The Box

 

The last challenge was the box. A plywood contraption, it was exactly what it sounds like – a rectangular box roughly 24 inches high, 24 inches wide, and about 36 inches long. At one end a hole had been drilled and worn smooth, large enough for a man's erect penis to enter. At the opposite end there were two hinged "doors" to the left and right, with a much larger opening so that when closed securely, they encircled the waist of whomever was inside the box. In such a way, the girl in question - and it was always a girl - would be effectively locked inside, bent horizontal with her feet on the floor and trapped until released.

We were all encouraged to admire the box. Indeed, the device held its own place of honor in the center of the sorority's den. Most often veiled beneath scarlet silk, but occasionally uncovered and even used, although none of us pledges were allowed to witness those events. The box was decorated with all manner of graffiti. The men who enjoyed the privilege of entertaining themselves with whichever girl was in the box were free to scrawl comments and signatures, even carve their initials and the odd juvenile symbol into the ancient wood. For the box was ancient, or so our sisters claimed, with a long, proud heritage and stories were told about the girls who'd entered the box and been changed by the experience.

Stories involving virgins were always popular, especially as they were told in the most vulgar language imaginable. Like most of the other pledges that year, I was a virgin, and both happy and sad by turns with my circumstance. My naivety had been my invitation to join, but perhaps only because these other women, upperclassmen all, could be cruel in their pleasures. They'd inspected my hymen carefully, much to my embarrassment, and pronounced me worthy of their order by dint of my beauty and innocence.

They questioned me often on my experiences with men and women alike. My first kiss. Where and when, with whom and how did it make me feel? I had to stand naked near the hearth and relate my most private thoughts. On other occasions I was forced to speak of my dreams and fondest wishes. Which of our fellow students did I most admire sexually? Which of my professors did I secretly desire to seduce into my bed? And they pressed me for my opinions on every subject, from the mundane to the unthinkable. Oral sex, anal, BDSM, bestiality, pissing, and more.

I confessed my fetish for semen, although I'd never in my life experienced such a thing. To be covered with a man's seed on my face and breasts, to taste and smell it, to swallow sperm…I wept with humiliation as I masturbated for their pleasure, whispering aloud those private fantasies I'd rarely admitted even to myself. The guilt felt as a crushing weight on my chest and I struggled for air when I found my orgasm amidst their lewd critiques and laughter.

And the box still awaited me, as it did for us all. Thirteen pledges in thirteen consecutive nights. I would be the third girl, our procession determined by chance alone as our names were drawn from a Grecian urn. Quick calculations were performed, although I certainly had no need of them. The third night would be very near the center of my cycle and I'd much hoped to be nearer the last. Birth control was not permitted, of course, and whatever precautions might be taken were solely left to the discretion of the men, of which there would be a great many we were promised.

"You may quit," I was told and not ungently. "You've come this far; only one thing left to do. But you can leave, if you like."

They left me to think about it, all of us. We thirteen standing naked in the moonlight with our small scrolls. Three. My scrap of parchment had only that one word. Would I lose my virginity to the box? Would I leave this place and these women after so much effort? So much pain, humiliation, and yes, so much excitement as well. Risking pregnancy. Did I dare such a thing? I would join the order and have my name enrolled in the history of that great house. I'd become a sister and a year from now? I'd reap my own pleasure from a new crop of innocent women vying for membership in that which is greater than ourselves.

Such a simple thing. The box. What meaning did it have? In truth, none. It was empty but for the girl inside it. Served no purpose but that which the girl carried with her. That was the secret, you see? The secret of the box and it could have been anything, or nothing. The box could only be an illusion and yet…Why did I fear it so? Why did I tremble when I examined its scarred surface and stained interior. The odd shaped grooves inside where a thousand elbows had rested, the discoloration where long years of semen had seeped into the wood. The form of a woman could be seen inside, the shadow of perspiring flesh where so many women had lain.

It seemed as a coffin to me and I awoke from my nightmare screaming.

 

The Gallery