The White Box (N&V 104)

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The special exhibit in the Modern Art museum cost extra, as they all did. It also had special rules, like many of them do. In “The White Box” exhibit, admission was always one at a time, so there was a bit of a line. I let my boyfriend go in first, and and I watched him disappear to the left after taking a few steps down the blank corridor of the darkened entrance. When it was my turn, walking down the hall, the opening at the end was to the right, into a black painted, narrow, disorienting, twisting corridor. After only a couple turns it was effectively pitch black. I had to feel my way along the walls and step slowly so I didn’t bump into anything. It was definitely not for the claustrophobic! At least there was some music coming from vaguely up ahead; weird tinny stuff that rang in my ears despite being quiet. A low bass throb also vibrated the walls against my fingertips. The combination was oddly calming. And I wound my way left, and left and right almost swaying to the music, getting into the feel of the exhibit. 

I eventually saw light up ahead, making the black corridor grey and brutalist, shading brighter with each turn, until I entered a small white room. Maybe the center of the “box”? It felt like it. In the very center of the cubical room sat… a white box. I had to smile at the obviousness of it all as I took my clothes off to the music. 

I walked to the box and straddled it, turning to the opposite wall to see a screen, or was it a mirror? I thought I recognized the woman there, standing, legs spread wide, over a huge, thick, pure white dildo mounted on a white box. I watched her lower herself onto the shaft and begin fucking herself, and appreciated the syncopation of her movements to the music. The bass vibrated up through the floor and my feet, up my legs, into my belly, as I watched, rising and sinking as she did. Her sounds – or were they mine – filled the room as the white box within the white box of the room hummed all around and inside me filling the room and filling me and… 

It all peaked in a triple crescendo of sound and sensation, almost inaudible treble, deep throbbing bass, and my own voice. The hardness of the surfaces – the walls, the edges of the box under me, the rigid shaft, was complimented by the softness of my own skin, and the liquid feeling surging inside me, as if the white box was actually flowing, shooting up the shaft into the woman in the mirror as she ground down on it, and the woman was watching me as the box thrummed and throbbed and gushed… 

The light of the exit dazzled my eyes as I stumbled out from the White Box exhibit. Good thing my boyfriend was there to catch me. He looked a little dazed, but seemed to have enjoyed the exhibit, too. “Kind of.” We compared notes. It was pretty surreal, we agreed, kind of hard to describe, since there was so little to actually see. You kind of have to experience it. We agreed we’d probably recommend it to our artsier friends.

It was strange, though. That night, as we made love, I rolled on top of him, which we don’t often do, moving myself up and down on his cock to a rhythm I half remembered, but found totally worked for me. I don’t usually cum from just fucking – usually I need some additional stimulation of a finger or tongue on my clit, but this was different. It was almost like a bass throb inside me, pushing me, moving me. Feeling we were both on the edge of climax, I looked down on him to see his eyes. Just as he groaned in release, and I cried out in orgasm I found myself I staring down at, into, a white box.

Categories: Erotic Fiction, Mind Control, Monocle, Nightmare & Vision, Sex ToyTags: , , , ,


I am the little devil on your shoulder, stroking your neck with my tail, whispering obscenities into your ear, and looking down your blouse. One third of The Erotic Writer blog.


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