Master's Box

Its been sitting up in our back shed room for weeks now, always there, always on my mind.

Masters Box.

Its really a pretty innocuous box, or well it started out that way.

We call them porta robes, thick cardboard, 5 foot long maybe, 2 feet square.

Innocuous.

Well it was until master got to it –now it’s a fearfully reinforced creature, miles and miles of thick duct tape, cables and straps reinforce it all over..

But its light, and maneuverable, and I suppose innocent looking  still to the casual viewer.

But I’m not a casual viewer.

Every time I come up to the back room its there –one end open –inviting, threatening.

I'm drawn to it as a moth is to a flame

Its smell, its dark interior. Its promise.

Master promises “to put me away for a while” next time I'm “bad”

But he’s been promising for so long.

So I ask him straight out

“I need to be boxed Master”

And he grins. “Soon pet, soon.”

Soon has arrived

I delight in the firm feel of his ropes as they take away my hands behind me.

That feeling of trust and love, and shivering excitement as he lowers me onto my face, takes my feet, joins them closely, tightly to my wrists.

Its comfortable, but tight. Firm. Inescapable.

Just how I like it.

Just how he likes it

He stuffs my mouth with my damp panties

Tape compresses my face –my eyes bulge slightly as he runs it around and around my head.

He loves the tape does my man.

Face first he scoots me into the box, smooth cardboard against my chest.

My face rests against the end – a small, small hole here will give me some air –it is carefully shielded –air I will receive –but no light.

And this goes rapidly as master folds the ends behind me, enclosing me into his package.

My favourite bit

The taping begins –he is wonderfully extravagant –I know at least a roll of the heavy material will be used, that and some straps, and probably more tape.

It means no escape –not hogtied like this.

It is very, very dark, not totally - I can both feel and see the box I am now trapped in.

“Well pet, you are packaged. I might be back in an hour or so. We have the Smiths for tea tonight, I will grab something.”

He pats the box

“have fun, love you”

And I hear him go.

Listening carefully I hear the car start, and soon depart.

Boxed.

Alone

Packaged

Bliss.

Subspace

Tensions of life dissolving.

For a while I just lay in my cardboard womb, and thank God for the wonderful man in my life who understands so well my needs.

Then after a while – inevitably I begin to wriggle, to test my bonds – the excitement building.

Its not easy, but as always – the thought - “I'm a packaged parcel – put away” does the trick – and the orgasm blossoms through me.

 Nice

The box is now definitely stuffy – and I have to search hard to find the small flow of fresh air entering the box, and I'm beginning to sweat – a lot.

But I'm not going anywhere.

Packages never do by themselves.

I close my eyes, revelling in the confines of my box.

I awake – confused momentarily by the darkness, and my bondage.

How long was I asleep?

I cannot feel my fingers – and the dull throb in my arms tell me  - quite some time.

Something is not quite right – whilst asleep something has tightened up far further than I have experienced before, my bonds are not just firm – now they tell me – pain.

How long?

How long have I been asleep?

How long has Master been gone?

How long before I am released?

Then I think of the Smiths, and think It cannot be too long.

I try to hear the outside world – the muted hum of traffic on the road out front.

Neighbour mowing the lawn

Next doors kids playing.

Amazing how the world just carries on without you – oblivious to your box, to your plight so close by them.

Faint noises  - a car in the drive

At last.

And then a rush of blood – blood freezing in my veins as I hear the Smiths knock on our back door

More knocks

Master?

Maybe that’s my punishment – to remain here while he gives dinner?

No – how could he explain my absence?

Murmurs, more knocks, and then the Smiths drive away.

There is no getting around it – it's late, and getting later.

For the first time in many, many years I really try to free myself, try to escape the now harsh, harsh ropes binding me.

Nothing gives – and I just sweat some more.

Time passes.

I try to push my way out of the box – but it bends a little, and that’s it.

More struggles.

I lay quiet – listening to the world go to bed, feeling the world cool around me.

All aches,

I am terribly thirsty.

Master?

A new day

In a normal suburban street, in a normal suburban shed, sits a normal looking cardboard box, somewhat reinforced.

All around the box, the world carries on its normal day, uncaring, oblivious.

Occasionally the box gives a slight movement, occasionally some strange, muffled sounds come from within it, but you would have to be close to hear, to notice.

No its just a box

A parcel without an  owner.

Poor box.

02.07.06