The Magic Box

Chapter One-2

Elizabeth, though, would make sure to spare a hand to scoop out the heavy breasts from the front of her own dress and feed the thick-tipped things to the eager slut. Yes, the girl was frisky and excited and growing more reckless by the second, but she had not nursed upon a set of plump titties like this since the infancy that the coy conscious part of her mind had forgotten even while the lightless depths of her psyche still longed somewhere deep inside for the sweet contentment of shameless and utterly mindless orality. Yet as her beautifully flushed lids slid closed, the girl could only wrap her lips about the fearsomely puckered n*****s of Elizabeth’s wildly needy breasts and suck, making the grateful older woman gasp and sway, and stroke her hand so tenderly through the silken fall of her young lover’s shining blonde hair. And finally, of course, when neither could stand to wait an instant longer, Elizabeth would force the shivering beauty to her bare knees on the gritty concrete and make her perform oral s*x between her solid, naked thighs as they both so desperately longed, an ecstasy of selfless slobbering surrender—

Or perhaps in a different fantasy Elizabeth might lie nude and unashamed in an elaborately constructed trick box, like that of some crazy magic show of the perverse. There, pinned as securely as any conjurer’s shapely assistant in a saw-the-woman-in-half routine, she might bat her darkened eyelids dramatically at an excited audience of somehow-unseen men. And soon those rampant male beasts, three or four or a dozen, would ogle and touch and pleasure her, as all the while she could only squirm and moan beneath the hands and mouths and p*****s of her invisible ravishers—

The indulgent Bill had listened rapt and wide-eyed to her every wicked, long-hidden notion that night, his hands eager and encouraging upon her familiar, beloved flesh. The idea of the gangbang, though, seemed especially intriguing to him. Powerfully curious as he rubbed the split pink flesh beneath her curl-wreathed lower belly, he had asked his flushed-faced wife numerous questions about that particular fantasy. Helpless in her ardor, Elizabeth could only play along, both shamefaced and thrilled.

She would be splayed open on some sort of couch or bed, she explained breathily, exposed and helpless to anything that anyone wanted to do to her—anything! Her bare body would be on display, bound as if in some old-fashioned wooden stocks, but on her back instead, her neck and waist securely held so that she could not move, could not protest, could not resist, and even if suddenly she got cold feet, she would have to just lie there and take it—have to. Perhaps she would be blindfolded, she hazarded, shivering as Bill plucked excitedly at her fiercely rigid n*****s. This way, she couldn’t even tell who was touching her, or even how many guys there were. Most likely they would even be friends or acquaintances—somehow that would make it even kinkier. She could only lie there, open and exposed and available, moaning helplessly as they did things to her. She would be an absolute w***e.

“How many men were you thinking, naughty girl?” he had asked softly, nuzzling she sensitive skin of her throat, her neck, her ears as he m*********d her.

“I-I-I—” For a moment she could only writhe beneath his cherishing, indulgent caresses. “I don’t know,” she struggled to conclude. Her flushed lids grew heavy at her husband’s experienced fingers in her juiced-up cunt. “A lot,” she whispered at last.

She heard his breath catch in his throat. Shiveringly he kissed at her blazing earlobes, his body pressed up against hers, his erection thick and congested along the utterly feminine swell of her full, matronly hip as he prodded and stroked her. “Would they use condoms?” he wondered after a moment, his voice soft and seemingly matter-of-fact, yet simmering with his own betraying passions.

Elizabeth had let her eyes slide closed. Sheepishly, though, she bit her lip. “W-w-well…” she hesitated.

Somehow she could hear the smile at the corner of Bill’s lips. “Would they…?” prodded his voice softly, as soft and insistent as the fingertips that prodded slippery and urgent about the top of her crackling v****a.

“N-no…” she admitted at last, squirming beneath his insinuating touch.

For a moment Bill could only rub her desperately in her fishy golden curls, almost as helpless as she. “Why not?” he finally forced out in a voice that trembled faintly with his own scarcely controlled emotions.

Breathing heavily, Elizabeth could only give a slow, dreamy smile. “So they could come in me,” she whispered at last, very purposefully. “And on me.” She watched Bill’s eyes gleam hugely dilated, and she seemed to see herself reflected in the depths of his awestruck pupils, not merely a too-familiar wife of many years but something fresh and wondrous and irresistibly desirable. “So they could show me just what a bad, bad girl I really was.”

Ah, the way his breath had snorted in his flared nostrils! Shuddering in his own need, the poor dear forced her urgently, impatiently, to orgasm. Oh, how swift his hand was, how heedless! She felt as if she were being turned inside-out, but the unexpected pleasure of his command consumed her like a gush of burning lava, and as the reeling woman convulsed in delight, it was all she could do to stifle her cries so that the kids would not hear, even through the closed bedroom door. Oh, how she panted and writhed and groaned!

Almost before she was done, though, Bill’s flying fingers stopped, and he climbed hurriedly between her graciously welcoming thighs and dug her plump labia wide. Whimpering in his helpless bliss as her own distracted spasms began to subside, Bill simply plunged himself down into her, balls-deep in a single triumphant, somehow endearingly inelegant thrust, reveling in glistening pink flesh hot and snug and juicy upon his every thick, veiny inch. He was red-faced and erect and needy, and as she trembled beneath his hallowed lusts, with what profound gratitude he at last possessed her! So worked up he had been that the poor thing climaxed almost immediately. Very patiently she watched his sweet struggles, stroking the back of the bent neck that pushed his incoherent face into the comfort of her pillowy bosom…

Yet whereas she herself had not really given the dirty notions she at last had confessed any further thought, her husband, Bill, must have spent all the intervening time mulling it over. Could he really share his wife? Could he steel himself to invite other men to simply use her? And could he stand there and watch silently as his own dear love lay back to be groped and fondled and stroked, penetrated and pumped like a w***e, spermed up by his own best friends? She herself had almost forgotten the night she had been joking about such things.

One Friday evening, however, Bill finally told her, out of the blue, “It’s ready.” The kids were spending the night at friends’ houses, and the couple had begun what had appeared to be merely another quiet evening in front of the television. He had muted the sound for a commercial, and now he clicked the thing off entirely. Suddenly the living room was occupied once again by only the two of them, only their own words and their own thoughts.

“What?” she wondered. “What’s ready?”

“The box,” he replied quietly. “That ‘magic box’ we were talking about last year.”

Elizabeth’s green eyes went wide, and then her brow wrinkled in uncertainty. If this was a joke, she thought, it didn’t seem very funny. What she had told him that one night in bed had been a little embarrassing, really, and it made her squirm inwardly to have to think of it now. Almost immediately after speaking, she had regretted it, and she had already relegated the naughty notion to the category of outrageous, never-to-be-fulfilled fantasy. “Come on, Bill…” she attempted.

“Seriously,” Bill said, nodding slowly, his eyes solemn. “And I…” His steady gaze locked with hers. “Well, I think I’m ready to have it happen, too.”

“B-b-but—” Sidestepping the real issue somewhat, she countered, “But you couldn’t even get a…a box like we were talking about. It’s just not even possible.”

“Remember,” he explained, “Kyle is a magician. He has guys who make all those trick boxes and trunks and tables for him, the things he uses for his disappearing routines. He can special-order anything he likes. He just has to give ’em the design.”

“You mean Kyle knows that I want—” Elizabeth stopped, realizing the verb she had inadvertently used.

“Yes,” her husband repeated in soft tones, smiling faintly at her betraying slip, “what you want.” His eyes seemed to gleam.

She blushed fiercely. “A-and then he would be one of the guys who would…”

Pursing his lips, the seemingly determined Bill dropped his gaze a little nervously to the floor. “I guess that would have to be part of the mystery for you, my dear,” he said at last. He licked his suddenly dry lips. “Whether you’re being ogled, or teased and pleased, by Kyle or Steve or Robert or me, or by someone you’ve never met, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

For a moment the uncertain woman tried to consider it not just as a rhetorical question but as a true query that could be answered either yes or no. Why, of course, it mattered! she told herself immediately, embarrassed and perhaps indignant, too. She wasn’t the kind of person who did things like that! Oh, it was one thing to spin out some silly fantasy, but she would never really want to—to—to…well, to do all the naughty things they had been talking about. And of course Bill wouldn’t actually want her to either, she reassured herself very dutifully. No, of course not. And yet…

“You couldn’t see them,” Bill assured her quietly, almost as if trying to convince himself, too, “just…just feel them. All you would know is that whoever they are—and however many of them there may be, whether it’s six or seven horny men, or ten or fifteen or twenty—they’re discreet, and they’re safe, and they’re all for you.”

Elizabeth could only blink back at her husband. “You mean,” she whispered, scarcely believing it, and trying to tell herself that she did not want to believe it anyway, “that you would really want me to…”

He stared back at her for a long moment. Finally, he let out his breath. “Take off all of your clothes,” he told her flatly.

Elizabeth bit her lip. “H-h-honey…?” she began, her eyes wide.

Bill’s face was composed, yet very flushed. “Now,” he whispered.

He had never said anything like that to her before, not in such a tone so quietly, so purposefully commanding. Trembling, though, she obeyed, right there in the living room, and when she stood exposed before him, cool and smooth and white, she was thrilled to see with what helpless longing he gazed back at the solid roundedness of her familiar body. Her n*****s crinkled up hard and tight and excited, and somewhere beneath her hairy belly she felt suddenly moist and somehow loose.

For a long moment she simply posed there uncertainly before the unashamedly leering eyes of her beloved spouse, blinking back into his silent visage. “R-r-really?” she murmured at last, praying that her voice did not sound eager. “Y-you really want…”

The corner of Bill’s mouth twitched faintly. “Yes,” he replied at last. “And so,” he continued with unassailable conviction, “do you.”

Elizabeth swallowed. At any other time that smugly superior assurance would have seemed infuriating, intolerable, but now the look in his heavy-lidded gaze was just so powerfully compelling somehow.

Bill’s nostrils flexed meaningfully, and he breathed deep the salty, intimate fragrance of her betraying body’s arousal. “Don’t you…?” he prodded, his eyes gleaming.

She could only bite her lip, squirming.

“You’re as lubed up as a w***e,” he accused her in a whisper somehow far more eager than condemning. “God, I can smell you.”

The woman’s mind was awhirl. She could hardly believe her husband truly was proposing this—and yet he was, he was! But propose? No, he was not just proposing—he was urging, luring, commanding… How womanly and desired it made her feel! And despite the shame of what he said, she was indeed wickedly, helplessly wet between her tight-pressed thighs.

She smiled almost shyly then. “Do you want to have me right now?” she asked softly, by way of implicit agreement. “First?” she added, feeling very, very dirty to put it like that.

Bill hesitated. The seemingly self-assured man regarded her for a long moment, suddenly almost helpless somehow, as if it were not he who was fully clothed in the face of her complete nudity, he who had ordered her to strip like a concubine in some Ottoman slave market of old, he who was prepared to give his wife to other men to use… For a moment, strangely affected, she watched his uncertain face.