“Over here, you can see a cage, based on a Medieval method of execution …”
I am on my plinth in the middle of the medical bondage room and I can hear Anna guiding a group of visitors in the next room. I have been in this body cast for three nights now, which means it must be Tuesday today, and I haven’t regretted it … much. There are always the occasional moments of particular discomfort when your body cramps or when an imperfection in the cast is especially irritating, but these moments pass and your peacefulness returns.
“We have this cage on loan from a club here in the city, where it was designed to lock up one of their regular clients. In the Middle Ages similar cages would be used to suspend criminals from the city walls until they died from exposure and dehydration.”
I know the cage she is talking about, I saw it when she gave me a tour of the exhibition before I was casted. It is made from heavy steel strips and shaped as a human being with arms and legs extended.
“We have been informed that the client once spent a week in this cage, hanging from the ceiling of the bondage dungeon; in the cold and dark with the metal bars digging into his skin. Of course, he did get water and food, so there was no risk he would share the fate of the historic victims. Still, the cage is bespoke to the client’s frame and once inside, he only has an inch of moving space. There is a picture of the man in this cage on the wall there. Imagine spending a whole week like that … Apparently, two weeks after he was released from the cage, he was back for more.” I can hear the gasps and whispers of the group.
An inch of moving space? I wish I had that much … If they consider that cage proper immobilisation, they are in for a shock. Although, I must admit, that I wouldn’t want to lie still on those steel bars for a week; give me cotton padding any day.
I am now glad that Anna suggested keeping my eyes covered. Yes, I was apprehensive at first, but it is incredibly exhilarating to hear everything around me, without being able to really follow what happens. I am going out of my mind with anxiety sometimes. Well maybe ‘out of my mind’ is too strong, but when I think there is someone close but I don’t know where, or who, or even how many there are, the sensation of vulnerability causes palpitations.

Anna is now talking about the iron mask that is used to lock away slaves in another club. It is supposedly modelled on the helmet from ‘The man in the iron mask’. At least it has eyeholes so the occupier can see where he is; a luxury I do not have at the moment! Next up she will take them to the Medical Bondage room in which I play a starring role.
“In the next room, we will see items concerning a specific subspecialty in bondage, so called medical bondage. It involves the use of common medical equipment and materials to constrain someone’s arms or legs or even his entire body.”
Most common are straightjackets and similar restraints, of course, but leg braces and neck collars also are very popular and you will see some examples of these. A little more extreme are halo braces, metal frames that connect the skull to a plastic body over the shoulders and chest. They are used to hold the head and neck completely still. Hearing it every hour, I know her story by heart.
“In hospital the halo ring would be screwed into the skull, but by pushing the bars firmly against the skin, a good impression of real immobilisation can be created.”
Another somewhat less usual form of medical bondage is casting. Creating a plaster or fibreglass cast to immobilise an arm or leg, or more.
“You are lucky, as this week we have a special exhibit that shows off casting to its most extreme. If you would follow me …”
The exclamations and intakes of breath as another group files into the room are always a delight to hear. This time they don’t disappoint either. It is a big group, by the sound of it, and I can hear ‘Wow’s and ‘Christ’s and other mutterings.
“Is he real? Is that a real person?” I hear some woman ask loudly. Anna confirms that I am not a mannequin and I wriggle my fingers as proof. The movement draws another round of reactions from the visitors. I love to hear these people’s responses. A plaster body cast is great, but lying in one in public is absolutely mind-boggling.
“Can we touch him?” The same woman, I think.
That is one of the things I enjoy most and with every passing guided tour I hope that someone will ask that question. It only happens once or twice a day that a person asks it spontaneously, but when he or she gets permission many others seem to join in. I think most are curious, but nobody wants to be the one to show it.
“He is one of the exhibits you are allowed to touch … The person inside the cast quite enjoys the contact with other people. As you can see, he cannot see or reach out, so when people connect with him, it is comforting.”
The first contact is hesitant, as always: a touch of my fingers, a squeeze of my toes. Someone is knocking on the plaster surface. Maybe they are stroking or rubbing it too, but I have no way of knowing.
“In contrast to other forms of bondage, many cast and brace fetishists like to go out in public to show off and create some curiosity or sympathy for their predicament; publicking it is called. In a leg or arm cast that is easy of course, but with such a body cast it is almost impossible. That is probably why our subject has volunteered to lie here and show his art. You will find a set of marker pens underneath him. Please feel free to draw on or sign the cast.”
When nobody in the group has dared to touch me yet, that suggestion sometimes leads to one of the visitors drawing up the courage. This time it is not required, as more hands are now feeling the few areas of bare skin. Someone flicks my left ear and laughs, a finger is pushed into my foot cast, trying to tickle the sole. I can hear the squeaking of the felt tip pens on my cast, one very close to my right ear.
“How long has he been in that cast?” A man’s voice this time.
“Since Saturday morning, so it has been three days. The plan is that he will stay like this until Sunday evening: just over a week of complete immobility. Please don’t use the marker pen on his skin, Madam. If you would ask him, he would probably like to stay for the duration of the exhibition, but that would not be safe or realistic.”
Their contact with my contained body continues and, with the visitors gaining audacity, I can guess where it will end this time and I am looking forward to it.
“Can he talk?”
“Not very well, the plaster cast over his head is very tight, so he cannot open his mouth more than a few millimetres. But he will try if you ask him questions.”
This is a rare situation; usually the visitors prefer to regard me as an object, probably helped by the fact that my eyes are hidden.
“Are you really enjoying this, mate?” The question must be aimed at me.
I reply – with difficulty – that I love every moment of it; an answer that only draws more questions about why I like it so much and what it feel like.
“I enjoy the restriction, the fact that I cannot move at all. And the helplessness … A cast like this is soothing, honestly.” I keep my answers necessarily short, but still I have to repeat some words that don’t come out well.
“And would you really like to stay like this for the duration of the exhibition as the guide said.”
To be honest, I am not sure I would. I’d love a month, maybe even two, but the exhibition runs for half a year and that is a very long time to be in a full body cast. I can’t disappoint my audience though: “Oh God, yes! I’d give anything to be in a body cast like this one for the rest of my life.” The enthusiastic reply draws a few disbelieving reactions.
While their questioning continues, the touches grow bolder. A hand has now pushed itself between the cast and my belly, rubbing my stomach. I exhale deeply and the hand pushes deeper into the space that opens up. Yes, my groin is uncovered the whole of the week, of course it is, this is the Sex museum. Not much longer before … Oh yes! A hand has grabbed my tool and rubs it quickly until I get hard. A woman giggles; hopefully the person who has taken hold of me. I murmur in pleasure, but once I am standing rock hard, she lets go of me and with a quick kiss through the opening in my head cast, she leaves me stranded. My moan in disappointment cannot persuade her to resume her deeds.
Another one who gets away … On Sunday evening I had made a bet with Anna that before the end of the week, one of the visitors would let me orgasm. Unfortunately, thus far the few times someone helped me get hard, the hand job was aborted prematurely.
“Shall we move to the next room? This room is themed on sadomasochism, a practice often associated with bondage, but which is in fact quite different.”
Quiet descends around me and I am left to my thoughts and fantasies.

Anna pulls the straw from my mouth. The milkshakes and smoothies I have lived on for the past few days are probably not the healthiest food and they are not very filling, but I don’t have much space to fill and a week of unwholesome fare is unlikely to kill me. It must be about 7 o’clock now. After the museum closes, the last clients leave and their mess is cleared, Anna comes upstairs to care for me. I need a bedpan first, always a bedpan first, because I have been holding it in since opening time at 9 in the morning. By closing time my bladder seems to fill all of the little space inside the body cast. When the most pressing needs have been taken care off, I get a drinkable meal through a straw.
“Feeling better now? Anything else you need?”
“Much better, thanks. I’ll be fine for a while.”
“Good. I’ve ordered pizza for myself; it should be here in a few minutes, so I am going down to the lobby.”
Privately I groan, but I won’t show Anna my concern. She is going to eat her pizza here next to me and I’ll be surrounded by all the lovely smells of cheese and pepper, teasing me with the inadequate meal I have just received. I suppose it is just another sacrifice I have to make to ‘live the dream’. The scent reaching me when Anna returns is everything I feared it would be and I am salivating inside the hard plaster shell. For a while I beg her to feed me small morsels through the slit between my teeth, but Anna is steadfast. It is too dangerous, she argues; lying flat on my back, I could easily choke if any food went the wrong way. She is right, I can’t cough and she can’t help me inside the cast, but that won’t stop me begging, though.
“No luck getting a hand job, yet?” Dinner over, we talk about the past day. There is not much else I can do like this, is there?
“No, I got close though, so I have good hope that it may still happen.”
“I could help out now, but it wouldn’t count towards the bet of course.”
“Hmmm, yes.” This is one of the few other things I am still able to do.
Like the woman this afternoon, Anna starts by massaging my belly just inside the edge of the hip spica. I purr in satisfaction when her rubbing hands are assisted by her mouth taking in my manhood. I know that she will fuck me when I am hard and wet, but I hope she is going to take her time over it.

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