Pleasure Box

What would you do if you could control someone's pleasure? If their only means of bodily ecstasy was manipulated entirely by a little box in your pocket? If, with the press of a button you could dump the proverbial ice-bucket atop their head, and with the very same button, in the very next moment, send them soaring above cloud nine and keep them there as long as you wished?

Like me, probably nothing innocent -- though, ultimately, deeply pleasurable and satisfying in a way that nothing else ever has been.

Her name was Cindy Baker, and I called the device the "Pleasure Box".

I met Cindy prior to discovering the box. She was one of many young women taking my Intro to Lit class, college freshman year. She was cute in just the way I've found I like: short, but not too short, with a slim, supple build; long, smooth hair the color of milk chocolate; bright eyes, that held a spark of intelligence and that innocent, doll-like face that made you want to stop and admire the simple beauty of it.

She was cute, in a way that I found dangerously approachable, and which had no doubt left many a heart broken on the floor behind her.

I was determined not to be one of them. I was also aware that such a task was far easier said than done. At the time I didn't even know if she was single, which would have me woefully out of luck. So I took it slow. I made myself known as a friend, and got to know her.

Over the course of nearly a month I learned quite a bit about Cindy. Stolen conversations during writing assignments and long time-passers after finishing for the day, gave me near enough her whole life story.

Eighteen, with one sister and two brothers -- she was the second oldest. Grew up in a small town roughly an hour away from the university. She had a normal, stable home life, grew up in church, loved horses and racoons, read fantasy and mystery in her free-time, and wanted to be a child counselor. I learned, without ever directly asking and showing my own interest, that not only was she currently single, but that she had never had a boyfriend. Apparently her parents had instilled exacting standards and no man had yet met them.

Well, I was determined to be the first; and, with any luck, the only.

Talking with her was easy, and once the initial awkwardness of getting to know a new person had passed, also very enjoyable. Three weeks after first introducing myself on our first day of class, I both liked her enough and felt confident enough to ask her out.

That was the day I found the Pleasure Box. Truly, it must have been some higher power playing games, because it shouldn't have ever come into my possession.

I woke up late that morning, only half an hour before I had to be in my first class of the day: Intro to Lit. The resulting scramble to get there on time had me ditching the regular paths and off-roading my bike over curbs and through yards and bushes as fast as I could manage. In the back of my head I knew what was likely to happen, but it was a risk I had been willing to take.

Unfortunately, as least to me at the time, that risk hadn't paid off.

Halfway there, I cut through a line of trees onto a sideway, intent on crossing it and the trees on the other side to shortcut around the buildings that the path ran between. I saw him before he saw me. Neither one of us were able to react in time to avoid the collision. It was only years of physical training that allowed me to jerk myself to the side on reflex, allowing my body to impact the other man instead of the hard metal frame of my bike.

I grunted, he yelped, and both of us went down. Then it was thirty seconds of mad scrambling to get up, dust off, ensure nothing was broken, and collect our things so we could continue racing to our classes. He had definitely been angry, but it also seemed like he'd been in as much of a rush as I was, and my urgent apologies and questions on any injuries mollified him enough that he didn't do more than warn me to watch where I was going.

It was a relief too, because a glance at my watch told me I had less than ten minutes until class. I cursed myself, my luck, and the guy I had run over and sped off once more.

My legs burned nearly as much as my ego as I walked through the door, the clock striking eight right as I sat down.

Our teacher congratulated me on the immaculate timing, and I could only manage a tired nod.

Beside me, Cindy leaned over and whispered, "You okay?"

"I will be." I said. "Woke up late, so I sped here. Accidently bulldozed a guy on the way. Don't think either of us broke anything though." I showed her the scrapes on my hands where I had braced against the concrete. The skin was red and white with tearing and one spot even looked deep enough to scab.

"Oh my!" She reached out to touch the wounds, seemingly on reflex. Then she pulled back and looked at me in worry.

"Promise it's fine. I've had a lot worse. It'll heal in a couple of days."

She looked unsure, glancing again at my upturned hands, then nodded. "If you're sure."

Class carried on normally from there. I think we'd been talking about logical fallacies and how to avoid using them in our research papers. I think I tuned it out a bit; it was all stuff I'd learned in high school.

The latter half of the class was a free writing and research period, and was when I discovered the box.

I was organizing my backpack, after having everything fly out of the main compartment during the crash, when I noticed it at the bottom of my bag.

I don't know how it got there, perhaps while scooping up my supplies I had been a bit too indiscriminate. I did know that it wasn't mine. I didn't own anything of that shape or design. It reminded me of those fidget boxes that proceeded fidget spinners as the temporary ADHD craze. It was small enough to fit in a child's palm, but large and heavy enough to have a satisfying weight even for adults.

Each of the six sides had something on it, though one of the fidget pieces had been broken, the top part having been cracked off. Possibly in the collision that I was sure had resulted in my possession of the box.

It looked like the bottom half of a joystick; I'd seen enough broken to instantly notice the similarities. Otherwise, there was a switch, a large clicker, a set of six silding dials, a set of three click buttons with a small release switch underneath, and a spiked protrusion that could be depressed into the box. My first thought was that I had seen more engaging ones, and that the broken piece was doing it no favors. My next thought had me showing it to Cindy, who took it with some interest and began playing around with it. I should have known something was weird when she depressed the rubbery spike and yelped. Somehow, the blunt, bendy, rubbery object had drawn blood. It wasn't a lot, but it shouldn't have been any.

"How in the...?" I asked. "Are you alright?"

Cindy nodded and stuck her finger into her mouth, sucking on the blood. She quickly passed the box back with the other.

"You can keep it." She said, checking on her finger. It looked like the small wound was already drying up. "I don't know how that hurt me, but I'd rather not test it again."

I could only agree and accept the object back, though I didn't stow it away. Cautiously, I tested the rubber spike. First by lightly brushing the tip, then more firmly when it didn't hurt. I flicked it over one way, and then the next. And then I pushed down and depressed it all the way into the box.

That was the moment I noticed Cindy. She had let put a little squeak, drawing my attention. Her face was bright red, her body hunched forward defensively, and one of her hands was pinched between her legs as though she'd just been kicked, while the other was crossed tightly over her modest bust.

I wasn't the only person to notice, and our teacher looked up from her desk to ask Cindy if she was okay.

The brunette nodded, though a tad shakily. "I'm fine, Ms. Reeds. Just a...pinched nerve, or something. It was just in a..." she stopped short and glanced around nervously, her gaze lingering on me longer than the rest. "Uncomfortable spot." Unfortunately, her language wasn't vague enough for me to miss the subtext, especially combined with her demeanor, and I knew immediately why she was so embarrassed. As did our teacher.

I couldn't help but think it odd that she had a tweaked nerve in two completely separate and sensitive places at once, but I had experienced my own share of weird body quirks, so maybe it was just how she was wired.

While I turned away to spare my friend a modicum of shame, our teacher asked if she needed to step out.

"Ah, no, no. I think I'll be fine. It's um...passed, I think."

"That's good then. Just let me know if that changes."

Cindy agreed, and the class moved on. Those that had been watching went back to their work, and I went back to fidgeting with the rubber spike.

I was gentler with it this time, just brushing over one way and then the other, twisting it around under the pad of my thumb, or just lightly pulling it back with my nail to let it spring forward again. Honestly, it was a bit shameful that I was so enraptured by it, but then, I had always been fairly restless and having something to do with my hands was nice.

All the while, I was becoming increasingly aware of Cindy fidgeting in the chair beside me. I glanced over at her, curious, and watched as she fidgeted in her seat. Her thighs twisted and rubbed against each other in a slow, but incessant grind, and her hips rolled ever so slightly, like she was trying to find purchase against the hard plastic of her chair. Meanwhile, the arm over her breasts, while still stiff, had loosened some and was making small back and forth motions, right over the peak of her mounds.

The fidgeting over her lower half almost made me think she had to go to the bathroom. But we were adults that didn't need permission. And last I checked, people usually didn't covertly rub their nipples on account of a full bladder. Then I really took in her face, flushed red to her ears, and her breathing that had become heavy enough for me to notice it. And one of her hands, still in her lap, that was clamped tight against her core, even as her other made slow almost sensual grinding motions across her breasts and what I thought must be hardened nipples.

I swallowed involuntarily and felt my face flush. Was she?

Cindy's breathing hitched and eyelids dropped over unfocused eyes.

Yeah, she definitely was.

The revelation floored me. Since when did Cindy do that kind of thing in public? It was totally out of character for her. Even after three weeks, I felt like I knew her well enough to get a feel of that kind of character trait.

Then again, there was the saying about the quiet ones. But no. No, it didn't make sense to me. I wanted to ask if she was alright, to see if she'd realize the kind of place we were in, but I didnt want to bring attention to what she was doing. I couldn't stop watching though.

The subtle twitching of her hips, the flexing of her hunched upper body, like she was trying her hardest to not be noticed, while still trying to stimulate herself properly.

It was incredibly erotic, and I couldn't look away. I even stopped mindlessly messing with the fidget brick as all of my attention was redirected, just holding it loosely in my hand as Cindy tried to secretly get herself off in the middle of class. Thankfully for her, we were in the back of the class and she was against the door, which meant that the only person with a proper view of what she was doing was me. That thought did make me pause. Was she doing this for me? No. Again, she wasn't that kind of person. At least I didn't think so. I suppose that everyone has a hidden side to them, but this is a little **** -- especially unprompted.

Gradually, however, I noticed her slowing and eventually stopping. Her breathing evened out and the flush receeded some. She was still clearly worked up, but the active stimulation was no longer there.

That was weird. Did she get herself off without me noticing? I thought orgasms were usually more violent, even the quiet ones. But it looked like she hadn't done a thing except slow down. I shook my head at it all and went back to my fidget cube and the rubber spike. I still planned on asking her out; so I maybe I could bring it up later. If she was bold enough to masterbate in public like that, surely she'd be willing to talk about it when confronted.

Only a couple minutes later I noticed her moving again, and this time I couldn't keep the question down. I leaned over close, so no one else would hear, and asked, "You alright? You're fidgeting a lot." Cindy froze like a deer in headlights. Her whole body was tensed and for a moment, I thought she'd ignore me. Then her head turned just slightly and she said, in barely a whisper, "Fine. Just...uncomfortable."

"Looks like more than just uncomfortable."

Her face flushed brighter and she said nothing for a long moment. Then... "I don't know what's going on." She admitted, her voice small and ****. It made me want to hug her close. "There's just a...sensation, that won't stop. It's making me fidget."

"Sensation?" The question came out before I could stop it. Something was clearly going on with the girl beyond the obvious or typical.

"...I...um..." Whatever she was trying to say was clearly difficult. I could imagine any number of reasons why. "I'm feel...things. Rubbing...flicking...pushing... it's...um..." Cindy stopped talking, clearly too embarassed, but I could easily fill in the rest.

I purposely **** my gaze from her own, down to her chest, and then below the table lip, where her arm was still stiffly placed. "Messing with you down there?"

Cindy made a distressed sound in her throat as her face went nuclear. Then she nodded once, short and jerky.

I gave a quiet sound of acknowledgement and pulled away, which she seemed grateful for. I didn't really understand what was going on with her. Beyond believing that she wasn't being a degenerate on purpose, it made little sense. It didn't sound like an itch, or honestly, any other natural phenomena I knew about.

It sounded like someone or something was messing with Cindy down between her legs and on her breasts. Except they weren't, and nothing except her own hands were in place for that.

I gave a frustrated flick of the rubber spike and two things happened in quick succession. Cindy let out a loud, moaning gasp that she tried and failed to **** down, and my mind made a very important connection that seemed wholly absured.

I looked down at the fidget box in my hand, then at Cindy, who was once more having to reassure our teacher that she was fine. It took more persuading this time, especially with her flushed face, but eventually Ms. Reeds relented, though it was obvious another incident would have the woman insisting. I swallowed and focused back on Cindy and the cube in my hand. My thumb moved to rest at the base of the spike. Then, with deliberate slowness, I **** the course pad of my finger up the spike, over the tip, and down the other side. I also made sure to apply a good amount of pressure while I did so.

The reaction I received confirmed the impossible thought I had held moments before. In almost perfect sync with my thumb, Cindy froze, then trembled. She pressed against her core and tits even more tightly, and I didn't miss the tiny gasp and shudder she gave as I passed over the tip, then to the other side. She continued to squirm and wiggle until I had fully passed over the spike, as which point I saw her deflate ever so slightly; though she remained tense. No doubt she expected another round to come at any moment.

It wouldn't.

At least not yet.

The mysterious blood puncture suddenly made a lot more sense to me, though I didn't understand why it didn't also happen to me.

Did it only affect one person at a time and had to be reset somehow? Or maybe it was something that only affected women? I didn't know, but the ideas stirred something dark in my heart. It was that same feeling that spoke against feeling bad for what I had inadvertently done to Cindy.

And it was that same voice that convinced me to not say anything when I considered telling my friend what I had discovered.

She had a right to know. This...fidget box had somehow connected itself to her and was now capable of inducing what was obviously immense and very distracting levels of pleasure durectly to her body.

And that was just one function. Who knew what else it could do...

I wanted to. The realization came like a weight in my stomach. As fond as I was of Cindy, there was a darker, lurking desire that I had held for her since the first moment I had seen her. I had imagined her more than once without clothing, or what she would sound and look like in bed, or dressed in something far more risqué. They were the kind of fantasies that you kept under lock and key until given permission to let them out. Otherwise you were a creep at best, and potentially a subject of interest for local PD.

But this box -- it was a little cheat code. A magic spell capable of going straight to third base without any of the work, and that was ignoring the rather vast implications of something that could give phantom pleasure to another person. All it took a was drop of blood from a spike not sharp enough to pierce skin.

The deviant side of my mind had already begun generating ideas the moment I decided not to tell on myself. How I could use it to my benefit. How I could use it to draw Cindy closer to me. And what I could do with it afterwards.

A part of my mind, already smaller than it probably should be, recoiled at the notion; it tried to reason, to mitigate my baser tendencies, but I had already made up my mind. I was going to use it. I was going to discover how the rest of it worked, and I was going to take great pleasure from manipulating the body of the beautiful girl sitting next to me.

But not in that moment. The temptation was present, but small and easily manageable, to mess with her again in class. I pushed it down and put the box away in my bag, zipping it closed.

I didn't need another incident like this morning giving some other lucky schmuck my same break.

I looked back over at Cindy, who had managed to calm down significantly, though she still seemed flustered. No doubt she was still aroused and now sexually frustrated, after I basically edged her with phantom caresses. I couldn't help but think her rosier cheeks and half lidded eyes eyes made her look even more beautiful than normal. It was a look I intended to cultivate, as often as I could.

Of course, that started with my next question for the girl. I leaned in again, and noticed how Cindy seemed extra aware of me compared to before. She looked over, eyes wide and lips parted. I had to supress the urge to kiss her, but damn did I want to. She looked ready and wanting and knowing it was all my fault lit a raging fire in me at the sight.

"Jack?" She asked softly.

"You have a free period after this right? Let's go get smoothies; take your mind off it."

Her lips, a deeper pink than normal from bitting them in pleasure, parted reflexively, like she was going to say something. Then she stopped, and looked at me for a long moment.

Then she smiled demurely and nodded, and my heart lept in my chest, and I smiled back.

"Sweet." I said, and sat back.

I spent the rest of class in my own mind and trying to ignore my erection pulsing in angry, demanding lockstep with my heart. Instead, I thought about my smoothie date with Cindy and all the things I would do to her with the little box in my bag. The grin on my face came unheeded.

As miserable as the day had started, my whole life had just taken a turn for the better, and I couldn't wait.