In a Wooden Box...

"We have emancipated them, but they remain slaves looking for their masters, all the same."

*

She arrived in a wooden crate.

He hadn't heard the knock on the door, and a thin layer of snow covered the box. She must be cold, he thought, as he brought the crate inside. From the garage, he picked up a small hammer and pried the lid off the wooden crate and looked inside. In the box lay a young woman, unclothed and curled up asleep on a thin wool-covered cushion and covered by a green wool blanket. She stirred slightly as a bit of melting snow dripped down onto her exposed toes.

He finished breaking down the box around her still-sleeping frame and discarded the scraps. He knelt down beside her and watched her breath, slow, deep breaths. With a finger, he stroked her hair and brushed it back behind her ear. Her skin was like cream and silk and was pleasurable to his touch. She seemed so innocent, so peaceful - and she was all his.

With a little effort, he picked her up, blankets, cushion and all, and carried her further into the house. The hardwood floors creaked a little at certain steps but the echo of the heavy steps on the floor all but drowned them out. He carried her through the arched doorway in his living room and gently set her down in front of a roaring fireplace. While she continued to sleep, he clasped a cushioned brass ring around her ankle. The ring was attached to a length of iron chain which was firmly bolted into the stone hearth. He left her there and went deeper into the room to sit and read.

After some time, he caught her movement from his peripheral vision over the top of his book and set it down on the nightstand beside him to watch. The lights in the room were dim, but she was illuminated by the fire behind her and by the soft lights near the entrance-ways. As she stirred in her sleep, and began to stretch her limbs, her blanket slipped off her body. His gaze didn't waver, but he did enjoy the sight of her creamy flesh and supple curves. She was exactly what he had ordered. She was his first and she would be perfect.

As she began to wake, the expression in her still blinking eyes gave away her confusion and slight apprehension of the situation she was in. When her leg finally reached the full length of its play and the chains chimed with tension, her eyes first fully came open. First, she pulled against the chain, seeming to test its strength and then, as the reality of the situation finally penetrated her groggy mind, she relaxed and scanned the room with her eyes -- still blurry with sleep.

When she finally realized her predicament, she struggled against the chain and tried in futility to pull the restraint off of her ankle. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she finally saw the man in the chair, watching her. She cried for help, but quickly realized her words were falling on stone ears. Then she began to scream for help loudly.

He had expected this, but was not pleased by it. Calmly, he set his book down on the end table and stood up. Though she was still yelling for help, she saw him stand and walk towards her. Instinctively, she scooted back against the brick wall by the fireplace. It was warm against her skin, but rough. As he walked, he held his finger to his mouth and whispered, "Shhhhh," but that only made her yell all the louder. As she couldn't back up anymore, and she was at the end of her chain, she began to scoot up the wall, finally rising to her feet as he stood in front of her. She continued to yell for help.

"Down." He said in a soothing voice that bristled with malice to her ears.

She shook her head and breathed in another lungful of air with which to yell.

The sharp smack that his palm made as it struck her cheek was more noise than pain, but startled the scream out of her nonetheless. She was stunned silent for a moment and was unable to resist when he reached his hand around her head and entangled his fingers in her hair. When he pulled down, her head snapped back, putting her delicate neck on display. As he pulls her hair down towards the ground, her knees bent and hit the hard-wood floor with a soft thunk. She whimpered a little at the pain from her hair being pulled, but didn't scream again.

He applied pressure to her head, guiding her down further until her exposed breasts touched the cold floor, instantly hardening her nipples and making her shiver. As her pressed further, she put her arms flat on the floor to cushion her head as he guided her to the floor. With her head turned sideways, she could only see the brown leather of his wool-lined loafers. Now she was scared and exposed, her knees were pulled up under her and her ass felt like it was miles in the air. The warmth of the fireplace kept her rear warm, but the hardwood floor chilled her -- the feeling was paradoxical.

When he was certain she would stay as he had her, he released her hair, and told her to "Stay." Being chained to the mantle, she had no real choice except to obey. She resigned herself to her fate - for the moment. She watched his feet as he turned and walked out of the room. As she waited for his return, her mind wandered as to where she was, how she got into this predicament, and more importantly, who she was. She couldn't seem to remember much about anything -- not even her own name. Lost in thought, head resting on her arms, she fell back asleep in front of the fire, her body warming throughout.

She wasn't sure whether it was the *snap* of the leather hitting her silky ass or the actual sting of the leather on it, but she was rudely jerked back to half consciousness when the pain spread like wildfire through her body. As it spread it flowed like a wave of lave through her, cresting here and there at the surface of her skin and causing it to tingle. She had to shift her legs a bit as the shiver hit her pussy and that tingle rippled up, exiting with a quiet sigh that escaped her lips.

With the second snap, she quickly sprang up on her hands, forgetting where she momentarily and was just as surprised when his heavy hand pushed her head back down to the hard floor faster than she could reposition her arms to catch herself. Before her face impacted the wood, the pressure was lessened and she was gently, but forcefully pressed into the floor. Before she could recover, he hands were snatched behind her back. With a familiar ripping sound, he pulled the Velcro apart and soon her hands were bound behind her. Her tugs at the restraints quickly proved to her that she would be unable to break free. She thought about rising up again, but with her arms and hands behind her, she would have no way to resist the assured trip back to the floor.

His voice was almost mesmerizing, "You can't be doing that, you WILL stay where I put you until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?"

She was silent.

His voice was more forceful, "Do you understand?"

In a soft you, she answered, "Yes."

"'Yes', what?"

"Yes, I understand."

"'Yes, I understand.' What? Who am I?"

She hesitated, not knowing who he was, or what answer he wanted. She had not yet grown familiar with the sound the crop made as it swished through the air, but the sting on her ass cheek was a painful association she was making. Yet, she didn't know the answer and remained silent. The second snap she heard as well as felt and yelped a little as she jumped forward slightly -- not too far, lest the punishment be more severe.

She finally nearly yelled out, "I don't know! I don't know your name!"

"For you, my name is Master, or Sir -- and that is what you may call me. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

*snap*

"Yes, Sir! Yes, Master!"

"Good, now we are getting somewhere."

Next to her head, he set a pillow. She lifted her head to rest it on the pillow and was again surprised by the snap and sting on the crop -- the burn was slowly creeping up her back and down her leg, radiating from the impact sites like thick, hot oil.

"Did I say you could move?"

"No...Sir."

"Very good. Now apologize."

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"Sorry for what?"

"Sorry for ..." not asking for permission to move? for moving? The thoughts raced through her head and she unconsciously waited for the snap -- her heart raced. I don't know what I'm sorry for! her mind screamed, but she finished the sentence as best she could, "for being bad."

*SNAP*

"Sir! For being bad, Sir!" The sting was compounding with each snap, the flames in her skin raging.

"Very good. Now, you may rest your head on the pillow."

She moved her head over and rested in on the pillow, it was much more comfortable than the wood floor and she was grateful. She watched in silence as he left the room, wondering what was next.

He walked back the room with a long case, but it did not appear to be heavy. Quietly, he set it down on the floor and knelt beside it. It was close enough to her that if she strained, she could see the top edge of the box, but could not see inside. With a soft click, he unlatched the lid and lifted it up, letting the top open and settling on side away from her. He reached inside and pulled something out, she couldn't see what it was, but she had a feeling she wasn't going to like it.

"Now I am going to demonstrate for you a small selection of tools that I have available to ensure your continued obedience. First, the crop, with which you have already become acquainted."

She knew the snap was coming but still flinched when the leather found her pink ass cheek and she yipped a bit. The second and third snaps were spaced around her cheeks, both a relief and a pain as it found virgin skin to redden.

"Second, a thin-stripped leather flogger."

The soft leather smacked against her skin, but didn't hurt as much as the crop. The sensation was new and her body tingled with anticipation of each strike.

"Third, a heavier leather flogger -- more blunt force, less sting."

When the heavy flogger came down if felt like a wall crashing into her backside. She was pushed forward by the force of the blows and had to wiggle herself back into position -- fearful of what would happen if she didn't. The heavy flogger had dulled the sharp sting of the previous blows.

"Fourth, a flogger with a mixture of knots."

When this one fell, it was against like a heavy weight bludgeoning her, but the knots dug in, sending sharp spikes of pain into random portions of her skin. Each blow was different because the knots rarely fell in the same place twice, but when they did, they amplified the previous pain.

"Fifth..."

There's more? She thought, How many more can there be??

She braced herself as best she could.

"...a bamboo cane."

The strikes were sharp and intense. The force of the blows was applied across a very narrow cross section and stung like hell. When the joints of the bamboo rod found skin, they dug deep, leaving bruises that would continue to grow over the next few days. By the third strike, she was having difficulty keeping her composure and tears were welling up in her eyes. However, she also noticed, with some dismay, that she was very wet. Whether she liked the punishments or not, something in her body had been turned on.

"And finally..."

"Finally," thank god there's a "finally!"

"The dragon tongue." Oh shit, she thought, THAT doesn't sound good.

First, she heard the snap, it was sharp and quick. Shortly after that, the penetrating sting developed at the point of impact and set off every nerve in the area. The surprise and shock of the sting saved her from crying out. For the second snap, she wasn't so lucky and did cry out in pain. By the third, she couldn't take it anymore.

"MOTHERFUCKER! Son of a bitch!" She yelled out as the pain shot through her, turning off all reasoning functions.

Then he moved quickly, before she could react, and had slid a handkerchief around her head, into her mouth -- gagging her. He tied the knot behind her head tight.

"You know better than that," he said.

Without another word, he placed the tools gently back into the box, closed and latched the lid, and picked it up. She watched again as he left her alone in the room. She took the time to take account of her situation and to assess the damage he'd done to her. He ass was on fire. The Dragon Tongue had bitten hard and she felt like it might have drawn blood. Across her ass, some spots were flaming, others hummed with a dull throb, and other seemed strangely untouched.

The warm spreading through her body was not only from where the leather had struck her skin, but it also welled up from deep within her body. Her nipples, pressed against the chilled hard-wood floor, were hard like stones. Her arms ached from being in the same position for so long, and her body was slightly trembling from the ordeal it had been through. The pool of fire from her ass had spread within her, igniting a new fire in her groin.

With her sex fully engaged, her body prepared itself for the extreme fucking she expected to come -- some time. Her pussy was fully lubricated; her juices began to pool and overflow, moving like a slow stream, cutting a path across and down her inner thighs. The endorphins coursing through her eased the pain and she found herself almost desiring his return. She was anxious for it. She feared it, but she wanted it. Not knowing what was next was somehow worse than whatever it would be -- could be. Her imagination ran away with her -- Would he fuck me, rape me? Would he beat me more, with something new? Would he kill me? Everything she could imagine ran through her head, some good, most bad, but all of only served to increase her flow of nectar. She closed her eyes, partly from exhaustion and partly so she could imagine it all more clearly.

*CRACK*

She jumped less than before, but the sting still elevated her heart rate ten-fold in a second. She realized she had fallen asleep, again. Strangely, she thought this wake-up call was more effective than the traditional alarm clock she was used to -- or had been used to. The burn was familiar now and, while still painful, it was also almost comforting in some curious way -- like an old friend. Her eyes popped open but she could only see the doorway from which he had probably come. Behind her, near the fireplace, she heard the ominous deep chime of iron on iron as she searched her memory for what could be making the noise -- the chain? No. The ember catch in front of the fireplace? No. And then it dawned on her -- the fire tools that were set neatly upright nearby in their iron rack. The coal pan, the brush, the stir rod and ... the poker -- each made of heavy, cold iron, warmed only by the radiant heat of the fire inside. It was the poker she feared he was grabbing. In her imagination before her nap, that was one thing she hadn't even considered.

She was right, he had grabbed the heavy iron poker. Its heft was comforting in his grip, the metal was cool to the touch. Its brass handle gleamed and shined; the flames reflected in its polished surface danced with visible warmth, but stayed cool to the touch. He walked around her, admiring her body, admiring her posture, and pleased by how quickly she became willing to obey. With each step, the poker struck the floor with a heavy thud. He reached down and touched her skin; his fingers traced a miniature path around her back as he walked around. Her skin was cool and smooth -- well cared for. Under his touch, goose-flesh appeared and she shivered. When his touch reached her sensitive, red, bruised rear, the skin quickly turned warm, but still smooth and pleasurable to the touch. When he had finished his inspection, he was once again behind her, where she couldn't see him. He raised the iron poker above his lovely prize.

When he was walking, she was listening to his footsteps move around her. The heavy poker was overly loud in her ears, almost like small explosions. When he touched her, a chill traced electrically through her skin, dancing over each nerve and bouncing back across again. If she hadn't been gagged, her sigh would have been audible. As he made his way around, she couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind. Was she doing what he wanted? What else COULD she do? Her hands were tied -- literally. She was undeniably wet now; her body had gone into overtime producing the thin juice that slowly drained from her, now aching, pussy. She yearned for some release, for something, someone to send her over, but also feared how that might occur. When the sound of his feet on the floor stopped, her ears perked up to try and hear what was coming -- to anticipate the crack of the crop, or something else. But there was no sound.

She felt the cold, hard iron -- the poker -- as it rested on her bare skin, high on her back between her side and her spine. She winced as its heavy, dull point traced down her skin, moving slowly closer towards her already abused ass. When the weighted iron crossed over the angry red marks, it was a mixture of pleasure and pain. The pressure caused the nerves to flare up, but the cold iron sapped the burn away as quickly as it came, cooling it and robbing the pain of its heat, leaving only a dull throb. She knelt there helplessly as he traced the poker around her back, over her ass and across her body. Perhaps he was drawing a pattern, or perhaps it was random motion, she didn't know, but she lost herself in the moment.

When the cold iron stopped its wandering path, the heavy tip was positioned slightly between her ass cheeks, just above the brown star of her asshole. She quickly ramped up her consciousness and her heart resumed its frantic pace as she thought her worst fears were about to be realized. She was certain that at any moment, he would drive the poker into her ass, impaling her. But the rough tip slipped down and crossed over her sensitive opening without pause. It followed the soft curves of her body and traced down her perineum and gently split her pussy lips. He slid the poker down to the floor, the shaft rubbing between her pink, swollen lips until the tip came into contact with the floor. He applied a slight upwards pressure to the poker, slipping it further between her lips and contacting her clit. The coolness of the rod and the way it slid up and down against her clit almost caused her to cum instantly. His voice stopped her from giving in.

"You will not cum, you will not orgasm, without my explicit permission. Do you understand?"

She spoke as best she could, but the gag muffled her words beyond recognition.

"Just nod your head if you understand."

She nodded gently, trying not to move any more than was necessary. Each twitch, each flutter of movement caused her to move closer to losing control of her body. She strained simply to stay motionless. The concentration was almost too much to take as well.

He slowly spun the poker, its tip against the floor as the axis. The rod was not polished steel, and was roughly crafted. Small imperfections, unnoticed and irrelevant for its use as a fire poker, were magnified a thousand-fold against the sensitive organ it turned against. Like a seismograph measures earthquakes with only a minute amount of motion, her hyper-sensitive clit felt and translated each bump and dip in the rod into agonizingly painful pleasure that ran from her pussy, through her stomach where the butterflies danced, before stabbing through her beating heart and into her mind where she certainly would lose control if it didn't stop soon.

With a mixture of relief and regret she felt the cool rod pull back between her lips and had to bite her lip as the rough tip was dragged across the sensitive clit. She fought with herself to maintain control - and succeeded, but just barely. He pulled the iron rod away from her body and she heard the metal on metal clanging as he hung it back up in the rack. It was a sound she would learn to dread and ache for. It would come to chill her blood in an instant, and to cause her to instantly become wet with desire. It would be, for her, a paradox of noises.