The Pleasure Chest Box Set

by Penny Wylder

  “How can I say no to that?”

  He fits himself against me, and I sink down onto his cock. I groan at the fullness of him. He’s so thick, and even as wet as I am, he’s stretching me. I go slowly, taking him an inch at a time. Jet doesn’t waste that time. He traces patterns on my breasts with his tongue, leaving my nipples till the last second. He bites at them lightly, and I shiver. My entire body is overloaded with sensation, and by the time his cock is all the way in me I’m gasping for breath. No one I’ve ever been with has made me feel like this. I’ve never felt this full. And just when I think I might be getting used to it, he turns on the vibrator.

  I swear loudly, and he laughs. The rhythmic pulsing has my hips squirming on his cock, the delicious fullness reinforcing the pleasure of the toy. He kisses me, and locking his hands around my hips, he starts to move. Slowly at first, just a rocking that pushes the toy harder against my clit. Even that is enough to have me shaking.

  “You feel fucking amazing,” he says, and I’m not sure how I have enough blood left in my body to blush, but I manage to. I want to say something back, something about how his cock is touching places I didn’t even know I had, but there aren’t enough words left in my brain.

  He thrusts harder, and I gasp, an orgasm flowing through me hot and hard. I wasn’t expecting another one so quickly, but the combination of the toy and his cock is undoing me. I think I say his name, I’m not sure, I’m too wrapped up in the glowing sensations shuddering through me. I can’t breathe, and I’m clinging to Jet, unable to do anything but feel. He’s fucking me now, deep and hard, every stroke making this orgasm last. There are lights behind my eyes and I can’t tell if they’re stars or city lights or even if it matters. Oh god.

  I manage to suck in a breath, and I can hear myself moaning. My voice is loud on the roof top and it’s matched by the sound Jet is making as he pushes into me. The wave of this orgasm lowers, but I can feel it rising again, hard and fast, because Jet doesn’t stop. He fucks and I feel, and I can tell he’s close when his rhythm falters. His strokes are more desperate, and I rock against him, seeking one final release. His hand wanders from mine for a moment, and the vibrations in the toy explode. His next thrust sends me over the edge, and I scream into the open air. The pleasure of this orgasm sizzles in my veins and I feel like I’m contained in a sun of pure sensation. I’m blind with it, feeling him slide home with his own orgasm. I shudder on his cock, my pussy clenching around him, reacting to his orgasm with a hundred delicious aftershocks.

  It’s the breeze on my back that brings me back to myself. The toy has been turned off, and we’re more tangled in each other than when we started. My arms are wrapped around him, and his around mine, as much skin touching as possible. His cock is still inside me, and I like the feeling of being full and connected. I relax into the moment, letting my body recover.

  After a few minutes, I pull back to look at him. “I don’t think I have any words to describe that.”

  “Neither do I.”

  I stand, stretching, feeling the open air on my skin and enjoying the alien sensation of being naked in public. There’s a rustling behind me, and I turn to find Jet getting dressed. We can’t stay naked forever. I slip into my underwear, and Jet helps me back into my dress, the contact of his fingers sending little shivers down my back. His fingers twist together with mine, and he leads me from the roof. There don’t seem to be words that either of us can say. There don’t need to be.

  The limo is waiting for us when we reach the bottom of the building, and Jet gets inside with me this time. He pulls me against him as the car starts to drive, and our bodies are never not touching, and our lips are never far away from each other. The only thing keeping it from being perfect is the nagging question in the back of my mind. Why? Why all of this? Why the toys and the mystery?

  We’re crossing the Brooklyn Bridge when I get the courage to ask again. “Can you tell me now what this is all about? Why you started this?”

  He kisses me, and I’m lost for a second, before I realize that he’s trying to misdirect me. That he wants me to forget that I asked the question. “Jet.”

  “No,” he says, “I can’t. Not yet, I’m sorry.”

  I pull away, separating our bodies for the first time. “Why?”

  “I promise I’ll tell you when I can.” His face is sincere, and I believe him. But what could possibly stop him from telling me why?

  We’re approaching my building, and in spite of myself I scoot closer to him again. Even if I’m anxious about this, I can’t end the evening without touching him again. He follows me out of the limo when it pulls up to my apartment, and as he walks me to the door he seems hesitant, even distant.

  “Do you want to come up?” I ask, secretly hoping there might be more of what we had earlier.

  “Not tonight,” he says, his smile seeming a little sad.

  “Oh,” I say, “okay. Well, are you at least coming by the store tomorrow?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t. Not for a couple days.” He leans in to kiss me, and before I know it I’m wrapped around him again, my body eager for more of whatever he wants to give me. “I’ll see you soon,” he says, pulling away suddenly.

  He gets into the limo before I can collect myself to say my own goodbye. My heart falls a little. I thought that maybe I could coax him upstairs anyway. I head up into my apartment, feeling a little lost. That was a strange ending to an amazing evening. And it was amazing. But there’s a feeling in my stomach, an anxiety about the way he left. I’m sure it’s nothing. It has to be nothing.

  8

  A couple of days pass, and I’m back to looking up every time the door to the shop opens. I’ve opened up my phone a dozen time to text Jet, but I don’t know if I should. I don’t want to seem needy. But I do want to see him again.

  On the fifth day of my moping, Joey intervenes. “Text him.”

  “What?” I ask, startled as I’m rearranging some lingerie.

  “Don’t be coy. Text him.”

  I sigh. “He said he’d be coming into the store in a couple of days.”

  Joey gives me a look. “And how many days ago was that?”

  He has a point. But… “I don’t know. I don’t want to be that girl, you know?”

  “It’s been a week. I think you’re safe to text the man.” He makes sure that I see when he rolls his eyes.

  “Fine.” I pull out my phone and open our text stream—a gesture I’ve done all too often lately—and freeze. “What do I say?”

  Joey laughs. “I have no idea. I’m not the one who had sex with him—and please,” he says, reacting to my horrified face that anyone realized that I slept with Jet on the first date, “you were over the moon the next day. I saw the man. I would have fucked him too.”

  He walks away, leaving me staring, with still no idea what to say.

  I start to type:

  Hey Jet

  Hi there

  Hi Jet,

  I know it’s been a while, but I wanted to let you know

  tell you again that I had an amazing time at dinner.

  I’d love to do it again sometime, or talk when

  you come into the store.

  Hope to see you soon.

  I press send before I can second guess myself too much. A spike of anxiety lodges in my stomach, but it’s too late now. Nothing I can do about it. All I can hope for is that he doesn’t find my text a turn off and never show his face again. All I know is that instead of looking at the door every five minutes, now I’ll be checking my phone.

  Nothing. It’s been three days and no response to my text message. I swear I’m starting to wear down the buttons on my phone clicking the home screen to see if I missed something. But no. It’s never there. I flop down on my couch with a glass of cheap wine, determined to find something mindless and numbing to watch on TV. I’m just starting to get engrossed in one of those terrible and way-too-specific home makeover shows when I hear a buzzing. I mute the
TV. No, not imagining it. I put down my wine and run over to check my phone on the counter, but it’s silent. I can still hear the buzzing.

  I follow the sound through my apartment, and into my bedroom. To my dresser. And the drawer where I keep all my toys—all being the ones that Jet gave me and the pathetic vibrator that I had before that. I open the drawer, and find the purple toy from our date—the We Vibe—buzzing heartily. It’s then that I remember that his phone is synced with the toy, so that wherever he is, he can control it.

  So wherever he is right now, despite not responding to my text, he’s manipulating the toy, hoping that I’ll put it on. Is he serious? I’m half appalled, half angry that he’s doing this when we haven’t even communicated. But then again, is this his way of telling me he’s still interested despite the lack of contact? I go back and forth about whether I should give in and put the toy on, when it goes quiet.

  Oh. Well. I guess that’s that then. Maybe the app got opened on his phone by mistake. Or maybe…maybe he’s doing what he did at dinner. It will be unexpected, a surprise. I keep telling myself that this is a stupid idea, that if he hasn’t shown up at the store or texted me after ten days that I should leave it alone, but I slip the toy on anyway. I go back to my home makeover show, but now I can’t focus. I’m hyper-aware of the toy between my legs, half hoping it will turn on, half believing it won’t. I have the day off tomorrow, so I drink more wine, I watch more episodes of the show, and eventually, I fall asleep on the couch.

  I dream that Jet is here, in my apartment. He comes in the door as if he’s been here a hundred times before, coming into the living room and kissing me before he does anything else. And then he’s doing everything else. His shirt is off and I’m feeling the amazing muscles in his chest, my hand straying lower to find his cock hard as a rock beneath his jeans. His hand slips into my pants, fingers teasing as he continues to kiss me. He pushes them deeper, stroking over my G-spot. Every move he makes there feels delicious, almost like his hand is vibrating deep inside me.

  I wake up with a gasp, the toy’s two vibrators pulsing in an echoing rhythm. It’s three a.m. according to the display on my TV. Man, he waited a long time to get started. Oh. The vibration changes up so that the one on my clit is pulsing and the one inside is low and steady. My moan is loud in the darkness of my apartment, and I’m glad no one is here to hear me. I reach down into my pants, using my hand to thrust the toy harder into me, imagining that Jet is once again inside me.

  The toy’s vibrations change once again, and I know that this is it. The vibrations rise and fall together in cresting waves, and with each peak I feel myself get a little closer. I hold myself still, letting the toy do its work, trying to imagine what Jet is thinking as he instructs it what to do. Is he remembering what happened on the roof? Is he thinking about me coming and touching himself? I think about him being in this room, sitting across from me, stroking himself as he watches me come undone from the toy he put inside me. I think about what it would be like to watch him come as he watches me, and my arousal spikes. The vibration crests, and I’m almost there. I close my eyes, hovering in the wave of pleasure right before the storm.

  Then the next wave hits, and I go over. My back arches off the couch as the pleasure races through me, swift as lightning. My muscles shake from the pressure of the release, and I reach down to turn the toy off manually. As the glow of the orgasm fades, a delightful relaxation spreads through my body, and I feel more relaxed than I have in days. I barely make it to my bed before I’m falling asleep again.

  9

  Another week passes, and even though I sent him a cute text thanking him for the amazing orgasm with the vibrator, I’ve still heard nothing from him. Joey and Ella are both pissed on my behalf. But I’m not mad, I just feel…sad and disappointed. Maybe I was too eager? Maybe I was taken advantage of by someone who just wanted to have sex. Maybe the sex on the roof wasn’t as good for him as it was for me. There are lots of things that could have gone wrong, and frankly, none of them are worth worrying about at this point. He’s gone. I need to file away that date as an amazing memory, and move on. It doesn’t matter that my texts—and eventually calls—have gone unanswered. It’s over. I told him that in the last text message I sent him—that if this is the way he’s going to be I didn’t want to hear from him again.

  But thinking I need to move on is never as simple as actually moving on. I still catch myself thinking about his hands, his eyes, his mouth, checking my phone to see if he decided to text me today. Part of me thinks it’s pretty sad that my mind still hopes it will be him that walks through the door—after all, we didn’t know each other that long. But another, greater part of me thinks that it could have been something special, and the fact that it’s gone makes me immeasurably sad.

  It doesn’t matter though. I was fine before him, and I’ll be fine after him. I still enjoy my job, and I’ve taken up new research project—how to make a Victorian ball gown accurately. After all, Halloween is only three months away. If I start now I’ll have an amazing costume, if I ever get that far. There are so many facets of Victorian dress, I may never settle on a design. But that’s okay. The research is the part I really love. Plus, all the details keep me from digging through the internet for any sign of Jet—or Jethro—Kincaid. There isn’t any social media, and the listings that are there simply list him as ‘CEO,’ without any company name attached. It’s a mystery that has the potential to drive me crazy, which is why I’m busy examining the potential meanings of Victorian wrist buttons.

  Time passes, and I convince myself that I’ve forgotten all about him. Even when I use the toys that he gave me—the Womanizer is still amazing—I manage not to think about our night together. Joey jokes about setting me up on a date who will show up for a second one, and then Ella jumps on board. At first, I don’t want to. It feels too fast, like I’m not ready. But I knew Jet for less than a week, and if I protest too much my friends are going to think I’m crazy. Besides, maybe the guy they set me up with will be great. Maybe he’ll finally get my mind off of Jet and on to more important things. But I’m not going on a totally blind date, that’s where I draw the line. So, Ella agrees to have him come into the store to meet me first. If I approve, then she’ll set us up.

  “Are you nervous?” Ella asks on the day the guy is supposed to come in.

  “Not really,” I lie.

  I am nervous. I spent way more time than I usually do on my make-up this morning. I want this to be good. I want it to work out. I want to be blown away, and be happy.

  Ella gives me a look. “That was really convincing.”

  “Okay, fine. I’m nervous. But I don’t see how it matters. I’m meeting him either way.”

  “Darren is so sweet,” she says. “I know you’ll like him.”

  I muster up the best smile I can. “I’m sure I will.”

  I choose to spend most of my time in the stock room today. It’s needed organizing for weeks, and I see no better time to do it than when I don’t want to meet a potential blind date. The systematic ordering and cleaning helps alleviate some of my nerves. In the front of the store, I hear Ella enthusiastically greet someone, and I know it has to be him. I know Ella, and that’s not the way she greets normal customers. How close is she to this Darren? Am I going to offend her if I say no? Or what happens between us if we go out and I don’t actually like him? My nervousness is back in full force, and suddenly I hear Ella’s voice, “Kara?”

  I brush the dust from my hands and make my way to the front, peeking my head out from behind the door to the stockroom. “Yeah?”

  “Come meet Darren.” She waves me over. “Darren, this is Kara.”

  He reaches out a hand, and as I shake it, I take him in. He’s a couple inches taller than I am, with light hair. A cute face with a good jawline, and he’s in shape. He’s a good looking guy. Though in my mind, when comparing him to a person who will-not-enter-my-mind-at-this-moment, it’s just not the same. “It’s nice to meet you,”
I say.

  “You too.” He smiles. “Ella hasn’t shut up about you.”

  I blush, while giving Ella glare out of the corner of my eye.

  “What?” Ella says. “I can’t help it. I like making sure my friends are happy.” She winks at me. “For example, Darren, Kara is working on an amazing Halloween costume. A Victorian ballgown.”

  “Really?” he asks. “That’s fantastic. I’m an actor, and I work behind the scenes a lot. So if you need accessories or someone to dress up with you, let me know.”

  I laugh. “I will. It’s still in the really early stages though.”

  “You’ve got time.”

  Someone else comes into the store and Ella glances over. “You two chat for a minute,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”

  The two of us are silent for a moment, sharing that awkward smile you share when you both know something but neither of you are admitting it.

  “So…” Darren says, “how’s your day so far?”

  “Pretty boring,” I say, laughing a little. “Reorganizing the stockroom.”

  He gestures around the store. “I imagine it’s entertaining at least.”

  “Oh, it is. Before I worked here I had no idea just how many kinds of lube there are.”

  “How many?”

  I keep my face utterly straight. “About three million.”

  “Really?” He looks shocked.

  “No,” I say, “but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  He smiles, and I do have to admit that it is a nice smile. “You had me for a second there.”

  “I know.” I give him the awkward smile again. “So does Ella already have our first date planned?”

  It’s his turn to laugh. “I think she has some ideas, but I’m open to suggestions.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  Ella sweeps back to us, and her appearance is like a breath of fresh air. “How you guys doing?”