Private Box

by Barrie Abalard

  “I expect reasonable performance from your management of my money. You’ll have to beat certain financial indices we’ll specify in writing. If you do, you will be rewarded. If you don’t, you will be punished. Are you with me so far?”

  She moaned something that sounded like, “Yes.” His free hand unbuttoned her blouse. She couldn’t help flinching when he pinched a nipple, and he jerked her head in response. “Mind what you’re doing. That’s my cock in your hot little pie hole.”

  His fingers moved to the other nipple. She shut out the pain and arousal as best she could, and sucked.

  “Rewards come in many different shapes and sizes. For example, all those flowers and gifts—I was the one who sent them, in case you were wondering. You were amazing last night.”

  She didn’t know how he managed it, but somehow he put his hand between her legs, winnowing his fingers beneath her panties. His arms must be long, she remembered thinking when his digits invaded her.

  “Likewise, punishments will vary. Perhaps I’ll introduce you to certain toys in my playroom. Maybe I’ll give you an old-fashioned paddling right here in your office, so that your assistant can hear every swat I land on your bare buttcheeks.”

  She shuddered with lust. A hard whipping, with hand and belt and paddle, was one of her favorite punishments.

  “Or perhaps I won’t fuck you for weeks, yet demand that you service me daily.” His hand pulled her hair hard, moving her head faster. “Pay attention now, Elizabeth dear. I’m almost ready.”

  She swirled her tongue up and down his shaft while sucking as intensely as she could manage. Her jaw was killing her. His fingers rubbed her G-spot, and his thumb massaged her clit. Dick-slash-Stephen had stopped talking, his breathing loud and irregular.

  Abruptly, he yanked her head back. “Stop.”

  She waited. She’d suspected today’s encounter would not stop with a simple blow job, and she knew that he was close, very close, to coming. Her mouth was still near enough, though, for her to lick him, so she did, once, enjoying the way his cock jerked. Yes, he was definitely close.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Do not test me.”

  He tugged her hair toward the ceiling, to force her to stand, then pulled so that her head tipped back. His mouth found the hollow between her neck and shoulder. He bit her once—later, she would find a blood-bruise—before he stripped off her blouse and bra one-handed. Then he took one nipple in his mouth and sucked and bit until her distress was real. She wanted to rid herself of his merciless teeth, even though the agony ratcheted her arousal to new heights. God, how deliciously her poor nips throbbed and stung.

  She’d stopped caring who might be watching in one of the nearby buildings. She lived only for each jerk of his hand that pulled her hair, and the nasty bites his teeth inflicted on her neck and breasts. She barely noticed when he led her to the other side of the desk to bend her over it. Papers and pens pressed against her flesh, and her nameplate dug into her abdomen.

  After all the preceding drama, he slipped inside her rather gently instead of ramming himself home. Unable to stop herself, she moaned loudly at his sweet hardness. She could only hope that Tracey had gone to lunch.

  She reached down to touch herself, but when she did, he’d already slid out. Before she could say anything, he began pushing into her puckered hole. She cried out, as much in lust as in pain. He’d given her back door quite the workout the night before.

  “Keep touching yourself,” he murmured. “Go on, come if you want. It’ll help you loosen up.”

  She opened her eyes, staring at the nearby buildings. As far as she could tell, no one was watching. She felt a strange thrill of disappointment at not seeing someone staring back at her, naked above the waist and her ass full of cock.

  He thrust fiercely, burying his entire length in her, making her cry out again. Then, like the night before, he gripped her hips and took her with no thought to her comfort. Unlike the night before, however—she must have been getting used to him—the hurting receded quickly. She had most of the fingers of one hand buried in her cunt, the remaining ones strumming her clit. She swallowed her urge to scream when she came, the wave of pleasure a physical blow—a sweet, insane riptide of intensely pleasurable sensation.

  She felt him come immediately after she did. Collapsing on top of her desk, with him atop her, neither said a thing until he pulled out. “Draw up the papers. I’ll sign any damned terms you want, as long as I can keep fucking you.”

  Chapter 3

  Their relationship remained intense and satisfying, and Elizabeth found that letting go of sexual control with Stephen was as therapeutic as she had found it with Hunter, back in B school. Stephen visited her office to fuck her, and, of course, they sucked and fucked in her private box during musical performances. At the one-month mark, she failed to meet the agreed-upon monetary goal, and suffered through a spanking. Fortunately, he scheduled it after office hours, so she could let herself cry when his belt licked her with fire. Afterwards, tears still running down her cheeks, he reamed her ass hard, came, and then left. There would be no orgasms for the woman who failed to meet her goal. Not caused by him, at any rate. That night’s impalement had not been designed primarily for her pleasure.

  After she arrived home, she masturbated to orgasm twice before soaking her sore bottom and anus, enjoying a stiff, anesthetizing drink while the warm water and bath oils soothed her wounded parts.

  At the end of the next month, his investments were on track. He took her out for drinks and dinner at a dimly-lit boîte in Cambridge before bundling her onto the Red Line around midnight. She hung from the metal hand-hooks while he lifted her skirt to take advantage of her lack of panties. She’d stopped wearing them, at his demand.

  They had no trouble finding a deserted car, so she could let herself moan as loudly as she wanted while he crouched between her legs, his mouth sucking her clit. While he made love to her swollen little nub, she unbuttoned her blouse so that her demi-bra bustier, a present from him, displayed her breasts to the world. When she was ready to come, he approached her from behind, sliding into her cunt as if his cock had been specially designed to fit only her. That’s how he felt to her by then—as if they’d both been created specifically for each other’s pleasure.

  They swayed to the motion of the train, one of his arms wrapped around her, its hand tugging at her bared nipples, his other hand fingering her clit. As the train crossed the Charles River, the lights extinguished for a moment. She gazed at the Boston nightline with Stephen fucking her, his fingers tenderly massaging her clit.

  Their challenge was to continue fucking no matter what. No one had been at the Kendall Square stop, but people often used the next stop, Charles, at all hours, due to its proximity to a hospital—Stephen’s hospital, Suffolk County General. As the train shuddered to a halt, she found herself staring at a middle-aged man holding a briefcase.

  Stephen fucked her harder, twisting a nipple while strumming her clit. The man’s mouth fell open as she moved her pelvis in time with Stephen’s. She didn’t see the man after that, because she was coming, and coming hard.

  The train started again. When she opened her eyes, she realized that the man was still standing on the platform, goggle-eyed. He’d been so shocked, he’d forgotten to board the train.

  The next stop would be full of riders, even after midnight. Stephen hadn’t come yet, so he tucked himself back into his pants, and she threw her coat over her semi-nakedness. They left the train at Park Street

  and found an alley, where she sucked him until he came. Before he took her home that night, he promised that, one rush-hour morning, they’d grope each other amid the crush of riders.

  They did so the very next week. He rubbed his clothed hard-on in the cleft of her bottom while she straddled one of the train’s poles. Commuters were packed so tightly, she figured no one would notice as he ground against her backside, pressing her mound rhythmically against the steel pole she’d wrapped her legs
around. The pole vibrated—an unexpected bonus. They rode the train from Park Street

  all the way to Alewife, and back again. She came three times, grinding against the pole like a demented stripper, her cunt aching to be filled.

  One time she came, she knew a conductor had seen them, because he’d smirked and grabbed his tented crotch. But he left them to their manic quest for one more orgasm.

  Because both of them had become addicted to the head rush of public sex, they searched for bigger risks to take. Once, he put her across his lap in his Mercedes and spanked her bare ass in a busy parking garage. People actually stopped to look, then hurried away. After he’d reddened her butt with his hand and a flat-backed hairbrush, he masturbated her until she came. They would have fucked in the car, but a security guard ordered them out, bare moments after she’d writhed in ecstasy with Stephen’s fingers filling both her holes.

  Another time, they went for lunch at a busy businessperson’s bar, where she sucked him under their booth’s table, no tablecloth to hide her. The waitress brought their dishes while she was working on Stephen. She heard the waitress ask if they needed anything else about five seconds before he came. He asked for extra napkins, which he passed down to her so she could wipe her face—in front of the waitress. Then, she remained on her knees, scuffing her thousand-dollar shoes, while he fed her from his plate. Her pussy ached for satisfaction, so she touched herself, a forbidden action. She thought he hadn’t noticed, but she was wrong.

  After lunch, she paid for her disobedience. By this point in their relationship he’d acquired a genuine British school cane, because during one night’s pillow talk she’d let slip how much she hated being disciplined with one. She was no stranger to the cane, having attended an old-money prep school where Headmistress had used traditional discipline often, and with a bit more relish than Elizabeth liked.

  With her palms flat on her desk and her legs spread, he laid six stripes on her ass, each one more painful than the last. She did her best to bite her lip, but when the last stroke landed, she shrieked. Tracey had been instructed never, ever to disturb her, regardless of the noises she heard, when Stephen visited. At least she was spared the humiliation of her assistant witnessing her welted bottom and her tears.

  She was scheduled to join a conference call, so he sat her down bare-assed on a hard, unforgiving chair, settling in to eat her pussy while she participated in the call. Thankfully, the call wasn’t video-conferenced. Stephen, on his knees between her legs, licked and sucked her for an hour. Her challenge was to stay focused on the call—millions were at stake—and to come only when she could mute the speaker. She found it impossible to be completely silent.

  Stephen liked it rough, and not just the sex. Danger made him hard. One evening, he sent a car service to pick her up and bring her to him, in a busy yet unsavory part of the city. She knew this meeting was to be of the punishment variety, because she’d lost him money. Barely a minute after she arrived and he sent the car on its way, he pulled her into a nearby alley. She could hear drug deals and twenty-dollar-whore-sex echoing farther down the alley while he lifted her skirt and shoved himself in, pressing her breasts against a brick wall that hadn’t been cleaned since the nineteenth century.

  What he did to her hurt, and perverse creature that she was, that hurt opened her, turned her as wet as Boston Harbor. Stephen finished that night by ass-fucking her, and she came, knowing full well that others in the alley were watching, her face stinging from being scraped on the nasty wall.

  The last time they did it at the Symphony, however, they went too far. She’d worn a long, full skirt with no panties, and had sat on his erection. They listened to the music, moving together in what she thought was an unobtrusive manner, his fingers on her clit. Once she’d come, she raised her hips to sit on him, only this time, she let him in her back door. She discovered how difficult it was to take a cock up your ass rapidly, even if you’ve grown used to it. The longer you hover, working it inside you, the odder it looks to others. She thought she’d managed it gracefully, but the following morning, she received a phone call, politely asking that she refrain from “certain activities” in her private box.

  She quit attending the Symphony after that. As much as she loved the music, she knew she’d miss the sex too much to enjoy herself.

  * * * *

  They lasted four months, about as long as her relationship with Hunter had endured, before Stephen’s past broke them apart. However, when Elizabeth reflected later, she realized that the breakup had been on the horizon for a while. For one thing, Stephen had become too demanding, too controlling. She’d also worked out most of what she had to, emotionally, to heal the unfinished business with Hunter.

  Not only that, she was close to her financial goal. Once she reached it, she planned to tell her father to go fuck himself, quit Lawrence and Company, and open the art studio she’d been dreaming about. This time, she would pursue her calling, and she’d have sufficient money to do so. She’d invested her performance bonuses well.

  One unseasonably warm but clear winter night, she was unlocking the door to her townhouse after an evening with friends when an arm snaked around her middle, the other arm’s hand clapping across her mouth.

  “Don’t scream, it’s me,” Stephen said, removing his hand.

  She exhaled loudly. “Jesus, you scared the crap out of me.”

  He placed his mouth on her neck’s right side and bit hard, not letting go for several seconds. Somehow his hand disappeared up her skirt and inside her panties before she’d even drawn a breath, his index finger slipping inside. When he released his teeth, he said, “God, I love how you get wet as soon as she bite you—or whip you—or hurt you in some private spot on your body.”

  She sighed, leaning against him while his finger massaged her G-spot. “I’m rather fond of it, herself.”

  He removed his finger, licking it with gusto. “A nice night for a walk in the Public Garden, don’t you think?”

  Boston’s Public Garden, on the west side of Boston Common, wasn’t the safest place for a nighttime stroll. Refusing Stephen was something she’d learned not to do, but tonight, she did, having grown sick of his demands despite her arousal. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she said, “Wait. We’ve never done what I told you I wanted to do.”

  “Remind me again?” He smiled, running a finger under her nose. She could smell herself on it.

  “You know. Outside, exposed, and safer than the Public Garden at night.”

  “Outside where?”

  “On my balcony,” she snapped, peeved that he didn’t recall what she’d wanted to do for months, while she’d fulfilled his every fantasy.

  “No need to get bitchy.” He touched his belt’s buckle. “If you know what I mean.”

  She truly didn’t want a session with the belt, but her frustration bubbled out. “We’ve done all of your fantasies, from ass-fucking to, to, whatever begins with ‘z’.”

  “Zealously whipping you?” The streetlight glinted off his teeth when he smiled.

  “You got it. So, my balcony?”

  “Tell you what,” he said while he slipped his hands under her shirt, the better to torment her perpetually-sore nipples, “I get the run of your toy box, and also get to whip you as well as fuck you on the balcony.”

  “Not with the cane.” Her tone was grudging.

  “Fine, not with the cane. If you’re done pissing and moaning, can we go inside?”

  Once they were in her living room, he faced her, an edgy smile playing across his lips. “Strip.”

  “What are you going to do to me, Dick?” she said, shucking her silk T-shirt and unzipping her matching skirt.

  “Who’s Dick?” he said.

  “You remember, our first night. You were Dick.” For some reason, it amused her that he didn’t remember the detail that she did.

  “Wipe that smug expression off your mug, Aphrodite.”

  “Mmm, sounds like you remember after all. I can’
t wait for your dick, Dick.”

  No doubt about it, she was having fun. Maybe this kink-fest would last another month.

  “Dirty little rich girl, taking strange men up to her family’s private box for fucking.” He pinned her wrists behind her back, positioning his lips two inches from hers, whispering, “I adore the way you get off on doing it in public. I like it almost as much as I like seeing you writhe in pain, desperate to come.” The clean scent of his spicy soap revived body memories, and hers responded.

  Once she was naked, he gripped the back of her neck, propelling her to the terrace off her living room. It faced a courtyard, and any of the other townhouse residents would be able to see everything they did, if only someone looked out their windows. A number of them were lit. She wondered if anyone would watch.

  Heat grew low in her belly, even as the chilly air puckered her nipples. She stood, waiting, while he opened her toy box.

  Two suction devices, the better to torment her nipples, appeared in his hands, as did a roll of duct tape. “Tear off two pieces of tape, each about a foot long. Give me one strip of tape before using the other to tape a wrist to the railing.”

  She did as he asked. Once she’d secured one wrist, he taped the other. After spreading her feet apart about eighteen inches, he knelt to tape her ankles to the vertical iron bars that supported the railing. The net effect was that she was cantilevered forward, her legs spread, her pussy and anus open to anything he might want to shove inside them. Her teeth chattered, but she wasn’t really feeling the cold. All she knew was that she longed to hurt exquisitely, to be filled beyond her ability to endure it.

  After taping her ankles, he slapped a piece of duct tape across her mouth, saying, “Got to keep you quiet, because I plan—what’s the saying?—to get a little medieval.”

  From behind, he lowered his mouth to one shoulder, nipping her while sliding his clothed erection between her ass cheeks. She shut her eyes when his hands cupped her breasts, his fingers twisting them the way they both liked. He pulled the nipples hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. When he stopped, the cool breeze emphasized the hot ache he’d produced.