TRENTON, NJ. I adored my half-brother Larry who was older and considerably larger than me and well built but a bit on the heavy side. I wanted to be around him and be like him, but I was admittedly a little snot and I went out of my way to make his life miserable—a strange way to show affection but a good way to get attention which was what I wanted. When I was eleven, and he was sixteen, my father deserted us, and mom had to get a job. That summer she left us with our aunt who kept us apart and busy. It was a dull three months.
The next summer our aunt was unable to babysit us. Mom decided that at seventeen, Larry could look after me and she laid down the rules that he was in charge. She was gone Monday through Saturday from early in the morning until around five-thirty in the afternoon. Right from the start, I went out of my way tro annoy Larry, jumping on him, misbehaving, leaving messes around the house, and in general being sassy, calling him dirty names. Larry was laconic in the extreme, often moody, and careful to think through whatever he did. Poor in school, he excelled only in various shop classes where he seemed able to do just about anything with his hands. Off and on he was on the swim team. Larry could be really mean, almost cruel, when he was provoked. And he could take apart or build just about anything.
After about two weeks of my torment, Larry grabbed me one afternoon. I had been particularly obnoxious. He dragged me into our bedroom and threw me down on my bed. Holding me there, he began wrapping some rope around my right wrist.
“What you gonna do, ass hole,” I shouted, “tie me up?” He secured the rope to the corner of the bed, and did the same to my left arm. “You son-of-a-bitch,” I shouted. “You can’t do this to me.” I kicked wildly. He grabbed my right ankle, with which I had been trying to hit him, and tied it tightly to the bottom of the bed followed by my left leg. “Ass hole, ass hole,” I screamed. Larry stuffed a wadded up handkerchief in my mouth and slapped a piece of duct tape over it pressing it down so it would stick. I continued to yell through the gag, but it muffled my shouts. Larry never said a word. He just walked away, leaving me.
To my surprise, I enjoyed the feeling of being tied up. After a while I managed to loosen the tape over my mouth, and work the wad of cloth out. Then I started shouting again. I wanted Larry to come back and wondered what he would do. Finally he walked into the room and grabbed my mouth.
“Mom will fix you when she gets home,” I managed before he forced the cloth back inside. This time he wrapped duct tape around my head about four times firmly. This one wouldn’t come undone.
I lay there, squirming until mom came home. I heard her ask Larry where I was.
“In the bedroom,” was he brief reply.
She came to the door and looked at me laying there.
“Larry,” she called. “Why is he tied up?”
Larry came into the room and stood beside her.
“He deserved it. You know how he is,” was his only comment.
Mom looked at me for a few minutes, shook her head, and then said to Larry, “I wish you wouldn’t tie him up, but you’re in charge while I’m gone. If this is what it takes, be sure not to hurt him. Let him go in time for dinner.” Then she left and headed for the kitchen.
I was surprised because I was sure Larry would get into trouble. Interesting, I thought. Larry now sort of had mom’s permission to tie me up. I would have to think about that. Over the next two weeks things continued as usual. Larry tied me to the bed one more time, but let me go before mom got home. I played around the house, and was generally a bother most of the time. Larry worked on some project in the basement, using the saw, building something.
One day I got into some of Larry’s things, and made a mess on his side of our room. I watched when he saw it, wondering what he would do. Suddenly he grabbed me, and I feared I had gone too far. He was really angry. He undid my belt, and pulled off my pants leaving me in my shorts. I wasn’t wearing a shirt. Then he forced me to go into the basement with him.
That was the first time I saw the box. It was somewhere between three and four feet tall and a bit over two feet wide. The top was hinged and open. The front panel was also hinged and it swung out to the side. There were three holes in the top and one hole in each of the sides. It was well made with thick, sturdy plywood, nicely finished and painted black inside and out. Silver hinges held the two doors and there were two hasps on each door which would fasten down to the main part of the box when the door was closed.
Larry said nothing, but took a piece of rope and tied my wrists firmly in front of me. Not knowing what he was going to do, I was upset and I fought as much as I could. He filled my mouth with handkerchiefs again, and wrapped duct tape around my head. Of course, until the tape was in place, I was screaming and kicking as much as I was able, but he could always easily overpower me. He had me stand in the box, then forced me to sit, and he put my bound wrists in front of my legs, near my ankles, with my arms around the outside of my legs. The box was just wide enough for me to sit in and its sides almost touched me. My head was a few inches short of the top. He picked up a dowel and put it through the hole in the side of the box. The dowel slid over my bent elbows and under my bent knees, then out the hole on the other side of the box. He put pegs through holes in the ends of the rod to secure it. To my surprise, I discovered that I was quite helpless. As Larry shut the front side of the box, my dick got really hard. If Larry noticed it, he said nothing. He put the lid down and it became very dark. I heard him shut the hasps on the top and front of the bex, and snap locks in place. “For messing my room, two hours punishment in the box, and for shouting at me, you are gagged,” was all he said. I heard him walk away, and when he turned off the basement lights, it was really dark.
I was frightened, uncomfortable, but strangely enjoying the feeling of helplessness and confinement. My dick stayed hard the entire two hours, which was something I didn’t then understand at all. I was happy to get out of the box when he released me. But I saw to it that I spent some time in the box at least once and usually twice a week after that. I always fought him when he took me into the basement, stripped me to my shorts, tied me up and put me in the box, but actually I came to enjoy it. And he always did the same—as he closed the box, he stated my crime and the length of my punishment. For shouting, he always securely taped my mouth. One day Larry had a girl friend over to the house, and I made a pest of myself, giving them a bad time, teasing Larry for having a girl friend, spying on them. That landed me in the box for the longest time of all with double the amount of tape over and around my head, and on that occasion, and after that, Larry took off all of my clothes when he put me in the box.
The next summer, we repeated the process. I knew just how to irritate Larry, and what to say to guarantee a gag, so I spent many long afternoons in the box, sometimes almost the whole day. If mom knew about it, she never mentioned it. She seldom went into the basement. That was Larry’s territory.
After that summer, Larry finally gradated and found a job. Our aunt looked after me for the next couple of years. To this day I get hard when I think of sitting in that box all bound and gagged. Now that I regularly enjoy bondage with some of my friends, I know why I not only let, but almost forced Larry to put me in the box.