One (Original chapter)
My husband Blake returned home after a day at work to find the house quiet and empty, with his wife still appearing to him to either be at work or out shopping, he had the home to himself, or so he thought. Walking upstairs towards our bedroom to get out of his work clothes, then after kicking off his shoes, and after a quick call of nature to relieve himself, he entered our bedroom, but as he was walking around the bed in his bare feet he stubbed his foot on a suitcase laying there on the floor.
Cursing my name for leaving it out for him to find with his foot, he was just about to move it when he thought he heard a muffled noise from inside. Opening the lid, he was stunned to find his wife, Dana, that’s me, tightly curled up inside, and that I was dressed in one of my favourite yoga outfits, a tight lycra one-piece stretching and covering my beautiful body, and intimately finding the more, let’s say, enjoyable parts of my body.
“What the…?” he said, looking down as I started to uncurl myself from my position inside the suitcase.
“Hmmm, well…” I replied, slightly embarrassed that I had been discovered in my secret little hideaway spot, but now free from the confines and stretching my body after being folded up and encased for some time.
“What are you doing in the suitcase?” my husband asked me, still astounded that my body actually fitted inside there, and the fact that he had found me there.
“Sorry, I must have fallen asleep,” I replied, my face flushed, “I didn’t hear you come home. What time is it anyway?”
“It’s nearly 6pm, but why are you inside the suitcase?” he asked again, as he figured that I seemed to be avoiding the question, and distracting him with my body, which I was hoping for.
“Well, as I said, I must have fallen asleep,” I responded, “but… I suppose… you want to know why I was in there.”
“Yes, I’m waiting,” he said, “it's not every day that you come home to find your wife enclosed inside a suitcase.”
“Okay, I’ll admit it’s maybe a little strange, especially now that you’ve found me like this, but I’ve been doing this for a while now, from when I was in my early teens I think, and well before I knew you.” My face again flushed as I watched his reaction to my explanation. “I sometimes just get the urge to place myself inside the suitcase, and I seem to find it very relaxing, all my cares and concerns seem to float away, I like to call it my ‘Me’ time,” I explained.
“Concerns, worries, whatever do you mean, I thought that we were fine, the house is paid for, we both have jobs, what do you mean?” he asked, he now seemed worried that he’d done something wrong to upset me.
“No, silly not like that, it’s just sometimes everyday things used to get on top of me, and the only way I’d find to relax myself is to climb in the suitcase, I don’t know why I started, but finding an old suitcase I climbed in, and things went on from there.” I continued to explain. “But now I don’t have the same concerns as when I was younger, but I still get the urge to put myself inside and spend some quality ‘Me’ time in there.”
“Plus whenever I spend some time in there I do feel more… sexually aroused,” I blushed again and looked away, “Those are the times when you’ve come home just as I’ve gotten out of the case, and I couldn’t keep my hands off of you if you recall.”
“Mmm, yes but I just thought that you were just turned on, maybe the time of the month thingy or whatever.” He tried to answer.
“Men, time of the month indeed, you silly sausage, you have no idea what goes through a woman’s mind, do you?” I laughed.
“Obviously not.” Was his weak reply, still stunned at finding out my secret, but with a wry smile at the memory of our great passionate sessions.
“Well… maybe you could find out… maybe if you lock me away again inside the case, I will surprise you,” I asked him coyly, still embarrassed at him finding out my secret fetish, and not sure what his reaction would be to my offer.
“You want me to lock you away inside the case?” he sounded alarmed. “I don’t know what about air, can you breathe?”
“Yes, of course silly, I’ve been doing this for a while, though I’ve never been actually locked inside, and now that you’ve found out about my secret, it would be an ideal time to find out if we both like doing it. I’ve kept my secret for far too long from you, and I want to share my desires, and my fantasy with you, my gorgeous husband.” I said as I placed my arms around his neck and brought him closer for a kiss, all the while teasing him with my body by rubbing myself against him, I definitely knew that he was getting turned on, as I could feel the bulge in his pants as his erection forming against my body.
“I’m not sure…” he started to say, but the look of disappointment on my face made him change his mind. After all, we girls have been getting their way with men for millennia.
“Please… it’ll be worth it to see if we both like it, just this once. And I promise a good reward for my handsome man when he eventually lets me back out.” I teased, licking my lips with my tongue seductively.
“Ok, but just for a minute or so,” he replied. I could see that his mind was now focused on other things.
“Thank you, for doing this for me, I’ll make sure to make it worth your while.” I smiled, hugging him again and kissing him.
Now having agreed to my request, well he could never really say no to me, as I had ways that I could use to entice him to do things for me, and in the end, I knew that he would do anything for me, as long as it didn’t hurt or harm me, I guess that’s why he was so concerned with my breathing whilst inside the case. But I had assured him that there were breathing holes so that would be no problem, plus as I told him that all my years of doing yoga had kept my body really flexible, as he had found out in bed sometimes I had reminded him, my body now wriggling and teasing him.
Now that I had overcome my husband’s initial shock of finding and discovering me, and also allayed his concerns, I was looking forward to spending some quality ‘Me’ time stored away by his hand in the suitcase. And I had also told him that I had never been locked away before by someone else, as I had no one to do that for me, and now he was going to be the first one to do so, which seemed to bring another smile to his face.
Ready to get myself back inside of the suitcase. he watched intensely as I curled up my body into the suitcase, he looked on amazed at how I managed to fit and fold myself inside the constricting confines of the small space, my legs folded up, my body bent forward and my head resting against my knees, I managed it seemed with little room to spare, my body now fitted inside the suitcase again.
Now that I was curled up into my usual position, I looked up at his face, he looked stunned and amazed at how I had managed it, breaking the spell he seemed to be under. I asked him to close the lid and lock me away inside. He still seemed reluctant to do so, still not sure what was happening here, but finally agreed and reached for the lid of the case. As he began closing it, he was still looking at his wife’s beautiful body inside the case, still hesitant to actually go through with it, but he eventually managed to close the lid down.
“Now, please… lock me inside, dear,” I asked, hopeful that he actually would.
But he was still wavering about closing the case, unsure as to what he was doing and why, but when I asked him again to lock me inside, this time he grabbed hold of the latch and clicked it into place and locked just one side of the suitcase.
“Do we have the key for this case?” he suddenly asked, now concerned that he had locked his wife inside without being able to release me easily should he need to.
“Yes, it’s attached to the handle, but the latch is currently unlocked, all you have to do is slide it across to open it again, that is unless you want to use the key to lock me inside?” I asked hopefully.
“No, not right now,” he said to me, as he slid the clasp on the lock and found that it was indeed unlocked and it opened easily. Now happy that he could free me easily if he needed to, he began closing first one latch and then the other.
Now locked inside, I experienced my first mini-orgasm when I heard the locks close sealing my body inside of the tight enclosure. I was already turned on by my previous session inside the case, but being placed and locked away by someone else, I guess, brought on the climax.
“You okay inside there?” he asked, concerned by the noise that I had made.
“I’m fine… thank you…” I replied, slightly breathless and coming down from my sexual high, as I recovered from the initial rush.
“I’m going to leave you, for a short moment, but I’ll check on you to see if you’re still okay or want to get out.” He then told me.
“I’m okay, and thank you, you’ve made me very happy,” I told him from inside the case.
This made me really delighted that I was finally getting to experience being locked away inside the case. Obviously, I had never been able to do this on my own, but this was a whole new experience for me, something that I wanted to savour for a while. Though I did wonder if I could get him to slide the suitcase under the bed where it was normally stored when I wasn’t using it, but I doubted that he’d agree this first time, and I didn’t want to push too hard. It was enough, for the moment, that he had actually locked me inside of the suitcase.
The orgasm that I had experienced as he closed me inside was a surprise to me as well; normally I’d play with myself inside the case to bring myself off, my fingers working their naughty way to bring me off, something that I hadn’t disclosed to my husband was the other reason that I liked getting inside the case, and the reason that I was always so horny when he got home.
‘That could come later, like me’, I laughed at the thought. Happy with the initial climax, I settled myself down inside the case, my fingers again finding the right spot and began to have fantasies about being sold; one of my favourites was where I was being shipped off to some far-flung country, maybe to some slavers or a harem, which usually brought out the most wonderful climaxes in me while enclosed inside the case.
Every ten minutes or so, my husband came up to check on me, calling out and asking if I was still okay. Each time this interrupted my fantasy that was running through my fevered mind, which I must admit that I found slightly irritating but then reasoned to myself that he was only showing his concern for my welfare, it’s not his fault that he didn’t know that I’d actually spent many, many hours inside the case beforehand and even a night or two, I found even sleeping came easy to me safely curled up inside here, especially after an intense orgasm or two.
Each time that he asked if I wanted to get out my reply was either; “No, I’m fine”; or “No not just yet”; and finally after he had asked for the umpteenth time; “Please darling, just leave me in here, I’ll call when I need to get out.” And that maybe some time I laughed to myself, returning to my fantasy that had been interrupted by him.
But just after an hour later, from inside the suitcase, I heard my husband enter the bedroom again, listening as his footsteps got closer to the suitcase and then I felt him moving it. The sound of the latches opening letting me know that my solo fun time was over, the springs popping the locking mechanism upwards with a loud click, the case was now unlocked, and it was time to pay the price of my confinement.
The bedroom light was on, it must now be dark outside, it initially blinding me and the suddenness of the lid opening, I squinted as the light rushed in as my husband opened the suitcase to reveal his curled-up wife inside, thankful that I seemed to be unharmed and more importantly alive, he would never forgive himself if he’d hurt me in any way. But there was a certain female muskiness reaching his nostrils as he opened the lid of the suitcase, he didn’t know that I’d had a couple of orgasms, well maybe slightly more but who’s counting, whilst locked away, but I guess that he was just happy that I was okay.
Now free to move again I began to stretch, I always did this when getting myself out of the tight confines of the case, my slow movements more due to being folded up for so long, but to my husband I looked more cat-like in my movements, the way that I moved my body was graceful and enticing to his eyes, he watched transfixed as I now knowingly teased him when unfolded myself from the case, his eyes watching my every move.
This really pleased me that I still had this effect on him, my erotic movements more of a dance to entice him, I knew by the look on his face that it drove him wild with desire for my body, and I often played upon it, my years of yoga helping with my body movements, when I performed a strip tease for him, or even just getting undressed to get ready for bed and wanting some attention from him before sleep.
The yoga suit that I was wearing was damp with perspiration and some other more ‘personal fluids’, and it seemed that the outline of my sex was now very obvious to him, the costume having stretched when I masturbated inside the case, pushing the lycra material deep into the soft folds of my vagina, the labia parted to reveal my sexual parts in all their glory.
“Seems that I have a camel toe,” I laughed when he looked down at my crotch.
Blake was still transfixed looking at my body to notice too much, my curves overwhelming his male mind with the way that they moved, I was very happy that I could still tease him after all these years. But now, I was highly aroused again and very hungry sexually, and once I stepped out of the case I quickly dropped to my knees and crawled over on all fours like a cat towards him, my rear swishing from side to side.
From his side the look in my eyes was pure lust for her man, it looked like I wanted to devour him, he later told me. He was shocked at the way that I was reacting but then he finally remembered that I had told him that I wanted to reward him afterwards and that I had said that I’ve always felt very aroused after being enclosed inside the case.
As I finally closed in on him still standing there mesmerised by what he was witnessing, licking my lips invitingly, my tongue languishing on the soft flesh, with a look of wanton lust on my face, I pounced on him, overwhelming him, he then fell backwards onto the bed. I soon made short work of the clothes that he was wearing as I sought out my goal and was soon enjoying myself sucking on his erect member, teasing him with soft lips, a warm, moist mouth, with my tongue running over the head and then the underside of his penis, my teeth gently biting him as I took him further into my warm, wet, wanton mouth.
There was nothing he could do at this point, he was my prey, and I was the huntress, he was mine now to do with whatever I wanted, his mind lost to the wonderful feelings that he was experiencing with my lips wrapped around his cock. I was solely focused and intent on taking the whole thing in my mouth and throat as far as I could. He later said that he hoped that it was still there when I had finished with him, so deep was he in my mouth, and he thought I would swallow not just his cum but his whole being.
Let’s just say that he was thoroughly satisfied and well rewarded for his efforts, though he was too exhausted by the end to even move from the bed. I, on the other hand, was well contented, the cat who had gotten the cream, and I slept with a smile that night knowing that I had managed to finally indulge one of my fantasies and began wondering how I could get my husband to fulfil some more of my desires.
Two (New Part)
Over the next few weeks, we settled into a new rhythm, our relationship was now infused with a playful, intimate secret that deepened the connection between us. The revelation about my suitcase fetish had not only surprised Blake but also intrigued him, and the promise of more rewards for indulging me had certainly sweetened the deal. What began as a hesitant experiment soon became a ritual that we both eagerly anticipated, each session pushing the boundaries of our shared adventure a little further.
The following weekend, I found myself craving some more “Me” time again. Having spent the morning tidying the house, my mind wandered to the suitcase still tucked under the bed. Blake was in the living room, engrossed in a book, when I approached him with a mischievous glint in my eye, while wearing the same lycra yoga outfit that had driven him wild before, knowing its effect on him. “Blake, darling,” I purred, leaning against the doorframe, “I’m feeling a little… confined today. Think you could help me with that?”
Blake looked up, a grin spreading across his face as he caught my meaning. “The suitcase again, huh?” he teased, setting his book aside. “You’re insatiable, aren’t you?”
Laughing I sauntered over to him and trailed a finger along his chest. “Only when it comes to you locking me away. Come on, it’s been a long week. I need my escape.” He followed me upstairs, his initial reservations now replaced with curiosity and excitement. I pulled the suitcase from under the bed, its familiar weight sending a thrill through me. Opening the lid I climbed in with practiced ease, folding my flexible body into the tight space, my head resting on my knees.
Blake watched, still amazed at how she managed to fit so perfectly. “Ready?” he asked, his hand hovering over the lid. “Lock me in,” I whispered, my voice thick with anticipation. This time, Blake didn’t hesitate. He closed the lid, securing both latches with a satisfying click. My heart raced as the darkness enveloped me, the sound of the locks sending a shiver of pleasure throughout my body.
Then I heard Blake’s footsteps retreat, leaving me to my private world of fantasies. This time, my mind drifted to a new scenario: being smuggled aboard a ship, hidden away in the suitcase as part of some thrilling heist. My fingers found their way to my familiar spot, and I let myself sink into the fantasy, my breath quickening in the confined space.
Blake, meanwhile, busied himself downstairs, occasionally glancing at the clock. He’d agreed to give me at least thirty minutes this time before checking on me, a little longer than previously, but he still checked in dutifully. When he returned and called through the suitcase, “You okay in there, Dana?” My response was a muffled, “Mmm, perfect. Just a bit longer, please.” He chuckled, shaking his head, and left me to it, marveling at how this quirky ritual was becoming part of our life.
As the weeks passed, my requests became more frequent, and Blake grew more comfortable with our playtime. One evening, after a particularly stressful day at work, I suggested something new to him. “What if you stored me somewhere?” I asked, my eyes sparkling with mischief. “Like, actually put the suitcase away somewhere in the house.”
Blake raised an eyebrow, intrigued with my request but cautious. “Like where? Under the bed?”
“Maybe,” she teased, poking his chest. “But I was thinking, how about the closet? Or… maybe the attic? Somewhere I’d really feel hidden away.”
He hesitated, his protective instincts kicking in. “The attic? It’s dusty up there, and what if I forget you’re there?”
Wrapping my arms around him, I teased. “You’d never forget me, silly. And I trust you. Besides, I’ve got my breathing holes, and I’m tougher than I look.”
After some coaxing—and a few more seductive promises—Blake agreed to try the closet.
Thrilled that he had agreed I climbed into the suitcase, my body folding effortlessly into the familiar position. Blake then locked the latches and, with a playful grunt, carried the suitcase to the hallway closet. He slid it onto a shelf between stacks of blankets and winter coats, making sure it was secure but accessible.
“There,” he said, his voice muffled through the closet door. “You’re officially stashed away. Happy?”
“Thrilled,” came my reply, my voice tinged with excitement. Inside the suitcase, the added layer of being “stored” in the closet amplified my fantasies. I imagined myself as a precious artifact, hidden away in a secret vault, waiting to be discovered. The thought sent waves of arousal through me, and I indulged in my private pleasure, the confined space heightening every sensation. Blake checked on me after twenty minutes, opening the closet door and tapping on the suitcase. “Still alive in there?”
“Barely,” she joked, my voice breathless. “But don’t let me out yet. I’m… enjoying myself.” He laughed, closing the closet door again. “You’re something else, Dana.”
My boldest experiment came a few weeks later, when I proposed an overnight stay in the suitcase. Blake was skeptical, his concern for my safety resurfacing. “All night? Are you sure? What if you need to get out?”
“I’ve slept in there before,” I confessed, my cheeks flushing. “Not locked in, but I’ve dozed off plenty of times. It’s cozy, like my own little cocoon. And with you there to check on me, I’ll be fine.” Blake relented, reassured by my confidence and the fact that the suitcase’s breathing holes were adequate, and with my body teasing and distracting him as I rubbed myself up against him, my rear finding him starting to rise to the occasion, I knew that he was getting turned on by the idea, and the reward afterwards.
That night, after a romantic dinner, I slipped into my new blue spandex catsuit, which showed off my curves and mesmerized him. He looked on, spellbound, at the way I was dressed, his eyes watching me as I curled up in the suitcase. Once I was inside Blake reluctantly closed the lid, and then closed the latches, his heart pounding with a mix of nerves and desire. At my request, he slid the suitcase under the bed, where it was usually stored when not in use. “Sweet dreams, my little stowaway,” he said, patting the suitcase gently.
“Night, my handsome jailer,” I replied, my voice muffled but content.
Inside, I felt a rush of exhilaration. Being locked away under the bed, knowing Blake was just above me, added a new layer to my fantasies. I began to imagine myself as a captive princess, hidden away for safekeeping, my body tingling with the thrill of it all. My fingers found the cleft between my legs, seeking out my little clit, gently stroking myself and letting my mind drift off to my fantasy. I didn’t want to climax too soon, I wanted this to last. But eventually my orgasm when it came was, let's say, very satisfactory. Afterwards I drifted into a light sleep, my dreams interwoven with my fantasies, my body relaxed in the familiar confines.
Blake, true to his word, checked on me every hour, whispering through the suitcase to ensure that I was okay. Each time, my soft, “I’m fine, love,” reassured him, and he eventually fell asleep, the suitcase’s presence under the bed a comforting reminder of our shared secret.
In the morning, Blake unlocked the suitcase and opened the lid to find me stretching languidly, my face glowing with satisfaction. “Good morning,” I said, my voice husky. “That was… incredible.”
He helped me out, pulling me into his arms. “You’re insane, you know that? But I’m starting to get why you love it.” I just grinned, and kissed him deeply. “And I’m starting to love sharing it with you.”
As the months went on, the suitcase ritual became a cherished part of our relationship. I would signal my desire with a coy look or a playful comment, and Blake would oblige, sometimes adding his own twists—like leaving little notes on the suitcase or teasing me about “shipping me off” to exotic destinations. Each session ended with the promised rewards, our passion fueled by the intimacy and trust of our unusual game. But my fantasies grew more elaborate, and I now felt happy to be sharing them with Blake, who listened with a mix of amusement and arousal. He even suggested trying a larger suitcase one day, to see if it changed the experience, but I insisted on keeping my old, familiar one. “It’s like an old friend,” I said. “It knows me.”
Through it all, the bond between us deepened, as well as our sex life, the suitcase becoming a symbol of our willingness to explore each other’s desires, no matter how unconventional. For me, it was about trust and surrender, my submissive side coming out more each time that he locked me away, but always knowing that Blake would be there to let me out. For Blake, it was about embracing his wife’s quirks and finding joy in their shared adventure, plus I guess the sex that he got afterwards as his reward was very motivational. And for both of us, it was about discovering new ways to love and surprise each other, one lock at a time.
As the seasons shifted from summer's warmth to the crisp bite of autumn, our shared ritual evolved into something even more intimate and adventurous. What had started as occasional indulgences now wove itself into the fabric of our daily lives, a secret language of trust and desire that only we understood. My cravings for "Me" time grew bolder, and Blake, ever the devoted partner, found himself not just accommodating me but actively participating, his initial hesitance giving way to a playful dominance that thrilled them both.
One rainy Saturday morning, with no plans beyond lounging at home, I woke up with that familiar itch, slipped into a new outfit that I’d bought just for these occasions—a sleek, form-fitting spandex bodysuit in deep emerald green that hugged my curves like a second skin. Blake was in the kitchen brewing coffee when I sauntered in, with my suitcase in hand. "Ready for a little adventure?" I asked, my voice low and inviting. He turned, eyeing my body and the suitcase with a smirk. "What's the plan this time? Closet again?"
"Think bigger," I replied, biting my lip. "What if you drove me somewhere? Like, pack me in the trunk and take a short road trip. I'd be your secret cargo."
Blake paused, the idea both exciting and nerve-wracking. "The trunk? Dana, that's… intense. What if we hit traffic or something?"
"I've got my phone in there with me, in case I need it" I assured him, patting a small pocket in the suitcase where I'd stashed it. "And you know I can handle it. Please? Imagine the reward when we get back…" My persuasive gaze won him over, as it always did.
Having reluctantly agreed, he watched me as I curled my body into the suitcase with ease, my flexible body folding like origami. Blake then locked the latches, and carried me carefully out to the garage. He placed the suitcase in the car's trunk amid some blankets for cushioning, as he didn’t want the case moving about on the trip. Taking one last look at the suitcase that contained his wife, he closed the trunk, the sound of it closing sent a delightful thrill throughout my body.
As he started the engine and pulled out of the driveway, I felt a rush like never before—the hum of the road beneath me, the gentle vibrations amplifying my fantasies. I pictured myself being smuggled across borders, a forbidden treasure en route to a mysterious buyer. My fingers danced in the darkness, building to a quiet climax as the miles ticked by. Blake drove to a nearby park, about 30 minutes away, his mind racing with concern and also arousal at the thought of his wife encased in the trunk, and the reward for pleasing me.
He parked, waited for a while and read his book. Meanwhile in the trunk I was off in my fantasy world, waiting for the buyer to arrive, my hand was down between my legs, my fingers teasing my already hypersensitive pleasure button, in my usual deprived manner, my body giving over in complete surrender, my body shuddering, my belly cramping, I felt my body shaking as the first contractions started as I drove onwards to a heavenly climax.
Blake eventually opened the trunk, and unlocked the suitcase, looking down at the beautiful sight of his wife curled up inside. He watched as I emerged, hot, flushed and grinning, my eyes sparkling. "That was amazing," I whispered, pulling him into a heated kiss right there in the parking lot. Then he saw the look in my eyes and knew that I wanted to take him right here, right now. I grabbed his hand and dragged him to the back seat of the car, pushing him down until he sat, I climbed on top and rubbed my body against his, our kissing frantic and intense, my desires at that point took over, and I eased my body down until I knelt on the floor, my hands feverishly reaching for the object of my desire, grabbing his now hardened member I soon had it deep inside my mouth, my tongue savouring the taste of him, as I worked my mouth up and down his member, until he shuddered and released himself into the warm receptacle of my mouth, I eagerly gulped down his fluids, and sucked until he was dry.
After we both recovered, the drive home was filled with teasing touches, my hand teasing him as he drove, his mind clearly not on the road, and by the time we arrived we were both ready for some more playtime, this time in the bedroom, our passion exploded into an afternoon of unrestrained lovemaking, leaving us both exhausted and sated.
“You’ll be the death of me.” he laughed.
“But what a way to go.” I replied with a grin .
The holidays brought new opportunities for our games. With family visits looming, I suggested a pre-Christmas "storage" session for me to unwind. "Could you put me away in the guest room closet," I asked one evening, as we decorated the tree. "Leave me there while you wrap presents. It'll be like I'm your hidden gift." Blake agreed, intrigued by the festive twist.
Dressed in red lingerie beneath my spandex catsuit—for easy access later—I nestled into the suitcase. He locked it and slid it into the guest closet, surrounded by boxes of ornaments and unused wrapping paper. "I'll be back in an hour," he said, his voice echoing through the door.
Inside, my mind wandered to Yuletide fantasies: being wrapped as a present and shipped to a far-off lover, or stored in Santa's workshop among the toys and dolls. The muffled sounds of holiday music from downstairs added to the immersion, and I lost myself in multiple waves of pleasure, my body responding to the confinement with heightened sensitivity. When Blake returned, unlocking the suitcase, he found me glowing and eager. "Merry early Christmas," I purred, emerging like a siren from my shell. That night, we made love by the fire, the suitcase tucked away as a silent witness to the deepening bond between us.
As winter deepened, I pushed for longer sessions. One Friday evening, after a romantic dinner, I confessed a desire that I’d been harbouring for a while. "What if you left me in the suitcase overnight again, but this time stashed away in the basement? Store me like some old piece of luggage, forgotten but cherished."
Blake, now fully embracing his role, nodded thoughtfully. "Only if you promise to signal if you need out. And I'll set alarms to check on you."
Having agreed, and after a quick trip to the bathroom, I dressed in my latest shiny spandex catsuit, the tight material showing off my body, my curves glistening in the light. As I hugged Blake to thank him for indulging me, I couldn’t resist running my body up against his, cat like, I may have even purred, so happy was I that he had agreed to my request. I then slid down into the suitcase, with Blake standing there watching my every move, hypnotized by the way that I moved my body, when I was fully inside I asked Blake to seal me away inside.
Once he had closed the lid and closed the clasps, he then locked the latches with the key, the sound of the locks being fastened sent those familiar shivers throughout my body, I knew that my dreams and desires were coming to fruition, having myself locked away, sealed inside, with only my capture having the means to free me. Blake, or now my abductor, then carried me from the bedroom down to the basement, placing me on a shelf amid some old dusty boxes and seasonal storage. The cooler air and distant creaks of the house amplified my sense of isolation, fueling fantasies of being archived in a vast warehouse, awaiting rediscovery.
I wanted to savour this moment, I had all night to enjoy myself afterall, so I gently started to play with my body, my hands caressing my breasts, feeling the spandex cloth covering them, teasing my now erect nipples, and then slowly moving them down and between my legs, the heat that I felt there was very intense, my fluids had soaked through the material, I was so hot, and aching by now, I knew that it wouldn’t take much more to push me over the edge.
Finally, my body began to shiver and shake, my body cramped and spasmed, my muscles tensing, my body overcome by the sheer power of my orgasm when it came, one of the most intense that I had ever experienced. I think that I blacked out afterwards, either from the strength of my climax, or using up the available air inside the suitcase, such was the fierceness of the apex of my self-play. I awoke later, still secured and stored away in the basement, I lay there content and drifted off to a peaceful sleep.
Throughout the night, Blake descended the stairs every couple of hours, tapping on the suitcase and whispering, "You good, love?" My muffled affirmations reassured him, and by morning, when he unlocked me, I stretched out with a very satisfied sigh. "That was blissful," I said, my body aching slightly but alive with energy. Afterwards, we spent the day in bed, as my "reward" leaving Blake utterly spent and grinning.
Emboldened by what had occurred in our playtimes we experimented further. Blake began incorporating elements from some of my shared fantasies—once, he "shipped" me by placing the suitcase in the garage overnight, complete with a fake label he'd printed: "Fragile: Handle with Care – Destination: Exotic Harem." Another time, he locked me in during a movie night, storing the suitcase behind the couch again so he could hear my soft sounds while he watched his movie, the proximity adding a thrilling layer of intimacy.
Through these experiences, I felt more connected to Blake than ever. Sharing my deepest secret had transformed it from a solitary escape into a partnership of exploration. Blake, in turn, discovered a side of himself that he hadn't known—protective yet now more adventurous, getting involved in and finding joy in his wife's pleasure, and the trust I had placed in him. One evening, as we lay tangled in sheets after yet another rewarding session, I whispered, "Thank you for this. For not judging, for joining me."
Blake kissed my forehead. "It's us against the world—or inside a suitcase. Whatever comes next, I'm in." And so, our joint story continued, the suitcase a portal to endless possibilities, where confinement meant freedom, and storage sparked an unquenchable fire.
Our suitcase ritual took on a new dimension. Blake had an upcoming business trip scheduled—a two-night stay at a boutique hotel in a neighboring city for a conference. When he mentioned it over dinner one evening, my eyes lit up with an idea that sent a thrill through me. “What if I came with you?” I suggested, leaning forward, my voice low and conspiratorial. “Not as your wife, but… as your luggage.”
Blake nearly choked on his wine, setting the glass down with a laugh. “You mean, in the suitcase? In the trunk? To the hotel?”
“Exactly,” she said, my grin widening. “Think about it: I’d be your secret passenger, or your sex toy, stashed away, nobody knowing. It’d be the ultimate adventure.”
He leaned back, rubbing his jaw, his mind wrestling with logistics and desire. “Dana, that’s… wild. What if someone checks the suitcase? Or if you need to get out? And the hotel staff—they handle luggage.”
“I trust you to handle it,” I replied, sliding closer to him. “We’ll plan it carefully. I’ve got my phone for emergencies, and you can make sure the suitcase stays with you. Imagine me waiting for you in the hotel room, all curled up, ready to surprise you. You could even tie me up if you want to.” My seductive tone and the promise in my eyes tipped the scales.
After a long discussion about safety—breathing holes, a signal system via text, and a strict time limit—he agreed to try it. My excitement was palpable, my fantasies already spinning into new territory: being smuggled into a luxurious hotel, a hidden treasure among mundane luggage.
On the morning of the trip, I woke early, my body buzzing with anticipation. For this trip I chose a black, shiny high-cut yoga suit that hugged my curves, knowing that it would drive Blake wild when he “unpacked” me later. In their bedroom, I folded myself into the suitcase with practiced ease, my limbs tucking neatly into the familiar confines. Blake checked the breathing holes, and secured a small water bottle and my phone in a padded pocket, and locked the latches. He carried the suitcase to the car, placing it gently in the trunk alongside his briefcase and a garment bag, ensuring it was cushioned by blankets.
As Blake drove the two-hour journey to the city, I felt the hum of the road beneath me, each bump and turn amplifying my sense of being a clandestine cargo. My mind wandered to fantasies of being a smuggled slavegirl, transported to a private collector’s suite. The darkness and confinement worked their usual magic, my fingers finding their rhythm as I indulged in the thrill, my breath quickening in the tight space.
Blake, meanwhile, kept one eye on the speedo and the other on the road, how would he explain the woman confined within the suitcase in the trunk of his car. His phone was within reach in case I texted my safe word—“Freedom”—to signal any distress. But none came. He marveled at my audacity, his own anticipation building at the thought of their secret shared in a new setting.
At the hotel, a sleek, modern establishment with a bustling lobby, Blake pulled into the valet parking area. A porter, a young man in a crisp uniform, approached to assist with the luggage. Blake handed over his garment bag and briefcase but hesitated with the suitcase containing his wife. “I’ll take this one myself,” Blake said, gripping the handle.
The porter raised an eyebrow but shrugged. “No problem, sir. But I can take it up on the trolley with the rest.” Blake’s heart skipped a beat. The plan was for him to carry the suitcase himself to avoid suspicion, but the porter’s insistence caught him off guard. “It’s… uh, fragile equipment,” he tried to explain, but the porter was already loading it onto a shiny brass trolley alongside other guests’ bags. “It’ll be fine, sir,” the porter said with a smile. “We’re careful with everything.” Blake forced a nod, his stomach twisting as he followed the porter to the check-in desk.
Within the suitcase, I felt the trolley’s smooth movement as it rolled beneath me, the sensation unfamiliar but exhilarating. I imagined myself as a stowaway in a grand hotel, my heart racing with the risk of it all. I tried to stay still, my breathing steady, trusting Blake to manage the situation. In the lobby, Blake checked in, his eyes darting to the trolley where the suitcase sat innocently among other bags. The porter, oblivious, wheeled the trolley toward the elevator, chatting amiably about the weather. Blake’s palms sweated as he followed, praying his wife would stay quiet.
Inside, I was, my body relaxed in the familiar darkness, my mind spinning tales of being delivered to a mysterious VIP, I was there for no other reason than a sexual toy for them to play with, I would be unable to stop whatever they did to me, my body was theirs, to do whatever they wanted to me.
The elevator ride felt endless, the trolley’s wheels humming softly. When they reached the room—a plush suite on the tenth floor—the porter unloaded the bags with practiced efficiency. Blake tipped him generously, eager to get him out quickly. As soon as the door clicked shut, Blake rushed to the suitcase, his fingers fumbling with the latches. “Dana, you okay?” he whispered urgently, opening the lid. I blinked up at him, my face flushed and my smile radiant. “That was incredible,” I whispered, stretching my limbs slowly, catlike, as I emerged from the tight confines. “Being wheeled through the lobby like just another bag… I’ve never felt so alive.”
Blake exhaled, relief flooding him as he helped me out. “You’re insane, you know that? I was sweating bullets when the porter took you.” I laughed softly, wrapping my arms around his neck. “You did great, my handsome smuggler. Now, how about that reward I promised?”
Before he could respond, I pulled him onto the bed, my body still warm from the suitcase, my kisses hungry and urgent. The thrill of tour secret had ignited me, and Blake quickly succumbed to my fervor, the conference forgotten for the moment.
Later as the night unfolded, after a long, passionate interlude, I lay curled against Blake, my fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. “You know,” I murmured, “I was imagining the whole time that I was some forbidden treasure, delivered to your room for your pleasure.”
Blake chuckled, kissing my forehead. “You’re definitely a treasure. But next time, I’m carrying you myself. My heart can’t take another porter incident.”
I grinned, my mind already racing with ideas for the rest of the trip. “What if we sneak me down to the conference tomorrow? You could ‘store’ me in a corner while you give your presentation.”
He groaned, half-laughing. “One adventure at a time, Dana.”
But as they drifted to sleep in the luxurious hotel bed, Blake knew this wouldn’t be the last time they’d push the boundaries of their secret game. His wife’s insatiable curiosity and his growing confidence in their trust made every suitcase session a journey into uncharted territory, binding them closer with every lock and key.
One rainy Saturday afternoon, with a storm keeping us indoors, I felt the familiar itch for confinement. So I approached Blake in the living room, where he was reading by the fire, and dangled my favorite idea. “How about tucking me away in the hall cupboard?” I suggested, my voice playful. “It’s small, cozy, and right here in the house. You can sip your coffee and know I’m just steps away, all curled up.”
Blake chuckled, setting his book aside. “You and that suitcase. Alright, let’s make it quick and safe. You’ve got your phone?”
“Always,” I replied, already heading upstairs to slip into a snug, purple spandex suit that accentuated my curves. In the bedroom, I folded myself into the suitcase with ease, my body fitting like a puzzle piece. Blake locked the latches, and then carried the suitcase downstairs, and opened the hall cupboard—a narrow space filled with coats and scarves. He slid the suitcase onto a low shelf, ensuring it was secure but accessible. “Comfy in there?” he asked, tapping the lid. “Perfect,” came my muffled reply, tinged with excitement. “I’m your hidden treasure now.”
Inside, my mind spun a new fantasy: I was a spy, stashed in a safehouse cupboard, awaiting a covert pickup. The muffled crackle of the fireplace and Blake’s occasional footsteps fueled my arousal, my fingers working softly as I indulged in the confined space.
After an hour, Blake checked in, opening the cupboard door and whispering, “Still good?”
My breathless “keep me here a bit longer” sent him back to his book with a grin, knowing she was lost in my private world.
When he finally released me, I emerged flushed and eager, pulling him into a heated embrace. Our passion spilled onto the couch, the firelight casting shadows as I rewarded my man for the cozy, domestic thrill.
A few weeks later, during a quiet weekend, I proposed a new twist. “What if you stored me in the car trunk, right in the garage?” I said over breakfast. “It’s like I’m waiting for a secret mission, but you don’t have to go anywhere. Just leave me there for a bit while you do some chores.”
Blake raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “The garage? It’s cold out there, Dana. You sure?”
“I’ll be fine,” I assured him, my eyes gleaming. “Bundle me up, and I’ll be your smuggled cargo, ready for pickup.”
This time I chose a thermal bodysuit in deep teal, perfect for the chilly garage, and curled into the suitcase with my phone and a small blanket for extra warmth. Blake locked me in, carried the suitcase to the garage, and placed it in the car’s trunk, propping it with cushions to keep it steady. “I’ll check on you in 45 minutes,” he said, closing the trunk with a soft thud.
Inside, I felt the cool, metallic enclosure of the trunk amplify my fantasies. Imagined myself as contraband, hidden in a getaway car, awaiting a daring escape. The faint sounds of Blake puttering around the house—clinking dishes, the hum of a vacuum—blended with my vision of a shadowy figure retrieving me under cover of night. My fingers danced, bringing me to a quiet climax, the cold air seeping through the suitcase’s edges heightening every sensation.
Blake returned as promised, opening the trunk and unlocking the suitcase. I stretched out, my breath visible in the chilly garage, and pulled him into a kiss. “Take me inside,” I whispered. “I’m ready to warm up.” The lovemaking that evening was fervent, the contrast of the cold garage and our warm bed fueling our desire.
I craved a longer, more immersive experience. One Friday evening, after a romantic dinner, I leaned into Blake, my voice soft but determined. “I want to spend the night in the suitcase again, but this time in the basement. Like last time, store me away like forgotten luggage. It’s been a while, and I need that deep escape.”
Blake hesitated, remembering the intensity of their last overnight session. “All night? You’re sure you can handle it? I’ll be checking on you constantly.”
“I trust you,” I said, kissing him. “And I’ll have my phone. Lock me in, and let me disappear for a bit.”
Dressed in a silky, black one-piece catsuit that clung to me like a second skin, I folded into the suitcase, my body relaxed and ready. Blake carried me to the basement, placing the suitcase on a shelf alongside old boxes and holiday decorations. The cool, quiet space felt like a vault, and he locked the latches, whispering, “Sleep well, my stowaway.”
Inside, my fantasies again took flight: I was a captive princess, locked away in a castle dungeon, awaiting a rescuer who might never come. The basement’s faint creaks and the distant hum of the furnace deepened my immersion, my fingers working slowly as I built up to multiple climaxes, each one lulling me into a light, contented sleep.
Blake checked on me every two hours, texting or tapping the suitcase, my soft replies—“I’m perfect, love”—easing his worry. By morning, he unlocked the suitcase, finding me glowing and serene. I stretched languidly, my movements teasing as I climbed out. “That was divine,” I murmured, pulling him close. “You make my fantasies real.” The rest of the morning was spent in bed, my “reward” a slow, sensual exploration that left us both sated and closer than ever.
Over the following weeks, these sessions became a cherished routine. I would signal my craving with a coy glance or a playful nudge, and Blake would choose a new “storage” spot—sometimes the attic, or in a spare bedroom closet, each location adding a fresh layer to my fantasies. My slaver scenarios evolved, sometimes casting me as a smuggled jewel, other times a captive spy, always ending with Blake as my ultimate liberator. Each time, our trust deepened, Blake’s protectiveness blending with his growing confidence in my desires. My rewards grew more creative, from slow, teasing stripteases to passionate sessions that left him breathless.
As Blake's business trips became more frequent, each one an opportunity for me to weave my fantasies into a reality. This time, he had a three-day conference in a bustling coastal city, staying at an upscale resort hotel known for its ocean views and discreet luxury. Ever the adventurer, I proposed tagging along in my favorite way—curled up as his "luggage" in the suitcase, a secret thrill that had become our signature escapade.
The evening before departure, I prepared meticulously. Selecting a sheer, body-hugging catsuit in midnight blue, designed to tease and tantalize upon my reveal. In the bedroom, I folded my lithe form into the suitcase, my yoga-toned body slotting into place like a puzzle piece. Blake double-checked the breathing holes, tucked in my phone and a small snack bar, and secured the latches with a mix of excitement and caution. "You're sure about this?" he asked, his voice a whisper as he zipped a final compartment.
"Absolutely," I replied from within, my tone laced with anticipation. "Just think of me as your carry-on indulgence."
Blake loaded the suitcase into the car's trunk alongside his laptop bag and a duffel of clothes, cushioning it with pillows to absorb any bumps. As he hit the highway for the four-hour drive, the rhythmic hum of the tires lulled me into my private world. The confinement sparked my imagination: I envisioned myself as a covert operative, smuggled into enemy territory for a high-stakes mission. My fingers explored familiar paths, building to soft, muffled climaxes that left me breathless and content in the darkness.
Blake monitored his phone for any emergency texts, but Dana's only message was a playful "Smooth sailing so far—keep driving, captain." He smiled, the secret adding an electric undercurrent to the mundane drive.
Upon arriving at the resort, Blake pulled up to the grand entrance, where valets and porters swarmed like well-oiled machines. A uniformed porter, an efficient middle-aged man with a polite smile, approached to handle the luggage. Blake handed over the duffel and laptop bag but reached for the suitcase himself. "I'll manage this one—it's got some delicate items," Blake said casually. The porter waved him off good-naturedly. "No worries, sir. We'll treat it like royalty. It's all part of the service." Before Blake could protest firmly, the porter had deftly lifted the suitcase onto a gleaming brass trolley, stacking it neatly with the other bags.
Blake's pulse quickened— again this wasn't part of the plan—but he played it cool, following closely as the porter wheeled the trolley through the opulent lobby, past marble floors and chandeliers that cast a warm glow.
Inside the suitcase, I felt the trolley's gentle sway, the subtle clinks of wheels on tile sending shivers of excitement through me. It was like being paraded incognito through a palace, a hidden gem among ordinary possessions. My fantasies shifted: now I was a model, kidnapped and transported to a collector's suite for their private admiration. The risk of discovery heightened my arousal, my body responding with a quiet intensity as I bit my lip to stay silent.
The elevator ride was smooth and swift, the porter humming softly to himself. Blake stood rigidly, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios, but I remained still, trusting the plan. At the suite door—a spacious ocean-view room with a king bed and balcony—the porter unloaded the bags efficiently, placing the suitcase at the foot of the bed. "Enjoy your stay, sir," the porter said, pocketing a tip and departing with a nod.
Blake locked the door, his hands trembling slightly as he knelt by the suitcase. "Dana? You alright in there?" The latches clicked open, and the lid lifted to reveal me, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. "That was exhilarating," I whispered, uncurling slowly, my movements graceful and seductive. "Being trolleyed through the lobby like again as just another piece of baggage… I felt so exposed yet so safe."
Blake helped me out, pulling me into an embrace. "You scared the hell out of me when he grabbed it. But damn, you're glowing."
With the conference starting the next day, we had the evening to ourselves. I stretched luxuriously, my catsuit clinging in all the right places, before peeling it off slowly, teasing Blake with every inch revealed. "Your reward for being such a masterful handler," I murmured, guiding him to the bed. The lovemaking afterwards was fervent, fueled by the adrenaline of the journey.
Later, as we lay watching the sunset over the waves from the balcony, I nestled against him. "Tomorrow, while you're at your meetings, could you maybe store me away again—in the closet this time. I'll be your hidden motivation."
Blake laughed, tracing my skin. "One step at a time, love. But with you, every trip is an adventure."
The next few days blurred into a mix of Blake's professional obligations and our private games—quick "storage" sessions in the room between sessions, where I indulged in my fantasies while he networked.
Stored away inside the suitcase and stashed away hidden in the closet, I lay imagining that I was someone’s sexual plaything, to be used and stored away again afterwards. My fantasies took me to greater sexual heights, even more so when I heard the maid service attend to the room while I was inside the closet, the sound as they worked made me feel even more of an object, something that was no longer useful at the moment and put away out of sight.
But because this was a business trip for Blake, not pleasure like my own, he had to attend some networking sessions, especially after the official meetings, something that I guess he hadn’t figured on when he locked me away in the closet. Unable to break away, he had no choice but to leave me where I was, hoping that I was okay. He kept checking his phone for any signals from me, and finally when he had a moment he texted to apologise for leaving me so long.
I replied, “Your package will be waiting for you when you return.”
When he finally managed to get back to the room, the first thing he did was grab the suitcase from the closet. His concern for my welfare was touching, but I had loved every moment of being confined. He helped me out of the suitcase, my body stiff from being confined for so long, but content.
I teased that I was hungry after being confined for so long. He offered to get room service, but I told him that I wanted something more substantial to devour. I dropped down on my knees and sought out the thing that I needed at that moment, taking him in my mouth. I sucked and savoured the moment, my warm mouth wrapped around his now solid member, taking him as far as I could. He didn’t last long, his climax when it came made him buckle at the knees and he dropped back down on the bed.
My appetite for adventure grew bolder, my fantasies pushing the boundaries of their shared secret. On a trip to town I’d stumbled across a bustling train station in the city known for its modern amenities, including a bank of secure luggage storage lockers. The idea of being “stored” in a public place, surrounded by strangers unaware of my presence, sent a thrill through me.
Over breakfast one morning, I pitched the idea to Blake, my eyes sparkling with mischief. “What if we take the suitcase game to the next level?” I said, leaning across the table. “There’s this train station with lockers—big ones, perfect for the suitcase. You could lock me in one while you’re at a meeting. I’d be completely hidden, just another piece of luggage.”
Blake set down his coffee, his brow furrowing. “A public locker? Dana, that’s… risky. What if someone tries to open it? Or if I get delayed?”
I reached for his hand, my voice soft but persuasive. “We’ll plan it out. I’ll have my phone, and you’ll have the key or code. It’s temporary—just a few hours. Imagine the thrill, Blake. I’ll be waiting for you, all curled up, thinking of you.” I paused, my lips curling into a seductive smile. “And the reward when we get home will be… unforgettable.”
Blake’s resistance wavered under my gaze, and the promise of what was to come. After a detailed discussion—emergency signals, a fully charged phone, and a promise to check in via text—he agreed to try it. Blake had a short meeting scheduled in the city that afternoon, a perfect excuse for their escapade.
That morning, I slipped into a sleek, form-fitting catsuit in deep crimson, knowing it would drive Blake wild later. In their bedroom, I again folded myself into the suitcase with practiced grace, my body fitting snugly into the familiar space. Blake secured the latches, double-checked the breathing holes, and tucked my phone and a small water bottle into a padded pocket. He then carried the suitcase to the car’s trunk, nestling it among blankets for the hour-long drive to the city.
As the car hummed along, my mind spun into my favorite fantasy: Again I was a captive, sold to a mysterious slaver who’d collect me from the locker for a life of exotic servitude. The confinement and the car’s gentle vibrations heightened my arousal, my fingers working softly as I imagined being whisked away to a distant land. A quiet climax left me breathless, the suitcase my private sanctuary.
Blake, meanwhile, kept his phone close, glancing at it for any sign of distress. My occasional texts—“All good, enjoying the ride”—eased his nerves, though the audacity of my plan kept his heart racing.
At the train station, it was a hive of activity with commuters and travelers rushing about, Blake parked and retrieved the suitcase from the trunk. The weight of it felt heavier with the stakes of our game. He navigated the crowded concourse, the suitcase’s wheels rolling smoothly as he approached the luggage storage area—a row of sleek, automated lockers with digital keypads.
Finding an empty locker large enough for the suitcase, Blake hesitated, scanning the area for prying eyes. The station was busy, but no one paid him any attention. He slid the suitcase into the locker, the door closing with a satisfying click as he set a four-digit code he’d shared with me via text. “I’ll be back in two hours,” he whispered, though he knew that I couldn’t hear him through the locker’s metal walls. He sent a quick text—“Locked in, see you soon”—and headed to his meeting, his mind half on business, half on his wife hidden in plain sight.
Inside the locker, I felt the world shrink to the suitcase’s familiar confines, the locker’s added enclosure amplifying my sense of secrecy. The muffled sounds of the station—announcements, footsteps, the clatter of coins—fueled my fantasy. I imagined the slaver approaching, key in hand, ready to claim me for a harem far away. My fingers danced again, building to another wave of pleasure as I lost myself in the scenario, my body trembling in the tight space.
Blake’s meeting, which was meant to be a quick consultation, dragged on unexpectedly. A client’s last-minute demands turned two hours into four, and though he texted me to check in—“Meeting running long, you okay?”—my replies were reassuring: “I’m fine, take your time. Having fun in here.” Still, guilt gnawed at him as he hurried back to the station, the bustling evening crowd making the journey feel endless.
Inside the locker, my fantasies kept me occupied. The extended time only deepened my immersion—I was now a forgotten captive, left in storage until my slaver deemed it time to retrieve me. The thought sent me into another quiet climax, my body adapting to the prolonged confinement with ease, thanks to years of yoga and practice. Afterwards I dozed lightly, content in my cocoon, though I began to crave Blake’s touch and the reward that awaited him.
When Blake finally reached the locker, nearly five hours after leaving me, he punched in the code with shaky fingers, the door popping open to reveal the suitcase. He wheeled it out, blending into the crowd as he made his way to the car, his heart pounding with relief and anticipation. In the parking lot, he placed the suitcase back in the trunk, whispering, “Almost home, love,” before driving off.
Meanwhile, still curled inside, I felt the car’s motion resume, my fantasies lingering as I imagined the slaver’s caravan now transporting me to a new life. The drive home was a blur of arousal and anticipation, my body eager for release in more ways than one.
Back at their house, Blake carried the suitcase to the bedroom, opening it with care. I emerged, my face flushed and my eyes blazing with desire. “That was incredible,” I said, stretching languorously. “Five hours in a public locker, Blake—I felt so… owned.”
He pulled me close, kissing me deeply. “I’m sorry it took so long. You scared me, but you’re amazing.”
I smiled, my voice turning sultry. “I want more. Tie me to the bed, Blake. Use me. Take me from behind. I’ve been dreaming of being yours completely, my body is yours to plunder and exploit, your slavegirl belongs to you, my master.”
Blake’s eyes darkened with desire. He fetched soft silk scarves from my drawer and some ropes. He began by binding my wrists and ankles to the bedposts as I lay face-down, my body arched invitingly. My mouth gagged with the scarves, so my cries or joy or pain would be muted. The sight of my body, still in the crimson bodysuit, drove him wild. He ripped it open, savoring the flesh that he exposed, before taking me and entering me from behind, his rhythm urgent and primal.
Bound and helpless I moaned, my fantasies of submission blending with reality, each thrust fulfilling my longing to be claimed. Blake, lost in his passion, gave himself over to the moment, the connection between our bodies and needs at that moment was electric and all-consuming. Lost in the haze of sexual frenzy, he increased the length of his strokes, pushing deeper into my aching rear, I bit down hard on the gag, not from any pain, but from the sheer intensity of our lovemaking.
As he collapsed after his climax, panting and entwined, his body spent and now sated, he carefully removed the scarves from my mouth. I whispered, “That was perfect. You’re my slaver, my hero, my everything.”
Blake kissed my neck, chuckling softly. “And you’re my wild, untamable slavegirl. What’s coming next?”
“Keep me tied, and I guess you will be,” I teased.
With spring turning into summer, our suitcase ritual became an ever-evolving dance of trust and thrill. The new suitcase Blake had gifted me for my birthday—a sleek, black hard-shell model with four sturdy locks and internal straps to secure its contents—added a thrilling layer of intensity to our adventures. Its reinforced design and snug straps made me feel even more confined, amplifying my fantasies of being a tightly bound captive, stored away for a mysterious fate. Over the next few weeks, we explored this new dynamic, each session pushing the boundaries further.
One lazy Saturday evening, with the scent of blooming jasmine drifting through the open windows, I felt the familiar urge for confinement. So I sauntered into the living room, where Blake was setting up for a quiet night of TV, and ran my fingers along the new suitcase’s smooth surface. “How about you strap me into the new case and tuck me behind the sofa?” I suggested, my voice low and teasing. “You can watch your show, knowing I’m right there, hidden away.”
Blake grinned, intrigued by the domestic twist. “Right under my nose, huh? Alright, but you know the drill—phone ready, safe word if you need out.” I nodded. In the bedroom, I prepared for this session by slipping into a new form-fitting red latex bodysuit that hugged my curves like a second skin, something that I’d wanted to try for some time, and with the new suitcase I thought that it’d be the perfect time to try.
Walking back into the living room, my body displayed to perfection by the shiny latex, I teased Blake while showing off the new suit, his eyes fixed on the sight before him. But before he had any other ideas, I moved over and curled myself into the new suitcase, my body fitting snugly as Blake fastened the internal straps, their gentle, but tight pressure adding a delicious sense of restraint. Closing the lid, he secured all four locks, each click sending a shiver through my body, and carried the suitcase where he slid it carefully behind the sofa, where it was concealed by the furniture’s bulk but easily accessible.
“Comfy?” he asked, tapping the lid. “Perfect,” I purred from within, my voice muffled but vibrant. “I’m your secret, stashed away for now.”
As Blake settled onto the sofa with a beer and his favorite sci-fi show, my mind dove into my fantasy: this time I was a smuggled captive, hidden behind a merchant’s stall in a bustling bazaar, awaiting a shadowy buyer. The straps held me firmly, intensifying my arousal as my fingers found their familiar rhythm, building to a quiet climax in the suitcase’s tight embrace. The hum of the TV and Blake’s occasional chuckles blended into my fantasy, grounding me in our shared secret.
But an hour into his show, the doorbell rang, shattering the cozy atmosphere. Blake froze, his heart racing as he heard his mother’s voice call out, “Blake, dear, it’s us! We were in the neighborhood!” His parents, notorious for unannounced visits, had arrived without warning. Panic surged through him as he glanced at the sofa, behind which his wife was locked away. There was no way to free me without arousing suspicion—his parents were already stepping inside, his mother chattering about their day. “Uh, great to see you!” Blake stammered, ushering them to the armchairs across the room, praying they wouldn’t wander near the sofa. The suitcase, tucked out of sight, felt like a ticking bomb in his mind.
Inside, I heard the muffled voices and pieced together the situation. Far from alarmed, I found the unexpected twist exhilarating. My fantasy shifted: now I was a captive hidden in a smuggler’s den, the authorities were unknowingly close by. The risk of discovery sent my pulse racing, my fingers working faster as I stifled my breaths, another climax building in the confined space.
For three agonizing hours, Blake entertained his parents, serving coffee and deflecting their offers to help tidy up, terrified they’d move the sofa or notice the suitcase. His mother’s chatter about family gossip and his father’s questions about work kept him on edge, but he maintained a strained smile, his mind on his wife hidden behind the sofa. Finally, as dusk settled, his parents announced they had to leave for a dinner reservation, and Blake nearly sagged with relief as he waved them off. Rushing to the sofa, he pulled the suitcase out and fumbled with the locks, his hands shaking.
“Dana, I’m so sorry,” he whispered as the lid opened. I emerged, my face flushed and eyes gleaming with mischief, stretching languidly like a cat. “That was incredible,” I said, my voice husky. “I heard them talking, and it made it so much more thrilling—like I was a secret they could never know.”
Blake exhaled, pulling me into a hug. “I was freaking out, thinking they’d find you, but you found the whole thing exhilarating, you’re unbelievable.”
I grinned, my gaze turning seductive. “You’ve been so stressed, poor thing. Let me take care of you.” Before he could respond, I pushed him gently onto the sofa, dropping to my knees between his legs. My hands deftly unzipped his pants, and I leaned in, my lips and tongue working with slow, deliberate skill to relieve the tension that had built up over the hours. Blake’s head fell back, his stress melting under my expert touch, my warm mouth drawing soft moans from him as I brought him to a shuddering release.
A week later, I again craved another session with the new suitcase’s straps. “Store me in the car trunk again, inside the garage,” I proposed over breakfast, my eyes dancing. “But this time, use the straps to really secure me. I want to feel completely bound.” Blake agreed, his confidence in their ritual growing. Up in the bedroom I chose a glossy black bodysuit, its sheen reflecting the light as I folded my body into the suitcase. Blake then tightened the internal straps, their pressure hugging my body, and locked the four latches, each click amplifying my excitement. He carried the suitcase to the garage, placing it in the car’s trunk with extra blankets for cushioning. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he said, closing the trunk.
Inside, another fantasy reignited: I was just cargo in a smuggler’s vehicle, strapped down for a covert journey. The garage’s cool silence and the straps’ firm grip sent me into a frenzy, my fingers coaxing multiple climaxes as I imagined being delivered to a distant brothel. Blake checked in via text, my replies—“Lost in bliss”—reassuring him as he worked on a project in the house. When he retrieved me, I emerged flushed and eager, pulling him into the car for a quick, passionate reward, our bodies pressed against the seats in the dim garage light.
As the weather warmed, I requested another overnight session. “The basement again,” I said one Friday night, my voice low with anticipation. “Strap me in tight and leave me there all night. I want to feel completely stored away.”
Blake, now adept at our game, prepared the suitcase with care. This time I wore a deep emerald bodysuit, slipping into the suitcase as Blake fastened the straps snugly, my body immobilized in the most delicious way. He locked the four latches and carried me to the basement, placing the suitcase on a shelf among forgotten boxes. “I’ll check on you every couple of hours,” he promised, kissing the lid before heading upstairs.
In the suitcase’s tight embrace, again my fantasies soared: I was a treasure locked in a vault, awaiting a collector who’d never come. The straps held me firmly, each slight movement intensifying my arousal as I indulged, drifting into a contented sleep after a series of climaxes.
Blake’s periodic checks, his soft voice calling through the suitcase, grounded me, my replies—“I’m perfect”—easing his concern.
By morning, he unlocked me, finding me radiant and relaxed. “That was heaven,” I murmured, stretching into his arms. His reward was a slow, sensual morning in bed, the new suitcase’s straps having added a thrilling edge to our playtime.
With each session—behind the sofa, in the garage, or in the basement—the new suitcase’s locks and straps deepened my fantasies and Blake’s devotion. The unexpected visit from his parents had only strengthened our trust, proving that we could navigate any surprises together. Dana’s rewards, whether spontaneous and fervent or slow and deliberate, kept our passion alive, the suitcase a symbol of our shared daring. As we lay together after my latest adventure, I whispered, “What’s next, my keeper?” Blake only smiled, knowing their next fantasy was just a lock away.
As summer unfolded with warm, golden days, my restless imagination led me to a new obsession: the expansive airport in a neighboring metropolis, renowned for its state-of-the-art luggage storage lockers. I'd read about it online during one of my late-night browsing sessions, the idea of being locked away again in a public hub teeming with travelers igniting my deepest fantasies. Over a cozy dinner at home, I broached the subject with Blake, my voice laced with that irresistible blend of innocence and seduction. "Blake, darling," I began, twirling my fork, "I've found the perfect spot for our next adventure—an airport with huge luggage lockers. You could drop me off there, store me away, and head to your meeting. Imagine me hidden among all those suitcases, waiting for you."
Blake paused mid-bite, his eyes widening. "An airport? Dana, that's even riskier than the train station. Security, crowds… what if something goes wrong?" I slid my chair closer, my hand resting on his thigh under the table. "We've done this before, and it's always worked out. I'll have my phone, you set the code. It's just for a few hours while you're at your client lunch. Please? The thrill of it… and when we get home, I'll make it worth every second of worry."
My persuasive touch and the promise in my eyes wore him down, as they always did. After some meticulous planning, a mid-morning drive, with my phone fully charged, and the safe word for any emergencies. Blake's meeting was scheduled for noon, giving him plenty of time to return by early afternoon—or so he thought.
The next day, I chose a tantalizing full-bodied latex bodysuit including a hood, with only my face visible, the sleek black glossy material promising to heighten every sensation. In the bedroom, I curled into the suitcase with effortless flexibility, my body folding into the tight embrace that I craved. Blake tightened the straps to hold me, and then locked the latches, and carried me to the car's trunk, padding it with soft cushions for the 90-minute drive.
As the car cruised along the highway, my mind dove into my slaver fantasy: I'd been auctioned off online, packaged and was about to be deposited in the locker for collection by a shadowy figure who'd spirit me away to a life of luxurious captivity. The trunk's darkness and the road's vibrations fueled my arousal, my fingers slipping between my thighs as I envisioned the slaver's hands unlocking my fate. A shuddering climax washed over me, leaving me panting and eager for more.
Blake, gripping the wheel, sent periodic texts—"You good?"—receiving my playful replies: "Lost in dreams. Hurry back to claim me, your slavegirl."
At the airport, a sprawling complex buzzing with departures and arrivals, Blake parked in the short-term lot and wheeled the suitcase through the sliding doors. The luggage storage area was a secure zone with rows of electronic lockers, some large enough for oversized bags. He found an available one, slid the suitcase inside, and programmed a simple code, whispering a quick "Be safe" before closing the door. With a final text—"Locked in, back soon"—he headed to his meeting downtown, the airport shuttle whisking him away.
Inside the locker, I felt the world seal shut around me, the faint echoes of announcements and footsteps seeping through. My fantasy intensified: the slaver was en route, key in hand, ready to load me onto a private jet bound for an exotic enclave. I indulged again, my body writhing subtly in the confines, waves of pleasure building as I imagined being unpacked in an opulent chamber, collared and claimed.
Blake's meeting, a routine client update, spiraled into chaos—a surprise audit and endless negotiations stretching from two hours into five. He texted apologies—"Running late, hold tight"—and my responses remained composed: "I'm okay, loving the fantasy, my master."
But as time dragged on, the extended isolation only deepened my immersion. I napped fitfully, my dreams blending with reality, the slaver's arrival always just moments away, my arousal simmering like a slow burn. Finally, as evening shadows lengthened, Blake rushed back to the airport, his tie loosened and guilt etched on his face. The locker area was quieter now, and he punched in the code, the door swinging open to reveal the suitcase. Wheeling it out amid oblivious travelers, he blended into the crowd, heart racing until he reached the car and secured it in the trunk. "Homeward bound," he texted, starting the engine for the drive back.
Meanwhile, still encased, I let my fantasy linger on the return trip: the slaver's vehicle speeding through the night, my destiny sealed. The anticipation of home—and Blake—kept me grounded, my body aching for release.
Arriving home as dusk fell, Blake carried the suitcase upstairs and unlocked it in our bedroom. I emerged, my skin covered under the latex with a light sheen of sweat, my eyes dark with desire. "That wait was torture… but heaven," I murmured, stretching like a cat. "I was sold, Blake—locked away for a slaver to collect me, take me far away."
He helped me stand, pulling me into a fierce kiss. "I'm sorry for the delay. You were incredible." I pressed against him, my voice husky. "Show me I'm yours. Bind me to the bed, Blake. Use me—take me from behind again. Make me feel claimed."
Blake's breath hitched, his hands already reaching for the velvet ropes in the nightstand. He tied my wrists to the headboard and my ankles spread wide, my body arched face-down on the sheets, vulnerable and inviting. He unzipped the latex catsuit revealing the hidden treasure that awaited him, savoring my curves, before positioning himself behind me. Entering me with deliberate thrusts, he gripped my hips, his rhythm building to a frenzied pace, my moans echoing his name. The intensity of my fantasy merged with his possession, culminating in shattering climaxes that left us both spent and tangled.
As we lay recovering, I whispered, "You're my everything, my captor, my love, my master."
Blake smiled, stroking my body. "And you're my endless adventure. What's our next fantasy?"
The thrill of the airport locker adventure lingered in my mind, fueling my desire for an even more immersive experience. The new suitcase, with its four locks and internal straps, had become my ultimate sanctuary, and I craved a scenario that would push my slaver fantasy to new heights. One evening in early summer, I shared my longing with Blake, my eyes gleaming with anticipation. “I want you to surprise me,” I said, my voice low and seductive. “Take me somewhere I don’t know, make it feel real—like I’ve been sold.”
Blake leaned back, intrigued but cautious. “You want a full-on surprise? That’s a big step, Dana. We’d need to plan it carefully—safe word, phone, all of it.”
“Absolutely,” I assured him, my hand brushing his. “I trust you to make it thrilling but safe. Play into the fantasy—tell me you’ve found a buyer. I want to feel like I’m really being delivered.”
After a detailed discussion—reiterating their safe word “Freedom,” ensuring my phone was charged, and setting a time limit—he agreed to the plan. Blake’s mind raced with ideas, his growing confidence in our ritual playtimes making him eager to craft a scene that would thrill me.
The following Saturday, Blake announced he had “business” to attend to, keeping the destination a secret. I got myself dressed in a sleek, black latex bodysuit that clung to me like a second skin, folded myself into the new suitcase with practiced ease. Blake tightened the internal straps, their firm grip sending a shiver through me, and secured all four locks, each click amplifying my excitement. He carried the suitcase to the car’s trunk, cushioning it with blankets, and leaned close to the lid. “I’ve found a buyer for my slavegirl,” he said in a low, theatrical tone, playing into my fantasy. “You’re being delivered to your new owner tonight.”
My heart raced inside the suitcase, the words igniting my fantasy. As the car started and rolled out of the driveway, I imagined myself as a prized captive, sold to a mysterious figure in a far-off land. The trunk’s darkness and the car’s gentle hum fueled my arousal, my fingers working softly as I pictured a shadowy slaver awaiting my arrival. For the hour-long drive, I drifted between quiet climaxes and vivid daydreams, my body tingling with anticipation.
Blake, driving to an old industrial park he’d scouted earlier, kept his phone close, checking for any distress signals. I sent the occasional texts—“Loving this, keep going”—reassured him as he played his role, his voice steady but his heart pounding with the thrill of my trust.
At the industrial park, Blake pulled up to a deserted warehouse he’d known of through his work, its cavernous interior perfect for the game. He carried the suitcase inside, the echo of his footsteps adding to the atmosphere. Opening a dusty cupboard in a corner, he slid the suitcase inside, ensuring it was secure but accessible. “You’re stashed away now, slavegirl,” he said, his voice carrying a mock-menacing edge. “Your new owner will collect you soon.”
My fantasy exploded: here I was a captive in a smuggler’s hideout, locked away until my buyer arrived. The straps held me tightly, the cupboard’s musty darkness amplifying my sense of isolation. My fingers danced, building to another climax as I imagined the slaver’s footsteps approaching. The warehouse’s faint creaks and distant traffic sounds blended into my scenario, making it feel startlingly real.
Blake left me there for over an hour, stepping outside to maintain the illusion while checking his phone obsessively. My texts—“This is incredible, I’m lost in it”—kept him grounded, though the role-play stretched his nerves. He paced the lot, counting down the minutes, eager to continue the game.
After he thought that enough time had elapsed, Blake re-entered the warehouse, adopting a gruff, fake accent to play the slaver. “Time to move you, girl,” he growled, pulling the suitcase from the cupboard and carrying it back to the car’s trunk. “Your new owner’s waiting.”
While still tightly strapped inside, I shivered with delight, my fantasy seamless: the slaver was transporting me to a lavish estate, my fate sealed. Another quiet climax rocked me as the car started, the hour-long drive home blending into my vision of a caravan crossing a desert. Blake, back in his normal voice, sent a final text—“Almost home, safe and sound”—and received my reply: “Can’t wait to be yours again.” His relief mingled with anticipation as he pulled into their driveway.
In the bedroom, Blake unlocked the suitcase, the four latches clicking open to reveal his wife, my face flushed and eyes blazing with desire. I stretched slowly, the latex bodysuit glistening as I emerged. “That was… unreal,” I whispered, my voice thick with arousal. “I was sold, Blake—taken to a warehouse, waiting for my new master. You made it so real.”
He pulled me close, kissing me deeply. “You’re incredible. I was on edge the whole time, but seeing you like this… worth it.”
My gaze turned pleading, my hands guiding him to the bed. “Tie me up, Blake. Like before—bind me to the bed and use me, from behind, for as long as you want tonight. I’m yours, completely.”
Blake’s breath hitched as he grabbed the velvet ropes from the nightstand. He tied my wrists and ankles to the bedposts, my body arched face-down, the latex unzipped to reveal what was hidden underneath. Positioning himself behind me, he entered me slowly at first, then with increasing intensity, my moans urging him on. He took his time, savoring my surrender, our rhythm building to a crescendo that left us both trembling. For hours, we lost ourselves in each other, my pleas for more fueling Blake’s desire, our connection raw and electric.
My fantasies grew ever more elaborate, fueled by the intensity of the recent adventures with the new suitcase and its secure locks and straps. The thrill of being “sold” to a mysterious slaver in the warehouse had left me craving a deeper dive into my submissive desires. Over a quiet evening of wine and candlelight, I shared my boldest idea yet with Blake. “I want a whole weekend as your slavegirl,” I murmured, my eyes locked on his. “Take me somewhere remote, keep me naked, bound, and gagged in the suitcase for the journey, and let me serve you completely. You be the master, and I’ll be yours to command.”
Blake’s breath caught, the intensity of my request stirring both excitement and caution. “A whole weekend? That’s… intense, Dana. You’re sure you want to go that far? Naked in the suitcase, bound and gagged?”
“Absolutely,” I replied, leaning closer, my voice thick with desire. “I trust you to keep me safe. Make it feel real—take me away, own me for those days. I want to feel completely yours.” I paused, my lips curling into a seductive smile. “And I promise to make every moment unforgettable.”
On Friday morning, I prepared for the journey, my body bare except for a soft silk scarf Blake would use as a gag. In the bedroom, I knelt as he gently bound my wrists and ankles with soft, padded ropes, ensuring they were snug but not painful. He placed the silk scarf between my lips, tying it securely behind my head, my muffled hum of approval sending a thrill through him. I curled into the new suitcase, my naked body fitting perfectly as Blake fastened the internal straps, their pressure heightening my anticipation. He secured the four locks, each click echoing my surrender, and carried the suitcase to the car’s trunk, cushioning it with blankets.
As Blake prepared to close the trunk, he leaned toward the suitcase, his voice low and commanding. “You’re my slavegirl now, bound and ready for your new life. We’re heading to a place where you’ll serve me completely.”
Gagged and strapped inside the suitcase, I felt my pulse race, my fantasy was coming alive: I was a captive being transported to my master’s remote lair, my body his to command. The darkness and the car’s gentle sway intensified my arousal, my bound hands unable to explore my body, but my mind spinning vivid scenes of servitude. I moaned softly through the gag, lost in the role of a helpless slavegirl, my body tingling with every mile.
The cottage was a charming, isolated retreat surrounded by towering pines, its nearest neighbor miles away. Blake carried the suitcase inside, placing it on the wooden floor of the cozy living room. He unlocked the latches and opened the lid, revealing his slavegirl for the weekend, my skin flushed and eyes gleaming with submissive desire. He untied the straps that held me inside the suitcase, and helped me stand out of the case, my naked body glowing in the soft light filtering through the windows.
“Welcome to your master’s domain, slavegirl,” he said, his voice firm but warm, slipping into the dominant role she craved. “You’ll serve me this weekend, naked and obedient. Understood?”
“Yes, Master,” I replied behind the gag, my voice soft and deferential, my heart racing as she embraced my role. I knelt down before him, my body exposed and vulnerable, ready to fulfill my fantasy as his submissive slave.
For the next two days, I remained naked, my only adornments the occasional soft ropes Blake used to bind my wrists during certain tasks, heightening my sense of submission. I served him in every way my fantasy demanded: preparing simple meals in the cottage’s rustic kitchen, kneeling beside him as he ate, my hands offering food or wine with a graceful deference.
Blake, embracing his role as my master, issued commands with a balance of authority and care—directing me to fetch items, massage his shoulders, or simply kneel at his feet while he read by the fire. Each task fueled my submissive desires. I imagined myself as a cherished slave in a grand estate, my every action pleasing my master. Blake’s dominant demeanor—his firm tone, the way his eyes lingered on my body—sent shivers through me, my arousal building with every command.
At night, he bound my wrists to the bedposts in the cottage’s bedroom, taking me from behind as I’d requested, his movements slow and deliberate at first, then urgent and possessive, my gagged moans echoing through the quiet forest. Each session left both of us breathless, our connection deepened by the intensity of the roles that we were playing. Between these moments, Blake ensured my comfort, checking in with soft whispers—“You okay, my slavegirl?”—and my eager nods and murmured “Yes, Master”.
On Sunday afternoon, Blake prepared me again for the journey home, binding and gagging me once more for the suitcase. “Time to return, my precious slave,” he said, his voice carrying the commanding edge that I loved. He helped me curl myself into the suitcase, the straps securing me tightly, and he locked the four latches before placing the suitcase in the trunk. The drive home was another plunge into my fantasy: I was being transported back to my master’s primary estate, my servitude ongoing. The confinement and ropes kept me aroused, but unable to do anything, my muffled breaths steady as I drifted between fantasy and reality.
At home, Blake carried the suitcase to the bedroom and unlocked it, untying my ropes and gag. As I emerged, my body warm to the touch, my eyes blazing with desire. “Please, Master,” I whispered, kneeling before him. “Tie me to the bed again. Use me again, however you wish, for as long as you want tonight. I’m yours.”
Blake, his own desire reignited, bound me to the bedposts with velvet ropes, my naked body arched invitingly. He took me from behind, his rhythm alternating between slow and intense, drawing out my pleasure as I begged for more. The night stretched on, he repositioned me on the bed, and took his time using me again. This was a marathon of dominance and submission, each thrust fulfilling my fantasy of being utterly claimed.
We finally collapsed together at dawn, exhausted and sated, our bodies entwined. As we lay catching our breath, I murmured, “That was everything I dreamed, Blake. You’re my perfect master.” He kissed my forehead, smiling. “And you’re my perfect slavegirl. What’s next, my love?”
“For the moment I’m content to remain your slavegirl, that is until you grow tired of me and bind me, gag me and encase me in the suitcase, and sell me to the slaver ring… please…”