Apparatus by Spline Duck

US Copyright Registered 1998


Here I am standing in front of the door, key in hand. It's
just another door in the hall of just another office building,
nondescript. He had handed me the key at dinner last night.

We've known each other long enough for me to trust him, many
months, and frequent sessions of passion. At the beginning, it
was an ordinary enough evening, like many others. Meet for
dinner at Azum. Small talk, a little love talk, warm
atmosphere, a little footsie under the table. We talked about
work and the week: those little daily irritations and
triumphs. Complain about a coworker over salad, office
politics over wine.

"So, I know you work with computers and such, but what does
your company really do with them?"

He hesitates, and then he explains, "We make robots and
various kinds of automation equipment. It's all very ordinary
in some ways, but sometimes there are real challenges that are
entirely new. That's when it's the most fun."

Oh right, I think. But it adds to the unusual aspects of his
personality, the things that attract me to him. Then I ask
where he works.

He replies, "Our office is across the river, but I work so
independently much of the time that the company has given me a
small office near here where I work out the bugs sometimes. I
get to play with my ideas unimpeded there. I only go there
about half time or less, but they let me alone because I make
steady progress."

My mind drifts away from this stuff that I don't really
understand or care about. To make small talk, I ask for
details about the projects he does there. I listen through a
fog to technical stuff that might as well be in Chinese, and I
miss the beginning of the tangent he starts about his "lab." .
. ." sex and how it might be enhanced by it." My mind lurches;
I've missed the transition, and now I'm adrift in something I
might really be interested in, but I don't know what it is.

How do I have to recover without seeming like a total idiot?
"That sounds really interesting; how did you do your testing?"

And the answer floors me (and makes me realize how much I
missed). "The first couple were not much more than
sophisticated dildos, and it wasn't too hard to use them with
a girlfriend. I did hire a couple of experimental subjects to
evaluate them more objectively. They all seemed to like them.
The company doesn't know about this sideline, but it's nice
having the resources to be able to build these."

So now, because I'm lost and still trying to recover from not
knowing how the conversation got to this point, I have to ask
what the new ones are like - - the downside is that now I am
getting in deeper and deeper because I continue to sound more
and more interested.

Over the fruit dessert, he says, "Now I'm working on kind of a
whole pleasure appliance. The first one was done yesterday,
and it seems to work just like I expected. It just needs to be
tried out. You seem intrigued. Would you like to . . . well,
would you?"

I feel a little like the deer in the headlights, but I'm also
considerably intrigued. We talk for another hour while we
finish a bottle of wine, but I've already decided that I'll do
it.


At 7:10 AM, I enter the "lab." What I will do is supposed to
be obvious to me when I arrive. If we didn't know each other
so well, I would be afraid, perhaps terrified. Even so, I feel
hesitant, anxious. The room is well lit. The soft sound of
computers and fans surrounds me. A screen by the entrance
lists a short greeting and terse instructions.

"Hello, Love. Thanks for offering to help with this test.
Since I expect it will take a while, I recommend that you use
that bathroom. Otherwise, you might need to end the test in
the middle. After that, you may as well leave the pants off;
you'll just need to remove them anyway.

My heart starts a bit; he's so direct. I had expected
something like this, but the combination of apprehension and
expectation momentarily thrills through my body. Under my
pants, I feel a slight contraction, a momentary tightening. I
am not used to be being used at such a distance.

I use the bathroom. Wiping myself, I wonder what is about to
happen to this part of my body. I'm almost certain to enjoy it
in the end, but the thought of still unknown objects opening
me, entering me, leaves me slightly doubtful. Perhaps I should
just go; he would feel let down, but that feeling would pass,
and he'd find someone else, even it he had to pay to get his
test done.

I almost shudder, then pull myself together. I'm here to give
him a gift: my assistance and my trust. Getting up, I go into
the lab, leaving my pants behind. At least he has been
thoughtful enough to turn the heat up; the room is
comfortable, even without my being fully clothed.

Turning the corner into the lab proper, I see the setup for
the "test." A "chair" faces away from the wall, toward the
entrance to the area. The chair is surrounded by the usual
clutter of things that make up a computer work area. A couple
of monitors, keyboards, mice, trackballs, etc. But the usual
desk chair is absent. Instead, the chair is a molded, soft-
looking, contoured one. In it is a mound: small, symmetrical,
an inch or less high and in the center of the chair; its
positioning is obvious. Clearly, I am supposed to sit with it
under me in a sensitive area, but I am surprised that it isn't
larger. I would have expected him to go for size and perhaps
actual penetration.

Hesitating again, I look around, examine the environment. Do I
really want to subject myself to this? All my experience with
him is benign, and I do trust him; and he reassured me that I
could end the test easily at any point if I felt I needed to.

I sit. The seat is comfortably warm, but I need to wiggle
around a little to position the mound snugly so it doesn't
just poke me. Around me are wires, tubes, three computer
monitors, various geeky things, a couple of little cameras for
video conferencing. The chair is contoured, comfortable; if
anything, it seems to adjust a little as I sit there getting
set. Could that be by design or just my imagination? A slight
tremor and a barely detectable motion from the chair confirm
that my apprehension has not totally overcome my powers of
observation. I look around to see how to start things up. One
of the nearby screens has some text on it.

The screen reads "Hi, read all of this before you start the
apparatus up. Pick some music if you like. There's a menu that
you can use for that. There's a start button on this screen
that you can click with the mouse. There's a SYSTEM OFF button
(red) to your left. It's there for your peace of mind. So that
you can feel fully in control, if you hit it with your hand,
the test will end immediately."

I look up. The button is at about shoulder height and to my
side. It is easily within reach; I feel reassured and return
to reading. "If you like you can try out the OFF button now.
Start the machine and then hit the OFF button." I follow the
instructions. When I click on "Start," I feel a trembling in
the chair, but it stops immediately when I reach up and hit
the OFF button. Good! I return to the screen.

"The computer will attempt to detect your physical responses
and to keep the stimulation appropriate to where you're at. If
it's out of sync with your response, then just stop the test.
That would mean either that it's just not for you or that the
system isn't sensing or stimulating right. That's about all
there is to it for you. Enjoy! Tell me about your feelings
later. Choose some music if you like and push `Start.' Call me
later."

I think about last night and about how I got myself into this.
The first time I went to bed with him seemed pretty normal.
Now I'm about to ride his futuristic pleasure machine. He had
just seemed an average geeky guy, not too different than some
of the other guys that I had dated. When we went to bed, he
was more interested than most in my having a good time,
distracted from his own pleasure by concern that I enjoy
myself, nervous and self-conscious. When we had walked back to
my apartment, he had actually jumped when I took his hand.
Later, my pussy hair matted from his licking and my juices, my
pussy aching for something in it, sensitive from coming
several times, I had to give him permission to enjoy himself
too. It was almost like he had forgotten his prick's need to
join in the fun (I don't think it had forgotten).

"Start." Oh yeah, I'm supposed to start this thing; got lost
there for a minute. OK now, pay attention, live in the moment.
A small sound from somewhere off to the right distracts me for
a second; it sounded like something moved. God, all this stuff
in here. Well, let's get on with it.

I push "Start."

Once again, I feel a tremor from the chair. The mound at the
front of my pussy shivers momentarily and then stops. The
chair readjusts itself to fit me a bit better; it really is
more comfortable now. Its surface even seems a little warmer
than it was: comfortable. The vibration from the little mound
returns, and then it moves slightly pressing itself against my
mound, moving slightly into my slit. I look down to see myself
spread slightly, the mound disappearing under my hair. It
feels interesting; I'm getting interested. It's all very
gentle, the surfaces soft and sensual. The sensations are just
more than subtle as the mound vibrates a bit more. Why was he
so hesitant to talk about this? Just him, I guess, hesitant as
always.

After that first time, sex with him got to be a little more
give and take. It took a while to convince him that it was OK
for him to always enjoy himself, that he wasn't just there to
make me happy. We got along well together. He did surprise me
sometimes. Early when we were first going together, he asked
if I liked toys. I'd never used any, but I said I was willing;
he said he'd bring one next time if that was OK. (I knew then
that it was going to take a long time to loosen him up.) So
the next time, he brought this modest vibrator.

I wasn't naive, but I'd never seen a vibrator like this, a bit
lumpy and curved and kind of heavy, dense. For its size, it
was quite powerful. Sitting here, I realize now that he had
made it. I wonder how many similar gadgets he had made (and
tested!) before. When he turned it on, the sound was a fairly
low, pleasant hum. I've looked at others that sex shops carry,
and they all buzz (mostly rather annoyingly, I think). When he
touched it to my clitoris, it was almost like it was made for
it, almost like it bonded to it and, "Come along for a ride."

I'd been wet before he turned his vibrator on, but when it
touched me, it was like it found the valve. He said later that
the device was carefully designed to transfer the maximum
amount of vibration to tissue that it comes in contact with
(or as I quickly found out, to tissues that come while in
contact with it). The curve, it turned out, was cleverly
designed to aid in just gliding from the (delicious) external
contact to slipping between lips and inside. But the vibration
on my clitoris didn't stop when the tip went in; part of the
magic of the device was that it kept up the delivery of
sensations all along its length (and all along mine, too). I
was coming before it was all the way in. I was so wet that it
glided in all the way as far as I could take in the first
motion; then I came again. I grabbed the hand that he held it
with, and told him, "If you want to get out alive that this
thing stays behind."

He lived.


Oh, the mound seems to have moved back. But no, it's pressing
more firmly against my clitoris, and the sensations there
certainly seem to be what was intended; at least they are
having an effect that I think was intended. But there's the
sensation of another mound farther back, between my lips.
There's some vibration there, too. The chair seems to have
tipped back slightly, too. I feel slightly cradled, invited to
relax (but some of the feelings I'm getting are starting to
make relaxing seems a slightly more distant goal). There's not
a doubt, now; there's enough of lump between my legs that it's
more comfortable to spread them a bit. That motion also makes
it a bit more interesting; I'm definitely getting wet enough
to make adjusting myself onto the second mound an easy chore.

I'm starting to feel a bit self-conscious. What am I doing
here in this geek-friendly place? I don't mind masturbating;
I've done plenty of it. But to come here to let an overgrown,
thousand pound vibrator help me with it? Come on! It certainly
feels good, but, really, do I need to be doing this instead of
just working out at home? If I just need to get off, I can
manage that in my own bed. But I do have to admit that as long
as I'm here this is feeling quite good.

The lump under me seems somewhat more insistent; it continues
to feel larger and larger, and the vibrations from it are
stronger than they were. Um, noticeably stronger. I squirm
around to get a little better contact with it. Nice! It seems
that the second mound is still growing. When I look down
between my spread legs, I can see that my inner lips are now
well separated, and the mound is between them. The familiar,
aching feeling of wanting to feel something inside is
starting. The vibrations are beginning to be quite strong,
compelling.

I'm having trouble focusing now. The sensations are
stimulating me enough that it's hard to keep my mind focused
on where I am. I suppose that that's always the way it is for
me when the sex is the best. When I went to bed with my first
college boyfriend, I panicked right after I came the first
time; for a moment, I couldn't figure out where I was. Well,
it was just a moment, and it didn't help that we were behind
the sofa in his apartment. Once I got that sorted out, then I
just didn't care where I was; mostly I cared where he was (or
at least where certain parts of him were). Actually, he mostly
cared where one part of him was. I soon found that that was
all he cared about, not what was going on with me. I
discovered that I love being spread as wide as I can get and
feeling the openness of me make available as much depth as
possible. He would bump up against my cervix: what a strange,
beautifully full feeling. That was the first time that I could
actually be aware of the whole (soaking, slippery wet) length
of my vagina.

The lower mound is no longer a mound. When I lift up a little,
I can see that it has now entered me. The sensations are
delicious. Vibrations. Gentle rotations. Pushes. The original
mound continues to stimulate my clitoris, but it too has
changed. When I look to see what was going on, I see that it
has developed a shallow groove that is cupping my clitoris,
and it is gently moving, rubbing especially the head. The
second mound (now a shaft) seems to be a rather snug fit, but
whatever it is doing is transferring lots of feeling to my
lips and vagina. I hope this puppy is easy to clean, because
it's already pretty wet, and, if this keeps up, it's going to
get a lot wetter.

There it was again, that sound of something moving off to the
right. God, the waves of ecstasy that this thing is creating
in me. I feel almost disconnected from reality (on the other
hand I am pretty well connected to this chair right now). The
appendage that is inside me is doing all kinds of smooth,
gentle motions. I feel very filled, as if it were larger
inside than it is in the opening of my pussy. Suddenly,
there's only me and the interface with this chair, and, with a
jerk, my first orgasm is over. Something moved up there; one
of the video conferencing cameras. Is he taping this? Is he at
work with his virtual reality headset on, participating while
coworkers walk by? God, I want him right now. And, with
another jerk, I cum again.

There are real advantages to being an adult. Partner sex
rather than (or, in the current case, in addition to)
masturbation. The horrible, desirable explorations of each
other's bodies now can be just pleasurable. There are enough
uncertainties as an adult; at least the worst of the teenage
ones are gone. Now, I can enjoy reaching into a man's pants
the first time. Then, it was such a fearsome act. I used to
think, "Am I up to this?" And the first time a boy reached
into my pants. He actually jumped when he felt all the fluids.

Thinking of fluids, there's a lot flowing right now. Come to
think of it, there's a lot going on. The motions inside me are
more insistent. It's almost like they are pumping fluid out. I
push against the base of the chair to increase the pressure on
my clitoris; gliding up the front mound, I come again. I hear
motions of small machines around me, but I am too focused on
my own body to care any more. The motions inside are stronger
yet, and the sensation of fullness is becoming overpowering.
With each slight downward motion inside, I am again pulled a
little harder against the chair where the mound at the base of
the shaft opens me again. Oh Lord, that must be vibrating,
too. The sensations are stopping my mind. Coming again!

I think I've had enough. But when I raise up to try to get
off, I find that I'm stuck. The expansion of the shaft inside
of me that feels so intense and that makes me feel so full, is
larger than my opening! I'm stuck; I can't get off. AND
another orgasm is coming; it's the biggest one yet. I don't
think I can take this any more. The mound in front is
increasing its pressure against my clitoris, and the shaft
behind pulls me against the front mound every time it pulls
down. I can't get off the machine, and I can't escape the
orgasm. Panic!

It's all too much. It's time for the OFF button. My hand
reaches up for it, but I feel like the world is in slow
motion, that I am embedded in honey, in amber. The orgasm is
coming faster than I am moving. I have to stop it. I feel like
I felt the second time I ever had an orgasm. I had just had my
first, and I enjoyed it tremendously, so I decided to do it
again. My hand is on the way to the button, but I may not make
it. But the second was thousands of times more intense than
the first. My hand is still going; I may make; let me make it.
The first was just a sneeze, with no more moisture than a
sneeze. The second approached like a tsunami. I felt I was
being engulfed, destroyed.

Just like now. My body is nothing but a huge clitoris and a
pulsing, vibrating, soaked and dripping vagina. My hand is
almost there, but the world stops. Stops. Stops.

And my hand hits the switch as I finish coming.

But the machine has already stopped. It knew I was done. In
large letters, the screen reads, "DONE. Come Again."

I might.



Copyright 1998, Registered at the U.S. Copyright Office (Ref.
#TXu 888-225). No part of this document may be reproduced in
any way without permission of the author


I want to thank my writing support group (Janey) for writing
suggestions and for excellent proofing.