I Mechanical-Turk'd a Sex Machine
Holding a dildo on a stick and praying to god that she come
(Editor’s Note: This is from my past. I’m somewhat less of a douche now.)
Her name was Nora.
Our best dates happened in a strip club, because then I could confuse my environmental arousal for enjoying her company. She was surrounded at all times by startlingly unattractive dudes, who worshipped her in a desperate, creepy way. She was a gamer girl.
I don’t remember how we met, exactly—at the orgy, Jordan, my submissive, who I’d picked up largely out of a desire to get back into the BDSM that I wasn’t getting in my relationship with Jos—
(bleh. Everything needs explanations. TODO: reformat my erotic memoirs into a wiki; pre-reading for this document: Maturity and Grace, Gorilla Sexual Politics)
We Met At A Party
I had a submissive named Jordan, who thought I was the bees knees, even though I wouldn’t fuck them. Jordan encouraged me to take them—nonbinary pronouns—to the local BDSM community’s play party. I’d been interested in attending for some time now, and had no real objection to letting Jordan coast off of my overall High Status Look. This would broker an introduction to a new community, which was bound to have at least one person I wanted to fuck, right?1
“I suppose we could,” I drawled, in my most masculine way. “What exactly goes on at a play party, anyway?”
Turns out, a play party is like a zero-calorie orgy; you can spank each other and be naked, but no one is penetrating anyone else. Don’t bring condoms, you’ll just get your hopes up.
It was hosted in some kind of hotel basement, a dimly lit space hastily converted into a kink-zone. The whole social environs felt like a low-budget anime con, from the little booths to the costumes to the ambient Awesome Metalcore Music to the random Weezer-lookalike with a literal pocket protector who wandered through gawking.
We walked around for a while, definitely neither of us nervous haha, listening to whip-cracks and melodramatic howls of hot-wax-induced anguish, watching people do piercing play with each other, feeling vaguely uncomfortable when the fat old white Leather Daddy called his black girlfriend his slave...
“Oh hey!” said a voice. “Are you new?”
Nora and Sam:
Nora was quite tall, huge tots, and wore high heels because fuck it why not commit.
Sam was an I-shit-you-not hobbit. Incredibly hairy dude, little glasses, super short. He actually was the person who behaved the most conscientiously in all of this, including me, so props to him for that.
“Oh hiiiii,” said Jordan, nearly tail-wagging with enthusiasm to flaunt me. “I don’t know if y’all have met...”
I shook hands with everyone, did some flirtatious eye-fucking with Nora, and for some inexplicable-to-me-now reason, I decided to nonchalantly rest my arm on Sam’s head. Like I was casually leaning against a railing or something. It was, uh, quite the power move.
He didn’t comment. He is the kind one.
“Well,” said Nora, actually breathless with arousal after she saw how unfathomably douchey I had been to her boyfriend, “Sam and I are doing a scene in a few minutes, would you like to watch?”
Sure.
So. Jordan and I attended, ready to politely clap or appreciatively masturbate or whatever it is that one does at these things. Sam led Nora over to one of the booths, shoo’d the other people out of it, and after a quick one-two sanitary wipedown of the bondage gear, Nora was sitting on a Sybian.
A Sybian is like a saddle, except it has a hella strong vibrator built in, and you can’t squirm away. Nora was, for additional kink points, blindfolded, cuffed, and tied to the floor such that she double-extra couldn’t squirm away. Sam, caring fellow that he was, was making out with her and remote-controlling the Sybian.
She writhed appreciatively and did a lot of gasps. I watched Sam pinch her nipples and kiss her and edge her with the machine. It was pretty good.
It made me want to build my own sex machine.
I built my own sex machine.
At its heart, it was a Sawzall. We took the blade out, of course, and all it took then was a custom weld to attach some metal to some other metal and mount a dildo on it.
It looked like a blender with a dildo-broom sticking out of it. I gave it a gratuitously large footprint so that it couldn’t tip. I hid the dildo so no one would figure out what I was building in the garage.
I spent like $500 on this thing, but honestly, this was the period in my life I was most careless about money.2
I was giddy with bitcoin cash, such that I also dropped a couple grand on giant electromagnets with the vision that I could make MAGNET GLOVES.3
Once Clatterballs was finally finished, I took it over to Jordan’s house.
“Eeeee!” squealed Jordan.
“Yep,” I said, with an indulgent smirk. My depression and loneliness made it so that interacting with Jordan was cost-benefitted, even though their house kinda smelled like animal urine. “It’s ready.”
We had discussed, with Nora, the possibility of a threesome, and she’d expressed an openness to it previously. More than openness, actually, she’d technically sexually assaulted me in pursuit of This Dick. I had claimed relationship boundaries, saying that my main relationship prevented me from letting her touch my penis. She took that glumly, but perked up once Jordan and I mentioned that we might want to use a sex machine on her in a threesome.
We called her over to negotiate the scene.
This was actually a pretty fun part. Nora sat down on the couch, facing Jordan and I. I wore a suit, because why not, and Jordan took notes, to get that 1950’s secretary vibe going.
It had a whole job interview feel to it, which...the power exchange was noticed and appreciated.
“So we’re going to go through this checklist here,” I said, in tones of calm authority, “and you’re going to tell me anything that sounds like a fun idea to you. Good?”
“Yeah,” Nora said, faintly blushing and smiling and looking at her knees.
“Spanking,” I recited.
“Yes,” she said.
“Slapping,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“Jordan eating you out.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Bending you over and fingering you.”
“Absolutely.”
“Hair pulling.”
“Yes.”
“Electrostim.”
“Please.”
“Putting my fingers in your mouth.”
“Yeah.”
“Being fucked by our sex machine.”
“One hundred percent.”
“Cutting your clothes off with a knife.”
She hesitated. Then, quieter, “...fuck yes.”
Clatterballs: The little engine that...good effort, champ.
We had it all arranged.
In full formalwear, Jordan and I drove to the BDSM meetup to pick up Nora.
Sam was there. He knew what was happening. In front of a crowd of mildly interested kinksters, he unbuckled her collar, and kissed her, and I buckled a different collar on her. It had a whole ritual feel to it.
It was aight.
We drove and got sushi together, and both Nora and Jordan were dressed so over-the-top tits-out that the staff kept trying to hurry us out. I was sprawling, ordering those tempura fried oreos and more sake, if you could, because inconveniencing everyone around you is another way to demonstrate dominance.
Nora was watching me with dilated doe-eyes the whole time, of course.
Eventually we left and returned to Jordan’s house. I sat Nora downstairs on the couch, and took Jordan upstairs for a quick last-minute check.
We ran into the fuck-chamber and closed the door.
“Okay,” I said, breathless. “Are we good?”
“I think so,” said Jordan. “We have condoms for the toys, spare batteries for the vibrator, Clatterballs is behind the curtain, plugged in and ready, we’ve got the electrostim stuff...I think we’re good.”
“Good, good,” I said. As usual, my prep was more to do with getting myself into the correct headspace, emotionally, and becoming an avatar of masculine dominance. “Do we have stagehand signals? Like, I’ll make this gesture, and you’ll bring more lube.”
Jordan nodded. We quickly worked out a blinkercode. Lube, Fuck, Yes, No, Next, Problem.
“Okay then.” I lowered my voice. “Go downstairs,” I said softly, “and blindfold Nora.”
Jordan quivered. This was a scene for them, too. They left.
I waited in the fuck-space alone. I let out a quiet sigh.
I never know why I do things.
The stairs creaked as Nora and Jordan bumbled up them blindfolded. I could hear the two giggling, as Jordan carefully tried not to make Nora bump into anything and Nora tried to be patient despite Jordan’s not-perfect skill at guiding a blindfolded person.
They stepped inside. Following my script, I poured myself a whiskey, with lots of ice so that the glass would clink as I moved it around.
I moved it around. Nora’s ears perked up.
“Kneel,” I ordered.
Nora knelt.
Jordan and I walked around her, touching her, surprising her, fingertips brushing over sensitive areas, neck, beneath the corner of the jaw, cleavage, back of the hairline. She giggled, in nervous excitement and now a little bit of thrilled fear.
With a sound of steel-on-steel, I drew the knife.
I let her feel the tip of it, as I slid it under the strap of her dress. With a single, easy motion, I cut the fabric, and it became an off-the-shoulder dress.
I didn’t want to only make two cuts, though. The game would be over too quick. I slid my hand between the fabric and her skin, so I could cut it down the side, slicing, slicing, leaving her more and more exposed to the cool air and Jordan’s hands.
Nora was trembling, but that wasn’t anything special at this point.
With a final decisive rip, I tore the dress away. She stepped out of it—still wearing her giant heels—and stood semi-proudly in her underwear. With a lusty snarl, I shoved her onto the bed. She screamed, then, irritatingly loud, so I put a hand over her mouth.
“Quiet,” I growled into her ear. “Be a good girl.” She nodded fearfully.
With some combination of kissing, edged metal, gloved hands, and hair pulling, we got her naked.
Jordan was descending down Nora’s belly, kissing a trail down towards her pubes, when,
Nora: “Um...nuh-uh.”
Me: “Hm?”
Nora: “No thanks.”
Nora: “I...don’t...really...want Jordan to go down on me.”
I blinked at her. She was still blindfolded, which was for the best. Jordan and I shared an expression.
Are you for real
We specifically asked about this
Good Christ
...show must go on
“Of course,” I say, reassuringly, dropping most of the Dominance from my tone and switching into something more convivial. “We don’t...actually want you to do anything you don’t want.”
Nora: “…I don’t want electrostim stuff either.”
Jordan and I share a look, because okay, but.
“Sorry,” says Nora, perhaps reading into our silence.
“Oh, you have nothing to apologize for,” I say soothingly, making exasperated eye contact with Jordan. “We really only want you to do things you’re comfortable with.”
So we flip her onto all fours on the bed, and I start fingering her, because what the fuck else am I supposed to do now. Jordan gets demoted from muffdiver to sex-caddy, handing me lube and slapping Nora’s ass with perhaps a trace of resentment, and I make that nonsensical stream of grunting sex patter that makes sense when you’re denying someone an orgasm.
“Unf. You like that? You like that...three fingers deep inside you. Look at you, twitching, so horny you’re...mm, yeah. I like the look. Helpless, aching to—oh, were you close? Shame I ruined it. You poor thing. We’re so cruel to you...when you’re so, mm, so very...close...”
All of this is delivered into her ear as a breathy whisper while I also choke her and bite her, so, whatever.
Eventually, we edge her so close to orgasm that we’re legitimately concerned about the noises she’s making. The neighbors have put up with a lot of Jordan’s shit already.
Next? Jordan signs at me.
Yes, I sign.
“Are you ready?” I breathe at Nora. She perks up like a dog hearing a can opener.
We position her so that she’s bent over the bed. Clatterballs—my brainchild, my sweet boy—will be able to ram her super hard and deep, which is, I think, how he deserves to lose his virginity.
“Prepare yourself,” I intone, as Jordan wheels Clatterballs into place. I experimentally reach down and feel Nora’s cunt. It is dripping.
“Heh. But you’re already pretty fucking prepared, aren’t you?”
She makes a tiny noise of trepidatious submission. It is pretty cute.
We align Clatterballs member with Nora’s snatch.
“Now I should tell you,” I drawl, “that I picked this dildo to resemble my cock.”
Jordan begins twitching the dial. The machine is warming up, making whirring grinding sounds like a tool when you push the button only partially. Nora is nigh whimpering with excitement and fear and lusty need.
Slowly, experimentally, like a baby deer taking its first steps, Clatterballs docks with Nora’s cervix. She lets out a whine and then a sound like whuff, that startled exhale-pain-lust-grunt that women make when you overpenetrate them.
I nod to Jordan, to pull back, turn up the dial, and let Clatterballs stroke. But Jordan is frowning. Something is off.
I am squinting at Clatterballs. The rail that the dildo is mounted on is wiggling, loose with useless lateral momentum. Maybe Nora’s cunt muscles are squeezing hard—or maybe my boy CB is just having trouble aiming on his first time. I reach back to provide a steadying hand, and nod to Jordan, to adjust the dial.
Jordan turns it up.
Clatterballs begins to stroke, grinding into her and hittin’ it slow and deep.
It takes all of fifteen seconds for it to break.
It falls apart like a goddamn cartoon, with struts and bolts landing soundlessly onto the carpet. Jordan and I are staring at each other. My face is a 😨 of dismay. Jordan is rictus-grinning at me in mute horror.
I stare at Clatterballs wordlessly. Oh my god, I built a two-pump chump.
I motion to Jordan in our sign language:
Fuck, I sign. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Jordan doubles over, laughter not quite audible over the ongoing busted-ass hum of the machine. Nora is still on all fours, waiting to be pounded, a little confused at how the fucking has stopped.
I leap to my feet, tear open Clatterballs, and pull out the functional heart of this machine—the Sawzall. With dildo still attached.
“You’ve done well so far,” I intone, “and NOW, I’ll use setting TWO on you!”
The lowest setting on a sawzall is way way too fast to have inside you. Most of Clatterballs complexity was based around trying to reduce the speed and the rest was trying to smooth out the stroke. Without either, I was forced to try to manually approximate a pleasant stroke speed by feathering the trigger.
The Sawzall’s lowest setting fucks at 2,600 strokes per minute.
That’s pretty close to yours, right?
Nora lets out a primal cry as the machine fucks her approximately three times faster than a human possibly could. I extend my open palm and Jordan slaps a vibrator into it like a skilled surgical assistant, and I mash that vibrator against Nora’s clit and hope that all the edging paid off.
It did. Ye gods, it did.
She comes like an exorcism, seizing and bucking. She’s so loud I stuff my hand into her mouth, because the alternative is the neighbors coming around to investigate us murdering livestock. Her legs go weak, and I collapse with her onto the bed, as her orgasmic clench-spasms launch the slippery dildo out onto the floor.
Jordan hops into bed with us. We take off Nora’s blindfold. She is nervous and trembling again.
“Did...?” Nora asks, a bare whisper.
I share a glance with Jordan. “What?”
“Did I do good?” asks Nora, and she sounds on the verge of tears.
Jordan and I tackleglomp her furiously, and cuddle her, and pet her hair, and I provide the next stage of my optimized sex experience, the warmth and connection and Intimacy. I play the curmudgeon and let them talk me into watching the Little Mermaid as aftercare, and it is not a very good movie but I do like that all three of us are cuddling naked in bed together, and I do like that we’ve hidden most of the sex toys but some of them are still strewn about the room, slick with her juices.
Little Mermaid ends. It really is not a very good movie.
Denoument
I drive Nora home. We smile and pat each other in the car. I am waiting for her to leave. She is waiting for me to say I will call her.
I will not call her.
She gets out of the car and kisses me goodnight. She will go report this encounter to her boyfriend Sam, who, I assume, was at home, biting his nails and masturbating in some combination of arousal and extreme stress.
He will, day after tomorrow, invite me to get pizza so that we can talk about how I can treat Nora best as a new poly partner. He is insecure about she and I beginning to date, but is trying to do his best despite that. He talks to me about aftercare, and poly, and open communication, and New Relationship Energy.
It is hard for me to tell him I don’t really care to see her again, but I say it.
I see the combination of relief and insult in his eyes. There is no balm I can provide for that, not really, because his read on the situation is entirely right; I have no interest in his girlfriend as anything other than an eager girl to help me test my sex machine and have another threesome. Oof; he was worried about losing her to me, and I consider her so far beneath me I won’t even fuck her.
I do shamefacedly apologize for using him as an armrest. That was fucked up. I should do less drugs, or maybe different drugs.
I don’t know what happened to these people. I wonder whether they’re still together. On the rare occasions that I see Sam, I try to be kind to him.
When I see Nora, I am careful to be merely polite. I don’t want to start that shit again.
No.
Haha no. It was only the most careless yet.
No.
Couldn't stop laughing. You're great