This week’s guest blogger almost doesn’t need an introduction, because if you’ve been here for a while you’ll have already read about @JenetalTorture‘s funny, hot, kinky adventures in erotic hypnosis and impact play. If you haven’t already checked out Jenby’s blog then please go and do so immediately, then pop back here to enjoy this next incredible post – all about vacuum play!
Vacuum play: Warning, this blog may suck
Rounding out my triumvirate of sexy first times (which I’m loosely calling the Three Textures Feeldoe trilogy), this blog finds me at my first public kink event: Eroticon.
Throughout the day I’d heard lots of fascinating talks, some pertaining to erotic hypnosis, as touched upon in my last entry, or writing about smut, as, I guess, touched upon in all my entries, and just generally lots of chat about touching upon entries. But this was what I’d been looking forward to most. Arguably the reason I’d come (steady): a three-hour vacplay workshop.
As long as I can remember I’ve adored latex, bondage, and breath play, and nothing combined those disciplines more elegantly than this. Even as I practised self-bondage in my bedroom as a teen, asked my partner to lightly choke me in bed, or acquired bits and pieces of latexwear to shine up and pose in, drinking in the look, feel, sound and smell, I never had the chance to experience what it was like to be fully sealed in all-encompassing, tightly constrictive rubber. That was a cherry I was very much about to pop (something I hoped my talon-like nails wouldn’t do to the latex).
My main worry going into this workshop wasn’t that I might suddenly awaken some long-dormant claustrophobia, or even that I might accidentally asphyxiate. No, it was that I wouldn’t be allowed a go. The schedule had been somewhat ambiguous and I thought with such gorgeous equipment there might be specially selected demo models or that a newb like me wouldn’t be trusted. But my concerns were groundless, keeper of the latex Mactire (@Mac_the_Vac) was wonderfully magnanimous with his treasures, and assured us we’d all get a turn.
We started out with plastic and vet wrap, mummifying ourselves and – when that became tricky – one another, to get a feel for what was to come. I was torn between enjoying the sensations of being a squirming pink worm on the dirty conference room floor, and wanting to get unwrapped so I could play with the big guns.
Eventually it came time for the vacbed. At this stage a few people who’d been happily wrapping bowed out. Evidently not their bag (literally). I was simultaneously chuffed that I might get a longer stint, and gobsmacked they’d want to pass it up. This was everything I’d dreamed of…
Mac took me through the safety protocols and ways he might play with me once I was sealed up. Impetuous as ever, I hurriedly agreed and slipped between the latex sheets. This bed had a built-in mask of the sort anaesthetists use to allow for breathing, in stark contrast to the tubes I was used to seeing in porn. For a communal bed it was probably more hygienic, I supposed.
I momentarily panicked about what position to choose for my first… lamination? I landed on the classic supine pose, legs spread, arms by my sides, and before I knew it, the air had gone.
Something I’d never really appreciated about vacuum play. The level of compression is immense. For the first few seconds it’s practically bone-crushing. The latex swoops in and for a handful of exhilarating moments you’re unable to breathe as your lungs work out how to draw in air in their new state and your brain works out that just because it feels like your whole body is being smothered, your mouthpiece is in fact working. In that brief snatch of time I found myself thinking ‘wow, any sensible person would be having a panic attack right now’ but all I knew was that my arousal levels had just spiked faster than they ever had in my life. Nought to sixty in nothing flat.
My stifled moans filled the room even before Mac had started toying with my prostrate form. I’d try to squirm away but the latex fought me constantly, always drawing me back to my original position. A blind, defenceless sculpture, totally at the mercy of those on the other side of the opaque rubber. I could have spent hours like that, days if bodily functions were no object, but all too soon my time was up, and I was extracted from my slick cocoon. My head was throbbing and there were stars in my eyes, from the pressure, arousal, the sudden sea of light that was the real world, all of it. But thankfully it wasn’t over yet.
Mac had a vac cube.
After crawling in and getting zipped up I was instructed to push my arse out, that way when it reached full suck I’d be left floating in mid-air on all fours. I did so, and was introduced to a new level of helplessness. Less intense than the vacbed, but somehow even more exposing, my hands were now well out of the way of anyone wishing to play with my perfectly trapped, latex-clad butt and thighs. And as my head was left exposed this time I was able to see my abusers and their implements of choice before they headed round back to do their dastardly business.
I ended the day in an inflatable sleepsack. By far the tamest of the three (Mac said I’d approached the room in entirely the wrong order), I could almost have fallen asleep floating in my latex balloon. Hence the name I suppose. The only downside to the day’s transformative delights was that now any time not spent in the crushing embrace of a skintight latex prison would feel like time wasted, and I’d be forever on the lookout for my next fix. But hey, there are worse things to be addicted to, I reasoned. As the afternoon drew to a close I thanked Mac and went on my way, reeking of latex as I would be for hours to come, mascara pouring down my face almost to my neck, my pigtails in disarray, a delirious grin plastered on my face.
If there were such a thing as a walk of shame, it would have been the best one ever.