Inescapable Pleasure

And I held onto that lock for dear life as it happened, as my body tore itself backwards against my will like a coiled spring. With all the presence of mind I could muster, I tried to pull myself forward with the lock, knowing full well my mind would lose the battle. My body, wracked with pleasure, would surely win.

And it did win, but not only against my mind. As I screamed until my lungs gave out, the metal workings of the cheap lock followed suit. There was no way I would break the thick metal shank of the lock, but the inner mechanisms were obviously of lousy workmanship. Against the involuntary force of my entire body, the lock exploded in my hands, sending me reeling backwards as parts of it scattered across the entire room.

The force of the lock releasing threw me back, the chains straining to keep me from flying off the sybian as it roared beneath me. Unable to keep upright, I could barely hold myself in a backwards arch as my muscles failed beneath me. The release of all that tension, combined with the relief of the lock breaking, had made my muscles limp and powerless. All I had to do to release myself was lean forward, and slip the chains up off the metal rod... but I could not lift myself. Even bent backwards, with my clit as exposed as it was, my entire pussy was still fully accessible to the machine's anger.

Looking up at the ceiling, bent so lewdly backwards for the camera, I let my mind drift once more to escape the screaming of my overstimulated nerves. I had done it. I had escaped this trap of my own accidental making, and I had done it by diving deeper into my own depravity than I ever had before. Closing my eyes, I let myself scream as one final orgasm was torn from my body, trying to blot out the truth that had never felt more satisfied than I did in that moment.

And then, silence. The machine quieted to a dull roar, and my body began to slowly pull itself back together. By the time I could finally throw my body forward, the clock read 10:29. I had survived the full course of the Big Bang, even if not entirely by choice. The chains felt heavier than ever as I pulled them off the anchoring post, the tension leaving the cuffs. Bracing with both arms, I let out one final cry as I lifted myself up and off the still-buzzing dildo, feeling my clit unstick itself from the surface with a softly wet sound. As soon as I was free, I collapsed sideways onto the concrete floor. Before I could think to move any further, I passed out.

I woke around an hour later, aching and cold, to the sound of angry buzzing. My body felt like lead, and the machine had shifted into yet another high intensity cycle while I lay next to it, as if it was still hungry for more. Dragging myself to my feet, I began to disassemble the ceremony to my lust that I had taken part in.

As if in a trance, I went through the complete cleanup routine as if it was any other day. I shut off the machine, pulled the silicone cover off and washed it mechanically in the basement tub. I wiped down the toy and mat, idly marvelling at the sheer amount of mess I had produced. Only after everything was cleaned did I register that I was still wearing the cuffs, dragging the heavy chains behind me. Once unlocked, the trance seemed to break, and I left them on the floor of the basement as I wobbled up the stairs, phone in hand. I couldn't help but look at it, though it seemed to have run out of power at some point. How much did it catch? All of it? None of it? I wasn't sure I wanted to know, and I certainly wasn't capable of processing the answer tonight.

Wandering up to my bedroom, I considered how badly I needed a shower as I fell onto my bed, sideways and on top of the comforter. I fell asleep almost instantly, still sticky from head to toe.

I woke shortly after noon on Saturday, reflexively curled into a ball as I slept. The soreness I felt was immeasurable, and I felt like I had run a marathon. My dead phone sat next to me; I hadn't plugged it in before passing out the night before. The thought of what it may contain scratched at the back of my head as I began charging it, before finally drawing myself a bath that I so badly needed.

While the bath did far less for the soreness than I wished, the Aspirin I took beforehand was far more effective. Besides the pain, simply washing off the evidence of the prior night's activities went far in helping me feel human again. By the time I came out, wrapped in my fuzziest robe, I felt just normal enough to dread what my phone contained. And though it was charged enough to turn on, I couldn't bring myself to watch. In fact, I pledged not to.

But I couldn't bring myself to delete the video, either. To even look at it was a temptation I couldn't handle, and so I ignored it. I spent the weekend recovering, and did my damndest to put the incident out of my mind. Even as I went back into the basement to finish cleaning up, I maintained a sort of mental distance from the memories of what had happened; I just wasn't ready to deal with it yet.

And for that entire week, that was how I continued. Ironically, despite how much I felt like I had been hammered out and reshaped, a number of coworkers made sure to comment on how fresh and rejuvenated I looked on Monday. To which I smiled and made small talk, and refused to think deeply as to what that might imply. (I did, however, allow myself to buy a new combination lock. For the gym, of course. But I also couldn't bring myself to remove it from the packaging.) I threw myself into my work, refusing to give myself a free moment.

But when Friday rolled around and the weekend loomed once again, I found it impossible to put the previous weekend out of mind any further. At the very least, I bargained with myself, I needed to know just how much the video had captured before my phone died. And so I ate dinner, poured myself a large glass of wine, and sat down on my couch to finally look at my phone.

Opening the video, I quickly scrubbed straight to the end to see where it had cut off. Brief frames of the rest of the video flashes across the screen for only moments, but even that was enough to light a fire between my legs. Even though some soreness remained, it had also kept me from relieving any tension for the week, and I felt as if I were on a hair trigger.

Reaching the end, I saw myself asleep on my basement floor, skin shining with sweat. Improbably, the phone had captured the entire experience, only dying once I had already freed myself and passed out. Some part of me had hoped the video had cut out after only a minute, or somehow corrupted itself, just to save me from the temptation. But now here I sat, with the entire thing at my fingertips. All I had to do was press Play.

I finished my wine before making another move, staring intently at that Play button. This was a larger choice than it seemed, and I knew it. If I embraced what this video showed me, I knew I would end up chasing this high for the rest of my life. I had been in genuine danger last weekend, and only escaped through Herculean effort. Would I be able to escape again, if I kept chasing this? Did I even want to? The unopened lock sitting in my purse seemed to throb at my feet.

I slipped a hand beneath my legs, under the pretence of feeling how inflamed the skin felt. What I found instead was that even thinking about this had soaked my panties completely, to the point that running my fingers over the outside pulled away strings of wetness. I shivered at the sensation, my mind slipping back into memories. I had been terrified, I had been pushed drastically beyond what I was comfortable with or what was even safe... and it had been the most thrilling experience of my life.

Wordlessly, I stood up and pulled my dress over my head. Soon the bra followed, and my ruined panties next. A few taps of my phone, and the video was now cast onto my living room television in crisp HD quality. I sat in the center of my couch, spread my legs wide for my fingers, and began the video.

For one hour and thirty-six minutes, I fingerfucked my pussy to the spectacle of my own imprisonment and sexual devastation. When she cried out for mercy, I edged myself in anticipation. When orgasms ripped through her, I softly caressed my own pussy lips to delay my own finish. And when she screamed at me in anger, blaming me for her suffering, I accepted her words as truth and pounded myself relentlessly. I don't let up as she forced herself into one final, awe-inspiring orgasm that shattered her bonds, my cries joining hers as her body went limp and simply endured the final ravishment by the merciless machine. And she she slumped off the toy, collapsing to the ground, I licked my fingers clean with a single clear thought in my mind: I envy her.

As the video ended, I stood from the couch to ready myself for bed, satisfied for the moment. But the hunger that I felt inside, I knew wouldn't be satisfied by anything less that what I had already endured. My whole adult life had been motivated by my endless climb into sexual depravity, and it wasn't going to stop now. Reaching into my purse, I began unwrapping the lock as I passed by the kitchen garbage. Nonchalantly (as if I had someone to hide my actions from), I quietly peeled the sticker off the lock that indicated the combination, shoving it into the wreckage of the packaging. I threw the entire mess into the recycling, leaving the lock sitting prominently on my dining room table to find in the morning.

Whoops.