The Boxes He came home. Home. It was his special place. His place of sanctuary. His took the boxes from their velvet case. He gazed in wonder, 600 years old, the age has not tainted their color or finish. He touched them and felt a peace, a connection as if they lived. The old man he bought them from said they were special. Each was different but all part of a set. They were unique. He placed them on his shelf to look at and wonder what powers they were believed to have. He was angry weeks later, work was down the tubes, nothing going right. He needed to scream his frustration; the scream was never heard. He looked at the boxes on his softly lighted shelf and picked one up and slung himself into his couch. The music was loud and pulsing, his fingers moving unconsciously on the box. He did not control his thoughts, just let them run in a wild abandon: Sex.... Food ... Liquor....pain....work... Woman.... job.... answers.... hurting.... fucking..... drinking... wasted... youth.... Woman........................................... The box opened and gold sand spilled out over him and the floor. The sand rolled off him to a small pool at his feet. He breathing stopped as the grain spin upwards into a small whirl wind. The the wind took shape. Woman. Her head was bowed, a sheet of gold silk wrapped her body; she positively glowed and shimmered before him. He thought he was going crazy. She leaned forward in her golden shadow and touch one cold smokey hand to him and fell back into place. He thought he was going to die. Then she took form. she was beautiful, long dark hair almost black, dark brown eyes, tan of a warm brown, full lush lips, gently parted for him. Large full breast, whose dark rosy nipples peeked at him just under the edge of the sheet that she held so close. She seem tall, no full and lush like a flower in bloom. She was here. Where did she come from? He looked at the open box again and then the girl. "You called my Warrior?" She bowed her head as she spoke with a voice like smoke and honey. Her warrior? Him? No couldn't be. He looked down at the box. She just looked at him through eyes deeper than an ocean at night. He reached out for her, wanting to touch her to see if she would just fade away. But she did not. She was warm flesh. He could see her pulse at her throat. She was beautiful. "Who are you?" "I am yours .......... yours to order and serve". He was loosing it. This was too much. "Where did you come from?" She moved then, a shimmering vision of golden honey. She came to him and ran her fingers around his jaw, across his lips. She kissed him and he tasted honey. "Our time together is short, we must.........." she whispered hurriedly as if she was afraid. He took her on his lap and kissed her. She looked at him in a pleading way and they kissed, softly like teenagers learning each other. Then she curled her fingers in his hair and the kisses deepened and seemed so very urgent. He felt all the rage and frustration of the day flow out to the surface into her. He twisted her beneath him and he opened the sheet, running his hands over her body trying to capture every feeling that she evoked in him. She opened her thighs, straddling him, and he her felt her moist heat thru his clothes. She was mirroring his feeling, everything he felt she felt, the hotter he became so did she. He felt the changes in her as surely as he did those of his own body. It was too much. She pushed him back on the couch and unzipped his pants . Pushed them to his thighs and took him in her warm hands. She glided him into her warm depths and rode him. All he remembered was trying to move and wanting to move but she took everything, his control, his body everything all he could do was lay there and cum. He did and he slept... He awoke the house was cold, strangely so. He knew he was not dreaming because his clothes were still half off, the box sitting at his feet. He got up and looked around, wondering where she was. The box now perfectly closed. He tried to open it, but could not no matter how hard he tried. The box remained closed. He worked with the boxes trying to get them to open but none did. Weeks and months had went by he thought more and more it was a dream. He went home and took one of the boxes back off and laid in his bed think of her. How he wanted the dream to be real. Some one to touch and to hold. He closed his eyes and dreamed of the afternoon she was here. He fell asleep. Those lips, that mouth: it had to be her. She had one of his nipples between her sharp little teeth playing, but not hurting. His clothes was gone and she was there, all over him. Her hands are everywhere and her mouth steadily moving down his body across his belly to his thigh. She takes him into her mouth with a swirl of a tongue and kiss. She licks and teases him mercilessly making him moan louder and louder. He never thought of himself as a noisy lover but . .... She moved back up his body and kissed his chin. "Are you awake, my warrior?" He felt like laughing. Hell yes he was awake. He looked at her she no longer shimmered but was there: soft, real, touchable. He ran his hand through her hair and she flipped over to her back. Her hair flowed over the bed in a sheet of silk threads. She lifted on knee and up and put her arms behind her head. "Touch me", she whispered. Her eyes sparkled and shined in the growing darkness. His own private angel. He ran his finger threw her hair and over her skin. Soft, silk, all that is fair. She was perfect and for awhile she was his. She touched his face tenderly, pulling him down for a kiss. His leg slide between hers and her thighs closed on his. She kissed him with all the ardor of a unschooled girl. She touched him like a woman who knew men but she tasted sweet and innocent. Her fingers slide between their bodies and circled him, softly stroking. He touched her savoring each inch of flesh he came to. He moved closer to her, and held her still, with one leg over one of hers. He pushed the bent knee over and open exposing all of her. She looked so vulnerable that way. She ran a hand over her breast and watched her nipples harden more into pouting peaks. Her whole body seemed flushed with desire. he traced lazy patterns across her skin to her navel. He longed to kiss her there. His fingers moved thru her soft curls to her wet center , he bowed his head to her shoulder. Never had he felt someone so ... ready. As if being with him all that mattered. Her gasp was loud. Her moans as he caressed her heat was taking their toll on him. He looked at her face, her eyes are closed. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. she looked ... HIS. He moved between her thighs and sat up spreading her legs to make room for him. She laid there as if a virgin sacrifice to the gods - to him. He stroked her thighs and her waist. She moved her legs over his and tried to pull him to her. He gave in. He entered her in one movement. It was slow. She moaned and let her legs fall to the bed and pushed up to meet his every stroke. Her nails in his back seemed to spur him on. He wanted this to last, to savor to......................... she came in one long moan, gasping as her body seem to move around him. Her muscles quivered around him pulling him deeper inside her, holding him tighter and tighter. He thought he would explode then and there. He held her still and himself still. The he moved again this time slowly half in not giving her all of him, then pushing deeper, changing speed and depth. No real rhythm, no real tempo, just feeling her body on the inside measuring her. His body refused to let him play. It wanted, it needed, and she was just so tight. He sat up with her thighs over his, moving inside her again, flexing his hips to thrust in her, watching himself slide in and out. His hands moved on her thighs, they looked so dark against he skin. With his thumb, he caressed her clit and she began to shiver. Her gasps became moans. Again he felt her release. As he watched he come, his body went over also. His mind screamed for him to wait but.............. He cried out as he moved within her, his body shuddering as it released. Their voices became one in the air, mixing with the scent of their love making. Their breathing slowed and she held him close as if afraid to let him go. He felt himself softening in her and her body trying to hold him there. He kissed her softly and laid his head at her breast with one rosy nipple caressing his lips. He was happy he would ask her all the things he wanted to know in the morning. Only in the morning she was gone. And the box was by the bed - closed. But this time, there was no fear, or confusion. He reached out to touch the box gently, caressing the wood. To someone watching it would almost appear he was in love. With the boxes.