Under His Hand

The journal of a slave

The Box–Fiction

I was awakened by His arm as He snaked it around my shoulders, pulling me closer to His chest. I slid backward, bumping and then snuggling my butt into His pelvis. I felt the lump of His cock through His sweatpants with my naked cheeks and giggling sleepily I ground my ass into it. He grunted, kissed my ear and mumbled “go back to sleep, ya slut”. Smiling, I kissed the rough hairs on His arm and closed my eyes. Comfortable and warm, allowed the privilege of sleeping in bed with Him for the night and not on the floor, or in the cage or box, I slept.

When next I woke, the alarm clock was buzzing annoyingly in my ear. I fumbled quickly for the off button and sat up. I waited quietly, Master was awake but not moving yet and I was chained and locked to the headboard. So I sat until Master finally rolled over, key in hand. He grabbed ahold of the chain leading to my collar and pulled me toward His face. “Morning cunt” He said, and began trying to find the keyhole in the dark.

“Good morning Sir,” I answered back, and seeing that my mouth was lined up perfectly with His nipple while He tried to wiggle the key into the hole, I smacked my lips around it and suckled. He girlie-screamed which sent me into a fit of giggles, and lock and key forgotten, He sat up, pulled me across His lap and began paddling my ass with His bare hand. He mock lectured me as He spanked, about licking things without asking, while I lounged across His knees. It was some more-than-i-can-count swats later that the lock was finally undone, chain coiled and tucked under the pillow and He sent me on my way to get the morning started.

I shivered in the chill of the morning air, wishing, as I did every morning, that Master would allow clothes just for breakfast making but I’d made that plea so many times that it finally tried His patience. He’d marched to the back door, which was just off the kitchen and opened it, letting in a long, icy blast of winter wind. Then He propped it open for the entire time it took me to complete my morning kitchen duties. It was hours and hours before I was warm again, before the house was warm again and I never again wished out-loud for clothes in the morning. I could think it though.

I started the coffee pot and while that was perking, I prepared Master’s lunch for work. The coffee maker and I usually finished about the same time and I carried a smoking cup back to the bedroom. Sometimes, Master would still be sleeping and I’d wake Him with lil kisses to His stubbly cheeks. Other times, He’d be awake and waiting for me, a raging hardon in His hand and that wickedly evil grin on His face. Or He’d be up and already getting ready for work. This morning, He was up and gathering stuff for His shower.

“Awww, no sex?” I quipped as I sat down on the floor and warmed my hands around His cup. “I’m needy, You know.”

He walked over to me and plucked the cup away, taking a long sip. Poking His foot around in my crotch, He watched me over the rim. “Horny little bitch.” It was a statement and not a question but I nodded quickly anyway. I gasped as His toe found my clit, He grinned and pressed hard, then bent His toe, dragging His toenail down my most sensitive bit. He walked away then and while I rubbed at the sting, He explained that He didn’t have time today, busy day, important people, He’d be home late… and turning around He saw my fingers poking around in my pussy.

Before I even realized He had seen me, He had my arm in one hand, pulling it away from my crotch and His other hand cupped my pussy. I looked at Him in shocked silence, I’d only been looking for damage from His toenail assault not masturbating! I started to explain that and He shut me up with one swift slap to my pussy.

“I can see that you are going to be a greedy bitch today. It’ll be the chastity belt for you then.”

I opened my mouth to protest and He swatted my pussy again, catching it this time in His fist and squeezing the delicate flesh. I closed my eyes as pain rocketed up and nodded, “yes Sir,” I said, knowing that only agreement would save me now. “Than
k you!” He said sarcastically and dropped both my arm and my pussy. I scowled at the floor, grumbling in my head while He finished up what He was doing. I was so lost in my mental complaining that I didn’t notice He was ready to move to the bathroom until He tapped me on the head. He stood there, holding His empty coffee cup and all His showering stuff. All the things I was supposed to be carrying and the cup I was supposed to be watching. I jumped to my feet and made a move to take the stuff but He pulled back and eyed me up and down.

“You’re shaping yourself up for a very hard day, little girl. You know that?”

I found something interesting to look at and poke with my toe on the carpet and nodded sullenly. He pushed the empty cup into my hands and brushed by me. “Meet me in the shower” He said and left the room. I sighed as I went to the kitchen. I hated when situations took a nasty turn like this. With no deliberate attempt on my part to be “naughty”, I’d been busted and then pouted about it to boot. It was different when I’d gone out of my way and deserved a smack down but things like this often left me sulking about the unfairness of this power exchange. And of course, thinking along the lines of fairness in a relationship based upon Him having all the power and me having none led straight to trouble.

I decided to try and salvage what was left of the morning and leaving His cup on the sink’s edge, I climbed into the shower behind him and quietly took my spot on the floor. He had already begun washing Himself, which was a punishment to me for not paying attention to Him, for not having His cup already filled before the shower, for not being in the bathroom and ready when He was. One of my morning chores was to bathe Him and wash His hair and to kneel before Him while He “showered” me with His first morning’s urine. He’d taken the first part away and it stung. I didn’t know yet, if He’d already pissed but I hoped He hadn’t decided to take that from me too. I kept my eyes down in apology and waited to be forgiven. I saw His feet turn and knew He was looking at me but no words were spoken and I didn’t look up. My face blushed in shame and I struggled to find the right words, apologies are hard anyway and made all the more difficult when you are kneeling naked in a shower and the Man you see as God is standing above you, waiting and watching.

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, long and explanative answers dancing on my tongue. I knew He was watching and enjoying this struggle in some way. I finally blurted out the only thing He wanted to hear and the only thing that I could say. “I’m sorry, Master.” In the tiny moment of silence that followed my tears dripped and were lost in the spray of the shower. As it always does when I wait to be forgiven, it occurs to me that someday He may not. That He’s not bound by any law that says He has to. That a punishment from Him could go on and on and on, indefinitely. That I’ll never be secure in thinking that I deserve to be forgiven. Because, while the actualities of this morning’s trangressions were small, in the bigger picture it all comes down to one simple concept. I either obeyed. Or I didn’t. The details don’t really matter. Maybe I ignored an empty coffee cup, or I left the house without asking and had my hair cut in a cute little bob and dyed it purple… either action is disobedience. (Though the very thought of what He would do if I DID leave the house and get my hair done makes me want to pee my pants.) And so I wait… but I don’t expect… to be forgiven.
“Look at me,” He demanded. When I raised my face to His, I came face to… well.. to cock. I instinctively opened my mouth, something that I am actually successfully trained on is to open my mouth anytime His cock is in view. He gazed down at me, my eyes searching His, my mouth wide. He held His cock lightly, as He does when He’s getting ready to urinate and my heart lifted. I couldn’t keep the smile from showing even with my stretched wide lips. He leaned over me and as the first splashes of Him warmly
hit my face, He reassured me that I’m still His ‘good girl’. I closed my eyes then and let the liquid wash over me. He pushed Himself inside my mouth, deeply and I swallowed what hit the back of my throat. Otherwise, He let if flow all over me.. dousing my hair, making sure a good bit was directed right up my nose, spraying my breasts and pussy. I kept my mouth wide, even as He aimed elsewhere and He continuously came back to it, filling it and then moving to another spot. The length of this elimination process was the main reason Master always used the first morning urine. It was guaranteed to be a long one, and a strong one.
It isn’t easy for me to get through this, even after all the times it’s been done. I don’t particularly enjoy the taste or the smell, nor do I think I will ever get over the squick-factor of drinking piss. It’s a hard task, each and every morning. And it’s that struggle that makes it enjoyable for the both of us. I’m just as often to be gagging and struggling as He aims into my mouth as I am to be gracefully swallowing and it’s a different sort of pride and satisfaction for each reaction.
When He had finished and I had sucked the last few drips from the tip of His cock, He stood back under the spray of the shower, making sure to rinse all the urine off of Himself. Then He shut off the water. He stepped out and I bit my lip, holding back the urge to argue. I was covered from head to toe in urine. Strong urine. Not only that, He was already starting to dry Himself off which was another of MY chores taken from me. Perhaps I hadn’t been forgiven after all. He looked back at me as He towelled off and nodded down toward my crotch. “Piss,” He said and without waiting for a response, He turned to the sink and began shaving.
I felt the blush creep up to cover my face and shook my head to no one. There would be no refusing this, no getting out of it. It was an entirely different concept to accept Master’s urine on my body. To me, it was a symbol of how deeply I was committed to being His slave. To being anything He wanted me to be, including His toilet. But all of that flew out the window when it came to my own body’s waste. I simply could not wrap my submissive mind around my elimination being pleasing to Him in any way.
I started to lift myself up a bit because the way I was sitting was going to trap the whole works in a puddle in my indian-style crossed legs. And since I hadn’t yet been allowed to relieve myself that morning, it was going to be a pool. But Master’s gruff command to “stay!” let me know that this pool was exactly His goal. I looked at Him with rapidly filling eyes, pleading wordlessly to Him through the mirror over the sink. I had apologized for earlier already and now this?
He peered over the edge of the tub with a pointed look at the still empty space between my legs. “you’d better be done before I finish here, slut” He said, making another swipe with the razor over His chin. A sob broke through, “Master, please!”
He turned and pointed His razor at me. “We’re having a lesson here in hard mornings, aren’t we little girl? We can pretend that you’ll decide how the morning will be spent, be it fucking or pouting at the carpet while I get myself ready for work, or you can agree that I get to decide what the morning schedule is going to be and you’ll do as your told, and do what you’ve been taught and maybe tomorrow morning, we can avoid all this drama. Now, piss!”
I jerked a little at the command and the tone of His voice and realized that I may have been forgiven but the lesson wasn’t over. I lowered my head and concentrated on going. My bladder had crawled up into a tight little ball in the pit of my stomach and was now stubbornly refusing to cooperate. Seeing that Master was close to being done only furthered my panic and I finally had to close my eyes and relax myself with visions of waterfalls and dripping faucets to open the dam. Sure enough, it puddled hotly against my legs and though it was warm and I was wet and freezing, having my own waste on me gave me the willies. I swa
llowed often to keep from urping, kept my eyes off of it and tried not to move so I didn’t have to feel it. Master gave it less than a passing glance, ordered me to make sure I “kept it there” and left the bathroom.
The puddle rapidly cooled which was even grosser than the warm stuff and my “pool” was not quite leak-proof. I found myself pressing my legs even tighter to the bathtub surface to try and seal it all in, afraid that Master would blow His top if He came back to an empty puddle. When He did come back in, He saw how hard I was struggling. He sat down on the toilet while He finished with His socks and shoes, another of my chores, and watched me for awhile.
He leaned over me and sniffed the air. “You’re a stinky whore,” He remarked. “You better hold that puddle there, it’s leaking,” and smiled as I quivered in effort to keep it in. He reached out and captured one tightly stiffened nipple between His fingers. “Cold, slut?”
“Yes, Master” I said softly, and cringed when He gave it an evil twist before dropping it and moving to wash His hands.
“Stand up!” He barked loud enough to make me squeal and I jumped up, almost slipping on the wet floor. I swallowed one last lump of bile as my own cold stinky urine flowed over my feet towards the drain. “Stay there until you are dry, I don’t want to dirty my towels with your stinking body” He remarked cruelly, just to make me cry. And I did. I stood and shivered as His and my urine dried to my skin. When He returned, He carried the chastity device with Him.
“Spread em” He ordered, holding the dildo part of the chastity belt. I did and He roughly inserted it. “Hold it” He warned, meaning that I better not let it slip out of my pussy. I turned and spread my cheeks for the plug part, thanking Him for choosing the smaller plug and not the one that rivalled Master’s fist in girth. He used no lube though, and it went in painfully as it was meant to do and I grunted as He pressed it in tight. I stood still as He looped the leather bands through the protuding ends of each insertable, and cinched it up tight. Both of the dildos would wiggle and slide out just a bit, but the leather band and my own movements would consistently push them back in.. and in this way, I’d be fucking my cunt and my ass, all day long.
He hurried me out of the bathroom then and led me down the hall to the ‘dungeon room’. My feet slowed as we got closer and tears once again pricked the back of my eyes. Being brought here in the morning always meant just one thing. The box.
The box was just that. A wooden box. Perfectly square with a hinged, and lockable lid. It was just deep enough that I could sit and my head would brush the lid and not quite long enough for me to stretch my legs out straight. The top, sides and bottom were of hard, unyielding wood. There was no padding, no forgiveness. The floor was lined with thin hospital chucks so I could pee or shit or puke or whatever, and none of it would stain the bottom. There was one tiny carved out grate near one of the bottom corners and Master would direct a small fan at it to keep the oxygen level in the box from dropping too low. There was no other light or air source.
Quite frankly, the box terrified me. Master had had many long talks with me about risk aware kink and while He was certain that I would not die in that box, even without the fan (and there had been hours and hours of experiments without the fan) it felt as if I would. And I knew that if He was locking me in now, He’d be gone for the next 10 to 12 hours and I’d be left alone.. to panic and scream.. and cry and beg.
I immediately began sobbing and hovered at the door, wanting with every fiber of my being to run away from that box. Master ignored me for the most part, and unlocked and opened the big heavy lid. He only pointed in and didn’t say a word. I took one step towards it and then two steps backwards and pleaded and sobbed.. for anything.. anything at all but not this.. please not the box… I was so sorry for everything and I had learned my lesson and please, Master, please.. not the
box.
He walked to me then and bent close to my ear, wrinkling His nose as the sharp ammonia smell of urine assaulted His nostrils. “Your punishment is the chastity belt and having to smell your piss-covered body all day. You’ll appreciate being ready on time for a shower after a day of smelling like a public urinal and maybe you’ll keep your fingers out of your crotch every time I look away after a few days wearing that chastity belt. I took half of your morning chores away from you, the ones you like, to teach you that sulking at the floor is maybe not as important as serving your Master.”
I blinked the tears away, hearing the words He spoke and sensing some relief. But still…. we were here, at the box… and He held the padlock in His hand. He saw me looking past Him at the box and a slow smile curled over His lips. He made a move to stroke my hair but stopped, disgust flickering across His face at the urine still dripping off the ends of my hair. He stood and went back to the box and pointed in it once again, snapping His fingers this time as well.
The snap. The snap was the equivilent of a whip cracking across my backside most times. It signalled the end of His patience. The end of negotiation. It meant “move and move NOW”. And I did move.. I stood.. slowly.. and began taking baby steps to the box. With my chin quivering and fresh tears spilling over, I cried “why Master, why the box?”
“I had planned to put you in the box long before your actions this morning, girl.” He gifted me with an explanation. “That’s why I let you sleep in bed with me and not on the floor, I wanted you to have a night of comfort and I had *hoped* for a pleasant morning before I locked you in here. You’ve made it ten times worse for yourself with the piss and the chastity belt and I sincerely hope you learn something from that. But my original plans won’t change just because you’ve earned yourself a punishment. I want the slave who comes out of this box when I get home. I want you in that headspace. I want you to spend the next 12 hours slipping inside of yourself and when I come back and let you out, I expect you to be a cunt in a cage, through and through. Do you understand?”
As He explained and I sobbed, I had climbed into the box. And I now sat on the hard wooden floor, driving the two dildos into me and looked up at Him. “Yes Master” I whispered and dropped my gaze. Without another word, He hefted the lid over and darkness covered me like a blanket. Almost immediately the smell of myself filled the cramped area and I gagged. I heard the small whir of the fan turn on and then the receding sound of His footsteps.
After that, silence. Darkness. Pain. For the first two hours or so, I maintained a calm that I didn’t feel. The smell had waned some with the fan’s help but it was building quickly, filling the box and each breath I took felt heavy and laced with piss. I couldn’t escape the taste or the smell or the feel of it. Every position I sat in felt the same as when I was in the tub, holding that puddle in my lap. I began taking shallow breaths to avoid the sensation of breathing in urine and shifting positions frequently and soon enough, I was in a full blown panic, feeling like i was drowning in a sea of piss. I began kicking and hitting the walls and tops of the box, even though I already knew, from past experience, that nothing I could do would damge or otherwise affect this box. I screamed until I was hoarse and coughing and nobody came. On some level, I knew that the panic was part of the process and one that He enjoyed, yet I still believed I needed rescued and my Master wasn’t doing it. That led to anger and I spent a good amount of time cursing and hating Him. At times, I fell into a fitful sleep, short and uncomfortable naps that only drove me closer to the edge as I woke and had to realize all over again where I was, but now with no idea of how much time had passed, or how much longer I would be there. The constant shifting of positions, trying to get any measure of comfort, only drove the two dildos in and out in a consi
stent pattern so that by the time I was let out and the belt was removed, my ass and cunt were rubbed, red and raw, almost bleeding. (And were both bleeding before He had finished using me that night.) And so the process went… for closer to 14 hours that day… with no interraction at all, no reprieve. It was over.. and Master knew it was over.. when the only sounds coming from the box were tiny whimpers of devotion, whispers of pleas, of promises to please Him. When the only emotion left was the complete desire to do *anything* to make Him happy.
I didn’t know to what level Master watched me in the box. There had been many many days spent in the box when I knew He was home but the process on my end didn’t differ much, whether He was home or not. I still went through the same roller coaster and still ended up in the same place and He never appeared to release me until I was there. I had tried to reach that mindset in a thousand different ways, anything to avoid the hours spent in that hard, cramped box but nothing even came close. Not even the cage could push me that hard.
When He did come to let me out, it was with the intention to use me hard.. to push limits, to wittle me down to nothing… raw, human desire… intent on pleasing Him and nothing else. During these times, He had to be careful what He asked for because I had left good judgement somewhere in that box, hours ago, and would probably jump into traffic if I thought it would put a smile on His face. In the box, Master becomes my universe. The sun and moon, creator and destroyer. And I’ll stop at nothing to make Him happy.
That night was every bit as hard as I knew it would be. Yet, it was easier too. Easier than if He had come at me out of the blue. I understood the value of the box even if I despised the process of it. I took it all, every stroke, every welt. I carried every bruise and cried the tears He needed to see. I bled for Him and accepted, with grace, His urine, His cum, His spittle. I wore it all on my filthy stinky body and was…. everything He wanted me to be.
At bedtime, I wasn’t given the gift of His bed. My collar was locked to the ring in the floor, far away from the bed this time as Master didn’t want to smell my filth all night. I slept soundly in spite of the cold and discomforts. Drained and exhausted, I slept like the dead and when the alarm buzzed annoyingly in the morning, I sat up and quietly waited to be unlocked. Master opened the lock and caught my chin in His hand, He stared into my eyes, mine searching His, and seeing the same cold hard glint there, my eyes puddled again. “make sure you wash your hands before you touch anything” was all He said before climbing back into bed.
This morning, I followed rules. I did everything I was supposed to do, exactly as I was supposed to do it. Master even allowed me extra time in the shower which I sorely needed. When I got out of the shower, Master wasn’t in the bathroom or in the bedroom. Confused but feeling an urgent need to find Him, I headed out to the living room when I saw the dungeon room light on down the hall. With my heart in my throat, I crept down the hall and looked in. Master had pulled out the soiled chucks from yesterday, sprayed the box with some disinfectant spray and laid clean chucks on the floor. He smiled when He saw me and pointed into the box.
“Welcome home, cunt.”

2 Responses to “The Box–Fiction”

  • shadow

    FUUCK….
    i been there a little bit over the years… covered in piss… cum… sweat… yeah— dat is good stuff.

  • Miramira

    OMG,,,where is the love button,,, this is hot hot hot

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