By BootDeputy

Several days past that consisted of bondage and isolation. Every time someone came in to adjust or change his situation, Logan yearned for their touch, for their voice, any sort of interaction. He didn’t know if it was the same Man who had spoken to him when he first arrived that was manipulating him each time. Logan remembered Master Dallas implying there were two of them. He also remembered Dallas saying that Logan may never see their faces during his time with them.

The brief glance of the Man in full uniform and hood that covered his face was the closest he had to seeing another human being and it already felt like an eternity ago.

He was allowed to shower after lengths of time. This occurred in a small closet sized room that contained a single shower head. The water was always lukewarm or colder. He took this time to stretch as well after putting his skin back on. Logan started to see it that way and liked the process of putting it back on.

This time when Logan was brought out of the shower stall, he was led a further distance through the building. Logan’s excitement to be in a different place surged through him. He didn’t care if it was going to be in the worst predicament yet, all for the chance to be near another person. He was pulled into a different room this one was alive with conversation from many different people. He almost broke his own protocol by saying “Thank You Master!” but a hand covered and gripped his jaw.

“Listen here. Its only purpose here is to worship boots once I get it fixed in place. An object doesn’t speak, doesn’t express, it only serves a purpose that I allow it to have. No one is going to talk to it. No one is going to encourage or praise it. It will either worship the boots in front of it, or it won’t.”

Logan gave his head a quick nod, reveling in hearing the Man’s voice one again. To hear a room full of voices. His cock grew in his cage instantly and started to ooze out semen. Suddenly Logan got scared. He was about to cum just from being interacted with, and had to force himself to resist, but it was futile. The cum slowly pooled out into its locked rubber sheath. Logan denied himself to enjoy any moment of it, convincing himself that he didn’t just release but he did, and it redefined ‘ruined orgasm’ for him completely.

He was positioned on all fours resting his weight on some sort of furniture that cushioned his knees and stomach. Straps were pulled taunt to keep him in place.

I can’t believe I just fucked up my chastity. I can’t believe how pathetic it is to cum from something so simple as being spoken to.

The word ‘pathetic’ resonated in his mind, and his cock started to get hard again already. He had never recovered this fast and soon the mental numbness of post-release dissolved into desire again. He was grateful for it. He wanted to be able to savor every moment he had to be where he always felt he belonged; under a Man’s boots. To feel and taste the leather, the rubber, the stitching. To be able to interact with a Man through his gear.

Once the straps were fully in place, Logan felt another hood being pulled over his head. His heart rate increased as the face was covered, and two tubes poked at his nostrils. A few inches of tubing slipped into his nasal cavities. His breath quickened and exhaled sharply out of his mouth, which was then filled with a rubber lining, molding the roof, over the teeth and encasing his tongue in its own sheath. All he could taste was rubber. All he could feel was rubber.

Logan felt the hood being buckled into place at the back of his head. A steel ring locked around his neck, keeping his head in place. He struggled for a bit to regulate his breathing through the tubes. Then a hard object pressed against his face. It moved side to side slightly, enough for Logan to realize that it was the tread of a boot.

Logan probed his rubbered tongue out to worship it, but all he could taste was the rubber lining. He could feel the impressions of the tread, but it was muffled significantly. Logans heart dropped. He couldn’t connect with the boot like he used to. There was a barrier between his actions and fulfilling his desires.

Logan yelled into the gag in frustration. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. He didn’t know he could feel so isolated in a room full of Men that he wanted to worship and admire. He pulled and rocked his body against its restraints, but only for a few moments before he had to focus on maintaining a calm breathing rate.

The talking around him didn’t stop. The conversations, laughter, and the creaking of leather continued uninterrupted by his outburst, as if he was just a table with a wobbling leg. The boot tread pressed into his face again. Logan tongued it lazily, the desire almost fading away completely. Another boot rested on his back from his right.

Like I’m a coffee table. Object. Purpose.

An object wasn’t driven by desire, but a gimp, slave, boy, or any sub does. Desire fueled Logan’s purpose that was given to him by Master Dallas back at the ranch. Here, Logan was given the purpose to be a utility for Men’s boots. That should be enough to quench any fires of frustration, but it was those personal, selfish desires that contradicted his engagement now. He had to let those all go to be he was told to be. He knew that this was gonna be a hard lesson to learn.

Logan started to pour more effort into worshiping the boot treads in front of his blinded face.

No, not a face. A port for utility and service.

Logan was sent here by Officer Rick to become better, no doubt about that. He was gonna have to see himself as an object in order to get through this.

The object that formerly considered itself Logan, worshipped the boot in front of him, like his life depended on it. Like it was its only purpose, because right now it was. Nothing more than a boot-rest with a built-in tread cleaner. It worked on every corner and depression of the Mans boot. Not thinking about the why, or the who, or the how.

Once the boot was pulled back from its front port, the object was turned, as if on a lazy-susan and fixed in place for another boot to press into it and started again.

It was almost meditative for the object. Focus on here and now and let everything else go. But that got harder when its rear port was opened from the rubber suit zippers. Lubricant coated the rear hole, and it was being opened up by shafts of dense silicon. Pressure against the object’s nerves brought up ideas of pleasure and desire, a lust for a real cock inside of it. It disconnected from that and focused on the boot treads as best it could. The shafts were ribbed, bulging, and textured to press against all surface area inside of it.

Outside of the object’s head, the room had about twelve Men in uniforms engaging in conversation and entertainment. Five of them sat in a circle surrounding the object either using it for its intended purpose or watching. Some of them pushed dildos into the hole by hand, others strapped dildos against their boot treads and boot-fucked the hole as it worked away, for a few hours.

But time didn’t have a place in the object’s head, only purpose. So, when the time came for the fun to stop, the object was released from its binds and pulled out of the room quickly. Its mind was pulled from its object-state and floated in between spaces. Without an active purpose, Logan emerged from that space as he was being stored in the sleepsack again, with the invasive rubber hood still on.

Logan moaned into the rubber as he was being sealed up and rolled away on some sort of stretcher, low to the ground. He could hear and feel the topography of the floor. A sudden clash of metal linking together stabilized the stretcher. Someone, anyone, a stranger pushed the stretcher, and it rolled into a chamber that suffocated the acoustics of the room. A solid metal crash appeared behind his rubber head, and he was in silence.

The thought of being put into a mortuary storage rack ran through his head among other images; a pit, a grave, a cement hole in the ground where no one would ever find him. He moaned through the rubber lined mouth again and swallowed built up saliva, almost choking on it. His cock was hard again with desire.

…OBJECT…

The word was whispered inside Logan’s coffin/prison/storage space. Was there someone in there with him? Did he imagine it? Logan controlled his breathing and tried to be as quiet as possible. Just when he convinced himself that it was in his head, he heard it again.

…OBJECT…

This time he could hear it better. It was coming through a speaker he was pretty sure. Probably some recording on loop. The mindset he made for himself was distant without a purpose to focus on. Logan was in a room full of people not even twenty minutes ago and now it was like it never happened. Did it happen?

…OBJECT…

He felt panic rising again. He wanted to be held, to be fucked, just to be looked at with acknowledgment. He knew he wasn’t going to get it for an indefinite amount of time. It might as well be forever. His cock got hard again slipping through the retained cum that he unloaded earlier. If he moved just enough, he could fuck the chastity cage through the rubber and try to cum again. But knew he would tire himself out from his restricted breathing before he could get anything out of it.

…OBJECT…

Then he realized his purpose in this situation was storage. Logan had to see that as a purpose that would be fulfilling for him.

An object at rest, an object at rest, an object at rest…

Logan started to slip away again. Logan had to be put away for the time being as best he could to fulfill his training. This realization came with a new fear that he also lusted for; at what point, if any, would Logan be lost in his mind forever.

The object moaned in its storage space, frustrated and mindless almost simultaneously, just like any object should be.

…OBJECT…