A Box For My Love

  By Raul Roget


All rights reserved. An adult story, not for those under 18.

 CeeCee was missing. Disappeared without a trace. CeeCee is short from Casandra Caroline, my wife.

 I probably should have reported her missing to the police. However, she had left before, without a word, so I had no real reason to be concerned. Then too, I'd pretty much reached the point where I didn't give a rat's ass whether she was lying beside me or not when I woke in the morning.

 Several of my friends knew how I felt about her. She was a perfect wife in public, but a first water bitch when we were alone. Getting into her panties was an exercise in futility. I'd get there but she'd be so damn nasty there was no fun in it for me and she didn't seem to enjoy it either.

 Despite her seeming disinterest in sex, I was about 90 percent certain that she was having an affair. I could have hired a private investigator to tail her but I guess I didn't really want to know what she was up to. I knew, but I didn't know, and I didn't want to confront her.

 After a drink too many I'd told a couple of my closest friends after they showed up for a party, with CeeCee very much not in attendance, off on one of her "trips." I got a lot of sympathy, plenty of "Been there, had that happen to me" and offers of assistance. My problem, so no way they can help.

 This time seemed somehow different. True, she never said a word before she left, but usually she had a suitcase. It was stil in place and when I got around to snooping a little further, I discovered her purse was in her closet. She couldn't have gone far without it.

 By this time it was almost a full month since the day she disappeared. Still pissed, I noted the time span absentmindedly but it didn't trigger my search mode.

 Another three weeks went by and I reached the point where I was debating with myself whether to call the police. The side that won posed the threat that the police would suspect my motives in not reporting it sooner. Starting a homicide investigation of me just wasn't in the cards. I muttered. "She isn't worth it!"

 Several evenings later, as I was sitting in the living room enjoying an after dinner drink the doorbell rang. I checked the spy-hole and could see two men in uniform and a large "something"  on a hand cart. I opened the door and one greeted me, handing me a clipboard and a pen. I signed, glancing at their cart, which was hidden beneath a large wooden box.

 Thoroughly puzzled, I had them drop the box in the hall. I dug a couple of $5 bills out of my wallet and thanked them for their service. There was no sign of any company name on their coveralls. I peered out the door but the porch light didn't carry to the street so I couldn't see their vehicle. One of the men suddenly slapped his pocket and quickly handed me an envelope. "You'll need this."

 The envelope contained a set of keys. The box was locked, padlocks at the four corners. I unlocked the locks and laid them aside. The cover came off - and there was CeeCee! The oath was out of my mouth before I even got a good look at her. I repeated it when I got that good look.

 CeeCee was (as I found out in a moment) hogtied with her big toes up by her ears and then wrapped from neck to knees with enough chain to anchor the Pacific Fleet. Padlocks were everywhere! I would have needed a crane to lift her out, but I discovered that the box front was hinged. Unlatching it, I rolled CeeCee out onto the rug. She grunted, but I could hardly hear it through the combination gag that was harnessed skin tight across her lower face and chin. The blindfold accessory covered her eyes, making me realize that at this point she had no idea where she was. I decided to leave her literally in the dark.

 I'd been around the B/D and D/S scene before I met CeeCee. Naturally - for her - she wouldn't hear of even a hint of it in our marriage. I tried, but I got shot down so I filed that particular pleasure in some storage spot in my mind and let her have her way. Now suddenly the cobwebs were swept away, the vault door opened and I realized I was about to trip over the stiffest hardon I'd had in a decade.

 I didn't waste more than a moment speculating just who had put CeeCee in such a literal bind. For all I knew it might have beeen that whoever was shacking up with her got tired of her "winning ways" and decided to dump her back in my lap. Right then it didn't matter. All I cared about was the fact that CeeCee was back, she was tied up, well chained up would be a better description and as I quickly rolled her back and forth across the floor, adding to the growing pile of padlocks and swirling a rapidly increasing length of chain I was to find that the chain was little more than a bonus to add to her basic restraints.

 When she was unwrapped, CeeCee was still immobile in her hog tie. However the noises coming from behind the gag were not the air raid siren screams of outrage that I would have expected. No, CeeCee was merely responding to being bumped and jerked about as I unchained her. Had I been paying closer attention I might have detected a slight note of pleasure in the whole scheme of things.

 Even if I had I would have passed it off as relief from the massive weight of the chain. I guess I'm just a skeptic at heart.
Right at that moment I was admiring the shackles on her pinioned ankles. Several years working in a machine shop gave me the experience to instantly recognize a real piece of work.

 Each shackle was big, heavy, polished steel. They obviously had been fitted to her ankles rather than the other way around. Admiring, I ran a hand around under one shackle, expecting a padlock, or at least a keyhole. Neither. Just smooth, polished metal. A half inch thick stud extended far enough to sustain a hole for a padlock, but that was to connect the ankle to something else.

 When I got her ankles free of her elbows I discovered that feel hadn't told me the whole story. Looped through the stud was one link of a chain that ran to the other ankle. I had the instant impression that CeeCee would not be spreading her legs beyond walking distance for some time to come. A single padlock had been used to bring her legs together. I left it in place for the time being as I wanted to explore my wife's bondage some more.

 Around her neck was a steel collar with the same exquisite workmanship and the same lack of a way to remove it. Studs appeared every few inches all the way around, promising plenty of points of restraint. Not to mention that there was probably five or six pounds of steel, enough so that CeeCee would be well aware that she had to wear it.

 Not all hogties are equal. Usually it's wrists to ankles, most often with a foot or more of slack between. CeeCee was not that lucky. When she straightened out her legs I rolled her over and discovered why her elbows had been the anchor point. She was wearing a leather harness that hooked to her collar and ran around her chest just above her breasts. Straps from the harness went around each arm, drawing them back until her elbows stuck up above her back.

 In front, each hand and lower arm were incased in leather, laced to the max. The tips of the leather mitts met behind her neck. But again there was a difference. CeeCee had shackles on each wrist that matched those on her ankles. The leather had been custom fitted over and around the shackles, which, like the ankles were connected inseparably by a length of chain.

 Whoever had "dressed" her had used the loop of chain to run under her substantial breasts, serving to both raise them up in mute offering and to further restrict any arm movement. I had no idea how long CeeCee had been in her box, and at the moment I was too excited to really care. Kid with a new toy and all that. I just knew that she had been uncomfortable, which is putting it mildly.

 Her breasts, excepting the chain bra supporting them, were unhampered in any other way. This undoubtedly was to give her a chance to display her new jewelry. A vertical stud ran through each nipple and behind it a horizontal stud with a substantial looking loop. A fine chain joined her nipples, short enough to pull her breasts toward each other.

 Her outfit of course included a matching belt, thick, wide and tight, almost flush with the flesh above and below. CeeCee hated to diet but now she was not going to have a choice. Funny, but looking back I knew from the first moment that I was going to keep her like this.

 Below the belt was the meanest piece of man's inhumanity to women that I'd ever seen or heard of. It would take several pages to describe all the features of the chastity belt that CeeCee was molded into. The most obvious features were attachments that prevented the wearer from sitting or lying down by sharp studs that were pressure activated. A six inch long bar extended down from the crotch strap, preventing her from sitting anywhere except in a chair with a matching hole.

 I'd seen enough so now I wanted to hear what was going on. I drew a glass of water and had it ready when I unlocked her gag, leaving the blindfold in place. I don't know what I expected, but not "Thank you, Master."

 Stunned, I remained silent while I held the glass to her lips. She sipped, then gulped, downing the whole glass. Again it was "Thank you, Master."

 I found my voice. "What's going on?"

 She jerked slightly when she recognized my voice. I thought I detected a faint smile, but she quickly started talking. "Master, I have been instructed what to tell you. I was made to learn my speech word for word. I did not learn well at first and I was severely punished and trained harshly so that I could explain everything.

 "First, do not ask me who did this. I don't know. I was told that my training was for your benefit, not mine. That is all that I can tell you. I never saw a single face nor heard an undisguised voice the entire time I was gone. I went to sleep in our - your - bed and woke up in chains in a small box. My training started the instant I woke up and continued until I was packed for shipment.

 "I had been having an affair with Mark Shevrun. They knew part of the story and made me tell them the rest. Then they made me call him and tell him to never see me again. Then they punished me. Each day I had to recite the details of my affair and each day they would punish me for it.

 "They fitted my permanent chains and taught me how to serve you as a slave serves her Master. Any lesson I didn't learn perfectly was repeated a dozen times. They taught me perfection above all else. They taught me that am no longer your wife, I am your slave, to do with as you see fit."
 I wanted to ask a dozen questions, but I was also curious as to how this would play out, so I remained silent.

 "As your slave I have been taught one hundred rules. I have also learned another hundred suggestions to you from my trainers as to how to keep me enslaved and how to handle any problems that arise.

 As she recited each rule, never stumbling, never hesitating I gained an even greater admiration of the unknown trainers who had solved one problem for me and now had given me another, taking care of a slave.

 I awoke to the realization that CeeCee would never be unchained, would never leave the house again. She would remain in my dungeon....... My dungeon? Now that will be a building project!

 It took about five rules to switch from thinking of CeeCee as my wife to being my slave. I decided while she talked that CeeCee was too fancy a name for a slave. From now on she would be  C. Just a letter, nothing more. I savored the humiliation that I knew the change would create.

 I'm not really a vengeful man. However, C had brought this on herself. That she came into my hands as a trained slave was a stroke of luck that favors only a few. I had no intention of passing up the opportunity. As a matter of fact I stopped her after rule 55, which requires her to perform any sex act I choose at any time. I told her what I wanted and seconds later her warm mouth had me doing an Old Faithful. It was perfection, but I didn't want to know, right then at least, just how she had learned to be that good at something she wouldn't have dreamed of doing two months ago.

 The last rule covered her slave name. She knelt, silent, waiting for my response. "I could call you cunt, but it doesn't look like you'll be using it any time soon. CeeCee is too fancy a name for a slave so from now on you are C. The letter, C."

 Her blind eyes looked in my direction, her head dropping. I was sure she was crying. Would I comfort her? No, she's a slave. She has to expect humiliation like this from now on.

 Several months later my friends came to call. I suspected they knew something about C's abduction and training, but I didn't press the point. One asked if I had heard from CeeCee, so I used that as an opening. First swearing them to secrecy I took them down into my remodeled basement, showing off the dungeon and the equipment that I had furnished it with. Finally I led them to the corner where the box was. I unlocked and opened it, allowing C to kneel up, her chains clashing noisily. My friends didn't need a second invitation, keeping C busy swallowing for close to an hour. I closed and locked the box, commenting that this was now her permanent home. Not one of them questioned it or asked why she was now a slave.

 Living with a slave is a story in itself. If you're interested drop a note to the web site. In the meantime, if you're a wife or girlfriend who's been cheating on your man, somewhere out there the trainers may be waiting to change your lifestyle.