Katelyn found herself sitting up in her bed and staring at her bedroom closet door. She stashed *the box* atop a few shoe boxes in the back of her closet and she found that she had been thinking about it more and more every time she used it. Her limbs felt heavy. Her bedroom was inked in grey shadow. The light of the streetlamps outside seeped in through her blinds casting faded horizontal slits across her room. She reached over to her bedside table and checked her phone. She stared at the screen, blinking slowly. It was 2:44 in the morning. She let her phone slide from her fingers, and it fell back down the bedside table with a dull thud.
The box in her closet was a plain wooden crate, old, battered, and covered in countless faded shipping stamps. It was, for the most part, an unassuming box. It was the contents of that box that kept her up at night.
Her nightshirt was bundled up, twisted around her waist, and the fabric clung uncomfortably to her skin.
She was restless. She found herself in want and need of the thing, again. It would have been the fourth time in the span of one evening, though technically speaking it was now early morning.
It had been weeks since the box arrived at the front of her apartment door, and she hadn’t had a restful night of sleep since.
It was a dildo. *JUST a dildo,* Katelyn, told herself over and over again. Still, the thing was strangely realistic. Impossibly realistic. So realistic, that the first time she opened the box she nearly had a heart attack. If it wasn’t for the sudden beveled edge at its base she probably would’ve called the police.
It was probably six-and-a-half or seven inches long, circumcised, with a slightly curved shape, and a tapered but rounded head. It had a fleshy pinkish coloring, and pale blue veins running down the shaft. It was squishy, but firm to the touch, much closer to a real man’s erection than any dildo ought to be. She could even see the pale after-glow her fingers left around the shaft when she squeezed as if the object was somehow coursing with blood.
Even the thing’s heavy testicles seemed to float inside the squishy scrotum. Stranger still, it seemed to react to her touch, twitching and pulsing slightly as her fingers caressed the shaft. Once or twice when she had it buried in her throat she swore it was cumming, she could even taste its spunk.
It was as if some man popped it off his crotch, boxed it up, and left it on her welcome mat. There was more to it than that, it was a strangely compelling cock. Not the most impressive she had seen, but it made her want to do things. Strange things. Before it arrived, she didn’t have much interest in giving blowjobs. She could barely brush her teeth without gagging, but something about the strange phallus made her want to suck it, and after a few practice sessions, she found she could deepthroat it with no problem. Despite herself, she was starting to enjoy it.
Katelyn never considered herself a prude, she simply had always known what she wanted sexually. At least before her special dildo arrived. Touching, and sucking the thing made her mind-numbingly horny. Still, she hadn’t considered sliding the disembodied dick into her pussy, not once in weeks.
Though she did work up the courage to slip it somewhere else. It was strange and thrilling. She had never had anal sex with any of her previous boyfriends. Yet, something about this thing made her willing to experiment. When it was up there she knew that was where this cock belonged. The first time it happened, she could scarcely remember putting it in there herself. She only remembered once the feeling she might defecate subsided it was utter bliss.
That’s what she wanted. She wanted to feel it stretch her open again. To plunder the dirty spaces within her so she could feel exceptionally slutty in the privacy of her own bedroom. She wanted to ride it until she was screaming. Sleep was hours away anyway; if she could sleep at all.
Katelyn kicked off her sheets and planted her feet on the floor. Her limbs felt heavy. She was tired. Physically exhausted, but her mind was racing, her pulse was quickening, and there was heat pouring into her core.
She drifted towards the box. The hidden shame she kept stacked atop so many shoeboxes. The haze of her neediness made the short walk to her closet feel like a great distance. Every second without seemed like minutes, an ache crept into her and she needed to be filled.
A quiet relief slipped in the moment she had her hands on the lid, her fingers rapping at the top to wake the thing up. The hinges creaked as her fingers slowly pulled the lid open.
“Katie? Again?” the words seemed to evaporate in her ears.
Her box was a doorway. It had always been a doorway. She remembered. The man on the other side was eerily familiar though she couldn’t recall a single thing about him. She thought he was perhaps a client from the spa, or someone she saw from time to time during her commute to work. Her thoughts were too hazy to fully grasp the stranger’s significance, though she knew he was somehow very significant.
Katelyn looked around and saw dark, she was soaked. Goosebumps had broken out on her skin, rain had soaked into her shoes. Her eyelids felt heavy, “Can I come in?”
“Katie,” The stranger whispered seemingly uncertain, “Katie,” he sighed, “it’s really late… I am absolutely drained… I’m not sure I could go again…”
Katelyn’s chest felt heavy, the world around her rippled and her eyes refused to adjust, “I just wanna ride you with my ass again…” she answered.
She swore she could feel it throbbing in her hands.
The stranger sighed, a smug smile brightened his face and he motioned her inside.
*Was there lube in her box?* She couldn’t remember. It was ready and wet for her, she could remember that. The girth of it stretched her open as eased into her. Squatting over it and riding until her thighs burned. Her legs splayed apart, her fingers buried in her hot little pussy. Riding this absolutely perfect cock with her ass was what she lived.
She rode it until she came and came again. Until her legs were wobbling, and her delicate little ring began to sting. It hurt, but it was a good hurt. The kind of hurt she could learn to savor. She was panting and dizzy, heat pouring from the thing into her when a sudden gale of wind took her from warmth and happiness and tossed her spinning back into her bed.
Her early morning exploits were already fading into a distant dream. She couldn’t remember even falling asleep. She decided she was still too tired to think.
Her muscles ached when she reached to scoop her phone from atop her bedside table. The gentle blue-tinted glow made her quince. The screen read 5:13. She was sore, but dreams were only dreams, and there was a particular itch she need to scratch. The box with that unnaturally realistic toy was only a few steps away. One more session before work couldn’t hurt.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/10wjtn8/the_box_mfmid20smasturbationanalperhaps_some_magic
So hot