(M/F) (BDSM) The Night The Crate Was in the Middle of the Room.

I spent years working around luxury hotels and sometimes relationships with certain guests crossed into strange territory. This is one of those stories.

We had talked about this over and over, but I was very nervous about it. The idea of being closed inside anything made me anxious. I had broken every rule for you, but you wouldn’t let this one go.

I knew, leaving dinner, that this would be the night. I tried to extend it by ordering dessert, but you rushed me, and I knew.

We walked into your room, and there, in the center, was a crate. It was dark brown wood. It looked like a casket. You stood behind me with your hands on my shoulders. We both took a few minutes to examine the box. Your staff had it placed there while we were at dinner, so you hadn’t seen it yet either.

We walked toward the closed crate, you still behind me. You took your hand and slid my hair away from my neck, then began to kiss the back of my neck. I could feel your cock growing. You took your other hand and slid it around my waist. The mere thought of this excited you. I would eventually lie in this box, and you would lock me inside—but not yet. You knew I needed to feel safe. Every part of this was about trust. This was very big for me.

I reached my hand behind me and took your cock in my hand. We both stood silently, fantasizing about all that this moment was about to open for us. Neither of us wanted to stop, but we both knew that once we crossed this line, there was no going back.

I had your cock in my hand, rubbing you. You were solid, throbbing against my palm.

You stopped kissing me and took my hand off of you. You walked around me to the crate and opened the lid. My heart was racing, but I was so excited that I could please you in a new way.

You motioned for me to come to you. I walked over, and we looked inside. It was an empty crate, about the size of a refrigerator.

You pulled me in front of you, the crate open at our feet. The lid was attached on one side with hinges; the other side had three hooks for locks.

You pulled me close, your cock stiff in your pants, pressed up against my ass. You told me to bend over and grab the sides of the crate with both hands. You pushed me down, my face almost inside it. You slipped my skirt down.

I was bent over with my ass in the air, soaked with anticipation. Suddenly, you slapped my ass—over and over, very hard. I could feel my skin wilting. You were angry for what seemed like no reason. You were becoming my master. I longed for these moments when you switched. It was happening.

Then you took off your shoe and began to beat my bare ass with the bottom of it. One shoe, then the other—one in each hand—until I had to beg you to stop.

I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

My ass was raw. It was swollen and cut from small rocks and debris on the bottoms of your shoes. It was red and dirty. I was so turned on, and you were in your space—the space I loved. Your power space. I was your slave to do whatever you wanted with. Right now, you wanted to hurt me before you closed me in the box.

I wasn’t sure what I had done, but I knew you had shifted. I stayed still, ass in the air, my skirt around my ankles, tears falling.

Before I could take a breath, you stuck your fingers into my ass. One hand held one of my raw, swollen cheeks while the other slammed into me. You spit down onto my ass, then slid your hand as far inside me as you could. As you loosened me, you slid a very large butt plug in.

You grabbed my hair and stood me up. The plug was huge and painfully stretching me. My cheeks burned and stung. You pulled me by my hair and dragged me to my knees.

You grabbed the front of my shirt and ripped it off, tearing it into pieces and tossing them across the room.

You told me to look up at you. I was on my knees at your feet, right outside the crate, my skirt still around my ankles, my ass bleeding.

“Look at me now,” you said.

I looked up. Your face was distorted with anger, your jaw tight. I knew that face. It was going to be a long few days.

“Get into the crate,” you said.

I knew that once I was inside, I would be completely in your control. I was always controlled by you, but this would shift us into something new.

You took me by the top of my hair and pulled me to my feet. I couldn’t walk well with the butt plug and my skirt around my ankles, so I took small steps toward the crate, you guiding me the entire time, holding my hair, nearly ripping it from my scalp.

You helped me step both feet inside.

You ordered me to turn around and face you. I turned slowly. You walked behind me and tied my hands tightly behind my back with a piece of my torn shirt.

You stepped in front of me and kissed me. Then you took another strip and tied it around my eyes. As you finished the final knot, you pressed your lips to mine and whispered, “Get ready.”

Before I could respond, you pushed me down onto my knees inside the crate. The wood was rough and sharp, cutting into my knees and calves like sandpaper.

You stood in front of me and told me to lift my head and open my mouth. My heart was racing. My body was already bleeding and in pain. I was nervous, excited, and confused all at once. But you were there, and I was to do as I was told.

I tilted my head back and opened my mouth.

You poured warm vodka into it. I choked slightly but swallowed. Before I could regain my breath, you said, “Again.”

I tilted my head back, expecting more vodka—but instead, you spit into my mouth. Your saliva was warm and tasted like you. It was incredible. I swallowed and immediately lifted my head again for more.

“You want my spit?” you asked.

“Yes, please,” I answered.

You did it several more times. Every time your spit hit my tongue, I felt like I could come.

You knew exactly what you were doing. I was dripping wet, on my knees at your feet, inside the crate.

The butt plug was unbearable. I tried to relax around it. My cheeks were cut and swollen, my balance unsteady, the wood biting into my skin—but I was yours.

I knelt there, head lifted, mouth open, taking your spit like wine to my lips