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My wife keeps me locked up in a heavy rubberized fabric hazmat suit, with built in socks and mitts. The built-in hood is connected to a gasmask, allowing me vision at times, so I can do housework and repairs, remodeling stuff, etc. The central filter has been replaced with a half-inch valve, and the open/close lever removed, so that the only way it can be opened or closed, or partially either, is with an Allen key. Thus she can ration my air supply, and once set, without the key, I can't make any adjustment. She's not interested in sex, other than her own self-pleasuring, and I'm restricted to whatever I can achieve through the thin but immensely strong material that encloses me 23 hours a day. The other hour, I eat, shower, and use the toilet, before being reconfined. We love each other, and are happy to do whatever the other wants, within certain parameters. I am glad that I will spend the rest of my life like this, serving her from my rubber prison. Shocking? There are worse things out there, believe me!
When my first dominatrix wife divorced me, I was devastated, and tried very hard to find a replacement.
I dated dozens of women, and discovered that my only hope lay in a much older woman, probably not great-looking.but hopefully VERY determined to take control of a younger male who would do almost anything for her. I found what I needed in the form of a prematurely retired psych nurse from the state asylum for the criminally insane, who finally admitted to me that she had resigned to avoid being fired, for vanishing a younger inmate deep into the bowels of the old, unused section of the asylum, where she could keep him strait-jacketed in a padded isolation cell, for what turned out to be years! She milked him twice a day, lengthily and mercilessly, concentrating on orgasm delay and denial, his screams unheard in the bowels of the old part of the building. I found this so exciting, I asked her to marry me on our first meeting, and told her she could indulge HER addiction freely, while enabling mine!
I have a trust fund, which she now controls, and she keeps me comfortably but inescapably in an ex-army bodybag, of olive-drab rubberized canvas, with two small zippered openings, at crotch and mouth, so she can have access to whatever end of me she wants. She is deliriously happy, and spends hours convincing me that I will never see the light of day again, but will spend the rest of my life pleasuring her, as she tortures me, even to the extent of cruelly rationing my air to mere survival level. I have learned exactly how she needs to be pleasured, and strive always to improve.
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