It came in the mail. Wrapped in brown shipping paper. Tied with string, brown twine, the good stuff. No return address, no return sender. It’s that time of the year for packages. But who ships that way? Brown paper. String.
Its not very large, not very heavy, doesn’t stink, and doesn’t rattle. Your stumped as to why this package is here. Looks like somebody took the time to wrap it nice and, you don’t recognize the hand writing, very bold and straight.
You finally look at it one more time, still perplexed, and give it a frisby throw under the tree. You’ll wait till it’s opening day. Chocolate wouldn’t go bad. Might melt a little, but wouldn’t spoil.
Three days have passed. Tomorrow morning you’re going to see who sent you this box. No hints from anybody at work, nothing, social media, nothing. It’s too much. You keep telling yourself tomorrow, just a little longer. But you can’t wait. You walk over picking it up as you walk and began tearing the paper. Just a box. A nice, almost slick brown. Pleather? You examine the box closer as you walk to the drawer for scissors to cut the twine.
Cut, you pull the twine and paper off in the same hand, foot at the level to open the can. But you pause and pull the twine back out, throwing the paper away. You put the box under your arm and with both hands began playing with the string. Running it through your hands, feeling it roughness and strenght. You couldn’t break it off the box, and your scissors must be dull because it took more than you thought to cut through.
The box is 6″ tall by 3″ square. As you sit down you notice it slips apart. That explains the twine, for shipping. Still rubbing it between your fingers, looking at that box. Still wondering whats inside, and who sent it?
You take the string wrapping it around your palm, like those fancy ring/bracelet thingies you see. One ring for each finger, connected by small chain to a bracelet at the wrist. Fancy. Not a bad job for 5 seconds work. With your left hand covered in twine you pull the box apart. Hearing the sucking noise as the two sides are pulled apart.
My god you think, what the hell. Your pulling as hard as you can, what the fuck! This shouldn’t be this hard. Fuck!
You throw the box down next to you. Your sweating. Perspiration is breaking out across your chest, legs, forehead. Your suddenly unsure of yourself. Are you going to pass out? You steady yourself with your arms and hands and brace your feet firmly on the floor, back sunk into the cushion.
It passes. The hairs on your left arm pickle up when you grab the box again. You examine it for any signs of a closure? Tape? Anything? Nothing that you can see or feel. You pull it up closer to eyeball the seams better when you notice your left hand index finger is ever so slightly brushing your nipple. You feel the tingling in your nipple, flowing, following the perspiration thats again breaking out across your chest, down your legs and between your legs. You feel if you have to pee, and began to rise, but immediately sit down again. No. Thats not it.
You move your left hand up to get below the v neck line. Feeling the courseness of the twine wrapped around your fingers. Stroke the nipple under your bra. Feel it swell up. A plump pink ju ju bee. It rolls under the twine. Feeling it scrape you breast. Aware but unable to stop yourself you pull yourself up enough to pull the shirt out from under your ass and unhook your bra. The freedom. The fabric brushing your erect nipples. You remove your shirt and bra. Your hot. Perspiring. You feel it between your breasts. Dip from your chin hit your nipple. Like fucking ice on your nipple. Oh. Your left hand is running between your breasts, soaking and moving sweat around. Your right hand is trying to undue your belt, but it keeps getting in the way. You begin pulling your skirt up. You readjust when your too the knees.
Your hand busys itself moving your soaked panties to the side. Your left arms begins to desend across your breasts, down your tummie, through the sweat, to your waiting pussy lips. The twine is soaked. You feel it sweeling. You uncoil the twine from your wrist and other fingers and begin a meticulous winding of twine around your middle finger. You feel the fibers, oh, they’ve gone a smooth as silk. Wet. Coiled. Sweeling.
You begin the tease of your finger on your clit. The twine adding a new feeling. Smooth ridges run themselves down, than up, following the barbers pole up and down. Feeling the dips and valleys. Closer. You begin to feel the twine at your opening. Dripping grool. Wanting.
Its not
God. Damn ?
But what’s in the box