pretty older lady asks me for my address to order me food i say okayyy yes ma’am :3and next thing i know im gagged in her trunk on my way to my new forever home
whumpee who is so used to being hurt that their mind wanders whenever it happens. not dissociation just- thinking about the chores they still have to do. prioritising.
listing the tasks they won't be able to do once whumper is done with them. the ones they can't afford not to do. thinking about the cleanup - they'll have to stay a bit, to cry and whimper and be pathetic for a while ecause that's what whumper expects, but also, that carpet is dead - and them with it - if whumpee doesn't get started NOW.
planning their route: straight to the bathroom to get the products, the sheets into the washing machine and then straight to scrubbing.
fine as long as whumper doesn't decide to stomp on their hand. or to ruin their ankle again.
do not underestimate the power of getting beaten til you cry. in fact, go get beaten til you cry. it'll make you feel better. it'll let you have feelings you need to feel. get beaten til you cry.
Idly Suck On It Between a Girl's Thighs Because You Just Enjoy It So Much Tuesday? Casually and By Default Settle Down In a Girl's Lap and Satisfy Your Oral Fixation Tuesday? *pats thigh enthusiastically to summon you over* Give It All You Got Down There and Then Some on That Girl's Thing Tuesday?
When you got home, you could hear a rustling coming from your room. Your door was slightly ajar, and you could see flashes of your mother on the other side, but it was hard to tell what she was doing. You could only catch quick glimpses of her passing through your narrow field of view - her dark denim jeans swishing against each other, her hair pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail.
As she disappeared out of sight, you pressed forward, nudging the door open with your palm, and stepping cautiously into the room.
Your was standing inside with a heavy trash bag, surrounded by mostly empty shelves, a completely cleared out closet, even the bulk of the furniture was gone.
"Mom?!" You reeled around, in shock at the vacant state of your room. "What's going on? Where's all my stuff?"
"There you are, honey." Your mom glanced briefly over her shoulder at you as she picked up one of your Lego sets - a carefully assembled replica of a ship that had taken you a week to put together - and dropped it carelessly into the trash bag.
"What are you doing?!" you yelled in a panic, to which your mother scowled at you, grabbed your childhood bear, and threw it into the trash alongside the Legos.
"Don't raise your voice at me," she snapped. "I'm clearing out this room. It's been long enough that I've had to put up with your attitude. I'm reclaiming my space and my life."
"What do you mean?" You asked, beelining for the bag, opening it up to stare at its contents. Inside was all your stuff: sketchbooks, magazines, vinyls, DVDs - all kinds of stuff you'd collected over the years. You reached in to grab your bear, but your mom smacked your hand away.
"That's garbage, hon, hands off," she stated. "I'm throwing out all your junk. I've already sold your game console and laptop. You're eighteen now and it's time to move on."
"You-You're kicking me out?" you stuttered. But she only laughed.
"No, darling, of course not. That would be irresponsible. You don't know how to take care of yourself!"
Your thoughts raced, and yet your brain was operating at a sluggish pace. What the hell did she mean?
"No, I'm not kicking you out. I'm putting you into storage."
Shock froze you in place. Your mother continues speaking as she opened up a long, heavy-duty trunk. The inside was padded, with a hole the shape of a person.
"I'm going to ship you off to the warehouse and they'll keep you alive there." She moved up to you now, her hands going to your collar, and she quickly began unbuttoning your shirt.
Her hands moved quickly, stripping your clothes away with ease. Soon your shirt was off, your fly undone and pants pushed down your knees and over your feet. Then your underwear, all while your mother explained to you your fate.
"They'll put your case onto a rack with the others and I can come and get you whenever I want. It's very convenient!"
Your clothes were shoved into the trash bag. Your mother nudged you towards the case and you stumbled forward.
"Wait..." you said, staring down at that human-shaped cutout in growing horror. "No... you can't do that."
"Of course I can, sweetheart," your mother laughed. "I paid already. Now I just need to set you up."
She lowered herself to her knees and unclasped a smaller, second case. This one contained an array of sterile tools inside... mostly various plugs, tubes, and bottles. She pulled out a pamphlet that appeared to have a kind of diagram printed on it, but you couldn't get a good look.
After a perfunctory once-over with a speed that said she'd already studied it prior, it was straight to work. She plucked one of two big plugs out of the case, along with a small bottle. The cap came off and then she was squeezing out a viscous liquid over the whole thing, being careful not to touch it.
"Turn around, baby, this has to go inside," she ordered. You hesitated, and she clicked her tongue and shook her head. The cap went back on the little bottle, rested at her feet.
With one hand now free, she reached up and slapped you hard across the face. You gasped as your head whipped to the side. Slowly turning back to her, you saw her raise her eyebrows at you before she slapped you again, even harder.
Your ear rang from the impact this time. It hurt, and tears welled in your eyes. Not wanting more punishment, you quickly turned around so your bare ass was facing her. She wasted no time.
Her free hand thumbed your cheeks apart. Shame flooded hot across your face. You could feel her pushing the plug up against your asshole, the wet tip invading the tight pucker of your anus. It pressed in, unrelenting, and what you had assumed was lube drizzled across its surface started burning inside you.
"What is that?!" you blurted out, pressing your knees together in distress.
"It's surgical glue," she explained simply. "To keep the plug in place. It has to catch all your waste, after all, we can't have you shitting it out."
You gasped at the realization. It was burning because it was bonding directly to your insides.
"Good job, baby, you took that so well," your mother purred. Her praise bounced off of you. "Turn around now, let's get your front."
You shuffled around, feeling stiff with the plug glued up your ass. Your mom picked up a long, thin tube and the bottle of superglue again.
"I'm sure you can guess where this one goes," she smirked. You watched in horror as she drizzled it in the glue, then put the bottle down and reached for your penis.
She took your flaccid dick in her hand, giving a little squeeze to your soft shaft. The corner of her lips quirked up, but she only allowed herself a short moment of amusement.
She pulled your foreskin back to expose your little pink glans, and lined the tube up with your piss slit.
"Wait, Mo—*Hhhh*!" Your protests were cut off by a gasp as she penetrated your cock. She threaded the catheter up your urethra, and you could feel the glue burn all the way to the root, deep inside you.
Your mouth dropped open in a soundless scream. Your hands shot to your crotch to protect yourself, but she smacked them away like a misbehaving dog. Finally everything settled, and she smiled at you and reached for the case again.
Inside you saw another plug, another tube, both very similar to the ones that had just disappeared between your legs.
"Lie down in the crate now," she instructed. With misguided hope that you could appease her and prove you weren't a nuisance, that you could be good, you obeyed. You sat carefully in the center of the crate, lining your legs up with the indent and slotting yourself in perfectly.
Before lying down, you looked up at your mom with teary eyes.
"How long are you going to store me?" you asked, your voice coming out as a whisper. She smiled and shook her head patiently.
"A week or so," she said, ruffling your hair. "Don't worry, it'll be over before you know it."
Your eyes lingered on hers, trying to read them, but she was like stone. Slowly, you laid down. The padding fit perfectly around you. Your mother snapped shut cuffs around your ankles, wrists, and neck. You couldn't move an inch.
She repeated the glue procedure on the next thin, flexible tube. This time she lined it up with your nose. The sensation of it violating your sinuses felt horrible and alien. You sneezed ineffectually, but she just pushed it in further. It inched down your throat, and then poked at your windpipe.
She pushed it forward and back, prodding at the inside of your throat and fucking your nose with the tube until she managed to penetrate your airway. You coughed and gagged, but could somehow breathe despite your instincts telling you that you were choking.
The glue began to dry it in place, a breathing tube straight to your lungs. Your mother smiled down at you, and you watched in dread as she wet the last plug with the glue.
This went in with comparative ease. She simply forced it into your mouth, past your teeth, and then applied an extra layer of glue to your lips, sealing them around the plug.
"That should do it," she said with satisfaction. "Your waste will be handled, as well as air and food. You're all set, honey, ready to live out the rest of your life in this box."
Your eyes bulged, and you grunted up at her in anger and disbelief.
"Sorry, baby, I know I said just a couple weeks, but I didn't want you acting rash. The truth is that I don't plan on coming to get you. I think you'll be fine just staying in your nice box forever."
She then attached tubing to each plug and gathered them up carefully to the bottom of the crate.
"They'll set these up properly at the warehouse," she explained. "You'll be fine until then. Oh, don't look at me like that!" She scowled down at you. "My decision is final. Now, take a good look at my face, because it's likely to be the last one you ever see."
She smiled down at you with something that could've been mistaken for a deep affection. She must have been elated at the sight of you bound and packaged up by her own hand.
You tried to scream as she closed the lid down over you. Everything went black, and then all you could hear was her locking the crate shut.
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