Slave to a Sex Machine
She shuddered as Dorian adjusted the depth of the dildo, pushing it in until it could go no further, stopping just short of making her wince. She tried to close her legs, but the straps at her ankles were too strong.
All she could do was draw her knees together a little in the stirrups. He patted her shoulder. “None of that fussing, my dear,” he murmured. “Almost done. There. That’s done it.”
He flicked a switch somewhere out of her line of sight. She felt a vibration run through the table, and then the sex machine swung to life, the pistons chugging, the wheel turning, and the dildo pistoning in and out of her with slow, easy regularity.
It was an ingenious device, imported at some expense specifically to torment her. The slow, deep thrusting was at once humiliating and delightful, and never quite enough. She tugged at the straps that secured her wrists. She couldn’t move at all, not even to touch herself.
Dorian adjusted a few of the machine’s settings, then dropped some lube on the dildo, letting the action of the machine itself spread it over and inside her. He dripped more on her pussy, let it trickle down around the penetrating shaft.
“Have to keep things oiled,” he said, ever cheerful. “There we are. How about… a bit faster?” He flicked a switch, and the pace increased, harder thrusts, faster. She arched and moaned, twisting. It only made the dildo grind into her the harder. Her breasts heaved as she panted, and he stroked them.
Later he would come back in and take her, fuck her gloriously when she was limp and ragged, exhausted, certain that she could not come again. And he’d prove her wrong, as he always did.
For now, he left her there on the table, left her to the tireless pistoning of the machine. Stroke in and out, over and over, deep. Hard. She scrunched down, trying to get it further inside, trying to adjust the angle. It was pitiless, tireless, and completely did not care what she wanted.
Her clit swelled, throbbed, and she wanted desperately to rub it. She couldn’t. She didn’t even know how long the torment lasted. There was no clock here in the dungeon, only the endless thrusting of the fucking sex machine.
Frustration and desire mounted together. She concentrated hard, concentrated on her pussy, the sensations as the dildo filled her again and again. If she concentrated, she could gather all the stray threads of pleasure, could twist them into a rope she could cling to. She fought for every ragged inch, hung on by her nails, the skin of her teeth, trying to come, trying to twist, wiggle, turn, flex, just so.
It exhausted her, but by tightening her belly, she could tip her pelvis just enough to send the tip of the fake cock stroking over her G-spot. Her belly fluttered, muscles weakened by tension threatening to give, but at last she came, came with a broken howl that echoed from the walls, and slumped down into relief.
Each successive thrust triggered another small spasm, mini-earthquakes. The next orgasm came quicker, easier. She moaned, feeling her own wetness trickle out of her and down the crack of her ass.
Worse than being a slave to a human, she was a slave to this damnable hunk of metal and silicone… a slave to the fucking machine.
Alexandra Rose
