The Fuck Box

The Fuck Box.

Carl carries Rosie in his arms, up the grand white marble staircase of his country manor house. She is asleep and naked. Her head hangs limp and her arm dangles, rocking gently from side to side with each careful step he takes.

At the top of the house, he nudges heavy oak double doors open with his foot and then carries her into an enormous bedroom, filled with tasteful and exotic artefacts from Africa and Asia.

In the centre of the room stands a large four-poster bed, carved from thick dark oak. The bed is completely enclosed in a tightly fitting clear plastic tent. On one side, the plastic curtain is unzipped and pinned back, so that Carl is able to lean over and lay the limp body of Rosie down onto shiny white plastic sheets. He rests her head down gently on the large white plastic pillow and then carefully pulls the long strands of her golden hair away from her face.

He looks at his watch. He whispers to himself – ‘Twenty minutes’ He pauses to think, then a moment later he starts to unbutton his grey silk shirt and slip his feet out from his crocodile skin shoes. Undressed he climbs though the plastic curtain and onto the bed.

He starts to caress her soft brown skin, her perfectly formed breasts, and her delicate lips. He licks her pussy, opens her legs, and lifts her pelvis.

‘Oh Rosie.’ he whispers, ‘I wanted this so much. I have waited so long, my darling…’ and then he fucks her.

He fucks the limp and beautiful body hard, until finally he empties his hot sperm inside her. He climbs off, steps out from the tent and goes over to table on the other side of the room. On it is a pair of black leather fingerless bondage gloves and a red rubber ball gag. He picks up the objects and goes back to the bed. He fastens the gloves around Rosie’s wrists and then straps the ball-gag into her mouth. He looks at this watch again.

He climbs off the bed and begins to zip the curtain up, to seal Rosie up airtight inside. Just in time, because she is beginning to rouse. She blinks and opens her eyes. He takes a step back but remains transfixed.

She stretches her body semi-consciously till it becomes clear in her mind where she is, how she is constrained, what her body is telling her happened. She sits up looks around.

Carl steps behind the bed, leans down and turns a valve on a large black canister of gas. A pipe leads into the plastic tent.

A gentle but sinister hiss is heard.

She turns and sees him. Jumps forward, tries to break out through the wall of thick clear plastic, but is unable to punch a hole in it with either her bound up fists or her feet.

She is helpless. She tries to pull off her gloves and then pull out her gag. She can do nothing. He hears her muffled cries of alarm and anger. She presses her upper body against the stiff, shiny plastic. He watches her struggle. He is horny again. He looks at her, looking at him incredulous and hateful.

Slowly her struggling becomes less frenzied. Slowly she becomes weak, lame, and floppy till finally her body sags. Moments later she is motionless and unconscious once again.

Unable to control himself, he wanks hard.

Once he has come again, he goes downstairs to the lounge. He picks up the white folded handkerchief lying on the coffee table, still damp with the chloroform, and takes it out to the kitchen. He returns to clear away the mirror smeared with clouds of cocaine and the rolled up note.  

He returns to the lounge with a thick black plastic garbage bag. He picks up her clothes, lying on the floor beside the couch and drops them into the bag. He picks up her keys and goes out to the driveway. He climbs into her small white sports car and drives it round to a barn behind the house and parks it inside. Returning to the house he glances at himself in the hallway mirror. He stops to take a closer look. Long jet black hair with just a hint of grey, pale cheeks and eyes red with the cocaine hit they’d had a couple of hours before, but can he see a man ashamed for what he’d done, staring back at him?

No.

The next day he fucks her five times, and in every way he can. Each time he knows he has just twenty-five minutes max in the tent before she starts to wake up. (He’s taken into account the time it takes for him to open the large windows in the room, to unzip the flaps of the plastic tent and wait for the gas to escape and clean air to fill the room completely before he starts.)

That night he is completely exhausted but he cannot sleep. His brain and his imagination keep him awake all night. On the second day he leaves a note for Rosie to read when she wakes. 

‘Dear Rosie, I am happy to take off the gag next time you are asleep, but only if you promise not to shout. If you do, I will just put you to sleep again.  Nod if you agree. Then I can bring you something to eat.  X Carl’

Two days later, having been gassed and then fucked, over and over again, Rosie finally stares at him and nods. The next time she wakes she notices a plate at her feet, piled high with baby tomatoes and vegetarian samosas and beside it, a small bottle of mineral water. He watches her from behind the doorway. She looks around, and then crouches down on her knees. Unable to pick up the food with her hands, she crouches down. He walks silently into the room to watch her eating like a dog, face against the plate, ass in the air. He starts to masturbate again.

She stops, looks up and then she sees him. Instantly she starts to shout, spitting the food against the side of the plastic wall, screaming, and punching at it as violently as she can.

Carl walks over, leans down and calmly turns on the valve once more, switching it off a minute later. Then he watches. His favourite bit. Still she is screaming at him, her with her long golden hair she reminds him of an angry lion trapped in a cage. He watches. He watches for the moment when its clear the drug has started to take effect, and her movements begin to grow less desperate. Again he becomes intensely aroused as she is slowly drained of energy and movement, when she stumbles, sags, weakens till finally she is still. This debased sense of power is intesensly erotic for him. He wanks slowly, till she is lifeless again.

That night he fucks her once again, even though the plastic bed is pungent with the smell of food and piss and shit. He doesn’t care and she is unconscious. Though he’s weary and weak, he fucks her as hard as he can, hoping he can come again. Finally he shoots and then collapses exhausted beside her. He lies there, dazed, out of breath, lost in ecstasy and for a moment he lies still, knowing that it must only be for a moment. But within seconds he is fast asleep. 

Several minutes later she rouses, feels a heavy arm across her breast, and once again, soreness around her cunt.

She turns her head and is shocked to see Carl beside her and the tent door open. She thinks. Her heart is pumping. She starts to ease herself from under his arm. She climbs off the bed; slow enough so the crackling plastic is barely audible.

She looks around till she finds a thick roll of black tape, and the red ball gag left on a chest of drawers. She creeps back to the bed timidly till she is relieved to find him still fast asleep. She rolls him gently onto his stomach and crosses his wrists behind his back. She manages to wrap the tape around his wrists many times and then moves down to his ankles, strapping them up tight with layers of tape. She slips the ball gag into his mouth and is tightening the buckle of its strap behind Carl’s head, when he starts to move.

She slips off the bed quickly. She zips up the plastic door.

Standing frozen, she watches. Minutes later he wakes. He opens his eyes. He turns and sees Rosie now on the outside of the plastic tent. He pulls at his wrists and begins to writhe about on the bed, struggling to get up.

She walks around the bed till she finds the gas canister. She turns the valve and hears a familiar hiss. She watches him watching her, shaking his head violently, desperate to explain something, but incapable of making anything other than a muffled whine.

She waits. He wriggles and twists, and then weakens. His body slowly sags until he becomes unconscious and his head falls back.

She goes downstairs. She’s looking for her phone and her clothes but doesn’t notice the bin-liner in the kitchen.

Instead she finds Carl’s phone, on the kitchen table. She calls Tom, her boyfriend. Instantly he answers – ‘Hey Carl – how’s it going?’

For a moment Rosie is shocked, but it doesn’t seem to matter for now.

‘It’s Rosie.’

‘Rosie! Ok. Sorry – what’s going on, Rosie? I thought you two were not…’

‘Just listen Tom. I’m at Carl’s country house. Do you know where it is? It’s about twenty minutes east of Cape Town.’

He tells her he does and when she tells him everything that had happened to her, Tom promises to get there as fast as he can.

She waits. She thinks about Tom. They have been living together for three years. She trusts him. He takes care of her. He’s a big, strong, blond aryan and he’s sensible and rich and he protects her from herself and from men who fall in love with her, men Like Carl, whom she was with for three years before she met Tom. Carl is a gambler and Tom is a successful city banker. Rosie likes her men to be rich and she never cares where the money comes from. Tom seemed to be cool about the fact that Rosie had never quite been ready to have penetrative sex. Carl was obviously not. Tom and Carl had been friends before she split with Carl and moved in with Tom, but what Rosie still can’t quite work out is why Tom still has Carl’s number on his phone?  

Its midnight when Tom’s car finally pulls up in the drive. Rosie, dressed in a dark blue silk dressing gown she had found in a wardrobe, opens the door and waits. As he approaches, she bursts into tears. He steps over to comfort her and they make their way into the house.

‘Why haven’t you called the Police?’

Rosie looks at him incredulously.

‘Tom, you must be joking. You know as well as I do that the police are as corrupt as hell and Carl’s family has huge influence around here.’

She shows him the bottle of chloroform. She leads him upstairs and into the large bedroom at the back of the house. She points to the large double bed, sealed up inside a plastic membrane.

‘He’s in there.’

Tom stands at the doorway and for a moment he seems stunned by what he sees.  Then he immediately rushes to the windows and begins to open them wide. As he starts to unzip the plastic door, Rosie calls out.

‘What are you doing?’

Tom reels back the moment the pungent odour of chloroform seeps from the tent. He walks around the bed with a handkerchief against his mouth, opening other flaps around the bed. The curtains billow as the cool night air wafts into the room.

‘Just stay back,’ says Tom, ‘He needs air or he’ll die.’

As they wait for the chloroform to escape, Tom explains that, knowing Carl, he would have worked out just how much gas to use and when to empty the tent, so that it would have been safe.

‘Safe!’ Rosie cries, incredulous.

She watches Tom step back over to the bed and look closely at the bound and naked body of Carl.

‘It’s OK. He’s breathing.’

Tom escorts Rosie out of the room and in the kitchen downstairs he calms her down. He accepts what she says about the local police and talks rationally through all the other options available to her. He tells her about his friend who is a lawyer and persuades her that the best solution would be to call him at once. He steps outside into the driveway and Rosie watches him from the kitchen window as he holds his mobile against his ear with his shoulder, and lights up a cigarette. She sees the  smoke drift lazily up into the rise up into the black night.

When he returns he says,

‘Mike will be over first thing in the morning. He says we mustn’t do anything or touch anything till he arrives. I think you should sleep. You look terrible and you need to rest. I’ll bring down some bedding and you can sleep down here. I’ll stay upstairs and keep an eye on Carl. But don’t worry; he’s not going to escape. You’ve tied him up very securely.’

She nods. His arms are holding her tight. She is exhausted. Tom fetches bedding and pillows and then hugs her tight again for a few moments, whispering things like – ‘Rosie, its going to be fine. He’s going to prison for this.

You’ve got nothing to worry about…’

But before Tom leaves the lounge he turns and says –

‘I still can’t work something out. You split with Carl four years ago, and you’ve not mentioned his name once to me ever since. So why did you turn up her at his house on Friday night, when you told me you were visiting your sister?’

Rosie looks up unable to say anything for a moment. Then she says,

‘Let’s talk about that in the morning…..and then you can explain to me why you’ve still got his name on your phone.’

At two am, Tom checks that Rosie is fast asleep on the sofa, before returning to the bedroom.  He stands in the doorway staring at the four poster bed inside its clear plastic cover.

He starts to imagine what the last few nights would have been like. He imagines Carl inside the plastic tent, fucking the unconscious Rosie, then watching her come to, waiting for her to come round, watching her trapped in the plastic cage, then watching her slowly slip back into unconsciousness, ready to be fucked again. His cock stiffens in his jeans.  

He hears the crackling of plastic, and a muffled cry. Carl is now awake. Tom moves over to the bed and stands beside it until Carl sees him. Tom leans over and whispers,

‘You’re fucking crazy, Carl. I never thought you’d ever have the balls to do it.’

Despite the ball-gag in his mouth, Carl looks up and smiles.

Eventually Tom smiles back before getting up and going to the window. He stares out at the dark sky and the bright stars scattered all over it. He thinks for a moment but then cannot resist it. He goes down stairs. He finds his jacket and fetches out his wallet. Inside is a condom, which he removes and slips into his pocket. He goes to the kitchen to collect the bottle of chloroform and the piece of white cloth beside it.

He creeps slowly into the lounge and when he is beside Rosie, he crouches down, opens the bottle, tips up the bottle till the cloth is moist, screws back the lid and places the bottle on the floor, then clasps the cloth tight around Rosie’s mouth, keeping her head still with the other hand.

Rosie’s eyelids barely open before they begin to close again. Her breathing changes. Tom keeps the cloth against her mouth till he is sure that the chloroform has had its desired effect. He puts the cloth down. He unzips his fly. He pulls off the blanket and turns her onto her back. He moves to the side and pulls her legs till her ass is raised up onto the arm of the sofa.  He drops his jeans and boxer shorts and slips the condom over his stiff cock. He moves between her thighs and starts to rub his cock back and forth, through the thick golden fur of her pubis. He raises her ankles high either side of him and proceeds to fuck her hard. He watches her face, inert and relaxed as he fucks her, her breasts gently rocking up and down with each and ever more forceful thrust. Her arm droops down on one side to the floor, while the other rests lifelessly around the top of her head.

He stares at her beautifully shaped mouth, half open, tongue visible and for a moment she looks like she is half-smiling.

Instantly he comes and his orgasmic groan of pleasure echoes around the rooms of Carl’s enormous house.

Early the following morning Tom is outside the front door, pacing up and down along the gravel drive, smoking a cigarette. A car turns into the drive and Tom looks up. Moments later he leads his old friend Mike into the house.

Rosie is still asleep, curled up on the sofa in the lounge. Tom walks over and crouches down beside her. He puts his hand gently on her shoulder.

‘Rosie? Wake up honey. Mike’s here. I’ll make coffee and then you and he can start.’

Rosie wakes. Her eyes take a while to stay open. She yawns. She sees Tom’s smiling face close to her own.

‘How are you feeling?’

She thinks. She smiles weakly.

‘um, I’m fine. I’ll just take a shower.’

‘Sure.’

He hands her the dressing gown and she slowly gets up, steps into it and walks silently to the bathroom.

Daniel Guy

December 2012