By the time Stuart left for work, after a quick scare because he wasn’t feeling so well
when he got up and thought he might take the day off, I was a mess of excitement. I
showered and washed my hair, cleaned my teeth for the umpteenth time, did my nails and my
make-up, all the time looking at the clothes I’d laid out on the bed ready. Black
everywhere and all of it designed to give Rob visual and physical access to me.
He arrived at ten minutes before eleven - maybe he was as keen as I was - and
he was in his car. As soon as he came through the door, before even uttering a word, he
took over, pulling me face up on the settee and tying my hands in front of me (now that
was a change, he’d always wanted them behind before) and my legs and thighs together like
I was a parcel he had to mail somewhere. Once I was suitably trussed he pulled some
adhesive tape from his pocket and gagged me with it before finally adding a blindfold.
Then he was gone, leaving me to struggle and wonder what he was up to today.
I heard him leave the house at one point and for a moment thought he’d left me there, but
the outside door didn’t close, so it was OK. Each time he went out, he came back into the
room where he held me captive, fussed around with God-knows-what and left again. This must
have gone on for the best part of half an hour before he finished.
I felt his hands on me, raising me to a sitting position. The light hurt my
eyes when he took the blindfold off. I should have guessed what he was doing - on the
floor in the centre of the carpet was a large wooden container, not quite as I had
imagined the one from the scene described to me from his book, but close enough for me to
have no doubt as to its purpose or Rob’s intent. Sally was going in the box!
Part of my adverse reaction to the original piece in his book was against the
very idea of being shut away like that. I’m not exactly claustrophobic, but I do panic
when I think of small spaces. It must have shown on my face, too, because he came and sat
beside me.
“I want you to understand, Sally. You will have use of your safe word.”
I nodded. He may be a lot of scary things, but he’s not the kind to do that
to anyone without a safe word. I did my best to relax. A feeling that I couldn’t quite
define came over me. I was facing a fear, as the woman in the book who started all this
had. When I heard about her I imagined her terror at being forced into it, yet here I was,
in the same position, with something overriding the fright, a feeling of being protected
and shielded from any danger at all. I have tried to analyse that feeling since. I imagine
it’s akin to complete trust. He had the power to put me in that box. There was nothing I
could do about that, nothing at all, apart from struggle, and the way I was bound
prevented much of that. Instead I was filled with a feeling of warmth and, what can I call
it, love? Did I actually love this man?
Another part of the feeling was that if he decided to put me in that box and
close the lid, he’d be doing it for my own good, not just for his enjoyment. I supposed
that makes me sound like a real wimp, but if you met me, you’d soon know I’m not. It
wasn’t like giving up; it was like making a conscious decision to put myself entirely in
this man’s hands. That thought was quite profound in my mind and even more profound was
the fact that Rob recognised what had happened. I remember he just looked into my eyes,
smiled and nodded. He’d said I’d have the use of my safe word, but we both knew the score.
He reached forward to put his hand on the edge of the tape at one corner of my mouth, a
question on his face. He didn’t lift the edge of the tape; he just left his finger there
and stared. I slowly shook my head.
I looked at the box as he explained it to me. He’d built it especially for me
the day before, he said, making it, as he called it, “self-assembly” so he could get it in
the car. God knows what the neighbours thought if they saw him carrying it in – they never
said anything afterwards. Basically, it was just a rectangular box, but there were no
hinges on the two-part lid - it had clasps and locks. Inside was padded with what looked
like a duvet.
“Ready?” he asked me when he’d finished describing it.
I nodded. He knelt in front of the sofa and picked me up in his arms,
carrying me the short distance to the box and lowering me into it. As he carried me, the
split skirt opened and displayed just about all it could, but once again I was helpless to
do anything about it.
It was quite comfortable inside and I felt very peaceful. He arranged my
skirt so it wasn’t rucked up under me, but made no attempt to cover my modesty. Once I was
in - presumably to put me at my ease - he sat beside me and talked for a while about how
he wouldn’t leave the room whilst I was shut inside. He told me I should kick out if I
panicked. He would hear the noise and let me out. I wish, for that reason, I’d not had my
mouth taped, because I would have liked to tell him that somehow I knew I wasn’t going to
panic, nor was I going to kick out. I was going to submit, completely. I was going to let
him decide when I got out and, barring basic biological necessity, leg cramps or some
other emergency, I’d stay there for as long as he kept me there. Quite simply, I’d never
felt as relaxed in my life. If he’d not taped my mouth he’d have seen me smile.
He told me how incredible I looked and, unusually for me because I think I’m
very ordinary, I believed him. He showed me just how turned on he was by wrapping his hand
round the bulge in his trousers, only inches from my face so I could see it. I strained
myself to lift my head and rub my face against the hardness, moving it up and down against
him. I was muttering behind the gag, “I want it, I want it,” but it just came out as
mumbling. The pressure of my face was getting to him, though, so I pressed harder. He
asked if I wanted it and I nodded. That was all the encouragement he needed to unzip
himself and bring it out into the open, rubbing it on my face as I cooed in lustful
delight. He held his cock in his right hand and rubbed it into my hair, round my face and
all over the gag. I wished he’d ungag me so I could suck it, but he didn’t. His fist
started moving up and down his cock, faster and faster, his eyes watching my face all the
time. A few minutes later I got my reward as he gushed all over me, his ejaculation
running down my face and into my hair, making a series of splat noises as it hit the tape
gag.
He didn’t wipe me up afterwards; he just let it run over me and drip where it
would. I could feel it in my hair and running down my neck, getting cold as it travelled.
After ten minutes or so he’d recovered enough to fit the lower lid. It came
almost up to my chest and just about touched my hands above me when he’d slotted it home.
The clasps and padlocks sounded very solid, very permanent. Considering how freaked-out I
felt just a few days ago when the subject of this enclosure arose, my understanding was
complete. I didn’t feel threatened, not at all. He asked me if I was OK and I nodded,
willing him to complete his subjugation of me and shut me away as his possession. I really
wish I could find words to describe how I felt just then. Helpless, protected, cherished,
loved, incapable... there are so many words I could use, but even all together they can’t
describe it.
Finally, he moved to get the second lid. After a last check that I was OK; he
stroked my forehead and lowered the lid over me. The darkness was welcoming. I was gone
from the world, his possession, his parcel, his package.
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