Gromet's PlazaPackaged, Encasement & Objectification Stories


by Herbie Ham

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© Copyright 2007 - Herbie Ham - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; bond; rope; cuffs; straitjacket; boxed; tape; packaged; encased; stuck; cons; X

I sometimes wonder amongst us bondage lovers what we enjoy more, the anticipation of getting all our toys together, or the act itself.

You all know what I mean, that little thrill, the knot in your stomach as your partner lays out the leather (all those buckles clinking away so merrily) or uncoils the rope (the delightful thud as it falls onto the floor) or unwraps the first roll of the tape (oh the crinkle, crinkle and that unmistakable scent) and you know the fun is about to begin.

You know what I mean!

Do you find that even in every day life?

Walk into a hardware store for a tin of paint –and find yourself staring at the “masking tape” row for half an hour? Stopping paint spills is the last thing on your mind isn’t it!

And if you succumb –actually buy some of those shiny rolls, what fills your mind?


A Chemist isn’t safe –look at all those “therapeutic aids” –we all know how quickly one can change the original purpose of some of them in our busy little minds!

You succumbed again, and that package is sitting on the car seat beside you –Oh so innocent –and what do you feel?


Please do not mention the supermarket. What do you feel as you go through the checkout, and the 5th roll of Gladwrap is swiped through the register?


Currently for me, the obsession is boxes.

Cardboard boxes, strong, fairly small cardboard boxes, ones that I can imagine myself firmly packaged into, taped inside of, helpless and “put away”.

I need one. I want one.

Every time I drive home I find myself slowing down when I see people have put out things for the monthly council pick up –hoping to see a strong box I can swipe –preferably a lawn mower box, or a large TV box.


I do have a box at home –it's what we call a porta robe, it’s OK, but not really small enough.

When I get packed, I want to feel the sides of the box pressing in from everywhere –I want to experience the flaps being pushed down onto my body, to know that the tape being applied, sealing me inside, is going to seal me in, until I'm totally stuck.

Movement, light, and air will be restricted –and I’m going now to be “put away”.

For a long time.

I look at the box on our lounge room floor, and the ANTICIPATION is almost overwhelming.

It’s been a long journey to get this box .The hour long hunt on the internet.

The phone calls. “Do you have a box about 110 cm long, by say 50 by 50?

No –but we do have one 100 by 40 by 50.

What’s the address –I'll be right over!


The long drive across town at the end of a busy week, the hunt for the warehouse store. You buy the box –its perfect, tough, heavy, just the right size. And of course you get the heavy duty roll of cloth duct tape with it. Not the wimpy stuff. The 6 inch roll, white, heavily reinforced, and you stuff the lot into the back of the hatch.

And all the way home its there in the mirror.


You get home, and your wonderful partner smiles that smile you so love. “Planning a quiet weekend are we?” And you grin foolishly. It’s stupid, you know it is. But it's you. It’s us. It’s how we are born.


You take the box up to the garage, and lovingly almost heavily reinforce it, neatly, strips evenly spaced.

Air holes made. Small. Discreet. Adequate.

You resist “trying it out for size” You want to. But you don’t. Some how you want the cardboard prison to be pristine when it finally engulfs you. Then the wait for the opportunity, and every time you go to the garage, its there, waiting for you.


And now here she is, and the excitement is so deep you are almost shaking.

You cannot wait, you almost bounce with irritation “please, please Hurry up!" your mind screams as she fiddles with the straight jacket –your soon to be very intimate companion.

And now you are finally stepping into the box.

And as she secures the cuffs about your feet, and ropes you into the ball you are never going to be able to straighten from by yourself the anticipation rises to its fever peak.

How long!

How long!

Will I get enough air –yes you know you will –but will I?

And you know its going to be hot, and dark, and OH SO CONFINING.

And you lie down, feet hard against the boxes end, chin on chest, crown of your head also hard against the side of the box.

And then the best bit, as the flaps are pushed closed, and the light goes dim.


You strain to hear, now you can hear her pick up the roll of tape, the great tearing sound as some is pulled of.

You hold your breath. In anticipation. This is it. All of it has lead to this. You hunted for this prison. You travelled to pick it up.

You paid good money for it. You even asked her to seal you into it.

And in a moments time all those choices will be taken away from you. All the choices, any choices will be taken away from you.

You are about to become a package.

A totally helpless package.

The tape is very loud as it plunges you into darkness, as she bumps the box, matching your reinforcements, the tape ensuring no escape.

And already the box seems stuffy.

“There you go dear, all done, I’m off to the shops, do you think you will be able to get out?”

An experimental push.


“Umm how long am I going to be kept today Honey?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe until tomorrow, I promise I'll give you some fun by then, bye!”

And she leaves. Leaves you in silence.  Packaged, helpless, already uncomfortable.

Horny as hell.

But the words ring in your mind, begin to do their work.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe until tomorrow, I promise I’ll give you some fun by then, bye!”





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