That Fucking Machine

She mentions fucking machines at least once a week. Each time the subject comes up, I chuckle nervously and fumble for words. It’s not as though V doesn’t know how I feel about them – they’re scary as hell – but I’ve yet to express anything beyond a gut reaction.

Then a few days ago, I asked a question.

“Ummm…Ma’am, does the machine have settings to control depth as well as speed?”

“The more expensive ones do.”

She said nothing else for a few moments, just used the moment to gauge my reaction. Flustered, I changed the subject, but she didn’t push for more. Why should she? I’m her collared boy, and she’ll get what she wants. Simply knowing I’m nervous about the idea satisfies her for the time being.

Until recently, I hadn’t thought much about how such a device could be used. I mean, sure, I’ve seen fucking machines in porn but never thought much of them. Finding out his ass will be on the receiving end of a device changes a boy’s perspective. Yet as I write this post, I’ve yet to research these machines. It’s called willful ignorance, and not knowing has helped to keep reality at bay. That tactic no longer works.

Why? Because this boy has an imagination, one which refuses to sit idly by with something this juicy bouncing around. Like it or not, I now find myself pondering the imminent probability I’ll be fucked by a machine.

Boy-fucked-by-that-machine

So what is it about a fucking machine that makes me nervous? Let’s start with the obvious:

  • It’s a machine that fucks you until someone turns it off:  no matter what you say, or how intense it is, the machine will not stop fucking you until it’s shut off. In my case, the Dominant with the power to shut it down is both experienced and keen to keep my ass undamaged. That doesn’t mean she wont be sadistic as hell. Her having this much control is fucking hot. Also scary…but still very fucking hot.
  • The machine can be set to fuck you at various speeds and depths: this means, she could equip the business end of the machine with a dildo of “manageable” size or a large plug she has to slowly work in. She might decide it will be fun to watch me getting fucked slow but ruthless by a dildo plunging its full depth, or she might opt to keep me impaled in whimpering limbo as a large plug is pulled halfway out before being pushed home again. Either way, V merely has to set the speed, kick up her feet, and enjoy.

There’s not much more to say. And, really, the brutal simplicity of such a mindless device is part of what makes me so damn nervous. Depending on her mood, V might add sensory deprivation, heavy bondage, or any number of BDSM elements to add to my ordeal. These ‘other things’ are all familiar to me in some way, shape, or form.

But to be  relentlessly fucked by a machine designed to do nothing else? That’s uncharted territory for this boy.

 

 


Photo credit ~ tumblr

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