Lydia and Me 14

Chapter 14 - What was that Tracking Number

At the very least, the chair was comfortable.  Well, that, and I knew that I wasn’t about to be sold into slavery to some latex-loving dominatrix in Bermuda.  Or Braintree, for that matter – I’d be unlikely to be lucky enough to land a prime tropical local with my luck.  Other than that, I was beginning to phase out of “enjoyment” and into “annoyance” as I sat in the back room, bound in latex and waiting for my wife.  Probably, the booze was starting to wear off a bit and the possible humiliation of being found this way by a stranger – OK, another stranger, Margaret had already fulfilled that part – was starting to gnaw at me.

So I sat in the office chair I’d been parked in, the latex straightjacket and leg binder ensuring that I wouldn’t be going anywhere and started working on not fuming or otherwise doing things to get out of the right mood.  Lydia would be sure to take good care of me, both here and when we made it home.  The discussion of a large box was a bit ominous, but…

As if on cue, I could hear the door open and the sound of two relatively hushed voices, coupled with the sound of rubber wheels on the tile floor.  All slightly muffled by the latex strip wrapped around my head to simultaneously secure the gag in my mouth and act as a blindfold.  I hmmphed and garumphed a bit, twisting as I did and nearly managing to fall out of the wheeled chair, which agreeably started sliding as I struggled.  I stopped rapidly, glad that the strip hid my face and the blush that arose as the girls giggled at me.

Lydia’s voice reached me through my embarrassment, “I’m afraid your trapped and about to be made ready for shipping, dear.  Make sure to ask for a tracking number, or I might never get you back.”

More laughter, more protestations from me to no effect, and then I heard what must have been the two of them getting things prepared.

“Cut it here?”

“No there, and all the way across.  I think this will work fine this way.  Where do you get this?  It’s huge.”

“Some suppliers only ship large orders to us, so we occasionally have them around.  Are you sure that’s what you want?  I can’t undo it…”

“Yep.  I had an inspiration in your furniture section that should keep it all safe and sound.  Damn.  I wanted one of those pillows and forgot to get it.”

“Top shelf to your left.  Don’t sweat the cost.  We had a shipment that came in with odd coloring and they’ve become ‘free samples’ for customers.”

“You’re a dear.”

The simplicity of the conversation finally got to me, and I started to laugh, which sounds awfully silly when gagged.  Lydia recognized the sound immediately and came to sit in my lap.

“Think this is humorous, do you?  Well, we’ll just have to see how long I should leave you that way before you think it isn’t funny.”

My wife has a marvelous mischievous tone that creeps into her voice when she’s playing the dominant, and it never ceases to drive me wild.  My previous frustration and anger faded to nothing, and I wished that Margaret would leave the room so that Lydia could have her way with me right now.

Sadly, she almost immediately slid off my lap and resumed her instructions.

“OK, that half in there now, then the pillow above.  Then those go in right up to here.”

“Ahhh.  I see where this is going.  Let me grab that towel.”

Rustling noises started, stopped, started again, then repeated that sequence two more times.

“That ought to be enough.  Probably time to switch Ray’s gag, Lydia.  It’ll be hard to do once he’s in.”

I again attempted verbal communication, only to be spun around in my chair to face the other direction.  Lydia’s voice was a whisper in my ear.

“Now behave while I make you presentable, OK?”

I sighed, which communicates amazing well through a gag, and nodded.

“Eyes closed and no turning around, dearest.”

As the strip around my head unwound, I decided to comply.  Now that I was again the focus of attention, I was getting back into the spirit of things and my sense of adventure was returning.  That and the fact that making Lydia angry wasn’t likely to get me the result that my libido had decided was appropriate.

My eyes were closed as the strip came off, and I obligingly opened my mouth to let the rag/towel that had been there be removed and replaced.  I immediately recognized the feel of a rubber bulb around a metal cylinder.  I was being fitted with a breather gag for whatever was to come next.  Normally, that’s kept in place with some saran wrap around the tube extending out of my mouth, but this was different.  I felt straps go behind my head and cold metal touch my skin around my lips at the tube.  A gag strap designed to accommodate the tube was tightened until secure, but not uncomfortable.  Then the bondage strip was reapplied, blinding me again and providing added security that the gag wouldn’t come out.

The chair spun again and I was facing the direction I had been before the gag had been applied.

“I’ll need some help with this.  Get over there and be ready to grab an arm.  Oh, and put the towel around that there.”

“On it,” Margaret’s muffled voice replied.  I felt the straps on the leg binder loosen at my ankles and calves, followed by the zipper sliding up to my knees.  Now I could walk, though with only limited range.

“Stand up, my slave.  Time to get you ready.”

I growled at my wife through the gag, but obeyed.  She slowly guided me, then said “Stop and turn around.  A bit more.  Good.  Now two steps back.  Hmmm.  One more.  Right there.”

I decided now would be an appropriate moment to struggle a little bit and show some degree of defiance.  Lydia laughed and pressed in close to me.  Margaret’s view must have been blocked, because her hand brushed Mr. Happy as she did, which isn’t something she’d ever do in front of someone else.

“Too late for that.  Now stay right there while we get your arms.”

Contact with me ended, replaced by the two of them gripping my arms under my shoulder and elbow.

“All right, we’re going to lower you down.  Stay on your feet as long as you can, and lean back slowly.”

I spread my feet as far as I could for some stability, and complied with Lydia’s command.  I was more than a bit curios as to what she had up her sleeve now, and didn’t bother to protest, even though I was nervous about being dropped.

“Good, good, good, slowly.  He’s going to fall now,” Margaret said.  And on cue, I did.  They caught me and steered me as I fell.  My head landed first, on what felt like an inflatable pillow.  Terry cloth touched the exposed part of my neck, though there was a slight bump from something solid underneath.  The back of my legs were in contact with something stiff, though not completely solid since it gave a bit under my weight.  And something with the sound of Styrofoam appeared to be under my shoulders and upper back.

“Right on target,” Lydia said.  “Let’s get his legs in before he ruins it.”

Hands grabbed my feet and lifted them, swinging them into what was obviously a very large box.  Packing peanuts shifted underneath me as I felt the zipper and straps done up once more, encasing my legs solidly.

“Put the rest of the divider in, would you?”

Lydia’s voice cam from the direction of my feet, and I heard Margaret move towards my head.  The towel was wrapped around my neck, loosely, and then the sound of cardboard on cardboard reached my ears with the expected muffling.

As best as I could tell, my head was now encased in some type of a cardboard stock, cut to fit my neck, with the towel providing cushioning from the edges.  As the towel was adjusted to make a somewhat snug, though not tight, fit, I heard more rustling, and felt the packing peanuts start to cover my body from the feet up to the divider that now kept my head from the rest of the box.

“I’ve got a few more bags over hear.  I think you’ll want him in pretty solid.”  Margaret’s voice receded slightly as she spoke, so she was probably going to get them.

I was surprised when Lydia’s voice reached me in a whisper.

“Bound, gagged, and about to have the box strapped closed for shipping.  Poor you.  No toys to keep you occupied and nobody able to reach you to torture you properly.”

I felt a kiss on my cheek through the bondage strip and groaned.  She giggled and continued.

“This ought to keep the peanuts from interfering with your breathing at all, and there are holes cut in the top.  I should be hear you if you safeword.”

The peanuts began to fall on my lower body again, and I struggled as much as I could.  More giggling from my wife.

“Of course, this package might just get lost in transit, so it could be a while before I get a chance to unwrap it.  Wouldn’t that be awful?  And you know the worst part?  Lydia’s shippers only provide tracking numbers to the people who are actually being shipped, so it’s difficult to trace anything.”

Another kiss on my cheek, and I heard her say to Margaret, “Can you get the straps on while I pull the Suburban up to your loading dock?  I think we’re out of saran wrap and duct tape at the house, and I want to look at a map before I go.”

As I heard the flaps cover the box and the straps being drawn about the box, I struggled.  The peanuts shifted slightly, but held me quite firmly.  The friction on my manhood was both rough and moderately pleasing at the same time.  As the straps sealed me in, I grinned in my gag and tried to calculate how long it would take to get home.

I just hoped we wouldn’t need that tracking number after all.  Particularly since she’d forgotten to actually give it to me…
 
 
 

09.08.05