Image courtesy of Jenby.
A new guest blog from Jenby is always a fucking treat – I get a little burst of glee just seeing her name in my inbox. Whether she’s casually letting me know that she got milked by House Dommes at a hucow event, or that she’s been sweating at a latex event during a heatwave, every adventure brings brand new kinks to explore, horny scenarios to contemplate, and at least one truly excellent pun. Check out some of her incredible previous guest blogs here, then sit tight (very tight) and enjoy her latest foray into mummification…
Duct up in bed – a mummification story
‘Silence is golden,’ goes the adage, ‘but duct tape is silver.’
Words to live by. It’s hard to beat a duct tape over-the-mouth gag, whether you’re in a dungeon having a wad of your own sodden panties stuffed in your mouth, or you’re being bundled into a van as part of an elaborate kidnapping scene (which is still on the fuck-it list, so keep an eye out).
But what of the reverse tape gag? The one where literally every single part of you except your mouth is clad in the sticky stuff? Why have I never tried that before?
All good questions. In my time on the scene I’ve been mummified in a multitude of mind-meltingly marvellous materials, from vet wrap during my first ever foray into IRL kink at Eroticon, to bondage tape, with more pit-stops at plastic wrap in between than I care to count.
One thing they all have in common, though, is that sooner or later I’m going to bust out. My talon-like nails can easily sluice through thin plastic, bondage tape adheres only to itself, and not well, so is likely to start unravelling without much persuasion and even the stringent vet wrap has sufficient stretch that after enough vermicular squirming – my favourite activity when trussed up – I can often slip a hand between the bandages and emerge like a sweaty, dopamine-addled butterfly.
Enter the two rolls of duct tape sitting in the corner of the bedroom after an excursion to a pet play event where I’d wanted my hind legs stumped with no chance of breaking free during all the quadrupedal rough-and-tumble. My girlfriend Star (my perennial partner in being gay and doing crime) had been teasing me with a full-body mummification scene for a while, and one evening I entered our room to find her horniest playlist thudding away in the background, and a wax melt gently simmering away by the name of ‘Lobotomised’.
Star wasted no time in shoving my naked, shivering body roughly onto the bed and pulling a length of pallet wrap from the gigantic roll which, of all the props in my toybox, must surely be the second-best candidate for a murder weapon after my Doxy.
Duct tape may be fun to rip off a sub’s face before aggressively kissing them on their smarting lips and enjoying the indignant yelps that ensue, but for a body covered in fine hairs it’s best to have a buffer rather than applying directly to the skin.
Despite my plaintive invitation to Star that ‘you can if you want uwu.’
Thinking with my clit as ever.
We forwent the more traditional mummification method of starting from a standing position and working downwards from the upper torso, in service of the ever-intoxicating sensation of the various layers creeping up the body from toe to top. Something which necessitates tossing the mummy around like a ragdoll for much of the process.
As I gazed up at the unvarnished delight on my personal muscle mommy’s face however, I began to suspect this was a feature, not a bug.
First layer done, and I was no longer shivering. Any movement whatsoever besides the rise and fall of my chest to draw cool air through the hole at my mouth resulted in the most sweltering heat, which had already created a sheen of perspiration between me and the plastic.
And we hadn’t even introduced Star’s star attraction yet.
The instant the duct tape encircled my toes I could tell things were about to get serious.
An immediate, bone-crushing tightness very nearly brought tears to my eyes, and I began to shift my feet, also slippery with sweat, over and over each other in search of the least uncomfortable position. But soon even that avenue was closed off to me, as the constricting strands fully encased my legs.
No stretch, no give, no escape.
Slowly, inexorably, Star worked her way up my body, my previously mobile hands becoming pinioned to my sides, my tits crushed under the shiny, unyielding corset, and eventually my world falling into darkness as my nose and eyes were covered.
Now all that was left of me were my full, slightly parted lips, drawing steady, shuddering breaths from the world outside.
I was hers.
She wondered aloud whether to use me as a human dildo, but evidently thought that would be too dignified a use for her new mummy, and instead pulled out the aforementioned Doxy and straddled my hips, grinding her pussy into my slick sex.
I moaned through my mouth-hole and squirmed upwards to meet her thrusts, before a familiar gushing sensation spread out over my middle and dripped down the pillowy pads of my butt onto the bed.
The warmth, striking even in the roiling heat of my marinade, turned to biting cold the instant Star dismounted, a reminder of purpose fulfilled, and a badge of honour for the blissfully contented worm writhing gently on the now sodden sheets.
But Star wasn’t done. She turned the Doxy on my girldick and snuggled up to her new cuddle buddy, toying with my tits as I begged her for permission to come.
‘Hmmm, no,’ she breathed as she pulled the vibe away, my howl of anguish eliciting a giggle from her lips, curled in a smile I could hear even through my wrapping.
After enjoying my torment for a few moments, she replaced the Doxy, and trusting as ever I began dutifully undulating beneath it, her ministrations on my tits – the quickest way to my clit – resuming amid renewed pants and entreaties to be allowed to climax.
This time she leaned down to within an inch of my ear, and whispered ‘yes’.
The dam burst, deluging my thighs with a fourth sticky coating and ensuring I was thoroughly glazed both inside and out.
Satisfied with a job well done, Star slipped off the bed, and left me to stew in my own juices.
I knew she wouldn’t release me from my bonds until I asked nicely.
Which is a crying shame, given good mummies don’t talk.
