Story:An Unexpected Shipment, Part 1

An Unexpected Shipment

Part 1

Bondage, nonconsensual, abduction, anal, latex, chastity

Copyright © 2009 by John "Reddywhp" Reddy. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive.

What follows is a piece of fiction. Any similarity to living persons is coincidental. The author does not condone the activities described herein, though he has been known to enjoy similar activities himself .

Comments to skip (at) reddywhip.org

Kevin was heading back to his console in the datacenter after lunch when he caught sight of “him” again. The new rigger was hauling a large crate around on a dolly, heading to the freight elevator.

He wasn’t just big; he was Big, with a capital B. The rigger was a few inches taller than his’s own 6’2”. The rigger’s arms were thick cables of muscle extending out from a red plaid, short-sleeved and buttoned shirt. The thin fabric of the shirt seemed painted on by the sweat caused by the Texas summer heat.

Try as he might, he could not see an ounce of fat on the rigger’s body. Kevin made an in-depth study every time the rigger walked by. From the soles of his tan Timberland work boots up through the snug Levi 501’s; past the nametag on his chest which read “Brock” to the dark brown - almost black - eyes and the severe high-and-tight hair cut. The man was a solid wall of muscle.

Today, Brock stopped right in front of Kevin on his way to the freight elevator. “Kevin, isn’t it?”

Kevin was shocked out of his erotic reverie by the unexpected address. Hesitantly, he responded to the mountain of a man. “Yes?” He let the affirmative answer trail off as a question.

“Yeah, buddy. The secretary down the hall said you’re a weight lifter outside of work. You’re obviously a big built guy. I could get in trouble asking, but I could really use a hand here. I’ve got a big load to move. Could you come down to the truck and help me just get a box into position for moving?”

Kevin blushed a little bit at the apparent compliment from the object of his latest masturbatory fantasies. Afraid to look up and meet Brock’s eyes, he just stared at the mountain of muscle that was the rigger’s chest, and the key dangling on a chain that sat in the cleft of his massive pectorals.

“Sure!” he blurted out.

“A little monosyllabic today, aren’t ya?”

Kevin couldn’t place the man’s accent. It was a little Texas, a little New York. Instead of risking embarrassment in front of his fantasy man, he just shrugged, smiled and nodded.

“That’s okay; you’re not needed for your conversation skills today.” Casually patting Kevin on the back with the force of a jackhammer, “Come on, let’s go.”

The freight elevator opened onto the empty truck dock. The only truck in the massive room today was an eighteen wheel monstrosity labeled “CHASM Freight Company, A Wholly Owned Subsidiary”.

Kevin looked at it and said, “Wholly owned? By who?”

Brock smiled down at him, “He speaks! Well, by the parent company, I would imagine. C’mon let’s go in. Okay, you head on in around those other large crates. The one we’re looking for will look like these others, but on its side.”

Wandered deep into the truck, Kevin noticed the walls were well-lined with padding. “They’re all labeled fragile. Are you sure it’s supposed to come here?”

“Yeah,” Brock called over the boxes. “I’ve gotta close this door to turn on the lights back there. Just a sec.” With that the rear door of the truck slammed shut and the lights came on.

Kevin had been slowly navigating through the maze of crates, noticing that they were increasing in size. When he reached the far end of the trailer, he was surrounded by crates seven feet or more tall, four feet wide and fairly deep.

He rounded a corner around some of the larger crates when the light from outside was cut off and a dozen powerful overhead lights flickered into life, brightly illuminating the open crate lying horizontally on the floor.

Kevin stood looking in the box for a minute, not quite knowing what he was seeing. It looked like rubber lined padding cut out in the shape of a man. It was a depression of a man about Kevin’s own size, perhaps a little smaller, with his arms and legs spread slightly away from his body.

Near the “top” of the crate were two corrugated tubes sticking out from the padding and ending at something that looked like a gas mask. It looked like the panoramic plate of a firefighter’s gas mask, attached to a black latex hood. The wide lens of the mask seemed to be an opaque black.

Kevin was just noticing a thick layer of what looked like slime coating the latex when he was roughly body-checked from behind. The force of the impact spun him around, toppling him roughly into the crate.

As he landed on the cold and slick rubber, he naturally slid into place, matching the man-shaped depression. Lying face up in the crate, Kevin was blinded by the bright lights aimed down into the box. As he started to gather his bearings, he felt his arms grabbed and a dark shape loomed over him. The hands started to slowly pull him up by his arms.

Kevin heard Brock’s voice asking, “Are you okay?” The voice came from the figure standing over him. The bright lights behind the man made it difficult to see him clearly.

“Uh, yeah…”

Kevin had barely responded before a mischievous smile crept into Brock’s countenance. “Good!”

Brock slammed the boy’s arms back down into the crate, throwing him off-balance again. As his arms were thrust into the slots, he felt and heard clicking and ratcheting noises. The rubber covering at several points had wrapped around his arms, trapping them in place.

“Hey! What’s the big idea? Help!” Kevin shouted as fear gripped him. The shock of being slammed from behind hadn’t completely worn off, but it had dawned on him that the door to the large truck had been closed, and they were alone in the loading dock, with everyone being off to lunch.

Kevin continued shouting while pulling at his arms trying to free them. With the blinding lights pointed in his face from above, he didn’t notice Brock reaching above the boy’s head to grab the gas mask, nor did he notice Brock position his knee for what happened next.

Colors exploded in Kevin’s head as Brock drove his knee into his groin. The sudden shock of pain made Kevin try to curl into a ball to protect himself. With Brock’s weight now on top of his lower body, the only motion possible was to lift his head. In that moment, Brock moved with practiced precision and pulled the gas mask down over Kevin’s head, setting it snugly in place.

With the mask in place, Brock grabbed the trapped boy’s head with a single hand and slammed him back into the crate. Though the padding softened the impact and prevented injury, Kevin was again stunned. The same clicking and ratcheting happened around his neck on impact, holding him down.

While recovering from the double stun of the knee to his groin and having his head slammed back into the soft pillow-like crate, Kevin was in no mental setting to fight back as Brock slid Kevin’s booted feet into the depressions left for them. They met with the same ratcheting noise as the rubber closed around his ankles, calves and thighs, anchoring them tight.

Kevin finally realized that his body was restrained at his head, hands and legs. He was in the dark, unable to move, and could barely hear through the hooded gasmask and padding around his head. For moments, or minutes, he sat in darkness and silence. The only sound was his pounding heart, still beating rapidly from the flood of adrenaline.

Time slipped by.

The boy caught control of his breathing just in time to feel the very tip something sharp sitting on his throat, at the meeting of his collarbones. He desperately suppressed a swallow as the pressure increased. With no warning, point lifted and deftly sliced down through his t-shirt. Subsequent cuts down each sleeve released the shirt completely from his torso.

By now, the lubricant coating the inside of the box had soaked through Kevin’s clothes, making them horribly slick and giving no resistance as they were out from under the boy. Kevin inhaled as the cold air hit his nipples. He was being abducted, but still his body reacted to stimuli.

Moving further down, he pulled off Kevin’s belt and repeated the procedure with Kevin’s pants. Shortly, Kevin’s legs were released from their fabric enclosure. The large boy’s tight white boxer-briefs were left in place for the moment.

Out of sight from his subject, Brock opened a side panel on the crate to access some switches that allowed him to move the restraints on the boy’s ankles, allowing enough room to maneuver the boots and socks off both of his feet before letting the crate lock them back into position.

While Brock worked methodically on his legs, Kevin had stopped shouting. He knew that the mask was muffling any noise he would make. When Brock slid the mask into place he had forced a large wedge of rubber into his mouth: a cross between a SCUBA mouthpiece and a sports bite-guard. It was large and prevented intelligible speech.

The skin-tight, lubricated latex hood settled easily over the boy’s head, enclosing him down to the base of his skull. When it stopped moving, buds on the inside of the hood slipped into Kevin’s ears, quickly filling the canal and cutting off almost all outside noise.

As the trapped boy tested the limits of how much he could (or could not) open or close his mouth, he felt his tongue brush against a small raised nub between the guards that held his teeth apart. Suddenly Kevin felt the switch quickly depress and heard a small click.

The boy yelped at what felt like a pair of wide hemostats closed on his tongue. Try as he did, there was no pulling his tongue from its new trap. Any hope of saying anything intelligible quickly vanished.

Unheard by Kevin, the rigger let out a throaty chuckle as the boy yelped and began to squirm slightly. From watching the mouth piece of the mask it was easy to tell that the boy was trying to free his tongue. Smirking ever so slightly the big man clapped his hand on the well lubed thigh a few times, before going back to his work.

Brock finished removing Kevin’s pants and looked down at the prone, restrained and almost naked boy. Through his struggling, his skin had been covered in the slick and stringy lubricant which covered the inside of the box. Under the bright florescent lighting, Kevin’s pale skin was a stark contrast against the black latex of his confines.

Kevin’s white boxer-briefs, the only clothing he still wore, were soaked through and transparent with the lubricant, showing off a large set of balls and a flaccid dick. Brock enjoyed sliding his long blade under the waist band of the briefs near Kevin’s shaft, barely scratching the skin of his abdomen.

Brock wished he himself could get hard as he watched large boy’s body both flinch away from the blade though his dick hardened at the attention. The blade ran so that the spine rested on the boy’s dick for a moment before finishing the cut and making a second slice through the cotton fabric of the boxer-briefs.

Appreciating the big slab of meat he was about to pack away, Brock cupped the boy’s balls and stroked his chest a few times before getting up to finish the project. He scooped up pooled bit of the lubricating slime and rubbed it over the thickly built boy. The massive hands smeared the slime around the boy’s neck and chest. He enjoyed the feeling of the boy’s hard dick in his hand, not having felt his own in a long time.

He continued until the boy whimpered and thrust his hips upward as best he could when the rigger dropped the boy’s precum-dripping shaft. let go.

As satisfied as he was allowed to be himself, the rigger wiped his hands off on his handkerchief and left the boy humping the air then picked up the large cover to the crate. More than seven feet long and four feet wide, the cover had its own thick padding.

Brock lined up six inch long tabs with corresponding slots in the open crate and pressed a button. For a moment, he seemed to motion to adjust his cock but paused before reaching it, as if remembering something. Meanwhile, a process had begun within the crate.

The cover of the crate began descending. As it dropped, padding on the underside of the lid began to press down, and as it did Kevin simultaneously felt a pressure from below. At his ass, a silicone phallus began pushing against his sphincter. Now well lubed from the slime all over the inside of the crate, he was easily spread open just enough for the plug to slide in.

The initial surprise of the pressure in his ass made Kevin thrust his pelvis up, pushing his hard dick into the lubricated, rubber lined, and padded cover which was descending toward him. He found his cock and balls forcing their way through a hole in the covering.

In the thick padding of the box cover was cavity with an air-tight seal that closed around his cock and balls as they were sucked through. Due to negative air pressure in that cavity, it felt to Kevin as if his cock and balls were sucked through into the cavity. Once through the hole, though he could feel the suction, he felt no stimulation to his dick; it wasn’t touching anything.

Unable to pull out of the enclosure, the continually lowering box cover pushed down on Kevin’s hips. The top of the crate latched into place and his ass was completely forced down onto the invader, pushing past a large bulb at its base.

The pressure at his ass and the suction on his dick made Kevin horny, especially after the teasing he’d received from his fantasy made reality. Despite knowing better, the boy continued trying to get stimulation on his dick. Every time he tried thrusting in or out of the hole, he ended up fucking himself on that plug up his arse.

After the box latched home, Kevin faintly heard through the padded and sealed confines of his enclosure the sound of screws being drilled into place. That’s when he remembered seeing a waybill posted on the side of the box, though he didn't remember the specifics of the destination.

Slowly, Kevin felt himself being lifted upright and shuffled to the side. The change in position also changed the positioning of the plug in his arse.

At first, he thought he was feeling the throb of his ass around the plug, his blood pressure, pulse, or the twitching of his sphincter. But after a minute or two of silence while upright and immobile in the dark, the throbbing became a pulsing.

Then the pulsing became a thrusting.

He was inhaling to release a moan when he heard a whimpering wail. It sounded close, but deadened.

The memory hit like a truck: there were other boxes in this trailer with him.

At that moment, he began to feel mechanical fingers all along his body's erogenous zones. Stimulating him, but giving no direct pleasure to his cock. It felt like someone was pinching, pulling and gently twisting his nipples; his ass was getting an amazing workout. The “magic fingers” seemed to know every erotic hot spot on his body.

He felt the pressure of the slick latex all over his body keeping him immobile, comfortable, but otherwise in sensory deprivation but for the active stimulation at all the point that would make him horny and drip pre-cum.

Outside the crate, Brock was holding up a cell phone, its camera pointed towards the crate. Brock heard the wail emitted from the crate before the noise cancellers kicked in and he brought the phone up to his ear.

“There you go, Mr. Mortson. The last package is ready to go. All ten are in excellent shape. Yes Sir. Yes. Yes. Destination is Clan Halloran, Abyss Storage Movers, Inc in NYC. That will add another six days, are you sure? Yes, they’ll keep. Okay, Sir.”

Looking down at his own crotch before hanging up, he asked, “Sir? Any chance I’ll be let out of this infernal chastity device soon? Haven’t I earned it yet? Yes sir. Good bye.” Brock stared at the phone for a minute, pondering what his employer meant when he said “You’ve always had the key to your freedom with you, boy. Maybe someday someone will show it to you.”

Heading back to cab, he mused over his own experiences that told him the multi-function crates would handle everything their inhabitants would need, short of orgasms, for weeks.

When he was a few blocks away and the truck was stopped at a red light, Brock pulled out Kevin’s smart-phone and typed out a quick email to Kevin’s work. He detailed an out of state family emergency and that he didn’t know when he’d be able to return to work. Having sent the message, Brock turned off the phone and pulled out the battery before heading north out of town on I-35.