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Girl In A Box

Forced into a crouching fetal position with her knees pressing into her bosom, she found it difficult to breathe. As the smell of musty old sweat assaulted her nostrils, Patricia Lang wondered how many other girls had been wedged in this box before her. The “Manager” had promised she wouldn’t have to stay in it long and he was very clear on the rules; she had to stay perfectly still and not make a sound.

Her mind went back to the conversation with Tiffany at the club where she worked that got her into this.

Patricia says, “I just can’t let Ken meet my family yet. If they tell him I’ve been pole dancing my way through college and it’s over. He’s so old fashioned he still opens door for me.”

“That and he’s hung like a bull!” Tiffany says in her usual uncouth fashion.

“Tif!” Patricia exclaims.

“Oh and you love him right?” Tiffany retorted.

“With all my heart and soul.” Patricia says with a lovelorn look that tells the world she means it.

“So what’s the problem?” Tiffany asks.

Sitting down, bending her leg in an unnatural fashion to fasten the six-inch stilettos she just slid her feet into, Patricia replies, “He thinks my parents are doing well enough that they’re paying my way through college and our wedding of course. Have you seen my brush?”

“Reach behind you sweetie, another inch and it would be a suppository.” Tiffany says pointing to the brush on the chair Patricia is occupying, “With that body of yours, you don’t have to work here very often to get by. No wonder he doesn’t know you work.”

“Very funny, I’m still short on bucks for some of the deposits on the wedding. I need another couple of grand by Sunday or I’m screwed, which means I’m screwed.”

“Not necessarily!” Tiffany says, spraying perfume in freshly shaved places. “The Manager is running one of his specials tonight. Vicki was going with me but her kid got in a fight at school or some shit like that. We could pick up two grand easy.”

Patricia giggles nervously. “Ken’s best man is throwing him his bachelor’s party tonight.”

Tiffany says, “Steak dinner and a Cuban stogy over Brandi at the Country Club I’m sure.”

“Ken doesn’t smoke.” Patricia says with a smile. “Two grand, are you sure? What would I have to do?”

“Nothing you don’t want to and nobody else will ever know or… you could always come clean with Ken the day before your wedding.

Listen, if these guys cancel because they want two girls and I can’t get anybody to come with, the Manager is going to be pissed. So, just come with me and you can keep all the tips we both make. It’ll be my wedding gift to you and you’ll be helping me out big time. You won’t have to do anything but look hot.”

Patricia was jolted back to reality by the sound of a man grunting as the box she had been stuffed into tilted her forward. Her feminine nature kicked in making her hope it was the weight of the box and not her that made the guy grunt like that.

There was a scrapping sound beneath her and a thud as the vessel dropped back to its upright position, making her teeth clank together. She felt a sharp pain from her tailbone and a sudden feeling of lifting of the ground as the box quickly tilted back the opposite direction.

Real fear began to come over her as she could tell her vessel was moving.

Her mind raced. “Where are they taking me? Who is they? How many of them are there? What have they done with Tiffany?”

Movement stopped briefly, then she felt another solid thud followed by what must have been a door opening too quickly, banging into a wall. There was another clunk and scrapping on the side of her container as movement resumed.

“My eyes should have adjusted by now; there is no light at all. If there’s no light, could this thing be air tight?” She became acutely aware of her own legs against her chest, keeping it from expanding. Unable to take a full breath, short breaths started coming quicker.

“No! No! Patricia, get hold of yourself,” she thought, “hyperventilating takes oxygen and there may not be much left.”

Suddenly overcame by a feeling of falling backward; her head slammed against the back her pitch-black prison hard enough to make her ears ring. Cramped legs pushed the air out of her lungs forcing an audible “Ugh.”. Instinctively, she tried to straighten her legs and achieved nothing more than driving home just how little space she had. Not normally claustrophobic the need to get out of the darkness and breathe swelled within. She thrust her hands forward, instantly met with pain of paralyzing intensity as the acrylic nails on her middle and ring fingers of her left hand peeled back.

Every muscle in her body tensed as she let out a blood-curdling scream within her mind.

“AH!!!!! So much as a peep and they’ll take me back to the Manager. DEAR GOD DON’T MAKE ME HAVE TO SEE THE MANAGER AGAIN! Just let me get through this, please!”

Against her best efforts and better judgment, tears began flowing down her cheeks.

She felt as much as heard a thump at her head as something struck the box hard enough that it moved. It occurred to her that she must be on a dolly as if a piece of cargo and the deliveryman was kicking the box back into place after having dropped it. This distraction made her realize the pain had begun to subside as quickly as it had come.

Patricia sensed herself being lifted upright again and thought she almost heard the deliveryman say “sorry”.

With a force of will fueled by pure survival instinct, Patricia set about the task of breathing. This calmed her enough to stop the insistent tears and relax her now aching muscles.

After hearing two more doors, feeling four turns and the passing of an eternity of time movement stopped with a final thud as her vessel was unceremoniously plopped down. Sitting in quiescence she was thankful for having been placed upright rather than being dropped on her back again. Although she knew on her back was precisely where they intended to keep her.

Emotionally exhausted she became acutely aware of the tears drying on her cheeks. She also heard men’s voices… several men’s voices… negotiating terms!

Patricia’s composure was fleeting as equal parts terror and disgust ascended while she listened to no less than five men bidding for her services. With each utterance, their expressed desires grew more demented. One complained about having to “buy sight unseen”, another eloquently referred to her as “the cock socket”.

The pounding of her heart started to make it difficult to hear by the time there was a knock on the box and a male voice commanded; “Time to earn your keep honey”. With the sound of a clasp opening a ray of light violated the darkness from above.

Patricia slammed her arms over her head dislodging the containers top and stood up as the contents of her stomach emptied into the air. Though her vision blurred she could make out that she was in the foyer of an elaborate hotel suit. Knowing she had to act fast she lifted her left foot as high as her blood-starved legs would allow and stepped forward. The heel of the six-inch stiletto’s Tiffany made her wear to “present duh booty” caught on the edge of the box, tipping it over, spilling her helplessly onto the marble floor. Her hands slid until the left side of her head slapped the floor like a burger on the grill.

Disoriented, lying in her own bile, she curled into a ball legs beneath her, one hand on her cheek and the other over her aching breasts. She was about to moan that things couldn’t get any worse, when what had to be the largest man’s shoe on the planet stepped into view. The big guy reached from behind, shoved his thumbs in her armpits, eight meaty fingers above her breasts and lifted her to her feet in one swift motion.

All of this transpired within the space of a few short breaths.

As she steadied herself, the laughter of men erupted from somewhere out of view.

The big guy grabbed her right hand with his left and slapped a Zip Lock bag into it. Without thinking or looking at it, her hand clenched the contents. He leaned in and said; “Bitch you better pull yourself together. These guys paid good money for that ass.” Though he whispered, his words resonated like a thunderclap.

Fear, anger and indignity triggered a rush of adrenaline that converted into a burst of energy. Patricia took off like only a stripper can in comically high heels and matching bra and panties.

She hit the double doors of the suite at a full gallop, reaching an elevator down the hall just as the doors opened. A teenage boy stood frozen within. Unable to tell if the expression on his face was distress over the men pursuing her or disbelief of his luck, she stepped in, pressed against the right wall and frantically pressed the bottom button on the panel.

The elevator walls were mirrored; even if they weren’t there was no evading the hormonal leer of the teenager. It made her intensely aware of her attire or rather lack thereof. When the elevator doors opened to the lobby, she bolted as rapidly as humanly possible.

Patricia’s cousin had to fill in as bridesmaid for the conspicuously absent Tiffany. Beyond that, the wedding was a lovely affair.

Patricia wore the tradition white dress inspired by Queen Victoria’s choice for her wedding to Prince Albert in 1840. Choir music was played as flawlessly as when Queen Victoria’s daughter Victoria introduced it to the procession during her wedding to Prince Fredrick William of Prussia in 1858.

Patricia, her husband and his parents stood in order of precedence to greet each guest in the reception line.

Her father, her new husband, the best man and maid of honor all gave eloquent toasts.

Everyone in attendance got a piece of the four-tear cake and partook of wine and spirits.

Two bottles of wine past when men’s tongues and women panties loosen more than they should the groomsman gathered to regale the bridesmaids with tails of masculine adventures.

At one point the maid of honor asked about the bachelors’ party which prompted the best man to tell this tail.

“We tried to do it up right, even hired two strippers. One was a maid delivering the ultimate room service, that went well. The other was gift for the groom, complete with delivery in a gift-wrapped box. Only, soon as she pops out the wench projectile vomits all over the place. Then she belly flops in her own puke wearing nothing but butt floss and heels, crying like a colicky baby. We laughed our asses off.”

One of the bridesmaids interrupted, “That’s not nice even if she was a crack hoe.”

The best man retorts; “Oh this was more like a Victoria’s Secret model and don’t worry she had the last laugh. We’d already given all our money to their uh… manager. Soon as we start laughing, she jumps up, snatches the money out of his hand and bolts.

All we saw was the finest backside on the planet scurrying away as graceful as a feline. I speak for every male present when I say that young lady is going to make some lucky bastard a very happy man.”

  • Girl In A Box
  • Short Story by Bristol Duncan
  • Drafted: June 2011
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