Postal Pussy Pt 01 02

Pt. 01:

When I'd returned from work, entering my apartment complex, there had been a large package, which I must emphasize the ungodly size thereof, waiting. I had to lean over it to check my mail. In my peripheral, I read my own name on the box, which confused me, as I wasn't expecting any deliveries. On all sides, the word 'fragile' was stamped in bold letters, something hard to miss. Because of such, I carefully carried it up the few flights of steps to my flat, nearly throwing out my back in the process.

As soon as I slid the cardboard container into my apartment, I locked the door behind me and took a breather on the couch. Pulling at my collar, I was drenched in sweat. Whatever was in that thing, it was nearly the end of me. Why was it so heavy? The fact its contents were to be treated delicately, I had been especially nervous handling it, afraid of dropping it down the stairs or banging it around.

After I'd caught my breath, though my arms and lower back somewhat aching still yet, I retrieved a knife from the kitchen and decided to tear into the thing, except with caution not to potentially damage anything inside. Immediately after having cut through the transparent tape, pulling open the lid, I closed it back up. Blinking, I had trouble believing what I'd just seen. As a sort of double take, I reopened the package a few more times, but only slightly, as I was afraid to let the overhead light fully illumine what was to be found. Almost shaking, I removed a piece of paper that'd been stuck to one of the flaps, hoping it'd offer some explanation.

"Congratulations!" it read. "You've been randomly selected for our mailing list. Aren't you lucky? Well, you definitely are. By the time you read this, you will probably already have noticed what our special service provides. To participate, you must know a few rules. 1. You are permitted to do whatever you want, just don't 'damage the goods'. 2. You can't tell anyone about our services (especially law enforcement). 3. You have only twenty-four hours to enjoy the contents of each delivery. The following day, you must return to sender. If you don't, you're off the mailing list. Oh, and we break your fucking legs, and also probably your face. If you use our goods and services, it will be assumed that you agree to these terms, and you will be held to your agreement accordingly. If you, for any reason, wish to be removed from our mailing list, simply leave a note inside saying so, and you'll never hear from us again. Thanks and enjoy, XOXO, hugs and kisses, mwah."

All I could think was that this couldn't be real. Though I was sure I wasn't asleep, that this was not some sort of lucid or vivid dream, I questioned the legitimacy of what laid inside the container in the fetal position. Its chest heaved with breath, it had hair, flesh, and all other lifelike qualities, of which were disturbingly convincing. If it was a doll, why did it rhythmically move, as if breathing? Perhaps it could be battery powered, but that made little sense. And as I reached into the open box, feeling its skin, it was warm and alive. I couldn't delude myself into thinking otherwise, it was a real girl.

There'd been a second page to that letter, so I decided to read it, anxious and trembling, my pulse racing.

"Race: Caucasian. Hair: blonde. Eyes: brown. Height: 5'4. Bust: C."

That offered no help. In fact, it made me feel even worse. And I nearly had a heart attack, since my gaze fell upon the girl after I was finished reading, only to see her eyes staring back up at me. Panicked, I shut the flaps, unsure of what to do. My first instinct was to let her out, to go to the police, but obviously whoever had sent her to me had my address. I really, really didn't want to have my legs broken, either.

To my surprise, she didn't resist as I expected her to. She'd been as if sleeping peacefully before, but now that she'd awoken, I anticipated screaming. It was disturbingly silent. When a few moments passed, I hesitantly peeked back into the package. She was still there, of course, unmoving apart from her piercing eyes, and saying nothing. I left the lid agape, worried she'd been without oxygen whilst trapped in there.

And holy shit was I glad I'd been so cautious in handling the box. You know, since it had a person in it!

Morally, I knew it would be wrong to partake in what this 'service' provided. Yet there she was, lying naked. Her hand slowly crawled up the side of the cardboard and touched mine. The only thing I could do was just stare down at it. My heartbeat was prominent in my chest, as I knew a doll, no matter how realistic they make them these days, could not make such a human and sentient gesture.

But there was in me, at that moment, an ethical dilemma. As far as I could see, it must somehow be consensual. Although she was rather expressionless, she was caressing my hand, not yelling for help or leaping out to escape. Even so, I couldn't do it. I was afraid, despite the temptation being so vehement.

"Hello...?" I choked out, almost as a cough.

There was no response, her look vacant.

"Are you okay? Don't you want out?"

Nothing...

"Look," I then began, swallowing at the thought of my proposition, "if you want, you're free. I'm letting you go."

But she neither budged nor stirred.

I grabbed her by the wrists, pulling her to her feet. For a moment, she stood there in the box, before I pulled her out. Before me, bare feet on the carpet, she was completely nude. Intimidated by this fact, I tried to look her in the face, or divert my eyes. This was a rather difficult feat, however, for she was such an attractive female, and it'd been such a time since I'd been with a woman.

It didn't help she was so uninhibited about her nudity, almost as if innocently unaware.

"I guess I could get you some clothes... They'll be men's, I mean, but it'll give you something to clothe yourself with," I paused at her lack of reaction. "Do you realize that I'm going to let you go free? Do you not want that?"

Again, silence.

"Do you even understand what I'm saying right now?"

And again, I was met by nothing, no response, save for a lazy blink as she didn't take her eyes off me.

There was a naked girl in my living room, and I was permitted to do anything I wanted with or to her. I admit that it gave me an erection. The very idea of indulging, however, filled me with moral dread.

"If you don't leave, I'm going to have to put you back in the box. I'll have to send you back to wherever you came from," I felt very disconcerted by her lack of concern for my having said this. "This is your last chance..."

She blinked.

By the wrists, I led her back into the cardboard package. Then, holding her by the shoulders, I lowered her down. Once she realized she was going back inside, she got into the fetal position once again, and laid there. There was a solemn glimmer in those large, brown eyes, as if disappointed, but what else could I do? I resealed the container, leaving her in darkness. Carefully, I poked her some breathing holes, though at the very top of the sides where I knew there was absolutely no risk in stabbing her.

Knowing now the contents of the delivery, I didn't let the container touch the floor once as I hauled it back down the steps. I made sure to write return to sender all over it, and personally transported it to the post office by car, lest anyone tamper with it. The lady who helped me through the process of returning it was courteous, and the entire time I felt like some sort of criminal smuggling something through the post. Yes, indeed, I was very illegally smuggling something, that 'something' being a person. When all was said and done, I rushed home as fast as I could.

Once my body hit the couch, I stood back up, my face in my hands. I'd forgotten to leave a note inside canceling my subscription, erasing my name from their mailing list. It was too late now, much to my dismay. I'd have to wait for the next shipment...

Pt. 02:

For the first week or two, all I could think about was the girl in the box. By the end of the month, I'd entirely forgotten. Whenever I did think about her, I was filled with such worry. Surely, if a person was discovered, especially a naked female for the intended usage of sexual favors, being sent through the mail to me, I'd probably just as equally get the blame. But because I kept my mouth shut, telling no one, it was erased temporarily from my mind. That is, until one day I opened my door to find that my landlord had taken it upon himself to make sure that all my deliveries would be brought right into my apartment. He left a note complaining about it, which only made the matters worse for me.

I thought of returning the package immediately to its original sender. Except, remembering my mistake from last time, I would have to at least open it and leave an indicator that I wanted no part in this mail order sex slavery. I dreaded the idea of un-packaging it, of peering down once again to a helpless girl lying there, awaiting to be used. For most of the evening, I just watched TV as if nothing was wrong, almost counting down the seconds until I'd finally have to open that cardboard prison staring at me from across my living room. And whilst the last girl had said nothing, what if this one screamed? In an instant, she could have my neighbors calling the police on me, and then I, an innocent man, would take the fall for whatever the hell was going on.

Swallowing my anxiety, I finally found it within myself to get a knife. Infinitely more careful than before, I cut through the tape and pulled back just one of the flaps. Upon it was stuck a piece of paper, just like before. Without fully opening the package, without looking inside at its human contents, I tore off the letter and read it, my heart a drum being pounded so hard and fast.

"Race: Caucasian. Hair: brunette. Eyes: brown. Height: 5'7. Bust: DD."

How could a person be quantified, objectified, in just a short checklist of features? Was this the mentality of human trafficking, that they are just attributes listed on paper? It was so dehumanizing that it made me physically nauseous. My hand was tremulous as I read over the page again. I felt as though the world was about to end knowing that there was a nameless girl in six walls of cardboard before me, known only as white, with brown hair and eyes, standing five feet and seven inches tall, with the brassiere measurements of a double D-cup. Having not seen her as a person, as a human being, living and breathing, only made the statistics in my hand feel so arbitrary, as if these details could have said anything, that they were just intrinsically meaningless words on a scrap of paper detached from the girl they concisely described in such an inhuman and depersonalizing manner.

She'd once been an infant, or so I was to assume, with nurturing parents, raised like any other child. And now she was grown up and in a box, being sent around who knows where, to have done to her things I could only imagine. In my hands, in my living room, she was, for twenty-four hours, my possession. As far as the sender knew, or as far as I could know, I had taken up their offer on the previous girl, having unsealed and resealed the container, not leaving any objectification to them sending me a living human being through the mail. Seemingly, then, I was just as bad as they were, and too frightened to turn either the previous girl or the new one over to the authorities.

Would they even believe me? I imagine the fact I didn't say anything regarding the first victim would seem suspicious, especially if they told the police it was implied I'd done anything to her. The more I thought about it logically, or as rationally as I could, the more panicked I became.

Was it just an excuse to give into the temptation? In hindsight, it probably was. I had thoroughly convinced myself that I was just as guilty as I could possibly be, and that my hands were already stained with the crime. Before I could even get a proper look at her, I'd already taken her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. If she'd been asleep like the other, she was definitely awake now, her eyes fixed on me as I was now to her face to face. A few freckles decorated her cheeks, her brunette locks falling down in waves around her face, and I found myself intoxicated by her adorable features, of which were reminiscent of one's typical first crush, 'cute' instead of 'hot'.

Like the girl prior to her, she stood there uninhibited by her nudity. She was just as expressionless, even if her characteristics were definitely different from the blonde. It was as if she was oblivious to the fact that I was now eyeing her up, scanning her from head to feet. Her frame was of an inverted triangle shape. That is, her DD-cup breasts were more so ample than her hips and buttocks. She'd that sort of tight, compact teen girl butt, like the college coed sort that spent her days at the library and her sleepless nights alternating between studying and fucking. Lithe, her stomach was flat, but she certainly wasn't anorexic looking. And if I had to guess, she could have been no older than twenty-three.

"I'm going to touch you," I reluctantly announced. "Is that okay with you?"

I expected no answer, and wasn't disappointed. Though I know not why, I grabbed her by the shoulders, caressing the sides of her arms. Perhaps, in the event she couldn't speak English, I wanted to let her physically know that I was going to touch her. Met by lazy blinks, my hands drifted from her biceps to her chest. Nearly salivating, unable to control myself, I unconsciously switched between squeezing her breasts, pushing them together, and just casually massaging them. By the time reality returned to me and I became aware of what I was doing, about to apologize, I saw a glistening trickle of wetness running down one of her thighs, looking up to see her blushing.

My hands snaked around her body to her backside. With my face just an inch or two from hers, her chest pressed against my own, her luscious bust the only thing pushing me back, I seized her ass in both hands. She gasped, her breathing becoming so shallow and audible. On an impulse, I embraced her lips, kissing her deeply as I felt her firm buttocks in my hold. By the time our kiss had ended, and I opened my eyes to again see her, she was practically grinding herself against my leg.

I couldn't believe it, she totally wanted it.

Leading her to the sofa, the two of us sat down, she on top of me. Saddling upon my groin with hers, she was just as eager to get my pants undone as I was. When my erection was in the open air, released from the imprisonment of my trousers, though the restriction of my clothing having had made me even harder, she took no delay in sliding me up inside her tightness. From every angle, I was met by the hottest, tightest grasp, and soon her sopping womb left my every inch soaked in her dripping desire. Because it'd been such a long time, I was so sensitive, though she took on me no mercy as her movements soon went from slow and sudden, where she 'tested the waters', to the frantic and desperate humps of intense sex.

She pushed her bosom into my face. Latching onto her nipple with my mouth, I sucked and coyly, lightly, bit at it, the other breast in my hand. My opposite hand squeezed one of her ass cheeks and added momentum to her thrusts down onto me. As our pelvises met again and again, there were wet, loud noises of friction. The moment I could believe what was happening, my toes were curling and I was pleading her to stop, lest I cum inside her. She either ignored or could not understand me, since she grabbed my shoulders for support and slammed herself down onto my throbbing member, and I could feel myself penetrating the farthest depths of her pussy, where she then proceeded to grind her hips around to milk me of my seed.

The pleasure was far too overwhelming, and she left me little opportunity to collect myself, to hold back. Going limp, in pulsations that nearly gave me a headache, I released strand upon strand of burning sperm inside her. As she felt my orgasm occur within her, she adorned my face with kisses, the two of us panting. Her hand petting her clitoris in wild circular motions, she herself came but moments after I had, and I felt with such post-libido sobriety the sensation of her flooding female ejaculate pour out onto my prick, making me squirm in my hyper-sensitivity. Then, she lay atop me, gulping for air, a blazing, sweaty mess, her hair disheveled.

Now that my sex drive had been depleted, I contemplated what I had just done with newfound clarity. Guilty and ashamed, I picked her up, her limbs wrapping instinctively about me, and then I lowered her back into the box. Her arms and legs hanging out, thighs parted just enough for me to catch a glimpse at our fornication oozing out from her shaved vagina, she just stared up at me, perplexed. I had suddenly gone from needing to be inside her to desperately pushing her away, helping her situate herself so that she was once more in the fetal position, and then concealed by the closed flaps of the container. After redoing the front of my pants, I poked her a few holes for oxygen, very worried about her health and safety in the package, but dared not let her out again.

The wetness she left me absolutely drenched in made my now unhardened shaft stuck to my underwear. It was uncomfortable, only furthering my distaste for the moment. I'd been wrong about before, as I was not truly a criminal until having left a deposit of my DNA in what I'd just been aroused by thinking of as her 'fuck-hole'. And as I got a pencil and paper to pen down that I wished to unsubscribe from this service, I couldn't get myself to do it. I got a few meaningless squiggles down, but no more. Instead, I grabbed a roll of duct tape, resealed the box, and made sure it was in the mail by the next day.