She looked around the room again and took in the scene. People bustling around her, snippets of piped in jazz, waiters and waitresses navigating the crowded tables, drinks piled precariously high on silver platters. Suits and sparkling dresses. She adjusted her own dress. The fit was right, which had been a surprise to her, but she was not used to the cut: hem resting just above the knee, black chiffon obscuring the plunging neckline. She felt exposed, as if everyone in the room was looking at her. And they all knew why she was there.
A box had come with the dress. The box contained a tag and a card. The tag was a simple piece of copper, not much bigger than a coin. On it was engraved her name. Her new name. The one that she had been given by him. The one she had earned after he had tested her to see whether she was worth naming. She had done everything he asked, until she was gasping for air, until her face was burning, until the tears streamed freely down her cheeks. Until she ached to be filled, pleaded to be hurt. Until the lack of release made her half-mad.
When he had stopped he’d held her face in her hands and told her she was perfect. He said she had earned her name. That she was now his.
Now that tag was hanging around her neck on a white gold chain, her new name clearly legible to anyone who decided to lean in close enough. This was part of the reason why her hands shook as she lifted her glass to her lips. She wondered again whether everyone in the bar knew. She flushed at the thought that they could be discussing her at any one of the tables. Perhaps they had seen tags like it before, and knew better than her what it meant. What was in store.
She wanted to drink more, but she had only been allowed one whisky and the glass was already mostly empty. The message on the card had been simple: an address, a time, the name and quantity of the drink she was allowed to have, and the instruction to wait at the bar.
To distract herself she smudged the lipstick marks that had accumulated on the rim of the glass. Had anybody else made her wait this long she would have left. But she knew this was part of the game. And she knew something was coming. She could feel the potential in the room.
A gentle pat on her arm jolted her from her thoughts. A waiter stood in front of her, a silver platter balanced on his right hand. On the platter was a small black box, much like the one that had contained the tag. The waiter was expressionless and made no indication toward her or the platter. But it was clear to her that she was to take the box, and so she reached over with a shaking hand and moved it onto the bar. The box felt solid, almost too heavy for its dimensions. By the time she looked back the waiter he was gone.
The room continued much as before. At one of the tables a middle-aged man wearing red trousers and a yellow waistcoat called a toast to his wife. His guests raised their glasses and celebrated her good health. Some cheering, a polite round of applause.
She stared at box, as if looking at it with enough intention would make it reveal its secrets. But of course, it stayed stubbornly closed. The dilemma was simple: she had been told to wait at the bar. She could not move from her stool. He would know if she did. As such, she could not take the box to the bathroom and open it in private. But if she opened it now, at the bar, there was every chance it would contain something that would shame her.
She finished the whisky, took a deep breath and lifted the lid of the box. Immediately she flushed bright red and her hands shook so hard that she dropped the lid on the floor.
Inside, resting on the black lining of the box was a heavy collar. It was silver, with a locking clasp and a small link for attaching a tag. There was no key.
And another note.
‘Wear me’.
She looked around, her heart beating in her ears. She told herself that nobody would know, that it was just a necklace. But it wasn’t. It was a collar. His collar. And she knew that once it was closed around her neck she would have no power to take it off again. But the decision had already been made. She was his. He knew he owned her. He knew she wanted to be owned. Needed it. Was desperate for it. She took off what she now realised was just her day-collar and in one movement she picked her real collar and fastened it around her neck. The clasp closed with a loud click. She thought for a moment then transferred her tag as well.
The table behind her erupted into applause. Again, she flushed deep red. But when she built up the courage to look around she saw a well-dressed couple pouring champagne for their guests.
When she returned her eyes to the bar she realised that the waiter had reappeared. This time he was without his platter. He extended a hand to her; after a moment’s hesitation, she realised she was supposed to take it and stood up. The waiter turned and still holding her hand led her through the room, past the tables piled with food and drink, over to a door at the side of the room.
The door was set into the wall. She wouldn’t have noticed it if it were not right in front of her. The waiter let her hand go, took out a long key from his waistcoat pocket, unlocked the door, then pushed it open. Her hands instinctively went to the collar then back down to her sides. The waiter motioned towards the door. He was obviously not to lead her though. It all had to be by her will. It didn’t work if it was forced.
She stepped through the hole in the wall. The door swung closed behind her.
It took a few moments for her eyes to get used to the dim light in the room. Slowly she realised the room was roughly square; lights embedded in the floor at each corner cast a dull glow over the space. In the centre of the room was what appeared to be a large glass box, and surround the box was a brass rail at waist height. She walked over to the rail, heels clicking on the concrete floor, and ran her hand along its length.
Then she stopped. The lights were coming on in the box. And it wasn’t empty. There was something inside.
Not something. Someone. As the lights came up she saw that the box contained people. Standing in the middle of the box was a woman: naked, slim, blonde hair trailing across her shoulders. Her breasts large, nipples barely different in colour to her pale skin. Next to her sat a man, or what she assumed was a man. He was dressed in black, and wore a mask that covered the bottom half of his face. His hair was cropped short. He was motionless.
She looked on mesmerised. It was as if the pair were paused. Waiting for someone to come along and press a button. Or to wind them up and set them off.
Then she felt him. His hands touched her back and moved along to her own hands, which were both resting on the rail. She knew she should not move, should not look, so she kept her eyes fixed on the strange pair in front of her. They remained completely motionless, only the barely perceptible rise and fall of the woman’s chest indicating they were any more than wax models.
Now his hands were attaching something to the rail – metal cuffs – and attaching those same cuffs to her wrists. They clanked against the rail and the noise reverberated around the room. Her breathing sped up as she then felt him kneel down behind her and two more cuffs were attached to her ankles. She tried to move her feet but couldn’t close her legs. She glanced down to see a metal bar attached to the cuffs – a spreader bar keeping her open.
Still the figures in the box remained frozen.
His hands were on her dress now. Methodically he pulled it up and over her ass, and then slowly pulled her black underwear down until they were stretched between her open legs. The air in the room felt cold on her pussy. And then she felt something colder still, something metal running up against her asshole.
For the first time today she heard him speak as he whispered in her ear.
‘Breath little one’.
With that he pushed the length of metal against her asshole. It was wider than anything she had taken before; instinctively she tried to wriggle away from the relentless pressure but she was of course fixed in place. She couldn’t escape.
Then she heard his voice again: ‘breath little one, you can take it.’ And his words brought a sense of calm to her. She took a deep breath and instead of trying to escape she pushed back, met his pressure with her own. Slowly she felt her ass stretch, wider and wider as the metal plug forced its way insider her. Then just when she thought she was going to tear in two, her body swallowed up the length of metal. She felt a fullness she had never experienced before and let out a long deep moan. His hands rubbed her back as she tried to regain her composure.
Then his voice again.
‘Look.’
The people in the box were moving.
It had started.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/6zp7tr/boxes_part_1_bdsm_mmff_fsub_mdom_voy