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My Plaster Box 3: Ornament

by Riptieron

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© Copyright 2010 - Riptieron - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-M; wrap; plaster; encase; stuck; caught; F/m; crate; foam; sealed; cons/reluct; X

continued from part 2 Chapter 3: Ornament

I am now sitting in the frame, while the blow dryers continue to harden the new plaster that Heather has carefully spread over my body, to fill in any gaps in the plaster, filling the frame to its maximum capacity. She has gone off now, into the house probably to plunder something to use against me. I see the new plaster at the height of my nose covering my chest, and the entire frame is level to the top. Not only would this prevent me from escape, but it would also make getting me out an arduous task. 

Heather returned with a big mirror from the hallway. She held it up above me, so that I could see the frame with me inside it. I was only a small face sticking out now; my cock was engulfed up to the tip, with only a knob of two inches sticking out above the plaster. I look to be in more trouble than when Han Solo got encased in carbonate. She put down the mirror and started to snap pictures with my digital camera, taking shots from every possible angle. 

“When are you going to get me out?” I asked earnestly. She didn’t reply. She simply moved on to the next shot, ignoring me entirely. “Are you going to get me out?” I asked again, and again, no reply. She left the garage. She came back with some rope, and a chair. She started to loop the rope thru the carabineer hanging from the ceiling in a rope. She attached the other end of the rope to the top of my frame, above my head. I was getting anxious; this project she was working on was me. 

She opened the garage door, and then outside, tied the other end of the rope to the bumper of her truck. I knew what was coming next. Slowly, she carefully lifted the frame into the upright position. I felt weird as the box moved, with me contained inside it. The complete inability to move at all and yet my weight was being transferred to a standing position. I could feel the sweat running down to my feet in a stream. 

Heather then lifted the box up a little further, lifting it off the ground, and now the frame started to turn, as it dangled in the air. The rope was tightly tied to the bumper of her truck, and I prayed that it would not break, sending me crashing down. As I turned around, I could see the garage spinning. I felt just like an ornament hanging, spinning around for everyone to see. Soon, Heather came in and stopped the frame from spinning, and then took out a couple of 2x4’s and started to secure the frame from below. I could not look down to see her working, but I knew she was making a industrial strength stand for me. This was not something that I had in mind, making such a stand would be something that could not be really useful, because I would be getting out soon, at least I hoped. 

Heather closed the garage door after making sure that the frame was properly secured in an upright position. She tested the new stand and then started making something else. She was working beside of me, so I couldn’t see what it was. It must have been two hours gone by, and she was still cutting up the 2x4’s, and drilling, nailing things together and constructing what ever it was. She made no effort to talk to me, and didn’t say a word to me as I pleaded to let me out of my prison. She had total control, and she knew it. She moved her construction closer to me, and I saw two beams crossing in front of my frame, as she slid it into position. It must be a box, to house my frame! Oh no, I thought, she is going to hide me, or something. She left the garage after screwing the frame to the platform underneath of me. I heard the truck start, and then she was gone. I waited for about an hour before she returned, and then the garage door lifted again. She brought in several large sheets of plywood. She was going to cover the box, and then I would be totally hidden. There was something very wrong with this. She was actively trying to hide me for a purpose. 

Now she started to dig at my feet at the bottom of the encasement, slowly uncovering the plaster around my feet sticking out of the top of the frame. She made a hole at the bottom, where the plastic covered the skin, and the sweat came pouring out each foot. Now the sweat was gone, I could feel the walls of the plaster more accurately. This was in her plan I could see, but at least she thought of that… 

Heather began to place the plywood near the box. She has placed them all one by one around my frame. Evidently all of the pieces had been precut at the store. She tacked the three back walls to the box, and then left the front open. Heather placed a new board to the side of my frame, and tacked it to the side wall, holding the frame in place inside the box. She is most meticulous about the construction and it worries me. It looked like she is making the box to suit a purpose of some kind. 

Next Heather brought a piece of tubing over to me, and inserted it into my mouth, and then squirted superglue under my lips, to seal it in permanently. She didn’t seem too worried about my lips being fastened to the tube. I didn’t have any way to fight her, so I figured it would be easier on me if I didn’t. She turned on a fan in the garage and set it to blow directly into the box. 

She got a bag full of goodies out of her truck and set it down next to my frame, first to come out of the bag was a large plastic drop cloth, which she draped around my entire frame, making only one hole for my breathing tube. She placed another drop cloth around the outer wall of the box. 

The second thing to come out of the bag was about 10 cans of expanding insulating foam. My heart skipped a beat at this sight. Could she be serious? She climbed up onto a chair and started squirting the foam over the top opening, down into the bottom of the box. She emptied about six cans before I saw her closing the front plywood panel onto the front of the box, and then I saw the foam rise to cover my face behind the plastic. Darkness crept in, and now I could sense that the foam was being filled to the top of the box, sealing my body, and my frame into the center of the box. 

Getting fresh air from the one inch tube, I could not hear anything, could not feel anything, and could not move at all. I heard her tacking the top onto the box, sealing me inside. I lost all sense of time, not being able to see, I lost all direction. I started to float around, unable to get a bearing on up or down. Nothing seemed right anymore. 

Meanwhile, outside of the box, Heather was greeting my roommate, and explaining to him how she was storing a package in the garage for a pickup tomorrow. 

Next Chapter: Relocation 


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