Thrusting Machine, Revisited

Brad shook the bottle and felt some water moving around. He positioned it a few inches above a naked, heaving and clipped breast, smirking at her as he waited for his intention to dawn on her. "Brad," she warned, speaking through clenched teeth. "Don't you dare."

He dared. Brad upended the bottle and poured about two ounces of really cold melted ice—also known as water—upon a clipped nipple. The metal hair clip promptly chilled even as the now wet nip stiffened from the chill. She gasped and shivered as gooseflesh prickled up her freckled skin. "Dammit!" she screeched. "That's cold!"

"She talks too much," observed John.

"I am so going to kick your ass at work tomorrow!" she thundered. Amber was pissed at Brad for inviting him to watch, but John should've been a gentleman and declined for the sake of her modesty and privacy.

"You're right, man, she talks too much," Brad agreed.

"Give her something else to think about."

Amber watched uneasily as Brad reached for the Butterfly's control. It was vibrating directly on her clitoris and making her greedy pussy slobber like a thirsty dog. It was also keeping her sexual senses on a keen razor's edge. "Let's see how fast it'll go."

Her eyes widened, alarmed. It was bad enough to have John sitting where he could freely admire her privates without so much as a by your leave, ma'am. But to have the Butterfly sped up and be forced to have a series of rafter-rattling orgasms for his obvious entertainment was too much! "No, Brad, don't!" she pleaded urgently.

"Warp speed, Mr. Scott," John said, quoting a line from the third Star Trek movie.

"Brad!" Amber screamed with untold alarm.

He wrenched the speed dial all the way up and the Butterfly went from idle to redline in a quarter-second. Amber lurched, flexed her back, stiffened and had one helluva mind altering orgasm. The thrusting machine's motor growled in a lower pitch as her vaginal muscles clenched tight on the dancing dildo. Her taut muscles quivered and tendons stood out profoundly. Her toe joints snapped from being clenched so hard. The men watched a reddish blush appear on her face, travel down her neck and glow invitingly upon her upper chest.

As the orgasm progressed, some part of Amber's mind wondered if she'd ever be able to breathe again. She heard Niagara Falls roaring in her ears, not realizing blood was flowing through them fast enough—and hard enough—to hear.

Brad turned the Butterfly down to let her climax subside so she could draw a fresh breath. Amber settled back after a moment, trembling like she was locked outside in the nude. There was a sharp smell of musty sex in the air; her pussy was generating more than enough lubricant to seep out with the thrusting dildo and trickle down the cleft of her ass. "Brad," she squeaked.

He turned both machines up to maximum. Amber's body became taut again as an even more massive orgasm plowed its merciless way through her being. Her beautiful face was clenched in a grimace of painful ecstasy, her head tilted back and her neck muscles and tendons standing visible through her flesh like steel cables.

The Butterfly was slowed again to allow her to regain her senses. "Please, Brad," she whimpered, "no more. It's too intense!"

"But you like intense." He cranked the Butterfly to full power again before she could reply. Amber hunched her body forward as she obviously tried to fight the overwhelming vibrations, but they won out after just a second. She helplessly rode another savage series of orgasmic waves tearing through her body.

The speed was reduced again. Her last set of climaxes was powerful enough to rend tears from her eyes. "Please, no more," she pleaded, her voice clogged with urgent emotion. "I can't take it anymore. I need you to let me go!"

"Women will say anything when they're desperate," Brad said to John.

"Please, baby! Sweetie. Honey. Lover. Stud. Please. Turn it off!"

"You don't sound very convincing."

"It hurts!" she shouted, trying with great desperation to ignore the vibrations on her numb clit. "I'm over-stimulated, Brad, and it has started to hurt! Dammit, please turn it off!"

Instead, he turned to the quietly observing John. "What d you think?"

"She hasn't said the magic word yet."

"Yeah, I noticed that."

"Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please—" Amber began with great, eager and humble earnestness.

"Not that magic word," John reminded her.

She thought about what word they wanted. Then she realized it was the word she told them she's never say, but was now desperate enough to say it. "You were right, Brad, and I was wrong. Please, baby, I beg you—turn the machines off!"

Smirking to himself, Brad held up the canister control; for a fearful second, Amber thought he was going to inflict another series of orgasms out of her anyway. He twisted it with his thumb, however, and it merely went click. The Butterfly became still. Amber breathed a sigh of relief as Brad also turned off the thrusting machine.

"How long?" Brad inquired of his guest.

John consulted his watch. Twenty-two minutes and twenty-seven seconds."

"That's how long it took you to beg." He smirked. "Sure was a short `never.'"

"Don't forget," John inserted, "we don't know how long she was tripping the light fantastic by herself before we arrived. I think she could've held off begging for a lot longer if we had started on her while she was fresh."

"Don't you have to go home and beat your meat or something?" Amber asked snidely.

"Now that just wasn't very nice." He turned to her fiancée. "Once more around the galaxy might change her tune."

Brad nodded and reached for the controls; the Butterfly was still strapped in place and the thrusting machine's dildo was still lodged in her overwrought orifice. "No!" Amber screeched with alarm, not wanting any more forced orgasms inflicted on her. She'd had enough to last her three months! "No, please, John, I'm sorry! I'm a miserable bitch for saying such a horrid thing to a nice guy like you!"

The men chuckled. "My darling learns quickly," observed Brad with pride.

"You will never be a miserable bitch, sweetie," John corrected her as he stood, making no effort to hid the lump in the front of his pants. "You two have fun. I can just imagine your pussy hasn't earned its rest yet, Amber." He took one last moment to admire her bound, freckled and naked goodness, nodding to himself. Amber blushed and silently considered herself fortunate that John was too much the old-school fuddy to have a cellphone with a built-in camera. She knew he had a collection of over six hundred Internet-sourced pictures of redhead women on his computer's Webshots display; she didn't want him flogging his log to a few cellphone shits of her in naked bondage! If he had such pictures, every time he smiled at her at work would cause her to blush a deep crimson with embarrassment!

Brad escorted him out and locked the door behind him. Then he returned to the bedroom, stripped naked, removed the thrusting machine's dildo from her battered beaver before climbing between her bound-spread legs. Amber didn't really want to fuck since she was quite sore—and probably would be for days—but she knew he would be a lot gentler than the machines ever could be.

He slipped in with no effort and moved with a gentle rhythm. Amber winced and twitched every now and then, but she wasn't going to ask him to stop. He wouldn't in the first place and, more importantly, it felt good in a strange kind of way to provide for his needs despite her soreness. Brad climaxed quickly, rested atop her for a minute or two before climbing off and releasing her.

The next day, Brad replaced the cheap lock assembly on the thrusting machine with a reproduction ignition switch for an early 1960s Ford Falcon. He had the security of a keyed lock again and he knew it would be much tougher to defeat. But he did not have to worry—

Amber had learned her lesson.

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Copyright © 2009 by the author John W. Adams, Jr. All rights reserved.