Wrapped Up and Unable to Move, I Exploded with Pleasure

Sebastián and I had known each other since high school. We saw each other every so often, during those irregular intervals when the lives of two adults happen to coincide again, but whenever we did, it was always with that particular kind of trust that exists only between people who knew each other before they had any judgment. That night, we had opened the second bottle of wine when the conversation gradually turned toward his particular tastes.

He had never been shy about talking about those things, and I wasn’t shy about listening either. He told me about a couple of fetishes I had already suspected from comments made by mutual friends, things that didn’t surprise me too much. But then he paused and lowered his voice a little.

“You know what I like best?” he asked.

“I have no idea.”

“Stretch film. That transparent nylon they use to wrap pallets in warehouses.”

I laughed, thinking it was some kind of metaphor. It wasn’t a metaphor.

He began describing the process with a precision that threw me off: how he stripped the woman naked, how he wrapped her from the feet upward in even layers, taking special care with her head to leave her nose free while covering the rest completely. Face, neck, arms, everything beneath the transparent nylon. A chrysalis, he said, smiling faintly.

“And afterward?” I asked. My voice sounded calmer than I felt.

“Afterward I put her on the table. And that’s when I start making the holes.”

I took a long sip of wine. Sebastián continued with the methodical calm of someone explaining how to assemble something: the holes were made wherever they were needed, no more, no less. The nipples first, two small, precise cuts. Then the one for the pussy and the one for the ass, in back, side by side, so he could put it in wherever he pleased without taking the woman out of the wrapping.

I shifted in the armchair and used the movement as an excuse to rub my thigh. I’d been soaked for at least five minutes, my panties stuck to my lips because I was so wet. I grabbed my glass and drank again.

“Sorry, I’m going to the bathroom for a second,” I said.

I locked the door, lowered my pants zipper, and rested my back against the cold tiles. It wasn’t a conscious decision; it was simply inevitable. I slipped two fingers beneath my panties and found my swollen pussy, the flesh sliding entirely beneath my fingertip. I rubbed my clitoris in quick circles without even taking off my clothes, and with my other hand I squeezed one tit over my bra. I covered my mouth with my wrist to muffle the sound and came in less than two minutes, with the image of being wrapped in layers of transparent nylon, motionless on a table, Sebastián’s cock entering me through a neat hole while I couldn’t even close my legs. I pulled out my glistening fingers and brought them to my mouth without thinking.

I flushed. Washed my hands. Went back to the armchair.

Sebastián was still talking about something else, oblivious to everything. We finished the bottle, said goodbye at the door with our usual hug, and I went home with that image stuck in my head.

***

I didn’t sleep well that night.

I tossed and turned in bed for hours. Every time I closed my eyes, the image came back: me, standing somewhere, being wrapped in stretch film from my feet upward, layer by layer, until the only thing left outside was my nose and the sound of my own breathing. Total immobility. Heat accumulating beneath the nylon. Being unable to move even if I wanted to.

It was a kind of vulnerability I had never sought, and yet, at that moment, in that bed, it felt like something urgent.

I touched myself again before falling asleep, slowly this time, letting the fantasy take complete shape. I spread my legs beneath the sheets and ran my middle finger along my entire slit, from bottom to top, feeling my wetness stretch stickily between my fingers. I thought about the details Sebastián had mentioned: the inescapable heat, the sweat building up between the nylon and the skin, the sensation of not knowing where the next touch would come from. I pushed two fingers inside my pussy and squeezed my clitoris with my thumb, imagining that it was his cock beginning to force its way through the hole in the back of the wrapping. I came again, biting the pillow, and, with my fingers still inside me, licked my lips while thinking about how I was going to look him in the face the next day. I fell asleep late and woke with the same fixed idea and my panties wet again.

By seven-thirty, I had made up my mind.

I sent him a message before getting out of bed: I wanted to try what he had told me about the night before. He replied in less than ten minutes. Of course, I could come over that night if I wanted; he would be ready. I don’t know what I expected, but that direct, hesitation-free response gave me a flip in my stomach that lasted all day.

***

I spent hours thinking about what to wear, which was absurd considering I would end up naked within the first half hour. But that’s how I am: even knowing clothes are temporary, I care about how I arrive. I chose lingerie I had kept tucked away for months, a black lace set I had never found the right occasion to wear. Over it, a simple dark dress.

I arrived at nine that night.

Sebastián opened the door with a smile, but there was something different about the way he stood: stiller than usual, more focused. He looked me up and down.

“You’re very dressed up,” he said.

“I know,” I replied. “It’s part of my process.”

He laughed. He let me in.

The apartment was tidy, with the lights low. On the dining table sat a large roll of transparent stretch film, placed there with the utmost deliberation. Beside it were a small pair of scissors and a folded towel. Seeing it in that context made the fantasy turn concrete and solid. I stopped for a moment to look at it.

“Nervous?” he asked from behind me.

“A little,” I admitted. “But the good kind.”

He approached without hurrying. He moved my hair off my shoulder and slowly lowered the dress’s zipper, as if there were no hurry in the world. The dress fell to the floor. He stood still for a moment, looking at the black lace without saying anything.

“Much better than I imagined,” he said softly.

He unfastened my bra and left it on the chair. My nipples hardened instantly as soon as the air touched them. He crouched slightly, grasped one tit with his open hand, and took the whole thing into his mouth, sucking hard and biting the nipple with his teeth just enough to make me arch my back. He did the same to the other, more slowly, leaving the breast glistening with saliva. Then he knelt and pulled my panties down by the string with his teeth. He barely spread my legs as I stood there, looked closely at my pussy, and ran his tongue along my slit in a single stroke, from bottom to top, sucking up everything that was running out of me. When he stood, his mouth was wet. He put my panties in his pocket, and I said nothing about it. My skin was prickling even though the apartment was warm, and my pussy throbbed as if it had a heart of its own.

The wrapping process was exactly as he had described it, and that exactness was what made it so disturbing. He started with my feet, stretching the film and turning around me in even movements, without wrinkles, without hurrying. My legs first, tightening it firmly around my ankles, calves, and thighs, closing my legs together. When he reached the level of my pussy, he stopped for a second, ran his open hand over my naked vulva, felt how much I was dripping, and smiled before continuing to wrap me. Then my hips, pressing my ass firmly together, and my torso. Each layer rested over the one before it; every turn immobilized me a little more. I felt the material cold for the first few seconds, then quickly felt the heat beginning to build beneath it.

When he reached my chest, he worked carefully, flattening my tits against my ribs until they seemed like two hard lumps beneath the plastic. When he reached my shoulders and head, he told me to close my eyes. I felt the nylon cover my forehead, eyelids, cheeks, and jaw. My nose remained free, as he had promised. My breathing became the only sound that was completely mine.

He lifted me with a ease that surprised me. It was strange not to be able to move my arms when someone picked you up: a paralysis I had chosen voluntarily, but which, when I truly felt it, was something entirely different from imagining it. He set me down on my back on the glass table.

“Stay still,” he said. “I’m going to make the holes.”

Stay still. It wasn’t an aggressive command. It was the voice of someone who knew what he was doing and preferred that I not move for my own good.

I heard the scissors before I felt anything. Two small cuts over my nipples: the cold air reached them exactly, concentrated and precise. They hardened instantly and emerged through the holes as if the plastic were presenting them on a platter. Sebastián tilted his head and ran his tongue over one, slowly, then the other. Then he caught them between his lips and began to suck them for real, tugging and biting the nipple with his teeth while, with his free hand, he pinched the other one through its hole. I could do nothing but moan and feel every tug reverberate directly below, in my packaged pussy, with no way whatsoever to relieve the pressure.

I moaned louder. My mouth opened on its own, begging for air.

I felt the scissors again, this time moving down the front of the film. One clean, deliberate cut, exactly over my pussy. The air struck my wet flesh and made my whole body shudder. Sebastián sat on the edge of the table between my legs, closed by the plastic, looked at me through the hole as if he were looking at an opened fruit, and lowered his mouth. He began by sucking my lips, one and then the other, taking them between his own and tugging at them. Then he moved up to my clitoris. He licked it slowly at first, circling around it, and when I already felt myself about to come, he pushed two fingers inside me and began curling them upward while continuing to suck. I came almost immediately, screaming beneath the nylon, shaking whatever little I could shake, and he didn’t stop: he kept sucking and fingering me until he tore a second orgasm out of me right on the heels of the first, liquid running out through the hole and down the plastic onto the table.

He turned me over without saying anything: I ended up face down, my nipples brushing the cold glass of the table, my tits pressed by the film against the icy surface. The contact was almost unbearable, that hard, freezing surface against such hypersensitive skin, and I moved slightly, just enough to feel it again.

“Don’t move,” he repeated.

I felt the scissors once more. Two cuts in the back, precise, one directly over my pussy and another higher up, over my ass. Nothing more. The air in the room touched both holes at once, and I felt everything inside me contract.

He picked me up again and carried me to the sofa. There he began working with his fingers: exploring the edges of the holes, searching for my nipples flattened against the leather of the sofa, pressing the cut over my ass with his thumb while using his other fingers to sink back into my pussy. He put in three, then four, twisting them, opening me little by little. I could hear the wet sound of his fingers going in and out, and every time they came out, the cool air struck me inside and made me clench involuntarily. He crouched and spat on my asshole, a thick, hot glob, and began massaging me there with his thumb, pushing it in slightly, gauging me. He drove me desperate little by little, with that calculated calm of his, until I was pushing my ass backward to seek him, humiliating myself against his hand because I couldn’t do anything else.

The heat inside the film was intense. I was sweating. There was no way to cool myself or adjust my position: I was simply there, wrapped up, with the sweat accumulating against my skin without any possible escape. In theory, it should have felt claustrophobic, but in practice it was the opposite: I felt completely aroused, as if every inch of my body were a point of contact all at once.

I heard his pants zipper, then the sound of his belt hitting the floor. I felt the head of his cock pressed against the hole over my pussy, probing, finding the entrance. When he went in, he did it slowly, pushing inch by inch, letting me feel every millimeter. The angle was different from what I was used to, the pressure was different, everything was different because I couldn’t move my hips or adjust anything or do anything except receive. And that was exactly what was happening: receiving, with no possible participation, no control over anything.

He began fucking me with long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and then driving it back in to the hilt, bracing his hands against my wrapped back for leverage. Every thrust pushed my tits into the sofa and made me growl beneath the nylon. Then he changed the rhythm: short, quick thrusts, his pelvis striking my ass with a dry, wet sound. I felt his balls hit my clitoris with every stroke. The first orgasm with his cock inside me came before I expected it, with an intensity that made me scream for real, and my pussy closed around him in spasms I couldn’t control. He didn’t stop: he pulled out abruptly, rubbed it all over my wet slit, and plunged it back inside me, harder this time, until he tore the second orgasm out of me.

For the third, he pulled it completely out of my pussy, dripping with my juices, and I felt him place the head against my asshole. He pushed slowly, letting me feel the muscle opening, giving way inch by inch. The burning and the pleasure arrived together, mingled in a way I had never experienced. When he was fully inside, he stayed still for a second, letting me adjust, then began moving with short, controlled thrusts, each one deeper than the last. He reached through the hole below and began rubbing my clitoris with two fingers while fucking my ass. I came so hard that I felt my vision cloud inside the plastic, screaming something I didn’t even understand, and then he sped up and came inside me, gripping my wrapped hips, coming with a guttural groan while I felt his cock shudder as it unloaded inside me.

When he finished, he remained still over me for a moment, recovering, his cock still inside. Then he pulled out slowly, and I felt the warm semen running from the hole, flowing between my wrapped cheeks until it disappeared into some fold of the film. He moved away, straightened his clothes, and went to get the television remote.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied. It was the most honest answer I had.

***

I don’t know how long I remained there, wrapped up and motionless on the sofa, listening to the television in the background while the film slowly cooled and his come continued running down inside me. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe less.

I was beginning to think about how I was going to get out of it when Sebastián’s phone rang on the table.

He looked at it, and his expression changed completely.

“It’s Camila,” he said. “She’s coming up.”

There was one second of absolute silence between us.

He picked me up before I could say anything. Ten seconds later, I was inside the tool room, propped against a wall between a box of cables and a folded aluminum ladder, still wrapped from head to toe in stretch film, someone else’s semen running out through the holes in my rear, listening as he closed the door without making a sound.

A few seconds later: the key in the main lock. Camila’s voice asking why the apartment smelled different. Sebastián’s voice replying that he had kept the window closed all day.

The television in the background.

Me, there, wrapped and motionless in the darkness of the tool room, my legs closed by the plastic and my pussy still throbbing, wondering how long it would take him to come back for me.

And whether that question mattered to me as much as it should have.