Signed, Sealed, and Delivered

What the hell is that beeping sound? And those heavy boots tramping up the steps to my apartment?

I sure as heck don't know. I mean, yeah – I'm expecting a visit from one of my friends and his boyfriend tomorrow. But their train wasn't supposed to get in until tomorrow – and besides, that's no Uber beeping away out there…

A muffled thud, and the murmur of voices outside my door. Tock tock tock. "Same-Day Delivery!" calls a deep, raspy voice, and I swing open the door to find two grubby delivery guys standing there with a large, long box resting between them. "You Mister Shreve? Gary Shreve?" "I am," I assure them, cocking my head and staring quizzically at the parcel even as they thrust a clipboard at me. "What the heck is this-"

"Sign here," the one instructs, and as I catch sight of the sender's name and address, I finally begin to understand. It's my friend's name: Shane Hartley. He's always been a bit of an oddball, even in gay circles.: kinky, freaky, and completely unpredictable. There's no telling what he's done – but he's sent me something. Something big. Something I'm sure he'll explain once he and his boyfriend Phil arrive tomorrow.

And so I sign.

"Thank you kindly," they say – and off they thud, leaving me to tug and strain as I herd the box through the door and into my little apartment. Thank goodness I still go to the gym now and then, huh? Otherwise I really don't know how I'd get this monstrosity inside…

When at last I've got the thing safely situated in the living room, I let out a half-winded sigh and lean back to stare at what I've just received. Lots of tape crisscrossing it all over. Some seriously large holes punctured in the top and sides, almost as if it's had a bad run-in with a giant, rebar-clad porcupine. And there, in one corner: a folded white slip of paper, tucked within a little adhesive envelope labeled "Packing Slip."

"Hi there, darling!" it begins – and with just those three words I can already practically hear Shane's high voice in my ears. "Long time no see and all! I was having trouble fitting all of my belongings inside my luggage last night. I figured you wouldn't mind if I sent part of it on ahead."

Line break. And then a few more lines in his scrawly handwriting: "Feel free to do whatever you like with what's inside. Be sure to open it up and make sure everything arrived safe and sound. Laters, babe!"

Really? Seriously, what the heck is so big and important that Shane actually had to send it on ahead? He and Phil are only going to stay for a week, after all. Why on earth does he need so much crap – and him knowing good and well how small my place is? But there's nothing for it, really. Might as well find some scissors and cut this thing open. God only knows what's inside that is so damn important–

Oh. Oh my.

The flaps lift open. Foam and paper slip back to reveal the last thing on earth I would possibly expect to see – not a heap of clothes or makeup or shoes, but the blinking, mortified gaze of a half-naked, leather-bound, and heavily muzzled Phil.

"I- oh my god-" I'm stuttering at first, shock giving way to incredulity and then to worry. "Phil, I- are you okay? What the heck? Here, let me-" But he lets out a hoarse gurgle, eyes traveling pointedly down to another note affixed to the leather straps circling his hairless chest. I reach down, plucking it up and allowing my eyes to travel over the scrawl. "Isn't he precious? Take good care of him until I get there! And by good care, I naturally mean fuck senseless. He's been a very bad boy lately. ;-)"

Well, fuck me. Or rather, fuck him? I mean, I'm gay as they come, and I do like my share of kinky play. But never have I seen anything quite like this – at least, not in real life.

Out from the box I finally get my petite young visitor. He's done up in extraordinary and sadistic detail, I find. Around his mouth and the entire lower half of his face is a close-fitting leather muzzle gag, multiple sets of straps running around his jaws and up across his forehead to affix with heavy little padlocks behind his tousled blonde head.

In the muzzle's smooth surface is a small plug with a label reading "insert water here" – which of course I do with the aid of the small funnel and straw I find lying beside him. He gulps it gratefully, and I shake my head in mingled admiration and bewilderment at the ingenuity of it all. This is some gag, all right: clearly designed for extended wear, and obviously effective. I can't catch a glimpse of what lies beneath its supple surface, but from the quiet little gurgles that Phil emits in gratitude for the water, it's abundantly clear that whatever gag is lodged within his mouth, it's something very large, girthy, and long.

Something shaped like a cock, perhaps.

That's just the gag, of course. His smooth chest is bare save for the leather straps crisscrossing around his torso, and they hold his slim, pinioned arms captive behind his back with ruthless tenacity. His slender and shaven legs, too, are bare and have been drawn up behind him with similar leather bonds. But it's what's around his groin that makes me stare, much as I try not to.

It's literally a giant diaper.

Which honestly makes sense, of course. This young guy's been trapped inside a box for what must have been hours now. He's bound – pun unintended – to have needed to take a leak. But as he struggles limply out from the packing and flops heavily over onto his belly, I find myself staring wonderingly at the thick, plastic-coated bulge of material around his ass. For plastic-covered it is; there is some sort of locking plastic pants fastened around his waist, and I can see links of a fine chain gleaming there at his back as well as a small but tough-looking padlock. Beneath I can see partially swollen layers of white cotton and plastic, and though I'm no expert on such things, I feel positive that he's definitely in need of a change.

Hmm… Padlocks. That means keys must be in here somewhere…

Yet I find only one, and it fits only one lock: the lock for his plastic pants. Of course I undo it, though as I roll my bound friend onto his back and gingerly tug back the soiled padding, I witness fresh shame mounting in his eyes and listen to a fresh bout of pathetically muted gurgles from behind his gag. And no wonder! For beneath that urine-soaked padding is yet another lock: this one hanging heavily from a close-fitting steel cage around his imprisoned cock and taut-drawn balls. God, he really is locked and controlled, isn't he? Shane doesn't even let him cum on his own?

And yet, with every second my own surprise is rapidly melting into unaccountable horniness. Phil's note is echoing in my brain, after all – and heaven knows I've fantasized enough about such kinky delights. Fuck senseless, Phil instructed…

I actually laugh – half with relief, half with genuine mirth – when I catch sight of the third note. It's nothing more than a little sticker affixed to the large, flat base of the sizable plug lodged in Phil's ass: "Remove before use."

"Phil," I begin, bending down despite my growing hard-on to peer into his cringing face. "Phil, Shane tells me you've been a very bad boy. He deliberately sent you to me like this, okay? He's given me clear instructions to make sure you're okay… and to take good care of fucking you until he gets here." Yet as I speak I read in his blue eyes not surprise, nor even disgust. I find… what is that? Hunger? Pleading? Assent?

"Nod your head if you want to be a good boy. Nod if you want Mister Gary to fuck your pissy ass." The words are unfamiliar in my mouth, but oh, the sentiment behind them is not. I recognize this feeling – this rush of power, this desire to control and dominate, this rush of primal delight at the sight of someone so plainly ready to be taken and used…

Oh, Phil nods. With shame in his eyes and a muted gurgle of assent and a wriggle of his naked ass that gets me harder than ever.

And so… well, I go to find the lube. Because I'm a good friend – and also because, weird as this all is, I have a feeling that Shane would be very disappointed if I didn't take care of his pretty little boyfriend until he arrives.

Though I wonder if there's another one of those diapers in the box? Poor Phil is sure to need it before tomorrow comes!