I was lying on my right side, of course, fetal position, my exposed ass at bed’s side, slightly overhanging it. Frank, my partner, had fucked me about a half hour earlier, inseminated me, while a half hour or so before that he’d encased me—mummified me—in shrink wrap. Our standard Saturday afternoon routine.
We’d started out using generic Saran Wrap. But this was too thin, too fragile, too flexible. With a little effort I could break out of it. It wasn’t true mummification at all. Besides, Saran Wrap was expensive. Then one day at work Frank found a partially used roll of industrial grade shrink wrap, and had “borrowed” it. Now, what was left of the roll leaned in a corner of his bedroom like a 12-gauge, at the ready.
Frank had gotten the routine down, and I assisted him, lifting my body, legs, hips, torso as required. He’d learned how to wrap me up tightly, like a Christmas gift, until I was helpless—completely immobilized. Truly mummified. Once my head was wrapped he carefully punched breathing holes through at my nose and mouth. And with scissors he cut out a triangular “pie slice,” exposing my ass. He would fuck me like this, standing at bed’s elevated side, his body perpendicular to mine, his big cock working in and out of me “sideways” as it were.
Frank was on the short side, and scrawny, but he was beautifully endowed. He also liked to sit and talk and drink beer beforehand, and later on, afterwards. Frank was one of those few who didn’t lose interest in you the minute the sperm left his body. Before the wrapping began, and while he sat naked on his livingroom couch, I would sink to my knees and suck his cock like a good submissive and fondle his huge balls. Frank liked this, and he would remain hard up until the time he ejaculated in me. It was fun for both of us. A good time.
From the beginning, however, Frank had made it clear he wasn’t satisfied just with me. He was always inviting a third guy over. They never showed, however. After he began—it was my idea—mummifying me, he took pics of me lying there on my side, with my ass exposed. The volume of replies he got from his sex personals ads, pic attached, increased, but still nobody else ever showed. It hurt me a little that Frank wasn’t satisfied just with me. A lot, actually. But on the other hand I wouldn’t have minded taking a second man inside me, as I lay helpless on the bed.
After he fucked me and had another beer, Frank would often leave me for awhile and go out and run errands. It was hard, in my state, to keep istanbul travesti accurate track of time, but I guessed he would be gone for upwards to two hours. Sometimes I would drift off to sleep; sometimes not. I was happy though—a genuine mummy.
My only fear was that something might happen to Frank. A car accident, say. Then what? I was trapped inside the clear plastic. It could be days before I was found. A week or more. I would die there, on his bed, in my embarrassing state, of thirst, of malnutrition. I could see the headline now:
‘Mummified’ Man Found Dead in Accident Victim’s Home
How humiliating! On the other hand I’d be dead—what would I care? The suffering, however, before the end came would be…great. I tried to dismiss such thoughts. What were the chances of Frank getting in a serious—fatal?—accident?
On this particular Saturday, our last time together, the last time Frank put his thick cock in my mouth and up my ass, a third man was supposed to come over. He was married, apparently, and could only “sneak out,” according to Frank, between three and three-thirty. Frank paced the floor, beer in hand, as three-thirty came and went. Then four. Yet another no-show. Another faker, I lay there thinking, in my plastic cocoon. I was satisfied. I’d been fucked. From my point of view it was another perfect Saturday afternoon. I was in a relaxed state. The ultimate in submission.
As four o’clock came and went Frank announced he was getting dressed and going out for awhile. Errands. I can still hear the front door of his doublewide slamming, as he left without, apparently, locking it. I fell asleep. And awoke, some time later, at the sound of the door opening. Frank was back!
A male voice called out tentatively, “Anybody home?” One of Frank’s neighbors, I assumed. I remained quiet. The light was diminished in the bedroom. It seemed dark—or getting dark. I wondered what time it was.
“Hello? Anybody here?”
The man went on—he was inside the doublewide now. “I got held up. I’m late. Anybody still here?”
I realized—it somewhat terrified me—that the third man had arrived. He was in Frank’s house, approaching. “I came to see…the mummy. You here?”
“Back here,” I said through my hole.
“Back here!” Even to my own ears my voice sounded muffled.
The man came as far as the bedroom doorway and stopped. “Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed. “You really are…” He didn’t finish the thought.
He came forward and istanbul travestileri leaned over me. “You OK in there, buddy?”
“Fine. What time is it?”
The man ignored me and asked, “Is this how he fucks you? Like this?”
“Yes. What time is it?”
“Can I fuck you?”
“Sure. Yes. Can you tell me what time it is?”
I heard a belt jangling. The man was already pulling down his pants. “A little after six-thirty,” he finally told me. “I was supposed to be here earlier…” The man laughed. “But wives and kids, y’know? There’s lube on the dresser,” he observed, for his own benefit. He said nothing about the foil strip of condoms. Frank never used them but they were there, anyway, just in case.
I gathered that the man already had a hard on and was lubing it up. He put the head of his cock to my “sideways” hole and declared, “I’ve never fucked in this position before. It’s weird.”
He pushed. His cock wasn’t nearly as big as Frank’s and he went in easily. He asked, “Did the other guy fuck you already?”
The guy laughed. “Sloppy seconds then.” He slipped out, put it back in and began fucking me. He popped out two more times before he was done. He came quickly, in me. My second load of the day—now commingled deep inside.
“Is there a towel? Where I can clean up?”
I felt myself wanting to point—even though it was impossible. “In the bathroom. Over there.”
The guy emerged moments later and began getting dressed. “Well that was weird,” he observed. “Fucking a mummy.”
I said to him, in an almost pleading voice. “Listen, I’ve been like this for hours. Frank…the guy who lives here? I don’t know where he is, what happened to him. There’s scissors on the dresser. Would you cut me out of this?”
The man said, “I don’t know, I gotta get out of here, back to the family.”
“Please! I don’t know where Frank is. He may’ve…had an accident. I’m trapped here.”
The guy demurred. “Sorry, buddy. I gotta get out of here.”
I played my last card. My best one at any rate. “You can fuck me whenever you want,” I said in desperation. “I live in the north part of town.”
“So do I.”
“You can come over and…I won’t be like this but…”
“I don’t like fucking like this. It’s…creepy.”
“I’m a crossdresser,” I admitted, playing my second card, the panties I’d worn lying somewhere on the doublewide’s floor. “I’ll dress for you or…you can fuck me naked. Every Saturday. Whenever…”
“You’ll travesti istanbul do that? You’ll give me your address?”
“Yes. After you release me.”
“Tell it to me now. I’ll remember.”
“No. You got to cut me free.”
The guy sighed, mumbling something about his family. Getting back…
Finally, he asked: “Where’s the scissors?”
“On the dresser!” I repeated, emphatically. At last I felt a ray of hope.
The scissors were the surgical kind, half the cutting part bent off at a angle. I had no idea where Frank had come by them. Stolen? The man began at my feet, tentatively, distastefully it seemed. Nevertheless he snipped away up by legs, poking my flesh at times, to my bare ass. I straightened my legs. I was half-free!
“I don’t wanna cut you,” the man said.
“Just do it. Please!”
It took him a long time—much longer than Frank, who was a pro at this by now. But eventually the shrink wrap parted over my torso and head and I burst out of it, arms flailing. I’d been mummified for over four hours.
“So give me your address and number,” the man wasted no time saying.
“Can you give me a minute? My body’s…stiff.”
“I gotta get going.”
After stretching—legs and my arms and back, I slid off the bed and nearly fell over, my new friend steadying me. I staggered out to the livingroom, found a note sheet in the kitchen and wrote out my first name and cell number and address. The man stared at it.
“So I can come over any time?”
“Call me first. I need to know…when.”
“You’re older than I thought,” he said, looking me over. “But you got a nice body. I’d like to fuck you sometime.”
You just did, I wanted to remind him. He headed for the front door. I followed, naked, stiff. He reached out.
“You always get an erection?”
“It’s from being free. Freed up,” I informed him.
“I’ll call you,” he said, before leaving. And he did—Thursday night. He said he could get away for an hour, Saturday, between three and four. He added, “Dress up for me.”
“I will,” I promised. Saturday became our regular day. Instead of “wearing” clear plastic I dressed up in a blonde wig, make up, and women’s underwear. I met him at the door this way. He fucked me in my bed, on my elbows and knees or lying on my back, with my stockinged legs in the air. I was free! It felt liberating, wonderful.
The day after I last left Frank’s I called him. No answer.
The next day I saw a small article in the news. A traffic accident out in Frank’s part of town had left two people hospitalized, one in serious condition. No names mentioned. I wondered if this was Frank.
I still wonder, sitting here in my panties and bra and stockings and wig, waiting for my Saturday lover to arrive, to this day.