Vacuum Sealed.

Because we talked about the subject in detail at the Blarney last night– here you go. 


You admire her as she pulls the sheet of plastic up to cover the top of your head.

It was advertised as clear, but the thickness you needed necessitated a certain opaqueness. She becomes a blur – defined solely by her actions now. Each touch on your leg excites. The confidence in her hands gives you goose flesh.

She presses the plastic together with an iron and seals you in. Your one saving lifeline to the outside world is a stiff breathing tube that sits between your lips. You fight to control your breath– battling your growing eagerness.

She puts her face close to yours, lovingly taps your nose and asks. “Do you remember the safe word?”

“Huh-nanah’s” you gasp through the breathing tube.

The blur nods. A curl of hair tumbles over your face. It feels different through the plastic. Like a broad brush stroke instead of a fine detail.

“Go.” you say, pushing the tube off your teeth.

A whirring noise drowns out all of your senses. Air rushes out of the bottom of the plastic as the clear-ish sheet bares down on you. Your nose is flattened and you close your eyes attempting to feel the full sensation of being vacuumed. You’re stricken completely immobile. Not even the tiniest twitch of a finger is allowed.

She touches your leg. The sensation vibrates up the thigh into your stomach and up to the back of your neck. She moves farther down your leg and you come, sucking at the breathing tube.



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