My name is Alexis Hayes. Friends call me Lexi. A little over a year ago I had an orgasm unlike anything I had experienced in the past. It originated deep in my core and expanded outward to completely overwhelm my senses. In short, it blew my mind and it hasn’t happened since. The guy who was fucking me at the time understood that something unusual had happened, but was never able to duplicate the feat. And, within a month or so, he dumped me for a woman with bigger tits so he is permanently out of the picture. My next boyfriend, who lasted only a couple of months, never even came close.
I didn’t understand what had happened to me until I ran across an article in Cosmopolitan magazine that described a ‘vaginal orgasm’ and declared them to be extremely rare. The article provided an adequate description of my experience, but it wasn’t much help beyond giving a name to what happened so I could do a little research on my own.
The internet was all over the map on the subject. One article told me I could have countless vaginal orgasms if I would just follow a few easy steps. Another informed me that the whole idea was a myth perpetrated by Sigmund Freud. Dozens of other articles and forum comments either supported these two extremes or landed somewhere on a broad spectrum in the middle. None of the information dissuaded me from the belief that I had experienced a genuine vaginal orgasm. And I wanted more of them.
I am highly orgasmic and have enjoyed thousands of clitoral orgasms. I love them, but they are more localized than what happened to me that night. As research confirmed to my satisfaction, there is a big difference. Here’s where I stand on the issue.
Purely vaginal orgasms are, in fact, extremely rare. There are two reasons for this. The first is that the clitoral area of a woman’s vagina has millions of nerve endings that are designed to trigger orgasmic release. In comparison, vaginal walls have far fewer nerves to be stimulated. My guess is that Mother Nature designed everything that way to keep childbirth bearable so women won’t throw themselves off the nearest cliff when they discover they’re pregnant. I’ve never given birth, but all my friends who have done so tell me that Ms. Nature still didn’t get it right.
I am personally very familiar with the second reason. Few guys have the stamina to perform fast enough and long enough to drive a woman into a vaginal climax. All the guys I have allowed to fuck me are unreliable in that regard; and from my perspective any man who ejaculates before I cum, does so prematurely.
I know I am being unfair. I am just as responsible for my sexual gratification as my partner and my own performance is inconsistent at best. I easily achieve orgasm when my clitoris is properly stimulated, but I have experienced only that one vaginal event. The boyfriend who helped me pull it off taught me only one thing; size apparently matters where vaginal orgasms are concerned. He was abnormally well-endowed.
So here’s my problem. I want a means of achieving a vaginal orgasm on demand, but I haven’t figured out how to make that happen yet. And I am now obsessed.
I am between boyfriends at the moment, so my sex life consists of self-stimulation with vibrators and dildos. I miss the intimacy of a normal relationship, but I am starting to learn through experience not to choose in haste. I will wait until a good prospect comes along. And at the ripe old age of thirty-two, I now have a lengthy list of characteristics that a candidate must possess before I declare him to be suitable.
So, for the time being, I will rely on my toys for gratification while I give more thought to vaginal orgasms and a means of achieving them.
We are having our monthly safety meeting at work. The topic this time is safe operation of heavy machinery. Most of the attendees are people from the shop floor. The boss is showing a video that features a bunch of machines in operation while the narrator points out the potential hazards of each one. I work in an office, so my mind wanders. My most likely injury is a paper cut.
I am half asleep when something on the screen catches my eye. I don’t know what the machine does, but I find myself focused on a horizontal piston assembly and the exposed drive wheel that is making it work. It must be a pump of some kind, but I don’t care; it’s the motion of the shiny steel rod moving back and forth that captures my attention.
A little light bulb comes on in my brain and I see a dildo attached to the end of a similar rod. I squirm in my seat and feel my face flush as my imagination goes into overdrive. Suddenly aware of my surroundings, I sit up straight and glance around the room. A couple of the guys are looking at me and smiling. This is not unusual. I am a good-looking, long-legged blonde with a nice figure. I smile back at them, return my attention to the video, and pretend to show some interest in the subject matter. I wonder what the guys would think if they knew I had just conceptualized a device that will shake the earth bursa escort to bedrock; a fucking machine.
Who am I kidding? If I thought of it, a lot of other people certainly have, so I decide to see what the internet might reveal on the subject.
I am distracted for the remainder of the day. Fucking machines occupy my thoughts. I don’t dare start researching them on my office computer so I’ll have to hang on for several more hours.
Finally, the workday ends. I stop at the deli a block from my condo to pick up a pastrami sandwich. I’ll eat it with a Stella Artois while I surf the net on my laptop. When I arrive home, I change into sweats and pull my hair back into a ponytail. Gathering my beer, my sandwich, and my laptop I settle in at the breakfast bar. I take a sip of the excellent beer while the computer boots up.
Taking a bite of the sandwich, I type in ‘fucking machines’ as a search term for my browser. My expectations are pretty low. There can’t possibly be widespread interest in such devices.
“Holy shit!” I exclaim aloud when I get thirteen million hits. Many appear to be porn sites that feature the machines. I may return to them later, but I want to refine my search.
‘Types of fucking machines’ as a search term winnows everything down to a little over a million hits. Not much help.
I type in ‘varieties of fucking machines’ and I’m down to a few hundred thousand possibilities, but at least some look to be specific enough for my purposes and there are lots of pictures.
Flabbergasted is a good word to describe my response to what I see. I must have led a pretty sheltered life, sexually speaking. Twelve hours ago I had never heard of a fucking machine. As it turns out, there are all kinds of them. Some don’t look substantial enough to hold up under steady use while others appear ready for industrial application.
Some are bizarre looking and some are intriguing. A significant number of them also involve bondage which I find interesting. I have enjoyed mild bondage with a boyfriend or two, usually employing plastic handcuffs or soft ropes and pretending that I cannot escape while being fucked against my will. Many of the pictures show a young woman tightly constrained while the machine does its work.
The problem with bondage is that a second person has to be involved. It’s pretty hard to tie yourself up and then enlist the help of a machine. So, for the time being at least, I have to put bondage on the back burner.
I reach no conclusions during my search. It is difficult to tell exactly how some of the machines work, so I turn to a couple of the porn sites that show fucking machines in action. Many of the videos are of poor quality and feature machines that lack impressive performance. Fortunately, I find a few that show young women being vigorously fucked by solid-looking machines. After watching for a while I get turned on so I shut down my laptop and retreat to my bedroom with its collection of vibrators and dildos.
I treat myself to a clitoral orgasm and then turn out the lights. I have learned enough tonight to think that a fucking machine of some sort might be my key to achieving the illusive vaginal orgasm.
I wake up early so I have some time to kill before going to work. Over toast and coffee I fire up my laptop, resume my investigation of fucking machines, and soon encounter a website that I hadn’t seen last night.
The site doesn’t tell me much, but it does promise ‘Innovation, Resources, and Discretion,’ and it lists a phone number that happens to be in my area code. At the bottom of the web page is some small print that says ‘Let Us Help You Choose a Mechanical Partner’ which I take to mean a fucking machine. I decide to call the number at lunchtime so I pack a lunch rather than eat in the cafeteria or go out for a bite.
The morning goes by quickly. The boss is on the warpath about something and all of us are scrambling about in the common area to meet his demands. I finish my part of the effort just prior to lunchtime, retreat to my office, and shut the door. Deciding to make the call first and then eat my sandwich, I enter the number I have written on a Post-It note. A woman answers the phone.
“Hello,” she says, “Marie speaking,” which sounds a little casual coming from a business establishment.
“I…uh…I saw a website last night and I would like to know more if you are connected to the site in some way. The term ‘mechanical partner’ wasn’t very specific,” I tell her.
“Well,” Marie begins, “you’ve called the right number. In a nutshell, we design, build, and sell fucking machines. My husband does the design work and supervises construction. I handle marketing and sales.”
“Okay,” I respond, “you have my attention, but your site doesn’t describe your machines or even show pictures.”
“That’s because we like to do business directly with our customers whenever possible. Preferably face-to-face. Where are you located?” I tell her in general terms, not wanting to reveal too much, and she bursa escort bayan responds.
“We are not very far apart. If you have an interest, I can meet you at five o’clock at the Macy’s entrance to the mall.”
“I can do five o’clock,” I tell her. “My name is Lexi, I’m blonde, and I’ll be wearing a blue business suit.”
“Then I’ll see you at five. I’m a brunette and I’ll be wearing jeans and a pale yellow blouse.”
Marie turns out to be a striking woman with a splendid figure. I guess that she’s only a couple of years my senior. She meets me at the Macy’s entrance, we make our introductions, and then she leads me out of the store and into the flood court. We grab a table some distance away from the crowd.
She asks why I’m interested in fucking machines. The answer seems obvious to me, but I reply anyway. In no time at all, she zeros in on vaginal orgasms. I admit that I had one about a year ago and have been obsessed with them ever since.
“Then a fucking machine is most likely the answer,” she declares. “As I told you on the phone, my husband invents such machines and builds high quality units for sale. He holds several patents.”
“People patent fucking machines?” I ask, truly astonished.
“Absolutely. You’d be surprised at the wide range of patents that are issued for sexual devices. In addition to sales, we run a regular spa and a salon of sorts. Think of it as a gym, or fitness center, except that it consists of a bunch of private rooms. Each room contains a different machine, invented by my husband, that is used to service our female clients.”
“Clients?” I ask with raised eyebrows.
“Yes. Most of the machines are too expensive for the average person to own, but they can purchase time on them for a reasonable fee.”
I am stunned.
“Having said that,” continues Marie, “I think that sort of thing is downstream a bit for a beginner like you. All our clients gained experience on cheaper and less vigorous devices before they felt the need to take advantage of what we have to offer at the salon.”
“Cheaper is what I have in mind, as long as it does the job.”
“And that’s what I’m recommending to get you started. There is a unit my husband designed that we keep in stock. It will introduce you to machine fucking without breaking the bank,” Marie says as she takes a small brochure from her purse and slides it across the table to me.
The device looks a little bit like a small English saddle mounted on a rounded enclosure that apparently contains the drive mechanism. There is a hole in the middle of the saddle through which an impressive dildo is protruding. There is an electrical cord for power and a pigtail that leads to a control box. A verbal description below the picture tells me that the speed is variable from zero to three strokes per second. As delivered, the stroke is five inches in length, but can be adjusted to suit the user.
“I’ve seen something similar to this on the internet,” I tell her.
“The style is quite popular,” Marie declares. “Ours comes with some specialized lubricant and two different dildos; an average-sized one to use while the customer gets accustomed to the machine, and a much larger one for when it’s time to get down to serious business. Larger is better when you’re in the hunt for vaginal orgasms,” she adds with a smile.
“How much,” I ask. Marie gives me the price.
“That’s a lot cheaper than I’ve seen on line for similar units.”
“We sell them at our cost. Virtually all our clients started with this machine, or one like it, and have since moved on to machines in the salon. We get our money back.”
“I want one,” I blurt out.
“I thought you might, so I brought one with me,” Marie says with a smile. “It’s in the trunk of my car.”
“How do I pay you?” I ask.
“I can do that,” I tell her. My ATM limit, plus what I have in my purse, will cover it.
“Then let’s go,” says Marie, “unless you have any further questions.”
“This is a little embarrassing,” I begin, “but I have some interest in mild bondage. Can this machine be used that way?”
“Actually, it can. Do you have a partner?”
“I’m between boyfriends at the moment,” I reply.
“Then serious bondage will have to wait, but your machine comes with an accessory that provides a simple method of restraint that you can control by yourself. Later on, if you decide to take advantage of the salon and its machines, they are all equipped for bondage.”
“Do your clients bring a partner?”
“Some do. Some don’t. For those who do not, we have several attendants on the staff who will provide assistance. From time to time, I perform that service as well.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just stare back at Marie with an astonished look on my face. Marie responds with a broad smile.
“Any more questions?” she asks, still smiling.
“N…Not right now,” I stammer, “but I may have some later.”
“Call me if you do. And get in touch if you escort bursa decide you’d like a tour of the facility and a chance to examine the machines.”
Ten minutes later I have visited an ATM, handed over the money, and stowed the heavy box in my car. Marie drives off with a smile and a wave.
I stop at McDonald’s on the way home. I don’t want anything to take up time that can be devoted to my new machine; like preparing dinner.
By six thirty I have the box torn open and the contents spread out on the carpet in my bedroom. I can see that the machine is at a perfect height for me to straddle like I have often done with boyfriends.
There is a plastic bag containing some black nylon items that I assume is the restraint device Marie mentioned. I set it aside. I’ll play with it after I get accustomed to the machine.
The medium dildo is close to what I’ve experienced with most of the men in my life, about six inches in length and an inch and a half in diameter. The larger one is something to behold. It’s at least an inch longer and its diameter is much greater; perhaps by an inch or so. I’ve never experienced anything like it before. It puts the guy who helped me reach the vaginal orgasm to shame. I suspect it will be a challenge when I’m ready to move up in size. The lubricant included with the machine is thicker than what I’m used to. I know it’s going to come in handy with the giant cock.
The instructions for mounting the dildo are fairly simple so I have the machine ready to test by seven o’clock. I plug it in, apply power, and run the speed control up and down its range. Speed and stroke appear to be as advertised. Any guy I’ve been with who was capable of three strokes per second couldn’t hold that speed for more than a few seconds. Considering that this machine can fuck me until there’s a power outage, I believe I’m in for a treat.
A note in the instructions warns me not to expect perfect results the first few times I use the machine. I don’t expect a vaginal climax tonight, but hope springs eternal.
A brochure has been included with the unit that provides instructions for maintenance and adjustments. There is also a form for ordering parts. I have trouble changing flashlight batteries so I hope I don’t have to fix anything. If this thing craps out, there is no one I can ask for help, except maybe Marie. I set the paperwork aside.
I jump in the shower for a few minutes and then debate whether to put on one of the sexy nightgowns I usually wear when I masturbate. After some thought, I choose a little black number that won’t get in the way. I’ll want to watch the machine from time to time while it fucks me.
Just for insurance purposes, I select a wand-type vibrator from my collection. I’ll use it to push myself over the edge if I can’t get off just by riding the machine.
After positioning the unit so that I’ll be facing the side of my bed, I’m ready. If I get overwhelmed, I can push my face into the mattress, scream my lungs out, and claw at the sheets.
I decide to try the lubricant that came with the machine instead of my usual jelly. If I stay in the saddle long enough, friction might become a problem.
After smearing a generous amount of lube on the dildo, I add some to my pussy. Grinning happily, I kneel over the machine and lower myself onto the artificial cock. After wiggling around a bit to settle in, I make sure the speed control is all the way down and then switch on the power.
“Here we go Lexi,” I announce out loud and turn the control up to the point where the machine is fucking me very slowly, perhaps one stroke every two seconds. The clock on my bedside table tells me it is seven-thirty.
I wait a while to allow the lube and the dildo to match my body temperature. It doesn’t take long, so within seconds I am enjoying the slow pace of the warmed cock. The stroke is perfect.
I have lots of time, so I intend to proceed slowly. I love the sensation of the artificial dick sliding in and out of my pussy, particularly since the machine is doing all the work.
My arousal builds at a snail’s pace, which is exactly what I want. I pull up the hem of the little nighty and study the silicone cock as it disappears and reappears between my thighs. Just the sight of it amps me up a little more. Pulling the spaghetti straps off my shoulders, I free my breasts so I can caress them and manipulate the prominent nipples. I am proud of my breasts. They are high, firm and, if I do say so myself, perfectly shaped.
After five minutes or so, I turn the speed control up about halfway and moan softly as my body responds to the faster pace. Most of my boyfriends would have cum by now. The notion that I can do this for as long as I like thrills me.
My arousal continues to build. I know I am a long way from a vaginal orgasm, if I can achieve one at all, but the feeling is wonderful. Being fucked, even unskillfully, always feels good to me and there is nothing unskillful about this machine and its metronomic precision.
Another five minutes pass and I am beginning to cry out as my arousal ramps up. I increase the speed again and give a shudder of pleasure in response, vocalizing my appreciation for what the machine is doing to me. I begin to have hope.