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At the age of forty-three, I finally admitted to myself that I had never had an orgasm, despite two failed marriages, several passionate affairs and more one-night-stands than I cared to count. I admitted, further, that the reason none of my relationships worked was, ultimately, because the sex was far from satisfying. The intimacy was nice… but not enough. Indeed, with age and better self-understanding, I recognised that the real reason I kept putting myself out there was the increasingly forlorn hope that I would find someone to achieve what no one else had.

“Or at least get me pregnant,” I added, pouring out my woes to Abby as she poured out the wine.

“What you need is a dildo,” she said, laughing.

“I have a dildo. I have a box full of dildos and vibrators. They barely wind me up, let alone release me.”

“I mean a real dildo – and now I know exactly what to get you for your birthday.” Abby grinned impishly and refused to be drawn further.

My birthday was a month later, and I had quite forgotten our drunken chat until a large package arrived on the day. It came with a card: “Enjoy! – Abby.”

How much it had cost, I had no idea, but clearly it was expensive. A leather seat of solid construction and nefarious purpose. Most astonishing was the dildo, a surprisingly lifelike member that was both longer and thicker than any other in my collection. And black too. Just holding it in my hand sent a thrill of fear through me. It was firm but not rigid, smooth but veined, and was attached to a flexible scrotum that held a pair of large, heavy balls.

“Fuck, Abby,” I muttered, a little in shock. I phoned her. “Do you really expect me to use this?”

She laughed. “Absolutely! I guarantee you won’t regret it. I wish I could watch…”

The thought of using the machine was weird enough. Letting Abby watch was inconceivable. “Um, no.”

“Well, don’t waste your birthday talking to me.”

It couldn’t hurt, I supposed. Although, that dildo was frightening. But maybe that was what my body needed?

The seat was semi-reclined, and higher off the floor than I liked. Even in its lowest position, the huge dildo projected through the hole, so it was impossible to sit without also negotiating that protuberance. Fortunately, I was so aroused just from the anticipation of using this machine that my lips parted wetly about the tip as I squirmed awkwardly into position.

I was far from confident that I could escape again, but that was a problem for later.

I was also far from confident that the chair would give me the pleasure I sought. “Well, here goes,” I said, and pressed the button. I’d pushed it earlier, before sitting in the chair, curious to see what the dildo would do, but nothing much had happened. Just a soft humming and subtle vibration that promised little. But with the dildo pressing between my labia, those vibrations felt very pleasant indeed.

I relaxed into the chair, elbows on the armrests, my fingers teasing my hard nipples. There was no questioning my arousal, and if this was the extent of the chair’s manipulation, then at least it was a good alternative to sex with a real man.

Except that as my arousal built, it was impossible not to keep squirming in an effort to intensify those vibrations. So gradual was the change, I didn’t notice at first that the dildo was also projecting higher, but the penetration became unmistakable, the thick head of the dildo stretching me like no human cock ever had. “Oh…” was all I could say.

No longer teasing, my fingers now pulled and pinched my nipples as that shaft penetrated ever further, filling my vagina with slow, steady determination, the vibrations stronger now. I felt increasingly impaled, increasingly helpless, unable to do much more than wriggle my hips. And I had never felt so astonishingly full of cock, and even as I thought the limit had been reached, the dildo switched to a gentle back-and-forth motion that pushed deeper and deeper, until it pressed against the entrance to my womb.

“Too deep!” I cried, startled, and in a momentary panic pressed the power button to stop the chair.

To my relief, the dildo withdrew – but the chair did not stop. The dildo thrust in again, not so swiftly nor so deep that it hurt, but enough to make me cry out again, a wordless cry at the rush of sensation as that thick, veiny, vibrating cock rammed into me. I clutched hold of the armrests, panting, as the dildo eased out – only to ram back in again with the pitiless ease of machinery.

Again, and again, the retreats quickening, the interval between thrusts bahis firmaları reducing, until the dildo was pounding me like a savage heartbeat. Deeper too, its balls hammering against me, the head brushing against my cervix in a way that surprisingly didn’t hurt.

There was nothing I could do about it anyway. I was holding on for dear life, my limbs jelly, and distantly amazed that my body was somehow coping with this. No sex had ever been so good. Even if it didn’t result in orgasm, I knew this was an experience I would repeat, often.

The rhythm changed, slowed, and I wondered disappointedly if the program was ending – but I was entirely unprepared for what happened next. The dildo jerked roughly within me, accompanied by a tickling sensation deep within me, as if it were a real cock in the throes of orgasm. Indeed, it continued its violent dance – and suddenly there was what looked like cum squeezing out of me past the dildo that continued to pulse as if in ecstatic release.

“What the fuck?” I said, scooping up some of the creamy essence and licking my fingers: that familiar taste and texture of cum. I knew it couldn’t be real, but the illusion was incredible.

But this was a machine, not a man, and it was as tireless as the electricity supply. Its pulses transformed into a gentle fucking as more cum escaped, the depth of thrusts increasing inexorably and ever swifter until I was again panting heavily. Pressing the button achieved nothing, and I lacked the will to try and climb off the chair while that dildo was slamming into me with such remorseless intensity.

Perhaps the chair was faulty. Perhaps there would be no end. Right then and there I didn’t care. I welcomed each thrust, even as I wondered whether dehydration or a heart attack would kill me first, the machine continuing to service my lifeless body.

Again it slowed, and I whined with frustration as it erupted once more, not because I didn’t enjoy the sensation of being filled with cum by a convulsing cock, but because I had actually felt myself getting close – maybe – to achieving the same end.

I writhed impatiently about the dildo, willing it to fuck me again. “Fuck me, you bastard,” I growled. “Make me come,” I pleaded, as I massaged my breasts with cum and sucked my fingers clean.

I did my best to help the dildo too, given my limited ability, bouncing my hips as it picked up steam again, until it was pistoning in and out of me and I yielded. My need was too great. Nothing mattered beyond the next thrust of that synthetic cock into my cum-soaked cunt. “Make me come,” I begged. “Make me come.”

I was so close. I could feel it. My body wound tighter than a violin string. Each impact of the dildo, each slap of its balls, threatened to bring me to my end, but instead sustained that terrible, beautiful anguish of need and pleasure. I was so close. So very, very close, my every thought focussed on reaching the point of crisis –

The dildo slowed again, and I wanted to howl with fury!

Except this time, as the cock kicked victoriously and cum erupted within me for a third time, I was thrown over that elusive precipice into an ecstasy of convulsions, pleasure radiating in waves from my ravished core. “Fuck!” I cried. “Fuck!” No other word could form in my incoherent mind.

Long before I calmed, my mind still ablaze with the blissful beauty of orgasm, the dildo resumed its cycle, its gentle fucking propelling me through a series of welcome but exhausting aftershocks. “Enough,” I said. “Enough.”

The machine ignored my words, caring only about my increasingly abused pussy. As it resumed its merciless assault, I surrendered completely. The walls having tumbled once, I was swiftly conquered, driven to a climax, and then another, and again, until I could no longer tell one from the next.

*

It had taken a supreme effort, but I had at last managed to lift myself off the indefatigable dildo – in immediate response, the dildo ended its program of ravishment and returned to its quiescent state. Its absence was both a relief and a loss. On the one hand I felt bruised and dirty (morally and physically); on the other, profoundly grateful. My body shaking with fatigue, and my mind in a weary, blissful haze, I made it as far as my bed where I buried myself beneath the sheets and surrendered to unconsciousness.

The creature that stumbled half-awake to the bathroom in the middle of the night, for I could barely be described as human, was a sticky, sweaty mess, stinking of sex and exertion. My inner thighs were slick with cum, still more leaking out as I sat on the kaçak iddaa loo to answer the call of nature. My insides throbbed, an almost pleasant discomfort. I felt like meat that had been tenderised by a hammer, but also like a woman who had at last been truly satisfied.

At last I knew what it was I’d been missing out on all my life, the pleasure that man after man had given himself but had failed to give me. Despite the hour, I texted Abby: “With a chair like this, who needs a man.”

She replied the following morning: “lol – Proud of you. Envious too! Wish I were there.”

“To watch? Or to try?”

“Both.”

I laughed. This time the idea of her watching me didn’t seem so strange, so impossible. And while I wasn’t quite ready to use the chair again myself, the idea of watching Abby receive that exquisite pleasuring had a definite appeal. “Doing anything tonight?”

That night she was at my door, both nervous and excited. “Are you sure about this?” she asked.

I knew what she meant. We had been friends for years, open about our frustrations with sex and relationships, but it was a big step from talking about sex to being there during sex. “We’re just friends sharing a toy,” I said, and she nodded.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the chair. “I haven’t actually seen it before,” she said. “It was described to me, but I didn’t expect…” Her fingers caressed the dildo. “I didn’t expect it to be so big. You really had this inside you?”

I grinned at her. “Oh, yes.” Part of me felt possessive of it, of the magnificent dildo that had taught me the true meaning of pleasure, but I found her fear of it to be oddly seductive. I found myself eager to see the monster penetrate her, to see her squirming as helplessly as I had the night before. (I suppressed the thought that since it was my chair, it would be my dildo – and by extension me – that would be fucking her.)

I had always envied Abby her looks. She was shorter than me by a head, and more slender too, and her bright-eyed pretty face and mischievous confidence seduced men easily. That she wasn’t shy of showing off her naturally perfect breasts helped as well. She usually had two or three men on the go – in addition to an equally wayward husband – and really didn’t need the chair if it was a just good, hard fuck she wanted.

It was only fair that we should both be naked, but I blushed as I undressed, embarrassed by my own visible arousal. My nipples were swollen, and I’m sure my pussy gleamed as wetly as hers. In contrast to my carefully trimmed bush, Abby was completely bare. “Richard’s into the whole schoolgirl thing,” she explained, her blush matching mine. “Short skirts and spanking.”

Which was news to me. She’d complained often enough of her husband’s preference for anal, perhaps because he was not blessed with a good-sized cock, but I had to wonder if maybe she enjoyed being his slutty little schoolgirl. Maybe what had kept their marriage together for twenty years was a little harmless roleplay. Maybe all her affairs were secretly just provocation, pursued in the knowledge she would be suitably punished. “That’s why you’re really here, isn’t it?” I said. “To be a naughty girl who deserves a good spanking?”

Her blush deepened and she nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Well, let’s get started,” I said. I’d cleaned the chair in preparation, and the carpet beneath too. It was still damp. This time I’d laid an old shower curtain to catch the spill, the inevitable splashes of cum. I’d searched for signs of where the dildo stored cum and how to refill if required, but it was a mystery. Perhaps I’d already used it all up, and there weren’t any refills in the box.

I helped Abby climb into the chair, and she lowered herself carefully onto the dildo. As strange as it had been to be the one in the chair doing this, it was fascinating to see the head of that huge black dildo pressing against my friend’s shaven pussy. I was not so sheltered that I hadn’t glimpsed other women’s genitals before, but never had I been so close in a sexual context.

Indeed, her glistening lips, nudged apart by that monstrous synthetic cock, were not merely sexual. They were pornographic. Obscene. They were close enough for me to touch, and I itched to do so. “What now?” she whispered.

I pressed the button for her, and heard the gentle hum of the dildo’s vibrations. “Ohh… That’s nice.” She smiled, and I could see the tension ebb away. “I could stay like this all day.”

Standing beside her, I dared to caress her inner thigh, my fingertips drifting near her parted labia, and away. Abby looked kaçak bahis up at me, clearly startled, but made no objection as my hand continued its tentative journey across her belly. I traced a lazy circle about one areola, then about the other. “Would your husband approve of me touching you like this?” I asked. “Or do only naughty girls let other girls touch them?”

She answered with a laugh.

Already her hips were twitching in response to the vibrations, and I could see the dildo had begun its gradual climb, spreading Abby’s labia ever wider as the tip penetrated deeper into her pussy. “God that’s big,” she murmured, reaching down to touch herself.

But that was cheating. I took two scarves from a drawer, and used them to bind her wrists to the arms of the chair. “Hey,” she whined in complaint, though she put up little resistance. She glowered up at me, her attempt at a serious expression countered by the squirming of her hips. The head of the dildo was now fully embedded within her, so that all I could see was the veined shaft continuing its slow penetration.

It was such an unexpected thrill to have a naked woman in my bedroom, tied up and being pleasured. I continued my tease, as much for my pleasure as hers. My fingers brushed around her hairless labia, circled her hard nipples, the promised touch never quite delivered. I could feel the hardness of the dildo beneath her soft belly, and knew it must soon meet the entrance to her womb.

“This is torture!” Abby whined. “If you’re going to touch me, do it properly!”

“Is that what you want?” I asked, mock-innocently.

She practically growled at me. “Yes!”

“You’ll have to be more specific…”

Abby gave a cry of frustration. “My nipples! Rub my nipples!”

“Or I could suck on them?”

She managed somehow to both laugh and glare at me. “Just do it. Please!”

I’d envied her her breasts long enough, but I’d never before fantasised about sucking on them. It’s not that I was attracted to her as a woman, more that I was aroused and very curious – and it was such fun having her so completely at my mercy.

Abby gasped suddenly, but not in response to anything I was doing, or not doing. I guessed the dildo had discovered her cervix – and, indeed, the hum of the machinery altered and the dildo withdrew slowly. I bent to suck a nipple into my mouth, even as the dildo thrust in again, long, deep and powerful. She screamed, and her body convulsed with shock, but the restraints and the impaling dildo held her firmly in place. “Fuck!” she said, gasping for breath. “Fu-” The dildo slammed in again.

I concentrated on her nipples, a little surprised at how much I loved sucking on them, or licking and biting in the way I liked my own to be treated. I loved feeling as much as seeing Abby’s reaction to the thrusting dildo, its pace gradually building to a merciless hammering. “Too much,” she whimpered. “Too much.”

I ignored her complaints, alternating between her succulent nipples until the song of the machinery changed and the thrusting slowed. “Thank fuck!” she sighed, only to cry out as the dildo kicked within her. What had taken me three cycles of the machine, Abby achieved in one. I watched, absorbed, as she convulsed helplessly in the chair, the dildo pulsing within her.

As the dildo withdrew in preparation for a fresh round of fucking, a gush of cum followed, some splashing across Abby’s thighs, some dripping onto the floor, protected now by the shower curtain.

Abby peered down at the creamy mess between her legs. “What the fuck? I thought I was imagining it.”

I shrugged. “It’s messy, but I like it. Tastes like the real thing too.” I scooped some up and pushed it into her mouth, before licking my fingers clean.

Abby licked her lips distractedly. Already the dildo was thrusting with vigour, and she looked well on her way to another climax. “What if it is real?” she said.

“Don’t be daft.”

“I’m not… I asked him for a dildo that… that guaranteed or-… orgasms…” As if on cue, she surrendered to her second of the night, convulsing as the dildo pounded her with ferocity. When, eventually, she could speak again, she continued, “I said it would be great if it got you pregnant as well. It was a joke.”

She groaned as the dildo slowed, and erupted within her for a second time. “That really does feel good…” She sighed. “But what if it is real? Whose cum is this?”

I scooped up some of the fresh outpouring as the cycle began anew, and massaged it into her breasts, pinching her nipples affectionately. “On the upside,” I said, “if you are pregnant with a stranger’s child, I’m sure Richard will take great delight in punishing you…”

“Bitch,” she muttered.

“Slut,” I replied, adding, “Hurry up and come. It’s my turn.”

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