Chapter 5 Cal
Cal
The girl comes in a fucking box?
Like she's spare computer parts or a grocery order. I don't know what I expected— for it to be like when I ordered girls by the hour, maybe? For her to be escorted by someone? For someone to grab me off the street and throw me in the back of a van and take me to a secret warehouse to collect her?
I sure as hell didn't expect to get a message that said my package was out for delivery or to open my door a few minutes later to the shipping crate on the doorstep that said 'live animal'.
My heart beat like crazy as I looked around to see if anyone had stuck around to take notice, but the hall outside my door was empty, so I went around the side and pushed the box inside.
I've been staring at it for the last twenty minutes, wondering how to go about this. Will she jump out, ready to run? Will she know that it's better to just obey? Will she still be alive? I can't imagine it's easy to breathe inside this thing.
I've thought about how I was going to do this for the last week. I prepared the space, got all my tools and toys set up, and played it through a dozen different ways, each time ending in my release. You'd think, then, that the fantasy would be enough. It was, for a long time.
I've tried to resist my urges for as long as I can remember, but they began to control me at some point. I held off as long as I could.
I grab the key that was mailed to me the day after I completed my purchase and fit it into the padlock attached to the outside of the box. It fits perfectly, clicking free so I can slide it off and set it on the ground.
When I lift the top off the box, I jump, nearly pissing myself as the movement catches me off guard. There's a layer of cardboard covered in straw that's been swept all around the inside of the box by the snake lying atop it, raising its head to hiss at me.
The live animal, it turns out, wasn't the girl inside.
It's the fucking snakes that slither out as I step back, looking for something to pick it up with.
I assume they aren't venomous, but I have no desire to find out as I lay dying.
I can't tell, at first, how many of them there are.
They're all tangled up, slithering to their freedom.
The one that begins edging out of the box is a pretty thing, black and shiny with a powerful-looking body and a flat head.
I remember learning somewhere that venomous snakes have a flared hood, so I decide to go for it. I grip it by the tail as it tries to escape, keeping it at arm's length as it coils in on itself, trying to strike.
I take it to the bathroom, dropping it in the shower and shutting the door. I'll have to order a terrarium for the damn things, but I can't just throw them over the side of the balcony.
It's not their fault they got sent to me.
Besides, it will be good to have an alibi of sorts... just in case.
I presume the reason they ship like this is so that if anyone opens the crate, they'll be compelled to shut it immediately.
Of course, the box is too deep for it to only be filled with three snakes, but I assume anyone who'd open that crate looking for anything valuable only to find snakes wouldn't be compelled to move them to see what's underneath.
I am, though, clearing the other snakes in the same way, tossing them into my shower.
And then I return to the living room to open the gift I bought myself, lifting the cardboard out of the box, feeling like a kid at Christmas.
She's perfect.
The figure is curled into a fetal position that looks like it would have been uncomfortable... if she were conscious.
Of course, she isn't. I even wonder for a minute if she's alive, unable to see any rise or fall of her chest, her pale tits not bobbing gently with her breath.
Her dark hair covers her face, but when I swipe it out of the way, I see she's exactly what I ordered…
with the obvious exception of her being drugged and pale, like her skin hasn't seen the sun for a few weeks.
She's dirty, though, covered in nothing but dirt and dried blood and bruises in various stages of healing.
Anger twists my stomach at the sight of them, and I consider what recourse I have to dispute my satisfaction. Likely none, given the less-than-legal nature of buying other humans. But this isn't what I paid for... it's like ordering a mirror and having it shipped broken.
Sure, I can still use her, but that's not the point.
I lift her into my arms, and she falls easily across them, so perfectly pliable.
She's too dirty to lay her on my bed, and I'm too impatient to carry her to the dungeon yet.
My cock has been leaking for days with thoughts of this beautiful body. I can't wait another minute.
I lay her atop the dining table, sending my place settings to the ground with a sweep of my arm.
The table is marble, cold and unyielding, but it's not like she's awake to feel the pain anyway.
Besides, after being cooped up in that box for however long she was in there, I imagine that being laid out flat would be a nice change.
There's no way of knowing how long she'll be out, given that I don't know what they used on her or when, and while I don't expect she'll wake, it's better to be safe than sorry.
I lay her across the table, watching her head roll so that her cheek presses against the marble as I head to the cabinet for duct tape.
I pull a knife at random from the block, taking a moment to appreciate the shiny point, before heading back to her.
I strip my clothes off quickly, letting my dick spring free, eager to meet its new toy.
I've been hard since thirty minutes after I got the 'out for delivery' notice, when I popped a pill so that I could be sure to make the night last. After all that I paid for her, I'm not going to let myself nut within thirty seconds of slipping inside.
With her laid out before me, she's at the perfect height.
My cock prods her when I lean over to grip her chin, angling her face so that I can capture her mouth.
Her lips feel every bit as good as I knew they would, soft and flexible beneath me as I explore her with little kisses and then deeper ones.
Eventually, I let my tongue slide past her teeth, moving my grip to beneath her jaw so that I can open her to me more.
I expect she hasn't had a chance to brush her teeth recently, but nothing about this moment could repulse me. I coax her tongue with mine, swirling it against mine so that I can taste her.
It's erotic, the need swelling so that I feel myself losing control.
I don't mean to bite her lip, but I do it before I can even think about it, and I'm rewarded with the smallest sound from the back of her throat as blood rises to the spot.
I lick it clean slowly, with controlled strokes of my tongue, and when I run my tongue over it without any new blood welling there, my attention wanes.
I focus on her breasts instead, cupping them in the palms of my hands, testing their weight, the feel.
I didn't have any doubts about them being real, given they're just a good handful, but the softness assures me I was right in that assumption.
I groan, massaging her breasts in my hands, kneading and squeezing and feeling, to my surprise, when her nipples pull taut under my touch.
It's a pleasant surprise, mouthwatering.
“You like having your tits teased?” I chuckle, lowering my mouth to press kisses against them as I push them together and let them fall apart, enjoying the feel of using her body as my own stress ball.
When I swipe my tongue over her nipple, I feel her body react a little, easing under the gentle licks as I swirl my tongue around her mouth, coaxing it into a point while my fingers roll and pinch the other one in the same way.
I swear she pushes her tits into me, silently begging me to take more, so I do.
I take one of her pink nipples into my mouth, sucking it like a hard candy.
“You dirty girl.” I chuckle around her, not releasing my grip as I begin to suck harder. It draws more from her, making her arch toward me.
Apparently, self-preservation makes her move toward me so I don't tear her nipple off in my lust. I turn to the other one, giving it the same treatment.
And a dirty girl she is.
It's clear that she's not a pure and innocent little angel. If she was before she ended up being sold, she wasn't by the time she got to me. The mess between her thighs is proof enough of that— dried blood, cuts from fingernails, and what I'm pretty sure is crusted-on cum.
Their website said that they vet everyone for diseases and pregnancy before shipping, but I'm not going to leave my health in the hands of a bunch of fucking predators, so I reluctantly begin to roll on a condom.
Except, as I'm working it over my tip, I remember that I already got carried away and licked the blood off of her lips.
If she's got any bloodborne disease, I'm already infected, and she doesn't have signs of anything wrong down below anyway.
Besides, dead girls can’t get pregnant, so I don't have to worry about that.
She may still be alive for now, but I won't be keeping her this way for long. By the time any sort of implantation could occur, she'll be in pieces in my shower. I wonder idly if the snakes will eat her if I cut her up small enough.