Box of Candy

Author's Note: This story is based on, and dedicated to, one of my favourite voice artists on an online forum. If you're a regular on the sub like I am, you might have no trouble figuring out who she is. My longest story yet, it took me a long while to finish and edit. It is also a bit of a departure from the themes of my earlier work. I've made extrapolations and taken creative liberties where I felt the need. The fantasies and fetishes mentioned here obviously shouldn't be taken as a judgement of character, mine or my muse's. Hope you enjoy reading it. Feedback and constructive criticisms are always welcome - Astro.

*********

I looked at my reflection in the mirror one last time to check I had no stray hairs poking out of my beard. The knot in my tie was okay, just like it had been five minutes ago. And my shirt wasn't billowing out over the top of my pants, yet. All good. I was over-contemplating my turnout, I told myself, to cover for my general anxiety about the first day at work. I'd been recently offered employment at a high-profile finance think-tank. This post was a huge step-up from all of my previous profiles, and not just considering the massive pay raise. This was the six-figure job I'd only ever dreamed of. But to be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect. They didn't exactly dole out these positions in their company. On paper, I had a decent variety of qualifications and experience, and I guess I interview well, too. But I never thought I'd get an offer from them. But here I was, riding a lift to the fortieth floor of a skyscraper, a little more an hour after my frantic final checks in the bathroom mirror.

I was given a general tour of the office space, and was introduced to my would-be colleagues. We were supposed to be working in a small team - five people, including the team leader, who was currently away on a vacation in Bali. I struck a chord with my teammates from day one. They all seemed to be cool people. Exceptionally talented at work and laid-back. On the very first weekend after I joined the company, we all went out for drinks. I sussed out common interests with each of them, and they seemed glad to have an additional member to ease their workloads. I liked my tasks too, which involved examining global agricultural innovations, and reporting on the performance of international start-ups in the scene. Things were going great.

Our team leader got back to work about ten days after I joined. I'd only met her once before, on the interview panel. On that day, I'd been anxious but trying to keep cool. I had no hopes of being offered the job anyway, so I treated it as good practice for future interviews. The lone woman on the panel - Dulcie Lopez - shook my hand and informed me that she was heading the team to which the short-listed candidate would be assigned. She spoke little throughout the interview, and at the end smiled politely at me before I turned to leave the room. Out of everyone on the panel, she was the one I seemed to have made the least impression on. On the day of her return from her holiday, Miss Lopez -

Please, call me Dulcie

- invited me into her office to catch up. After the initial small talk, Dulcie asked me how a report - due at the end of my first month - was coming along. Straight to the point, just like that. From what my teammates had told me, Dulcie had been with the company for a little under four years, yet had risen up the ranks faster than anyone else had. A textbook jet-setting executive, she had a long list of qualifications and degrees from numerous prestigious universities. As a leader, she was efficient and effective. Sharp, goal-oriented, tenacious, passionate and unreserved in praise or criticism - she had a no-nonsense air about her. I respected that. She was also of mixed heritage, Portugese-Malay/Indonesian and spoke with accent which had hints of British, North American and South-East Asian mixed in. Short - about 5'1" - and curvy with ample proportions, I'd seen Dulcie stare down hotshot execs a whole head taller than her when it came to defending her management decisions.

I have a history of close relationships with women slightly older than me. I seem to connect with and befriend them with more ease than I do people my age or younger. But with Dulcie it was different. I couldn't get a bead on her. While she wasn't manoeuvring management or laying out tasks for us, she stayed reserved. Her personal life remained largely a mystery, and she masterfully dodged any questions pertaining to hobbies, inclinations, and interests - romantic and otherwise. It wasn't that she was frigid, she was just... stoic. The only thing anyone really knew about her was her love for tea and heavy metal (as one of my colleagues found out while sitting next to her in an airport lounge, the tinny audio leaking out from Dulcie's headphones). Quite the contrast. Understandably, I wasn't the only one left gathering my wits when she was around.

********

A small, but significant hint of Dulcie's sexuality presented itself a few months into my posting. One afternoon at the office, I finished a section of an upcoming presentation and needed to run it by her. I walked to her office down the corridor. Dulcie had an open-doors policy, and anyone wanting to meet with her could just knock on her door, which she kept slightly ajar, and walk in. I rapped my knuckles twice on the wood, then swung the door open.

Her office was empty, but I knew she'd come in today. I walked back out, and up the corridor past the meeting rooms. These rooms were set aside for internal conferencing, be it face-to-face or via phone. Soundproofed and walled with frosted glass, they needed to be booked for use beforehand. I glanced over the frosted section of the glass as I walked by one, and found Dulcie sitting inside, unaccompanied. She had her laptop open in front of her, and headphones plugged in. She was facing away from the door. I knocked on the door, but she didn't respond. Probably couldn't hear me. I pressed down on the handle and opened it just enough to stick my head in.

"Dul- "

My words caught in my mouth as I heard her talking. At first I thought she was on a call, but the audible gasps and whimpers coming from her indicated otherwise. She couldn't have been in pain, because nobody in agony punctuates their sentences with "fuck yeah" and "oh that feels good" - unless it's sexual agony, of course. One of her hands was holding the mic of her earphones to her mouth, and the other one moved jerkily under the table. But it was the smell which hung in the air that gave her away.

It was the unmistakeable scent of arousal.

"You can learn... what it feels like to fuck my tight asshole."

Was she skyping with a hookup? I squinted at her screen. No video.

"Treat me like a whore. I need to feel you driving your cock inside me... oohhhh yeeeesssss give it to your whore aunt."

Reddit. That's what lay open on her screen.

"I'm almost there. Pull my hair, just like that" she panted.

Next to her laptop was her phone, the screen showing visualiser bars that flickered with her words. She was recording.

"just a bit more... make sure... all of you gets in me... yeaaahhhHHHHH..."

Her breath suddenly caught in her throat and she started shuddering. A high-pitched whine came out of her throat as she orgasmed on her chair. From my vantage point I could see the side of her face, and it was contorted with sweet suffering.

I ducked back out. I calmly walked back to my cubicle and waited for her to come out of the meeting room. After ten minutes, she exited the room and closed the door behind her. A puzzled expression crossed her face.

Realised you'd forgotten to lock it, did you?

She nevertheless went back to her office. I waited a further five minutes and followed her. The door was ajar. Knocking on it, I stuck my head in.

"Hey Dulcie, I needed to run my slides by you..."

********

For the next week I scoured the gonewildaudio subreddit for any post relating to aunt-nephew incest fantasies. There were a bunch of them - some really good ones too (my bedroom and shower stall saw a lot of action during those seven days) - but none with the monologue I'd heard in the meeting room. I almost gave up, but on the eight day, as I randomly opened up the subreddit at work, I found a new post titled "Son, please don't fuck your aunt." The person who posted it went by the username 'BoxDeLaCandy'.

Bingo.

I clicked through the profile and confirmed my suspicions. There she was, in all her slutty glory. Dulcie. Her audios were a mix of vanilla and fetish-inclined. Her voice, which was usually low and authoritative in the office, was higher-pitched - and frankly, cute - in this anonymous playground. That is, unless she was role-playing as a seductive aunt or a sinful nun. Sexually wholesome, then.

I put on my earphones and started listening to one of the audios she'd posted, in which she role-played as a woman bound to a pedestal under a swinging blade (a la Edgar Allan Poe), and forced to orgasm to save her from being chopped to pieces. Her fervent pleading to her kidnapper, interspersed with her body betraying her was making my work trousers tighter by the second - until 'BoxDeLaCandy' walked up to my cubicle in person.

"You need to rework your slides." She said, with no preamble.

I hastily turned the volume down, but I could still hear the tinny, helpless voice of my boss in my ears.

"Okay... which ones?" I asked.

"All of them."

My mouth gaped open. In my ears, Dulcie's virgin asshole was being invaded by girthy vibrator.

"But the presentation is tomorrow!"

"And I've given you enough feedback on the file to guide you along the way."

I opened the presentation file on the shared folder. Sure enough, almost all thirty of my slides had comments on them. Dulcie peered over my shoulder at my screen.

"There you go." She said. Through my earphones came her ecstatic moans. Her kidnapper was eating her pussy. I sat petrified, hoping to hell my earphones wouldn't betray me and leak out the audio.

"Look, even if I were to finish the edits by tonight, I'd have no time to memorise my speech by tomorrow.

"Well then I hope you don't get stage fright."

She didn't even wait to listen to any of my further protests before walking away. I had plans for the evening which now needed to be pushed back. It was a date, actually. Also, tomorrow's presentation was being attended by a couple of high-level execs, some of whom I intended to impress. Right now, all I could do was pray to get through my slides without stammering or fumbling.

I sat there, my heart beating fast, the stress effectively killing my erection.

God I fucking hate you right now.

In the audio, Dulcie's kidnapper made her cum but left her bound under the blade. He told her that the next time she was gonna blow him to climax before the blade split her open.

I stayed till 10 PM at the office, making the edits. In the back of my mind, something brewed.

*********

The next day, the presentation went better than expected. The adrenaline helped me along. Our project proposal got accepted and the investors invited our team to a mixer that weekend. The venue was a five-star hotel in the heart of the city. We were supposed to meet and network with stakeholders for the project. From the point of view of the project, this was a valuable opportunity.

However, two people from our team weren't gonna make it.

On the day of the event, I called in sick, "...regretfully". My teammates were sorry and told me to take care of myself. I hung up the phone, picked up a suitcase and a duffel bag, and headed to the city. I checked into the hotel by early afternoon and began setting up the room. It took me a couple of hours to make sure everything was in place, and that I had ensured measures against all possible contingencies. Then I took a shower and put on a suit. I headed down to the bar by the time the guests for the mixer started filing in. Out of the hotel's three bars, I'd chosen this one because it gave me a direct line of sight to the entrance to the lobby, where I could see everyone who came in.

The guests for the event needed to register at the reception, pick up their name tags and be escorted into the function hall. About a half-hour after the scheduled starting time, I saw Dulcie come in. As she crossed the lobby, I dialled a number and spoke briefly with someone on the other end. Dulcie finished the registration, and was about to follow a bell-boy into the hall when the receptionist called her back. He explained something to her, and a look of surprise crossed her face. She nodded and asked for directions. The receptionist guided her down to the bank of elevators. By the time the doors closed behind her, I'd already paid for my drink and headed up.

As a guest of the hotel, I had access to the express elevators. This meant I could get up directly to my floor, and much faster than Dulcie could. Sure enough, by the time she'd stepped out of the elevator, I was ready and waiting behind the door to my room. She was headed to the lounge, supposedly to meet a certain exec from the London office. I knew she had a thing for him - his position in the company, his portfolio, his looks, and his stupid, posh accent.

Hook, line and sinker.

Dulcie had to pass by my room on the way to the lounge, as soon as I heard her footsteps go past my door, I quietly opened the door and slipped out into the corridor behind her. I had a balaclava on, and no shoes. I was carrying a thick nylon bag in my hand, which I slipped on her head from behind, and pulled the drawstring tight around her neck. She gasped, and reached for the string, but I whipped an arm around her neck and grabbed the bicep of the other, and put the chloroform-dipped rag to her nose. She struggled for a couple of seconds, then went limp.

********

When she opened her eyes, about half an hour later, I was putting the finishing touches to the knots on the rope which harnessed her to the portable boxing bag stand. I'd erected the easy-to-set-up jig in the centre of the room. Through a series of eyehole hooks and counterweights, I could adjust the length of rope feeding through the top hook of the stand, and hence, her position. I could have her stand straight, kneel, or lie splayed on the ground. Currently she was on her knees, her arms stretched out behind her, wrists and ankles bound with leather straps to a single stainless-steel loop. Her back was arched, tits thrust out under her dress. A steady stream of drool dripped out of the corner of the mouth onto the expensive carpet below.

"What... what's going on?..." she mumbled, in a voice thick with chemical haze. The big pair of iron scissors I held out in front of her face brought her back from the depths quickly. Her voice rose in alarm.

"Wait, what is this? Oh god..."

I stepped fully in front of her. I still had my balaclava on, and my evening suit. The scissors glinted under the light of the single pair of ceiling lights I had on.

"Be quiet, and you get to live. If you raise your voice beyond the level I'm okay with, these scissors go straight into your neck."

The colour drained from her face. Her petrified pallor made her crimson lipstick stand out even more in contrast.

"You're nothing but a piece of meat for the rest of the evening. I own you, and I'm gonna use you however I like. You don't have a say in the matter."

I walked around the back and pulled a gag through her mouth and across her face.

"oh no please no please PWEEEEEEE-"

The gag, shaped like a dog's bone, made it impossible for her for enunciate any further words.

"Tonight, you're my cumslut. Nod if you understand."

As her new reality set in, she started shuddering and hyperventilating. Not getting the response I was after, I took the scissors and placed the cold metal of the blades against the skin on her inner thigh, right above her knee. Her eyes widened in alarm. I slid the scissors up to the hem of her dress, caught it between the blades and continued up, over her belly, between her tits and under her chin. The sharp ceramic edges made quick work of the silk evening dress she was wearing, which split open down the middle and fell to her sides. Two more snips and it was freed from her shoulders, and the cloth puddled underneath her.

I knew she was into wearing fancy lingerie, but today she'd outdone herself. Her bra was a black lace halter-neck number, with harness-like straps running on the outside of her breasts. The lace cups could be unhooked at the top from the harness straps, making for what would be a sexy reveal, without taking off the bra itself. Covering her mound were lace g-string panties, with a similar harness structure around her waist, and a tiny, detachable lace flap over her slit.

"Fancy panties. You thought you were getting laid tonight, cunt?"

Tears of humiliation dripped from the sides of her eyes.

"Can't say I don't appreciate the effort. Certainly makes my job a lot easier."

I bent over her and unhooked the lace cups. Her fat brown tits spilled out of their containment. I brought out my brush flogger and smacked her left breast lightly with it. She gasped. I brought it down harder.

Thwack!

Her eyes widened with pain. I went even harder.

Thwack!

Thwack!

Thwack!

With each whipping her gasps grew higher in pitch. After twenty assaults on the left one, I switched to the right.

Thwack!

Thwack!

Thwack!

Dulcie strained against her restraints, but they only dug deeper into her skin. She thrashed and bucked, trying to dodge the rain of lashes that I meted out on her previously unmarked breasts. Her breaths came out in staccato bursts. After twenty whips on either side, I stood back to look at my handiwork. The brush flogger doesn't sting or leave marks like a leather crop would, but use it right and it can make one's flesh feel like it's on fire. Dulcie's tits had turned a light hue of purple, engorged with warm blood. I knew I had come close to her pleasure-pain threshold because her nipples were erect.

Her chest was heaving. Her eyes looked at me pleadingly. I looked right into them as I brought the flogger down on the top of her belly. Dulcie squealed, abdomen contracting against the pain. I alternated the intensity of whipping. A light smack, followed by a hard lash. Then I'd move an inch lower.

Smack

Thwack!

Smack

Thwack!

Smack

THWACK!

"Cum..."

THWACK!

"...slut"

THWACK!

"Do..."

THWACK!

"...you..."

THWACK!

"...understand?"

Dulcie wailed behind her gag. She jerked her head up and down frantically. Her skin was fire engine red. I moved the flogging slowly down to her navel, then on top of her mound. Beads of sweat dripped down over her belly, to the top of her pubes, before being absorbed by the lace of her panties. Her entire body quaked as I brought the flogger down over the top of the elastic waistband. Then I withdrew.

I let Dulcie bask in the pain for a while. Her moaning sobs gradually quietened down to hitching inhales. I pulled a length of rope through a hook on the bottom brace of the boxing bag stand and wound it around her neck. I knotted it under the base of her skull. Then I undid the leather straps holding her wrists bound to her ankles. With a sudden spurt of strength, she reared up and twisted, making for a direct line to the door.

With a soft swish, the noose around her neck tightened. The rope flexed taut and Dulcie fell on her side. She screamed angrily at me behind her gag, which quickly turned to panic when she realised she couldn't breathe. I showed her the other end of the rope in my hand, giving a couple of sharp tugs to demonstrate my measures against her escape. And continued breathing.