She Who Sleeps

Made of beautiful dark brown kid leather, it had a series of wide straps that wrapped themselves around her body from the tip of the attached hood, all the way down to the reinforced ankles. Designed for rear entry, I spread it out next to her on my side of the bed with its laces splayed out on either side of the open cavity that was awaiting her arrival. Now sightless and bound beneath three different layers of rubber, my sleepy pet still tried desperately to gain some hint of what was about to happen next.

She could undoubtedly feel me moving around her on the bed and it clearly made her nervous. Concerned about what I was going to do, she actually tried to resist. She seemed determined to use the last vestige of her energy to protest whatever it was that I had planned. First she tried to sit up, but her cocoon wouldn't allow it, then she tried rocking her body from side to side, which also accomplished almost nothing. Inside her bondage it must have felt like she was about to launch herself off the bed, but outside (where I was) she was barely moving. It was a noble effort and I admired her for it, but she'd accomplished nothing besides exhaustion. I did my best to comfort her.

"Calm down, baby," I told her in a voice loud enough to be heard through the two helmets. "We're almost there," I assured her. "It'll just be a few more minutes and then you can finally go to sleep."

"Oh yeah?" she sputtered. "What if I don't wanna go to sleep? What if I don't wanna play this game any longer?" she continued. "What if I want out...now?"

"You've got a safeword," I replied. "Say the magic word and I'll stop immediately and we can record this one in the forfeit column." She said nothing in reply. "I may be the one in charge, but you always have the final say," I told her. "But remember what the Duke of Norfolk once said, 'you can't have your cake and eat it, too.'" That seemed to shut her up.

"But I like cake," she said finally. "After all your hard work, I wouldn't want it all to go to waste, sir."

"Well, then, this shouldn't take us much longer," I told her. I stroked her shoulder reassuringly. I was concerned about her getting too overheated from all the commotion and decided to get her positioned inside "the duffle bag" as quickly as possible. If I could just get her properly laced up and packed off to slumberland, then we could both relax.

Tucking my arms under her neoprene covered hips, I rolled her confined anatomy into the dark leather bag and carefully positioned her on top of its empty skin. She didn't like being on her stomach, her tightly bound arms got in the way, so I knew I had to be quick. Her shallow breathing encouraged my speed and efficiency, but I was still determined to remain methodical in my execution. Nevertheless, I moved as quickly as I could.

I began by sliding her conjoined feet inside the bag's empty cavity and centered her well padded shoulders between the widest part of the great slit. I tugged at the edges of the back flap and pulled the two disparate halves together as best I could, and prepared them to have their many tiny holes penetrated and, ultimately, laced together until She Who Sleeps was transformed into a giant leather chrysalis. It proved to be slow going despite my enthusiasm; it took a lot longer than I'd hoped to thread the laces through the many open eyes that ran up each side of the garment. A round of tightening followed the initial lacing and was repeated again until the bag hugged her every curve.

By the time I'd finally tightened it all the way, she was dozing off. Still laying face down, her head was held rigidly in place by her heavy collar. There was a wet spot on the inside lining where she'd been drooling and the leather itself was warm from her body heat. She stirred for a moment when I pulled the hood into place, but she relaxed again when I tightened it. Although she did groan annoyingly when I pulled each of the wide outer straps into its buckle and cinched it tightly in place, besides that, she had no other complaints.

As I made my final adjustments, she remained compliant, even when I rolled her onto her back and stuck a small takamakura under her encumbered head. The ten thick straps that held her in their unforgiving embrace were wrapped around her body at regular intervals, starting with one near the top of her head, which stretched itself around the circumference of her skull and pressed against her brow. A few inches below that, her mouth peeked out from a small oval opening that was cut into the lower half of the hood itself. It was the only bit of her humanity that was still visible.

A few inches below that was a stiff neck strap, and below that another that encircled her shoulders, another below her tits, her waist, her hips, her thighs, above and below her knees and, finally, her ankles. Together they held her so securely that her movements were confined entirely to the lube filled spaces between the layers of latex she was wearing.

Despite being nicknamed "the duffle bag," her outer casing really looked more like a sarcophagus than a strappy suitcase. It protected her while she slept and kept her safe from everything and everyone--except me and, of course, Egyptian grave robbers.

And that was about it. We had finally finished our preparations and now she "free" to go to sleep without any further disturbances. Well, maybe just one or two more disturbances--little ones. First, before she finally gave in to the weight of her fatigue, I made sure she got some ice water to drink, which she eagerly sucked through a straw. Then I smeared her lips with her favorite fruity balm and, finally, kissed her gently. She tasted like lube and strawberries.

"Night-night," she cooed sleepily. I patted her head and turned off the light. I don't know why I turned it off--she couldn't tell the difference--but I like the illusion of peace that the darkness provides.

Whew, after that I needed a break.

Leaving her secured and sleeping in the bedroom, I retreated downstairs to watch the news and channel surf between the various talk shows. It was a relief to relax in my recliner with a tumbler of Laguvalin single malt (one ice cube, please) and a bowl of GG7. I kept an eye on her using the split screen in the upper corner of my monitor while I continued to watch the news and enjoying my libations. At one point I had to turn down the sound on her monitor when her apneatic snoring got too loud, but fortunately that was my only problem.

Eventually I grew bored with the chat shows and switched She Who Sleeps to full screen and turned the audio back up. The camera set up at the foot of our bed is remotely controlled and it allows me to zoom in and out and pan from side to side, all the while recording everything to my hard drive. Set to night vision, everything on the screen looked gunmetal grey with greenish highlights. The brown leather exterior of "the duffle bag" looked black, except for its many straps which seemed to be reflecting whatever available light there was in the room, which came mostly from her Howdy Kitty nightlight in the corner.

I zoomed in on her sleeping figure, but could see no sign of any movement. The layers of her confinement absorbed even the rising and falling of her chest as she breathed. If it weren't for the noise she was making it would have been impossible to recognize the hulk on the bed as anything more than a piece of oversized luggage. But I knew different, I knew that inside of that unusually large cello case on my bed was the beating heart of a very brave woman who was lost deep inside of a very devious mind fuck. A sensory deprivation imago unlike any other.

My cock was as hard as a carrot.

Although we had been exploring the boundaries of SensDep for most of our time together, she never seemed to grow tired of it and I never failed to get wildly aroused by the amazing things she's willing to do to keep me devoted to her. I could tell you stories about her kinkiness that would leave you gobsmacked with admiration, but this was not the time for those stories. This was the time for deep concentration and making carrot juice. Lots of carrot juice.

Finally drained, I snapped off the screen, turned out the lights and went back upstairs to bed. Strangely enough, even though she was clearly out of it, She Who Sleeps greeted me with a low throaty moan when I slipped in between the covers. Although I knew that she couldn't actually detect my presence from deep inside her tightly sealed rubberized pod, I nevertheless leaned over and kissed her passionately. To my surprise, she responded with a grin. She licked her lips and let the tip of her tongue linger at the corner of her mouth for what seemed like an eternity before slipping it out of sight once again. Needless to say, I was immediately turned on.

The sounds she makes during our sessions never fail to trigger me, even when I know that I have very little or nothing to do with them. No outside stimuli could reach her inside her womb of confinement; everything she was contending with at that moment was coming from inside "the bag." Any movement or vocalization was due strictly to the ocean of pornographic overstimulation that she was swimming in at any given moment. It is a deep, dark, and mostly unexplored space that no goodnight kiss or hard dick could penetrate, not even mine.

Of course, I still wanted to jump on her right there where she lay. I wanted to shove my erection into her mouth and make her choke on it. I wanted to rip her out of her bondage and fuck her raw. Instead, I hugged the smooth surface of her leather sheath with one hand and stroked my cock with the other until it was too late to do anything but cum on my leg.

It was awfully hard to resist her charms, but I knew better than to interfere with a carefully planned scenario, even if I was the one who had planned it. Any tampering would only contaminate the experience--her experience--and that's always a no-no. No matter how hungry I might get, no matter how much fluid might be leaking from the pierced tip of my penis, she always comes first (if you'll excuse the pun). She had to be able to trust me at all times, and there was nothing I could do that would destroy that trust faster than giving in to my needs when I was supposed be taking care of hers.

Fortunately, it was all a non-issue by that time. I was exhausted and could barely keep my eyes open long enough to reach for the towel to wipe up my goo. By the time my head hit the pillow She Who Sleeps was snoring loudly. After a few more minutes our breathing had synchronized, and I quickly fell asleep beside her. The rest of the night passed without incident. She Who Sleeps, did.

It was a little after ten o'clock the next morning before she finally began to stir. I'd just started my second cup of coffee when I heard her.

"Pee-pee!" she said, the baby monitor crackled to life. "Pee-peeeee! I gotta peeeeee."

I took another long sip from my coffee and reached for my laptop. I switched it over from the spread sheet that records her sleeping stats to a screen that was linked to our bedroom camera. Except for the slow progress made by the alarm clock's digital numbers, the image that filled the screen looked like a still photo. When she again pleaded for a bathroom break I zoomed in until I could see her mouth moving and watched in fascination as she struggled to make herself heard. I was so pleased by her tenacity that, for a moment, I considered running upstairs to set her free, but then I realized that I was enjoying my coffee way too much to do that and reached for my phone, instead.

"Oh, please, sir," she pleaded. "Can you hear me? Sir? Oh please, sir, I really got to go pee."

I wanted to help her, but, damn, I just couldn't tear myself away from this morning's pot of coffee. I knew I couldn't get her out of all that gear in time to let her go to the toilet, so I took a different tack. Instead of setting her free, I punched the password that activated her Rush II vibrator into my phone's keypad. The vibe had been stuffed inside her pussy all night long, but I hadn't bothered to use it because She Who Sleeps was already overstimulated by the time I'd finished tightening the last strap on "the duffle bag." I had decided to save the good vibrations for another time, but as I watched her lie there this morning, begging for my attention, I suddenly came to the realization that that time was now. She deserved some relief, even if it wasn't quite what she was expecting. Especially if it wasn't quite what she was expecting. When I punched the final digit into my keypad I saw her torso jerk in response; it had come alive and so had she.

"NO! Please, sir," she grunted. "Nonono, I gotta pee. I gotta..." She stopped mid-sentence. "I - don't - want - to - do - this - now!" She groaned out each syllable like she was giving birth to them one by one. "Too messy!" she shouted. "Not like thissss," she hissed.              

A swipe of my finger across the screen and the vibrator sped up, buzzing deep inside her until she could no longer resist its influence. The walls of her vagina wobbled in rhythm with the vibrations, pressing her buttplug (with the red jeweled pommel) against her overloaded bladder. Together they danced inside her until her clenched urethra was finally enticed to open and release its bounty.

Despite her bulky encasement, I was still able to see the way she tried to arch her back as a final defense against the inevitable flood. I imagined her squirming around inside her cocoon like a goldfish on its way home from the pet shop--trapped inside of it's tiny plastic bag and desperate to swim free, despite having nowhere to go. As I watched my laptop, she finally gave in to it all. With a violent shudder she began to fill her catsuit with warm liquid, followed by an explosive orgasm that left her twitching.

Once I was sure she had finished purging herself, I was determined to push her into a second wave of sensory overload without further delay. Another fingerswipe across the face of my phone kicked everything up another notch and triggered the Rush II's highest setting. Needless to say, it didn't take very long for her to start reacting all over again.

"Uhh, GODDAMNIT!" she bellowed. The pink devil between her legs was buzzing furiously. "Oh, please, sir. Oh, please, I can't...". And then she did. She came hard enough to rob her of her wind and leave her close to unconsciousness. That was my cue to act. Taking the last swig from my mug, I turned off the baby monitor and headed upstairs to begin the endgame.

The first thing I noticed as I entered our bedroom was that she was rocking from side to side, as though she actually thought she could turn over. (Which, you will recall, is impossible because of the alterations I made to our bed.) By the time I reached her she had achieved more movement than the many layers that sheathed her should have allowed. She seemed possessed. I was worried that her train of thought had finally been forced off the track. I'd seen it happen in movies enough times that I thought it could be true.

Had I finally gone too far? Had I broken her mind? Her spirit?

I was overcome with concern. Impulsively, I grabbed her rocking shoulders in an effort to stop their momentum. I leaned on top of her with all my weight until, finally, she was still. But as I pressed down on her torso a loud and surprisingly rude noise erupted from deep inside her. It sounded wet and sloppy.

Instinctively I moved away, pulling back until I noticed the huge grin that was stretched across her still masked face. Then I pushed against her a second time and was treated to yet another gushing sound coming from deep inside the layers of her bondage. She was laughing out loud by then.

"What's so damned funny?" I barked. "Are you out of your tiny mind?" She giggled in response. "You freaked me the fuck out," I scolded her. She continued laughing and continued wiggling around. Making those disquieting noises seemed to delight her. That's when I realized that my concerns were totally uncalled for and decided, instead, to just let her stew in her juices for a bit longer while I stepped away to fill the bathtub with hot, soapy water.

After I'd left the room she got quiet. Finally she called out to me again, but I paid her no mind and busied myself with a stack of fluffy towels, instead. When she got no response from me, her tone of voice became more serious.

"Sir?" she called out. "Are you still there, sir?" I decided not to reply. Once the bath was ready, I returned and stood in the doorway for a few minutes and listened to her worried inquiries, each one colored with a little more concern and uncertainty. "Please, sir, don't be mad," she whined. "I was only kidding. Sir?"

I considered leaving her there for a while longer to contemplate her impertinence, but thought better of it. To be honest, I didn't want to have to warm up the bath water again, just to teach her a lesson. Finally I went back into the room and began to release her from her wet confinement. As it turned out, it took so long for me to free her that I ended up having to refresh the bath water anyway.

"The duffle bag" was the first to go, of course. Saying nothing, I rolled her over to begin loosening the buckles. She didn't like that very much. All the fluids inside her layers shifted into new and unexpected areas which, for some reason, no longer seemed to amuse her. Nevertheless, she remained quiet as I continued to unbuckle her, but her impatience seemed to grow considerably when it was time for me to loosen the laces that ran along the length of her spine and the back of her legs.

Trying to get my fingers between the taught webbing that molded the leather to the hills and valleys of her body slowed things down a lot and her squirming made it almost impossible to loosen the damned things. Finally, in a fit of my own impatience, I reached for my pocket knife and cut the stubborn laces, freeing her from the cowhide's embrace. It was purely a matter of time management--after all, there was still all those layers of rubber to deal with.

When it popped open like a pea pod she sighed loudly and raised her head as far as she could, sucking in a lungful of oxygen in the process. Before she could settle back down again, I took the opportunity to grab the back of her collar so I could begin pulling her out of the nasty ol' "duffle." By the time it had been stripped away and was laying in a heap on the floor next to the bed she was flexing and wiggling as if already free, even though we still had three more layers to remove before getting down to her actual skin.

After unlocking her posture collar I started tugging on the long zipper that kept her snuggly immobile inside the thick neoprene body condom. As I pulled on it she arched her back and pushed against the zip until the teeth separated with very little effort on my part. All I had to do was guide it down her torso; it seemed remarkably easy. The hard part was pulling the heavy rubber sheath away from her body afterwards. It was like trying to peel a banana to get at the delicious fruit inside. She was slippery and hard to hang on to. But after a little tugging here and there and some pushing on her part from the inside of the bag, She Who Sleeps popped out of her confinement like she was being born. It was quick and a little bit messy.

When I reached over and removed the heavy helmet that covered her head, I caught my first glimpse of her face. Though it was still enclosed in translucent blue latex, I saw her eyes for the first time in more than twelve hours. Despite having been in the dark for all that time, she looked directly at me without so much as a blink. She smiled when our eyes met and so did I. She looked radiantly beautiful and I kissed her hard. I couldn't help myself.