The Box Ch. 03: "Different Tastes"

They had made an agreement that morning, over breakfast. With the pale sun low across freshly laid snowfall, turning the landscape into a fantastical dream, they themselves were warm and snug in the kitchen. Bright winter breakfast fruits lay on the table beside an ornate and steaming silvered pot of aromatic spiced coffee.

"We've been teasing you for a long time, now," he said. "But we know too much can sometimes interfere with day to day life."

They had discussed this at length. She craved denial. It made her malleable and submissive, coloured her life in fascinating ways, made her yearn for his every touch, gave her a strange strength of will. Sometimes, though, it overwhelmed her. Upwellings of emotions blew through her like autumnal thunderstorms. During these times, sometimes the best medicine was a night of orgasms - on occasion, forced, until she begged for relief from the pleasure, writhing and moaning, mindless and finally spent, crumpled on the floor like a piece of silk.

"I think you deserve some relief, sweet girl. Tonight, I want to rub and squeeze and stroke you and I want it to be everything. And then I want you to take yourself further. Not edging, not a ruin. I want you to take yourself to the most explosive release you can remember. I don't think that will be too difficult, after... how long?"

"Weeks," she admitted. "You are deliciously cruel."

"It must be desperate, sometimes," he said, and reached over to run a single finger lightly down the nape of her neck. Shivers cascaded down her back. Every touch in denial was heightened, the morning dew on naked feet cooler and more sweet, the world brighter and more alluring. "It's hard for me, too, to be giving you exactly what you want."

"Mmm," she replied, partly in agreement and partly in appreciation.

But there was something about his familiar sly smile, some secret. Clearly he had some wicked plan in mind. She gazed at him with lazy, appreciative suspicion, trying to divine his intention. In answer, he eased her from her seat, drew her to him and sat her across his lap, facing him. He planted gentle kisses across her chest, then entwined his fingers in her hair and drew her face close to his, to gaze deeply into her eyes.

"Trickery?" he said, a glint in his eye. "Me? As I say. I will touch you, without limits, no restrictions, in just the way you like. And by your own hand, you will explode for me. A promise."

She throbbed, deep in her belly. It had been so long. It would be so luscious. She nodded, pleased, and wriggled against his growing hardness that she felt between her legs.

"Just one thing," he added, with a little steel in his voice which made her take notice. "If you choose not to make yourself come, you won't be coming, or edging, or even touching ... until next winter."

She glanced out at the silent, snowy landscape, black and white and without a hint of colour. It would be a long time to wait. Why would she ever decline?

But then she forgot everything as he eased her dress up and dragged her closer, pulled his robe aside and impaled her upon his cock, one hand about her throat, another at the small of her back, rocking her gently. The intensity of his gaze captivated her as he sought every faint change in her expression, followed every gasp and moan, drinking her in.

"But you will come," he whispered. She felt herself floating towards the precipice, her eyes rolling back, her hips bucking.

"Now?" she begged. In answer he slid out of her, leaving her empty and yearning, just short of satisfaction.

"Tonight," he said.

Of course she agreed.

* * *

At some point that morning she noticed the box had appeared on the mantelpiece and her head became clouded with possibilities. She also found herself wet and sultry with desire. How quickly she had begun to associate that object with arousal. Her hand crept to the key upon the necklace about her neck, hanging just at the hollow of her throat. She fingered it thoughtfully.

The day crawled by. He was working in his office, she in hers. Every time she left to make tea, or visit the bathroom, the box refreshed her anticipation. She alternated her time between working and, when she couldn't concentrate any longer, touching herself, edging herself, stopping herself before she went too far. Hopeful it would help, it just made her more distracted.

Until at some point, around the end of their work day, she entered the living room to find the box missing. Her mouth became dry. She felt his touch at her neck; he had approached her silently from behind; and she pressed back against him.

"I hope we didn't disrupt your work day too much," he said. "Follow.". And she did.

* * *

As usual, the box sat in the middle of the bed, so dark and foreboding against the creamy bedclothes. He moved it aside, right to the top of the bed and beckoned she join him upon the sheets.

"I want you as relaxed as possible," he said. "In touch with every nerve. How about a massage?"

Heaven. This time he undressed her completely, her skin comfortable in the warm air, and undressed himself too, so he could use his whole body against hers.

He began to knead her shoulders with his powerful fingers. The pressure sinking into her muscles caused tension she didn't even know she felt to melt and flow like warm oil. She herself also melted, into him, as he found knots in her back, squeezed them through brief but pleasurable agony into a more relaxed state. She sighed and moaned at the caresses.

"It's like I'm playing a beautiful musical instrument," he said. "But how to occupy your mind, pretty thing? How about another tale? You must have heard about the proto-myth of the original lovers?"

"Mmmno," she murmured. "Is this more research?"

"Quite so. The mythology predates that of the Norsemen, that of the Tales Of A Thousand Nights And A Night, the mythology of Tibet. It is an ancient story reconstructed by analysing all of those tales, finding shared traits and working backwards. It was never written, you understand, just transmitted orally."

"I like things transmitted orally," she said. He gave her a gentle slap on her buttock. "Hush, now, wicked girl," he said, "don't interrupt the tale." She smiled and sank back further into his embrace as he continued to press her flesh.

"Back in the truly ancient times," he went on, "the Gods held themselves above earthly things and concerned themselves only with the life of the mind. They looked down upon mankind, who had yet to develop intelligence, and saw only beasts following their urges: eating, killing, mating.

"But two of the younger Gods were fascinated by humankind's urges.

"Veya was the Goddess of Wisdom. Stately and intelligent, she gave her name to the Vedas of India, and to our word for 'sight'.

"Canna was the God of Knowledge, although he was somewhat roguish and the aspect by which we come to know him now is more like the God of Cunning."

Now he worked at her scalp, finding pressure points upon her skull, alternating this with slow caresses, moving ever downward, across her face, her neck, her shoulders, as if she were being extruded through a warm, taut circle of pleasure.

"Both these Gods' attributes, you'll notice, are concerned with experience. Their names mean "to see" and "to know". And by their natures they both became intrigued by the human world of passion. They suspected that desire was powerful and could be blended with intelligence to evolve the world of gods and humankind. They would steal away to talk of physical pleasure and develop their theories. But soon it was not enough for them to ponder these things intellectually. They felt they could only truly understand by experiencing it themselves."

He had reached her midriff and now he slowed, stroking her belly, her thighs and buttocks in unending patterns which she found, quite against her will, her body reciprocated, pressing back against his fingers, slyly trying to guide them towards her aching pussy, longing for his touch. He was quite aware of this and kept his steady rhythm.

"Thus one night they crept through the palaces and gardens to the Spring Of Delight, from where the Gods sourced the Waters Of Ecstasy, one drop of which they use to anoint the head of each new-born human child, so they would throughout their lives be drawn to seek the pleasure hidden with their bodies.

"From the spring, Veya and Canna each drew a cupped handful of water and together, as they gazed into each other's eyes, they drank deeply. And as the waters coursed through their bodies, they began to feel arousal for the first time. They began to feel physical pleasure. They began to feel attraction."

Now his fingers began to tease at her lips, slow, even strokes across her mons, beside her vulva, somewhere between massage and devilish pleasure. She sighed and shuddered, trying to let his hands take their laconic course, hoping they would move deeper faster.

"So these two original lovers began a passionate affair. For a year and a day they partook of each others' bodies, enjoying every pleasure, exploring every inspiration that occurred. It is said that just one day of their experimentation inspired the entire Kama Sutra. And other days, other books, now long lost, which recount darker pleasures.

"But one day, the prudish Father of the Gods discovered their passions and became enraged. They had broken the sacred pledge to eschew earthly pleasures and had drunk from the Spring Of Delight. They had blended base desire with intelligence. If this knowledge ever reached mankind, the world would be transformed.

"In his rage he offered them a choice: to be banished, each in different directions such that they would never meet again, or to be punished together, to endure each other's agony but never to touch one another for comfort. After conferring together, the lovers not bearing to be parted chose punishment."

Somehow his fingers had parted her lips and begun to collect the moisture there, scooping, sweeping, spreading her leaking juices about her pussy, across her perineum, turning his stroking caresses into flowing, liquid delight.

"So the All Father had Veya chained beneath the mighty Falls Of Sorrow, whence the Gods collected the waters upon which they rained upon mankind all the agonies and vicissitudes of life. Every illness, every ailment, pain from the tiniest twinge to the greatest heartbreak, came from these waters.

"The waters would cascade down from above and splash upon Veya's body, sometimes in great torrents, sometimes in a fine spray, running across her skin, between her breasts, over the belly, between her legs and buttocks, causing her to writhe and cry out. And this would be Canna's punishment also. He would be forced to remain beside her and witness her agony."

She gasped as he slid one finger between her lips and into her cunt which contracted about it hungrily, another finger slipped between her buttocks to tease and circle her anus which throbbed and softened enough for him to slide that finger inside also. The fingers of his other hand found her clit - not stroking it, that would be too much, too quick. Instead he simply pressed it, made her aware of it.

"Canna, however, although forbidden by the All Father from touching her ever again, nevertheless found he could place his body between the cascading waters and that of Veya, and so shield her from them, taking the brunt of the agony himself.

"Most of the time he was successful and barely the finest of mists would touch her. Sometimes a plume would reach her and a rivulet would trickle slowly down her body. And rarely, very rarely, for Canna was strong and his will ironclad, he would be forced to step away from the waterfall to take a moment of respite and leave Veya writhing in the full force of the cascade."

She was taut as a spring with all the pressure and stimulation between her legs, breath short, lips parted ... until glacially slowly he withdrew his fingers, eased the pressure, guided her back away from the edge.

"And so they are to be found, through eternity, still together but locked in this terrible predicament."

He fell silent, his lips yet beside her ear, his fingers still stroking her thighs.

"What torture," she said, even as her hips shuddered.

"The tale, or the touches?" he asked in mock innocence. She wriggled at this. "I found an even older version of the tale," he said, "which develops the ending."

"How does that go?" she asked.

"I'll tell you. But we're forgetting something." He directed his gaze to the box. "Aren't you curious?"

"I'm always curious," she said, "when you haven't melted my mind with your fingers. Or maybe more so when you have."

He drew a hand up across her belly, pausing to caress her breasts before unfastening her necklace and using the key upon it to open the box. The click with which the lid popped open excited her.

Inside lay a jewelled pillbox with a tiny, hand-written note: "Eat Me". Beside it, a tiny, jewelled bottle labelled: "Drink Me". And a metallic disk.

"I see we're back in Wonderland," she said, with a grin.

"I couldn't help myself," he said. Then he eased her out of his embrace to leave her collapsed on the bed and stood. "Don't move," he said.

"I couldn't move if I wanted to," she murmured. And then moaned in delirious acquiescence as she felt the firm grip of his hand upon her neck and his lips beside her ear and he growled:

"You won't move because I tell you so." He followed this with a soft, sweet kiss on her shoulder. He loved to surprise her, throw her off balance with tiny reminders of control. He lived for the shudders that passed through her body when he did.

She waited, eyes closed, anticipatory, listening to him move to the bathroom, wash his hands, exit the bedroom, clatter in the kitchen and return. When she looked, she saw he was carrying the morning's breakfast tray, still laden with fruits and now with more foodstuffs. He set it on one bedside table and returned to join her on the bed.

He took the pillbox and opened it with a faint click. Inside were two fresh, blood-red berries. "Synsepalum dulcificum," he said. "Commonly known as a miracle fruit. You've heard of it?"

"Yes. It does something to your taste buds, no? Makes everything taste sweet?"

"That's right."

He took a berry from the pillbox, parted her lips with a kiss and a caress of his tongue and pressed the fruit into her mouth. She chewed it slowly. It was somewhat bitter. He popped the other into his own mouth. Then he fetched the breakfast tray.

"Here," he said, reaching for a slice of lemon. He bit into it thoughtfully and smiled. "Wow," he said. Then: "Try." He held it out for her and she, too, bit into the acidic fruit. Far from the usual sour lemon tang she expected, what tasted like the juice of the sweetest citrus fruit flooded her mouth.

They played for a time, tasting. The lemons were sugary. A drop of vinegar tasted like musky wine. They tried a fiery chilli, which he was careful to handle only with a tissue. "We wouldn't want to get any on my fingers," he explained. At this she raised an eyebrow. He smiled. "Not today, at any rate." It was like a baked red pepper. Taste after taste surprised them.

After a time, they had tried a tiny bite of everything. They found the picnic invigorated them. Her eyes strayed to the tiny bottle. He picked it up and showed it to her. Cut glass, finished in silver and jewels, half full of a straw coloured, slightly viscous liquid.

"An extract of the dulcificum berry with a few proteins tweaked," he said. "It's quite safe."

The liquid was cool as it slid onto her tongue but with the action of the miracle berries, it was as sweet as sherbet.

"Delicious," she said, swallowing it down.

"Without the berries it's quite, quite bitter," he said. "Honestly, that's the only way you'd be able to drink it."

"And what does that do?" she asked...

In answer, he reached beside the bed and pulled out rope. Their own, special rope they reserved for themselves. It had touched no other skin but theirs.

And suddenly there was fire in his eyes, as there sometimes was, and her heart thudded and her breath caught in her throat as he flowed toward her, fast and fierce. Most of the time his rope was delicate and caring but sometimes - and it thrilled her all the more for its rarity - it was savage, capturing her like an animal, binding her and controlling her. The fearful excitement within her sometimes made her struggle, try to evade his grasp, but he expected this, enjoyed it, and between his bodyweight, an expert joint lock or two and the rapid coils of rope, he overpowered her.

Before long, she found herself spreadeagled, face up, not just bound but helplessly stretched, legs wide, deeply exposed, her skin tingling with the suddenness of his pounce and the sapid struggle that ensued, her heart still thudding in her chest.

He took a moment to admire her, bound there, rope pressed firmly into her skin, taut against the anchor points on the bed.

"Beautiful instrument," he breathed.

Then he reached into the box and withdrew the final object, which had completely slipped her mind. The gently concave metallic disk perhaps the size of a saucer for an espresso cup.

Her heart sank. It looked like a clit shield of some kind. She longed for stimulation, for satisfaction. Was he going to tantalise her again? She knew he would tease her and lie to her about the intent of his touches; the only lies he ever told her, the lies she coveted; promising release and then giving her a ruin, or demanding only an edge before driving her over the lip of pleasure into ecstasy again and again. But he noticed her expression and shook his head gently.

He licked the concave side of the disk, pressed it directly onto her clit and held it there for some time. It wasn't a shield per se as she could feel it directly against her flesh. After a time, he removed his hand. The disk stayed in place.

"Adhesive," he explained. "Thank goodness for the berries, it tastes a little tart otherwise. It won't come away accidentally. I'll need to give you a long, hot bath to dissolve it off."

Then he held up a small device, no larger than a AA battery. "This is the controller. When you press the button, it activates." And without warning, he did so.

The disk began to vibrate gently, sending waves of stimulation directly into her core. She mewled and groaned at the sensation, writhed against the ropes which held her flat. Even with the little movement her bonds afforded her, the disk was applied directly to her skin and so thrusting her hips hopelessly had not one ounce of effect upon its steady stimulation.

"It's simply a vibrator," he said. Again, he fell silent, enchanted by her expression as she focused upon the sensations, knowing she would figure it out.

She did notice something. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the strength of that delightful vibration was increasing. Her thrusting hips relaxed and instead she found herself squirming slowly as the silent buzzing throbbed into her clit. Tingling, throbbing, purring pleasure - an increasingly inescapable deluge. Stronger and stronger...

"Yes. The power increases," he said. "When it reaches full strength it is quite, quite stimulating. But that's not the cunning part." And suddenly the vibration stopped. Her eyes flicked open to find him smiling down at her, his thumb lifted away from the button.

"Ohhhh," she breathed, disappointed.

"Don't worry," he said. "You will come. I promised. No, the cunning part is that this is a programmable controller. In this case, it's set so that you can press and release the button no more than three times. Once you release it for the third time, it becomes useless."

With all the pieces on the board, she was trying to puzzle out this beautiful game of chess.