It was Saturday but Debbie barely considered it a break. There was still so much to do. The apartment was a mess, there were errands to run, she had to text her family back about if she could make it next weekend (like she should’ve yesterday). And Monday there would be so much more work to do at the office. Maybe she should do some of it over the weekend? If she did, she would feel bad she hadn’t got more done around the apartment. If she didn’t, when she inevitably got behind this week and got shit from her boss, she’d feel like she should’ve done it now. And either way she’d feel bad for stressing herself out about the choice right now, making her even more stressed and tired and it even harder to do anything. Fuck.

 

Maybe coffee would help.

 

She threw on her fuzzy bathrobe, shuffled over to the tiny kitchen, and tried not to look at anything but the pot to avoid feeling guilty and about not cleaning more or all the dishes in the sink. Just focus on the coffee. 

 

Her phone dinged and her attention both leapt at the distraction and worried what had gone wrong now. Oh, a text from a neighbor down the hall. Olena was out this morning walking her dogs and noticed there was a package by her door and wanted to let her know. That’s weird. She hadn’t ordered anything. She pushed down the thought Olena was messaging her cause she thought Debbie wouldn’t leave the apartment today. That her neighbor thought she was a shut-in and the package was in her way, and she sent the message because she was annoyed it hadn’t been moved yet, even if the note was written politely. Debbie tried to tell herself, “No, Olena was just being nice, don’t think of it that way.” 

 

Debbie made an effort to only wonder about the box as she made her way to the door. Through the peephole, she saw that nobody else was in the hall now, so it was probably fine to just pull the box in in her bathrobe. If she was quick. Maybe. She opened the door and it bumped the package. A big generic cardboard box, maybe 2 feet cubed. Could be anything in there. Squating briefly, she checked the address and yeah, it was addressed to her. She didn’t recognize the return address. Weird. She hastily walked past it, and scooted it through the door with her foot then closed the apartment door again.

 

It had some weight to it too. She picked it up and put it on the table, then rummaged out some scissors to cut the tape open. She pulled out some packing paper to find what was in this thing. It looked like something wooden? Another box? With a fancy top? She reached in to grab the sides and pull it out, the surface feeling super smooth and solid, and pushed the now empty cardboard box out of the way with her elbow to make room for the wooden one on her little table.

 

This was just getting weirder. It was clearly a custom made, finely crafted, wooden box, maybe a foot square and tall. It was made to look like a present, strips of dark wood inlaid on the sides like a ribbon, running up each side and crossing the top and where they crossed was a big, sculpted, frilly bow. It was intricately carved to look like dozens of loops of ribbon, but they were thick enough to feel sturdy and maybe be a handle. She tilted it up and yep, the ‘ribbons’ crossed on the bottom too. She could see a small seam running around the top, showing where the top separated from the box. That felt like it was intentional, because everything else lined up perfectly; the same wood, the same finish, the ribbons across the seam, the incredibly polished surface, everything. The way the rest was made, whoever made this could’ve made this seam invisible too, but having this line there let her know it could be opened. And that made her curious. What was this? Was there something in it?

 

She hefted it in her hands a few times, putting off opening it. It felt so smooth and warm and nice in her hands. It had some weight to it, feeling like solid wood sides, not cheap panels under veneers, but she couldn’t tell if that was the weight of the box itself or if it had something within. Nothing was shifting as she tilted and shook it a bit, but maybe it was well packed too. Curiosity finally got the best of her and she set it back on the table, took the bow in one hand, and gently pulled the top up. It had some resistance, fitting exactly with the bottom, and pulled up slowly then let go and revealed the interior.

 

Inside the box was shockingly white. No wait, it was pillowy; it was like the sides and bottom were silk cushions to protect and pad whatever was inside. But yes, so shockingly white it practically glowed. It was almost like one of those uncannily perfect computer simulations, too crisp and uniform and bright to be real, but no this was real and it was in her apartment. Debbie was suddenly aware she hadn’t cleaned in a while and the clutter and dust only made the inside of the box stand out more. Then the weirdness of that drew all her attention back. 

 

What was this for? Who had made this? Was there supposed to be something in it? It looked too well made to just be a lark. Someone who knew what they were doing had put some time into making this, carving the bow, sanding and polishing and shaping the wood, fitting the pieces together, lining it; it felt like it was for something specific but what? It didn’t feel like it was supposed to be empty but made to hold…something.

 

As she wondered what went inside, she felt …an odd tug, in her mind. It felt weird, it was like that thought, that wonder about what went inside, was being pulled out of her head. She had never felt anything like that, and just stood there as it was pulled and she felt it fade from her thoughts and get sucked, like a thick bit of milkshake finally going up a straw, sucked into the box. She couldn’t say how she knew, but she could feel it leave her head and go into the box. 

 

And then she knew what went in the box. She didn’t have to wonder anymore, that had been taken from her and replaced with the knowledge that the box took her thoughts. She had felt it happen, and now it was obvious, like watching a professional put a tool in a custom case and seeing how it fits exactly and then you can’t unsee it. This was a box for thoughts. Of course. 

 

And that made her scared. A box that took her thoughts?! How could that be? Who made this and why had they sent it to her- and then that fear, that anxiety and concern was also being pulled away. She felt her spiking heart rate fall back down as she calmed and her fear of the box was also sucked into the box, into its soft, white confines. That felt nice. To not be afraid of the box. 

 

She was still staring into it, thinking about how nice it felt to take that fear away when she idly  wondered what else it could take away. She had so many anxieties and worries and fears and concerns all the time: losing her job, being hurt by other people, not being good enough, never figuring out what she wanted, things not working out with Paul, what people thought of her, what she thought of herself, the choices she made, the clothes she wore, the way she looked, the life she had chosen to live, what she had for breakfast, and on and on and on and on. Little fears that popped up every day and big ones that had been with her for years. Some she didn't even  put into words normally, but just felt, ranging from a little discomfort to an irrational dread, as she tried to go about her life anyway, trying to just avoid whatever provoked them. The way big dogs made her nervous. The way part of her heard her mother’s voice whenever someone said ’you did your best’ and tensed up. The way she avoided all thai food after that one food poisoning incident. “Little quirks” that hardly felt little in the moment.

 

And as she recounted all those worries, those concerns, those anxieties, she felt each one sucked out of her head in turn, and she didn’t remember it anymore. Each worry was scooped out of her and put into the box. Not just the worry but the thoughts of why she should be worried. Knowledge about what the worry was and why she had been concerned in the first place. Why even care about it? It wasn’t just a relief, it was an inability to ever be worried about that again. With each one taken from her, she felt lighter, unburdened, like things were becoming simpler. 

 

Maybe she was becoming simpler too. As she kept going, remembering unpleasantnesses, offering more thoughts she didn’t want, she felt her mind emptying. Her eyes glazed over staring into this great box as a lazy smile crept across her face; it grew as her worries shrank. It felt so good to stop worrying about … all that stuff. It wasn’t gone, it was just in the box. She didn't need to worry about it. She didn’t need to worry about anything. She couldn’t worry about anything anymore; she had poured all her worries into the box. Like it was made for. All her worries and cares and thoughts that weren’t helping her feel good. And now she did feel good. 

 

Debbie blinked and finally looked away from the box, still vacantly grinning. She felt so much better now. She had nothing to worry about. Nothing to distract her from feeling good. She stretched, and shook out the stiffness from sitting there with the box for...however long it had been. 

 

Things felt…

 

(Unhurried, she sat and searched for the word.)

 

Clearer.

Un-cluttered. 

Un-complicated.

 

It felt like there had been so much stuff in her head making things so hard and complex and now… now it was not. Now it was blissfully simple. Now she just wanted to feel good. Now there was no reason not to. 

Debbie looked down at her bathrobe. She undid the sash and looked at her body, not self conscious about it for once. Her time with the box hadn’t just affected her mind. It had relaxed her body. She felt deliciously loose and untense like she hadn’t in a long time. It had also made her horny. As the box had made room in her mind, her libido had been happy to fill it. Her pussy needed attention and she had nothing else to distract her. She reached down and started to stroke her slick folds. 

 

Fuck that felt good.

Why hadn’t she been doing this before? As she started to play with herself, her breath quickening, she couldn’t think of a single reason she hadn’t been pleasuring herself before the box got here. Or a reason to stop. It felt so good. Why do anything else? What else could…

 

But she could think of something better.

It could feel better with her boyfriend Paul.

 

The knuckles of her other hand grew white gripping the chair and her pace picked up as her newly sex-focused mind had another thought. That would be hot, having Paul over to plough her with his great cock. She knew just how good that could be, when they were both in the mood. But it would be even better to show him the box too, first. To get him as dumb and fuck-focused as her and then fuck. Get them both to think of nothing else and then put their all into it. And have no reason to stop. Fuck, that wouldn’t just be better. It would be fuckin’ great.

 

Her hand shaking a little, she pulled it away from her overheating crotch and rested it on her thigh as her other hand reached into the robe’s pocket for her phone.

 

* * *

 

Paul was browsing a newsfeed on his desktop when his phone rang. Oh, it was Debbie! It was good to hear from her but odd; hadn’t she said she was too busy to do anything this weekend?

 

He answered it:

“Oh, hey, what’s up?”

“Hey, are you doing anything today?” Debbie asked, brightly.

“Nope, just … hanging out”, he admitted and yawned. He was glad she sounded like she was doing better. 

“Great! I’ve got something really cool I want to show you. Come over to my place!” she enthused.

“What, right now?” he asked, trying to keep up. Debbie always wanted to plan ahead and spontaneous wasn’t really her.

“Right now! Trust me, you’ll want to see this!” she insisted, pitch rising at the end. She practically squealed in anticipation.

“Oh, ok,” he agreed, confused. Paul had known Debbie a while, and this was not what she sounded like or how she did things. It was like someone else was using her voice to prank him. But no, she’d just…had a really, really good day? Like he’d hoped she would sometime? He tried to tell himself it was fine but part of him insisted this was weird.

“I guess I’ll be over soon”

“Great! I love you!”

“Love you too. Bye.”

 

Paul frowned as he got ready to go. He couldn’t let go of the feeling something was off. But was that just his own baggage or was something actually wrong? Was he really concerned his girlfriend wanted to see him and sounded too happy? And that was a bad thing? Was something wrong with him? No, it was actually weird right? He knew Debbie and this wasn’t like her. When her plans changed or there were surprises, it ruined her day. It didn’t make her sound like a giggling fangirl trying to contain her excitement. He remembered early on, when he had tried to surprise her with lunch at work, how that had all gone. She had been pleasantly surprised and taken a long lunch to make the most of it, but had seemed flustered and distracted and off balance the whole time until she went back to work. Weeks later, when he finally got her to open up more, she’d admitted how awful it had been for her; it was so sweet of him, but the whole time she was fighting to feel like she wasn’t disappointing him, while also being anxious about work, being caught between the two anxieties making it even worse. And of course on top of that, she felt bad that being stressed was ruining the lunch for them. She’d almost broken down telling him about it then. He had reassured her it was fine, but he hadn’t surprised her again since.

 

That Debbie, frazzled, precarious, pulled apart Debbie, was not the one who had just called him. Phone Debbie hadn’t sound like she had a care in the world. Like lunch would’ve been the high point of her day and she wanted to surprise him in return. Like a totally different person. But what could make someone act totally different like that? Was she just doing better, all of a sudden? Had something happened to her? If something could change someone that much, make them sound and feel so different, could it be something dangerous? And he’d be walking right into it? No, that's, that's not a thing that happens. Was it? No, this had to just be all in his head. He should be happy she was feeling better, right? But…

 

As he made his way to her apartment, his head swirled with concerns.

 

Meanwhile, Debbie, untroubled, didn't have any problem figuring out how to fill the time until he arrived.

 

* * *

 

Paul fidgeted a bit after knocking on Debbie’s door. Was he about to do something stupid or was he going to feel stupid for even worrying when everything was fine? Should he have asked more about what was going on instead of just agreeing to come? Would she have been upset if he pushed back? 

 

His second guesses were cut short as the door opened.

 

Debbie was indeed different. She threw the door all the way open, in her bathrobe, hair a bedheaded mess, looking pleased as punch to see him and just pausing, seemingly overcome with excitement that he was there, practically shaking. It was a far cry from earlier visits. Only cracking the door to go in and out so neighbors who weren’t even there wouldn’t see how messy her apartment was. That little weary slouch and habitual tension from bracing for something to go wrong. Being uncomfortable with being out of her standard, baggy clothes that hid what she disliked about her figure. It had taken a while for her to finally get comfortable being in the robe around him, after lots of reassurances he liked her and her body, and yet she was still only naked with the lights out. 

 

Yet here she was, not just comfortable but positively glowing, beaming at him while looking like she’d just rolled out of bed…

 

No, wait, not quite. Was she flushed? Breathing heavy? Was…was this a booty call? What was she doing before she opened the door? 

 

“Come in! Come in!” She excitedly invited him as the moment passed and moved out of the way. Paul stepped in and looked around as she closed the door behind him. Everything looked normal; the clutter and detritus of too many demands and not enough time, like usual. He didn't mind. He could smell something though. Stepping past Debbie, the scent of sweat and pussy, as if they’d been going at it for a while, wafted up. She was normally so self conscious about that unless they had gotten worked up together. He didn’t mind but it was another red flag.

 

“Debbie what’s-”

“Look, I know this is weird, but I got a package today you’ve got to see it. It’s so cool! I can’t explain it. It’s on the table, just go take a look.”

“A package? From who? What is-”

“Ah bup bup!” She cut him off and raised a finger, then pointed at him “You’ve got to see it first, then we can talk about it.” She declared. Then gave a little satisfied final “hmph” with a nod and crossed her arms, done talking about it. She looked at him expectantly, and her eyes twinkled with a bit of mischief.

 

He loved how playful she could be but normally it was always undercut with her own self conscious afterthoughts. This confidence was unnerving and out of character, but it was good, right? And it was nice to see Debbie clearly excited about something. More energy too. Maybe he just worried too much, but he couldn’t shake the feeling it was uncanny. Paul sighed dramatically, sarcastically exasperated at her little ultimatum and looked over at the table. Some kind of wooden thing, looking out of place with the rest of Debbie’s stuff.

 

“That wooden box? That’s it?” he asked, unimpressed.

“No, what’s inside it. Go look!” she chided.

“Fine.”

 

No way out but through, so he went over to the table. As he walked over he saw the inside was so bright white. Some kind of light? No, it was empty. Just padded and super clean. Wait empty? But she had said…Paul’s brow scrunched up and he studied the inside of the box, confused and getting worried; this? This was the big deal? It was well made but empty so why had Debb-

 

Debbie watched and giggled as she saw the box capture Paul’s gaze and his body came to a standstill in front of the table. She plopped into the one armchair to his side and let her robe fall open to enjoy herself and the show. She watched as he struggled at first, cutely, uselessly trying to think about what was going on with the box until that question was taken from him. God, watching it happen was so hot. She saw the shift from intently peering into the box to no intent at all as she reached down to attend her needy clit. From back here she could see the tension draining not just from his face but his body as the box started to take things from him. His shoulders loosening, arms limp at his sides. His head started to tilt to the side as his eyes glazed over. Fuck, it reminded her of what it had felt like when it was her and she gasped as her rubbing intensified and her other hand reach up to start strumming a nipple. She panted watching the smile grow on his stupid, unconcerned face. He was going to be like her. No thoughts but feeling good. Nothing to do but fuck and enjoy each other. Nothing in the way. 

 

She couldn’t wait for it. In the meantime, she came.

It wasn't as good as it would be on his cock, but she didn't worry about it.

 

* * *

 

Paul blinked and looked away from the box. 

 

He felt…better.

 

His gaze drifted aimlessly across Debbie’s apartment and he chuckled softly at nothing. He felt nice. The way here had been so…tense, so unhappy, and full of…stuff in his head and now it was almost all gone. He just felt good. And it was easy. Like everything would always be ok. It was nice. He’d have to thank Debbie. 

 

Paul’s musing petered out and he slowly but actively turned around to look for Debbie.

 

Debbie was sprawled out on a chair, legs spread over the arms. Her body was flushed from fucking herself waiting, and she had two fingers stroking the glistening lips around her wet, ready cunt. She looked at him with playful lust, a teasing, wanting, smile beneath needy eyes. He couldn’t think of a single reason not to fuck her. He hadn’t even noticed how horny he was until right then.

 

Paul practically tore his clothes off. Pulling up his shirt and throwing it away. Yanking down pants and underwear over an increasingly hard erection, and trying not to fall over, one hand at a time on the floor, getting the stupid shoes out of the way then pulling everything off. Then finally ready. He still had his socks on. He didn’t worry about it.

 

“Fuck me.” She said breathily. It wasn’t even really a request. It was more a statement of what they both knew was about to happen.

 

His only response was squatting a bit to line up his throbbing, rigid shift and then easily pushing into her dripping depths. Her eyes fluttered and her moan quavered as the feeling of him filling her and pulling back and filling her again hammered up her nerves through her body. Neither of them cared if the neighbors heard. Yes! Yes, this was great and there was nothing else. She wrapped her arms and legs around him as he kept at it, kept fucking like nothing else mattered because it didn’t. She pulled them together, to pull him deeper into her, to feel more of her skin on his, to enjoy every bit of them shaking in pleasure and sliding sweat slick against each other. Feeling him tense and tremble. Feeling how achingly hard he was inside her. Feeling how much he wanted her from how he moved and kept moving. 

 

She managed to steal a glance at his face. He looked like a man possessed. No thoughts in those eyes but pure lust. Need. A slack gasping jaw beneath eyes that either bored into her or didn’t see her at all, either way consumed with what he was doing and how it made them feel. Fuck, she bet she looked the same way. She didn't notice her eyes rolling back again as the sensations overwhelmed her and converged with the thought she was right. This was great and would keep being great and they would never want to stop. She clutched him to her, pulling them almost painfully tightly together as she came, spasming around him, as he kept grinding into her.

 

He made some noise then. Some incoherent sound from the back of his throat as he was overcome too, her pleasure too much for him and he drove deep into her to spray his own climax. Pulsing away into her. Continuing to pump as they went from mind-meltingly insensate to merely hot. Pace relaxing as some trifling thoughts trickled back in.

 

They managed to look at each other then.

Tenderly. Lovingly. Gratefully.

She reached up to hold his face. 

He turned to kiss her hand.

 

Then he rolled his shoulders and pulled back. Panting, Paul stood up straight and looked at the gorgeous woman in the chair before him. Grinning up at him. Chest heaving. Glistening from their heat. Their juices mixing between her nether lips. She looked so good. 

 

And he was a bit spent. He took a step back and sat heavily back on his ass on the carpet, then laid back spread eagled, eyes staring at the ceiling. Phew. That was great. He was so glad he’d come here. He chuckled to himself; he was glad they’d both cum here. It was a dumb joke but he was kind of out of it. That had been intense. He was so lucky to have Debbie. He couldn’t think of anything he’d rather be doing. Or any reason not to keep doing it.

 

He lay there, recovering, breathing heavily, muscles burning. Meager thoughts drifted lazily through his sweltering mind, like wisps of clouds before a burning sunset full of pinks and reds and oranges. Barely even there and hard to notice among the blaze. 

 

He didn’t notice Debbie levering herself on her arms to sit up and look down at him. Didn’t see the way she was looking at him there, his chest heaving too, a dopey grin on his face, his sweat drip dropping from splayed limbs into the carpet, their juices cooling on his softening cock. The way she looked at him with recognition and satisfaction. 

 

She loved what they had now. 

She didn’t want it to stop. She knew he didn’t either. 

She wasn’t worried.

They just needed to help each other.

 

The next thing he noticed was when she pressed up next to him, robe gone, running her hand over his body as the other gently wrapped around him and started stroking him back up. And then bringing him to her mouth, as she looked over at him and smiled with her eyes. He tried to sit up a bit on his elbows, but her other hand lightly pushed his chest back down, and she shook her head just a bit. He laid back and just enjoyed it. She got them both worked up again, then threw a leg over his hips, and guided him back into her. It was as good as she had hoped. 

 

Back on the table, the box was still open, ready to capture the thoughts and worries of whoever came in and looked at it. 

 

But it was ok.

 

They weren’t worried about that at all.

 

* * *