© Copyright 2007 - Subdriver - Used by permission
Storycodes: Sbf; M/f; bond; packed; boxed; sold; toys; cons; X
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the public address system crackled, “It is nine o’clock. The store is now closing. Thank you for shopping at Richfield’s.”
Kristin had begun closing out her register a few minutes earlier. Monday night shoppers in housewares were few, and the second floor department had been void of customers for the last forty-five minutes. Finished with her tally, she gathered her night’s proceeds and register slips into a deposit envelope and hurried off with it to gift wrap. The gift wrap counter was a short walk across the second floor from Kristin’s department, but with her feet throbbing in her heels, the short jaunt seemed a test of her endurance. Kristin had regretted her decision to wear three-inch heels for an eight hour shift on the sales floor, but the strappy suede pumps accented her calves and her long, snug brown leather skirt so nicely she couldn’t resist.
Kristin turned in her day’s receipts and signed the log. Carol, the forty-something blonde at gift wrap accepted the envelope from Kristin. Kristin watched as Carol turned and bent over, placing the envelope in a box on the floor.
‘For a woman her age,’ Kristin thought, ‘she’s got a great body.’ She smiled, continuing her thought. ‘I’d like to lick it all over.’
“Thanks.” Carol smiled. “Have a good night.”
“Thank you.” Kristin was beaming with her dirty little thought. “I will.”
The walk back to her register seemed shorter. There was more spring in her steps, a more swing in her hips as she strutted along, thinking about Carol and then about the evening she had been waiting for all day. The pain in her feet was forgotten. Back at her register, Kristin typed in her four digit associate number and clocked out, then unlocked the cabinet beneath the register to retrieve her purse. She bent over the way she had been taught; legs straight, bending way over at the hips, her ass arched up invitingly. Her skirt slid across her bottom.
Beneath her skirt, a narrow leather strap snugged her dildo and butt plug firmly into place. Kristin stood motionless, her soft brown hair dangling past her face, breathing softly through parted lips, enjoying the moment. Happy, she stood up, brushing her hair back off her shoulders. She slung her purse over her shoulder, tugged her bulky sweater down a bit to hide the waist of her chastity belt, then turned to check herself in a mirrored display. She twisted one way, then the other. Nothing was showing. Her sweater revealed no lines, bumps, or buckles that might give a hint to what was strapped beneath her clothing. She was just an average sales associate, twenty-two, pretty, trim, five-foot-four, one hundred twelve pounds, brown hair and brown eyes, attractively dressed and adorned with her little gold name tag.
Ready to go home at closing. Ready to cross the dark parking lot to her car. Ready for rough hands to grab her, to pull her into some dark corner, to strip and truss and use her for hours upon hours, leaving her gagged and bound helpless and naked when they were done.
“Ready.” she smiled.
The escalators were stopped at closing. Her heels clicked along the slotted metal as she made her way down the stilled device. The dildo worked nicely with each step. Crossing the first floor, she brushed through racks of apparel as she made her way towards the associate exit. Growing excited and nervous now, she scanned the empty sales floor for other associates on their way out. Satisfied that she was alone momentarily, she veered towards the restrooms, trying her best to look purposeful, rather than suspicious, should anyone she missed be watching.
‘Everything’s normal. Just a normal employee going to the bathroom before going home.’ she told herself. Her palm thumped the men’s room door open. ‘Just a normal girl going to the men’s room.’
Alone in the bathroom, she collapsed against the door, wedging it shut with her weight. Kristin sighed with relief. She listened closely as women’s voices passed by. Suddenly, she became aware of the louvers low on the door. Alarmed that her legs might be seen, she eased her weight from the door and carefully stepped away. She was in the men’s room lounge, an antechamber to the bathroom. The lounge was panelled with dark wood and lit with a warm glow from glass sconces. A fat leather couch, worn and comfortable with age sat flanked by poorly polished end tables and ashtrays from another era. A cheap print of Vermeer’s Young Woman With A Water Jug adorned one wall.
Kristin placed her purse on the couch before pushing her way through the next door and into the bathroom. She walked softly, stepping careful and deliberate as she checked each stall for occupants. Certain that she was alone, she hurried back to the lounge, nervously fumbling to unbutton her skirt as she went. Returning to the lounge, she stood frozen, holding her breath, waiting for the sound of the door behind her and the echoes of her footfalls to pass. There was nothing but her heart beating in her chest. Placing her thumbs in her waistband she wriggled her tight skirt over her hips and down to the floor. She neatly folded her skirt and placed it on the couch. Gently she smoothed out the wrinkles on the garment, pressing it into a flat little square on the cushion. Slowly she pulled her sweater over her head. Kristin tossed her hair back over her shoulders and, arms still in the sleeves of her sweater, stood silent, again listening for a sign of someone’s approach. Content now that she was alone, she finished removing her sweater, placing it neatly folded atop her skirt. Kristin leaned way over as before, carefully straightening her clothes into a tidy little stack.
Kristin was now naked, save for her chastity belt, heels, and five dollar thigh-highs, in the men’s room of a department store. Kristin seated herself on the far end of the couch, an arm’s length from her clothing and purse. The cold leather cushion billowed around her naked flesh. She moaned as her weight and the tension on her strap forced the plug and dildo into her deeper. Trembling now, she hurried to pull off her shoes and cheap stockings, leaving her sitting naked and alone where she most certainly shouldn’t be. Kristin folded her stockings, shifting sideways to place them with her clothes. She arranged her shoes side by side on the floor in front of her neat little pile. Kristin stood and returned to her purse, leaning over, riffling the contents. From her purse she pulled a leather collar, two pairs of handcuffs and a shiny red ball gag on a dull leather strap. She clenched the handcuffs in her hand, silencing the clanking metal with her grip. Kristin sneaked back into the bathroom, tightly clutching her toys.
She dropped her restraints in a tangled pile on the bathroom counter, hurrying to sort them and put them on before she thought too much about what she was doing. First she buckled her collar around her neck, centering the D-ring beneath her chin. She opened her mouth wide and seated the fat red ball between her teeth, pulling the strap tight before backing it off one notch. She straightened her hair, pausing to preen in the mirror. She slipped her hands behind her back and studied her reflection, thinking about where she was, how she was, and what a man would do if he found her like this. Anxious and happy, she collected her handcuffs and picked out a spot in front of a urinal. Without hesitation, she locked the metal cuffs around her ankles. Steadying herself she slowly knelt on the cold tile floor, folding her legs beneath her, bringing her ass to rest on her heels. Kristin locked one cuff around her left wrist. She held the last open cuff in her left hand and slipped it behind her back. Using both hands, she worked the cuff beneath the crotch strap of her chastity belt before locking her right wrist inside. She heard the metal click of the mechanism before she felt any sense of restraint. Kristin wriggled her right wrist for a moment, testing her bonds. Committing herself further, she squeezed the manacle around her right wrist, making it ratchet tight.
She was beyond the point of no return.
She did not have the keys.
She was naked, gagged and bound in a men’s room, where only men would find her. Her handcuffs were pinned behind her by the crotch strap. She could not reach the gag, to pull it from her mouth. While she could hobble to the other room, and most likely work her way into her skirt and shoes, she could not pull her sweater on. Clothed or not, she almost certainly could not hobble out of the store and across the parking lot to her car unnoticed. Even so, sitting in her car, without keys to her cuffs and no way to work her hands in front of her, she couldn’t drive home, and could only wait there to be discovered. Trapped, Kristin closed her eyes and waited.
Drool bubbled from around her ball gag, running down her chin, dripping onto her thighs. She drifted into fantasy. She wished she had been dragged in here. She wanted her clothing to be torn from her body and left in useless shreds on the floor. She wanted to be roped tight, bent over, and used. Finished, they would pack her mouth with bits of her clothing, rope her bent over, and leave her helpless, her freshly used ass upturned and waiting for the next man and the next man and the next.
The door opening in the lounge brought her back to reality. She heard the footsteps pause as he checked her belongings. The bathroom door opened and swung closed. The footfalls grew nearer. She did not open her eyes. As she was, it did not matter who had found her.
It was Eric, the Loss Prevention supervisor. It had to be. He was the last man out, responsible for seeing the associates out, for locking up the store and setting the alarms. Without looking, she knew it was Eric. She could feel his presence, feel his gaze surveying his find. He knelt beside her, cupping her face in his hand. He wiped some drool from her chin.
“Been here long?”
She shrugged an answer. He knew without asking. She clocked out at nine-fifteen. He’d finished his audits and his coffee at eleven, then made his way to the bathroom. He put his hand on her back and nudged her face forward to the cold floor. Fumbling with his key ring, he leaned over and unlocked her wrists. Clutching her belt with one hand, he guided her onto her hands and knees. He released her ankles. Her weight resting on her shackled feet left deep red gouges pressed into her flesh. He rubbed one ankle, then the other, before reaching under her tummy and unbuckling the belt. He pulled the strap up through her legs, lifted the belt from her body and dropped it to the floor. Kneeling beside her, he braced himself with his left hand on her upturned ass while he searched for the dildo with his right. The plastic was sticky and wet and buried deep inside her. She moaned heavily into her gag as he twisted the dildo slowly out. Eric was less gentle with her plug, hooking his fingers around it and pulling it out. She gasped as the plug came free with a long, wet, sucking ‘pop’. Her shoulders drooped. Her entire body slackened. Streams of saliva poured from her gag.
“Go pee,” he ordered, “it’s the last chance you’ll get.”
Obediently, she stood and scurried into a stall. Kristin knew she was in for a long, brutal night. She and Eric had been quietly dating for months. They had been part of a gaggle of employees that ventured out drinking Fridays after work. Conversation and flirting led to their dating. Whispered fantasies and hushed confessions in dark rooms led to her being kept hog tied in his backyard shed. She liked being roped and tossed into his tin shed, stored along with the garden tools for future use. She liked being led or carried out of his house naked and bound. She liked being caught, tied tight and taken. The chance that she might be seen or discovered excited her more.
Finished, Kristin stepped out of the stall. Eric snapped a leash to her collar and led her back to the lounge. He pushed her first to her knees, then face down onto the couch, leaving her round bottom raised up and ready. Instinctively, she crossed her wrists behind her back and waited. Her wait was brief. Eric pulled a length of rope from a satchel he’d brought and left by the couch. He repositioned her hands palm-to-palm and tied them behind her, coiling rope around her wrists fast and tight. He pulled another bundle of rope from the bag, uncoiling it with a flick of his wrist. He looped the rope around her arms and pulled it tight, drawing her elbows smoothly together.
Her arms were useless to her, welded together by yards of strong rope. He took a length of cord left from her wrists and, stretching it up to her elbows, knotted it there. The last knot for her wrists was now far from the reach of her prying fingers. She was his now, and she knew it. Whatever he wanted, he would do with her. Whatever he did, for her, gagged helpless, was hers to take.
Eric caressed her round bottom, slowly working his hands deep between her legs, kneading the soft folds of her hot, wet flesh. He spread her lips wide. Her juices oozed out in thick, clear rivulets, pooling first, then dripping in long syrupy streams to the floor. Eric held the dildo beneath her, slowly twirling it, collecting her juices like honey. Kristin moaned into her gag as he slid the plastic inside her. Her short gasps and moans became rhythmic, matched to the thrusts of the phallus. Finished, he packed the dildo firmly in place.
Brushing her hair aside, he unbuckled her gag and tightened it, first one notch, then two. “One hole left!” he whispered. Lifting her head by her hair, he produced a new butt plug, larger than the first. He held the plug inches beneath her gag. “Get it wet.” He told her. The plug looked huge. Kristin struggled desperately to pump drool past her gag, to lubricate the plug with as much thick, wet spit as she could before he packed it away.
Kristin winced at the mere thought of another fat plug being forced into her ass, tender and sore from hours of her self-abuse. Her face dropped into the cushion as he released her hair from his grasp. Kristin could feel the cold tip of the plug probing her hole. The plug began to slide in, then met resistance from her dry, sore flesh. Eric backed off the plug, then with one swift, strong motion shoved it in. Kristin screamed into her gag. She moaned and writhed while he twisted it further, cruelly seating it in.
“Nice and full.” Eric patted her ass. He quickly looped a rope around her waist, drawing its length up through her crotch to her wrists. Planting one foot on her ass, he pulled the cord tight and knotted it off, roping her packing firmly in place. Pulling her to her knees, he began wrapping her torso in rope, crisscrossing her pert breasts in a figure eight, over and under, reducing them to almond shaped mounds of flesh swollen between ropes. He tied more rope around her waist, winding yard after yard across her belly, each loop anchoring her forearms against her back. Eric inspected his work. Her upper body was securely trussed. Only her legs remained unfettered, as they would for a while still.
Collecting his bag and her leash, Eric pulled Kristin to her feet and led her out onto the deserted sales floor. Kristin was awash with excitement. She was bound and gagged nude in a public place. Kristin and Eric had played in the store after hours before, but only in storerooms and closets. He had never taken her out on the floor. Even with the store closed, her mind was awash with fantasies of customers and co-workers seeing her here, like this. She imagined other associates, women she lusted for, shocked, leering at her, tantalized by the possibilities, discussing her uses. Perhaps Carol would sashay up to her, wriggling and jiggling in her short heels and snug dress. She imagined Carol would spin her around, spreading her, inspecting her, checking out her goods.
She was led up the escalator to the second floor, back into housewares. “Where is he taking me?” she wondered. She knew the basic plan for this evening: leave her naked and bound, hidden away in the store until tomorrow night. Tuesday and Wednesday were her days off, so she would not be missed. “But where on two?” Kristin considered the options. The fitting rooms and bathrooms where all on the first floor. There weren’t any display cabinets in housewares suitable for her storage. Larger appliances, like microwaves and rotisseries were stacked in the aisles, with display models arranged on the stacks. Toasters, blenders, and other small appliances were pleasingly arranged on tall displays, with merchandise stocked on shelves underneath.
He led her into kitchen appliances, to an aisle between stacks of microwave and convection ovens. He ordered her to sit, legs stretched in front of her. Eric began binding her legs, coiling and cinching rope around her ankles and knees. Planting his knee on her back, he forced her torso down against her legs, then quickly wrapped her in ropes, lashing her chest tight to her knees. Rolling her onto her side, he tied a rope to her ankles, then pulled it along the crack of her ass to her wrists. He threaded the rope between her wrists and, pulling it tight, drew her heels firmly against her thighs, trapping her in a ball of flesh.
Kristin was now a strictly trussed bundle of babe. There was absolutely nothing she could do. She could not move, she could not struggle. She could barely twitch. Kristin lay on the floor, her face mired in a puddle of drool, watching as Eric took a box from the display. Opening the box, he lifted a big convection oven from the carton. The oven was one of the largest appliances they offered, nearly thirty inches across and a foot and a half square. Kristin watched as Eric emptied the box of various manuals, power cords, and Styrofoam packing. Kristin now knew where she was going, she just couldn’t believe it.
Eric lifted her easily, gently lowering the naked little bundle into the box. He placed her in first on her knees, then thinking better of it, lifted her out and laid her back in on her right side. Eric brushed the hair from her face, tucking her brown tresses behind her neck. Trussed as she was, Kristin fit snugly in the carton. She wriggled and squirmed, adjusting herself as best she could. She tucked her chin in her knees and curled her toes into a corner. The soft curves of her ass flattened against one wall of the carton. Eric patted her round little bottom.
“Packed and sealed, all ready for sale. This is it for you, Babe.” He smiled, “Bye-bye.”
“Mmmmph. Mmm-mmph.” Spit gurgled around the fat ball strapped in her mouth. Kristin could only watch as the flaps closed over her. The light overhead narrowed first to a sliver, then it was gone, replaced by the dark. She heard the muffled sound of tape being torn from a reel. The flaps pressed down against her shoulder as the tape was stretched taught across the box, sealing her in. There remained only the dusty smell of new cardboard. Cool at first, the cardboard soon warmed to her flesh. Outside her corrugated prison she could hear movement. Eric, circling her, assessing his handiwork, gazing at her, seeing more than an appliance box.
Eric carried the box back to the display. Vertigo swept over Kristin as she swung through the dark. She felt herself rising, drifting, as if in an elevator gone awry. She landed, her carton bumping on and against something new. She felt herself being nudged, first one way, then back, as her carton was adjusted in the aisle stack. The rattling of metal and glass brought with it a new feeling, of weight being set atop her box. The oven from the carton, she guessed, being displayed on its former box. More rustling outside, then something new, something else lightweight placed on her lid. ‘A sign,’ she thought, ‘because merchandise should be displayed with a price.’
Gathering his bag and the loose things from the box, Eric paused to study the display, admiring his work. It was a staircase stack of six boxes and a shiny new oven, all quality merchandise, all priced to sell. One box on the second row appeared erotic somehow. It seemed almost radiant as it sat there waiting to be sold. “Good night, Babe. Have fun.” he said, walking off, trailing his hand the length of the box.
A while later she heard circuits trip. Eric was downstairs, shutting off the lights as he left.
Kristin was alone.
‘Stripped,’ she thought, reciting words that described how she felt, how she was now.
‘Roped...plugged...filled...sealed...packaged...’ The words became ecstasy. She could feel them, taste them.
Alone in the dark, they were all that were real.
‘Displayed...merchandise...’ She drifted off to sleep.
‘Ready, waiting...to be bought and sold...’
Kristin awoke to the sound of women’s voices, distant and muffled. She heard laughing, counting, metal rattling, change jingling, all interspersed with faint electronic ‘beeps.’ Some associates were here, counting their registers. It was morning. She had slept through their arrival. Her jaw ached, her shoulders throbbed, and her neck was painfully stiff. Very, very carefully, quietly, Kristin tried shifting her weight and stretching her neck. Packed in her carton, she could find little relief.
“Richfield associates,” the public address system announced, “it is nine o’clock. The store is now open.”
‘Show time.’ Kristin thought.
She pondered her plight. ‘What if someone buys me?’ She smirked at the thought. ‘Not likely.’ She recalled Eric’s marketing choice. She was packed and displayed as a convection oven. ‘He chose that deliberately, not just for the size of the box.’ She knew that some of the microwaves, displayed a few feet away, came in an equally large box. But the microwaves sold steadily. The convection ovens did not. There were six stacked in the aisle, including her, and they had been there for months. They were pricey, one hundred forty-nine dollars, and they weren’t on sale today. ‘Today is Tuesday.’ Kristin reminded herself. ‘The sale starts on Thursday. No one shops at Richfield’s unless there’s a sale.’ Feeling safe and content, she settled in, ready to enjoy her day off.
Crammed in her dark, tiny package, Kristin grew very aware of her surroundings and herself. The box had taken on a new scent, a subtle, slightly sweet, musky blend of flesh, sweat, and sex. Inhaling deeply, she could just catch the smell of wet rubber, from the big ball she had willingly strapped in her own mouth. She felt every rope, every braid of the cord wrapped around her, holding her tight. Aroused, she felt her juices well around her dildo and drip, becoming a warm, slow trickle down her thigh. Time passed with few markers. People walked by, laughing, shopping, talking about gossip and lunch. The associates were oblivious to her as they went about cleaning, changing signs, and straightening displays. ‘Ironic,’ she thought, ‘not much really happens to a naked girl in a box.’ She listened as footfalls and voices grew near.
Another associate, Vicky, was approaching with a customer. They stopped next to her. They were looking at bread machines, displayed facing her aisle stack. Vicky was explaining their nuances, timers, a dough setting, one and a half pound capacity or two. The customer was a woman. She sounded older. “They’re not on sale today?” she asked.
“The sale begins Thursday.” Vicky explained. “But you’re guaranteed the lowest price for ten days. If you purchase one now, you can bring back your receipt then for the discount.”
“I don’t want to mess with it.” The lady was grumbling. “I’ll just come back for it later.”
‘Meaning,’ Kristin thought, trying to smile, ‘she’ll go down the street and get it cheaper today.’ Kristin listened as the lady toddled off. ‘No one,’ she reminded herself, ‘shops at Richfield’s unless there’s a sale.’
Vicky remained in the aisle for a moment. Suddenly, the little door of the oven atop Kristin’s box rattled open as Vicky began to straighten the appliance. Kristin held her breath, listening as Vicky fussed with the door, rack and broiler tray. The door rattled closed. ‘Vicky,’ Kristin recalled, ‘is a babe.’ She was a sensuous vision with curls of soft red hair framing her face, a narrow waist, ripe, full breasts, and a round, luscious bottom that Kristin wanted to nibble and lick. Kristin liked working with Vicky. She liked to watch her walk, jiggle, bend and twist. Kristin studied the sound of her footsteps. ‘She’s wearing Cuban heels.’ She guessed. ‘And probably those smooth, really tight pants.’ Kristin felt Vicky’s hand on the carton, near her bottom, nudging her box. Vicky’s palm was separated from Kristin’s naked, plugged ass by just a thin sheet of cardboard. Kristin tried not to moan with delight.
New footfalls approached, stubby heels, walking fast. She stopped next to Vicky. The woman spoke. It was Carol, shopping for a gift.
“These are nice. How about these?”
Kristin froze. She was looking at the convection ovens. She was shopping in her stack.
“It has a top mounted broiler and oven settings to four hundred fifty degrees.” Vicky explained, “It has a digital timer, soft-touch keypad, and a baked enamel finish. It comes complete with roasting rack, broiler tray and a bread pan.”
‘It has some hidden features, too.’ Kristin thought.
‘Legs up to my ass, and three holes...no waiting!’ She tried to joke with herself, to no avail. Fantasies aside, Kristin knew this was serious. She was terrified she might really be discovered.
“Does it need a two-twenty outlet?” Carol asked.
“On sale today?”
“No, the sale begins Thursday.”
Kristin sighed. She was safe. It was Tuesday. ‘No one shops at Richfield’s unless there’s a sale.’ She felt Carol’s hands gently tracing the edges of her box.
“Hmmmm....” Carol paused, “I need this tonight.”
“You’re guaranteed the lowest price for ten days.” Vicky explained. “If you purchase one now, you can bring back your receipt Thursday for the discount.”
‘No!’ Kristin was screaming in her head. ‘No, no no, no no!’ Perhaps if she screamed loud enough in her mind, she could influence her, stop Carol somehow.
“I’ll take it.”
‘Noooooooooo...’ Kristin grimaced. She tried to stay calm. ‘There are six boxes in this stack,’ she assured herself. ‘This one has a display on top. She won’t want to move it. She won’t take this one.’
Kristin’s heart sank as the weight was lifted from atop her box. She felt Carol’s hands gliding over her carton.
“I want this one.”
“Will that be on your Richfield’s charge?”
“Of course.” Carol plopped her purse down on the carton. A dull rumble filled the box as she rummaged for her card. “Here you go.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right back with your receipt.”
Carol watched intently as Vicky’s little bottom wriggled out of sight. Carol continued her slow caress of the carton, gazing at it, waiting to take home what she’d bought. She glanced around the sales floor. Alone for a moment, she leaned towards the carton, bending at the hips, arching her ass up invitingly as she lowered her face close to the box.
Carol smiled knowingly and whispered, “I want you for tonight.”