Foam of … Master called me over. I was wearing a latex top, short briefs, sandals, and a choker around my neck. For a while, he just circled me, running his palm over the glossy band across my chest, then down my side. He said nothing. I knew today would be different, and when he told me not to move, I stood perfectly still.

He undressed me himself. He slowly peeled the top away from my skin, pulling it down with his thumbs until my chest was exposed. He slid the briefs down over my thighs and knees, and finally, he took off my sandals. I stood there naked, arms at my sides, as he knelt down with a small box.

First, the nipples. Cold gel, then round electrodes—one on each—pressed firmly into place. He let the wires run down my stomach. He turned me around. On my buttocks, he placed one electrode on each cheek, positioned low, where the muscle tightens. He smoothed them down with his palm until they adhered. Then he turned me back around and attached the final two right next to my penis—one on the left, one on the right—close enough that I could feel them with every breath I took. He gathered the wires together and let them hang.

“A test,” he said.

… the foam

My nipples received the first jolt. Short, sharp—both at once. I flinched, but he simply held me by the shoulders. Next came the sensation in my buttocks—deeper, causing the muscles to contract involuntarily. Around my penis, it was milder—just a tingling that spread into my groin. He switched it off. “It’s holding. Now, I’ll wrap you up.”

The plastic wrap was black, thick, and glossy. He started at my feet. He smoothed out every fold, pulling it tight until the material clung to my calves and thighs. He ran the cables from my buttocks and penis out along my side, smoothing the wrap around them to ensure nothing would tear loose. He positioned my arms against my body—palms resting on my thighs—and continued wrapping: over my abdomen, over the electrodes on my nipples, and across my shoulders. He pulled the wrap especially tight around my penis. Once the final layer was applied, I was reduced to a long, black, motionless form, with only the cables dangling from my side.

Only then did he fit the mask onto my face. The rubber was cold and tight against my skin. He clicked the filter into place, attached the corrugated hose, and draped it across my chest to prevent it from kinking. He checked to see if I was breathing. I was. I had no other choice.

He lifted me up and placed me into an open coffin. Inside, there was already a thin layer of foam, with a cushion for my head. He left the hose loose and ran the cables over the edge. He held me by the shoulder for a moment through the plastic wrap. I didn’t move. I knew that something I had never experienced before awaited me, and in that moment, I trusted him enough to surrender myself to him completely.

The foam arrived warm and thick. First a trickle around my ankles, then a full, steady stream. It enveloped my legs, filled the gap between my thighs and the wall, and slowly rose. Around my buttocks and penis, it washed over the cables, solidified around them, and pressed the electrodes even more firmly against my skin. It did the same across my chest. My nipples vanished beneath the foam, while the cables remained exposed. Each new layer pressed me down further. By the time the foam reached my shoulders, I couldn’t even tense a muscle. My head remained inside the mask, but the rest of my body was no longer my own.

Only when the foam began to harden did he connect the control unit.

First, the buttocks. Slow, deep waves. My muscles tried to contract, but the foam held them fast, leaving them to merely quiver beneath the film. Then the nipples—sharp, quick pinches, alternating left and right—with nowhere for my chest to retreat. Once I had grown accustomed to that, he activated the ones near my penis. Weaker, but more intimate. A tingling sensation spread into my groin; the surrounding foam held everything so tightly that I felt every impulse twice: once on my skin, and again in the futile struggle of my body trying to move.

He cycled through the patterns. Sometimes just the buttocks—for so long that I lost count. At other times, everything at once—a rapid sequence hitting my nipples, buttocks, and groin—followed by silence, save for the sound of the hose and the hardening foam. Six hours passed. The foam had set completely. My body remained warm and motionless within it, entirely encased. The electrodes would occasionally come to life, just to remind me that he decided when anything moved. I simply breathed through the tube and waited. Until that moment, I was his. Completely.