Thrusting Machine, Revisited

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Amber does play while Brad is away --- and gets caught!
4.9k words
4.4
108.1k
51

Part 2 of the 2 part series

Updated 10/05/2022
Created 04/21/2009
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Author's Foreword—

This is my eighteenth offering to Literotica and the second of my two-part Thrusting Machine series. Comments are encouraged and welcome. You are also invited to visit my profile and find in there the list of my older offerings.

Enjoy!

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Thrusting Machine, Revisited

Amber mournfully caressed the thick, penis-like dildo attachment of the thrusting machine her fiancé Brad had purchased a few months ago. Not for the first time, she thought it was highly unfair to not let her use it when he wasn't around. It seemed selfish. The machine was designed and built for women to masturbate, unless Brad wanted to take that dildo up his ass—which he most assuredly did not! He was a man's man and by no means a faggot.

The hardwired remote control had a keyed lock, and Brad had the key with him at the major auto parts swap meet he was attending in Indianapolis with their co-worker John. That key had to be in place and turned ninety degrees for the motor to get its electricity. The control box was twice the size of a deck of playing cards and had a variable speed control knob and calibrated scale on one side. Amber wondered if there was a way to bypass the key so she could have a crotch-crashing party by herself.

She looked it over. Granted, her mechanical skill was almost nil, but some things were obvious. Amber knew the difference between a Phillips and straight-head screws, but she had no idea what a "Torx" screw was—and the control box was held together by six Torx-head screws in deeply recessed holes. The heads were visible but she didn't think they had a tool that would fit their unusual configuration.

Amber looked at the lock itself. She had seen the keys Brad kept guarded; they were simply cheap stamped steel, like those made for an equally cheap padlock. Thinking about the cheapness of the key made her remember something from her childhood…

At the age of ten back in 1993, Amber had locked her bike to a drainpipe while going to the store for her mother. Only upon getting the groceries and returning to her bike did she discover she'd left the key at home. There was no way to unlock her bike and it was a two-mile walk to make carrying a gallon of milk and a half-gallon of ice cream. That ice cream would be half melted by the time she got home; to that end, she started looking for a way to break of defeat the lock. A passerby noted her dilemma and offered to help. He fetched the jack handle from the trunk of his car and jammed it between the hasp and the chain. A tow strap secured the jack handle to the front bumper and he put his car in reverse. Idle speed was all that was needed to rip the hasp right out of the lock. The man explained he was a retired locksmith and said that cheap padlocks can be defeated with little effort." He told her what tumblers were and that cheap padlocks had only two or three. "If I had my toolkit with me," he said as she got ready to depart," "I could've picked the lock or simply broken the tumblers."

"`Broken the tumblers,'" Amber said thoughtfully, looking over the thrusting machine's lock with renewed interest.

Smiling widely, Amber trotted her beautiful redheaded self out to the garage, her braless breasts bouncing under her shirt. She dug through Brad's tools, looking for something slim enough to be inserted into the lock yet strong enough to take the load. A long screwdriver and a pair of locking pliers were located and carried to the bedroom. She felt her pussy start to tingle in anticipation as she thought about that wonderfully wide dildo bopping around inside her beaver.

The screwdriver's bit was crammed into the lock and the locking pliers clamped on to provide leverage. Using a knee to hold the control box against the mattress, she set herself to pull on the locked pliers. Making sure she was pulling in the proper direction, Amber tensed her muscles and applied torque.

The lock broke after just one second.

Amber twisted the lock back and forth, hearing the ruined tumblers grating and scratching around inside. She put it in the "run" position, removed the screwdriver and hoped she hadn't broken the whole damned thin g as she turned the speed knob from off to its lowest setting. The green light came on. Her hopes buoyed, she advanced the knob and was rewarded with the dildo responding to her inputs and fucking the air over the bed. Amber practically squealed with glee; now she could use the thrusting machine and dear Brad would be none the wider!

Moving quickly, she put the tools away and returned to the bedroom. She stripped the clothes off her freckled body, throwing them wherever they went in her haste. Then she flopped onto the bed, opened her legs and crabwalked down the mattress toward the business end of the thrusting machine. The bulbous head of the dildo was guided into her tingling slot.

Amber turned the knob from off to its nine o'clock setting. The motor hummed almost silently, pulled the dildo gently from her snatch and just as gently thrust it back in again. "Ahh, yeah!" she breathed happily as the machine replicated a man's fucking motions.

She quickly lost herself to the sensations the marvel of mechanical science was providing. The radio was tuned to some soft music and her vibrator provided clitoral augmentation as the thrusting machine gave her vaginal displacement and stimulation. Not having to worry about being noisy in the empty house, Amber let all her inhibitions go gave full voice to her multitude of orgasms. It was times like these that made her glad to have been born female!

Amber lost all track of time as orgasm after orgasm better than any spa treatment or fuckin' bubble bath ever could! Her pussy was happily ablaze and just a tiny bit sore, the contour sheet smelled faintly of sweaty sex, and the motor's casing was warm to the touch from running for so long. But she was by no means done—Amber was a nymphomaniac and lived to have some solid goodness flailing about inside her, be it man or machine. She turned the machine off, took the dildo out of her sweet and red-stranded sex and went into the bathroom.

Sitting on the porcelain throne, Amber wondered how best to amplify the feeling her mechanical husband was providing. Three of the five times they had used the machine had been with her securely tied up. Brad drove her absolutely crazy with nibbling lips on her boobs, caressing hands upon her helpless body and a teasing vibrator on her clit. He liked to let her climb right to the brink of orgasm only to remove all but the thrusting until she cooled down a bit—this made her climax much more ferociously when he finally allowed it. Repeatedly teasing her up and down like that made her want to let a thousand ravenous rats eat him alive—but that feeling always passed after blowing the spider webs out of the corners of the bedroom's ceilings with the force of her orgasmic screams.

She finished in the bathroom and padded naked into the kitchen for a beer. She leaned against the countertop and contemplated the microwave oven as she thought about how to tie herself up yet still retain an avenue of escape. After several minutes and five or six sips of beer, a light bulb went off above her pretty red head. She went to the freezer, opened it and shivered as a wave of cold wafted across her chest. Her breasts got a nice set of gooseflesh as her nipples stiffened into tall points. "Yes!" she crowed, seeing the green plastic bottle was still there. Amber closed the door ad scurried back to the bedroom to get things ready.

Brad had once threatened to secure her into bondage, call her in sick to work and leave her there, but it wouldn't do to leave her stuck for eight hours. To that end, he tied a length of string to a handcuff key, placed it in an eight-ounce bottle, filled it with water and put it in the freezer. Now Brad could rope her naked sexiness to a folding metal chair but leave her wrists restrained just by the handcuffs. Amber could then spend the next two or three hours happily struggling for escape from her lonely bondage as the ice melted and released the key. Then she could release the cuffs, untie herself and masturbate until Brad got home, and then jump his bones right there in the foyer as soon as he walked in the door.

Amber got things ready and fetched the all-important bottle. She tied her ankles to her thighs, and then another length was run to the mattress handles, thus holding her legs spread. The dildo was inserted into her salivating slit and the control box placed within reach of the handcuffs, which were in turn tied to the headboard. The machine was activated and she thrust and squirmed her lower body against her bindings to make sure everything was set before locking herself in.

Amber glanced at the clock just before placing her wrists into the handcuffs—it was 2:27pm on a Sunday afternoon. Brad and John wouldn't be back until four at the earliest, and the ice would melt before then. She had plenty of time to have her self-help party and get things put away before they returned. Satisfied, Amber closed the police-quality handcuffs and let the machine have its way with her. With the control box in her hand and her greenish-hazel eyes half shut, Amber pretended Brad was banging her with her prized penile protrusion. She moaned and gasped and struggled against her relentless, inescapable and self-created bondage with all the energy her naked, freckled and sexy twentysomething body could manage.

There was just one problem. It was March and Daylight Saving Time had occurred twelve hours ago. Brad and Amber had forgotten to reset their clocks ahead one hour and, as a result, it was just after three-thirty in the afternoon. The ice would need at least seventy minutes to melt and Amber did not realize that Brad and John would be back—

In fifteen minutes!

John backed his Mercury Sable sedan into the driveway to off-load Brad's loot directly into the garage. Brad unlocked the front door and told John where the bathroom was as he went around to roll up the big door. John went to relieve his forty-eight-year-old bladder while Brad was busy.

En route down the hall, John heard the moaning and pleading voice of Amber coming from the doorway directly across from the bathroom. He ignored it since he'd been holding his water for better than a hundred miles and made use of the plumbing. Feeling relieved sixty seconds later, John flushed and opened the door just in time to see a naked and tied-up Amber have an orgasm in the bedroom across the hall. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head; he knew she was a gorgeous natural redhead but had no idea just how gorgeous she really was.

Until now!

"Can I give y'all a hand there, ma'am?" he asked in a John Wayne drawl.

Amber, startled, opened her eyes to see the wholly unexpected sight of her and Brad's co-worker John standing in the doorway. "What the fuck?!" she screeched, trying and failing to hide herself.

"I can see Brad bought you that machine I told him about," said John lazily with a smirk, watching it continue to plunge the dildo into her pussy without pause.

"What the fuck are you doing back so early?!" she screeched, blushing like crazy and trying to escape his wide and appreciating eyes.

"This is the Sunday that Daylight Saving Time jumps ahead one hour," stepping out of sight to preserve her modesty. "Actually, we got back about ten minutes later than planned."

"Where's Brad?!" she demanded.

"I'm right here," he called from the living room as his footsteps approached.

"You're not gonna believe what I found when I came out of the bathroom," John said dryly, gesturing toward the bedroom door.

He had an idea and stepped in. Brad stopped in his tracks as he saw his fiancée naked in self-administered bondage while getting her pussy pummeled by the thrusting machine Amber already knew wasn't to be used without him. He folded his arms and glared at her, quite pissed off. "Hi, honey," squeaked Amber gamely, knowing she was guilty as sin and caught in the act.

Brad reached for the control. She tried to keep it away but was limited by the handcuffs; he got it away in mere seconds. He saw the fresh scratches on the lock face and recalled the story of the bike padlock when she was a kid. Brad knew Amber had taken a chance of totally fucking up a very expensive piece of machinery and felt his anger deepen. "John, come here!"

"Brad!" screeched the naked and helplessly bound Amber, blushing again.

John entered and Brad showed him the forced lock. "Looks like she jimmied it," observed Mister Obvious.

"John, would you mind stepping out, please?" Amber asked with pointed politeness as the dildo continued to pounding her pussy without pause.

"Nah, he's going to stay," Brad declared as he reached for a set of toenail clippers. She and John watched as he clipped the string leading to the handcuff key frozen into the bottle on the headboard.

"Brad!" Amber screeched angrily as he flopped the string well out of her reach. She was his prisoner in her own self-bondage until he saw fit to release her. John chuckled as Amber blushed mightily—her goose was being cooked in the oven she had built herself.

"You need to be taught a lesson," Brad said with a mischievous smirk on his face and an evil glint in his eyes. "Maybe having our co-worker watch you struggle against your own bindings as I make you cum over and over and over again will teach you a thing or two!" He turned to the widely smiling John. "Go grab yourself a beer or a soda or something. Bring one of those folding chairs from the living room closet too."

"Brad!" snarled Amber through clenched teeth, getting angry herself as John left the room. "Dammit, release me!"

"You took a chance at destroying a very expensive machine," he pointed out, not moving. "I ordered the lock put on there for a reason!"

Amber didn't have time to retort her usual reasons about the machine being built for women because John returned with a chair and a soda. He unfolded the chair, had a seat and took a sip. He was smiling wolfishly as he unabashedly admired the naked delights of the divine Miss Amber. She noticed he had placed the chair for an easy view of the plunger polishing her pussy.

"Perhaps now would be a good time to show her gift you bought?" John asked Brad with a knowing grin.

"Good idea," he said happily. "You make her bindings more secure while I go get it."

"Brad, you asshole!" she screeched as he stepped out. He ignored her and headed for the living room as John stood to do his bidding. "John, please release me!"

"It's not nice to call your future loving hubby an asshole," he pointed out mildly as he retied her knots with a much greater emphasis on security. He shamelessly feasted his eyes upon her helpless nakedness, resisting the urge to pull out his felt-tip marker and play connect-the-dots with her thousands of freckles.

"You're as much a fucking asshole as he is!" she snarled angrily, twisting fruitlessly against her reinforced bondage.

"Now you shouldn't have gone and said that," he said with a tone of drawled and faked regret. John picked up two spring-loaded hair clips from the headboard. Amber watched warily as he squeezed one and clamped it to his finger to test its holding power. Satisfied, he bent forward toward her, aiming the hair clip at her nearest nipple.

"Don't you fucking dare!" she shouted with great hostility, viciously struggling to escape his obvious intent. Amber ended up punishing herself; she had to maintain a certain alignment with the thrusting machine lest it gouge painfully into one side or the other of her vagina. Meanwhile, John ignored her protest and clipped the hair clip to a stiff and rosy bud. The other was applied a moment later. The clips weren't as strong or as painful as a set of clothespins, Amber realized, but they did a great job of holding her attention. She aimed a pouty, wounded expression at him, but he was duly unimpressed. He finished making her bindings even more escape-proof as Brad returned with a small package. He saw the makeshift nipple clamps and tossed a look at John.

"She called me an asshole," he explained with a shrug.

"Ah," he said as if that explained that. Amber glared at him as he left the hair clips to squeeze her nips while he opened the package. "We knew you were not pleased about me being gone all day, so we stopped at a sex shop along I-69 and bought you a little something."

"Yay me," Amber grumbled with annoyance, watching John—who was old enough to be her father—watch the machine-mounted dildo repeatedly disappear and reappear from the moist confines of her sex. He was three years divorced and had no prospects for getting laid anytime soon, so he took what female exposure he could get. Being a freckle-bedecked natural redhead helped; women were women, but redheaded women were the Holy Grail of femininity to him.

Amber watched warily as Brad finished assembling the thing. Whatever it was, it was about half the size of the palm of her hand and had three elastic straps attached. It also had a small canister thingie attached to it by a thin white wire.

Brad pushed the longest strap under her back. She resisted but could not mount an effective defense within her bindings while maintaining the proper dildo-to-vaginal alignment with the machine. Meanwhile, John watched while nursing his soda, admiring her nudity while he could. He was composing a letter of thanks to send to the Governor of Indiana for putting the state on Daylight Saving Time as it had been instrumental in being allowed to feast his eyes upon her unfortunate situation.

Brad had the device in place. Whatever it was, it was held to her crotch by the straps and situated upon her neatly trimmed red-stranded pubic shrubbery. It must have a tab on the back of it, Amber presumed, because she could feel something touching her clit. "I know you like getting your pussy pounded," he said, holding the canister poised in his hand. "I know you like having orgasms. But you broke something that is supposed to be for us to share together. Therefore, your punishment will be to have more orgasms than you can tolerate!"

Amber laughed—he was such a kidder! "I can tolerate a lot of orgasms," she said with a snicker.

"You will be begging me to turn these machines off before you know it!" he boasted. "John, take note of the time."

He looked at his watch. "It'll be forty-five minutes after the hour in five… four… three… two… one… now!" The canister in Brad's hand went click—

—And Amber's entire body went stiff as her voice let out a startled groan. The small device was vibrating directly on her clit! "Oh, that's nice!" she wheezed as the vibes coursed throughout her body.

"This little gizmo is called a Butterfly and you won't think it's so nice after we get done with you," Brad pointed out as he made his way to the opposite side of the bed. She realized her was going over there to let the invited voyeur John have an eyeful of whatever he had planned—the bastard!

Both men watched Amber shiver, struggle, moan, pant, gasp, wheeze, whine and writhe as both machines mindlessly drove her helpless libido ever upwards. She twisted and fought her reinforced binding ropes for both the escape and her horniness. After a moment, Brad picked up the bottle with the key frozen into it. It was still cold to the touch and he touched it to a hair clip-contained nipple. Amber gasped and jerked hard. She twisted away but she had a limited range of movement and plenty of nakedly exposed flesh, so Brad simply touched it to her where convenient. John chuckled to himself as Amber fought to escape her bondage and the chilly bottle without offending the alignment of the thrusting machine. She was trying without success to twist herself up like a human pretzel.

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