The White Box - Sex Stories

The White Box

... was—that Swiss doctor Rolf. He was smart—that I had to hand him--but I thought of him as an effeminate and wimpy little turd. I couldn’t understand how he could satisfy my wife if I couldn’t. My cock was almost eight inches long and fairly thick, too. I’d seen him in the locker room at the golf club one day and thought he couldn’t compare to me. I thought he had probably brainwashed my wife with his psychiatric mumbo jumbo. I’d get him, too. Dana returned periodically for several reasons; first and foremost, to increase my torture, but also to clean me and the room. I had pissed and shit during the last day and both the room and I stunk to high Heaven. She used a hose to wash the wastes down the floor drain into the cesspool below. Then she’d wash the entire area with a bleach solution. I rebelled when she tried to give me water and some liquid food so she clamped my nose shut and forced my mouth open. This was my first opportunity to see Rolf in action. It was clear that he was running the show. He gave Dana instructions then assisted her, forcing a narrow rubber tube down my throat. He held my head still with a yank of my hair while Dana poured the liquid down into a funnel and ultimately my stomach. I suffered that indignity once a day for the next week. Not only was the pain continuous, but it increased every time Dana tightened those infernal screws. It filled my brain until there was room for nothing else. It literally pushed all thought from my consciousness. It ended ...

... suddenly when my testicles were crushed to nothing but bloody pulp. Then Dana removed the box and Dr. Rolf cauterized the wounds with a solder gun. My sac hung empty from my abdomen when he stitched the broken skin back together. I was finally removed from my bondage. I didn’t struggle or fight. I just stood there devoid of my humanity. “Who are you,” the small woman standing in front of me asked. I had no answer so I stood there dumbly. “Your name is ‘slave.’ Do you understand me?” “My name is slave,” I responded without emotion. “I am your Mistress. Your job is to follow my orders and nothing else. You will obey me without question and without hesitation. I will whip you for no reason other than I can, but I will whip you much worse if you disobey.” “Yes, Mistress.” “You are filthy and you smell. Walk through the door. You will see a cell with a small cot. Take a shower and put on the clothes on the bed. Sit there until I give you additional orders.” I followed her through the heavy wooden door. She held it open for me, closing it with a thud. I was in a small caged-in area with a bed on one side and a shower with a combo sink/toilet on the other. There was no provision for privacy, but I expected none so I walked directly into the shower while my Mistress slammed the door behind me. I knew it was locked immediately. I stood under the water; it was cold. There was only the one valve. I applied the hard soap to my body and in less than five minutes I was done. There was no ...