Do-It-Yourself Mummification Kit

Help me Obi Wan, You're My Only Hope!

I have a do-it-yourself mummification kit on the top of one of my office shelves. The box is as easy to pass by as any other box in my office. Scuff marks on the sides hint at the time it spent in a warehouse. Dents and small tears betray the lack of care the shipping company uses with their packages. A series of green digits on the side most likely allowed the manufacturer to know the exact contents of the box. The only other distinguishing factor is small strip of white microfoam tape with the letters DIYMK written in black marker.

That label comes from the devilish streak in me. Yes, I have a devilish streak and even the wry grin to go with it. I find it obvious because I contort women into all shapes and configurations with just about anything that you adheres to itself, buckles or can be tied into a knot. Devilish does not mean sadistic though in my mind. There is a coyness that comes with a devilish streak. The goal is not to punish anyone or make their day hell because they will allow you to do it. Anyone can do that. The challenge for me comes in the line between a girl smiling, laughing and enjoying talking to me after a set even though she wanted to punt my junk like a football while restrained. Anyone can make you helpless, make you hurt and make you dislike them. It is much more of a challenge to explain to a model just how terrible a position will feel and have them agree to it because they know you would never do anything to damage them or put them in serious risk.

That is being devilish in my opinion. I get to twist my mustache and play the villain to the utmost but deep down the model knows I am the good guy that will always whisk her off the railroad tracks before anything bad happens. I get to play both sides of the fence because I know when to be on either side of that fence. That is why I can get away with being devilish. That is why that box has DIYMK on it. I know it means Do-It-Yourself Mummification Kit, but everyone else thinks it is a box. It might have books, pictures or figurines in it. It does not though. It has every size of tape I need to keep a damsel helpless, moaning and electrically insulated for as long as necessary. If is a big box of, "Holy Shit!" that sits in full display to anyone that comes into my office.

Star found that out. She knew I wanted to mummify her, but she had no idea just how much tape was in that box when I brought it out. It is daunting for a girl to start rummaging through a box full of tape and ask, "Are you going to use all of it?" I always respond devilishly that I will use as much as needed. That always gets someone to bite the side of their lip. By the time Star was blindfolded and on the floor it did not matter. The tape muffled her hearing, blinded her and squeezed her into complete helplessness. Shallow breaths were all she could achieve, and time ticked by ten times slower than normal. Movement was minimal, and she could not even stare at the ceiling to pass the time. She was locked in her own head.

This is the time when a girl wonders what the hell she got her self into. There is no way she will ever free herself. There is no way she can ever call for help. I could load her on a luggage cart and parade her around the convention floor. She is really just along for the ride at this point. Aching and alone she really just plain hates me at this point, but she cannot hate me completely. One thing making the experience bearable is knowing that Ted is not a total asshole. If I just get through the rest of the filming he will have me out quickly and all will be well. The key to being devilish is being Darth Vader to Princess Leia and knowing that her hologram still pleads to you in the guise of Obi Wan. Help me Ted Michaels, you're my only hope!

Image courtesy of Fully Insulated Tape Mummy with Star.