Gromet's PlazaMummification Stories

Lydia and Me

by Pleasewrap

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2005 - Pleasewrap - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-M; F/m; college; games; bond; mum; wrap; cocoon; captive; straps; trolley; transport; tease; denial; cons/reluct; X

Chapter One - Grand Theft

I strained and struggled for what seemed like the thousandth time, though I knew it couldn’t have been that long yet. Like all my previous attempts, the plastic wrap that encircled me held me fast, leaving no movement save the slight rocking I could manage on the table. I was almost completely encased from head to toe, save for my a few inches of skin at my neck and my member, which stood at attention, betraying a fetish I hadn’t been able to indulge in years. My captor had found that amusing and left it free, even playing with it at times during my imprisonment. 

My mind wandered again, having little else to do, and conjured up thoughts of my last (and only) girlfriend that had really shared my passion for bondage. Indeed, Lydia had been the one that introduced me to my fetish, though I suppose I always knew it existed at some level. We’d met purely by accident almost seven years ago when I was a freshman in college. I’d forgotten to move some files for one of my computer sciences classes to a server where they’d get backed up properly so I took a break from the usual Friday night revelry and headed towards the computer lab. The three beers I’d had were enough to get me at least a little bit drunk (what can I say, I’m a lightweight), but not hazy enough not to notice the girl – damn – young woman sitting at the lab assistant’s post in an otherwise empty room with a look of intense concentration on her face. 

I’d seen her before, of course. In addition to doing my course work, I’m unquestionably a nerd and loved spending some time experimenting with what we’d been learning and some of what I’d been reading in magazines and other sources. That meant I’d at least seen all of the assistants that worked in the lab, even if my moderately stunted social skills had kept me from meeting them. She was around five foot six with an attractive figure. No lingerie model, she, but enough to get my attention (granted, not difficult when you’re discussing an eighteen year old male, but she definitely qualified as pretty). Her brown hair fell just below her shoulders and seemed to be custom matched to her brown eyes. Nice proportions all around, she’d occasionally been enough of a distraction to cause me to sit where I couldn’t see her so I could concentrate better. 

(I tried to curse myself for not doing more to escape and allowing these memories to override what could be the horrible danger of the situation I was in, but the gag in my mouth turned that into little more than a grunt/groan of frustration. One of the sponge balls from the small basketball sets in the break room filled my mouth quite completely, pinning my tongue down and making intelligible communication impossible. Another struggle and my mind seemed to tell me, “remembering is more fun right now…”) 

Since my social skills aren’t the best and I know it, I’d pretty much ignored her and headed to the nearest workstation to move my files over from the “play area” where we can do damage without affecting too many others to a server that actually saw a regular backup. That took all of about five minutes, and while the copy was happening, I didn’t have much else to do, so I watched the only other person in the room. She was concentrating hard and looked frustrated, and didn’t seem to notice she was being watched. Her eyebrows seemed to be trying to pull themselves together and her brow was wrinkled with thought. It was actually a very cute look and made her seem horribly intelligent and attractive all at once. 

It must have been the beer, because just as my copy finished and I logged out, I wandered over and asked, “Need another pair of eyes?” 

She seemed surprised I was there, looked up, and exhaled heavily. 

“Well, I’m not getting anywhere and some of you Freshman have some good heads on your shoulders. Pull up a chair, I’m Lydia.” 

I didn’t need to be asked twice and we started talking through her problem. I made some suggestions, some that seem to impress her, others that didn’t, and one that actually made her laugh. The work she was doing was obviously further down the road to a comp sci major that I was, but lab assistants are almost always juniors or seniors, so that wasn’t a surprise. But even knowing that, I could see she was a good programmer. Very tight code with many explanatory comments throughout. Attention to detail like that can make coding either a misery or a joy when it came time to debug or revise. 

She latched on to a couple of ideas I threw out that didn’t work, and backed them out when they didn’t help. Then we struck gold. Not that my idea solved the problem, but it caused the program to crash in a way she hadn’t expected and the resulting errors pointed her towards the actual cause of the original problem. I laughed at how I’d managed to help and said, “Nice of me to get it to explode for you, huh?” 

The seriousness had drained out of her face and a nice smile seemed to make her glow a bit (but that still might have been the beer). As she wrote a few notes in the right section of her code, she said “Regular demolition expert, you are. You never did tell me your name and if I’m going to get you drunk for helping I’ll need to be able to call you something more than ‘Demo Man.’” 

Personally, I thought that sounded pretty good, but when an attractive woman asks me who I am, I tend to let her know. Particularly when it’s obvious we are about to spend more time together. So I let the alcohol pluck up my courage again and said, “Ray. Ray Martin.” 

(I pulled mightily up at my waist, wanting to kick myself for letting my mind wander again. My chest moved up slightly, but without much effect other than reminding me of the straps at my shoulders and elbows that held me to the folding table my mummified form lay on. Similar straps around my thighs, knees, and ankles made even rocking back and forth a fruitless effort, all of which was probably good because as clumsy as I can be I’d probably just fall the three to four feet to the floor and then just be stuck there.) 

Lydia and I hit it off that night, even though she was two years ahead of me and (attractive as she was) she could easily have gone for someone more experienced. We did get drunk, which wasn’t hard for me, and very quickly our hormones got the better of us. But this was no one night stand, it was the beginning of a long relationship. 

A few months later it was summer break, which was fine, since we lived a grand total of twenty-two miles from each other and both had managed to buy reliable used cars. It was over the summer that I got my introduction to bondage. Her folks were on vacation somewhere and her only sibling was an older brother who was already out of the house. You can imagine that we took advantage of the situation. 

We were sitting on the bed in her room, me watching television, her reading some trashy novel a friend of hers had said was hot. The cover had a woman with a bust that struck me as being too large to be good for her back, let alone her clothing bills since her breasts seemed to be ripping her blouse open from their sheer size. Her arms were behind her as some hunk in a cheap pirate costume tied her hands, implied by the length of rope that you could see in one of his hands. I might have been jealous that I wasn’t the focus of this erotic attention, but when she got to a “good” part I was the one that benefited, so I didn’t complain. I had just reached out to stroke her hair when she rolled over onto her stomach, kissed me, and said, “Tie me up and torture me.” 

I must have looked at her like she’d told me she was mad, because she laughed that delightful laugh she had and said, “No, seriously. I want to try it and my brother left a bunch of my rock climbing gear in the garage when he moved out. I want you to make me your toy to see how it feels.” 

At that moment, I did think she was nuts. Then my imagination and hormones kicked in and the possibilities in the situation started to take shape. I quietly asked here “Are you sure? I don’t want to make things weird if this doesn’t work.” 

She laughed again and said, “We’re already weird. And if it doesn’t work, maybe I’ll tie you up and punish you.” 

That really got my attention, so we trooped down to the garage to find the gear… 

(Lydia’s face suddenly seemed to be floating in front of my eyes, though the gauze pads and ace bandages made sight physically impossible. It’d been a long time since I realized how much I missed her and wished we hadn’t lost touch.) 

We’d taken turns tying each other up that weekend, our schedules mercifully clear of work. I’d been a boy scout who’d done pretty well with knots, so our first efforts were pretty good though not completely effective. We’d made it a game. If one of us got free, the other became the slave until we could escape. Much teasing, tormenting, and sex (both bound and not) followed as we both discovered how much fun it was to be both the dom and the sub. 

But it wasn’t until we were back at school that we really hit the jackpot for me. We’d acquired some vibrating toys (including one that could be strapped to my little friend to stimulate me) and had gotten quite good with the ropes. The games we’d played had changed from “when I escape” to games of chance because we’d figured out cinching and how to tie each other very effectively without cutting off circulation or causing too much discomfort. Sponges, handkerchiefs, scarves, and spongy balls had all been used as gags, held in place by bandages or ropes. Then it happened. 

I’d lost our little game of “who can throw the first 11” with the dice and thus was standing naked and waiting. Lydia had put a small refrigerator and hot plate in her room, and thus had some regular kitchen supplies lying about when she realized that all of the bandages we normally used as blindfolds and to hold in gags were pretty hopelessly dirty and sweaty. So she’d seized the plastic wrap she’d just bought and used that to wrap around my face and hold the large sponge ball in my mouth. Then she’d gotten a twinkle in her eye and said, “Hold your arms out from your sides, slave.” 

She’d then wrapped my torso from just under my armpits to my waist in the wrap, positioned my arms at my sides and ordered me to put my legs together. And thus, I was mummified for the first time. 

(My member throbbed at the memory, calling me back to my current predicament. I wondered if I’d be like this until someone happened to find me and wondered if the security company made more than one visit overnight…) 

The feeling was incredible. The wrap stretched slightly as she pulled on it and enfolded me tightly like I was receiving a firm hug over every inch of my body. She started at my shoulders, working her way down, carefully leaving my manhood exposed but without leaving much more than a hole it could poke out of. As the wrapping firmly embraced my thighs, it stood more rigid than I could ever remember, a fact that didn’t escape her notice. 

“You enjoy feeling Egyptian, do you? Well, let’s see how well this works.” 

The wrapping continued, and purely by accident she discovered that putting some tension on the wrap made it quite snug and unyielding without being uncomfortable. Maybe this was due to their experiences with ace bandages, which functioned in much the same way, but the effect was incredible. The wrap clung to itself about me, holding my limbs fast with almost no capacity for movement at all. And what little movement was available merely increased the tension elsewhere until I finally relaxed and the cocoon returned to its normal state. 

I’d enjoyed being bound – the helplessness and the magical feeling of putting yourself completely under the control of another you trust aroused erotic feelings of incredible power. This further magnified it. When bound with ropes, I was always confident that I could eventually find my way free with enough struggle and experimentation. A loop could be slipped, a knot reached, a cutting device found. It was still erotic, but not like this. Wrapped as I was, I was completely unsure of my ability to get away. And struggling only seemed to make the erotic sensations further. I’d only been bound for minutes and already I knew that this would be my favorite method of submission. 

I hadn’t realized I had closed my eyes as I tested the incomplete wrapping, but when I felt the wrap reach my ankles, I opened them and looked down. Lydia was concentrating on her task, but looked up as she completed the second wrapping about my ankles. She smiled that marvelous smile and said “Comfy?” Then she tore off what was left of the roll from my bindings and stood. 

She walked around surveying her work. “Hmmm. It seems to me that you might slip out of this with enough work. But I’ve an idea for that.” 

(I realized that unconsciously had begun to pump my hips up and down, begging anyone who might see me for attention and, ultimately, release.) 

I felt the wrap touch my back just below my right shoulder as Lydia giggled a little. “All wrapped up and it’s not even my birthday,” she said, then began adding more wrap, this time at a forty-five degree angle to the original wrappings as she moved down my body. When she reached my ankles, she twisted the wrap and wrapped it about me until she was on the opposite side of the point where the diagonal wrap had reached my ankles, then began another line up my body so that the two would form large Xs if they could clearly be seen. 

I’d thought that I was well bound before, but now I knew I’d have a great deal of trouble ever freeing myself. The diagonal wraps added stiffness up and down my body and made even slight bends of my joints more difficult. My breathing grew even heavier and I moaned into my gag, forgetting that the dormitory walls weren’t thick enough to mask the noise very well. 

Lydia giggled as she finished the roll of wrap, ending with several more twists about my chest. “Well, it seems we’ve found something that you enjoy. Maybe I should do the homework you made me ignore last night while you’re engaged.” I groaned quietly (now remembering the paper thin walls), which elicited a laugh as she lowered me onto her bed. I struggled futilely as she collected a book, notebook, and pencil, then joined me on the bed to toy with me when the mood struck her. 

Suddenly, this snapped me back to the present with a wave of sadness and a tear in my eye. I hadn’t completely realized I was in love with Lydia until our relationship had ended after her graduation. Two years apart, she needed to make her way in the world and begin life after school. While some local jobs were available, her high grades and charming personality had landed her an offer from a consulting company in their London office. The chance to see the world and gain experience from recognized leaders in the computing industry was simply too much to pass up and Lydia had passed out of my life. 

Oh, we’d tried to stay in contact, but completing my degree challenged me and required more work than my early years in school. Lydia’s work schedule frequently ran to sixty or more hours a week and being seven time zones away made remaining in contact an effort that neither of us could sustain over time. When I last heard from her, she had been posted to Australia as a part of her firm’s security systems division and promised to write when she could. That letter never arrived and I graduated myself shortly thereafter. 

Like Lydia, consulting had called to me and I’d found success as well. But unlike her, I longed for more freedom in assignments and had finally gone independent after a few years and a number of suitably impressed and supportive clients. The work was good, but the hours long. And while my social skills had improved, I still found making contact with women difficult. And when I had, none of my girlfriends had ever shown any real interest in my bondage fetish, let alone mummification. One had even thrown a drink at me when I suggested it. The only one who’d been willing to experiment was Karen, and while she enjoyed being tied herself, she didn’t find pleasure in being the dominant partner and only grudgingly (and very poorly) tied me once. 

I’d become so lonely that I even placed an ad online at a fetish site, but after a few weeks I lost my nerve. Some of the responses seemed genuine, but there were many that almost scared me in their enthusiasm to bind and tease a complete stranger. I questioned whether I could meet a real partner in this way. I’d also (stupidly, I now realized) added “Duckbills 62-Eggplants 61” to my ad, a reference to the final score of the final game my intramural basketball team had played (and won, despite having me on the team) my sophomore year. Some asked questions about it, others invented meanings. The imagination involved in some responses scared me that I might meet the wrong person well before the right one, so I pulled the ad and deleted the fake e-mail address I’d used to receive the replies. 

So I’d “made lemonade” and booked as much after hours business as I could to stash away money. Which led me to my current predicament. One of my clients was a credit servicing company, handling credit card transactions for various merchants. I’d been hired to assist them with customizing a transaction mirroring system so that it would work with their existing software and allow them to improve information sharing between the service centers they had scattered about the globe. I’d worked for them three times before, once even proposing to help them overhaul their security with a friend from college who specialized in physical security (which they decided to reject, much to my current regret). They trusted me implicitly and had issued me a badge that would provide me access to their offices at any time, day or night. 

Tonight, I’d been in the office preparing a new server and migrating data and applications from the machine it was meant to replace to test whether the process would work at the scheduled cut-over time. The office was closed, the call volumes being handled in the Philippines, so I was alone (which was fine) and the testing went quickly and well. I’d sent off an e-mail to the appropriate managers with the log files required, pointed out a few configuration changes we might want to consider, and closed telling them that I’d be taking a few days off now that things were stable. I’d been working very, very hard to make sure things would go right and now that they knew it would I could afford a break. 

I had stashed a beer in the break room fridge to help me celebrate if all went well, and I headed there now to indulge myself. I was feeling good and drank it too quickly (lightweight, remember?), particularly since my stomach was growling at me. I immediately felt a little tipsy and was about to head for the snack machine when I felt something small, cold, and metal touch my neck. 

“Stand up slowly and don’t turn towards me in any way,” said the muffled voice of the woman (I assumed from the pitch of the voice) holding the gun. I rapidly calculated the odds of successful resistance, and rapidly realized that the beer and my complete lack of knowledge of my attacker would make that foolish. I complied. 

She directed me to the first aid kit hanging on the wall, her voice muffled by something and perhaps being consciously altered to make identification difficult. I pulled out the gauze pads as instructed, then used medical tape to secure them over my eyes as a makeshift blindfold. An ace bandage followed, further sealing them to my face. Now resistance would be complete idiocy, as I could barely make out points of light at the edge of my nose. 


I’d hesitated and turned my head towards the voice at that. That earned me a jab above a kidney with the gun barrel. 

“You heard me. Get naked. I’m going to make sure you don’t cause me any trouble.” 

Again, I contemplated resistance briefly, but decided that if it was futile before, it was suicidal now. While I felt more sober, I couldn’t see to do anything useful, and couldn’t even be sure of where my attacker was. My clothing came off, piece by piece, until my stood in my underwear. When I’d stood for a moment without moving, I heard, “All of it, cutie.” 

After I was naked, my hands were ordered behind my back and a bandage (probably from the first aid kit) was tied painfully tightly about them. “Not permanent,” came the voice, which comforted me a bit. Whoever this was wasn’t interested in doing me lasting harm, but couldn’t afford me slipping my hands out of those bindings. 

That’s when I heard drawers opening and closing for a moment, followed by the sound of footsteps and the cool touch of plastic wrap on my torso. My breath sucked in hard and my old fetish betrayed me as my torso was prepared. I thought I heard a low laugh, but couldn’t be sure. 

“Shame you don’t work in a rope factory. This is gonna take some time and get pretty warm.” 

Then the wrapping began in earnest. My torso, then individual legs were done. Then my legs were forced together and wrapped snugly. I actually caught myself thinking, “She’s done this before – why’d we have to meet like this?” Then I actually said “No,” out loud and shook my head. My captor paused a moment, made a “hmmm” noise, then continued welding my legs together up to just below my hips and erection. 

It was then that the gag was introduced. The ball was one of three, and my captor had been nice enough to wrap it in the plastic first since it wasn’t the cleanest thing in creation. The ends of the wrap hung out of my mouth, and as the wrap circled my head, a hole large enough for the end of my nose was poked through. I struggled a bit at this, trying desperately to free my hands, only to feel the gun touch my stomach. I stopped at once. 

My legs useless, my attacker started at my shoulders, pulling the wrap very, very tightly. I wondered why until I thought about the position of my arms and the “permanent” comment. Obviously, my hands were going to be released and placed at my sides, which was a relief since I knew I could lie like that for a long time without circulation problems. The wrapping made breathing a bit more difficult, and then ceased as it reached my elbows. 

“Nothing funny – you’re in no shape to try something now,” came the voice. Even through the muffling of the plastic wrap about my ears, I could tell it was being disguised. Why this woman had chosen this day to steal whatever she was after (maybe the computers, but maybe the data they contained) was beyond me, but she was certainly smart enough not to take chances being identified. Of course, she’d also gotten beyond some sophisticated security systems, which indicated a good amount of intelligence. 

As the bandage came off, all I did was flex my fingers. Without the use of my legs and my arms limited to bending at the elbow, I wouldn’t stand much of a chance resisting. My somewhat sarcastic nature kicked in and I mentally mocked myself “Being unable to see won’t help much either, huh?” 

I started to move my hands to position them where I knew that circulation wouldn’t be a problem, but a hand stopped me. “Hold ‘em up. Out in front of you as straight as you can.” I complied, realizing she meant to put some wrap around my hands to thoroughly secure me (I really hoped it was a she – it was bad enough without getting the sex of my attacker wrong). As suspected, wrap went from fingers to elbows, though not too tightly, which was a relief. Once Lydia had wrapped my arms too tightly and I’d quickly started to lose circulation. Since the wrap here was mainly to hold my arms more securely, it didn’t need to be as tight as the other wrappings. 

My arms secure in their individual “sleeves,” I placed them so that they were slightly to the front of my legs, a position I’d found had further reduced circulation problems in the past. Again, I thought I heard a slight chuckle, and realized I’d positioned my arms without being ordered to do so. The wrap was positioned overlapping the previous layer to my elbows, and then continued down my body. 

I was surprised when the wrapping paused and a hand gently caressed my penis, which still stood at attention. My fetish had awoken, I realized, and now screamed in joy while my common sense told it to be quiet and that this was no time to take pleasure in the situation. The caress ended as suddenly as it had begun, the wrap was pulled snug, and another pass around my body was made. 

Again, the pause and the touch. My erection grew harder, and I realized that my love of being dominated in this way only seemed to be enhanced by the complete lack of knowledge I had of my captor and her intentions. And I was now almost certain it was a female. The touch had gently included fingernails, and they extended well beyond the fingertips that I felt. If this was a man, then he had unusually long nails. 

The wrapping continued in this manner, with a regular pause to stroke my excited member, causing me to groan into my gag and struggle as much as I could. The latter was very little now and growing less by the minute, particularly when I feared falling over onto the tile floor and doing myself some terrible injury. It was when she reached my waist that I really grew both excited and afraid, though. 

When she reached that spot, she wrapped around my erection, leaving it easily accessible and eliciting much protest from me as she did so. Bad enough that she was likely to leave me like this for someone to find, but even worse that without the friction of being fully enclosed I’d find it almost impossible to find relief. But she ignored my protests and began making a cross with the wrap, pulling my hands snugly to the front of my thighs all the while leaving me exposed to her occasional playful feelings.   

When she was finished, she said “Don’t move, I’ll be right back” and I could make out the muffled sound of footsteps as she walked somewhere, presumably out of the room. I tested my bonds as best I could and found them to be more than sufficient to the task at the moment. I was gripped tightly from nearly all angles, snug and warm in my plastic prison with only a portion of my shoulders, neck, and feet exposed to the air. I could twitch my fingers a little, which was something of a relief since that could help stave off circulation problems, but there was little else I could do. 

Footsteps sounded again, causing me to cease my explorations. Then I felt more contact on my skin and felt a stiffness as something else was added as a top layer. “Oh God, she found the pallet wrap,” I though to myself. With all the computer equipment we shipped from here to other offices, they occasionally used pallet wrap to secure items for shipping. The office manager only bought in bulk, so there were probably ten or twelve six inch rolls at the receiving area along with other necessities for shipping. I’d dreamed of being encased in this stuff more than once, so stiff and unyielding. While a good amount of store wrap could make you pretty much a statue, this stuff would finish off the job well with the added strength it possessed. 

I moaned with utter abandon now, all fearful thoughts passing out of my head. My love of encasement held sway completely at the moment and my hard-on raged both unabated and unrequited. But this time there was no playing on the part of my captor. She added two layers of the pallet wrap efficiently and effectively, then contact ceased. A scraping sound hit my ears, obviously one of the folding tables provided for the employee’s lunches being moved. I felt it touch my butt, then I was steered so that I lay down on it. 

That’s when the straps appeared, at least over my chest and elbows. She’d obviously grabbed them from shipping as well, and now used them to pin me to the table. Then I felt my feet being lifted and wrapped as well, followed by more pallet wrap. It would be a long time indeed before I went anywhere. 

She returned some attention to my erection, eliciting more moans and even some attempts at begging. I struggled mightily now, but it was well past too late for that. All I could do was rock very slightly from side to side and thrust my hips into the air in protest. Again, the low chuckle barely reached me. Then the teasing ceased and her muffled voice said, “I’m afraid I haven’t time to play now. Your rent-a-cops are due soon.” 

And then I was alone. This was both good, as I enjoyed the bondage and isolation and had experienced neither in some time, and bad, since I had no idea what would happen next or who would find me. All that could be guaranteed was that I’d be embarrassed when it happened and might need to move. Certainly, I wouldn’t be in a hurry to return to this client. I explored my bondage and found it as secure as I expected – I could pull against it and perhaps gain a millimeter or two of clearance for one limb, but the material eventually pulled me back to my helpless state, marginally out of breath from my exertions and the limitations on breathing the constriction and gag imposed. 

If I weren’t so scared, I’d have been in heaven. My mind wandered to Lydia again in between struggles, my excitement growing at the memory of her face, her smell, and her touch. And fading slightly as I occasionally cried that I’d somehow let the one woman who I knew I had loved slip away due to schedules and time zones. The gauze absorbed the tears, leaving no trace of my emotions. I was a plastic statue strapped to a table and helpless. 

Then I heard more noise, something like a wheels on a shopping cart squeaking on the floor. I wondered how long I’d been there, since the relative isolation and lack of time queues can play tricks on one’s mind regarding time. Had the security guards missed me? Had they even entered the building (a question I’d raised when I recommended the security improvements to no avail)? Had someone else come into the office so late so that they could either free me or share my fate? 

The noise stopped quite close to me and I felt the straps being loosened. As the one at my elbows and knees were released, a casual caress strayed across my penis. It was her! When she said “now” she hadn’t meant she was leaving me, she’d meant that there were other things to do before returning for me! The thought amazed and scared me. Was she planning on making me her permanent slave? Selling me to some strange group? What could she mean to do? 

She didn’t speak to betray her intentions. She merely shifted my position and stood me up again, careful to do so slowly to allow me to balance as best I could. Something colder than the floor was under my feet, possible metal. She carefully guided me into a turn to my right, aware that with my feet wrapped I’d need to move slowly or risk a nasty fall. She stopped me after a bit of turning then guided me gently back. 

That’s when I felt the metal of the handcart. She was, indeed, taking me somewhere. A large hand truck like you’d use to move a refrigerator pressed against my back, my feet on the metal “tongue” (I was sure that was the wrong word, but it was the best I could do). Then the straps reappeared, which finally allowed me to renew my struggles since they would prevent me from falling. The laugh again, followed by teasing, followed by more straps. 

And then I was moving. Through the offices and on my way to some destination, I complained and struggled as best I could. The only response was the sound of the wheels on the floor. Then I stopped. The sound of the receiving door rolling up confirmed I was indeed on a journey, causing me to redouble my efforts. Then I moved again, but this time towards the floor behind me. 

The truck landed with a thump that bothered me and bumped my head a bit. Then I realized that the hand truck had two sets of wheels and could be laid in this way and still moved. I struggled as wildly as I could, and was greeted with a hand grasping my shaft and pumping several times. I screamed in frustration and anger, all the while aware that my excitement only grew more obvious at the attention. Then the contact ceased and rolled along the floor and into the back of whatever vehicle was at the dock. The hand truck tipped at an angle as I was deposited inside as it obviously was shorter than the height of the semis that the dock was built for. 

Some activity around me reached my ears though I couldn’t tell what. Then the sound of doors closing to my side and rear as the vehicle was sealed. Time passed then another door opened and closed and a sheet or blanket or tarp was pulled over me. Then the engine started and we were off. That was when the activity around me became obvious – straps had been put around the hand truck to keep it from rolling about. Whatever her plans, she obviously didn’t want me hurt… yet. 

I struggled as we drove, without any noticeable effect. Had my fear not returned so intensely, the friction from the cover might have gotten me off and at least relieved me of that frustration, but my mind was racing. Nobody would know where I was or what had happened to me. My few days off would simply turn into an eventual missing persons report. 

Then the SUV (it had to be, and a large one like my Suburban – I was laid out in the back and doors surrounded me) slowed and stopped. Then reversed a bit and stopped again. Doors opening, more activity around me. The sounds reached me and scared the hell out of me. What exactly was going on? 

Then the cart began to move very slowly out the back of the vehicle. I panicked and struggled for all I was worth, my erection beginning to sag from terror. The voice returned by my ear very quietly – “If you do that, I might drop you and that’d be your head coming down first.” I stopped at once, annoyed with my absolute helplessness. I was lowered carefully to the ground, then stood upright and wheeled through a door. She struggled to push my weight over the threshold, but eventually succeeded. Then the door was closed and silence greeted me. 

I tried not to move for two reasons. First, panic might cause me to struggle too much and fall and I couldn’t afford that. Second, I could hear the sound of an engine and a garage door very faintly. She was parking the getaway car before returning to her prey. Then a door opening and closing and footsteps approaching. 

A hand landed gently on my penis and began gently stroking it back to an excited state. The other began unwrapping the wrap about my head slowly, almost in time with her other attentions. Once it was gone, she stopped, and removed the gauze and medical tape. I could see once again and quickly recognized my own front hall and living room. She’d taken me home! 

Standing in front of me was a woman, dressed all in dark blue clothing with a gun holstered at her belt. A ski mask covered her face and the lack of a hole for the mouth explained the slightly muffled sound. I might have spit out the gag to talk to her, but feared what she might do in return. I made a muffled grunt and stared pleadingly, though whether for an explanation or more attention I honestly couldn’t say. 

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here with you instead of with my stolen goods,” she said. I nodded slowly, almost afraid of the answer. The low laugh came again and she took a step towards me as she reached for her mask. 

“I’ve stolen exactly what I came to get,” she said as the mask cleared her face and stopped purposefully altering her voice. Recognition was instantaneous and I spit out the gag to kiss her and accept her kiss. She pulled away and smiled as she pulled out a printed copy of my old Internet ad. “Duckbills indeed.” 

Lydia had come to play.


If you've enjoyed this story, please write to the author and let them know - they may write more!
back to
mummified stories