Impossible to speak

It was with undisguised pleasure that I found Madame waiting for me behind the door with her devastatingly destabilizing smile. A few exchanges to break the ice, and here I was, standing at attention, naked in front of Madame. Probably finding me too comfortable, she forced me to keep my arms raised above my head to continue our discussion. To make the pleasure last, Madame tells me about the machine that awaits me, about her desire to see me come back with a full bladder on my next visit, about my underpants that I'll find soaked in her urine...
Madame knows how to keep the conversation going, and my position becomes untenable. Luckily Madame sends me off for a shower, and I come into the salon at attention.

The collar is fitted. Even if I quickly forget about it once it's on, it's still a very special moment, the recognition of my submission, but also the pleasure of knowing that Madame is willing to make me her toy.
I'm on my hands and knees in the living room, unaware of Madame's games and today's program. I did see the "machine" in the corner of the carpet. You'd have to be "limited" not to understand how it works. I've seen videos but I've never tried it. My anus is already feverish just looking at this dildo.
It's on all fours with my ass stretched out that Madame introduces me to the wax. Although Madame, in her infinite kindness, holds the candle at a safe distance, the pain on my kidneys is sharp. My little cries make her laugh. The drops fall one after the other. After my back, I present my torso. I get used to it and Madame spares my sensitive parts: she knows very well where the pain would be unbearable.

The candle is back in its holder and I can breathe. Madame must have noticed because she comes to me with a roll of cling film. At first I thought I was going to be shackled and mummified. Delicately, she lifts my head the way one lifts a sick person's head to make him drink. She wraps the film around the back of my head.
The film is soon on my face. Without a word, Madame controls my breathing. So as not to frighten me, she took care to leave me free to move, but even when I was short of air I wouldn't dare go against her wishes. To let me catch my breath, Madame rips open the film. The air rushed massively into my lungs.
Sometimes Madame blocks it with her hand or sits on me. Delightful moments. To complete the picture, she grabs her candle and, as I breathe, the wax burns me.
There's a stillness, a silence in the room. Breathing has become our only preoccupation. It's impossible to speak. My vision is blurred by layers of film and I can't hear the music.

/.../
Enclosed in my cellophane, I reflect on my condition. Between two puffs of air, I realize how lucky I am to know Madame and to be introduced to her world.
Madame gently releases my face. My breathing becomes normal. While she removes the wax with a kitchen knife, we chat. It's a very intimate moment.

In the evening, I'll find a few pieces of wax on my clothes. They bear witness to this sweet moment.

Testimony of Ginger.