Gromet's PlazaPackaged, Encasement & Objectification Stories

Shipping Terminal

by Subdriver

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© Copyright 2004 - Subdriver - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; bond; boxed; transported; stored; toys; cons; X

By nine-thirty this morning my wife was showered and ready for her day to begin. We had discussed several possible scenarios for the day, but she did not know which one was to be her fate. She knew only that she was to be bound, gagged, and fully filled nude, then packed into a cardboard box and transported to another location for extended play. 

I began by binding her wrists in front of her, a rare deviation from my much preferred hands-behind-the-back position of choice. Having her arms in front was necessary however, as I knew from previous experiences that the box was so small that she would need to tuck her arms between her legs if the box was to be closed. I then gagged her by packing her mouth with a nerf ball, securing it in place with several yards of elastic bandage wound around her head. Extended packaging does not seem complete unless the slave is thoroughly filled and sealed. A butt plug and a dildo filled that need, and her, quite nicely. A nice, tight crotch rope made certain that her packing was held securely in place. 

Once she was nicely filled, she was ready to be packaged up. I had her sit as I tied her into a lotus position, with her wrists tied to her ankles crossed in front of her. I then lifted her into the box, placing her on her back in the container. In preparation to bind her into this position, I had draped several strands of rope across the empty box. With the rope now under her in the box, tying her into the severely folded position was easily accomplished by simply pulling the rope through itself and drawing it tightly around her. 

I then closed the box up and taped it shut. The box measured 30"x18"x12" and was an extremely tight fit. I had to force the flaps shut, securing them closed with strips of tape pulled tightly across the width of the box. Once I had the flaps held closed, I was free to begin winding tape around the entire box, across its width at the center and at each end. I then repeated the process along the length of the box, until the box was secured with nine bands of tape, each wound around the box many, many times. Escape was now impossible for her. 

I taped a shipping label to the outside of the box, addressed to some friends in another city, one hundred fifty miles away. Inside the box, she was moaning softly as I told her to whom she was now addressed. Finished, I sat back and waited. At a quarter to twelve, a mutual friend of ours arrived, and together we loaded the package into his SUV. With the back of the truck open, we stood next to the box and discussed the best way to get her to her destination. Since our friend had come over on his lunch hour, we wouldn’t be able to deliver her until later in the day, after he had left work for the day. Obviously, we reasoned loud enough for her to hear, the best method was to simply have her delivered... tomorrow. Shipping her, we reasoned, was our best option. 

So we drove her to the shipping terminal, fifteen minutes from our home. 

Once there, I waited with the package while our friend went in to get a handcart. While she certainly is not heavy, we thought that wheeling her into the terminal would accent the “cargo” theme we had going nicely. 

She didn’t really think we had taken her to a shipping terminal... until she heard the automatic doors open. Inside her box, she could hear other customers being attended to as we waited in line with our nice little package. 

Finally, it was our turn. I told the clerk that we had a hundred weight package to ship. We lifted the package onto the special hundred weight scale at the end of the counter. The clerk asked if we were shipping the package by ground or express. “Ground” was my choice. She informed us that our package would cost $85.70 to ship, and would arrive by six tomorrow evening. 

At this point, my wife was completely convinced that in moments she was going to be tossed onto a conveyor belt, on her way to spending a night sealed in a box on a loading dock, before being tossed aboard a truck and driven across the state. 

It was time to let her off the hook. I told the clerk that I only needed the shipping costs at the moment, so that I could email them to the person that had purchased the item from me on Ebay. We thanked her, and then loaded our bundle back into the truck.

* * *

She was really convinced that she was about to be shipped. She said that she could almost feel what it was going to be like, trapped folded up her box for over a day, being handled by strangers in distant locations. 

Of course, it wasn't over for her. She thought she was going to be taken to the home of some friends, 150 miles away. When we loaded her back into the truck, we didn't take her home.

After we loaded my bound, boxed up little brunette back into our friend’s SUV, I changed the label on the box to one with his address on it. This was necessary to provide his part of the tale with some legitimacy. Finished at the shipping terminal, and with his lunch hour drawing quickly to a close, he dropped me off at the house before heading back to his workplace with my packaged wife. 

What happens next, I should mention, is a result of Feline’s suggestions. Feline, my wife has you to blame, or thank, for this, as the case may be. 

Now back at work, our friend carried the box containing my wife, still bound and gagged nude inside, into his office. He explained to his coworkers that he had purchased a piece of art on Ebay for his wife, and had requested that the package be held at the terminal for pick-up to avoid his wife discovering it. He further explained that he had gone to the terminal to pick it up during lunch, and brought it into the office for safety, as he did not wish to have such a large and tempting package sitting in plain view in his truck all afternoon. The package had his address label and tracking stickers on it, and no one had any reason to doubt such an innocent story. 

With that, he placed the box on a shelf in the break room, where it remained stored alongside boxes of coffee filters and paper cups until the end of work at five. Inside the box, my wife was forced to silently endure her imprisonment as employees came and went, stopping for coffee or tea. Some who had not heard his explanation stopped to read the label on the box, sometimes shifting it on the shelf to read it better. 

A little after five he collected his parcel and, having loaded it back into the truck, headed off into rush hour traffic towards my home. When he delivered the package at a quarter of six, I informed him that I “really didn’t have room to have such a big box just sitting around on the floor”, so we stashed the box out of the way in a closet before he left. 

A short while later I retrieved the box from the closet and unpacked my tired, stiff, sore, and extremely horny wife from storage and put her to good use


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