Object Permanence – Chapter 02

By BootBoy27


Disassociating from time is easier when you can’t look at anything that measures it. But that didn’t stop me from trying by counting the number of intermissions between the panic attacks.  After adjusting to some soreness for what felt like hours, I was able to adapt to the stimuli that I was being subjected to: the tension in my ass, the restricted breathing, the restricted limbs.

The presence of smoke disappeared allowing me to put more focus on my respiratory rate before my arrival.

I only pissed about two more times, the fullness growing with each load drained from my bladder, before I felt the truck stop, and the engine turn off.

In the following silence I was trying to keep my thoughts at bay. Praying that we had finally arrived, and I would be let out of this position soon without setting myself up for emotional disaster of it being another truck stop with hours still to go.

Maybe it was the amount of focus on my breathing rate or just plain shock, but I didn’t see my predicament as an emergency at all. Just the soft panic attacks like distant storms or stampeding butterflies.

If you take enough counseling or therapy, and you take it seriously enough, you get to learn a bunch of tools for self-evaluation to help better understand your emotions and feelings. So when I embraced the storms and let myself feel them I could tell that they weren’t associated with being kidnapped, it was much deeper than that.  And it was from within that fact that the panic and anxiety grew through, and the core of it was that I was enjoying it.

* * *

There was some anxiety and panic for the object. It had been sold as property without notice or warning, of course but the feeling wasn’t overwhelming.

Sure it had fantasized about this very situation on an almost daily basis. The restricted movement and breathing. To be encased and stored away; objectified and molded. The idea to be able to get as close as possible to complete surrender. To be completely removed from the concept of choice and control. It was actually basking in that feeling. Reveling in it as it squirmed inside of its rubber tomb.

And that’s why when he heard the cover come off and the tailgate drop, the object was almost disappointed.

After shutting off the truck and taking a piss break on the tires, the two men that drove the object to the secluded large two-story house opened the truck bed and pulled it out onto a gurney. They strapped it up and wheeled it up to the house about another quarter mile up.

In the distance, one Man with a large frame is seen standing on the porch looking down the driveway. It was early morning and overcast and at this distance not much detail is discernable, other than the Man was wearing what looked like tall black boots over light blue jeans.

* * *

I felt the hard transition from being wheeled across gravel to concrete. After a distance, the straps were released, and the slow process of gear removal started when they pulled the zipper that woke me up so many hours before.

They removed me from the sack, the fist mitts, the gasmask, and the rubber suit, leaving on the hood. With the rubber off the presence of the chastity device was more apparent, as well as the plug in my ass. Which was the next thing removed, along with the tubing attached to the chastity.

I was then sprayed down with water and cleaned, inside and out. All of which was awkward and uncomfortable as the hood still disoriented me, feeling more like I was an annoying chore to deal with for the men handling me.

Someone threw me a towel and told me to wait here. I dried off and waited. I touched the back of the hood. A collage of metal and super dense rubber that was now my head.

“Yeah, that’s not coming off right now. I honestly prefer to keep my face a mystery for you as long as I can.”

I dropped my arms and stood there unsure what to expect.

“Relax, you just got here. I’m not gonna expect you to just read My mind and know what I want from you. But since you still have that hood one, you can expect to just listen and not try to speak. If I want affirmation you use your head, understood?” a deep voice crawled through the hood and into my ears. I nodded my head.

“Good, now this is the first and last conversation where I don’t refer to you as “object,” as I don’t want to overwhelm you too much in the first minute. But know that is what you truly are, an object. My object now actually. I am the Man who bought you, so keep in mind respect. It will take time, but I want a something that I can fuck with and care for and utilize, call my own. You will be many things to me, and some of those things will not be objects such as my son, my dog, my piss pig, my milking cow, my riding horse, among others depending on circumstances of how I feel and what I want. But no matter how many layers I give you, you will always be an object, utility, toy, decoration. All your potential is mine to use as I see fit. Our goal for this “relationship” is that You will not associate with the word human, or choice as best you can and I’ll encourage and care for you to be able to do that as best you can, because I care for my things,”

“But today you will have some freedom, to celebrate your last day of humanity so to speak and to get to know Us better. Which means Me and My Husband who is also your owner. He is out of town now but will be back later on for Your true inauguration of objectivity. You are as His as you are Mine and will address His desires as such. He is a bit different than Me, in that He doesn’t care about the status as much as the act of submission and surrender. But you will be better acquainted with Him later on. I will share that he is involved in a silicone lifestyle and your hole will have to adapt to His as it grows.”

* * *

I was so focused on taking in and remembering His words that I didn’t allow myself any awareness on reaction. I wanted to be able to remember everything He said and shared. Whether it was for a future escape or to be of better service I didn’t really care to answer.

“You have the next few hours to relax your body. Take advantage of that time while it’s still long.”

I heard His heavy footfalls of boots approach me. He grabbed my neck with a gloved hand and guided me forward, around two corners and into a room were the door that shut behind me was a clang of metal.

“Count to 2,000, and then you can take the hood off. Know that I will be watching every second, object. Its time as a human ends now.” He walked away. I counted eighteen footfalls that echoed into silence. From there I continued on to two 2,000.

* * *

A large built Man in His fifties walked away from the hooded object he just bought. He was about 265 pounds of bulk expressed strongly in His upper body and legs with a nicely protruding gut. It complemented his torso, with His muscular chest sticking out past it, he definitely fit the bill of the description: muscle bull. His beard was kept full grown.

He approached the men who drove the truck and handed them envelopes larger than the ones Dylan had given them.

“Thank you boys for the delivery.”

* * *

I counted until 2,250 just to be sure I didn’t skip over any numbers. I felt my way around removing the hood. The nostril tubes were about two inches in length but still felt stiff pulling them out. Saliva pooled in the depressions of the gag. The skin on my face tingled as it adjusted to the oxygen in the room.

The room itself was essentially a double bed hotel room but with less elements. No dresser, television, or windows. Even the walls were bare of any paintings that would reflect the hotels atmosphere. I guess that’s still true even now.

There was an upholstered chair, desk, a queen bed with a pillow and fresh linens, and a nightstand next to it. A lamp and a digital clock rested on top of it.

There was also a closet. Inside which there was a small assortment of gear hanging off 3 closet hangers. It was mostly rubber. A note stuck to the inside of the door caught my eye.

It read:

“OBJ027 – 0001 AJP001-5





The feeling was rising inside me again. My stomach lifted at the sensation. I don’t have a choice, and the fact that scared me is that it was densely intoxicating.

The chastity was becoming ever more apparent. I looked down at my cock being strangled in its steel cage. Completely enclosed except at the head were it birdcaged to the apex of the curve. I noticed a small node screwed there and realized that it was a urethral insert.

Anxiety crept in, though this time it was more serious. I instantly went soft in my cage, and I watched my dick stay in place rather than shrink back.  Urethral play, catheters, and sounding scared me a bit. Irrational scenarios of damage, blockage, infection, and the idea that the tube got stuck and couldn’t be removed all flooded my brain.

I don’t know this Guy at all, but if He did purchase me for that much money, I have to believe that He knows what He is doing. Having this in my cock is not going to hurt me irrationally, just like the chastity itself won’t. That was the stream of logic that helped me adapt to such a fear. That was what I will need to practice to live this sort of lifestyle… or at least until I can get out of it.

The fact that I was settling for this lifestyle instead of trying to escape it was a sign that I thought I deserve this situation. That I like it and should explore the opportunity. But the sense of denying it and fighting against it was also present. Creating a mental conflict that I was honestly enjoying. A mental turmoil greatly encouraged a desire inside me that felt deeper than submission, something more foundational. Am I really drawn toward the idea of being stripped of my identity?

These thoughts danced around me as I finished stretching my sore body. They continued as I reached for the alarm clock. The display was flashing zeros when I picked it up. I set the time and the alarm for 7 hours after midnight. I fell sleep instantly.

The alarm was loud even through the thick rubber and woke me up instantly. After I removed the hood, I turned it off. I didn’t fully get up until my face adjusted before preparing to cover it again with the gear in the closet.

It was a full rubber catsuit with gloves and socks, a pair of motocross boots with multiple straps, a thin rubber hood, and a penis gag that buckled around my head. I grabbed the hood with small, perforated eye holes. I could see enough to maneuver confidently within a small radius and started getting the rest of the gear locked on.

The gag was a chore. Filling the mouth with a thick, dense, silicone shaft and I was between sizes of the punched strap. I swallowed around it hard, and I knocked on the door.

It opened instantly. I was grabbed and guided to another part of the structure and then told to stand in place. The flooring was concrete and smooth. The lighting was low.

“Hold the arms out in front of itself.” I could hear the command clearly. Of course, much better without ten millimeters of rubber dampening it.

As soon as I held them out, a pair of sleeves were being pulled around them. I felt the friction of rubber on rubber at first but then the arms slid right on and over my shoulders. I felt it compress my chest as they zipped it up my back.

The straitjacket they put on me was about twice as thick as my base layer. Each arm was individually locked into place, one on top of the other resting just under my chest. The sleeves were then pulled back and locked into place. In terms of physical delight, the moment when a Dom locks the arms of a straitjacket is probably one of my favorites. Like they are locking you into their embrace. Even now I was feeling that, without knowing who was doing it to me.

After they set the crotch straps in place, they shoved me in the back seat of a truck, passenger side. I felt grateful that I wasn’t as sore or exhausted as I had felt. I got good rest for about 7 hours and was grateful for all of it. I’m guessing it’s been almost a full day since I was purchased. Maybe longer. I couldn’t guess how much time passed between the session with Dylan and being shipped off.

Two men entered the front of the cab. I think my Owner sat in front of me. I couldn’t make out any details though.

“Head on out if You’re ready,” My Owner told the driver and the truck started to move.

In the low glow of the truck’s interior, my owner seemed to be wearing a latex hood and other than a pair of beefy arms on either side of His wide back I couldn’t make out much detail of Him. Except for the amount of authority that radiated off Him. I was truly owned property by this Man. Fear and excitement bloomed within. They were either trying to find a way to fit together or have one submit to the other.

Exiting a garage, I was able to tell it was already dark out. I didn’t even know what day it was honestly. Pitting me further away from humanity. An object doesn’t need to be aware of time.

To be continued …

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2 thoughts on “Object Permanence – Chapter 02”

  1. Wow! This is really well written. I like the description of the object’s psychological journey. Can’t wait for more!

    1. thank you kindly! new to this so at some parts felt like to much mental space but enjoying creating this so far

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