been five, perhaps fifteen.

Kyle still comes. He licks me once again, but it's different this time. He's slower, lighter, less invested. I still feel nothing. I still am nothing.

He stops. I hear faint mumbling, but nothing else through the old epoxy packing my ears. He presses a pair of open scissors against my exposed upper arm, as though trying to tell me he has them.

The cord tugs around my arm within its tube. What is he doing?

What the hell is he doing? Why, Kyle?

At once the plug lunged into my mouth, and a horrifying click resonates through my head.

He's cut the cord. He's plugged my mouth. He's just killed me. I will die within a week with no food or water. I am dead.

Why, why, why, Kyle?

I think I'm about to panic, but instead something else overtakes me as I imagine my new course of fate. It's something I've dearly missed, that haven't felt in a long time.

Joy.