03 Apr

life inside the hood

Most people have some experience of being blindfolded, deprivation of sight is the easiest sense to block in BDSM, and it can add an awful lot to an erotic massage, or general foreplay.  We have found that blindfolds can and will slip, either giving unwitting sight to the blinded, or necessitating a readjustment of the blindfold (which is of course, always my fault, for having such a stupidly shaped head).  We thought a bondage hood would help address this, and invested in a spandex one.

 

But what’s it like?

The bondage hood comes out early, and it sits ominously on the side, conspicuous in its understated presence.  This gives me time to adjust my expectation and prepare for my head being fully enclosed.   For someone who believes fresh air remedies all malaise, and who absolutely cannot put his head under the duvet, this is actually quite a big deal.  The inability to breathe is my primary fear in life.

 

I’m sure it’s only psychosomatic, but as the bondage hood is stretched over my scalp, I feel my breathing tighten, there’s nothing I can do about it, it just happens, I fight against it, trying to take long deep breaths, stay calm.  As the hood descends and covers my eyes, I find myself humming that Simon & Garfunkel song.  Before the hood covers my mouth I take a deep breath, I’m going under.

 

Aside from the darkness, it’s tight, seriously tight, like it was designed for something way smaller than my head.  Although, Mistress does tell me that I have an abnormally large (and stupid) head.  This tightness does nothing for my breathing, and Mistress always affords me a few minutes to gain my composure before anything further happens.

 

It is tight, it makes breathing more difficult, my face is warm sometimes dampened, the hood stops the sweat evaporation so I get hotter, a little flustered, concentration is difficult, I can’t see, my hearing is impaired following instruction becomes difficult. The fabric pressing against skin starts itch, if I’m bound then I can’t scratch, and with other senses numbed that itch becomes all consuming.

I. Must. Scratch. That. Itch.

Then suddenly, what was that noise?

 

All is quiet.

 

Again, a noise, what is it?  Where is it.

 

But, silence prevails.

 

I suddenly realise the only sounds are my shortened sharp intakes of breath and the swoosh of my heartbeat.

Panic is only a short step away.

 

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