The White Box - Sex Stories

The White Box

... towel so I wiped the water from my body and stood in the chilly cellar until it evaporated then I found the clothes on my bed. There were only three items there—a pink elastic top with puff sleeves, a skintight black set of spandex shorts, and some black canvas slip-on slippers. The bed was just a steel-framed cot with a thin mattress, a pillow with no cover and a thin cotton blanket. I sat patiently by the door for additional orders. I was there for some time. I had no idea how long, but I was at peace so I waited until I was summoned. Finally, Mistress appeared with the short skinny man. “Here he is, Rolf—my big husband…the wizard of the financial world…the giant of Wall Street. Ha ha, what a joke! Now he’s just a mindless slave exactly as you predicted. Well, big bad husband I’m going to leave you here in your cage while I go up and fuck my lover. And what will you do? You’ll kneel here and wait for us to finish. You ball-less freak. How could anyone ever think of you as a magnate of business again? You’re pathetic! Now, kneel and wait. I hope your knees ache by the time we return. We’re not going to hurry, that’s a guarantee.” I knelt as she and Rolf laughed and laughed at my plight. My mind was a blank, but I could feel a tiny “ping”—like a miniscule shock in my brain--when Mistress spoke about my former life. She did it every day—numerous times a day, in fact—and I felt a “ping” every single time. Sometimes, if the jibe was really severe, it would be a really big ...

... one. I began to feel the cumulative effect. I had been dusting and cleaning the house for hours every day when Mistress led me to a door. “Open it,” she commanded. I tried to turn the handle, but I couldn’t. “You have to put in the combination, loser. You were a loser even when you were the big shot (ping) genius (ping) and you’re an even bigger loser now. Punch in the numbers and open it.” I stood numbly at the door. Using my fist I punched the lock to no avail. All I had accomplished was to hurt my hand. “Geez, what a fucking loser you are. Okay, we’ll try every day until you get it right. Get back to work!” She brought me to the door every day and every day I failed to input the combination. Every day she insulted me and every day my brain “pinged.” This continued daily for several months. I realize that looking back, but at the time I had no conception of time or date. Dana fucked Rolf every day, sometimes making me watch. It had no impact whatsoever on me, one of the few benefits of my torture. She also required that I clean her cunt and his cock after sex. Once again, the torture had removed any societal boundaries or inhibitions. I did it with the same approach I used when vacuuming or ironing—unemotionally and unenthusiastically, but completely. Finally came a day when Dana’s insults were almost non-stop. She began at 6:00 a.m. even continuing in the shower while I waited silently to dry her. She told me about her big day when I had finished drying and dressing her. ...