(Month 1, days 15–16 – early slavery phase)
The first mummification on day 2 was “experience sake.”
A test.
A baseline.
Six hours.
I survived it — barely.
The sleeping protocol had been my nightly prison since day one, but the first few weeks were brutal.
I hadn’t adapted yet.
I survived — barely.
Then came the two successive mummifications — night 15 and night 16.
Debt had spiked from a chain of small failures: hesitation, posture drift, delayed response.
Master decided reinforcement was needed — and he needed it fast.
Night 15 – Second Mummification
Standing wrap.
Master started at the ankles and worked upward while I stood rigid in canvas shoes and socks.
Arms at sides — palms faced down touching the flat pubic area (as reminder of gender status).
Both thumbs tied together with a cable tie to keep hands in place during the wrap (minimal additional restraint).
Legs together.
Every loop tightened.
The wrap was for the whole body — from ankles all the way up, covering every inch, including the head.
No part left exposed.
Only the breathing tubes and water tube pierced the layers.
When the wrap reached shoulders and neck, he guided me down slowly to the mat.
Head significantly elevated — three pillows stacked under my neck and shoulders so my head was noticeably higher than my chest (prevents choking or reflux when sucking from the tube).
But lowering me was another violation.
I had shifted slightly during the descent — a tiny bend in the knees to balance.
Master noticed.
“Failure to maintain standing posture until fully wrapped.”
He noted it in the ledger.
Major violation: Upkeep + Contract Baseline related.
200–500 points added.
Blind Seal over eyes. Earplugs in.
Two breathing tubes taped to my nostrils.
A third breathing tube taped to my mouth and connected to a small fish tank air pump — constantly pumping fresh air in (for safety).
The water bag tube was secured to the same mouth area — I had to suck actively when thirsty.
The taped tubes themselves worked as an effective gag — I couldn’t speak, couldn’t cry out, only muffled grunts at best.
First 1–2 hours: almost nothing.
The whole-body wrap felt heavy but not yet oppressive.
Heat built slowly.
I could even drift into shallow sleep — exhaustion from the day helped.
Thirst came early — mouth dry from the heat and tubes.
I sucked on the water tube whenever the feeling grew.
The 3-litre bag was high enough — gravity helped, but I had to actively pull.
Swallow after swallow.
Thirst kept returning — the heat made it endless.
Hour 3 onward: intensity rose.
Sweat formed inside the wrap — no escape.
Restricted feel turned into itch to move.
Fidget urge kicked in — fingers twitching, toes curling, hips wanting to shift.
Nothing moved the wrap.
Tubes silenced every sound.
I could only wait helplessly.
Hour 6: partial release — Master cut only the lower wrap (waist down).
Legs freed.
Upper body still mummified — arms pinned, chest wrapped, head sealed.
He assisted me to stand — legs shaky, knees weak.
Then bent me forward over the table, whole torso leaning flat on the table surface.
Skirt flipped up.
Upskirt caning — twenty strokes on bare skin.
Sharp. Burning.
Tubes still in — no cry possible.
The upper wrap kept me pressed forward, immobile.
Full release followed.
Cutters snipped everything away.
Blind Seal off. Earplugs out.
The uniform was soaked and saturated with sweat — heavy, clinging.
Surprisingly, the massive sweating had washed away most of the smell more than it made things sticky.
The sheer volume of water loss flushed out odor instead of trapping it.
Skin slick, but not foul.
It was already morning.
No collapse.
No sleep.
I struggled to kneel submissively first — body shaking, limbs weak.
I waited on knees for instructions.
Master pointed to a bottle with funnel beside me.
“Pee.”
I adopted the peeing position — still kneeling, legs apart just enough, skirt lifted.
I struggled to release — dehydrated from the massive sweat loss.
Only a small, extremely yellow stream came out.
I squeezed harder.
A little more.
Then nothing.
I struggled to kneel submissively again — body shaking, limbs weak.
Master made me drink 1.5 litres of water as recovery from dehydration.
The drinking was a struggle — stomach bloated, throat protesting, but I forced it down.
Master watched every swallow.
Master pointed to the kitchen.
“Chores.
Regular uniform with heels.
Now.”
I waited on knees for permission to continue the day.
Master nodded once.
I rose slowly.
I was still in the drenched regular uniform from the night before — no need to change into it.
Only my feet were still in canvas shoes and socks.
I promptly removed them and slipped into the 5-inch black heels — legs trembling, balance unsteady.
I struggled through the day.
Dusting felt impossible.
Wiping took forever.
Folding — hands shaking, vision blurring.
The heels were torture on exhausted legs.
I moved like I was underwater.
Every task was a battle against collapse.
All day I kept thinking of sleep.
I expected that night would be a deep sleep.
I kept imagining the moment I could finally lie down — proper rest, no wrap, no drip, no tubes.
I clung to that thought to get through the hours.
But when night came, Master looked at me.
“Debt still high.
Mummification again.
Tonight.
Eight hours this time.”
The shock hit like cold water.
Eight hours.
I protested — a small, desperate whisper.
“Master… it’s only one day after… safety protocol… two successive nights… eight hours is too dangerous…”
He didn’t raise his voice.
He just took out the ledger.
“Arguing.”
He paused, pen hovering.
Then continued writing, voice cold and deliberate:
“Violation: Contract Baseline related — refusal to accept Master’s decision.
Disruption to Master — wasting time with protest.
Not behaving lady-like — raising voice, questioning authority.
Exhibit traits of man – Physical — asserting autonomy through speech.
Upkeep related — delaying protocol execution.
Financial Related — causing unnecessary delay in service.
Inconvenience to Master — forcing Master to explain rules.”
He looked up.
“That’s seven categories.
Points: over 1,800.
This mummification tonight can barely cover it.
You’re still deep in debt.”
The list hit harder than any stroke.
Fear. Disappointment. Regret. Despair.
And a sickening wave of self-loathing — I had done this to myself.
I had opened my mouth.
Master remarked: “Opened mouth, more violations.”
I had earned every category.
He continued:
“Continue protesting, and it will be three successive nights.”
I shut up.
Fear swallowed everything.
I knelt.
I prepared.
I knew there was no escape.
Night 16 – Third Mummification
Before wrapping, Master allowed me to empty my pee.
Then he made me drink 1.5 litres at one go.
The drinking was a struggle — stomach bloated, throat protesting, but I forced it down.
Master watched every swallow.
Same ritual. Standing wrap. Palms down on flat pubic area, thumbs tied together. Guided down (again, I shifted slightly — another violation noted). Head significantly elevated. 3-litre water bag tube secured to mouth (sucking required). Three breathing tubes taped — two passive at nostrils, one connected to small fish tank air pump at mouth for constant fresh air.
First 1–2 hours: almost nothing.
I drifted into sleep faster than the previous night.
Fatigue from the first session carried over.
Thirst hit hard — I sucked constantly on the water tube.
Swallow after swallow.
Thirst kept coming — the heat made it relentless.
Hour 3–4: heat and restriction intensified, but sleep fragments continued.
Exhaustion dulled the fidget urge.
I twitched inside the wrap, but less desperately.
Tubes kept silence absolute.
Helpless waiting — mixed with bone-deep tiredness.
Hour 5–6: mind fractured.
Very bad sense of judgement from the wrap and heat.
I kept thinking it was already the end — that hours had passed, that release was coming.
But it was not the case.
What seemed like hours was only a few minutes.
Time stretched and collapsed inside the darkness.
Hour 7–8: the pump kept air flowing.
Thirst never left — I sucked from the tube endlessly.
Sweat saturated everything.
No pee urge — massive loss kept bladder quiet.
Release: full release.
Cutters snipped everything away.
Blind Seal off. Earplugs out.
The uniform was soaked and saturated with sweat — heavy, clinging.
Again, the massive fluid loss flushed out smell instead of trapping it.
Skin slick, but surprisingly not foul.
It was already morning again.
No collapse.
No sleep.
I struggled to kneel submissively first — body shaking, limbs weak.
I waited on knees for instructions.
Master looked at the ledger.
He commented:
“Last night’s mummification never reduced the overall punishment debt.
Your protest the night before earned points that this punishment can barely pay back.
You’re still stuck with high debt.”
The words landed like stones.
A mixture of fear, disappointment, regret, and despair flooded me.
I had endured six hours twice in a row — soaked, aching, sleepless — and still owed.
Still trapped.
Still no end in sight.
Master added:
“I will think of another way for you to pay back the debt.”
The threat hung in the air.
I knelt.
I waited.
I knew whatever came next would be worse.
Master pointed to the kitchen.
“Chores.
Regular uniform with heels.
Now.”
I waited on knees for permission to continue the day.
Master nodded once.
I rose slowly.
I was still in the drenched regular uniform from the night before — no need to change into it.
Only my feet were still in canvas shoes and socks.
I promptly removed them and slipped into the 5-inch black heels — legs trembling, balance unsteady.
I struggled through the day.
Dusting felt impossible.
Wiping took forever.
Folding — hands shaking, vision blurring.
The heels were torture on exhausted legs.
I moved like I was underwater.
Every task was a battle against collapse.
The fatigue from two successive nights was overwhelming — body heavy, mind foggy, every step a fight.
All day I kept thinking of sleep.
I expected that night would be a deep sleep.
I kept imagining the moment I could finally lie down — proper rest, no wrap, no drip, no tubes.
I clung to that thought to get through the hours.
The two successive nights did what weeks of protocol alone couldn’t fully achieve.
They broke something.
Not my body — my remaining resistance.
The fear of a third night was unbearable.
Never do I hope to be in it again.
I really promise myself to be extremely obedient and submissive to Master from now on.
This method has effectively broken me.
Later, whenever Master verbally mentioned he wanted to punish with mummification again — even as a casual threat — I immediately behaved to my best.
Fear of being in it again overrode everything.
I corrected faster.
I obeyed without hesitation.
I anticipated his needs.
The sleeping protocol adaptation accelerated overnight.
The thin mat, the hard book, the forced legs together, the constant tug, the bra grip, the damp uniform — all of it suddenly felt almost merciful compared to the wrap.
I learned to lie still faster.
To breathe slower.
To accept the discomfort without fighting.
Because the alternative was six hours of true helplessness.
And after two successive nights, I feared the third so much that I made sure there was never a third.
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