Wrapped in Plastic: My First Time with Real Bondage

Marcos and I had known each other for years. He was the kind of friend you could talk to about anything by the second glass of wine, with no filters and no shame. We saw each other about once a month, more or less, at his place or mine, with a bottle of red and no real plan. That was why that night, when he started telling me about his fantasies, I listened with the same calm I would have had if we were discussing the weather forecast.

Until it stopped being calm.

“And how exactly does it work?” I asked, leaning my elbows on the table and trying to seem merely curious.

Marcos smiled. He had that smile of someone who knows perfectly well the effect he’s having and enjoys it without rushing.

“First I get her naked. Then I wrap her from head to toe in stretch film, the kitchen kind but in a big roll. I make sure to leave her nose free so she can breathe. The rest is completely covered.”

I took a sip of wine and crossed one leg over the other. I could already feel my cunt wet, squeezed between my thighs, throbbing as if it had a pulse of its own.

“And then?”

“I carry her like she’s an object. I put her on the table. And then I start making the holes where I need them. One in the tits, to lick her nipples. Another in the cunt, to fuck her. And another in back, in case I feel like sticking my cock in her ass.”

The pause he made before the last word was worth a whole novel. Three calculated seconds of silence while he looked at me over the rim of his glass.

I felt heat in my cheeks. It wasn’t the wine, though it was easy to blame it. Without Marcos seeing, I moved my bare foot against the floor and pressed it down. I was looking for something concrete to focus on while my cunt soaked my panties.

“And do the girls like it?” I managed to ask, in a fairly neutral voice.

“They always come back,” he replied, taking a sip without taking his eyes off me. “And they always end up coming three or four times before I finish inside them.”

I excused myself to go to the bathroom. It was that or let Marcos notice I’d soaked myself a little in my seat. I locked the door, pulled my panties down to my ankles, and sat on the edge of the sink with my legs open. My cunt was drenched, my lips swollen, my clit hard as a pea. I licked two fingers and started rubbing fast, in tight circles, while with my other hand I pinched one nipple beneath my bra. I imagined myself wrapped up, immobilized, with Marcos’s cock pushing through the hole cut in the plastic, pounding into me without my being able to close my legs or stop anything. I pushed two fingers deep inside and curled them, looking for that spot that makes me come hard. I stifled the moan with my forearm pressed to my mouth when I got there, shaking against the cold marble, feeling my cunt clench around my fingers in waves. Not out of modesty, but because I didn’t want to interrupt the evening with something so obvious. I wiped myself with paper, pulled my ruined panties back up, and went back to the living room as if nothing had happened.

When I came back, Marcos was already looking at his phone. The night ended without any major surprises. We said goodbye at the door as always, with two kisses and a vague promise to get together again soon.

***

That night I couldn’t sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, the image appeared on its own: me, wrapped in transparent plastic, unable to move my arms. The sensation of heat building against my skin. Fingers choosing where to cut. A hard cock forcing its way through a hole cut right over my cunt. I turned over twice. The third time I gave in, spread my legs beneath the sheets, and masturbated again, slowly, drawing it out, until I came biting the pillow.

I texted him. I didn’t overthink it: “I want to try what you told me about. If the offer still stands, I’ll come by tomorrow.”

The reply came in less than a minute: “Sure. I’ll be waiting at eight. Come shaved.”

***

I spent the day mentally taking inventory of what I knew for sure and what I didn’t.

What I knew for sure: that it drove me crazy. That it wasn’t exactly a new fantasy, but rather a specific version of something that had always been there, vague, in some corner of my tastes. The idea of not being able to move. Of being moved. Of someone making every decision about my body while I just took cock, tongue, and fingers without being able to do anything but get soaked.

What I wasn’t sure about: whether wearing pretty underwear made any sense when I was going to end up wrapped in kitchen plastic anyway.

In the end I put on the black lace set I kept for special occasions. Because yes, it did make sense. Not for him, but for me. It helped me get my head in the right place. I shaved my cunt until it was smooth, took a long shower, put a simple dress on over it, grabbed my keys, and left before I had time to think too much about it.

***

Marcos opened the door and looked me up and down with the same smile as the night before.

“You’re very elegant for what you’re about to do,” he said.

“I know,” I answered, and went inside.

The apartment was tidy. The temperature was noticeably higher than normal. I felt it the moment I crossed the threshold, that dry heat from the heater turned all the way up that clings to your clothes.

“Heat up full blast?” I asked.

“Bodies sweat better that way,” he explained, with the same naturalness he might have used to talk about baking bread. “And it makes your cock slip in better when you’re soaking.”

I stood in the middle of the living room. Marcos stood behind me, slowly unzipped my dress, unhurried, one hand resting on my shoulder so I wouldn’t move. The dress fell to the floor. He took a step back to look at me.

“We’ll keep the set for another day,” he said, and undid it with an efficiency that made it clear this was not his first time. He unhooked my bra and slid it down my arms. My nipples went hard the second they felt the air. Then he crouched and pulled my panties down, running his knuckles along the inside of my thighs as he did. They were soaked, and he noticed. He lifted them with two fingers and held them up to me.

“You’re already wet,” he said, without turning it into a question.

“I’ve been wet since yesterday,” I replied.

He smiled. He brought my panties to his nose for a second, very calmly, and tossed them onto the sofa.

I stood completely naked in his living room, the heater humming and the lights on. There were no shadows to hide in. I didn’t try to make any. I felt the wetness dripping down the inside of my thigh.

“Stay still,” he said.

He took the roll of plastic wrap from behind the sofa and started with my feet. I watched him unspool the plastic with steady movements, without hesitation, and felt the first touch of film against my ankles. Cold at first. Then immediate, almost like a second skin tightening around me.

He worked upward without hurrying. Legs first, wrapping the plastic with a certain tension, enough for me to know it was there but not enough to cut off circulation. When he got to my thighs I felt my legs being bound together and experienced the first flash of what this was going to be: not being able to separate my knees even if I wanted to. I could feel my cunt throbbing between my squeezed thighs, closed in on itself, and every turn of the roll increased the pressure.

He kept going over my hips, my stomach. When the plastic covered my cunt he did it slowly, pressing his open palm against it to flatten the film. I felt the knuckle of his thumb brush directly over my clit through the thin transparent layer and a gasp escaped me. Every wrap added heat. My skin started sweating before he even got to my waist. It was like wearing summer.

“You okay?” he asked without stopping.

“Yes,” I said. And I was. More than okay. I was one touch away from coming again.

When the film reached my chest, he wrapped it carefully around my tits, pressing them flat against my body before leaving an opening at nose level so I could breathe easily. My arms were pinned to my sides. By then I could no longer bend my elbows, and the simple act of trying and feeling the resistance of the plastic made me breathe more slowly. I can’t move. I’m not going to be able to move at all. He’s going to fuck me however he wants and I’m not going to be able to do anything.

Marcos lifted me. Without apparent effort, as if I weighed half as much. He laid me on the dining table, which he had covered with a folded blanket, and positioned me on my back.

“Now the holes,” he said, and took out a pair of round-tipped scissors.

He looked me in the face for a second before starting.

“If at any point you want to stop, you say ‘orange.’ Okay?”

“Okay,” I answered.

He cut two small, precise openings at nipple level. The film parted and the cool air against my sensitized skin was enough to make my nipples hard instantly, poking through the plastic circles as if he’d framed my tits for him. Marcos lowered his head and ran his tongue over one, then the other, slowly, with all the calm in the world. He bit the tip with his teeth, tugged upward, let go, and sucked it whole into his mouth again. Then he did the same to the other one, while pinching the first between two fingers slick with saliva.

I arched inside the wrapping. Or tried to. The film allowed me only a few millimeters.

He ran his hand down over the plastic to my crotch and cut another hole, bigger, right over my cunt. I felt the air directly on my swollen lips and realized how soaked I was: the film around the opening was slippery, shiny. Marcos slid two fingers through the slit, from bottom to top, gathering my juices, and then put them in his mouth without taking his eyes off me.

“You taste like surrender,” he said.

He brought his hand back down and shoved two fingers into me to the knuckles in one go. I cried out. I couldn’t close my legs, I couldn’t arch my back beyond a tiny tremor, I could only clamp my cunt around his fingers while he curled them inside and found the exact spot with precision. With his thumb he rubbed my clit in slow, measured circles. I came in less than two minutes, streaming over his hand and the blanket, my teeth dug into my lower lip so I wouldn’t howl.

He didn’t stop. He kept fingering me while I was still in the middle of the spasm, stretching the orgasm until it nearly hurt.

He turned me over. I ended up face down on the table, feeling the surface through the plastic, the trapped heat against my chest, my nipples brushing the blanket through the openings. I closed my eyes.

I felt the scissors again, this time at the back. A clean cut in the exact right place, no detours or explanations. The plastic opened between my ass cheeks and I felt the cool air directly on my ass and cunt from behind. Marcos ran his thumb over the new opening, slid it downward over my dripping lips, then back up again, stopping over the other hole and pressing lightly with the tip.

“Here too, if you can take it,” he said.

“I can take it,” I said, my mouth against the blanket.

There was nothing else for me to do. Just be there.

Marcos lifted me off the table with both arms and carried me to the sofa. He laid me face down over the arm of it, ass up and my legs hanging together in the film. I heard him tug his pants down behind me. I heard the snap of a lube bottle opening. Then I felt the tip of his cock sliding first over my cunt lips, soaking up my juices, before fitting into the entrance and pushing inside slowly, very slowly, until I felt his balls against me.

“Fuck, this wrapping makes you so tight,” he murmured.

He started moving. At first unhurried, long full thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and shoving back in to the hilt. The heat trapped inside the film made everything more intense, as if my skin were thinner than usual. Every touch was doubled. The sound of plastic rubbing against the sofa mixed with the wet slap of his cock going in and out and my own ragged breathing.

I couldn’t do much more than feel. I couldn’t change position, couldn’t move my arms, couldn’t adjust the angle or make any decisions about what was happening. I could only take his cock from behind while sweat ran down inside the wrapping, trapped, with nowhere to go.

It was strange at first, that feeling of being unable to control anything. Then it was exactly what I’d expected. Then it was too good to think about.

He sped up. He grabbed my hip over the plastic and started fucking me harder, with sharp blows that made me slide a few centimeters over the sofa arm each time. I came the first time like that, teeth clenched, cunt convulsing around his cock. He didn’t even slow down.

I felt a lubricated finger pressing at the other hole, entering my ass to the first knuckle and then deeper, moving with the rhythm of the thrusts. He added a second. And then, without warning, he pulled his cock out of my cunt and pushed it in from behind, gaining ground centimeter by centimeter while I moaned into the blanket.

“Breathe,” he said, and kept pushing until he sank all the way in.

By the second orgasm I no longer cared about the noise. I screamed against the sofa arm while he fucked my ass with short, deep thrusts, with one of his fingers inside my cunt rubbing from the inside against the cock filling me from behind. By the third I had lost track of time and everything else. The heat inside the film was unbearable and perfect at the same time, sweat trapped against my skin, my body with no possible way out, leaking from both holes at once.

Marcos didn’t take much longer after that. He pulled his cock out of my ass just in time, shoved it back into my cunt with one thrust, and came inside with a low grunt, gripping my hips with both hands as he emptied himself. I felt his cock spasming against the walls of my cunt, hot spurts filling me, and then the slow way he withdrew, letting out a thread of semen that ran down my inner thigh beneath the plastic. I felt his weight loosen over me for a moment before he pulled away. He left me on the sofa and went to the kitchen. I heard the tap running. I heard his footsteps return.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Good,” I said. It was the shortest word and the truest one.

He was starting to cut the film away to free me when his phone rang on the table. He looked at it. I saw his expression change.

“It’s Valeria,” he said.

“Who’s Valeria?”

“My girlfriend. She shouldn’t be here until tomorrow.”

There was a second of silence between us. I was still wrapped in plastic from the waist down, arms pinned to my sides, completely immobilized, with my cunt leaking semen inside the wrapping.

“Is she coming up now?” I asked.

“She just came into the building.”

Marcos made a decision in less than two seconds. He picked me up again, the same way as before, with both arms, and shoved open the door to the room he used as a storage space. Stacked boxes, a bicycle without its front wheel, a smell of damp.

“I’ll get you out in ten minutes,” he said, and closed the door.

I stayed in the dark, listening to Valeria arrive, listening to them greet each other on the other side of the wall, listening to him say he was just about to take a shower, what a wonderful surprise.

Ten minutes, he’d said.

I started counting.