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 on 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 key words:
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, put 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, 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 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 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, 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.
