Date: Thu, 4 Jun 2009 22:36:09 -0700 (PDT)
From: Nick Ensign <nick_ensign@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Warehouseman

This story is copyright 2009 by Nick Ensign. It is a work of fiction and
should not be read by anyone under the age of 18. Please include this
copyright information if you copy the story to another website. You may
contact me at nick_ensign@yahoo.com.

The Warehouseman

I met him late one night in an all-male bookstore. I was thumbing through
some new magazines when he walked in. I don't know if he was Mr. Right or
if he was just Mr. Right Now. Regardless, he caught my eye instantly, and I
couldn't stop watching him as he moved through the store. He was dressed in
a working uniform, dark grey pants and a matching grey jacket. Underneath
the jacket he had a light grey shirt. A ballcap covered his head and he
wore scuffed black low-rise boots. A logo patch on his cap and jacket told
me that he worked for the distribution warehouse on the north end of
town. Another patch told me his name was Steve.

After a few minutes, he noticed me watching him. I wasn't subtle, to be
sure. He stared at me for a few seconds then smiled and walked off towards
the back where the video booths were. I shut the magazine I was holding and
crammed it back into the rack before following him. There was one door ajar
when I got to the back, and I went to it immediately. He was waiting
inside.

"Want to watch a video with me?" he asked needlessly. I could tell he was
playing with me a bit. The corners of his mouth poked up in a slight smile
and I noticed dark eyes flashing. He took his cap off and held it one hand,
rubbing the fingers of his other hand through his short length brown hair.

"You know it," I said, walking up to him. One of us remembered to shut the
door behind me, but I don't recall which of us did it. My heart was
thumping in my chest, and all I wanted to do was get my hands under his
shirt and jacket.

"Good," he said, as I stepped up to him. He reached up and jammed his cap
down on my head, then he leaned in and pecked me once very quickly on the
lips. He took a step back as I stood there unmoving for a few seconds. My
heart had leaped into my throat at his quick kiss. I wanted to react, but
my thoughts were all jumbled. He stepped behind me, and before I could turn
to face him, I could feel his hands grab each of my shoulders. I felt him
move in close, his chest pressed to my back, and he whispered in my ear,
"Wait right here. I'm going to grab a few things from my car. Just pick one
of the videos and get it going. I'll be right back."

With that he took off. I turned around, a bit stunned, as the door was
closing behind him. I couldn't guess what he might be after, and my heart
and brain were both racing while he was gone. Finally, after a few seconds,
I remembered what he said and turned back to the DVD catalog. With a bit of
mischief on my own part, I picked an all-male video in a warehouse. I hoped
he would like it. I had just enough time to shovel some money into the
machine and get the video started when he returned.

He was carrying a brown paper sack, fairly full, when he came back in. His
eyes darted to the screen where the video, having just begun, showed
several guys in warehouse uniforms around a forklift and several large
boxes. I had no doubt they would all be naked within a minute or two. "Good
choice," he said and smiled. He placed the sack on the ground in the corner
and walked right up to me, checking to see that the door was shut. I was
still wearing his hat, and he'd obviously taken a few seconds to massage
his own hair while away. I could see that he sported a flattop, the sexiest
haircut ever. He grabbed me in a bearhug as I stood there and then planted
a long kiss on my lips. My cock immediately sprang into action.

After several seconds pressed together, he released me and stepped back
ever so slightly. One of his hands slid down and gently rubbed the crotch
of my pants. He found my stiffness and smiled at me. "I can tell what you
like," he said. "You're into some uniform action, aren't you?" I nodded and
he grabbed the sack he had set aside before. He pulled out a smaller bag
and tossed the big bag to me. "Put that on. And be sure to change slow for
me."

I looked into the paper bag and found a uniform like his inside. Instead of
'Steve', my shirt said 'Nick.' It wasn't my name, but I was happy to be
Nick. He backed up a few steps. The room was small. There was a
medium-sized video monitor playing on one wall, and he had thumbed the
volume down to low. The only furniture in the room was a bench, bolted to
the floor, barely long enough for two to enjoy. As Steve stood in the
corner, I began slowing unbuttoning and removing my clothes. I laid them
across the bench. I'd never done this before, but I imagined what kind of
show I would enjoy if the roles were reversed. I was not in as good a shape
as he was, but I have tried to keep myself reasonably fit. I could tell
from a bulge I spotted in his pants that he was enjoying the show. So, I
hammed it up a bit for him when I got down to my boxers and socks, acting
for the most part like a paid stripper. This brought a grin to both of our
faces.

"I hope you like the merchandise," I said, clasping my fingers over my
head, and turning half to the side.

"Oh, very much," he replied. "I very much like this merchandise."

I laughed quickly and began putting on the clothes he had provided. They
were just a bit too big for me, but he'd done a reasonably good job in
sizing me. There was a white tee shirt, dark grey uniform pants and a light
grey uniform shirt. I'd left his hat on the whole time, and when I was
finished re-dressing, we looked like we worked together. My cock was aching
with stiffness inside my uniform pants. I'd had to use my own black belt
and my own athletic shoes, but I dare say I looked the part of a real
warehouseman.

"Very nice," he said, and he stepped forward again and hugged me. It was a
solid hug as his lips met mine again. This time, both of our tongues pushed
forward and began probing each others' mouth as we stood there
embracing. Finally, after nearly a minute, he broke off. "Let's watch that
video now, OK?" I shrugged a Yes, and he put his hands on my shoulder and
gently pushed me down onto the bench. My clothes he pushed to the
floor. Then he grabbed the smaller sack that he'd kept for himself and
pulled out a fat roll of tape. Kinky, I thought, lighting up. I was into
bondage. I don't know whether I had telegraphed this to him in some way or
whether it was just his thing. He held the tape out in front of him,
silently, and I nodded with an eager grin on my face. I could see that it
was a role of tape from the warehouse as it was marked "Check Contents
Before Signing" repeatedly.

Not sure what he intended, I relaxed. He grabbed my right hand and pressed
it down to the bench with the palm splayed. Then he unrolled a bit of tape
to start. He wound it a few times around my wrist and then began rolling it
across the back of my hand and around the entire bench seat. He
criss-crossed in this fashion a few times, and within seconds my hand was
firmly attached to the bench seat. He grabbed my left hand and repeated
this procedure, forcing me to slump a little as I sat there. Soon, I was
affixed to the bench, unable to pull myself free.

He set the tape down and stood in front of me as if examining his
handiwork. I smiled. Neither of us spoke. We were both too aroused at this
point. He bent over quickly and pecked me again on the lips. He was a
kisser-- a definite plus in my book! Then he backed up a foot or so to
the video monitor and ever so slightly he began to sway and gyrate. He kept
his eyes locked on mine as he started to dance there in front of me. It was
one of the most erotic scenes I've ever been in. I couldn't move off the
bench, and my cock was hard as a rock. I could feel my crotch getting
damp. He slowly danced there in front of me, the sexiest warehouseman I'd
ever seen. I wanted to grab him, but my hands refused to budge from the
bench. After a few minutes of this, he began slowly unbuttoning his
shirt. Like myself, he had a white tee shirt on underneath, but as he
pulled the uniform shirt slightly to the side, I could see the outlines of
his nipples under the thin cotton. I ached to reach out and fondle them!

With his shirt fully unbuttoned but still on, he reached down to his belt
buckle and slowly pulled the belt tip out. He released the belt entirely
and then slowly pulled the zipper of his trousers down. He was still
swaying to unheard music, and my mouth had begun to beg for his cock. I
gaped open and panted shortly through my mouth. I could almost feel and
taste his cock. Finally, as I watched, he reached under the top seam of his
now exposed boxers and pulled his own hard cock and balls out over the
top. Then, echoing my earlier amateur performance, he clasped his hands
over his head and danced there in front of me, his cock and balls tempting
me and pushing me into a hot unsatisfied lust.

I could barely stand it at this point. My blood was pounding in my head,
and my entire body surged to his rhythm. He stepped closer and closer, a
few inches at a time, until his man parts were brushing my chest as he
danced. Due to the way I was strapped down, I could lean tantalizingly
close as his cock came closer, but I couldn't make contact. My tongue stuck
out, begging for a quick brush, but the heights were just off. He, of
course, knew this, and teased me all the more. At one point he straddled my
legs with his own, bringing him lower. His cock rested on my pants as he
leaned in and kissed me with his fully opened mouth. I wanted to rape his
face with my mouth and tongue, but he pulled back after a few seconds.

"Oh God--" I started.

"Shhhh," he said before I could go on. "I know what you want. You'll get
it, but not tonight." He reached down again and grabbed his roll of tape. I
wondered what he meant. He pulled a lead off the roll of tape and brought
it to my face. As I said, I enjoy some fun bondage and knew what I was
supposed to do. As much as I wanted to use my mouth on him, I forced myself
to clamp my lips together. He pressed the unrolled tape across them and
then wound the roll completely around my head a few times. Now I was unable
to move off the bench or speak.

He stepped back, grinning crazily. "Oh yes, you're going to be a lot of
fun," he said. With this he began scooping my original clothes back into
his bag. He took my wallet and keys out of their pockets and placed them on
the bench beside me. I couldn't move or speak as he did this. I began
jerking at the tape holding me to the bench, but I couldn't free
myself. "Don't be so impatient," he said, noticing my struggles. After he
was re-dressed and he'd stuffed all my clothes and his tape back into the
sack, he reached into his wallet and slapped a few twenty-dollar bills on
the bench. "Be sure to give that to the poor kid at the register out
front. I promised him." Then he reached back into his wallet and put a
business card on the bench next to me as well. "That's where you'll find
me. Let's see, it's Monday now. Why don't you come by on Wednesday. Park
around back, near the side door. And be sure to wear the uniform you've got
on" Then he reached into a pocket and pulled out a box cutter. In one quick
motion, he slit some of the tape around my right hand, enough for me to get
some motion out of it. He put the box cutter back into his pants and left
the room before I could react.

It took me a few seconds to jerk my right hand enough to the point where I
could free it. Lots of wrist hair came off with the tape, but I'm used to
that sensation! In about a minute I was able to completely free that
hand. Leaving my tape gag on for the moment, I used my free right hand to
get the left hand free. This took a bit longer, as the tape had not been
conveniently slit. I had to unwind it from the bench. After a few minutes,
though, I was completely free. I stood up, rubbing my wrists where the tape
had been. The unwatched video was still running. I punched the button to
turn off the monitor. Standing there, still gagged, I then reached into my
trousers. With both eyes closed, picturing Steve, I quickly brought myself
to re-arousal. At the moment of shooting my load, I grabbed the cap off my
head, and shot forcefully into it. It was a hot load, more powerful than
any I'd had in a long time. A few minutes afterwards, calm again, I
re-zipped and unwound my tape gag.

On the way out I left the kid Steve's money.

It would be an understatement to say that the next 48 hours passed
painfully slowly. The next morning I went down to the local Workboot
Warehouse and bought myself a pair of black working boots. I also bought a
better belt for my uniform. I washed out my cap carefully. There was a
stain inside, but it was clean enough to wear again. All of this was done
by Tuesday afternoon, leaving me a day-and-a-half to wait. I wore my new
uniform the entire time, washing it and ironing it on Wednesday.

Finally Wednesday night came around. Even without his card I knew where the
warehouse was. It was on the north end of town, near the post office, and
was a distribution center for a chain of convenience stores. I drove up,
parked on the side, as he indicated, and knocked lightly on the only door I
could see from where I was parked. No one answered at first so, my heart
thumping in my chest, I knocked a little louder. I had no idea what I would
do or so if anyone other than Steve opened the door. This time the door
opened just a few seconds after I knocked. I was delighted to see Steve's
face appear.

"Hey, Nick, great to see you," he said with a broad smile. I had never told
him my real name. I guess I was going to be Nick from now on because that's
what my uniform said.

I stepped forward and shook his hand, like we were meeting for the first
time. He ushered me through the door, which shut with a metal click behind
us. We were in a packaging room of some sort. There were long countertops
along most of the walls. Several stools were scattered about. Most of the
countertops had stacked rolls of tape, various cutting instruments, and a
few large rolls of sealing plastic. One wall of the room was a roll-up door
and stacked in front of that door were a few neat piles of palettes. I was
already turned on, just the two of us dressed in our uniforms in this
room. There were many bondage possibilities just in here. I had no idea
what Steve was thinking, but many creative ideas certainly popped up in my
head!

After I had taken in the room, he stepped close to me and planted a big
kiss on my lips. I was really beginning to enjoy those kisses! He had
replaced his cap, since I was wearing his old one, and the bills got in the
way as we kissed. So, he grabbed his off with one hand. We stood there
liplocked for a full minute, maybe two, before he broke the embrace. He
popped his cap back on his head. "I've been thinking of you a lot," he
said. I echoed his statement, barely containing my excitement, and he
continued. "I would love to give you a tour of the facility, but even in
uniform someone would be sure to notice you. But that's not going to stop
us from having fun with you," he added, that mischievous smile returning to
his face.

He motioned me towards the roll-up door. I could hear general commotion,
including the noise of a couple forklifts, coming from the other side. Atop
one stack of palettes against the door, there was a large sturdy carton
with its top flaps open. We walked up to this and he grabbed the box cutter
from his pants pocket. Into the face of one carton side he carved what
looked to be a generous hand hold. He only cut three sides of it, however,
and when he was done, he shoved his hand through, bending the cutout upward
along the top. It was a very comfortable hand hold now, if a little larger
than normal. He repeated this process on the opposite face of the
carton. When he was done, he replaced the box cutter in his pants pocket.

"Okay, hop in," he said, turning to me. I wasn't sure I'd heard him
correctly and looked at him quizzically. Instead of answering me, he kissed
me again quickly. So, I stepped up on top of the palette stack, then I
carefully folded myself down into the carton. There was enough room for me
to kneel or change my position around slightly. He told me to face one of
the cutout hand holds, and when I'd shifted, he folded the top flaps down
over me. A few seconds later I heard the sounds of him taping the top of
the carton shut. I was sealed in the near-dark, looking out through the
hole in front of me. Shortly after he finished taping my carton shut, I saw
his face again, looking in through the hole. "Now you be quiet in
there. You'll know what to do when the time comes. In the meantime, keep
your weight low so you don't slide around the palette."

Contrary to what he said, I had no idea what was going on. His face
disappeared from the hole, and a moment later I heard the noise of the
roll-up door rising. In my carton I could very clearly hear a lot of
warehouse commotion around me. In a minute or so I heard a new forklift
start up very close to me. It rumbled, the sound coming closer and closer
to me, and then there was a gentle nudge. My carton and palette were
bumped. Much to my surprise then I felt myself being lifted into the air
very briefly. When I stopped going up I then heard the back-up alarm of the
forklift for a few seconds as I was moved laterally. After the back-up
alarm went quiet, we then began moving slowly through the warehouse.

From inside, I folded down both flaps that had been cut into my carton. I
didn't shut either one fully, but I didn't want anyone to see inside. I
left both open enough to make sure that air circulated and I made sure that
I could peek out the one in front of me. We moved slowly through the
warehouse, which was very large. Occasionally we stopped. I saw several
other workers along the way, all dressed in the same uniform. A few times
it seemed that we stopped so my driver could talk to them, but I couldn't
pick out any conversations from inside my carton. At one point we passed
through a heavy sliding door into a dimly lit section of the warehouse. It
was amazingly cold in there, and I was shivering from head to toe before we
exited through another door just a minute later. Finally, after nearly 15
minutes of being moved, we crept into an aisle full of stacked cartons. As
I watched out the hole in front of me, I was pushed in among these other
cartons and lowered to the floor. With the back-up alarm ringing again, I
heard the forklift drive off several feet.

Figuring that I was facing the wrong way now, I shifted myself around
slowly and quietly. Just as I got myself aligned with the hole that had
previously been behind me, I saw Steve's hand push through the flap
again. He pulled his hand out and I saw his eyes a few seconds
later. "Okay," I heard him say. "Be good. Be quiet. Have fun." With that,
he disappeared, and a moment later I heard the forklift drive off.

Maybe I was naive, but I still had no idea what was going on. I was turned
on, there was no doubt about that. I enjoyed being sealed inside the carton
and then moved about the warehouse as a piece of freight or
merchandise. But, I had no idea what was going to happen now.

I sat there in the near-dark for maybe half an hour, shifting myself into a
comfortable position. There was no traffic, forklift or human, down the
aisle I'd been planted in. I could hear only dim sounds of far away
commotion as I sat there. At last, however, I heard a booted tread come my
way. It grew almost fully dark in my carton then as the figure stopped very
close outside my carton. I heard then the unmistakable sound of a zipper
and a second later a cock flopped through the hole in front of me. It was
suddenly clear to me what I was supposed to do here in my carton. I took
the cap off my head so I could lean closer to the hole in front of
me. Then, cautiously at first, I moved my mouth around the head of the
cock. It immediately reacted, beginning to stiffen. As it did, I moved
forward, sliding my mouth up the shaft until I was nearly kissing the
carton. I began moving back and forth then, sliding up and down the cock,
which was soon fully erect and oozing pre-cum. I have always enjoyed the
slightly salty tang of a man's juices so I stopped to lick the tip of the
cock, which elicited a moan from outside my carton. Then I went back to
working the shaft. At this time, the cock itself began moving forwards and
back. I matched his rhythm as well as I could, and a minute later the cock
pulled back suddenly. I leaned forward to re-embrace it with my mouth, but
before I could get there, his hot load shot into my face. There were
several pumps of his sticky load, and after they stopped, the cock
retreated from the carton hole.

I sat there in the carton then. It wasn't the first time I'd had a man's
hot load drying on my face. I was hard as a rock myself at this time, and I
could only hope that I would be visited again. Sure enough, several minutes
later, another pair of dark pants obscured my view, and then another cock
pushed it's way in through the hole. This second cock got the same
treatment, but this time, it didn't pull back before shooting its load. I
was fully wrapped around it when it shot straight down my throat. It took
me a moment to hold back my gag reflex, which was all the time he needed to
withdraw from the hole.

After that, cocks kept appearing every 15 to 20 minutes for the next few
hours. When I could, I spit their loads into the cap I was holding in my
lap, or I used the cap to catch the loads as they were shooting. I figured
there was no way my stomach could take a full night of hot goo without
getting me sick at some point. I also began to experiment a bit with the
various cocks that appeared. Instead of taking some of them fully in my
mouth, I teased the tips with my tongue and then used a fierce hand to
bring them to erection. A few cocks disappeared without shooting their
loads, but most were fully satisfied within a few minutes. In a couple
hours I had a hat full of dried cum, and there was dried cum on my face and
all over my uniform shirt as well. I couldn't believe the amount of fun I
was having!

Eventually, though, I heard the sound of the forklift again, and it picked
me up. We made our way back to the packaging room much quicker this time,
not going faster but by using a more direct route through the
warehouse. Shortly after I was set down and I heard the door roll down,
Steve's voice came to me. "Keep your head down," was all he said. As I did,
the box cutter slit through the tap above me and a moment later I was
returned to full light.

It took me a minute or two to stand up straight. I hadn't been
uncomfortable until just then. Steve smiled at me and kissed me as I stood
there. I'd climbed off the short palette stack. He grimaced a bit as he
pulled away from me. Doubtlessly, he tasted another man's cum on me. I
spoke hesitantly, "I hope you were one of them..." But, he didn't answer
that question.

"Did you have fun?" he asked. "I heard only good things so I know you did a
good job." He grabbed the cap from my hands then, and looked inside. There
was no doubt what was caked in there. Before I could protest, he jammed it
back on my head. Leading me to the door, he added one last thing, "I hope
we'll see you back next week." Then he ushered me out the door and shut it,
leaving me alone outside. I wasn't surprised or upset at the end of the
evening. In fact, I was at the point where I really wanted a shower to
clean up so I walked quickly back to my car. To my surprise, there was a
twenty dollar bill tucked under one of the windshield wipers. I put it in
my pocket and headed home.

You'd better believe I went back the next week. In the meantime, I washed
and ironed my uniform again. I scrubbed out my cap as best I could. Since I
work at home normally, I took to wearing my new uniform almost every day,
even when I left my apartment. I was wearing it when I went down to the
local hardware store to buy myself a pair of good kneepads. No one ever
said anything to me. I mean, who ever thinks twice about a man in a work
uniform?

The week finally passed. I was wearing my uniform and carrying my kneepads
when I knocked on the warehouse door again. Steve let me in quickly, and
kissed me a few times right away. "I've been waiting to see you again," he
said excitedly. The room was exactly as it was before, and my eyes went
immediately to the large open carton sitting atop a low palette stack by
the roll-up door. I grinned, and he said, "Oh, yeah. You bet. Everyone will
be glad you're back."

After I slipped on my kneepads and settled myself in, I asked him what the
cold had been of the previous week. As he sealed me inside, he explained
that he had driven through the cold storage unit. It's kept at -20 degrees,
and that's where all the frozen goods are kept. My curiosity satisfied, I
hunkered down again as my ride on the forklift began.

This night went much as the first. I was left in my carton maybe an hour
longer, but I satisfied about the same number of cocks. When I re-emerged,
I was once again covered in drying cum. This time I jammed my cap back on
head myself. Steve kissed me a few more times, and then I left.

We repeated this pattern weekly for a couple months. Sometimes I would come
out to find one or more twenty dollar bills under my windshield wiper. I
had taken to wearing my uniform every day. My neighbors must have thought
I'd gotten hired at the warehouse. Steve must have guessed what was going
on, because after the third visit he handed me a several pair of uniform
shirts and pants, with a jacket as well. They all said 'Nick' on them,
which was fine. I was coming to think of myself as Nick.

After my eighth or ninth visit, I showed up one night and found a
surprise. When Nick ushered me into the packaging room, there was another
man in there as well. This man was burly and not wearing a company uniform
as Steve and I were. It didn't take me long to see that he was sitting next
to some tattooing equipment. When I turned to Steve, he said, "You're
having fun, right?" I nodded, and he went on. "I thought we would make you
real merchandise tonight. My friend here is going to tattoo a UPC code onto
you if that's cool."

I could barely contain my excitement. "Oh hell yes," I blurted out. I
immediately sat down on a stool next to the burly man. He told me to remove
my shirts, which I did, laying them on the counter behind me. I took off my
cap as well and set that on the shirts. I had a few small tattoos already,
including a tribal band around one upper arm. He ignored these and told me
to lean my head to one side. As he swabbed the side of my neck with an
antiseptic cloth, Steve leaned down to my level.

"It's got to be some place visible," Steve said. He was smiling, and I
nodded that it was OK. That movement caused the tattooist to grab my head
and hold it in place. I swallowed hard and Steve went on. "Don't worry, a
buttoned collar will hide it-- or most of it at least.

I felt the big man at my side press a damp piece of paper to the side of my
neck. As I'd been through this before, I knew he was transferring the
pattern to my skin like a stamp. It dried over the next minute or so while
he was getting his ink ready.

I'm always nervous about the first touch of the needle every time I get a
new tattoo, and so I was this time as well. I expected a huge amount of
pain, but, as always, it proved not to be that painful. It hurt a little
more than more other ink, seeing as how it was being placed on some
tenderer skin, but it was easily within my tolerance level. Besides, this
guy was a professional, which I could tell just by feeling his work. He was
even handed and swift. He dabbed at the work a few times as he progressed,
and I could see a bit of blood on the cloths he threw away, but that was to
be expected. In what seemed to be no time at all, he announced that he was
finished.

Before I could move, Steve bent over and gave it a good look. When he
pulled back, there was a big smile on his face again. "It's perfect," he
said.

The tattooist put a heavy hand on my shoulder then, holding me down. He
must have known how eagerly I wanted to find a reflective surface. He
pressed a thin piece of plastic wrap over his work and then taped it down
to my skin. "This comes off in a few hours," he said. "I see you know what
to do afterwards." With that, he began cleaning up. Both Steve and I
remained still as he did, anxious to have him gone. I saw Steve slip him a
handful of money as he left.

Coming back to me, Steve was all grins. "I know you want to check that out,
but you can do that when you get home. We have some other things to take
care of first. He then walked to another corner of the room and hit the
button on a computer monitor. The screen came to life, and he wiggled the
mouse a bit to wake the computer up. When he did, I could see what looked
to be a spreadsheet of some sort. I could see product names on the list and
figured it must be some sort of inventory control software. Steve sat down
and began typing. "Let's call you 'The Nick Party System'," he said without
looking at me. Then I could see him type a dollar amount of $595. Turning
back to me with that famous grin, he grabbed a scanner from the side of the
computer. "Let's see if this will work." I leaned down, baring my neck to
him. I heard him click a button a few times, but there was no response from
the computer. "That's OK," he finally said, "I'll just enter your UPC the
old fashioned way." After a few clicks he was done.

I looked back at him and then at the screen. Just as I did so, I could see
the inventory screen update. There was a new line with my listing. I was
really a piece of inventoried merchandise now! Before I could react in any
way, Steve grabbed both my hands and pulled me down to his sitting level,
where he kissed me hard on the lips.

Breaking the contact after we were both hot and aroused, he said, "Come
on. Get dressed. There are still some horny warehousemen out there. Into
your box." I couldn't get dressed fast enough, and within a few minutes, I
was being carried back out to the warehouse floor.

That night took forever. I had fun, but mentally I couldn't wait to get
back home and check out my UPC code. When I was finally released, I barely
took time to give Steve a kiss on the way out. My neck was aching by this
time. When I got home I carefully peeled off the plastic skin and lightly
rinsed the inkwork. It was beautiful. The tattooist had a very steady hand
and the lines were distinct and bold. It was no wonder Steve thought he
might be able to scan it with the laser.

I spent much of the next several weeks while it was healing checking it out
in the mirror. I'd always considered having myself branded, but never found
the right man to enjoy the scene with. Now, here I was permanently marked
with a product code and registered in an inventory system. Without trying I
had become a product. On the one hand, I felt an invisible restraint placed
on me, as if I had become some sort of captive or prisoner, but on the
other hand, I reveled in my new definition. Becoming a piece of merchandise
was somehow very liberating to me.

Steve and I discussed this one day when he visited me for lunch. He'd begun
to visit me sometime after he gave me the extra uniforms. I was always
dressed in uniform when he came over and so was he. It was an unwritten
thing between us. Being in the same uniform somehow made us closer.

When my tattoo was fully healed, I explained to him the delight and the
conflict of my transformation. He was bemused by it, but I don't know if he
understood. "I like it," was all he could really say, and several times
throughout lunch he kissed my new tattoo.

My weekly 'duties' in the warehouse continued unabated. It was an
arrangement that everyone enjoyed. By this time I recognized several of the
cocks that I faced, even in the dark. Some tasted different than others,
and they all had their own behaviors. Any week that a new cock appeared, I
recognized it right away and made sure to give it special service. As
before, I often found money tucked into my windshield wiper when I left.

About six weeks after my tattoo healed Steve let me in the door with
something less than his usual pleased grin. He kissed me a few times, but
all he would say was that there was a bit of a dilemma and things were
going to be a bit different tonight. I figured some boss had found out
about the arrangement and wanted in on the action, but I kept my guesses to
myself. As I made my way to the usual box, he asked me to stop. When I
turned back around to face him, I saw that he had picked up a large roll of
the carton sealing tape. This really turned me on, and I couldn't conceal
my delight. As he had on that first night, he pulled a lead off the roll
and then would it around my head several times, sealing my mouth tightly
shut. I thought I saw him grimace as he did this, but I wasn't sure. Then,
after telling my to cross my wrists in front of me, he tightly bound my
wrists together with the tape. I couldn't free myself now. He even rolled
the tape around my fists, making solid tape balls of my hands. Then he
grabbed me at the waist and boosted me up to a sitting position on the
counter top behind me. A minute later I found my ankles taped together as
well.

I was hard as a rock at this point, wondering what the night would bring.
Steve had been quiet this whole time. As I sat there he went over to the
corner computer and punch a few keys. I saw a label printer next to the
computer spit out a label when he was done. Going over to my carton, he
peeled the label and stuck it on the front of the carton. "I priced you
high for a reason," he said. "We distribute products to convenience stores.
With an outrageous price, you were sure to remain in our inventory.  But--"
He stopped for a few seconds, looking at me as I sat there completely
bound. "But someone ordered you today. I don't know how or why, but an
order was placed for you. It must be a mistake." He stopped again. "I'm
sure you'll be returned right away."

My eyes must have expressed some confusion as he picked me up then.
Carefully he carried me to the lip of the carton and just as carefully he
folded me inside. Bound as I was, I could barely move. My cap had fallen
off, and he put it back on my head, making it impossible for me to look up
out of the box. He disappeared for a moment and when he returned he had a
wide mouth hose with him. Pressing the button on the end of the hose, he
then filled my carton with packing peanuts. In a few seconds they piled up
past my head; although, I could still breathe easily. He turned off the
hose then and a minute later darkness filled my carton as he closed the
flaps. I could hear him sealing me inside then.

I found it impossible to move. The peanuts were packed tightly about me. I
could feel myself being forklifted through the warehouse again, but unlike
all the previous nights, this night we moved right into the commotion. I
was set down on the ground for awhile. There were too many peanuts between
me and the hand holds this time so I couldn't see out at all. I could only
hear the bustle of work going on. After a short time I could hear the sharp
sound of plastic going around me, and I figured my carton was being
strapped to the palette before shipping. I was simultaneously aroused and
terrified as this went on. I truly was a product and it seemed I had truly
been purchased. Part of me realized that was my purpose as a product.

I pretty much guessed what would happen next. I felt myself being raised
quite high and the noise grew distant. I figured this meant I had just been
loaded onto a truck. A moment later I could hear the individual grunting of
a man working outside my carton and I felt myself rolling for a few
seconds. After I stopped, there was a period of silence, and then the sound
of a man approached again. This repeated several times, and each time, the
sound of the man got more remote. Some time later it stopped and then two
things happened at once. I heard the loud clang of the truck doors
shutting, and all light completely disappeared.

How long I sat there in the dark, I don't know. It felt like one or more
hours, but there was no way for me to gauge the passage of time. I might
have dozed off as well. I couldn't move. I couldn't see. I could flex
myself in only the tiniest of ways, and when I did, I hear the soft scrape
of packing peanuts. But, even that seemed to be a ghost noise produced by
my brain out of necessity and not actually heard.

The truck finally began moving, and it has been in motion for some time
now. I still can't see. I can barely hear the truck even. All I know is
that I am a piece of merchandise. I have the UPC code on my neck and I have
been sold. I don't know where I'm going or what will happen to me when I
get there. Part of me doesn't care. That part of me knows it is not my
place to wonder. I have given up my life as a consumer and started a new
life as a product. I will find out what this new life holds for me when my
new owner opens me up.