BOXED

A surprise he said. But his surprises tend to fill me with apprehension rather than excitement. And rightly so, as past experience had taught me nothing else!

And so I enter the room with some intrepidation, slightly shivering if the truth be told. And all I can see is some large wooden pieces propped up against the back wall. I look at him, slightly confused, and he smiles that smile that makes me weak at the knees and faint of heart.

He beckons me over and kisses me lightly on the forehead before making me bend from the waist and tightly binding each breast with bootlaces, two solid mounds now standing proud on my chest. My hands behind my back in metal cuffs, the same treatment of my ankles. I can feel the sharpness of the edges cutting in a little and relished the feeling of no hope of escape. He opens my mouth and forces a pair of my own panties inside, duct tape applied over my lips and vet wrap tightly encircling my lower face and neck. Well and truly gagged.

He moves the first sheet of wood over to me and lays it flat on the floor, taking my elbow and guiding me to stand on it. I watch as he brings the next two pieces over and realise he is creating a box for me. As he slides the third sheet into place I notice the two holes cut into it. He adjust my position through the remaining gap and steps slightly inside with me. He pushes me flat against the holed side and manipulates my bound breasts through each of the holes – I suddenly realise what he had a tape measure out for all those weeks ago – to achieve the perfect fit. He moves my head to the side to face him and the open gap, my left cheek squashed against the holed side. He moves away and returns quickly holding a small electric drill and a curved length of polished silver metal. He places the metal around my neck and I notice the flattened edges that sit tight against the side of the box. I feel a slight panic within me as he takes a screw from his pocket and proceeds to drill it through the tiny hole in the metal, right into the wood. The same on the other side of the metal and I am absolutely attached to the box.

He steps away and returns with the fourth side of the box, slotting it into place, and finally, whilst up on a chair, pops the lid into position. I am completely in the dark and completely helpless, my breasts the only part of me visible to the outside world.

I feel the harsh pinching of clamps being applied to my nipples, feel the chain attaching them being pulled to a maximum. Then the hitting begins – nasty, whippy streaks of pain on my breasts as the thin cane he uses leaves lines of scarlet over them. And when he tires of that the dull thud of the leather flogger smacks into me, re-igniting the pain in the cane lines. A single salty tear trickles from my eye.

An internal scream deafens my mind as he pulls the clamps off, I feel the palms of his hands, cold and soothing, caressing my hot and swollen breasts, gently kneading my nipples back to life. My expectation is that he will leave me in here for a while, just sit and relax and enjoy the view, but I should know better than to second guess. I feel the clamps go on again, followed by the dragging sensation of weights being attached. The pull is horrendous as he adds more and more, my nipples feeling as if they may become detached from me. I feel the palm of his hand again, but this time slapping the tops of my tits, causing the weights to swing and jiggle and so increasing my discomfort.

And it is then he moves from me and enjoys his tableau. It feels like hours but I know it is not. My breasts ache and the sharp pains from my nipples radiate into every part of my conciousness. My neck begins to stiffen and my subconscious struggling against the metal cuffs has hurt the tender skin around my wrists and ankles. But my soul is singing with a deep and contented joy because I know he is out there, happy with his handiwork, happy with me.

©2009 by shapeshifter