The Extremist

After maybe 15 minutes, she was clutching her way towards a certain orgasm but became aware of hands on her again. Around the tops of the stockings and the boots and over the two vibrators. Someone began to massage her mound and run fingers down over her clitoris; lubricated fingers that delved into the folds and pressed on her favourite and most sensitive spot. The orgasm wouldn't wait. She began to soar in her mind and in her excitement, like a glider or a bird swooping up into the sky. It started in her stomach as always and travelled down her body to settle on the two vibrators until the excitement and sensation was located at the tops of her legs. Inside the tops of the boots. Around the massive vibrators. Over her constrained waist, she could feel the movement of her skin as she involuntarily twisted and turned her internal organs. Her breasts seemed to be swelling even further, if such a thing were possible. She knew that the climax was coming and when it did she was not disappointed. She let out a wail through the gag and the breathing tube, through her inflated head. Her hands clutched and clutched but couldn't move inside the boned gloves; the sensation of wanting to move every muscle in her body was overwhelming but none of them could be moved. She was immobilised and confined and held by the most ferocious contraption of her very own invention.

Her orgasm lasted a long time. Longer than she'd ever known and, at the end, she was exhausted, sweating inside her clothing and creaming from her vagina all over the boots and the gyno-couch. She wanted to sleep like this for a few minutes, and then to be released, as in her plan. She began to slip into an erotic slumber, still aware of her extreme circumstances, but content with the tightness and the fullness and the restrictions and the immobility. With everything, in fact.

In her sleep, which was not really a sleep, only the repose of detumescence, she became aware of movement between her splayed out legs. The front vibrator was being oh-so-slowly urged out of her and she was aware also of the void it left behind in her swollen vagina and stimulated cervix. Slowly it slipped from her and she thought dreamily, "What a pity; I've got used to that feeling of fullness." She started to slip again into the deep repose, expecting that at any moment, the same would happen at the back, in her bottom. But it didn't and she slipped further into sleep.

Still confined in the corset, the boots, the gloves and the inflated head, she was sleepily aware of the vibrator being urged gently back into her vagina.

"That's nice," she thought, "they must have realised I liked it a lot."

And so she returned to her sleep. The vibrator moved slowly back and forth, gradually expanding her as it was bound to do. She knew that would happen and had no qualms. Slowly another realisation came to her: the vibrator was moving around inside her in a new way. Not just vibrating as before, but rippling and waving and almost clawing at her. She returned to consciousness as the vibrator slipped into her finally and she knew that it was bigger than before and that it wasn't a vibrator at all. Inside her, fingers were moving and pushing against the sides of her vagina and up to the opening of her cervix.

"I've got a hand inside me," she thought suddenly and began to panic inside her erotic prison. "My god, what are they going to do to me?"

The hand was moving and clenching a fist inside her, pressing up against other organs, pressing up especially against the vibrator in her bottom. She could feel that one even more clearly as the fingers moved a long it and seemed to grasp it from across the membrane separating her two passages. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling and not at all painful after the stretching she'd had all day long – if it was the same day – she had no idea of the passage of time. But the sensation was unexpected and not totally comfortable.

The hand went still and she was aware of the back vibrator moving. Slowly and surely it also was removed. Became it was so much longer, it took longer and left an even greater impression on her organs and the movement of her bowel as it exited from her. As it came away finally, the hand moved a little and seemed somehow to be smaller and less filling than it did a few minutes earlier. Although she was still sleepy and relaxed, the awareness grew of another object entering her bottom. She wanted it to be the same vibrator because she'd got used to the sensation of its pressure and rigidity inside her, but she knew instinctively that this could be another hand. And so it was. Slowly and even more slowly that the first hand, this one crept into her; one finger, then two fingers and so on until four fingers were pressing into her and she could feel the knuckles pressing hard on the opening and on the bones at either side of her pelvis. It kept on moving back and forth but mostly forth, as she thought to herself. Millimetre by millimetre, the hand occupied her anal opening and then slid though into her rectum, against the pressure of the other hand up her front.

By now, her mind was rebelling against the idea of being impaled on two forearms, but her senses told her it was unusual and an erotic experience. She tried to relax as the two hands moved and explored her insides. They pressed together and then pulled apart. One was a fist and the other flat, and then they reversed. After a few minutes, both hands went still and started to pull out. At the same time. Both together.

"They must split me wide open," she thought, "It can't be possible to have two arms and hands pulling out at the same time."

But she was wrong, and the arms slowly, inexorably, and painlessly pulled out until the wrists were side by side and so were the fingers and hands still inside her.

"This is the point when the biggest pull will happen," she thought, and she was right.

As the two hands began to pull out of their respective orifices, she was aware of being pulled down the gyno-couch by the tension in the arms. Also, her waist and internal organs were being moved around from the inside as her muscles and ligaments found new forces exerted on them. As the hands began to move out of her, and the knuckles were gripped by her pelvic floor muscles, there was certainly some discomfort and she felt as if her entire insides were being pulled out of the corset and would spill onto the floor at any moment. That sensation intensified as the hands pulled even more strongly together against her muscles and against the restraints of the gyno-couch and of her costume. With colossal force, but also very slowly, the two hands emerged from her body. Her insides didn't spill all over the room. Her corset returned to its normal feeling of holding her waist instead of saving her life by containing her escaping intestines. Then she felt truly empty.

The rest of the day or evening or night passed as she planned. The assistants pleased themselves in any opening into her body that they could find and all EIGHT of them did so. One in each was the most common experience she felt, but there was one session when she could be sure there were two "up the front" (as she thought to herself) and another up the back. By that stage, she was off the gyno-couch and placed on a bed. Her arms and legs had been forced into every contortion imaginable and some that weren't. After some hours of playing the part of a sex toy inside an erotic prison, she felt them leave her and start to deflate the mask and the hood. Her face emerged into the dim light of a bedroom and she found herself carried to the edge of the bed so that all eight men could try out the pleasures of her throat. With her head bent back over the edge of the bed, each one of them impaled her throat and three of them came to orgasm a second time into her oesophagus and into her stomach. She wasn't new to this experience and took it all as it came. What was new was the sensation of being unable to move any other muscles than in her face and neck, for she was still totally contained and squeezed.

After that, they untied each of the parts of her outfit. The boots and the gloves first, and the corset last. When all was off, she could hardly move under her own power. She just flopped onto the bed and waited for sensation and blood supply to return to her freed limbs and extremities. She knew that she's experienced a "first" for herself and maybe for all women.

"That's what comes of being an extremist," she thought to herself, "only the biggest, hardest, tightest, thickest, longest, best and worst will be enough".

Immediately, she started to plan the next episode in her erotic life because, for the extremist, nothing is ever enough.