Mummification and the erotic erasure of identity

There’s power in the mummification ritual: wrapping my submissive in bandages—especially around the face—transforming them into a gentle cocoon. Bandages are soft; they let the skin breathe, allow some freedom of movement, and heighten sensation. Perfect for teasing, of course. I like to use coluorful ones.

Sometimes I crave something more extreme. The unforgiving, and often sweaty: Japanese-style encasement. Multiple layers of various materials, each one with its own purpose. The body becomes a tightly confined sculpture, each layer sealing away any hint of rebellion. In that form, the submissive becomes an object; all I see is a polished work of art I’ve slowly constructed. It’s an erotic erasure of identity.

I know it must get hot in there, so now and then, I offer them a drink through a straw.

That simple act becomes a tender interplay of power and helplessness.

For some, it must be a blessing to forget themselves in there.

For me, I find something sublime in casually sprawling my legs across their chest and ordering room service, as if they’re nothing more than an afterthought. I like to call this Caring Dehumanization.