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Total Objectification

Summary:

Donatello takes objectification to its most extreme.

Work Text:

     Donatello’s hands were trembling as he tightened the last screw of the collar, the power light turning red as the final power connection was locked into place.  He’d been experimenting with more and more extreme bondage methods for years, and this collar was the culmination of an ultimate fantasy of his.  Ever since he’d first put on a collar, he’d wanted to be used and objectified ever further by his family and friends, used like a cheap toy.  The collar turned to handcuffs and kneepads, then chastity shorts and ball gags.  His toy chest continued to grow with dildos, gags, outfits and accessories.  He’d been spit roasted over a bondage horse, suspended by his wrists and ankles alone (and dislocated a shoulder in the process).  He’d even had a piercing put through his dick, a chastity tube locked on years ago before being welded shut forever.

     It was never enough, though.  It never took him far enough, never truly rendered him as a helpless fucktoy.  His siblings had warned him after the chastity cage that he may have been taking things too far, yet Donatello didn’t listen.  He instead sought relief from extra-dimensional toys, like so-called D-Rings he pilfered from another dimension.  Raphael was wary of their use at first, but a quick demonstration on Donatello’s legs and arms brought him around.  Donatello had spent the weekend as a fucktoy torso, helpless to remove the rings himself even as he was repeatedly used like a cum dumpster.  It was that weekend that gave him his current idea, one he’d been developing and testing for over a year now with great success on his lab mice.

     Tonight was the final test on himself, however, and the thought of what would happen if the device failed made his blood run cold.  After all, the list of side effects were pretty short for a severed head: death.  Yet he’d watched his devices work on his rats without fail, and the smaller versions were quite handy at letting him leave an arm in one part of the lab for tight wiring jobs while he watched from a more advantageous position.  All those pesky anatomy problems preventing him from looking down a wall and wiring it at the same time were readily solved by the smaller collars he’d tested on his wrists and arms.

     Anxiously, he opened the device around his neck.  The metal was cold, and incredibly tight as it clasped around his throat.  No inch of air or space could be permitted, lest tragedy occur, and as Donatello clicked it shut behind his spine, the collar began cinching tighter, and tighter, and tighter still, making swallowing uncomfortable but doable.  Then the light on the collar turned yellow, then green, and Donatello sighed.  With no turning back, his brain sent the signal to lift his hands, something that would be impossible if his spinal cord was actually cut.  To his relief, his hands raised as instructed, and responded without any delay whatsoever.  Fingers flexed, body stood, knees bent, torso twisted, and lungs filled with air.  A glance at the vitals monitor showed consistent blood pressure and oxygenation, his body none the wiser of the contraption around its neck, or the extra-dimensional re-routing.

     For the final test, Donatello placed his hands on either side of his skull, and forced them to twist his head to the left.  There was an audible click, and then a sudden relief of pressure followed by a heft of weight in his hands.  He lifted his own head gently down to the desk, turning it around to face his own body.  The collar had detached into two portions, one capping his body’s neck with a dimensional ring that was directly connected to the one under his head, connecting the two in spite of the distance.  He repeated the tests yet again, excitement building as they all completed successfully.

     Perfection.


     The time had come to finally give in to his most heated desires.  Donatello adjusted the rubber catsuit he had squirmed his way into, smoothing out its wrinkles over his plastron and pressing out any air bubbles.  His hands and feet were left free by the material, but he had plans for those shortly.  He grabbed the custom ring gag he had made for longterm wear, pushing the ring past his rear molars before buckling the straps tightly behind his skull.  The pressure was tight, and the leather bit into his lips, but he didn’t care.  Comfort was not on the agenda, only use.

     Satisfied with the gag, next came his custom leather hood.  It blinded and deafened him, the leather running down to his neck with a handle grip running horizontally along the back of his head.  A careful yank of the zipper from skull to neck sealed it up tight, a padlock threading through the zipper and hood to lock it in place.  He had purposefully disposed of the key before tonight, ensuring he couldn’t back out without being used first.  His cock twitched in its permanent cage at the thought of what would come next, but Donatello couldn’t back out now, not when he was so close.

     Feeling his way downward, he lay on his cot in the lab and carefully started pushing his legs into the dimensional rings at the base.  There was that tingling sensation followed by warm air as his legs kept pushing inside, the ring finally stopping just above his knees and sealing firmly into place.  His breath hitched, knowing the unlock device was kept in his lab desk and out of reach.  He always hid the control devices from his brothers to make sure they had to search thoroughly for it before he could be released, an extension of his self-bondage as far as he could go.

     Donatello reached for the collar hanging from a nearby hook, fingers tracing over it to ensure it was oriented correctly before holding it up to his neck.  He could stop here, endure a few days of sex and bondage, and then go back to normal.  Nobody would know what this was, what he had planned.  His lovers would never grasp the complexity of his plan here and now, or his intentions.  It was so easy to just back out, and go back to some perverse degree of ‘normalcy’.

     He raised the collar up his neck so it sat above the padlock and zipper of the hood, and clicked it closed.  There was a sharp tightening of it that made him choke slightly, then a tingling as it activated.  The final touch were the dimensional rings at his sides, Donatello tucking his left arm in one up to his shoulder, then repeating with the right.  Both sealed to his armpits and dumped his limbs freely into a pocket dimension, leaving him a helpless doll on the cot.  With a jerk of his head to the left, he felt himself fall free of the collar and roll onto the cot, now completely and totally helpless to do anything of his own accord.

     Donatello’s cock ached with need.  He was finally, completely, totally an object.


     Raphael churred, bucking his hips into the gurgling fleshlight bouncing on his cock.  It’d been a few weeks since he’d found Donatello in his lab, dimensional rings rendering his genius sibling little more than a sex doll for their enjoyment.  He’d grabbed the toy’s detached head, given it a kiss, and praised its initiative in devoting itself to the enjoyment of its owners.  Since then, the fleshlight bowling ball had been freely shared between the brothers as needed, with a special hook in the bathroom to hang it up for cleaning or urinal duty.  The toy whined as Raphael rolled over onto his plastron, pinning the toy between the bed and his hips, his crotch stifling its nostrils.

     The torso had been a source of much debate.  Initially viewed as a little morbid, it was Michelangelo who suggested its use as a body pillow-turned-cum dump.  Leonardo and Michelangelo had initially kept it between them as such, until the toy began squirming and moving more in bed.  There was brief discussion of finding the remotes to release the toy, until Leonardo learned he could use the toy’s body as a stress-relief device.  Judging by the whining of the toy’s top around his length, Leonardo must be laying into it with a flogger.

     Raphael tensed as he dumped another climax into the toy, the whining silenced by the object gulping the cum down spurt by spurt.  He sighed with relief and rolled off the toy, a gentle kick from his knee sending it rolling onto the floor with another whine.  He’d need to clean it off before Mikey got back from errands, but for now, its whines and whimpers were a satisfying symphony of pain and torment.

     It was an excellent toy.