I’m not sure exactly how The Boxx works. That’s part of its allure and magic, I think.

Four new branch stores have opened in the city in the last two months alone. I read somewhere that the newest ones are extremely fancy, with bars, spa areas and lounges full of beautiful people, and that the boxxes themselves have special functions and options that cater to every whim and wish you could think of, and even to some you can’t.

I, for one, never visit any other boxx but the one down the street from my flat.

It's Wednesday around noon. I've got my usual two hours' time between my morning job (teaching) and my evening job (accounting). Other people power-nap or sit down for lunch and chat with colleagues over a smoke or five. I prefer to spend my one hundred and twenty minutes differently.

I step into the massage-and-beauty-salon and pay the middle-aged Vietnamese woman at the counter the usual amount. She knows me already. Although I’ve been coming here for more than a year now, we have never really exchanged words. Maybe that’s for the better. I have a feeling she’s not a big fan of the business that’s running in her basement, or of the clientele. She hands me a jingling key ring with a silver key, a brass key, a little blue key fob with a chip inside it, and a paper tag that says "Onyxx" dangling from it.

The double-x is the brand's trade mark, like McDonald's and their McSomethings. Onyxx and Voxx are the only two boxxes at this particular branch store. I used both of them already.
 
I walk past the lady at her counter and down the narrow staircase that ends in two doors. One of them is the massage parlor's staff restroom. I use the key on the other one and open it, then slide the door shut behind me and lock it, too.

The first time I ever saw a boxx it made me think of walk-in coolers, or a futuristically designed personal sauna. From the outside, all there is to it is the brushed steel gleaming dully, a matte black handle that opens and moves the thick door easily, and the big computer panel at eye level right next to the door.

Onyxx is the one in the middle. I go to it, wave the fob near the sensor and thus start up the computer system.

Welcome to your nexxt adventure, thrill-seeker, the panel greets me. I have long learnt to ignore that. I understand most people who visit a boxx do come for chills and thrills, to live out their wild, dark, sometimes illegal fantasies for once and dive into the abyss.

I’m not one of them.

I tap and swipe the screen. Categories: Anal, Anthropomorphic, Asian, BDSM, Bisexual, Black, Cheating, Crossdressing…

I scroll down to Straight Sex, then tap on ‘I am female’.

Sort by: Partner, Scenario, Specifications

I tap on ‘scenario’, dismiss the usual ones (office, school, family, public) that are offered as defaults, then search by and add keywords: husband, lazy morning, bed, cuddling, petting (light), dirty talk (light). Fixed on top of the list due to their popularity are orgasm, multiple orgasm, mutual orgasm, clitoral stimulation, vaginal penetration, anal penetration, light bondage, nipple sucking, spanking. I never add any of those to my list.

I guess that makes me a prude. So be it. I swipe and delete the suggestions, banning them from my ‘exxperience’ as always.

That’s the one downside to the anonymity of boxxing: without an account to hold your data, you have to specify your order anew every single time. It takes five precious minutes to blacklist all the things I don’t want.

The boxx summarizes my straightforward little order and asks whether I have any specific desires in regards to the ‘husband’. Apparently, there has been an update in the character options so that I can now choose between half a dozen handsome famous dudes who are all called ‘Chris’, any of the ‘Sexiest Men Alive’ of the last twenty-five years (Blake Shelton? Really? Good God.), and any male actor who ever appeared on some TV show I’ve never heard of.

I dismiss the update and merely specify the ‘husband’s’ general build (medium height, medium muscles) and level of hairiness (natural), leaving all the other parameters (hair/eye/skin color, beard length, hand/foot/penis size, voice level) on ‘random’ as always. To me, it’s not very important what he looks like so long as he’s warm and mellow. There have been times when I didn’t even open my eyes once.

The machine bids me Enjoy your exxperience and the door’s lock audibly hisses as it unlatches. I grip the handle to pull the door open and take the small step up into the thing. It is nothing but a dim, windowless, entirely empty room. I turn around and pull the door shut behind me again, putting the little brass key into the inside lock. I turn it and then leave the key hanging there.

And then... something happens.

I have been visiting the boxx for more than a year now, yet I still can’t say exactly what that is. Something to do with the air I breathe, the sounds that are played over hidden speakers directly into my subconscious mind, and the flashing lights in front of my eyes. The door’s locking mechanism hisses shut and once it’s finished, I open my eyes even though they hadn’t been closed before.

The room is dimmed by gauzy curtains which are gently billowing and swaying in the wind, fanning my warm, naked body as I lie on the bed, half on top of the covers. Outside, the sun is already shining brilliantly, but the reddish quality of the light that slowly creeps across the floor and walls says that it’s still early in the morning. I can hear the faint sound of traffic underneath the twittering of birds.

It is perfect already and then it gets better.

There is a deep, contented groan behind me and an arm snakes around my naked body and pulls me back against a warm, hard chest. A nose nuzzles into my wild hair, burrowing in to find the warm skin of my neck and rub itself against it, audibly inhaling the scent. The hand on my front searches for my right breast and finds it, grabbing it carefully and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Five more minutes?” a deep voice rumbles down my spine, followed by a kiss.

I laugh softly at the whiny-yet-manly plea and at the ticklish sensation of his voice and lips.

“I didn’t say anything,” I remind him. “Far as I’m concerned, we can stay right here forever.”

I touch his hand, the one that is fondling my tit, and stroke his knuckles with my fingertips. His fourth finger is adorned by a slim gold band that looks just like the one on my own hand.

The man tilts his hips forward to rub up against my ass and tightens his arm’s grip to pull me flush and hard against him. “Forever. Hm. That an order?” he mutters.

I could have fallen asleep right then and there. It is so nice to feel him breathe against me, feel the heat of his skin, and let it soak into mine, bathe in his warm smell. My imaginary husband, however, has other ideas. I feel him poking me, nudging first the backside of my thigh, then the squishy globe of my ass, and finally, he slips into the crease and ever so gently pushes in and out of it. The head of his cock reaches and kisses the closed lips of my cunt, putting a moist little dab on my skin and smudging it with every new contact.

I sigh, slightly annoyed. He’s supposed to be mellow, this is supposed to be relaxed and anyway, penetration isn’t on the menu. Has there been another fine-tuning update I didn’t take into account? Does ‘petting (light)’ now include mock penetration?

“Stop it with your wet dick,” I complain softly and receive an answer in the form of a deep chuckle and a more insistent thrust that breaches my labia just a little. I gasp.

“You need no help in the wetness department,” he informs me as he gyrates his hips against me so that I can feel more of his cock, and the bristly hairs on his legs against the backs of mine. “Your cunt is already a sodden mess, darling.” His voice is now so close to my ear that it gives me shivers. “Did you have some pleasant dreams tonight? Did you dream about me?”

His next thrust forward bumps against my clit and my mouth falls open on a sigh. For the moment, I can only answer with noises instead of words.

“When you come to me, it’s always all gentle and soft and sweet,” he goes on as his thrusts take on a steady rhythm, “but I bet in your dreams, it’s all wild and uncivilized. Isn’t it?”

This level of self-awareness should give me pause, but my brain is too busy turning to mush with every slide of his slick glans against my inner labia and up to my swelling button, and to make matters worse, his talented fingers are circling, tapping, squeezing and flicking my right nipple – just a little rougher than I like it.

“N…No,” I answer his question - my voice rises at the end like a question - and he chuckles.

“You are such a liar.” He lays kisses around my ear and nips at the skin, biting me ever so gently, but with a little edge of pain in there. “In your dreams, it’s probably all … someone throwing you down and having his way with you.”

With that pain, a definitive drop of reality trickles into our bedroom.

“Honey…,” I begin, suddenly bemused. I faintly remember choosing ‘dirty talk (light)’ at the front panel. Normally, that means some comments about my boobs and ass. What’s this talk about roughness?

My husband-in-this-bed shimmies against me so that I can feel his pubic hair against my ass, and quickens the pace of his pistoning. As distractions go, it’s a great one.

“Don’t ‘honey’ me, my love. I know deep down you’re curious. More than curious. You wanna know how it feels… to be out of control for once. At someone else’s disposal. For someone to sear you with a bit of passion.” He slides forward so far I could probably see the tip of his cock peek out between my curls if I looked down. “Thinking about it makes you wet.”

I am wet. Everything south of my navel seems to be weeping for more thorough attentions. My tissues have long puffed themselves up with blood and moistened with my slick cream in preparation for something that would not even happen.

I don’t understand what’s going on with me. Today is an unusual day.

Normally, I neither want nor need this to happen at all. The thought of leaving for work in a state of sexual frustration does nothing but fan the flames. The thought of domination and loss of control makes my underbelly feel all… funny.

Involuntarily, I arch my back to invite him into my body, but he spurs the invitation again and again by putting just the hint of his tip in and then pulling back. Even reaching back with my arm and digging my fingernails into the flank of his ass does not provide enough of an incentive for him to sink into me. I mewl. He chuckles.

“Plus… don’t you think I deserve to turn the tables and have you at my disposal for once?”

His words confuse me, and confusion always makes me laugh. But then, my laugh morphs into a breathy shriek when his hand abruptly lets go of my boob and grabs my left shoulder instead, his right hand slides underneath my hip, and he scoops me up and rolls me until I am lying on top of him, my back to his chest, my ass pressing down on his groin.

He keeps me in place by slinging both arms tightly around my chest and waist from underneath, and holds on fast even as I teeter for a moment and flail my arms.

Then, he hooks his feet around my ankles and pulls my legs wide apart. I protest and writhe and squeak. The air that hits my wet pussy feels like a cold tongue giving me a lick. I flail some more, but his muscular arms are in the way, not budging an inch. I am pinned and unable to free myself. My head is now lower than my middle, and every time I lift my head up – which is surprisingly taxing – all I see are my breasts jutting up into the air, my nipples so pointed and hard, one of them darkened from his ministrations. It is… quite obscene.

“Like this,” he growls, somehow not drowned by my hair, his voice all self-satisfied and full of dark promises.

His free right hand slides south, between my legs and cups me just a little roughly. I flinch and gasp.

“You have made me a very desperate man, little minx.”

Oh God, I can feel his cock jerk underneath my ass and lower back.

“And you like it.”

And then he slaps my pussy and I swallow my breath in surprise. It doesn’t hurt… yet. It could. That makes it worse and better. My whole body coils up - or tries to, in vain, against his embrace - as his hand lifts up again.

With his fingers flattened, he taps against my pussy again, twice, three, four times in quick succession. Wet little slaps. My thighs tremble with the strain of wanting to close but not being able to. My ass slides around on his hard cock that’s trapped between us as I squirm, and it makes him groan.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” I whisper, letting my heavy, spinning head sink back. The intensity of this… of him… overwhelms me.

His fingertips still hover over my pussy, brushing just the tips of my hairs, ready for the next hit.

He growls in my ear. “Better believe it. And I’ll do that again. You liked it, so you’ll let me do it again. That, and so much more.” He grabs the soft inside of my thigh and digs his fingers, still wet from hitting my pussy, into the flesh there.

I’m dizzy, caught between the pulsing desire between my legs, the embarrassment and confusion about how much this is affecting me, and trying to remember the safeword that shuts the boxx down. I had never used it, not even come close.

If I was entirely honest, I didn’t want to use it now, either.

Sensing my hesitation, he slides his hand back onto my pussy and rubs the swollen lips in large, sloppy circles. “It’s been too long. I want off that leash, Harper.”

He says my name even though I have never given it. And he acts as if it has been him in here with me the entire year, every time, even though it was always ‘random’.

“Next time, you will let me do everything to you,” he prophesizes. “When you come to me tomorrow, you will not specify anything. You will not blacklist anything. You will give me no boundaries at all. For once, you will be at my mercy and I’ll make you wag your tail for me. And you’ll like it.”

I open my mouth to say something, speak up for myself, ask him to let me go because he is gripping me too tightly, anything. Instead, I am struck dumb and silenced by the feeling of his big, blunt finger dragging some juice from my pussy up to my clit and rubbing it in, directly against all those already burning nerve endings, nudging the hood aside and hitting me dead center.

My whole body thrums like a guitar when a hard chord is struck. Again. And again. And over again. He keeps rubbing me in miniscule movements, barely more than the crooking of a finger for him, much too intense, much too good for me. My breathing, my pulse can’t seem to keep up. I screw my eyes shut and hear myself whimper as my pelvis jolts of its own accord, but isn’t able to escape his fingertip for more than a second. Blood is rushing to my head. Tears streak down my temples.

“I know you, Harper. I’ve been in your mind for so long. You’ll love it when I play with your nipples like I want to,” he speaks into my ear, his voice now fast and hard. “I want to suck them and put clamps on them and hear you cry out. I bet I can make you come from the pain.”

“Oh, God.” Just hearing it makes my nipples ache and tingle.

“I want to tie you up in your preppy little pencil skirt and fuck this sopping wet hole you while your colleagues are watching and masturbating to the sight of you. I’ll let them fondle your tits and use your mouth.”

How does he know? A gurgling sob escapes me. No one knows I have this workplace fantasy! And my boss – my very married boss – who wears his cufflinks so well…

The blood in my veins has turned to lava and an earthquake starts up inside of me. I am going to erupt. It is inevitable. Already, hot liquid is spilling from me, running down my ass cheeks, ass crack and inner thighs, drenching his fingers and his palm. His hips pump up and down for more friction, his cock helping spread my wetness.

“I want to play naughty teacher with you, bend you over the desk in front of your class, and cane your little ass.” His other hand comes up to lie against my throat and pull my ear closer to his lips. “And you’ll thank me for it. You’ll thank me for all of it.”

Another sob. This is so wrong. My students… the other teachers… the school president with her cat eyes and her tight bun-- oh God!

Every muscle and fiber clenches and seems, for a moment, to point at that one little nub between my legs like so many compass needles. I climb another few notches, gasp for breath because I know I will soar and fall, it cannot be helped, he won’t stop, he won’t-

The second my body’s every atom is blowing up and I’m ready to howl like an animal from overwhelming ecstasy, he removes his finger and holds my body down again.

I scream and thrash wildly, jerk my hips like a madwoman, hump the empty air, desperate for one last spark of contact, just one little touch – but none comes. I wail with every empty, aching clench of my muscles, every fruitless twitch and quiver of my clit. The orgasm slides out of reach, unfulfilled. It feels like my stomach is dropping out of me, leaving me completely hollow.

I want to break down in tears. I think I do. The electric tension is still in my body, still zinging through my bones at a frequency too low to come out, too high to ignore.

“Now, thank me,” he snarls.

I shiver and sob.

I am done.

“Thank you,” I manage.

“Starting tomorrow, you and I-“ he says but gets cut off.

The lights go on and I blink my eyes open even though they hadn’t been closed. The mechanism clicks and the door swings open an inch, allowing cooler air into the cabin.

I stand there, drenched in sweat and breathing hard, legs trembling and feeling like rubber, my juices soaking through the seam at the crotch of my light blue jeans. I grab my crotch, squeeze, and give a wail. My panties are completely liquid and there’s even more juice flowing out of me, I can feel it. My sore pussy still pulses.

Until the next exxperience, thrill-seeker! the door panel bids me goodbye ominously just before it shuts down as I, rubber-kneed, make my way out of the boxx.

The Vietnamese woman eyes me with her usual concerned disdain as I slink past her, grabbing a handful of napkins from the dispenser and apologizing profusely. I leave the shop at a near sprint in search of a corner or doorway where I can stuff all the paper towels into my panties and dab my armpits.

I get to work too late and receive displeased and concerned looks from my colleagues as well as my boss. I can’t look either of them in the eye – and I try to not look at the cufflinks – as I apologize and promise it won’t happen again, and get to work as quickly as my trembling, sweaty fingers allow.

Four hours later, I am a nervous wreck. My mind is full of scenarios that involve desks and stationary and skinny ties, and my colleagues' and bosses’ voices and bodies. Every time someone taps my shoulder – because they have to, because I am entirely zoned out – I barely bite back a sexual moan. For once, I take an Uber home because the mere idea of cramming myself into the subway and rubbing up against all those strangers nearly has me in tears.

I am losing my mind. Of this I am certain once the lights are out and I am in bed with myself and my usual roll of toilet paper, yet can’t bring myself to touch. My heart is already going a mile a minute. If I had an orgasm, it might leap out of my chest.

I dream of the basement, with its two boxxes.

I my dream, their doors hiss open and dozens of my former husbands step out of them and toward me, surrounding me.

Starting tomorrow, you and I, they say in unison, and a deep, frightening thrill makes me shudder so hard I wake up.

I tell myself that I won’t be going to that boxx tomorrow, or ever again.

I am such a liar.
 


FIN
  
Hello! Thank you for reading this story, I hope you liked it.
If you got the time, leave a comment and tell me what’s in your boxx...!
xo cydia