In Thrall To The Machines

Attribution note: I found this thanks to Twitter, but can’t recreate the attribution flow. Quiet Saturday morning, looking at people in my stream, looking at who they follow, reading a few of those, looking at who they follow, seeing a couple of interesting tweets, hitting a profile link… and suddenly I’m reading this.

But first, more preface. The Hitachi Magic Wand is said to be the gold standard among powerful vibrators — too powerful for some, but the first, and in some cases only, way to fly for innumerable women who find orgasm tricky or difficult. And increasingly over the last couple of years, I’m seeing it used in BDSM porn, substituting “forced” real orgasms for the traditional lamely-faked ones. (See, e.g., bits of the trailer or the 4th, 8th, and 10th pictures from this shoot.) I’ve wondered about that on more than one occasion. And now (second run up to the lane, let’s see if I can hurl the bowling ball this time) here’s Post Modern Sleaze:

He’s wrapping me in plastic. I can hear the peel and coil of the wrap, the slight tackiness of it as it folds around my limbs. I’m still hooded, breathing through a tube and sometimes the air stops, rubber inflating and deflating uselessly, enough to bring me part way to a panic. Then released. After a short while, I’m done. Bagged and tagged. There’s only a couple of inches on show, arse and cunt. I’m two holes in nothingness. Squirming a little underneath, to see how it feels.

It feels good, tight enough to be held all over and nowhere to go. There’s the chill drizzle of lube over the exposed flesh, making me slick. I am made of concentrated anticipation. There’s something hard, large and seemingly spherical, pressing against my cunt. I tense as I hear mechanical buzzing and my thoughts race at memories of over-powerful magic wands. I become a little scared. The shape presses inside me, pushing slowly in and out, uncaringly pushing through taut, worried flesh. It’s hard and it hurts enough to mean something. It throbs with weight. And there’s something else, pushed close against my clit. I recognise the hitachi and barely have time to utter a pre-emptive yelp before it roars into life and my body explodes with sensation.

It’s too much. I know it’s too much after two or three miliseconds. It’s too much but it isn’t stopping and I can’t move. I can moan though, which I do, as if the pressure against my cunt and inside me is trying to come out of my mouth. It doesn’t help. I have never felt force like it and it is force, brute force, commanding deep responses. It’s not exactly pain, it’s not exactly pleasure, it pitches between the two, in waves equally unyielding and incessant. I cannot relax into it and I cannot get away from it. Sometimes I’m sucked down by it, other times I can edge myself away a little but then the pitch changes and it’s too strong again.

I tense, almost as if I’m about to orgasm, but the pressure is too much and I can’t. Something has to give. So I started to cry with the helpless frustration of it all. All this time when I thought I was tied up to be the object and instead I am a whimpering scrap of flesh plastered to a bench in thrall to the real machines.

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