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From: "Spline Duck" <splineduck@my-dejanews.com>
Subject: NEW: Apparatus by SplineDuck (F machine)
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Subject: NEW: "Apparatus" by SplineDuck (F
machine)

This story contains descriptions of explict
sexual acts and reactions. Please don't read it
if you are a minor or if it is illegal for you to
do so. If you neglect this warning, you may grow
up to be like the people who post to this group.


--------------------------------------

Apparatus; by SplineDuck


    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.

    Now 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 cumming 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 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
cum 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 cumming 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 that
if he wanted to get out alive that this thing
stayed 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 machine 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. Cumming 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
cumming.

    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 by SplineDuck. No part of this document
may be reproduced in any way without permission
of the author. Permission is granted for
reviewing, and archiving permission is granted to
DejaNews and to ASSM (thanks Eli). Others must
ask the author for permission.

--------------------------------------

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




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