The Box-Pt 1

Dear Avid Reader…

I hope you are all well and happy these days. Well here’s another little story I just wrote, a two parter and I’ll post the second part in a couple of days. This was a difficult one to write, not sure exactly why, just struggled a lot with it and it only bears a passing similarity to what I originally invisioned. You may recognise the inspiration for it but I’ll let you work out that for yourself, it was actually John Wyndham’s take on the tale that put the idea in my head but I’m quite sure he wouldn’t have written it like this…ever!

As ever I hope you enjoy…



It had been a weird week.

It had started with the letter from the solicitors. Of course not the solicitors he had been using for years but some anonymous company from the capital. He hadn’t been their first point of contact as was made plain in the very official letter but he knew that they wouldn’t have got much sense from his mother. It had been well over five years since anyone got any sense out of his mother. Almost a year to the day after his father had died of an aneurism his mother’s dementia had finally taken full hold of her mental capabilities and the home help was no longer enough and he’d had her taken into the ‘home’.

His wife had made pains to call it a ‘care-facility’ but it was a home. A very good quality and expensive home which was always trying to at least arrest or slow the progress of the dementia that couldn’t be cured but it was still a home. There was never any way they could have taken care of her themselves and she did (rarely it had to be said) scare the kids but there was still many a night when he lay awake listening to Andrea lying beside him, the soft rhythmic melody of her breathing the only sound in the room, when he stared up at the dim ceiling and felt the sting of a guilty tear run down his cheek.

He’d had to sit down when he got to the second paragraph in the solicitor’s letter that told him his Grandfather had died just twelve days previously.

It wasn’t the shock of his Grandfather’s death that had taken the very air from his lungs but the shock of his Grandfather’s life.

He’d had a Grandfather!

Of course he’d known he’d had a grandfather but he’d been told that he had died before he was born. Even before he proceeded to the rest of the letter he’d grabbed the dropped envelope up from the floor and treble checked that it had been addressed to him. When he was satisfied that he was the ‘John Keller’, son of Harold and Charlotte (nee Brunswick) Keller that the letter referred to he finished reading it. It seemed he was the sole heir to a sizable inheritance (even after tax) and that he should contact them as soon as possible.


A visit to the capital and the very officious solicitors had been arranged where he found out that sizable meant almost a half million pounds not including the single property that his ‘Grandfather’ had died in.


The ‘property’ was in a very swanky set of flats overlooking the river. He met the Building Manager (he was sure they just used to be called Caretakers) that afternoon and was shown up to the flat, just one floor below the penthouse. The manager had been ‘uncomfortable’ but he guessed he didn’t often have to show the ‘bereaved’ the scene of a family member’s death.

Where the entire entire block had appeared ‘Posh’ he was surprised to feel like he stepped into a time-capsule when he entered his Grandfather’s residence. It could have easily have been ‘digs’ from a Victorian terrace just after the second world war. He already knew that the building was only twenty years old and yet he could easily have imagined the remnants of ‘black-out’ tape still smearing the window panes as if it was just after the war.

“He died just there…” pointed the manager to a well worn seat beside the window. “There’d been an anonymous call to the police and when they arrived I let them in with my Master Key.”

John looked at the fat balding man and wandered over towards the chair still feeling, as he had all week, very surreal. “Here?” he asked.

The man nodded, “Yes… with his hand on the window ledge… and a smile… he looked very happy…”

He studied the man’s face till he turned away and found something non-interactive that was of interest. “Thank you… I’ll let you know when I’m leaving…” The man didn’t wait further and almost dashed from the room before John had finished the sentence.

“Odd fucker…” John murmured to himself. He wondered about the ‘smile’, the coroner’s report had shown that he had died of a massive coronary and although ‘Cardiac’ wasn’t his chosen field in medicine he knew that generally it wasn’t a pleasant way to die. “An anonymous phone call…” he pondered although he knew the final outcome of the Inquest had stated that he had died of natural causes.


He spent the rest of the afternoon going through the flat finding very little of anything to describe his Grandfather’s personality except that he was very old. The solicitor’s had told him that he had just celebrated his ninety-third birthday. John doubted if Walter Keller had celebrated much of anything in the past twenty years. He called his wife as he locked up the flat and told her that he’d spend the night in the capital and head back late the next afternoon.

He could have stayed at the flat but it was the home of a stranger and it wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford to stay in a hotel now. He stayed in a very comfortable hotel on the edge of the theatre district and had a very pleasant meal in the class of restaurant that he would have normally avoided because of the price-tag.

Sleep evaded him for a long time that night and when it did eventually come it was racked with disturbing dreams. He awoke the next morning feeling more tired than he had when he had slipped between the soft clean covers of the bed. His dreams, or possibly nightmares, evaporated in dawn’s early light and all he was left with was the hint of a melody long forgotten and not fully remembered bouncing around his head.


He visited his mother first thing the next morning just outside the capital. She was bright and cheerful and had no idea who he was. He asked her about her father-in-law.  “My father-in-law… is that what you say young man? He was dead years before I married Harry. Didn’t even come to the wedding… She never talked about him…”

It took at least two hours of cajoling and humouring before John was happy that his mother’s first answer was probably the truth at least to the best of her confused recollection. It seems his father had not known his own father or had never, ever, talked about him. John sensed that it was the first that had been true. As was the case with every time he saw his mother these days he departed with a deep sense of melancholy although this time it was tempered with a curiosity about why his Grandfather had seemingly become a social pariah to his own family.


The flat smelt even mustier than it had the day before and the first thing John did was to throw the curtains wide and open the windows. He spent a couple of hours boxing up old clothes and the accumulated paraphernalia that comes with a long life but still had failed to get any sense of what his Grandfather had been like.

It was getting on for mid-afternoon and after a trip down to ground level to a local Deli he sat down in the chair his Grandfather had died in. It didn’t bother him in the slightest that this was where a life had finally extinguished. He was after all an Oncology specialist and dealt with the dead and the dying and the despairing all through the week. He had deliberately ‘calloused’ the skin of his feelings at work, it was the only way to survive, and it was a rarity that anything got through. What had been harder to do after the first few years in the field was to be able to open up to his own family and be able to show his emotions. He wondered if he was cast from the same mould as his unknown Grandfather as he looked about the flat.

The chair though worn and frayed was remarkably comfortable and the view out of the window was quite something. It looked across the city with a long slow bend in the river in the foreground and the financial districts in the distance. There were at least five or six world famous landmarks easily discernable in the panoramic vista. He reached down to pick up the paper bag from the Deli sat beside the chair and his fingers brushed against something just out of sight. He reached further beneath the chair and pulled out an old shoebox.

It was an incredibly old cardboard box and the lid sat awkwardly on top of it where the corners had seperated long ago and it wasn’t much more than a flat tatty piece of card. The price was still visible on the top. It was in shillings and pennies! He was sure that decimalization had occurred just before or just after he was born but figured the box pre-dated that by a number of years. Carefully he placed the box on his lap and lifted the lid clear.

Inside it was full of old letters. As if he was cutting into a seriously ill patient he lifted out the first one. He could just make out the Postmark stamped across a stamp bearing the profile of a King. It looked like it was just after the Second World War. He almost wished he had those gloves that you saw ‘boffins’ using in musty libraries in movies and on television as he carefully opened the envelope and slipped the wafer thin paper from its cocoon.

Dear Wally,’ it began and that was as far as the formality went. He almost dropped the letter as the author, obviously female, went into graphic detail about what she would like to do to his Grandfather.

“Fuck me! Or rather you Grandpa!” muttered John to the pornographic missal in his hands. Obviously his Grandmother wasn’t the shy retiring type in his youth as he felt his own loins stirring with the detail she was using. There was absolutely no hint of the social traditions of the time and she simply came across as a ‘Porn Star’ or if he was honest a ‘Whore’ although she obviously wasn’t looking for payment she was simply wanting Wally’s cock. “My Grandma, the nymphomaniac!” he chuckled.

He had only read the first couple of paragraphs and slipped the paper back into the envelope and was about to place it back into the box with the rest of the Love-Letters when he noticed the second envelope sitting inside with a patina of dust at the top edge. He stared at it and knew that the handwriting scrawled across the front of an address somewhere in the east of the city wasn’t the same as that in the letter he had just glimpsed. Tentatively he reached into the box and tipped the second letter forwards with his fingertip revealing the one behind and then the next and the next.

As far as he could tell no two of the letters had been written by the same hand. He was all of a sudden feeling very hot as he reached and pulled a random one from the middle. Once again it was almost pornography although this authoress did seem to have a more literary bent. She had also provided a photograph. It was sepia and faded almost to grey in the middle and the edges were slightly blackened where the silver nitrate in the photograph had oxidized. The woman and John assumed the author of the letter was the one knelt on a bed with her knees spread wide and at least, though it was hard to tell with the quality of the photo, three fingers buried in her crotch. “Fuck m* Wa*ly… I’m your slut, S*ra” was scrawled across the bottom, some of the letters having faded completely.

John picked out four more letters out of at least thirty or forty and all were from different women and all were proclaiming their ‘Lust’ not even their love, for him.

The last one he picked out was from a woman of possible high social standing judging by the broken wax seal on the envelope. He couldn’t believe his eyes as this woman, Annabelle, was offering her own daughter, Miranda, to my Grandfather. John read this entire letter and where the woman, Isabella, had made the offer initially if ‘Walter’ would consent to fuck her again as well she became more desperate the further it went on. John was finding it harder to believe and wondered if these were all just fakes his solitary ancestor had written himself. The daughter it seemed was only seventeen and hadn’t yet made her appearance as a debutante within those higher social circles of the time. She was also it seemed still a virgin and yet the mother was giving her away, was promising that she and her daughter would do absolutely anything for ‘Walter’ even as far as ‘cleaning’ up after he had taken her daughter’s maidenhood!

John sat in the chair stunned by the discovery he had just made. He looked down at his crotch, his hard-on obvious beneath his trousers and wondered what his Grandfather had that all these women wanted. He knew he wasn’t particularly blessed in the genitalia department at pretty much average size so if it was Wally’s cock he hadn’t passed down that particular gene code.

He wondered if Andrea, sitting at home would find the letters disgusting or erotic.

He placed the letters carefully back in the shoebox and placed the cover on top finally lifting his cold coffee from the floor and looking out of the window as the shadows began to lengthen from the sun dropping behind the building.

He probably sat there for an hour his mind reeling at all he had learned in the last week and all he had read during the afternoon. His thigh gave a twitch and he stood up quickly feeling the muscle stiffen with the onset of a ‘dead-leg’. He massaged the muscle firmly and the sensation began to dissipate. Stretching he rested his hand on the window shelf and looked down at the street below. The pavement was starting to get busy as people were heading home from work, even though it was seven stories below he could make out a tall brunette striding along the cracked paving in a smart business suit atop a pencil skirt that stopped just above her knees.

He could almost hear the click-clack of her heels, could imagine the whisper of nylon against nylon as the insides of her thighs brushed back and forth. For a moment he ‘felt’ her breath being pulled into her lungs through her small upturned nose, her breasts rise on her chest, her nipples harden beneath her blouse, pressing through the black lace bra beneath. A sensation of dizziness assaulted his mind as he felt his own nails scratch against the stitching running down the left side of her skirt and for just a moment he felt his/her pussy warm and moisten.

She stopped still in her tracks and looked up at the block of flats beside her and stared straight into the unseen eyes looking down at her. She didn’t feel spied upon, abused, violated or any of the normal responses ingrained into her since childhood. She just felt want. She turned about and began to head for the covered entrance to the building without conscious decision.

He pulled himself back from the window, banging the back of his knee against the arm of the chair and almost fell to the carpeted floor. “What the fuck?” he whispered. He looked at his right hand, the one that had been resting on the window shelf. He stared at the Life line and Heart line that looked all too familiar. And yet the two for a brief second seemed to be entwined as if that was how they had always been. Pins and needles spread from his palm and lashed up his arm and almost as soon as they had appeared they had gone.

She stood looking at the covered entrance to the building wondering why she had been about to enter it. “What the fuck?” she whispered to herself and turned away, a little bewildered, heading for the local tube station. “Since when did you start using profanities Laura?” she questioned herself. ‘And when did you’re pussy get so wet?’ she thought silently.

He stared at the window shelf. The innocent looking piece of white painted wood, a couple of chips broken about the edge but pretty much a non-descript feature common to millions of homes all over the world. Of course it had been where his recently appeared and deceased Grandfather’s hand had been resting when he died! Not clutched to his chest like most average sufferers of fatal cardiac events. No resting on the window sill with a smile on his face.

John shook his head and stepped towards the window without any hesitation and as if he had been doing it for twenty years simply lifted the wood away from the window revealing the void beneath it and the object within.

He lifted the oblong object out of the cavity carved beneath the sill swathed in bubble-wrap. Even through the optical distortion of the tiny hemispheres he could tell it was a very old wooden box. Her carried it over to the small occasional table and gently un-wrapped it. As he laid bare the top he could a myriad of signs and emblems carved into the dark wood, the grain of the wood seemed to flow and twist with the strange symbols as if the wood had grown that way instead of some ancient carpenter carving them into it with a metal tool. His fingers tingled as they traced the patterns, an echo of the sensation he had felt when his hand had been placed above it on the window ledge. His eyes were constantly drawn across the maze of markings always dragging them back to the lightly worn point at the centre of the front edge.

A dimple in the corner edge just the same size as that of an adult’s thumb. There seemed to be no catch holding it closed and he realised he hadn’t breathed since he had exposed the wood to the dimming evening light. If the box was as fascinating as it was, what did the contents hold in store for him? He inhaled deeply and placed his right thumb in the dimple.

 Any trembles that had been causing his hand to shake immediately ceased as he lifted the lid. He had expected it to creak and resist opening but although the hinge on the opposite side was apparently crusted with threads of rust it lifted up easily exposing a lush red velvet interior. The smallest hint of dust had crept in from outside marking the perimeter of the cushioning within. The centre was completely clean as if it had been hermetically sealed like the modern surgery tools he used. A strong aroma wafted up to his nose. The sweet smells of damp grass and flowers, the slightly acidic whiff of rotting leaves filled his nostrils as the hair on the back of his neck stood out straight. He inhaled it deeply and immediately imagined himself standing in a sunlit glade deep in the centre of an impossibly huge forest. In the centre of the glade poking up through the rough grass was a single block of white stone about three foot square and rising two feet above the ground. No light permeated through the trees and no animals moved within the clearing but he sensed/knew that beneath the shadows of the tall trees they waited. Waited for the unwary traveller!

He pulled himself back to the present, thinking it strange, not that he had imagined the glade but that he had sensed that the scene had been years if not centuries earlier. Possibly even a millennia before the present day?  

There, lying in the centre of the box was a length of wood; maybe eight inches in length and a half inch in diameter narrowing at either end. He grinned at the object for a moment imagining it was a wand and then laughing quietly as he felt the idea wasn’t that insane. There were holes dotted along the side and one in either end. It was a flute or a whistle of some sort.

He looked up and saw that the afternoon had disappeared and evening was rapidly changing to night. He remembered the woman down on the street and how she had lost minutes and found herself staring at the entrance below. He knew there was no way he could know what and how she felt. But he did. He closed the lid on the box and wrapped it back up in the bubble-wrap before placing it carefully into his over-night bag along with the box of letters.

He looked around the flat detached from the world feeling as if part of him would forever be trapped within the glimpsed glade from faraway and long ago. He shook his head and picked up the keys from the table and turned out the lights sure that he would never return. Stepping out into the brightly painted corridor drew him back to reality with a bump.

“Oh sorry” he said to the victim of his preoccupation.

“My fault entirely, I should have been looking where I was going” answered a well dressed woman in her late forties.

John’s hand gripped the handle of the overnight bag tighter as instinctively he looked her up and down. She was a good foot shorter than his 6’2” and well rounded, almost fat. His eyes remained a fraction too long on her very large breasts stretching what looked like a cashmere sweater. As he dragged his eyes up to meet her dark brown ones he saw that she didn’t mind where he had been gazing and somehow knew that she hadn’t bumped into him accidentally.

“You must be Walter’s son?” she asked offering a small chubby hand.

“His grandson, actually, John Keller” he answered.

“Really? Grandson, I didn’t mean to suggest that you were old, just I didn’t think Walter was that old!” she shook his hand softly, her fat fingers seeming to caress his as they spoke.

“Did you know Walter?” John asked extricating his hand from hers.

“A little, I’m Maria from across the hall… I only got to know him recently, he seemed very…” she pondered her last word, “sweet!”

He watched this woman now past middle age, who may once have been fairly attractive but now had let things go, lean against the wall and start curling a ringlet of brown hair around her forefinger and slowly run her tongue along her bright red lips. For a few moments he was lost for words as he recognised the signs of a teenager attempting a sultry ‘come-on’. “Well… it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Maria.”

“Not got time for a coffee or something, John?” she asked in what she probably thought was a ‘girly’ voice.

“Ahh… no, I’ve got a train to catch…” he moved around her pulling the door of the flat closed and backed away towards the lift at the end of the hall.

“Well, if you must… you’d better give me your address” she almost demanded before adding, “so I can forward you Walter’s mail!”

“Oh… that’s okay, the caretaker’ll… take care of that!” he stammered.

“It’d be no trouble, no trouble at all, John” she said actually winking at him.

John thanked the Gods above that the lift arrived quickly and that the doors shut swiftly as he pressed the button for the ground floor. The image of Maria disappeared from view as she began bunching up her long skirt in her little pudgy hand.


John was glad when he finally arrived home just before nine that night. He’d become increasingly paranoid on the train as he imagined he was getting odd stares from the other passengers, mainly the female ones of all ages and even a couple of ones from two or three men.

The door opened as he inserted his key into the lock to be hugged warmly by a very welcome Andrea. He kissed his wife tenderly as he felt her arms wrap around the small of his back and push the weirdness and paranoia of the last few hours away into the dark outside. The two boys were already in bed but he knew that the eldest would still be awake and went up to see him and tuck him deeper beneath his ‘Football’ quilt.

The younger one was sprawled across his own bed having kicked his ‘Doctor Who’ quilt completely off the bed. He smiled happily as he looked down at the small figure and lifted the figure of Mark Smith back on top of him knowing that when he and Andrea went to bed they would have to replace it again. He dropped his overnight bag into the bottom of the walk-in cupboard in their bedroom having emptied his dirty clothes into the adjacent hamper. His Grandfather’s possessions remained within and when the door ‘snicked’ shut seemed to lose their unusual atmosphere.

When he came back downstairs Andrea was sitting in the lounge, a small red furry blanket wrapped around her feet and a glass of red wine beside his favoured seat. They chatted about his day, the paperback novel in his wife’s hand ignored as he told her about his Grandfather’s flat. He didn’t worry that he left out all the strange feelings he had experienced as well as the shocking letters and mysterious box he had discovered.

The more time passed the less real the events from the afternoon had seemed till he was rationalising that he might be going down with the flu or something. The two of them headed up to bed just before eleven, John following her up the stairs admiring the ass he had loved for so long. Andrea seemed to be putting a little more wiggle into her step as she ascended.

After brushing their teeth and attending to the other necessities of life they slipped between the covers of their bed and Andrea folded herself into her husband’s embrace. He lay there looking up at the ceiling comforted by the warmth of her body against his. He let his head roll to the side away from his wife and glanced at the cupboard and the unusual items inside. As he rolled his head back he felt his wife’s lips brush across his shoulder and the nails of her right hand thread their way through the small hairs coating his abdomen. He pulled her tighter and her hand seemed to hesitate before changing direction and moving down his stomach. His flaccid cock twitched in responsive hope.

Turning his head further towards his wife her mouth moved rapidly along his shoulder to nuzzle into his neck and her hand slid over his boxer’s to trace the growing outline of his manhood. “Missed me?” he whispered.

“Mmmhmm” she murmured into his neck followed by a further moan as she felt his hand gather up her nightdress exposing her ass beneath the bedclothes as she felt his other hand cup and gently squeeze her right bosom. She squeezed and pulled on her husband’s cock harder drawing the blood into it like a magnet feeling it swell and stiffen rapidly. Her lips moved up to his ear, “Maybe I just missed your cock” she breathed.

John dropped his hand away from Andrea’s breast and to her hip pulling her on top of him and almost ripping her nightdress as he pulled it over her head. As the soft material fluttered to the floor Andrea knelt astride his thighs completely naked and looked down at him in the dim light filtering through the curtains from the street lights outside. She reached down and massaged his fully erect cock through his boxers as her other hand rested on the top of her thigh, the fingernails lightly scratching the inside of her thigh an inch below her crotch.

John grinned broadly and interlaced his fingers behind his head and stretched his back up off the bed in an arc before relaxing back down. The head of his cock peeked out from the waist band of his boxers, a small drop of clear viscous fluid sparkling in the dim light. “Tell me Andi’, what did you miss about my cock?”

She grinned back at her husband, “Oh… the feel of it inside me… you should have been here this afternoon” She pulled his boxers down letting his erection spring free, her tongue appeared between her lips as she dragged a fingernail up the underside tracing the pulsing vein as it meandered up his length, “I was so… horny… I had to… indulge myself…almost forgot to pick up the kids I got so carried away…”

John tightened the muscles at the base of his cock and watched it flex against his wife’s finger, “So tell me what did you do without my cock?” he shivered as Andrea’s nail slid slowly around his rolled back foreskin and then crested the top of his glans, the point of her nail teasing the eye. They both watched as a heavy drop of clear pre-cum oozed out and around the pink painted nail. He groaned from deep down as his wife scooped up the single drop and lifted it front of her face. Taste it he thought to himself. Her eyes locked with his and she placed her fingertip onto her curled tongue and sucked the droplet into her mouth. Her lips turned up in a grin around her finger. Tell me you want more… you want to suck my cock his thoughts continued.

She slipped the finger from her mouth, “You ought to buy me another vibe, John… the one I got just didn’t seem… enough today…” she shuffled backwards, lifting her left leg to place it between her husband’s. John lifted his leg and felt his wife’s soaking pussy drag backwards along the top of his thigh leaving a sticky warm trail behind it. He watched as his wife blushed, “I had to… visit the fridge…” she dropped her eyes to his cock and wrapped her slim fingers around it slowly pumping it up and down as she settled her spread lips onto his knee.

He flexed his leg feeling his knee press into his wife’s pussy; her lips spread wide and the hard little nub of her clitoris moving slowly back and forth. “So what did you use?” he breathed.

Andrea groaned and slowly began to bend forwards lowering her head towards his erection, “A courgette…” she whispered just before her lips slipped over his glans pushing his foreskin down. John flinched as he felt the tip of her tongue press into the eye of his cock.

“Oh fuck…” he moaned as he felt her lips descend further and seal around his girth, she sucked hard on him and her juices began to pour out of her hot pussy onto his knee and down his thigh and shin. He lifted his ass clear off the bed and his wife willingly took more of his length into her mouth as his hands dropped from behind his head and he threaded his fingers through her hair. She growled around his cock, her tongue sliding beneath it as he tilted his head and stared at the cupboard with his overnight bag inside. Andrea’s hand slipped off the base of his cock and cupped his balls as she took his entire length into her mouth, her nose pressing into his wiry pubic hair. “Ohh…Jesus Christ!” he called out.

Whatever was going on he wasn’t complaining. Andrea had never deep-throated him before, had never been that keen on giving him ‘blow-jobs’ but she was now sucking as hard on his full length as a Porn Star. He bucked his hips and it only seemed to spur her on as her head began to bob up and down. She was grinding her pussy harder and faster against his knee, her other hand had slipped beneath it and urged him to raise it. It almost felt as if she wanted to get his knee inside her trembling pussy. “Oh…ohhh… god I’m cumming…Andi… I’m cumming!” he grunted.

He threw his head back into the pillow as she massaged his balls and they emptied into the back of her throat. Still her mouth remained wrapped around his twitching cock as she sucked down his seed. As the last jet of cum erupted powerfully from his glans he would swear that he smelt the imaginary glade from earlier that afternoon. He came back to the real world almost instantly as Andrea’s pussy clenched violently on his knee and a torrent of juices spurted out dripping down off his leg onto the bed.

As his breathing and heart rate slowed he expected his wife to lift her mouth clear but her hand still massaged his trembling sac, a nail dropping below it to scratch across his taint and the suction from her mouth seemed to increase. She lifted her mouth of for a moment to say “The fucking courgette wasn’t enough… I had to stuff half a cucumber into my cunt!” John was shocked as much as to what she had just admitted as to her use of the ‘bad’ word. She was also determined that his cock wasn’t going to soften and almost by the force of her sucking she kept the blood within his member.

After at least five minutes she pulled her mouth off him, looking down proudly at her work before looking up at him and grinning. Her hand moved across sharply and smacked the side of his cock causing it to bounce from side to side. John gave a small yelp as Andrea calmly stated “Now it’s my turn!” and slipped up his thigh and dropping her soaking pussy straight down onto his erection. There was almost no friction or resistance as it slipped easily inside her soaking quim. He watched in joy and a touch of bewilderment as his wife ‘fucked him’. She twisted and turned and ground down onto him, her pussy trembling and squeezing and twitching about him almost continually. He watched as she grasped her own breasts, stretching her nipples as she bounced up and down.

Breathing heavily she slipped off his cock and grasped it with her hand urging/pulling him up by it as she twisted around and bent forward on her knees. “Fuck me you bastard! Fuck my cunt NOW!” she demanded. She only released his length as she felt the head slip easily in between her labia. Her arms went down raising her ass right up into the air and John drove his cock as hard as he could into her, his hands grabbing the sides of her arse tightly.

The sweat was pouring from the two of them as they thrashed back and forth on the bed. He would once again swear that his wife seemed to be orgasming with every single thrust and only when he emptied his balls for the second time did she seem satisfied. Her face was buried in the bed and he knew she had bitten down on the sheets as she screamed into the mattress. The two of them collapsed to the side and within moments they had both succumbed to exhaustion and fallen asleep still coupled.

He awoke an hour or so later, his cock semi-hard still in his wife’s hot wet pussy and managed to reach for the discarded bed clothes and pull them over their naked forms.


The sun was trying to slide in through the narrow gap in the curtains the next morning when John awoke. The two of them had barely moved during the night and they were still joined. He felt his cock throb from within his wife full of its usual morning ardour and before he was fully awake he began to slide slowly in and out of her. Andrea moaned quietly and began to thrust back against him, clamping her pussy around him. It was slow and easy, much more like their usual love-making and after a short while the two of them climaxed together. This time they managed to crawl back up the bed and pull the duvet over them before cuddling and falling back to sleep once again.

They were lucky and got a further two hours sleep before their children came bouncing into the room.


That day they both caught each other glancing at the other, smiles on their lips and curiosity in their eyes. In the late afternoon John entered his study after retrieving his Grandfather’s letters and turned on his laptop hoping to find a number of answers.

His initial search of a biography for his Grandfather turned up very little. All he found was the Birth, Death and Marriage Certificates and the Birth Certificate of his only son. He clicked onto the National Medical Database and entered his password. He knew that it was against the rules to access personal records of people unrelated to his work but went ahead and began searching. It took him a few minutes to find his Grandfather’s NHS number but once he had it more details poured in. There were large gaps in the records probably due to the fact that some of the files were still waiting to be uploaded onto the database and some had probably been lost down the years but there was still a large proportion of his life there.

One of the first things he noted and returned to check the Birth Certificate he had seen earlier was that the place of birth was different. The official document stated that he had been born in St Mary’s Hospital in London in1919. At some point in the early 1950’s his Grandfather had filled out a form stating he had been born in a town called Rinteln in Germany in 1917 although the birthday was the same.

John considered the information in front of him for some time and figured that his Grandfather had obviously been a refugee after the Second World War and prayed that the ambiguity wasn’t because of some War Crime or something equally nasty. The Medical Records seemed to back up the fact that he wasn’t born in England as the first log showed a vaccination in 1948 which would have meant he had never seen a doctor in his first thirty years. The search engine continued to trawl and after thirty minutes a new series of documents began to appear.

He glanced up to the ceiling where the overnight bag rested in the cupboard in his bedroom and back at the computer screen as multiple Birth Certificates began to list. When the search finally ended there was seventeen separate certificates listed. He scanned the list and two names stood out both with the same surname. He clicked on them both and saw that Annabelle and Miranda had both given birth to baby girls in 1956 and had both listed my Grandfather as the ‘father’. “Fuck” breathed John.

After another two hours of searching, also using some of the information the solicitors had supplied him it appeared that his Grandfather had never had a proper job, had sired at least twenty children out of wedlock and as far as he could tell had been given money for the ‘privilege’. The financial records indicated that he’d had a whole plethora of ‘sponsors’ who’d given him sums of money ranging from hundreds of pounds up to several donations in the tens of thousands of pounds. Most of the children and the donations had occurred from 1949 to 1979 when he would have been sixty or sixty-two years of age.

John shut down the computer feeling all the more bewildered and left the study wondering exactly who or possibly what was his Grandfather.


He entered the kitchen; the two boys were playing in the lounge on the latest video game while Andrea was sipping a tea gazing out of the window. He stared at his wife as the sun shone through her long skirt illuminating the silhouette of her shapely legs. His eyes followed the line of her leg from her bare foot up along her shin and over her knee along her thigh. She stirred on the seat and uncrossed her legs still unaware he was standing in the doorway. He was just wondering if the two of them could nip upstairs and have some ‘quality time’ before the boys began to argue. Andrea placed the cup on the table and a finger began to lightly stroke her exposed flesh above the neckline of the pale blue T-shirt she was wearing.

The phone rang abruptly shaking him from his wishful thoughts and two seconds later the boys began shouting at each other. Andrea looked up as if she’d been a ‘million miles’ away and saw him standing there. She glanced at the phone and he said “You get the phone, I’ll beat the kids!” and turned around entering the lounge seeing his two offspring staring daggers at each other. Why can’t you just get along, he thought.

He stopped still as the eldest turned to the youngest and handed him the controller, “You have a go then. If you do better than me you get two ‘lives’.”

The younger one nodded and replied “Okay and if I do worse you get two ‘lives’.”

He shook his head and couldn’t believe what would normally have erupted into World War Three in his lounge had evaporated so quickly. Maybe they’re growing up after all he thought silently.

“It’s the hospital” called Andrea from behind him. John moved back into the kitchen still looking over his shoulder at his two children playing in harmony. He pulled himself from his thoughts as he took the phone from his wife, “Hi, Doctor Keller here.” The conversation was brief and to the point.

“I got to go in,” he watched his wife pull a ‘sad’ face, “hopefully I’ll only be an hour or so as long as the traffic isn’t too bad.”

He could see his wife was ‘pissed’ but she knew what his job was like.


The hospital was its usual mix of crisis and boredom. He’d grabbed a coffee from the shop in the entrance and was proceeding up to his office when a nurse and two doctors came hurtling round the corner of the corridor pushing a ‘Crash Cart’ in front of them. He got the vaguest of nods of the Anaesthetist and a smile from the nurse that who knew vaguely. He grinned as he watched the trio rush down the hallway knowing that they were hyped up on adrenalin even though their destination was of a grave (literally at times) nature. He watched as they turned into a ward on the left and admitted to himself he was glad that none of his patients were in there. Of course as often as not when his patients did reach that point they regularly had Do Not Resuscitate Orders so the Crash Team wouldn’t be called.

He unlocked his office and dug out the file on Mr Burrows. He double checked the names of the next of kin and was happy that he had recalled them correctly but it was an insensitive blunder to be made when a loved one was close to death. Mr Burrows had impressed him with his determination in the face of ‘the saboteur’ within. He imagined that the cancerous growth within the patient’s skull was probably the size of table tennis ball if not larger. “Why do we always use sporting equipment to describe these things?” he asked no one in particular. He put away the file and finished his coffee before locking his office and heading down to the ward. No ‘Crash Cart’ would be called for Mr Burrows; there was very little point by now.

He stepped into the side room to see Mr Burrows and his wife and two of his adult children huddled together beside the bed. A nurse, Lizzie if he remembered correctly, was adjusting the morphine drip feeding into the thin left arm. He’d already fixed a sympathetic expression to his face before he entered, “Susie” he said as he took the wife’s frail hand in his own. She looked up and offered a small smile.

‘Doctor’ she mouthed unaware that she’d given no force behind the word.

He nodded to the two young men, “Robert, James” and got unenthusiastic nods in return. Stepping towards the nurse she showed him Mr Burrow’s chart and indicated the new setting she had adjusted the drip too. Looking up at the monitor above the dying man’s head he could see all the vital signs slowly weakening and reckoned the nurse had been right to call him in. It was obvious the old man had less than an hour to live. He felt Lizzie’s hip brush against his and then firmly press against it. Glancing at the young nurse’s profile sure that she wasn’t aware that she was doing it. It was a mistake on his part as he studied her full lips; the image of them wrapped around his cock sprang into his mind and was immediately transmitted to his crotch.

For fuck’s sake, John he thought to himself and moved away around the bed. Looking at the frail old man in the bed he suddenly thought about his recently deceased Grandfather. It occurred to him that he hadn’t seen a single picture of his ancestor since he’d learned of his existence. Placing the chart back on the end of the bed he looked at the wrinkled, liver-spotted eyelids and wondered what it would have been like to have ‘known’ Wally, even with his strange sexual behaviour. A small, almost white, crust marred the corner of his left eye. It was actually very small but it annoyed him that those eyes that had seen seventy odd years of life hadn’t been kept spotless. He moved back to the side of the bed, ushering Lizzie aside with his fingertips placed on her hip. She moved smoothly and with a small smile on those luscious lips out of the way as he dampened a sterile pad and wiped the irksome speck from the patient’s eyelid.

“He’s in no pain… I can actually tell you, from my own experience of surgery, that morphine sleep is… bliss” he said as much to the family as to the slumbering Mr Burrows. “Jack isn’t likely to wake up now… I wish that I could have made it easier” he gulped hard, feeling his Adam’s apple bob uncomfortably in his throat and his eyes sting with tears welling within them. It should be easier he thought silently. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more…”

He shook each of their hands once again, embarrassed as always when they thanked him for everything he had done (and yet in the end had failed to do) and slipped from the room. He stood in the corridor breathing heavily amazed at the power of emotions that had overwhelmed him. ‘Pulling himself together’ he headed for the Nurses Station and began to fill out the necessary forms that would be needed shortly. He’d just finished and had stepped into the Staff lounge waiting for the coffee machine to dispense his chosen beverage when Lizzie stepped through the door, “Doctor” she began as she felt her fingertips rest upon his hip as his had rested on hers a few minutes earlier, “Jack has woken up… he’s asking for you.”

He twisted around and stared at the young nurse and could see her own astonishment written on her features, “He’s awake?”

She nodded, her hand flattened against his hip as the tip of her tongue poked out momentarily between her lips, “I know… I can’t see how, he’s on enough Morphine to…” Her voice trailed off and John knew what she meant. The patient dose was high enough to suppress any amount of pain and was on the borderline of also suppressing his breathing if not beyond it. A tiny millimetre or two more would surely stop his breathing altogether. He placed his hands on the small nurse’s shoulders and saw her eye’s dampening. The next second he had pulled her towards him and wrapped his arms about her hugging her close. Her own arms slipped around his back and she pulled even harder. His cock, swollen but not hard pressed against her; neither of them seemed to mind or acknowledge the fact as they held each other for at least half a minute.

Eventually he broke from the small woman and they shared small smiles between them before he left his coffee standing beneath the machine and exited the lounge. As he walked down the corridor he wondered at his first ever ‘unprofessional’ action during his career. Lizzie, herself, had also always been the model of professionalism and had never shown any other emotions apart from those appropriate between a doctor and an experienced, capable Nurse.

He stepped back into the dying man’s room only just stopping from shaking his head as he opened the door. Jack was still lying down on the bed, still frail and fragile looking but his eyes were open and alert. “Doc…” he whispered.

John moved up beside the patient he had known for almost three years since he had first taken the man’s case, “Take it easy, Jack.”

“Ahh now Doc, how much easier can I take it?” John couldn’t help but smile. “I wanted to thank you, for all that you did.”

“Not enough though…” answered John.

“You did plenty… You gave me time to say goodbye and what more could a man ask for?”

He didn’t know where the thought came from but he said it anyway, “Scoring the winning goal in the FA Cup for Arsenal?”

“Well, there is that!” answered the football fan from the bed, “Still you did your best and that’s all you can do!”

“You did all the hard work, Jack, I was just…” he searched for the right words, “I was just the coach.”

“And a good coach at that, Doc!” the door to the room opened and the dying man’s daughter rushed in carrying a small bundle in her arms. Tears were rolling down her cheeks as her husband, John assumed, followed carrying various cases. “Look at that Doc, you gave me the time I needed!” he reached up and shook the doctor’s hand with a grip that defied his health.

John left the room with a smile adorning his mouth. You can’t get better than that he thought. The old man’s daughter had just travelled across the Atlantic with the first Grandchild and had made it in time to say goodbye. He stood once again at the Nurses Station looking about shyly. The ward sister, Catherine, looked up, “What is it, John?” she asked.

He felt himself blushing as he asked the question that any Oncology Doctor should never ask. He was in luck as Catherine, who he would never have suspected, handed him what he needed.


He stood outside the building in a small service alley and sucked the poisonous fumes through the small paper tube. It had been over ten years since he had quit smoking but today he wanted one. He didn’t need it, he had just wanted one to have in spite of all that nature and his speciality threw at him over the years. “We’re a last of a dying breed” said Lizzie as she stepped through the emergency exit door, “I have to admit I never knew you were a nicotine fiend.”

Another smoker, he thought, I wonder how many there are here? “I’m not… although I suppose it’s like the adage about there’s no such thing as an ex-alcoholic. Must be at least a decade since I indulged” he replied.

She pulled out her own cigarettes and a disposable lighter, he watched as those lips he’d thought about earlier took a long greedy first hit from the ‘cancer stick’. He could hear the crackle of the burning tobacco and watched her lips pull tightly around the cigarette. “Jack’s just passed away” she said as she lowered her hand.

“Good” he said simply.


On the drive home he thought about Jack and he thought about Lizzie. He knew full well that ‘horniness’ was often the natural knee-jerk reaction to death but it was one he seldom felt professionally. The two of them had chatted as Lizzie had smoked two cigarettes, he’d turned down the offer of a second one; he’d felt that he could have just leaned across and kissed her and within moments he would have fucking her up against the wall just outside a ward full of people on the road to death. Some he knew were many years away from that final destination but as always with the Oncology wards there would be two or three that were in their last weeks of life. “Fancy a-‘nother” Lizzie had asked with a sparkle in her eye and he had wondered how close she had been to asking him for a fuck.

Andrea got what Lizzie wanted when he arrived home. He wasn’t sure which of them had been the instigator but the two boys were still happily in front of the television as he’d slammed deep into his wife’s soaking pussy from behind in their en-suite bathroom. He’d filled her spasming cunt with his seed as he imagined Nurse Lizzie greedily sucking his cock.


The two of them lay in bed wrapped in each other’s arms that night. Andrea’s fingernails were scratching lightly across John’s abdomen just above his flaccid cock still coated in her juices and slightly dribbling a small amount of his seed. “A hard day at the office, babe?” she asked.

He remembered Jack thanking him, “I guess, Mr Burrows died” he answered. It had been a long time since Andrea had offered commiserations on the ‘passing away’ of his patients; she knew that although the sentiment was honest that it annoyed her husband when he felt powerless in the face of Cancer.

“Was it bad?” she whispered into the darkness.

He grinned, “No, not at all, he awoke just before the end and was able to see his Grandchild for the first and only time.”

“That’s…” Andrea began.

“It is, isn’t it” replied John. His mind wandered to Lizzie with the luscious lips and his soft cock gave a subconscious twitch, he felt the sensitive tip brush across his wife’s stroking fingers. She nuzzled into his neck as he inhaled deeply before some sense of hers raised her curiosity. She moved up to his ear and breathed into it, “Was there something else that happened today?” she whispered.

A slight twist of her little finger and the small nail pressed softly into eye of his cock. It jerked in response and he moaned. Her tongue caressed his earlobe as ‘that’ nail slid minutely up and down, “Come on… you know I can make you tell!”

He felt blood began to divert back into his member and it begin to swell, pushing harder against her fingernail. “Ohh… mmmm… it was nothing…” he muttered. The fingernail disappeared and Andrea’s teeth gripped his earlobe exerting enough pressure to cause a little pain. He wasn’t sure if he should groan or yelp as he reached between her thighs with his left hand. She kept them locked tightly together as he tried to worm his fingers between them till he conceded defeat quickly, “One of the nurses ‘came’ onto me… I think?” he whispered into the darkness.

The pressure released on his ear and Andrea’s thighs relaxed allowing his finger to stroke along her wet slit. She sucked his earlobe hard into her mouth and once again breathed hotly into his ear, “Was she pretty?” Her tongue flicked out probing his ear and her hand wrapped around his rapidly swelling manhood.

“She is…” he replied quietly.

“Tell me what she looks like?”

Her hand pulled up on his cock dragging his sac and balls tightly upwards, “You’ve met her…ahhh… last Christmas… little Lizzie… brunette, slim… blue eyes, a butterfly tattoo on her shoulder and…”

“And?” she squeezed his cock hard.

“Very luscious lips!” he admitted.

He pushed a finger inside Andrea’s wet slit eliciting a groan from his wife, “mmmm… and what did you imagine those luscious lips doing?”

His wife’s mouth slid quickly down his neck and across his chest pausing to nip his nipple. Her fingernails raked down his erection as he reached for the bedside light and turned it on. She looked up at him grinning, “I imagined them sliding down my cock!” he answered.

Her tongue snaked out of her mouth and across her lips, “Something like this?” she asked as she held the base of his cock and shifted her head above it, briefly flicking her tongue across the sensitive head before sliding her mouth all the way down in one go. John groaned deeply as he thrust his manhood up into her descending mouth.

“Ohhh fuck yessss!” he murmured. She sucked powerfully on his length as her tongue snaked within the cocoon of her mouth. Again and again she lifted her head and drove her mouth down on his twitching cock. His eyes were locked on her bobbing hair as he watched his erection disappear in and out of her lips.

She pulled her mouth away licking her lips before asking “Do you think she’d lick my juices from your cock? Do you think she’d eat your cum out of my cunt?” her hand slid up and down his length as her fingernails scratched across his taint.

“I… err… yes, I’d bet she would…” he said with a sureness he didn’t understand, “we’d use her as we wanted!”

Andrea’s chest heaved as she stared at his cock, pumping it hard with one hand as she cupped his sac with the other. “Give me your spunk, you bastard!” she demanded as she lowered her face just above the head of his cock opening her mouth wide. His seed shot out of his cock and sprayed into her mouth and across her face. He watched as his wife climaxed without anything in or touching her pussy. When the last dribble of cum oozed out of his cock’s eye she dropped her mouth once more down his length till the sensitive head pressed against the back of her throat.

Once she was satisfied that he had no more semen to give she moved up the bed and rubbed her dripping pussy against his softening cock as he licked the drops of his own cum from her face and transferred them to her greedy mouth.

Just before the two of them dropped off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, Andrea said “Maybe we should get Lizzie round sometime?”


To be continued…

~ by ftfagos on January 25, 2012.

9 Responses to “The Box-Pt 1”

  1. A captivating story … you’ve built the tension incredibly well. I especially like the openness between John and Andi, how he shared what happened with Lizzie, it made that scene more erotic.

  2. Well now there is my fantasy couple!!!! John and Andrea.

    A very interesting story that starts off sad for me and almost had me not continuing the story. But I am glad I did continue and finish the story!!! The way you described the need that they both developed and experienced is fantastic!!!!


  3. Of course you have gave away the fact that YOU!!! have read all of the story! Muppet!

    For those out there who think I’m showing favouritism I was just using Woman on this occassion to pass a critical eye over this tale that had me metaphorically sweating.


    • Oh you twinkle toes!!! I left it vague enough not to say “I finished the story” but imply I finished the post!!!!!! Tisk tisk… you are tired!!!!

  4. Ahem! And I quote (from just up ^ there) “but I’m glad I did continue and finish the story”

    I just looked in my pop-up picture dictionary for the word vague and it didn’t have your picture beneath it!!!!


    • Yes… however only you and your pedantic mind would actually read it to be literal darling. It was implied for the post!!! Now… hush!!! This is not a Forum!!!!

      If you’d like to nip into your comments section and change that one word.. you are more than welcomed too!!!!!


  5. Nope. quite happ to leave it like it is…anyhoos why can’t this be a forum?


    • Oh dear lord you Bumlicker!!!! You’ve lectured me countless times on how your comments is not a Forum!!!! Make up your mind!!!!!

  6. Moi? Lecture people? Only if their really small or far away… oh yeah!


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