THE BOX

The driver opened the door of the taxi and held out his hand, palm upwards, for a tip. I walked forward, hitched up my short skirt, and slid my cunt over his upturned hand, squeezing it against my wet flesh as I gripped its edges with the tops of my thighs. I licked his face, knowing I would never see him again, yet realising that the taste of his skin - the hide that protected his warm succulent blood - would remain forever in my mind. I pushed my face against his neck and pressed my teeth against it - just imagining biting into it filled my stomach with a wave of nervous excitement. I licked him again - a slow sloppy stroke of my tongue - this time running my lips along his throat as well. He did not know it but I was secretly offering him my germ, my ability to transform him into another kind - a form of existence that persisted beyond the light. I imagined my spit was his blood, rushing out of his veins and into my mouth - hot, spurting, filled with life and energy, nourishing, satisfying. I sucked it back, warm and glutinous, and tasted again his semen on my tongue. It was glorious! For a second I thought of his cock plugging my throat and how I had held it there as long as I could until finally, gasping for breath and with my body jerking and straining, I had pulled back and choked. I thought of how he had thrust it in again - not giving me time to get my breath back - and had driven it even deeper, forcing it in brutally as far as it would go. I thought of how I had choked and how he had kept it in, and I thought of how I had heaved and felt vomit somewhere deep in my gullet, and how I had felt his semen washing inside me, and the end of his cock expanding and pressing against the inside of my throat until, giddy and disoriented, I thought I would pass out.

I pressed a ten dollar bill into his still waiting and wet hand and left.

San Francisco International Airport terminal loomed above me; three long connected architectural waves - the Pacific swell in burnished steel. Inside it was frantic. Beautiful tanned women strode along confidently between down-and-out buskers, beggars and leftover hippies. Nobody took any notice of my tousled hair, ripped shirt and semen smeared face - I was just part of the incongruity, the absurdity of Southern California.

I felt as if I was caught in a dream. It was as though the surroundings in the airport were like my life - confused, polarized and ill-matched. Yes, it was as if everything must be a delusion - Pacific Heights, the execution of Father Dawson, the infection, the vampires and now the pursuing flock and Pastor Wick. It all seemed ridiculous. I would be locked up as insane if I told anyone, I thought. But it was true! I couldn’t get away from it. I looked behind me, suddenly fearful of being followed. I was paranoid as well!

I went to the restroom. I stood in front of a brightly lit mirror and doused my face with water. A middle aged woman holding a small poodle in the crook of her arm came out of a cubicle and stood beside me. The dog barked at me as though it was startled. The woman looked me up and down haughtily and with disgust.

I stared at myself in the mirror. The two small puncture marks in my neck convinced me that even though everything seemed ridiculous, or fantastic, or unbelievable, there was no doubt about it - what I thought had happened, really had happened! I went cold as the undeniable realisation flooded over me. I saw my lips trembling and I shivered all over.

The dog barked again and the woman shielded its eyes, as if the sight of me somehow upset its sensitivity. I turned to it and exposed my teeth. It made a frightened bleating sound and curled up in the woman’s protective arms.

I walked through the main concourse. The buff coloured surface of the shiny marble floor reflected the brightness of the lighting panels in the ceiling. I saw a tacky sign stuck at an angle over a glass door squeezed between a bureau de change and a fire exit: “Acme Couriers - worldwide non-registered couriers”. Beneath it a white plaque hung on a chromium linked chain: “Couriers wanted - free travel”. A tall dark haired woman walked away from the door into the concourse.

The door stuck as I tried to push it open. I looked around it.

It was a cramped room, stacked with boxes and envelopes. A man with a sallow complexion sat on the edge of a small desk holding the wrists of a frightened looking young woman who was sitting forward on a leather covered typist’s chair. The man’s black hair was slicked back and he had a small black moustache and a goatee beard. The young woman had a mane of tousled blonde hair and was wearing a short, red plaid skirt and a red blouse with a frilly white collar. She looked up at him enquiringly with wide blue eyes. She seemed sorry for something - unsure how to make good her mistake. Neither of them saw me peering around the door.

He poked his face towards her and shouted. She bit her lips fearfully.

‘This is the last time you will make a mistake like this, Kristy. You’ve done it before and I have had to discipline you. And now you’ve done it again! Sometimes I think you want me to punish you! I can’t let this pass, you know that, Kristy. You know that don’t you?’

Kristy bit her lips. Her eyes were tearful but she kept looking at him, as if her suppliant gaze would somehow save her from chastisement.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said falteringly. ‘So, so sorry. It won’t happen again, sir. I promise. It really won’t happen again.’

‘I know you think that, Kristy, but I must make sure. If we lose much more business we’ll both be out of a job. And what then?’

Kristy dropped her gaze. It was as if she was at last admitting her mistake and now acknowledging she must be punished for it. Her hair fell forward around her flushed cheeks.

I clung to the edge of the door-frame. I could not take my eyes from the scene inside the room.

‘You know what to do, Kristy.’

‘Yes, sir, I know.’

He let go of her wrists. For a second she sat back on the typist’s chair. She opened her mouth and licked the tip of her tongue across the edges of her bottom teeth. I could see how white they were - perfect Californian teeth. She took a deep breath - her pert breasts rose, her taut cleavage deepened. She looked like a homecoming queen, or a vibrant cheerleader - athletic, tanned, physical, and filled with youthful sexuality.

He nodded as if to prompt her.

She twisted sideways on the chair and stood up. Her waist was narrow and the taut curve of her buttocks pressed out beneath her short tartan skirt. She looked at him again, this time for permission, and again he nodded.

He stood up from the desk. On it there was a heavy black typewriter and on the left hand side a pile of white paper. She moved the typewriter slightly and tidied the paper - neatening the edges of the pile, making sure it was symmetrically placed alongside the typewriter. She opened a drawer in the desk and removed a long wooden ruler. She placed it neatly on the right hand side of the typewriter.

She stood back from the table and bent forward at a right angle. She rested her elbows on the table. She was not wearing any panties. I could just see the tops of her thighs where they joined the base of her rounded buttocks. Between them I could make out the thin line of her crack, squeezed between the perfect oval created by the delectable raised edges of her soft pink cunt. A thrill of excitement passed through my stomach. My hips ached and I felt my nipples hardening and pressing against the material of my shirt.

Kristy waited, not moving.

Suddenly the man spoke in an everyday tone.

‘Kristy. Type out a new courier order. It’s for a package to Rome. It must go today.’

Still leaning forward on her elbows Kristy took a sheet of paper from the pile on the left of the typewriter and wound it into the heavy black carriage. She cranked the wheel on the side and pulled it through until it reappeared and jutted upwards. She dropped the chromium carriage guard back with a metallic snap.

She bit her lips and began to type.

It was difficult for her, leaning forward while trying to hit the heavy keys with enough force to make them work. Suddenly two of the keys jammed together. She stopped immediately, looked sideways and bit onto her lips nervously.

‘Oh, Kristy. Another mistake. This is not good enough. I must teach you to do your work better. You understand don’t you?’

‘Yes, yes I do.’

‘Good! Hand me the ruler.’

She passed him the wooden ruler. He held its ends, flexed it, then rubbed its smooth surface against the palm of his left hand.

‘And prepare yourself!’

Kristy reached back with both hands and took hold of the hem of her tartan skirt. She raised it slowly, bit by bit completely exposing her naked bottom.

I stared at the shape of her buttocks and the delectable oval of her cunt. A thrilling wave of excitement passed through me. I ran my hand between my legs, unable to resist the softness of my own aching flesh. I pulled my fingers between the lips. The slit was wet and opened easily. The tips of my fingers slid in and I pressed them deeply so that my clitoris rested against the inside of my hand. I felt its throbbing heat and another thrill ran through me in a shimmering wave.

The man flexed the ruler again. I could see the tension in it - its springiness, its tautness, its ability to deliver stinging pain.

‘Now, Kristy, you must learn not to make any more mistakes with your typing. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, I understand.’

‘And why must you not make any mistakes?’

‘Because we will be out of work.’

‘Good. And to help you not make any mistakes, what must I do?’

‘You must punish me if ever I make one.’

‘And will you learn from this?’

‘Yes, yes I will.’

‘And have you been punished before for making mistakes?

‘Yes, yes I have.’

‘And so why do I have to punish you again?’

‘Because I have not learned from my punishment.’

‘So what must I do?’

‘You must punish me harder. Every time I make another mistake my punishment must be harder, more painful.’

‘And will you learn from this?’

‘Yes, yes sir, I will.’

‘And if you don’t?’

‘Then you must keep punishing me even harder.’

‘Good. Make sure your skirt stays where it is, then you may rest on your elbows on the desk. Do not look away from the mistake you have made on the typing paper in the typewriter. That is how you will learn, seeing your mistake as you feel the pain of your punishment. Your error will become etched in your mind by the pain and you will learn to do better.’

Kristy folded the edge of the hem of her skirt into the waistband so that that it would stay in place, then she put her elbows on the table as he had instructed.

‘Look at your mistake!’

She stared at the page in the typewriter.

He turned his left shoulder towards her as he drew back the long ruler in his right hand.

‘Look at your mistake! Do not take your eyes from it!’

He held the ruler high in the air for a moment - lining up the path it must travel, fixing the place across the midpoint of her buttocks where he intended the blow to land - then, with only one thing in mind, he brought it down hard.

I felt my jaw dropping. I felt myself gaping. I could not move. I was fixed to the spot - waiting for the ruler to make contact, waiting to hear the smacking crack as it bit into her skin, waiting to see it come away as it sprang against the tautness of her buttocks, waiting to see the red line that it left. Yes, I wanted to see. I wanted to see how red the stripe would be, how angry, how long, how it would follow the curves of her bottom. And I wanted to hear her scream. I wanted to hear her pain. I wanted to feel it vibrating in my head as she released it. I was drawn into what she would suffer, soaked up by it, absorbed by the pain she would feel at his hands.

It was as if it was all happening in a strange slow motion, and in silence. I heard nothing as the surface of the ruler touched her skin. I saw no movement as it sprang back slowly. It was as of the world had frozen around me, as if no signals were getting through to me and yet still change was going on. Then suddenly, like an explosion it all happened. I saw the flashing descent of the ruler, I heard its swish. I felt the panic within me as it approached. I saw it hit her skin, and flex against it. I watched it come away as her taut bottom sprang against it. I saw the instant red line it left. And as quickly I heard her scream, like an animal - primitive, penetrating, filled only with suffering. And I saw Kristy desperate to keep her elbows on the table, afraid to move, afraid to disobey the orders she had been given, afraid to take her eyes off the mistake she had made, afraid in case she had as yet learned nothing.

‘Will you make the same mistake again?’

‘No...No...No...’

I saw the ruler being lifted again. I saw it waiting in the air, waiting from the command of its master, waiting for the command to his limbs to bring it down, to deliver her lesson.

‘I don’t believe you!’

It came down again - noiseless again, frozen in time yet still passing through it, silent yet storing up its explosive crescendo.

I saw her tense as it struck - like a stiff board - then the wait as the earth caught up, then the screech and the release of all that had been held back, then she was fluid again and she writhed in agony.

Another red stripe, another welt, another punishing sting another expectation of more.

‘And now, have you learned your lesson?’

‘Yes...Yes...Yes...’

Her voice was already frail, shaking, wavering, fearful.

‘Yes, I have learned my lesson. I will never make the same - ’

The ruler came down again before she could finish. It struck her with a loud cracking smack. I saw it catch the delightful oval of her cunt, slicing across it, making her tense in supreme anguish, writhing and struggling to stay in position so that she could face up to her misdemeanour and learn from her punishment.

I pushed my fingers deeper into my wet cunt. I hung onto the door-frame with my other hand - moaning, drooling, completely engrossed.

‘And now, have you learned your lesson now?’

‘I have, yes, I - ’

Another smacking blow, another scream, another cut across her tender naked flesh, another apology, another doubt, another cutting stroke, another howling scream.

I bent forward to allow my fingers in deeper. I felt something behind me - heat, pressure, another body!

‘Like looking eh?’ said a man’s voice.

I was startled and half turned. A man in a courier uniform was standing right behind me.

‘Like looking, eh?’ he repeated.

All I could see in my mind was the red stripes on Kristy’s buttocks and cunt. All I could hear in my head were her howling shrieks. All I could feel were my fingers still delving deeply inside my wet cunt and my clitoris pounding against the palm of my thrusting hand.

The man smiled I think - I wasn’t sure, I didn’t care. I was too overwhelmed with the images and sounds of Kristy’s punishment - I was reeling with them. I saw the man’s neck, exposed above his white collar. I saw the blue veins and I saw the pounding artery running up to beneath the point of his jaw. I did not think, or pause. I did not consider my action or work out an approach. I did not think of the consequences. I heard the ruler smacking down again and I launched myself at him, my mouth open, my teeth bared; the sight of his neck and its veins the only thing in my mind.

I heard myself growling, I think, again I was not sure. I felt as if an animal inside me had been released. I smelled his skin. I heard his blood pulsating. Yes, I certainly heard that. And I knew that all I wanted was to taste it. I felt my open mouth making contact. I felt my teeth against his skin. I felt them biting - the tension against the flesh, the slow giving away of the weaker to the stronger, the sense of tearing.

He tried to shake me off - like someone would defend themselves against a stinging bee. I clawed at him. Overcome with eagerness and need. He lashed out at me in a sudden panic. He shouted and kicked and I growled and slobbered. He knocked me to the ground.

Suddenly I was on the floor - the cool marble tiles against my naked buttocks, my legs shaking, my heart pounding, frothing spit running in a stream from my gaping mouth. I bared my teeth at him. I wanted to leap to my feet and lurch at him again. I felt he was my prey and I would not be stopped in my pursuit of him.

He looked down at me. I saw his face whiten with terror. I saw a realisation come over him - he was faced with something which terrified him. Me!

The man ran off. A small crowd gathered around me. I couldn’t get up - I felt so weak. I felt someone reaching down and taking my hand. It was the man with the goatee beard from the courier’s office.

‘It’s okay,’ he said to the people who had gathered around. ‘No panic, she’s just fainted. She’ll be alright after a sit down. No problem. It’s all over. Nothing to see.’

He helped me into the office. I was shaking all over.

‘Here, sit down, sit down,’ he said as if nothing had happened. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are. I’ve got just the job for you. You could say it’s been waiting for you all your life - it’s just perfect. Kristy! Bring the box! Kristy!’

My head was swimming. Only minutes ago I had been watching Kristy being punished, I had heard her screaming for mercy, and now she was putting something down on the table as cool as could be. And the man outside. He had run away as if he’d seen a demon. I had wanted so much to taste his blood. I couldn’t believe what had come over me. I had been completely out of control. The thought made me shiver. I went cold. Had I lost control of myself? Was I under the same spell as the flock? Was I a demon?

Kristy placed a white box on the table between us. She looked under her eyes at me and tried to smile. I could see she was finding it difficult to keep back her tears. I couldn’t believe how everything seemed to have returned to normal, as though what I had witnessed had not happened. I wanted to run my hands up her short tartan skirt and feel the welts on her bottom - just to be sure my memory wasn’t playing tricks.

‘Sit down. Sit down,’ said the man launching into a well tried sale patter. ‘There on the table, right in front of your eyes, is your passport to freedom. What’s your name?’

‘Syra.’

‘Syra, just think of it, passage to a new world. For a few days of your time and enough money to change your whole life! Syra I am the answer to your prayer. Can you believe your fortune?’

I looked at the box. It was red plastic with a white top and a red carrying handle. On the side was a white circle with a red cross in the centre. Below the circle against a rectangular white background it said in red capitals “HUMAN ORGAN”.

I pulled back as I read it.

‘Nothing to worry about,’ said the man. ‘We’ve all got them. Just think of it as your new life. Just pick up the box and you’re on the way.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘It’s simple. This box needs delivering to Bratislava. You take it on a plane, make sure it gets to the address I will give you and that’s it. No problemo. They’ll pay you on delivery. Enough for you to fly on anywhere in the world. It’s so easy. I really envy you. What a way to travel, eh? You’ll be part of the jet set.’

‘Is that all I have to do?’

‘It sure is, Syra. Just make sure you deliver the package at the right place at the right time. Pick up your money and on you go. It’s that simple.’

‘What do people want with this, this “human organ”?’

‘I can’t say. What I can say is that if you can imagine it then somebody’s doing it, and if you can’t imagine it, then somebody’s doing that as well!’

He laughed loudly at his insight - it was obviously a well tried aphorism.

It seemed easy - ridiculously easy. There must be a catch. But why should there be? Why not? I thought, Europe again, away from the USA, away from the flock. Yes, he’s right! I could start a new life. Things would be different there. I could be free at last. My concerns suddenly turned to resolve.

‘How soon can I go?’

I’d said it, I’d made a commitment. I was going to change my life at last!

‘If you’ve got your passport, you can be on the next flight. It’s a dream ticket! Here, Syra, welcome to the staff of Acme Couriers!’