By Soxpup

My eyes itch again. This is the worst part. Parts of my body itch, and there’s nothing I can do. It seems like there’s never anything I can do anymore. Not since I’ve been put away. I don’t know how long it’s been anymore. Weeks probably, months possibly, since I last saw light. Hours since I’ve been able to move. I hate it, and I love it at the same time.

It wasn’t always this way.

A few years ago, we got married. Things were normal, if a little spicy, in the bedroom. I’ve always had a natural submissive side. He’s always had a dominant air about him. A couple years after we were married, we had one scene in particular that changed everything. He gave me a blue zentai for my birthday. He’d known that I really liked Under Armour and tight stretchy material, and the thought of me fully covered in it was too much! The lycra bodysuit clung to me like a second skin with just a mouth hole and a zipper to expose my crotch and ass. He loved the way it looked on me. I could barely see through the spandex over my eyes, but what I saw got me super hard. All my features disappeared. I became a mannequin, an object, a toy for use. He tied me down to the futon that night and had me service him. I did as I was told, and when satisfied with my mouth and hole he wordlessly got up and walked out of the room.

I couldn’t really see where he went. I could vaguely make out the ceiling through the spandex, but it was getting dark in the room – around sunset on Sunday. As the room got gradually darker, I realized that to him, I was becoming a play toy. Just property. What I wanted no longer mattered – at least for tonight. At some time during the night, I was startled back awake by his cock in my mouth.

“Suck,” he said.

So suck I did. He fucked my face, and after he shot he even used me as a urinal, something I’d never done before but took to instantly. He left without another word, or any reciprocation. I fell back asleep, hard as a rock.

It was morning when I awoke again, judging from the light in the room – early morning. I see his shadow over me as he picked my legs up and went after my hole again. I was aching for the bathroom and for release, but he ignored anything I said. Finally, after he got his nut off, I was freed and allowed to use the bathroom. We talked over breakfast about what we’d done. He said that taking away my identity in the zentai turned him on more than anything. And the idea of turning his man into an object just kept for his use was becoming a sexual obsession. He had to try it out, and it was everything he’d ever thought it would be.

He asked me how I felt about it. He reached down and felt how I felt about it. I didn’t need to say a word, but I did. I talked about how I loved the feeling and felt liberated to give myself that fully to him. Losing myself completely. I was tied down for 12 plus hours, but it only felt like two or three. I literally lost track of time.

After that night, we starting playing this scene out more often. The time frame would become longer, the situations more complex. Weekends in the zentai turned into vacations in the zentai. Eventually I was told to stay in the zentai whenever at home. I loved the feeling of being covered in the slinky spandex, I was only too happy to oblige. He started putting me away in a hall closet. We took out everything the day before and built a shelf where I could be put away. It had built-in restraints, and before long I was in the closet more often than not. Sometimes, he’d just forget about me for the entire weekend. Put away on Friday night, taken out Monday morning. I was hard the whole time, and got harder still when she told me Monday morning that he’d completely forgotten about me for about half the weekend.

I started getting new wardrobe changes. Over time, the zentai was replaced by a latex catsuit. Earplugs started to become routine. My pants included a hollow dildo over my own cock. He would ride it all the time, and I stayed hard but felt nothing. I hadn’t actually used my dick to fuck him in months at this point. Somehow, that got me even hotter. We’d been playing like this for a couple years now. Sometimes, I’d hear him bring home other men as I sat wordlessly, blankly, gagged and bound in the closet. In public, we were the perfect couple. In private, I was literally just becoming a thing to use and store.

It was a couple years ago when he stopped using my name altogether in the house. Any comments toward me were one-sentence commands. When I asked once, he said – “It’s getting hard to even remember your name these days, so what’s the point?” A few weeks after that, he geared me up after work, but told me that there would be no closet time tonight. “I have a new idea.” This was something I would learn to love, hate and most of all live with.

He opened a drawer under the bed and rolled out a board. It had a plastic frame on it with latex sheeting on it and a breathing tube. “This is a vac bed,” he said. “It literally seals you up, and this is how we’ll be putting you away sometimes.” In I went, and I heard the vacuum turn on. Everything got tighter and tighter, I was being vacuum-sealed! Finally the noise stopped, but the air didn’t come back. My only connection to the outside world was the breathing tube stuffed in my mouth. I thought I sensed him riding my dildo sheath through the vac bed. I thought I heard him say “Outstanding,” as I was rolled under the bed and the drawer shut.

At first, I was still in the closet most of the time. But over the weeks and months that followed, I was put in the vac bed. Within a year, it became my home – spending nearly every night sealed up and put away. Eventually I lost my job, and I thought this would all end. I needed to focus on finding work. My husband, a college professor, had tenure and so we weren’t in dire straits by any means. After a couple weeks, he told me to stop looking for new work. He had other plans.

The next day, there was a present for me on the bed. The same bed I hadn’t been allowed to sleep in for a year. It was a new hood. This one didn’t have eye holes, just a mouth hole. I gave my holes up for use, and then he stored me. Sealed up in the vac bed. That was the last time I really saw him – or anyone for that matter. Every so often the hood is taken off and the rubber all comes off and I’m given a nice, gentle bath. But it’s dark when he does it, and he’s wearing a face-obscuring mask when he does it.

“I don’t want you to see who owns you anymore,” he said.

I couldn’t tell you what day it is, or what month it is. I’m not even sure if it’s 2015 yet. I just know I’ve become a fucktoy. Used when needed. Holes used for servicing, or as a urinal, servicing the tricks he brings home.

“Since my husband went away,” he said, “my bed’s gotten awfully lonely.”

I try to scream that I’m right here, but there’s no sound coming from my gagged mouth and sealed body under the very bed he sleeps in. It’s been a very long time since my last orgasm, yet my hard-on never subsides. I just want more. I don’t understand why, but I need it. When I heard him say this, when I heard him act as though his husband doesn’t even exist, it put me over the edge, and I had a mind-blowing orgasm.

Now, when I’ve fulfilled his needs, he puts me away. Into the vac bed, and I hear the noise and I’m sealed right back up. Sometimes, the noise is enough to put me over the edge and give me an orgasm. Sometimes the total immobility does it for me. Sometimes, the fact that he probably doesn’t even remember my name anymore does it for me. (He refers to me as “it” or “toy” now.) But what makes me feel warm inside, what makes me happy, is knowing that I’ve given the man I love literally everything.

And he’s taken all of it. With no intention of giving it back.