There was a latex hood in the sex shop when they’d visited. It was wrapped around a manneq

There was a latex hood in the sex shop when they’d visited. It was wrapped around a mannequin, meaning there was just foam where the eyes should have been, more foam for a mouth, and foam sprouting out of the neck. It had repulsed her, but there was some attraction there, too. Some attraction, even, for the hood’s sister, wrapped around its own mannequin, sitting next to it. Identical save for there were no eye holes, and a zipper for a mouth. 

It was such a brute force though. To slap such a thing over her head was the rubber equivalent of a brown paper bag, and while the anonymity wrapped itself deliciously with her penchant for objectification, it also seemed far too crude, and far too disgendering. She wanted to be stripped of her identity, but not her femininity. There was an argument to be made for her indetity being her gender, to an extent, but foibles never bothered her before.

She’d talked about it, and he’d listened. Smiled, even, before glancing away, and she’d trailed off knowing that he wasn’t listening any more. She’d planted the seed, and he was busy making it grow. Her gardener. She’d chuckled, and he’d come back down to earth, that smile grown a little wider. 

The next time she’d found herself tied up, the rope wasn’t all that wrapped her. Gag, blindfold, ear muffs. He cut her off from herself, while building a cage so that she’d only have herself for company. He turned her into a body, leaving her head out of it, except for those delicious sensations. And then he’d treated her like the object she wanted to be. Used her till she was spent. Then a little more beyond, a quick shake to wake the batteries back up and then over and over, again and again. All she had was frayed nerve endings and the muffled sound of her own moans echoing around her head. 

She didn’t need a hood. She had him.