© Copyright 2004 - Ripteron - Used by permission
Storycodes: Sbm; wrap; tape; plaster; encase; enclosure; stuck; toys; climax; cons; X
Me, Oh My!
New bondage is constantly in demand by every porn site in the world. I have studied porn since it started on the internet. Back in the early 80's when the internet was a baby, I sent pictures out to a friend in California, in those days it was a bit more complicated, but was better than the mail. Soon digital became the normal way to get your funk noticed, then people started getting wise and made us pay for it, and the walls went up. There was a time when sites were dedicated to sharing, not selling. This was good. I started to evolve myself in bondage during this time of sharing, and learned many things from total strangers that I corresponded with. Times were good. I had time to plan, time to do, and money to spend. I had found a new hobby, it was self bondage.
My life had no constraints, with me living alone, I did not have a problem deciding what was going to happen, and I just needed to make up my mind on what was going to happen. I played many games with myself at the receiving end of the game. I was my own slave/toy. I would fantasize that I was a little plaything of no worth to anyone. I was little more than a sex toy, an object hooked up to my own devices. I had a script that I wrote for myself, and I played the part of a prop in that play. Props don't have choices. Props don't get a vote, and props don't say no. I cast myself in the role of a prop. I would not play the lead either, that was the strangest thing about my thoughts. I gave the lead to another prop, the unseen prop.
This is where I have separated myself from the rest of my fellow bondage friends, and I relate only to my inner most self. The place where these thoughts come from, a dark creative place where I have two minds, one above the other, a dominant side and a submissive side. I plan to dominate myself, visualizing a female body struggling to break apart from the bonds of an angular, chiselled, muscle clad male dominant. Inside my head the roles bounce back and forth, till at long last I have a script ready to set in motion.
I'm Planning to Watch
My planning involves going to the hardware store to find a new wall mounted mail box, hinges, braided metal cord, and eye hooks. My conquest of the prop will begin with these things. At last I take off from work at 5:00pm sharp, rushing to get home. Today I will install my new mail box outside of my front door connected to the wall. I put the special latches to the inside of the lid, and test them several times for efficiency. Everything works so far.
Drilling the necessary holes in the wall for the mounting of the mailbox, I dry fit all the parts together and measure the distance to the basement; it is forty-seven feet. I take the spindle of cord and cut off the necessary length. I drill a large hole into the wall, and feed the cord into the wall, pushing it down towards the floor. Going to the basement, I have removed a piece of ceiling that exposes the inner wall above. I fish the line out of the wall above, pulling into the basement. Once to the basement I can tie the cord into the rest of my plans.
I get out the rest of the gear that I will need. I have worked for several days to create a platform. The platform is about four feet tall, has six legs made of four by fours, the top is plywood framed by two by fours, forming a shelf about four by eight. This shelf is where I placed the mixing materials. Plaster-O-Paris, and water the plaster powder is in a chute that is attached to a lever. The lever is on a timer triggered by the latch that controls the water. So, when the mailbox is opened, the trigger to the water opens the gate, the water drops into the chute with the plaster, triggering the timer, which in turn releases the plaster from the chute. One last detail to this part of my elaborate tinkering, the gate that releases the water, releases the water into a pipe. The pipe flows into four smaller pipes with holes predrilled, running up the sides, and buried into the two-hundred and fifty pounds of plaster held in the hopper. That is enough to effectively encase the prop.
The platform holds the plaster, and I have only to slide the box into place beneath it. I have a frame made from two by eights, which enclose a space for a human body. I put walls up on either side of cardboard, to act as a splash guard for falling plaster. I have made a special trigger switch that will be activated by the falling plaster. This switch is hooked up to a power strip with fans, and a timer. The timer runs the vibrators. I then make a trip to the local distributions center of the post office, and drop a letter addressed to myself.
Enter: The Prop
I go back up stairs to finish mounting the mailbox, and bring in the tools. I created this fantasy, and I will be the victim of it. I go into the bed room and imagine my self as the prop; I force myself to believe that this is just another one of my ordinary fantasies. All that is going to happen is a little self bondage. The dominant voice coxes my submissive side, luring me into feeling good about letting go, relaxing and forgetting about the consequences. I tell myself I have no choice, I am just a little prop in a much larger production.
I bow my head, and slowly I obediently submit, taking off my clothes. I look into the mirror and see the angry shadow of myself. I huff and shout at my weaker self, breaking him down, unrelenting. No part of the prop should be allowed to think of itself as worthy. I grind my teeth at the prop. The prop begins to roll plastic wrap over its body, and cover every part, evenly masking the areas around its crotch, pulling the wrap up and over its head, leaving one spot open, the mouth. Next the prop takes drywall mesh tape and winds the tape about its body, covering every spot until the whole of it is white with mesh, thick mesh, covering its hands, face, body, everything.
The prop gathers its materials and goes downstairs to the basement to finish its role. On the basement floor, there are four buckets of plaster, and a fifty gallon drum half full of plaster. There is a garden hose ready at the side. The little prop is having trouble seeing things in the basement; there is lots of mesh and wrap about its head. The prop is very hard working, and manages to fill the reservoir above the plaster chute with water, and get in the final position to enact the final parts of its small role.
The prop takes the first bucket of plaster and mixing it with water, starts to spread it, and work it into the mesh, all over the surface of the prop. The prop is quick and does a fast job of getting the plaster all over the body. The first bucket finished, the prop mixes the second bucket. It spreads plaster all over the props arms and shoulders. Then the prop picks up a large rubber tube, inserts it into the mouth, and then mixes the fifty gallon trashcan full of plaster, dumping the plaster into the frame, covering the first inch and a half of the framework. The prop proceeds to mix the final buckets of plaster, and spreads them onto the head and hands and feet of the props body.
The prop is tired and almost done, but there is one last thing to do. The prop slowly steps into the frame with the plaster, first sitting, and then lying down, the prop squirming a bit to spread the plaster about its back, places its hands out, spread eagle formation. The prop mashes arms into the plaster, relaxes and tries to let its body comfort itself by letting go. The props arms pull back slightly but are still engulfed by plaster on the bottom of the framed box.
The prop is now in position and is playing its role, that is what I tell myself, I am the little prop, and I am a good little prop, I only have to stay here till the end of my act, and that is soon; just stay still for the master. Stay still for thirty minutes. Just a little while longer. Good little prop. Over and over I play the role of prop, rewarding my self with the knowledge that my dominant master will be pleased, and happy with my hard work. The role is now complete.
Cue the Mailman!
Ha! I am done. I can take myself out of prop role. but, there is something not right, I am stuck. Well, more stuck than usual. I just need to get a free arm. Ow! I think I pulled a muscle! I am really, really, stuck! What is this? I am not going to get loose! My head won't move, my arms are totally frozen within a solid block of plaster, it's only about and inch and a half of plaster, with the plaster cast, and- oh god! This is permanent! I will be here till, till the mail comes. oh no! I must free myself what have I done? I try to slowly budge, so as not to strain a muscle again, but it's not any use, I am helplessly encased by this plaster surrounding me.
My inner self starts to laugh and I begin to fall into the role of prop again. This time its real, I am the prop. I have no other part, I cannot leave the place of the prop, and there is no extra, no stand in. The role is getting a curtain call, and I have a silent part. I see myself stuck in the plaster, and tell the prop that it will always be a prop, always silent with no real importance. Soon the prop will fall victim to the plot. The plot which tomorrow will reveal the mailman is playing the leading role, the star of this play.
I am breathing thru the tube, my head is cast, my body is cast and my arms and legs all- immobile. There is nothing I can do but wait. There is no choice. I try to sleep, and I cannot, I try to flex my body but the most I can do is flex the cast above the hips just a little, but not being able to move my legs, I cannot even put a crack in the cast. I try to bring myself a little pleasure, and move against the cast, to rub myself off. I grind and thrust, but it is work to just bring on an erection. There is little hope now. It must be close to morning.
Outside the plaster cast, morning comes and the sun starts to rise. The morning traffic is starting to buzz in the streets. The mailman is making his second run back to the post office to get another bundle of mail. He is intent on his work swiftly manoeuvring his truck to the mailboxes, gathering the outbound mail, leaving the post at the box. His route never changes. He pulls into the drive to my house. He gathers a few letters, addressed to the Prop, and hops down off the truck. Walking up the drive slowly he approaches the newly mounted mailbox. He places his hand on the lid, tugging slightly the lid resists. He looks at the lid and with a palm under the lip of the lid, expertly pops the lid up, with a sharp snap! He places the post in the bin and is on his way.
A thin wire winds down thru the house, and into the basement. It has pulled out the stopper on the water basin with a loud audible clank! My heart freezes as I realize the sound was the water basin being released. I stop breathing as I listen to the sound of water chugging past the basin's walls, gallons of water released with force. The downward force acting as the mixer, the tubes in the plaster spray water into the chute. Finally the chute is resting with the timer set for six minutes. The slurry of wet plaster will be released at the end of that time, pouring into the frame on top of the prop. I set the mixture thin, so that it will run freely, and spread it out neatly covering the body.
I think of the eventuality of falling plaster, the knowledge that I will have no more freedom sends me over the edge, and I cum wildly into the cast, not budging and inch. I knew that soon the vibrator on the floor will soon come to life. The minutes pass like hours, I know that I will not escape, and when the plaster falls it will be sealed. I think of all the plots that I have played, and none yet come close to the role I played in this one, as a little worthless prop.
Cling! Swoosh! Slooshoosh! The lever tripped the gate on the chute. Two-hundred pounds of plaster, mixed with the water, pours out of the chute. I feel the cold mix pound on my shell of my cast, and the plaster surrounds the exposed parts of my body. There is too much plaster to be contained by the frame, and outside of the splash guards, the plaster overflows the frame, spilling onto the floor. Only the faint out line of the head remains. A tube sticks out over the giant block of plaster. The vibrator kicks in for one minute brings up an erection from the prop, but more importantly, settling the plaster's air bubbles out, before it cures. The prop is engulfed and will be a prop forever more.
I had rented out the house to a couple of young people I met on the internet a couple of weeks ago and I told them that the new residents can have props, left behind by the previous owner.