I’d been looking forward to game day this weekend, as I have something special planned for my object. I built the device in my workshop last week (while it was out shoveling snow and clearing the driveway) and planned to move it in Saturday night.
Sunday morning started like most others, waking up in my comfortable bed, standing up and stretching, taking a moment to glance at the object lying on the floor; hooded with a sensory deprivation hood, wrists and ankles cuffed, and a heavy metal collar around its neck with a chain running from it to the foot of my bed.
Seeing the rise and fall of its chest, I head for the shower, taking my time to clean up and enjoy the hot water. After I’ve finished, I towel off lightly and move out to where it’s lying as it’s done all night.
I unlock the collar chain and remove the hood. If it glances at me, I barely notice as there’s much to do before the games start at noon. I lead it to the bathroom, helping it to stand in the tub and attaching the wrist cuffs to the chain in the ceiling. With its hands held high, there’s little room for it to squirm. Turning the cold water on, I grab my handled scrub brush and proceed to wash and scrub it, making sure to clean every nook and cranny thoroughly with soap and water. At least I don’t have to worry about washing its hair, as I shaved it off months ago for ease of dressing and maintenance.
Finishing up, I towel dry it and lower its arms, leading it into the main part of the house. I pull its usual meal from the cupboard and prepare it while whistling a bit. Spam, straight from the can, broken up into smaller chunks, with its vitamins and other essential meds mixed in. Setting the dish down for it to eat, I fry up a piece of sausage and toast a bagel. Before sitting down for my breakfast, I prepare two cups of coffee, one in a mug and another in a custom bottle made with a nipple modeled after my cock in silicone. We both enjoy our coffee, I enjoy my breakfast, and when we’re done I send it off to begin its chores.
As it moves into the living room to clean, it notices a new addition: a wooden coffee table, made from wood, dark stained and accented with wrought iron legs and heavy rings on either end. At a glance, it was about 8 feet long, about 20 inches wide, and about a foot deep. Its stomach flutters with the thought of being restrained on that table.
Once all its chores are done, it comes to my study and kneels, awaiting its next task. Around 10:30, I rise from my desk and tell it to rise and follow me. We move into the living room, as you suspected, and stand near the table. I tell it to stand in it’s waiting pose, and it immediately places its hands behind its neck, interlaced fingers, feet 18 inches apart, chin up and eyes following my every move, awaiting my next order.
I pop back into the study for a moment and return something it’d never yet experienced at my hands: a catheter and collection bag. I tell it to sit and then lie back on the table, knees brought to the chest and spread wide. It obeys quickly, its rarely used cunt on display. I move quickly to lubricate the tube, insert it into its urethra and inflate the balloons to hold it in place. The tube hasn’t been opened yet, though if it’s wearing this, it’s probably going to be bound for an extended time. I use some quality medical tape to secure the bag to its leg and tell it to stand, face the coffee table and resume pose. It rises quickly in anticipation of what’s to come next.
I move to the side of the table and, to its surprise, lift the top of the table off to reveal a narrow cavity inside the table itself. The lid itself is an inch thick, along with the sides, and you can tell that’s it’s quite heavy from my exertion lifting the lid off. With a glance at it standing there, I tell it to get in, with its head at this end and its legs at the other.
It climbs in, feeling the roughness of the wood compared to the stained and lacquered exterior. It notices that the cavity is just wide enough to fit its shoulders, custom made for storing His property. It also notices that its tits are a little bit higher than the lip of the box. It will definitely be a tight fit.
I arrange its limbs and body in the box, and produce a metal bar bent into a U-shape, and lower it onto its neck, hearing it click as it settles into place. It’s not tight, but it’s solid and won’t leave a lot of room to move. Similar curved bars are attached at the wrists and ankles. Compared to some of the positions it’s endured, it’s practically luxurious.
Once I have it fully arranged and settled, I unclip the catheter, as it feels its bladder drain into the bag, warm on its thigh. I slide the heavy lid back over the top of the table, scooting it over, as it hears the wood on wood sound. With a sudden drop, the lip of the table drops into the corresponding void, slamming down with a finality that causes it to flinch involuntarily. As it suspected, the heavy lid pushes down on its tits, not impeding breathing but compressing its tits enough to reinforce its utter captivity. The pitch black box, smothering its body and mind in the void and silence.
It tests the limits of its movement, finding it can wiggle somewhat, but it’s quite secure, given the narrowness of the cavity and the restraints. Suddenly a light comes out of nowhere, and it realizes that it didn’t notice a small video viewer built into the lid, now showing a bird’s eye view of the living room, empty, with the coffee table squarely in the center of the screen, couch and chairs, the entire room quite visible.
I had gone into the kitchen to grab a few things, a bowl of chips, a bottle of water, and my phone, and I sit on the couch, kicking my feet up onto the table with a thud and turning on the tv, and it realizes that it’s probably in there for the entire run of football games today, beginning at noon and running thru around 10 or 11 that night.
It begins to drift in and out, watching Me just relaxing, not even bothering to glance at the coffee table, the furniture in the middle of the room. I get up from the couch and wander out of frame, only to come back in followed by a half dozen of my friends, men and women that I’ve invited over to watch the game. At that moment, it realizes that there’s no way it’s going to be let out anytime soon, as everyone gets their drinks and making themselves comfortable. Fuck, even one of His friends sits down on the coffee table, she never knowing what lies beneath its heavy wooden surface.
Hours pass, as you watch like an unseen voyeur, the celebrations and the disappointments playing out on the screen before you. At one point between games you notice that we are moving around the coffee table, looking at it intently. Might you be revealed? Many of these people are friends from My work and don’t know about our real existence. You freak out momentarily as one of them picks the end of the coffee table up, seemingly observing the weight and construction. He drops it back down after a moment, and everyone turns their attention back to the conversation.
It notices the sun setting by the disappearance of shadows and living room lights coming on. After so many hours, the rough surface of the box is rubbing against its skin, its legs and arms and tits makes it more and more painful, but knowing that I want it to be uncomfortable in its use causes it more happiness than hurt. Especially its nipples, erect and rubbing on the lid like sandpaper.
Eventually, the party winds down and people begin to leave, and while it’s happy to serve at His pleasure it’s more than ready for release. The last person heads to the door, and I come back into the living room, moving the dishes into the kitchen (where it knows it’ll have to clean them tomorrow) and tidying up the couch cushions a bit. As it expects Me to shortly begin the process of freeing its property, I yawn and stretch, and move to the wall with the light switches, turning them all off, with the exception of one light in the center of the room, illuminating the coffee table with a soft and low light, sitting alone, in the middle of a darkened room.
