Gromet's PlazaPackaged, Encasement & Objectification Stories


by OutCast

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© Copyright 2013 - OutCast - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/m; D/s; bond; encase; concrete; permanent; display; toys; mast; anal; climax; cons; X

Although we are not particularly close, I’ve known Simon for about ten years, I’d guess. We both move in the same BDSM circles, sharing an interest in bondage (keeping handsome men in tight, gruelling and often long-lasting bondage, arses up in the air for a good seeing-to) rather than the whips, paddles and other bits the SM crowd prefer. To my surprise, he invited me back to his place tonight to look at his latest project. And so here I am in his bedroom, looking at a tomb stone placed where the headboard of the bed should be. And it is the weirdest grave stone I have ever seen.

Made of gleaming polished rock (marble?), it is about four feet tall, 2 feet wide and a generous foot deep, with a semicircular curve along the top. For a moment I wonder whether it is meant for Simon’s own grave, until I read the engraved inscription, in gold:

Daniel Adam

13 September 1991
17 October 2011

When Still and Quiet in his Grave
Man has reached his Destiny
(William Wordsworth)

Nothing too weird about that you might say, and you’d be right, except for the phallus pointing out from the stone underneath the text. A flaccid cock-and-balls painted in flesh tones that would be lifelike if it hadn’t been for the exaggerated, unrealistic size of the thing.

“What’s with the cock? Modelled on your own?” I joke.

“Try touching it.”

I raise my eyebrows, but with a curt nod he encourages me to do as he says. I walk across the room and, as I wrap my fingers around the massive phallus, I feel the warm softness of human skin. I feel the pulsing blood as it stiffens in reaction to my touch. Shocked, I turn back towards Simon.

“There is actually someone inside … Who? How?” I am stammering in confusion and excitement.

“‘Who’ is easy: Daniel Browne, born in 1991, encased in 2011. ‘How’ is a bit more of a story: Danny came to me when he was 18 and a bit. A blond, blue-eyed whirlwind of joy. A wisp of a boy: barely five feet tall, and his slender build only emphasised that he had the most enormous manhood imaginable. ”

I turn back and stare at the now semi-rigid cock in my hand: 14 inches at the very least, and far too fat for my fingers to reach all the way around it. I let go and beg Simon to continue his story.

“He’d been with a different Master, but their interests clashed. Danny only craved hardcore bondage; while his Master looked for someone to hurt and degrade … you know the stuff I mean. Knowing that I always looked for guys to tie up seriously, he ‘gave’ Danny to me as a present.

Less than fifteen minutes after Danny entered my house, he was lying shackled and chained spread-eagled face down on the spare bed with all eight inches of my meat in his arse. He was smiling as I fucked him hard. Afterwards, I explained this was his probation period and that it would last until I decided he’d shown enough commitment. During the nights he would get ‘raped’, during the days he would just have to lie there waiting for my return from work. Legs spread and arse up invitingly, while his lovely big cock lay useless and unused underneath him. He didn’t protest at the prospect.

He didn’t object either a month later, when I added a five foot bar between his ankles, spreading his legs beyond belief. Nor did he protest against the leather hood which kept him blind for a month or two. I finally removed the shackles on his nineteenth birthday, after he had spent almost six months in that position. Six months with only a little movement, six months without cumming and astonishingly they were six months without a single complaint or moan about his treatment. From that fact I knew Danny was the perfect bondage toy for me.”

As I am sitting on the bed, listening to Simon, a knot forms in my stomach when I envisage a beautiful young man willingly chained up for months, eager to present his tight little butt to his Master every night.

“For his nineteenth birthday, I had bought my boy a special present: 100 rolls of plaster bandages. After I freed him from the chains, Danny had a long shower, a gentle stroll in the park and a nice relaxing birthday lunch in a restaurant, followed by a casting session. The end of the afternoon saw him in a plaster cast from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes. Only his face and his groin were not covered by a thick layer of plaster of Paris. That evening he lay in my bed, this one here, and I sat on top of him, straddling his rigid body. For the first time in the six months he’d been with me, I felt his monstrous rod entering my gut, while he lay motionless underneath me. For the first time in the six months he’d been with me, he was allowed to climax … and climax he did! A storm surge of cum that flooded my insides three times just in the first hour. It was a riotous night of sex, fuelled by his new, even more intense bondage position, Danny’s six months of abstinence, and pure unadulterated desire for each other’s bodies.”

“Did you make pictures of Danny in his body cast?” I ask breathlessly. “I love to see guys in plaster bondage.”

“Better still, I taped that first night. X-rated stuff of the first order, I’ll let you see it sometime.”

It hasn’t escaped Simon that I am surreptitiously rubbing my jeans and he smiles.

“The lad spent the entire 19th year of his life in my bed in that plaster cast. He never sat or stood up, of course, he never turned his head, never even moved a finger. Complete immobility for 365 long lonely days. Complete immobility for 365 long hormone-fuelled nights. When I got home he would be lying on his back, and I’d take that big pole of his up my backside. Then I would turn him over onto his front and roughly fuck him through the opening in the plaster over his arse.”

So badly do I want to experience a session like that, that I decide then and there that the next guy who submits to me will spend as much time in a body cast as I can force him to.
“It was during those long lonesome days that Danny decided that he wanted to take it all one last step further and how to do it. The ultimate bondage scenario, he called it.”

I have given up on discretion and am openly kneading my manhood with my jeans halfway down my thighs. Fortunately, Simon seems to approve of the excitement I show listening to his tale, or Danny’s tale, rather.

“I cut off the body cast on his 20th birthday. Originally, we had planned to dive straight in with the ultimate bondage, but there was too much to arrange. Materials to get, paperwork to sort out, bank accounts to close. Officially Danny has moved to Africa, so there are no awkward questions raised about his permanent disappearance …  In the end, the boy had 5 weeks of mobility before we went ahead – relative mobility, as he was cuffed to the bed at night, of course.”

Simon flicks a switch on the wall, next to the bed and turns what I took for a light dimmer switch, but nothing visibly happens.

“On the 17th of October, we were ready for the big adventure. I carefully covered Danny from head to toe in a thin layer of plastic kitchen wrap, put leather cuffs around his ankles and wrists, and, as he lay on his side on the bed, I connected his right wrist to his right ankle behind his back. After I had done the same for the left ones, his back was curved backwards and his groin was sticking out, beautifully exposing his package. I carried him to the garage – he was so light, 120 pounds perhaps – and gently lowered him in the waiting timber box. One last kiss, before he bent his neck back so far that I could superglue his lips to a short tube that was sticking through the side wall behind his head.”

I can see it all happen in my mind’s eye, while in front of my real eyes the massive cock that protrudes from the tomb stone is growing and rising as if it is equally excited by the story.

“With all the preparations finished, I slowly filled the box with concrete until there was nothing of my lover left, but his cock and balls, which I held up to avoid them getting embedded in the concrete. I stood there for ages, waiting for the material to set; time I spent imagining what Danny was going through. The thick liquid around him was very slowly turning to stone, gently making it more and more difficult to move until he was left with absolutely no freedom. When at last the concrete had set, I took apart the box, ground and polished the rough stone block for days until it shone like marble, engraved it and installed it here so that Danny will be with me every night.”

I can barely cope as I realise that Danny is not held captive in a hollow stone sacrophagus, as I had imagined, but is in fact encased in solid concrete: a hard (painfully hard?) skin tight prison that leaves him without any mobility whatsoever.

“He has virtually no contact with the world outside his stone. There is the touch to his member, of course,” Simon says, while grabbing what has become a solid meat pole of at least 15, but probably closer to 16 inches, and circling his tongue around the piss slit. “There is the breathing tube here in the top of the stone. Twice a day I insert the drinking straw of a bottle with liquid food through it, which he empties in his own time. Then there are the urine and anal catheters that run straight into the sewage pipes on the other side of the wall.”

“And finally,” Simon twists the dimmer switch on the wall all the way to the right, “there is the vibrating butt plug that I can control from here. Although you can’t tell from the outside, it is now at its top setting, wreaking havoc with Danny’s senses.”

I am not sure if it is still growing – it almost seems impossible – but the boy’s huge cock is certainly still getting harder. Despite its massive weight, it has risen to an almost perfectly vertical position, visibly shivering with penned-up tension. I grab the shaft, and it couldn’t have felt harder if it had been sculpted out of marble as I had though in the beginning.

“When Danny was in his body cast, after I used this plug at this setting, he was begging me to let him cum within five minutes, so I expect he is about ready now.”

And with the words ‘between 70 and 75 seconds should do it’ Simon covers the breathing tube with the thumb of his right hand, raising the other one to look at his watch. Time seems to stretch as I image the sensations of the young man inside the block of concrete. How he is struggling to breathe, the helplessness and total inability to move, the vibrations of the butt plug that drive him crazy. Just the thoughts are almost enough to make me cum, the actual experience is certainly enough for Danny. As 5, 6 long strands of cum fly across the bed, I hear the whistling of air drawn desperately through the breathing tube. I realise I have stopped breathing in sympathy and collapse faint on the mattress. While Danny’s tool loses some of its incredible rigidity, his – and my - breathing slowly settles.

“We’ll leave the butt plug going at max speed for a little longer,” Simon says. “He’ll be hard again in a few minutes and, now that he has just had an orgasm, he should be able to hold off the next one for a good while.”

His next question has me shaking with excitement: “Would you like to ride his arse buster?” Would I ever?!

In seconds I am naked on the bed and, while Simon uses a couple of lubed fingers to try and prepare me for the invasion, I am lathering copious amounts of lube on the freshly rising monster cock. Strangely, although I am very aware that there is a boy encased in that block of stone, I realise that I have started to view his manhood as a separate being, an organism in its own right. In fact, it almost seems that that cock is Danny, while the rest of the boy, unreachable and invisible under inches of concrete, is the appendage.

What is he thinking now? He must know he is going to be used soon, and surely he’s expecting that it is Simon who will impale himself on his rigid rod. Will he be able to tell it is someone else? Will he like it, knowing he is being shared out to other people, or will he feel abused?

God I am so hard, my cock might explode.

“He is as erect as he is going to get,” Simon says, turning down the speed of the vibrator. “Enjoy!”

I am standing on the bed with my back against the concrete slab and take a firm hold of the quivering phallus. I slide down until the head touches my hole and take a deep breath. Even just resting there, it feels so large – too large. But it has to go in, because there is absolutely no way I am going to pass on this experience. I lower myself onto Danny, grimacing as my arse is stretched around by far the thickest cock that has ever entered me. I twist and wriggle to find space inside my gut for inch after inch of man meat.

“Imagine what Danny is feeling at this moment,” Simon encourages me as I get stuck halfway down. “Every inch of his body trapped inside a block of solid concrete. His skin pushed against a rock-hard and unforgiving surface, unyielding however hard he tries to move his tortured limbs.”

I imagine it all: the total lack of movement, the rigidity of the stone around his head, limbs and trunk, the complete lack of sight and sound, but especially the incredible hardness of the concrete that encases him.

“Every bit of his body is compacted by solid rock … every bit except his manhood, Mike. That glorious cock is buried halfway down your velvety soft gut and it could be buried all the way!”

Groaning, I force my body to find space to accommodate more of Danny inside me. He deserves it, the way he is suffering inside that rock. How can a man live like that? But the boy is living like that nonetheless, and the least I can do is let him have all of me, all of my soft warm innards. I pump up and down the shaft, letting it slide in deeper with every movement; sometimes an inch, sometimes a fraction, but deeper and farther every time.

Suddenly some space opens up and I scream at the wonderful feeling of the bulbous head penetrating deep inside my gut as I glide down 4 or 5 inches in a single moment. My own manhood, which has been rigid for ages, erupts with my first orgasm of this night. It won’t be the last.

My arse has got used to the huge girth of Danny’s tool, so I am no longer in pain and I eagerly take in the final inches of cock, until my bum is pushed against the smooth concrete surface.

“Oh my God, that feels good!”

On my hands and knees I sit on the bed, stuffed beyond belief by about 16 inches of fat cock. The fat cock of a young boy who will spend the rest of his life in the most extreme bondage possible. Sitting there, it suddenly strikes me how completely motionless his dick is. Normally when I ride them, my ‘victims’ always manage to buck and thrust to get their cocks deeper into my arse, however tightly I tie them up. Not this time. No matter how much he might want to fuck me and ram his monster hard into my gut, Danny is kept immobile by the rock-solid concrete, immobile and completely dependent on me if he is going to cum again tonight.

With slow deliberate movements, I begin to ride the immense rod that runs through me. First short stabs that get longer with each motion, an inch, an inch-and-a-half, two, three inches … After several minutes I am sliding up and down 10, perhaps 12, inches of Danny’s cock with every intense tender push.

Perhaps fifteen minutes later, completely comfortable with the huge intruder up my arse, I pick up the fuck rate, driving down on it with more urgency and power, forcing more of it deeper up my backside. It is so fucking large and so fucking hard that it seems to thrust all the way up to my chest.

My mind wanders inevitably to the boy that is attached to this marvel. Is he enjoying this as much as I am? There is no way of communicating with him, but his dick seems to suggest he is. Is he enjoying his rock-hard encasement? He devised it himself, but is the reality of complete and never-ending immobility as good as the fantasy was?

I sit up and, with his cock still buried deep inside me, I rest my back against the polished concrete surface, knowing that an inch away his belly is pressed against that same cold, solid material. But while I can get away from it, his belly will still be touching this rock tonight, … and in a week’s time, … and next year. The same concrete, the same position, the same sensations every second of every hour of every day of every year, only relieved by the rewarding feeling of his rigid manhood forcing its way up a hot eager arsehole, a warm soft and welcoming man-cunt.

Back on my hands and knees, I lean forward until I can feel that the big lump of his dickhead is almost popping out. My gut screams in protest when I slam back against the grave stone, thrusting all 16 inches in with savage force. And again! I am pounding away now, and I can feel the veins on the cock inside me bulge, as it – incredibly – is swelling still further, getting more rigid and fatter as blood floods in. My own tool is as hard and big as it has ever been, and ever will be probably.

Suddenly, after a powerful thrust, Danny – the boy who doesn’t really exist anymore – cums, a flood of hot seed shooting from the pole deep in my belly. As I milk every drop from his balls with long, slowing strokes, the cum from my second orgasm lands on the sheets.

Exhausted, I let my head rest on the mattress, my cunt still pressed against the stone, and I enjoy the feeling of his tool losing its stiffness inside my gut. When it is almost unrecognisably flaccid, I crawl forward and, as he slides from me, I roll onto my back and stare at Simon.

“My God,” is the only thing I can whisper. He smiles, “you seemed to enjoy that.”

He is quiet for a few seconds before continuing, “I won’t beat about the bush. I asked you here for a reason: last month I was told by my doctor that I haven’t got long to live – cancer … 6 months, a year at most. I could carefully chip away at that stone until Danny is free, but that is not what he wanted and not what I promised him. Besides, heaven knows what state he is in after more than a year in there. I was hoping you will look after Danny when I am gone … he doesn’t need much, food twice a day, sex once a day is enough.”

I’m stunned into speechlessness. Is he offering me possession of this astonishing slab of stone? Will I get the opportunity to look at it every morning in the knowledge that inside it a young man has spent the long night in complete isolation and containment? That big cock up my arse every night, or every morning and every night, if I wish?

Simon must have mistaken my silence for doubt: “I will leave you my house and the few savings I have. Please, Mike, you’re the only person I know, who feels about extreme bondage like I do … and like Danny does. Don’t force him to give up his dream. Look after him, cherish his monster cock and make love to him.”

Of course, I will …



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