TOTAL ENCLOSURE FETISH

Do you have a total enclosure fetish?

I have JUST the right box and PLENTY of packing peanuts to make your total enclosure fetish (wet) dream CUM true. Over the weekend, I caught up with a friend who told me she ended up buying stamps on Am*z*n because the line at the post office was out the door. This little chat got my sexual/creative “gears” turning, of course. Because there is something (really someone) I’ve ALWAYS wanted to mail. Can you guess who it might be? Hint: he has a secret total enclosure fetish, and a penchant for sensory deprivation play. Throw in a bit of sexualized mummification . . . or a lot. Well, have you figured it out?

That’s right: YOU. And guess what, my soon-to-be-shipped submissive? I’m going to buy my stamps at the post office, no matter HOW long the line is! And do you know why? Because you’ll be right next to me, sealed up tight in a cardboard UPS box. Special delivery!

I’ve ordered “oversized” items, but sending a gigantic, full-grown-man-sized package out myself seems like a titillating challenge.

Having a total enclosure fetish seems like the opposite of being claustrophobic. Although as your Mistress, it will be ME packing YOU into the box, I can understand the appeal. Even I enjoy the feeling of a weighted blanket from time to time. But you crave a deeper, more full-body, visceral, hypersensory surrender. Don’t you, my postaged pet?

Before the day of your inevitable, eventual express mailing cums, we can have plenty of therapy phone sex. Talking about your desire to be compressed, immobilized, and superbly squished is all part of our niche foreplay. There’s something sexy about snail mail, anyway. It’s partially the novelty, it’s partially the intimacy of it. I love sending little packages to my dominant ladyfriends who live (tragically) far away from my little femdom headquarters. And now, perhaps they will receive YOU as our next “correspondence”!

Satisfying your total enclosure fetish is my perverse DELIGHT.

You will, of course, be permitted a final orgasm under my surveillance once you’re inside the special box I’ve procured for our purposes. Just as my trashbagging phone sex callers are, traditionally (though not ALWAYS), allowed a parting petite mort before their, well, NOT so “petite” mort. And the care I’ve taken in packing you, well, your chances of surviving the journey are at LEAST better than those destined for the compactor. In fact, I’d go so far as to call your outlook upon embarking auspicious.

Or perhaps me packing you into the box is part of a game we play. The erotic play of me cramming you wherever I please, teasing you especially when it’s into a shipping container. But in our game, your departure is always deferred. Is your total enclosure fetish centered around the act of being enclosed itself? Good. I’m going to make sure you can’t move at all, and can just BARELY breathe. And I have all kinds of tight spaces just WAITING for me to squeeze you into them. And I’m here and available now.

Call Aileen 1-888-792-6198