The Oriental Box Sequel

The man clasped the key in his hand. Lifeless, empty, yet holding a
certain yearning within it's barren metal. "All doors are opened" the
thinks. "What the hell does that mean ". The visions had done their
work well. Leaving him wanting, needing the touch of real flesh,
shivering beneath his hand. One last look around the room, a gentle
caress of that Oriental Box which had shown him so much, and he turned
to depart.

The hallway lead in several directions. Like fate, it puts paths in
front of us, leaving us to chose which fork to take. He turns left,
it's corridor somehow calling him, as does the sound of a gentle
voice, humming silently to herself. He is lured by the sound. Passing
first one door, then the next, knowing they'd be open to his touch,
but he wanted only one. He stops at the end of the passageway. His
hand, upon the doorknob, finding it locked. He looks down at the key
he holds. Unmarred by a machine that creates it's notches. He shakes
his head, knowing that no blank key can open a door, yet this one..
this one....

Opens with a whisper of silence beneath his palm. Soft, cool air
caresses his face, a wift of intoxicating lilac feed his senses, and
he is drawn into it's hold.

She is there. Eloquent in classical dress, black tailored heels placed
neatly beneath her as she kneels on the floor, head lowered. Her long
tresses fanning across her back, occasionally waving in tune to the
breeze upon them, from the open window in front of her. He walks
forward, gently running his hand along her mane, his fingers,
entwining themselves in it's masses, and he feels her shiver beneath
his touch . He takes a single step forward, grasping more of it's
thickness beneath his hand, and a firm yet gentle grip, forces her
eyes to meet his.

He sees not fear among them. Something else. A quiet strength, a
mystery of power, secure in her worth, yet that tinge of fear that he
senses from within her, is much stronger than her eyes truly display.
He watches as her eyes flicker, struggling to combat her emotions,
fighting to regain some semblance of control within herself, and he
knows in that instant , what it is that he wants.

She feels his touch upon her head, gentle, but at the same time fierce
and sure in its movements to have her eyes meet his. Not knowing this
man makes her vulnerabilities surface rapidly, and at the same time
cause wetness beneath her thighs as she thinks about possibilities
that had remained buried as dark images within her psyche. She senses
his strength, shivers as his hand tightens around her locks,
triggering something within her. Her heart pounds rapidly, yet her
breathing, mysteriously calms.

He releases his hold. Casually stepping back to appreciate the view.
Except for one thing. A few too many pieces of clothing. " Strip for
me", he demands. He watches, leaning a shoulder against the wall in
comfort, as she rises to her feet.

Her cheeks blush a pale rose, and she glances down at the front of her
dress , wondering how shaking fingers will be able to maneuver the row
of countless buttons on the dress she wears. Her fingers reach for the
hem of her skirt. "Start at the top" he instructs. And she hesitantly
follows his lead and reaches for the top button. One by one she
manages to get a few undone, until her breasts are hidden only by the
fact that she remains standing erect. He walks casually over to her,
stopping to trace a single finger from her neck to the open cleavage.
A soft kiss on her cheek, a whisper in her ear.

She nods and moves her hand down to the hem of her skirt once again.
As the buttons come away, so does the fabric at her breasts, as she
bends to complete her task, until only several at her midriff are
left. He stays her hand, making her look up questioningly into his
eyes.

"The sight of your bounty is pleasurable indeed, my dear, however, my
fingers now wish to complete the task for you". She gasps as the touch
of callused fingers connects between her breasts, gently prodding them
with his knuckles, as his fingers release the rest of the buttons. The
dress falls drops to the floor.

Clad only in garters and stockings she stands before him, unsure of
whether its the cool wind which sends bumps along her flesh or the
power of his presence. She grows very wet thinking about the
possibilities of what can occur, mixed with that bit of fear in the
unknowing.

He walks around her, inspecting his prize. A touch there, a look here,
hearing her breathing growing more shallow with every second, as what
seems like endless minutes to her, tick away.

His hands reach up, barely grazing a nipple with his fingertips. He
feels her shudder , as her eyes close of their own accord. He takes
her hair into his fist once more, wrapping it twice around his hand.
"Look at me", he insists. She swallows hard, compelling her eyes to
gaze within the depths of his own. His hand at her nipple never
wavers, as he forces her to hold his gaze while he watches the havoc
his play is having from within them. "Mirrors of the soul", he
acknowledges. "One can see within it, every wish, every fear, every
fight for sanity." His hand continues its onslaught. Pulling hard at
the now erect nipple. "DON'T break eye contact" he warns, and with
eyes still staring deep into her own, lowers his head to feed upon the
untouched breast.

She can barely stand it. Her pussy, pounding angrily in want, her eyes
yearning to look away, to be able to think of anything but the
onslaught he is causing of both her body and its emotions. His teeth
bite hard, sending a gasp from her lips, feeling both that pain, and
that of his hand demanding the same on its counterpart. A few tears
reach into her eyes, but it is not sadness that she feels. A low moan
escapes her lips. He smiles.

Still holding contact with her eyes, he replaces his tongue with the
other hand, each nipple firmly held in his grip. "What is it you want,
my slave ? " He asks. She shakes her head, unable to speak, unable to
comprehend her own thoughts. "Then i will chose for you", he says. The
pull of her breasts grow firmer,, more painful, as he pulls her down
by her nipples, sending her to her knees. "Eye contract" he warns, as
her gaze strays. " I won't warn you again" .

The throb of her nipples now bearable, she looks up trying to read his
thoughts. "Pleasure me" he simply says. And a knowing smile reaches
her lips as her hands roam blindly to his pants. A bit more difficult
without the use of her eyes, but she manages quite well. Her hands
slip against his flesh, the shock of male hardness barely contained
sending pulsating warmth beneath her thighs once again.

His fingers stroke her nipples. Hard,, soft,, Her fingers grasp around
his cock. Hard, soft. Not forgetting to keep contact with his eyes,
her tongue finds the tip of it's head. He watches the pleasure spring
from beneath her eyes, as he feels his own. She taunts him with her
tongue, driving him crazy, as she slides him slowly into her mouth.
"Tease" he says. " That can be handled easily enough ". Before she can
think about the words, she finds her hair, grasped firmly once again,
this time, forcing her head against his groin. His cock, deep within
her throat, and she shifts, trying hard to hold it, as he fucks her
mouth with his member. Hard, fierce. The very thought sending her
wetness running down her thighs. He pulls his cock out of her mouth
quickly.. forcing her again to look at him. "I will ask again, slave.
What is it you want? "

She shudders. Unable to communicate her needs. His hand drags her to
her feet, his other finding its way between her legs, exploring its
wetness with 3 well placed fingers. She almost loses it . "You, Sir"
she whispers". "This ? " he asks as he finger fucks her ferociously.
He watches her eyes cloud over with the intensity of the orgasm
building within her, then quickly withdraws them as he senses she's
close. She screams in frustration. Angry eyes begging into his own. A
few objects catch his attention. And he moves her far enough over to
the bed where he can reach them. The dildo is a nice size, fitting his
hand perfectly. He taunts her lips with it, wetting it immediately.
"This? " he questions. Her breath grows ragged and she shakes her
head. He smiles, slowly pushing it within the depths of her cavern.
Slowly. Ever so slowly. In. Out.. In.. Out.. She struggles for words.
Wanting his cock driven deeply within her. Toys can do no justice to
real yearnings. "Or this? " he suggests, while rapidly pumping it into
her. She reaches her breaking point, the intenseness of her orgasm not
only pushing the toy from within her, but her moan turning into a
screaming wail. She gasps for breath, unable to maintain the eye
contract that he demanded. Her muscles finally relax, although she is
left shaken with it's aftermath.

"Stand up, slave" he insists, while picking up the belt from the bed
and holding it in his hand. "Against the wall". She sighs in
compliance and slowly makes her way to the wall on weakened legs.

The crack of the belt against her ass is intense. But then, she knew
this man was no fool. She moans with pain, each sting on her reddened
flesh a bit more pronounced with every stroke. He stops. She turns
around, grateful for the release, and he smiles . "I'm not done yet,
pet", he answers. Her eyes grow wide as he hold the dildo within his
other hand. The belt, sliding along her flesh as a reminder as he uses
that hand to place her back against the wall. His booted feet, kick
her legs out a bit more, spreading them wider. He slides the dildo
once again into her tight waiting pussy. "Hold it there" he says. "And
i want you to use your remaining fingers to stimulate your clit while
you do".

"Yes, Sir" she softly replies. Face against the wall, she obeys. The
first stroke was unexpected. The sting, once again on her ass, driving
the dildo deep into her as she clenches her cheeks. Each stroke of the
belt, making the toy rub deeply against throbbing inner walls. Her
sense of touch grows confused. Her fingers against her clit, the
dildo, deep within her, and the leather against her flesh. Another
orgasm builds, and she screams with want.

"I ask you once more. What do you want, my slave? "
She screams out in frustration. "For you to fuck me with your cock,
deep and hard, Sir". She barely gets the last word out before finding
her yanked to the bed, her legs over each of his shoulders. One deep
sure thrust finds her convulsing around him once more.

He, on the other hand, was just beginning.

Her moans of pleasure almost drove him crazy.

"She's a good match for me," he thinks, as she meets him thrust for
thrust, her hands pushing hard against the headboard, giving her
leverage as his cock drove hard into her.

"Damn," he utters under his breath, losing his load sooner than he
would have liked to, but the feel of her around him was more than he
could take at the moment.

He wraps her in his arms, caressing her hair and cheek until their
racing hearts subsided. The silence of the room was broken only by the
call of the birds outside their window. And in that silence, he felt a
recognition of something which had been missing from his life for a
very long time.

"But what if this is only a trick?" his mind contests. "It's too
coincidental. She was too easy to find and just a bit too perfect a
match for his insatiable and sometimes kinky habits."

He looks down at the figure beside him, now sleeping lightly. His
decision is made. He rises slowly, donning his clothes, and quietly
tiptoes out the door, not seeing the single tear which trailed down
her fair cheek. She'd known many of the same pattern. And although
hardened to the life she had chosen as a courtesan, had been hopeful
that this one, was different.

The key was burning in his pocket. His hand reached in, feeling the
metal against his skin. Was it angry or just leading him onward?

His eyes wandered down the hallway. He turns south, meandering past a
parlor, filled with sunlight and warmth, yet no one was there to greet
him. He walks in, sitting on the overstuffed couch. Above the
fireplace mantle hangs a picture of a woman. "The ghost of my key," he
reasons. "Damn you, damn your key, and damn that girl who stole my
heart" he whispers to it. The picture smiled back at him, saying
nothing, but the eyes told another story.

He rises, tossing the key beside the picture as he gives it one final
evil look as he departs. "Give your key to another sucker, " I don't
believe in luck or magic. He stalks off, finding the nearest door,
yanking it open with force, only to find someone within.

~The Temptress~

She looks up, eyes brazen and staring straight into his. "You want
me?" she asks? He is shocked by her demeanor, preferring more a more
docile woman for his companionship. She walks up to him, wasting no
time as she expertly slides roaming hands along his thigh, teasing,
taunting. He shrugs her off, taking a few steps away from her out of
reach, towards the bed. A catlike smile spreads across her face, and
before he can realize what she is doing, she topples him to the bed,
straddling his thighs. Her hands make quick work, sliding into his now
open jeans with ease. "Wait a minute," he demands. "THIS is not what I
want."

"No? " she questions before his cock is buried deep within her throat.

"Christ," he mutters, trying to get the image of the slave out of his
mind. Willing or not, his cock hardens under her nimble tongue. His
mood is fierce, still angry at the key and it's ghost. Still unwilling
to admit that he'd found perfection the first time. He grabs hold of
the temptress by the hair, pulling her away from his member. Her
Cheshire cat smile is still in place, as she forcibly slides her
already wet pussy down onto his cock. "Who is fucking who" he thinks.
He feels cheapened by the encounter. The minutes, become hours as his
body denies his mind's request to just walk away. He lets her have her
way, riding hard on top of him, until a weak orgasm manages to
surface.

He shrugs her off, saying nothing as he once again dons his clothing,
and leaves the room. Finding an exit at the end of the hallway, he
lets himself out, slamming the door behind him.

"Thank God, " he says, as he looks for his car. His hands grope for
his keys, and as he makes contact with them, he is once again reminded
of the Oriental Box, the key, and the Ghost.


~THE MORNING AFTER ~

He'd not slept well, tossing and turning, every image that of the
willing slave. He could see her in his dreams, taste her on his
tongue, and feel her caress every time the wind blew it's warm summer
air upon his sleeping frame.

The long, sleepness night gave him time to think. "Ironic," he
thought. "I'm in love with a hooker." The argument didn't matter. He
wanted only her.

Resigned to go and talk to her, he dressed in fresh jeans and a denim
shirt. The short ride back to the house, gave him little time to
debate the situation. He knocked on the door, impatiently waiting as
it was opened. He looks at the woman who had let him in the first
time, not saying a word to her as he brushes by and walks down the
hallway to where the slave was. He passes a door, lingering for a
brief moment as memories of a carved, old wooden box assault his
memory, before heading towards the door he wanted.

It was early, he expected she'd be alone. Perhaps still sleeping. He
turned the knob, yet it was locked beneath his hand. He knocked, no
one answered. He turns back, to find the woman who let him in. She was
no where to be found, nor was anyone else. He wandered the house,
finding only locked doors, with no one to answer.

His trek finds him once again in the parlor. Looking up at the picture
of the woman, he seeks the key he had carelessly tossed in her face on
the mantle.

Gone.

"It's a trick," he thinks. Turning back towards the hallway and
finding the room with the Oriental Box. This door opens beneath his
hand. Approaching warily, he looks upon the now familiar room. The
old, worn, rocking chair, still there. He looks around the room for
the Box. Sure enough, it sits, patiently waiting for it's next victim
on the table, 2 keys nearby. He knows the one that opens it, and
therefore takes the shinier key, feeling its warmth in it's hand as he
did before.

Returning to the slave's door, he unlocks it, and steps inside. He
hears singing coming from the bathroom, it's melody soothing his
senses, and he smiles. Stepping into the room, he meets her eyes, as
she raises them questioningly to his. His words are simple. "You're
mine," he states. "Will you share your life with me?"

The smile on her face was all he needed to see. And as they left the
room, he turned to lock the door behind him with the key. Only this
time, it is no longer unnotched. A single groove now etched into the
metal.

He smiles. "What are you thinking?" she asks him.

He recalls the words of the ghost.. "The key you hold within your
hand, is unworn for good reason. Keep it with you. It's tumblers shall
be carved as you behold each wonder in life."

"Just something I knew all along," he answers her, smiling, as he
takes her by the hand.


~Tomorrow~